The Start Of Something Great

Erberus

As the drop pod descended toward the frozen planet below, I couldn't help but strike up a conversation with the others. It was a brief respite before all hell would break loose.

"Are you new around here?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice faintly laced with curiosity.

I glanced up, adjusting the straps on my armor. "Yeah, just got stationed on the MCS Dawn."

"Well, welcome aboard," he said, nodding.

Beside him, Buck chimed in. "Carver, this is PFC Ray. She's being evaluated too."

Ray offered a brief, knowing smile. "Nice to meet you, Carver."

"Same here," I responded, feeling the weight of the moment. I wasn't sure whether she was just being polite or if there was more to her than the quiet exterior suggested.

Before any more could be said, Arthur's voice crackled through the comms. "Alright, cut the chatter. We've got one minute till touchdown."

"Wilco," Ray responded immediately.

"Copy that," Buck echoed.

"Aye, sir," I added, bracing myself for impact.

The final moments of the descent felt interminable, the noise of the engines reverberating in my skull. Then, with a bone-rattling thud, we hit the ground. The door shot open, and we unstrapped ourselves in haste. Arthur was the first out, his movements swift and precise, followed by Buck, John, and me. Ray was last, but only by a second.

As soon as my boots hit the cold, gritty surface, I wasn't prepared for what awaited us. A group of IMC scouts stood silhouetted on a ridge in the distance. They were quickly neutralized by a different group of riflemen, but the moment of shock was brief. There was no time to dwell on it. I had a job to do.

I saw my squad ahead of me, running toward the base, so I pushed myself forward, the sound of sand crunching beneath my boots as I sprinted. I raised my R-201 as I crested the hill, ready to engage anything in my path. And that's when all hell let loose.

The IMC grunts appeared like shadows, their spitfires barking fire as they opened up on us. One by one, my squadmates were hit, falling to the ground under the relentless assault. I kept running, pushing toward the trench that led into the base.

Once I reached cover, I slung my rifle and drew my EVA-8 from my back, immediately opening fire on the grunts in the trench. The weapon's recoil was sharp, but it did its job, and I made quick work of the enemies ahead. My eyes caught Ray in a brutal fight with one of the IMC soldiers. She was locked in a deadly struggle with him, her combat knife slashing, but the grunt was too quick.

Before I could think, I ran toward them, knife in hand. I kicked the grunt off Ray, sending him sprawling to the ground. Without hesitation, I dropped down on top of him, my knife poised for a fatal strike. He crossed his arms in a desperate attempt to block me, but I kept pressing, forcing the blade deeper and deeper into his neck. He choked on his own blood, the struggle fading from him as he went limp.

I stood up and wiped my knife clean before turning to Ray.

"You okay?" I asked, offering a hand to help her up.

"Yeah," she muttered, still catching her breath. "Fucker was strong."

I pulled her to her feet. "Let's go."

She took my hand, and together, we moved toward the grunt's fallen body. I crouched down to retrieve his dog tags. As I examined them, a thought struck me. The way he fought—there was a chance he wasn't just a grunt. I flipped the tags over, confirming my suspicion: PFC Pilot in Training.