losthellhound

I posted the first few paragraphs of this many many moons ago.. For those who read it and remember it, this is more complete, and edited. For those who haven't heard of it, enjoy..

On Angels' Wings - Prologue

The beginning strains of music drifted slowly and calmly, enveloping the small space around him, and he closed his eyes. A small sly smile drifted across his face. The opening bars were low, melodic, and from a long forgotten instrument called a piano.

Second line secured, code is orange, lines are good to go in 5

The second movement started with a heavy rush of notes, and the smile disappeared. The piano became a monster, pouring forth with a thousand cries of anger and rage. Yet, the counterpoint could be heard, dancing above all. He ran a gloved hand through his short cropped hair and waited, drinking in the music.

Second line penetrated, all codes are red, lines are good to go in 2, 1...

He was pushed violently backwards as he rushed forwards through the darkness. The music stayed with him though, steady and pounding. Around him he saw nothing, then a burst of light, and again, nothing. A bank of lights on wither side flared to life, and his hands went involuntarily to controls in front of him. The music flared for a moment at its peak as he was pushed forth into freedom, and hell.

Rho wing launched, all codes are red. Second line has failed, inner defences activated. Wing commanders collect and organize sorties in green sector.

With steady movements he deftly moved his craft into formation and looked at a screen in front of him that flashed with a thousand angry red dots, steady green lines and calculations that appeared and disappeared. Seconds later he had the information he needed, and made the decision. Reaching over he flicked a small switch with his thumb and waited for silence on the line.

"Rho wing, this is Lt. Marcus. To me. Form up in green two alpha and prepare for run. Mark hostile Ion frigate in blue four delta as target and light her up."

He waited for silence; there would be no discussion, no arguments. With a glance over his shoulder he could see four fighters form up around him. The craft were beautiful, and deadly. Almost twenty feet long, five feet across, and sleek as knives. The music flared once more and drifted off, leaving the counterpoint. Pushing the controls forward, his craft banked and he swung around to settle into an attack run. All around him ships of various size twisted and fought. Searing blasts of energy and explosions flashed by but he remained on course. Glancing at a screen to the left of him he took note of the target: a beast of a ship bristling with weapon ports.

“Rho wing, this is Lt. Marcus. Break formation, wait for lock confirmation and fire at will.”

The fighters veered off from formation in all directions and entered their own attack runs; Marcus was struck by the beauty and grace of the ships as they sped off.

All codes red, inner defences failing. Alpha, Beta, and Gamma wings regroup in blue sector. Activating final measures.

Marcus counted to five and mouthed a prayer he had heard as a child, and then pressed triggers on both the control rods in his hands. Two openings on his wings burst with plasma and he watched his shots arc across the emptiness of space towards the capital ship in front of him. From either side similar shots were being flung forward from his wingmen. The plasma struck the hull and burst into fireballs, ripping portions of the plating off the mammoth. A second later gun ports on the ship trained on the incoming fire and returned it in kind.

“Rho win, break, regroup, and bring her down.” Marcus spoke into the radio.

Pulling his craft into a steep climb relative to the enemy ship, Marcus evaded the plasma blasts aimed at his craft and rolled. He noticed the damage their last attack run had caused, the ship was listing to the port, and several internal explosions were evident near the gaping hole they had created. Marcus targeted the main engines and armed a torpedo. As he spun his craft around he finished the prayer.

“And may he cradle us who walk into the halls of God. And may he forgive us who tarnish the stars with blood and ash.”

With another press of the triggers the torpedo burst out of his craft, arcing with a long bright trail towards the enemy ship. He marvelled at the stunning beauty of it for a moment before it impacted against the engines, bursting into an explosion that hurt his eyes. When his vision cleared the once mighty warship was a twisted hulk of burning metal, a tin can split open by a giant’s hand.

“Amen.” He finished.

* * *

Corporal Hardin watched the battle twist and flow on the video screen before him. The wall size screen dominated the room and illuminated it in an ugly mix of colors and scattered lines. Behind him sat a line of soldiers, dressed in standard grey scrubs, sitting at consoles. Turning his back on the battle he paced the room until he stood behind one of the soldiers. A smaller screen showed a more focused view of a section of the battle and the soldier manoeuvred a crosshair onto a red symbol using a control stick. The soldier pressed the control stick’s button and the red symbol disappeared. Hardin grunted heavily. There was no sound, no indication of destruction; just a symbol disappearing off of the screen. The soldier glanced over his shoulder at the sudden sound.

“is there anything wrong sir?” He asked, already searching for another target on the screen.

“No private, carry on. Watch out for the second wing of destroyers from that quadrant there.” Hardin answered, motioning with his good hand.

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.” Was the reply.

Hardin paced back to the wall screen and took stock of the battle. The tide had turned and what once was a mass of red had dissolved into random concentrations. The formations of strike craft marked blue cut swaths through enemy concentrations and the guns controlled by the soldiers behind him took care of ships that came too close to the orbital defences. In one quadrent however he noticed a bulge of red that appeared untouched by the conflict. Pressing a button near the screen he spoke.

Lt. Marcus pulled his craft into a sharp turn to avoid a stream of missiles. Looking back he watched the projectiles run out of fuel and drift off into space. Before he could turn again to face the frigate that fired the salvo, his radio came to life.

Rho Wing. Report to Red Sector. Engage hostile battle group marked omega seven green.

Marcus flicked his own radio on and called his wing to formation, then waited for them to appear on his flanks. He smiled, noticing that not a single of their number had been lost. After a quick check of his radar he spun his fighter into position and headed towards the battle group. It consisted of several heavy capital ships surrounding what looked like a carrier. Most likely the hostile fighters and bombers had sortied out of this ship. It also explained why the group had stayed back and not engaged the orbital defences; choosing instead to protect the ship, like an army of ants protecting a queen. The fighters on his flank fired the opening salvo, punching holes in the think defence, but still the larger ship was untouched.

“Rho wing, concentrate fire on the carrier. Swing to delta five and put her down.”

Marcus noted that their approach was noticed; the carrier’s engines had ignited and it was slowly moving towards the orbital defence ring. No gun ports had fired though and a quick scan showed no visible fighter hangers.

“What kind of carrier is this?” He asked himself.

* * *

Hardin concentrated on the red symbol denoting the larger capital ship. It’s speed was increasing quickly and the fighters were having little effect on it. Turning quickly he called to the line of soldiers behind him.

“Concentrate all fire on that bitch!” He ordered.

Hardin knew what the firepower of the oribal ring involved. A thousand plasma cannons firing bolts big enough to take down a rebel destroyer were trained on a single target. To his dismay however the ship continued to move, faster and faster. Hardin moved to a console and switched the screen to a camera on the orbital ring. The scene was gruesome. The orbital cannons were blasting the ship, stripping off hunks of shielding, but it wasn’t enough.

“All personnel brace for impact! She’s ramming!” He screamed through the intercom, and waited.

Hardin waited for the expected collision, but it never came. Turning back to the screen he watched the behemoth pass right over the orbital ring and fall into a steeply declining orbit. The ship would crash to the Earth uncontrollably, it was just a matter of where.

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"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

amonkie

I really like your use of minimal descriptions to give the most imagery - ie the mention of the "good hand", and sleek like knifes. Thanks for sharing, and I'd love to see more when they are created!

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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

K-Wise

Kick ass...you kinda lost me at the "Alpha nine burgandy" commands though haha. Good read...good visuals like Monkie said whenever I read these things they become a mini movie in my head and Tommy Lee Jones was in it....yeah...good stuff.

Asta!!

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"I love music and it's my parents fault (closing statement)." - Me..quoting myself...from when I said that...On TFP..thats here...Tilted Forum Project

It ain't goodbye, it's see ya later! I'll miss you guys! - Asta!!

losthellhound

Thanks for the compliments..

__________________
"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death