The jarring sound of assault cannons expending thousands of rounds as battle commenced, echoing the pleading of pilots for someone to save them as the BETA ripped into their TSFs like a chew toy. Carnage and bloodshed littered the battlefield, and cannon fire lit the sky like fireworks. Victory was all that mattered, and it would certainly come at a great cost of lives to defend what was left of humanity.
Yet for the multinational 231st UN Tactical Armored Battalion, the "Grey Wolves," such a reality was certain to be theirs. Some had faced the BETA before, and some had not. Some had lost friends, while others were unknown to grief. Nevertheless, they stood together in the small quarters allotted to them within the assault ship carrying their TSFs towards the northern coast of Spain. It had been a long and silent journey for the ship's crew; the sailors' faces all sharing a grim expression as the occasional reconnaissance TSF roared in the sky, reminding them of their mission to save the world from the BETA.
"I don't like the look of this," A sailor muttered, his eyes forward to the cloudy yet foggy sky. "The weather conditions are terrible, yet command still wants us to go forward. What were they thinking? They're not the ones that are going to die out here." He continued to rant, grumbling under his breath while most of the sailors echoed his points. There was nothing but sea and fog for miles, leaving the entire force relatively blind as they approached the Spanish coast.
Still, the elderly captain stood stern, gaze fixed forward. His arms were folded behind his back, yet the captain of the ship said naught a word. "Captain?" Another sailor asked, conflicted by their superior's silence, yet no answer would come--only the same old silence. It had left the sailors wondering, engulfing the bridge in an awkward stillness. Did their captain share the same views, or was he fueling with anger, ready to reprimand them at a moment's notice?
Little did they know that the captain had been fixated on a pack of TSFs, their element flying over the various naval craft that floated beneath them. Then, as if the captain knew what was to come, a bright laser cut through the fog, absorbing the TSF in a massive explosion of fire and black smoke as the laser struck it.
"I believe we are at war, gentlemen." Was all the captain spoke; his reaction clearly jaded in comparison to his cowering underlings. With the slightest movement of the captain's hand, the sailors began to scramble to their positions. Some slid on their headsets, attempting to establish radio connection with the rest of the fleet, while others clambered to alert their own ship. Booming cannon fire was exchanged with high-pitched lasers, coating the sky in a fiery abyss.
And when the emergency red lights flicked on, hell on earth had truly begun once more for humanity.
Colonel Fabel, Commanding Officer of the 231st, had been standing at the back of the bridge as the Sailors had gone about expressing their fears to the Captain, and had almost spoken up to try and ease their minds but found himself cut off by the sudden light that cut through the fog and took out a TSF as it flew past the ship, lighting the foggy sky in red and orange as pieces of the TSF splashed down in the water just off the port side of the transport ship. Immediately the Captain had his Sailors at their stations and carrying out their duties as they were trained to and a moment later the lights switched from the welcoming white of standard operations to the blood red emergency lighting, bathing the interior of the ship in the eerie dark light of General Quarters.
The warning klaxon blared loud across the ship, and could be heard coming off of the nearby TSF transports as well, followed by a pause in the klaxon as a young man of the bridge crew picked up a microphone, "General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. TSF Pilots make ready for immediate launch." Despite the sailors young age he managed to hold his composure well, declaring the change in readiness of the ship with a sort of cold confidence befit to someone who was sure it was all over for them.
Colonel Fabel moved from his spot against the wall to an empty station that had been set out for him to monitor the Battalion. With the flick of a button the screen pulled up a view of the interior of the transport bay, it was a flurry of action, considering the fact that they weren't due to make landfall for another hour it was odd that there still seemed things that needed to be finished by maintenance workers. He sighed to himself, finding his forefinger and thumb pressed against the bridge of his nose as a wave of stress began to wash over him, he'd sent many pilots to their deaths in the past, but never had it been for such a massive cause as the retaking of Earth. As he rubbed the bridge of his nose he took a look at the status of the sixteen TSFs that the ship housed. Eleven had pilots in them and were signaling green and ready to launch, the other five seemed to be lagging behind as the pilots got into their fortified suits or helped the maintenance crews with last minute checks or fixes.
"Just great..." He said to himself before picking up a headset that had been hung on a small hook at his station. It was keyed into the general frequency for the 231st, a means for the Colonel to communicate with the Squadron as a whole or with a select few pilots at once. He keyed the microphone on the headset and began to speak, "Grey Wolves, we're less than an hour from the Northern Coast of Spain, we've unfortunately just confirmed that there are Heavy-Laser Class BETA present in the landing area, despite what we know from satellite reconnaissance. You're going to be launching in the next few minutes t--" There was a bright flash as a laser emerged from the fog and struck a transport ship bow-on to the right of the 231st's ship. The ensuing explosion was enough to shatter glass on the bridge and shake the entirety of the ship, bits and pieces of flaming debris peppering the nearby ships and landing on the decks of the transports still ablaze.
"THEY JUST GOT THE CARDOBA!" A yell from a sailor on the bridge snapped Fabel back into reality.
"Scratch that, Grey Wolves, launch immediately!" The Colonel stated over the comm-line to a chorus of yes sirs and other assorted affirmations. Ahead of him the deck of the TSF transport began to open and from the individual slots rose the TSFs of the Grey Wolves. Armed to the teeth and ready for combat, but even if they took off, there'd be no guarantee they'd even make it to the shore line. "Be advised Command is stating there has been no heavy metal chaff deployment, that means stick low and move as quickly as you can to the coast, the cliff edges of the coast will provide safety from the Laser-Class, new orders will be relayed once you have made it to shore. Good luck." The Colonel stated before ending the connection. He then keyed into the larger battle net of the operation to retake Spain, and swallowed as the casualty reports began to stream in over the screen in front of him, and not yet had a single TSF stepped foot on land.
