Ballor IV was the 4th world from sun in the Ballor Cygna system. It was a predominantly marsh world that had little military purpose, but the atmospheric conditions and the high water content made it perfect to settle an agricultural settlement. In the last twenty years, the industry had thrived so well that many farms had populated away from the original colony, spotting the small planets surface in a spiderweb like lattice of agro-farms.
It was on the periphery of the western boundary that the USS Argonaut had received the last transmission from the reconnaissance flight Valkyrie 354. The video link was so bad that CIC had to rely on audio only, which wasn’t much better.
“Valk–ie 3-4, be– hit, port e–ine is out. Unkn– squelch –orces. M-yda-, –yda-.”
Captain Nathan Daniels stood up and looked over at his executive officer. “Scramble the ready 5. And get me a rescue team on ground ASAP.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Ten minutes later, the Peregrine dropship, Bastion 115, hovered 80 feet above the planet, the tail ramp opened with a gunner strapped into the M-53 Heavy Gun scanning the rear of the craft. Gunnery Sergeant Hawkins was the first of the team to fast-rope from the ship, dropping heavily into the muck with a loud splash. Specialist Sanchez and Petty Office Kilpatrick were next, moving away in opposite directions and taking up flanking positions. Sergeant Wallace and Corporal Bronski were next, followed closely by Lieutenant Lovejoy.
Lt. Lovejoy walked over to where Hawkins stood. “What’s your gut telling you Gunny?” She yelled over the jet wash as the Peregrine’s engines roared and it lifted away from the landing zone.
“I don’t like it.” He said as silence filled the dead air. “Wallace.”
“Aye.” She responded without turning.
“Secure the perimeter. Bronksi, I need eyes.” Hawkins continued to look around the crash site, the wreckage of the downed Osprey class recon ship mostly in tact. “Sanchez, Kilpatrick, check the cockpit. I want to know if we are rescue or retrieval.”
As the team got about their business, Hawkins walked over to the ship and examined the hull. Scorch marks and explosive damage were heavily evident on the port wing. Or rather, what was left of the port wing.
“That rules out an accident.” Lovejoy said as she looked at the side.
“Boss, crew’s not in the cab. Looks like they were extracted and not necessarily by choice. I got a few casings expended in here.” Came Kilpatrick over the comm. “Means at least one of them was alive when they were taken.”
“What about the recon rig?” Hawkins asked.
“Negative. What wasn’t taken has been fragged.” Kilpatrick responded.
“This is just getting better and better.” Lovejoy sighed.
Hawkins looked around, an uneasy feeling settling on him. “Something’s not right.” He said.
“Boss….” Sanchez’ voice sounded more stressed then normal. “We got to get out of here. Now!”
Without hesitation, Hawkins pipped over the comm channel. “Everyone, west, now!” Kilpatrick scurried out of the cab of the Osprey, scrambling over the wreckage. Sanchez was ahead of him as he headed toward Wallace. Hawkins and Lovejoy sloshed through the muck, trudging away from the aircraft as best they could.
“I got movement, Boss. 2 miles ahead. Three hovercraft heading to the west.” Bronski’s voice cut in over the radio.
The team, minus Bronski, gathered together a quarter-mile away from the wreckage while Sanchez bent over and tried to catch his breath. “Short bodies and swamps don’t go together.”
“Yeah, well, you are the one who made us run, so, suck it up.” Kilpatrick chided, breathing heavily himself.
“Alright, care to tell me why we had to exit so quickly?” Hawkins asked, barely out of breath.
“Bobby trap. Saw it attached to the frame under the reactor.” Sanchez heaved.
“We got to keep moving. If that reactor goes, we are all dead.” Lovejoy looked panicked.
“Relax L.T. I pulled the fuel cell. I’m crazy. Not stupid.” Sanchez looked up and smiled.
“You sure it’s safe, Sanchez? Lovejoy asked. As if in response, the Osprey detonated, sending a massive fireball into the sky, sending shards of shrapnel and debris in every direction. A moment later, a shockwave of hot air from the explosion passed over the team, bending the tall grass.
“See. It’s all good.” Sanchez smiled.
Hawkins shook his head at Sanchez, then keyed his mic. “Bronski?”
“All good, Boss.”
“Good, keep an eye on our target. Time to go get our boys back.”
Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: DTB, Yeah Write
