An Elite's Tale

Joha 'Donsai's nerves were as solid as steel, his concentration unwavering. Flying was second nature to him, and as effortless as he made it seem, he wasn't relaxed by any stretch of the imagination. There were a lot of big names he had the honor of fighting alongside in these dark times. The Arbiter Thel 'Vadamee. Rtas 'Vadumee and his purple Grim Reaper. Field Master Zuvo Fin 'Goramai. If this mission was his last, he wanted to prove to all of them he was a worthy warrior, and was determined not to let them down.

In particular, he wanted to impress the Zealot. Save for the Arbiter, Field Master Fin 'Goramai was the highest ranking legend among these legends. It was he who used an energy sword to slay the mightiest Demon on Reach, one said to be as dangerous as the Demon that destroyed the first Sacred Ring. The deed was no easy task. As the tale goes, the metallic creature brought down four more Elites before Fin 'Goramai stepped in.

Joha, Theg, and the Arbiter soared like a graceful flock of quadwings over the Shipmaster's re-stolen troop carrier on its way to deal with an enemy tank lobbing plasma mortars.

The Arbiter's voice blared through the communications speakers built into Joha's Banshee, "We will each make a pass at the Wraith. I'll go in first. Theg, count three seconds, then move in. Joha, you're behind him. Finish this Brute and form back up on me."

Theg's voice crackled, "I'm prepared."

"Say the word." Joha added.

"Now," the Arbiter said as his Banshee slightly ascended, then dropped into a nose-dive and spewed molten liquid plasma all over the Wraith nonstop through it's descent.

He was swinging back up into the Phantom's airspace when Theg moved in. Joha drew in a deep breath, blew it out, and counted.

One... two... three...

Smooth and methodical, Joha angled the nose of his flier downwards as Theg was finishing his run, but didn't fire. There was no need. The combined plasma bombardment from the Phantom and other Banshees had pretty much turned the enemy armor into a smoldering hunk of glass.

Instead, Joha cycled through his weapons system and armed the fuel rod cannon. He was twenty meters from the ground when he released the Banshee bomb and blew the tank into a billion tiny fragments, a few bouncing off of the wings and outer shell of his flier as he swooped back up to rejoin his fellow pilots.

No sooner than he did, the trio was fired upon from all angles at once. And it wasn't small arms fire. A Brute pack commandeering a pair of Spectres were down below ripping into the undercarriages of the Banshees with mounted plasma turrets and driving in elaborate opposite intertwining evasion patterns. To make matters worse, Grunts in shade turrets, positioned on ledges in the cliff and supported by squads of Jackals, showered liquid hell down upon them from above.

"Take evasive action!" the Arbiter shouted over the COM.