SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

"Haaaaaah." Corporal Tein "CrackShot" Plash sighed excessively. "This isn't anything like our training."

"Yeah, I totally get that. Like, where are the daily harassments and stuff? I joined to be in the shit and get some. Not wait around for 12hrs a day for almost 6 months." Corporal Madeiline "Topic" Hertz agrees, propping herself against the wall. "I wanna kill shit."

"Careful what you wish for you two." Sergeant Ty "Hazey" Shin tells them giving her a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Hey Sarge." Both greet as he slumps into the chair that was across from them.

"That being said... it is boring as fuck out here." He says with a sigh.

"Aye, Sarge... It true about SABER 1?" Topic asks looking over, her facial features, like everyone else was covered by her helmet.

"Yeah. Apparently, he's swinging by here before executing a major operation with the 106th."

"REALLY? LIKE THE GROUND POUNDER 106TH? That 106TH?" She asks excitedly. The 106th was the unit she originally wanted but her scores were shy of what they sought. She was however promised to be looked over again if she made an impact on her unit. Since then she has done her best to support the team without trying to overdo it and seem desperate.

"There's only one 106th." CrackShot says inspecting the side of his weapon.

"Yeah. That's the one. According to the grapevine, New Ultra is under a potential siege and they are being sent in." Hazey continues.

"Think Eilífr ever gets lonely?" Topic asks as she sits against the wall.

"Nah, despite how good AI is, I doubt he can register loneliness." CrackShot answers.

"True. Even Seer, our AI which oversees all operations in the 89th Quadrant can't process emotion, so I doubt a machine built for war could." Hazey adds.

"That's a fact." Topic agrees and just like every night since they arrived they chatted and fantasized throughout their shift.

Beyond the reach of their glow, a treeline stood like a jagged black wall, shrouded in mist and shadows. Something stirred. A faint rustle broke the stillness, a whisper of movement almost too quiet to notice. Between the gnarled trunks, a shape shifted—a hunched, sinuous form barely distinguishable from the darkness. Its outline flickered for an instant as it crept closer, the pale glint of reflective eyes betraying its position.

The creature—if it could be called that—stopped at the edge of the forest, crouching low, its focus fixed on the watchtower. The beam of light swept near, but it didn't flinch, its form unnaturally still, almost blending into the shadows themselves. Then, as the light passed and darkness reclaimed the area, it moved again—fluid, silent, deliberate.

In one swift motion, it melted back into the treeline, the shadows swallowing it whole. The only sign it had ever been there was the faint, unsettling silence that lingered long after it had gone.

The roar of the Thunderbird, a heavily armored variant of the Eagle, echoed across the burning horizon, a deep, resonant growl that made the air shudder. Its silhouette carved through the smoky sky like a predatory bird, sleek and angular, yet brutishly powerful. Twin engines blazed a fiery blue as the gunship tore through the clouds. Forged for survival and destruction. Its wings, broad and slightly canted, bristled with weaponry—rotary cannons, missile pods, and retractable laser-guided railguns. Beneath its chassis, landing gear retracted seamlessly, and its underbelly glinted with reinforced plating capable of deflecting small-arms fire and shrugging off direct hits from explosives. "There really going to be an assault on New Ultra Eilífr?" Icarus, the pilot of the Thunderbird asks over the comms.

She had received her nickname after countlessly flying in and pulling off the most demanding of evac requests for him. People were always telling her she was flying to close to the sun and one day she would fall, and she always replied, "Until that day comes, as long as Eilífr needs support, I'll fly directly into the sun if I must."  It made her sick honestly. Week after week, month after month, he would obediently accept his missions and fulfil them without the slightest form of thanks aside from "Job well done SABER."

"Negative. That's just the story the 106th gave. In reality, we are only reinforcing and establishing a new stronghold in the 89th Quadrant. It would be highly problematic if in the future a city came under assault and the nearest Quick Reaction Force (QRF) was over an hour away by Eagle. 10 minutes alone is more than enough to change any battlefield, let alone an hour." He replies breaking her from her thoughts.

"Aaah, that makes sense." She says after hearing his explanation. That was another thing, no matter how classified his missions were, he would always fill her in without spilling anything Top Secret or jeopardising.

BEEPBEEP, BEEPBEEP

KAWHOOOSH, POOFPOOFPOOFPOOF

Icarus jerked hard on her joysticks as she brought her precious baby to a hard halt and then a hover. They hung in the air, its engines thrumming with a low, ominous growl as it hovered above the treetops. The dense forest below was a sea of black, the canopy swaying in the hot downwash of the thrusters. As she placed the Thunderbird into its vertical take-off and landing (VTOL) mode, she vehemently began dialling into different radar lengths. It was only for the splittest of seconds, but she knows she caught two heat signatures (sigs) on her radar.

Clunk, clunk, clunk

She had failed to hear her cockpit door open as well as the heavy boots of SABER 1, Eilífr, who had made his way in. "What is it?" He asks looming over her.

Despite her being heavily invested in what she saw, he suddenly didn't scare her like it would most people when his deep voice appeared out of nowhere. "I could have sworn I saw two hits on my heat dish, but no matter what channel I dial into now, it fails to register anything." She knew she wasn't imagining it, she knew her ship like the back of her hand, there wasn't a single mechanical fault in it. There was something there.

"It was probably nothing. However..." He adds with a pause. "...Spin up the rotary guns, set em for a sustained rate of 29 rounds per second, then do a fly-by of roughly where the pings were. Loose a 1 minute string." He instructs her, and she can't help but smile lightly under her visor.

"Understood." She acknowledges. She knew he would understand, just like she understood why they were only loosing 1,740 rounds. Their ship only held 21,000 rounds per rotary gun, which killed ammo with an astonishing 8,000 rounds per minute. That meant if they spent all their ammo in one pass they would lose their nose gun.

Unlike the standard Eagle which carried upwards of 90,000 rounds per gun, and designed for long-term mission support operations; she was kitted out for hot evacs under heavy fire. She only had enough munitions to provide covering fire while her evacuees boarded, and to cover their takeoff. After setting her attack course she banked around and made her pass.

The nose gun roared, and everything in its path was chewed to pieces. The entire time as they made their run both of them kept their eyes off the radar, and just like Eilífr thought, for a faint second there was a scattering of pings. "Good hit Icarus. Let's carry onto Nautica. No need to draw necessary attention to ourselves." He says after giving her a light compliment.

"Sure thing Elfy, and thanks for trusting me." She replies and reactivates their guidance system.