Episode 64. Missile Storm

Our six shuttles leave the Enterprise and begin the descent.

Colonel Gomard has divided the squad into six nine-man units and is directing the descent from Herbie 53, our shuttle.

Or rather, I should say Angie's shuttle, since it is hers.

We pass through the first layers of clouds without incident.

But as we move forward, the turbulence grows more and more violent.

It strikes our energy shields, which flare intermittently under the effect of the electric atmosphere and the radioactive particles suspended in the air.

The descent becomes hellish.

The shuttle shakes under the gusts, tossed like a leaf in a magnetic storm.

Lightning streaks through the clouds around us, sometimes striking our shields in a blinding crackle.

Each impact makes the hull vibrate, and I feel the structure groan, as if protesting what we are asking it to endure.

The sensors are overloaded, the alarms blink intermittently, and the outside landscape is nothing but chaos: black clouds, radioactive rain, and bright flashes.

At this altitude, there is no sky anymore, no horizon... only a controlled dive.

And yet, despite the noise, despite the violence of the descent, no one speaks, until Tarsi calls out to me.

The formation is now broken.

Ahead of us, Echo Unit attempts a desperate evasive maneuver.

Its shuttle dives sharply beneath a cloud layer, its shields flickering under the impacts.

A flash of lightning.

Then an even brighter flash.

Echo Unit disappears in a muffled explosion, swallowed by the storm.

And immediately, I see it.

A Crabos.

Thrown by the shock wave, ripped from its mount, spinning through the air like an uncontrollable dead weight.

It is heading straight for us.

I pull on the stick, try to shift our trajectory, but it is too late.

The impact is brutal.

The shuttle tips violently onto its side, thrown into an uncontrolled spin.

Gravity vanishes for an instant.

Then returns in jolts, crushing us into our seats.

The screens become unreadable.

The outside landscape is nothing but a whirl of clouds and lightning.

I no longer have control.

I force the controls, disable the flight assists manually, and ignore the alarms screaming imminent failure.

The shuttle resists.

Then responds.

One jolt.

Another.

The spin slows.

I wrest control back from the storm, centimeter by centimeter.

The shuttle still trembles, wounded, but it flies.

As the missile chases us, I dive full throttle toward a small bridge spanning a torn-open highway.

I pass under it at full speed, then immediately regain altitude.

Just as I expected, the missile follows us under the bridge.

It hits a pillar... and explodes.

We are saved.

At least temporarily.

Because our mission is only just beginning.