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Orbital Drop to Pittman
Day 1: Deployment Orders
The briefing was quick. Too quick. We’re on board the USS Liberty, orbiting Pittman, and the captain just gave the go-ahead for a full combat drop. There wasn’t much time for details, just enough to tell us the basics. An M.D.F. garrison on the surface has been under siege for days by an unidentified alien force. All we know is they’re fast, lethal, and their tech is far more advanced than anything we’ve encountered before.
That’s all it took to get us geared up. We’ve trained for this, but the unknown is always unnerving. My drop pod is loaded and ready, and in a few minutes, I’ll be hurtling down through the atmosphere towards what I’m told is a full-blown war zone.
The other Marines in my company seem as tense as I am. The usual banter is gone, replaced with grim faces and final checks on gear. We’ve all seen combat, but this feels different. An actual alien force is harder to conceptually wrap my head around.
Day 2: The Drop
The inside of a drop pod feels like being trapped in a coffin. There’s no room to move, and the hum of the systems is deafening in the silence before the launch. My HUD flickered on, displaying mission stats and vitals, but I barely registered it. I was too focused on the countdown ticking away at the bottom of my screen. I hit zero, and then we dropped.
The force of the descent hit me like a punch to the chest. Gravity pulled hard as we plunged through Pittman’s atmosphere, the hull of the pod glowing red from the friction. I could hear the distant roar of the thrusters kicking in to slow our approach, but the ground was still coming up fast. The pod rattled and groaned under the pressure, but I kept my eyes on the HUD, watching the altimeter drop.
I remember the hit marks of 10,000 meters. 8,000. 5,000, then contact.
The impact was brutal. My pod slammed into the surface with enough force to rattle my teeth, the shock absorbers straining under the pressure. For a few seconds, I was disoriented, the world spinning around me. But then the hatch blew open, and all hell broke loose.
Day 2: Touchdown
The heat of battle hit me the second I stepped out of the pod. The air was thick with smoke and dust, and the distant echo of gunfire and explosions rang in my ears. I hit the ground running, joining the other Marines as we formed up and moved towards the rendezvous point.
The landscape of Pittman was a mess of jagged rocks and deep craters, the result of days of heavy fighting. As we advanced, I caught glimpses of the M.D.F. forces holding a defensive line around their garrison, barely holding on. They looked worn out, their armor scorched, and their ranks thinned. It was clear they’d been through hell.
Our mission was simple: reinforce their position and push back the alien force. Easier said than done.
Day 3: Contact, Contact, Contact
We hadn’t even made it to the garrison when we encountered the enemy. I heard the sharp, high-pitched whine before I saw them a volley of plasma rounds sliced through the air, hitting the ground near my squad and sending up clouds of dirt. We took cover behind a rocky outcropping, scanning the ridge for movement.
And then I saw them.
Tall, lean figures moving with impossible speed across the battlefield. They were almost humanoid in shape, but their armor was unlike anything we’d ever seen organic, shifting, as if it was alive. Their weapons, sleek and silent, fired deadly beams of energy that cut through our defenses like they weren’t even there.
“Target those contacts!” I yelled, my voice barely audible over the chaos. I fired off a burst from my rifle, but it felt futile. These things were fast, too fast, moving like shadows across the ridgeline. One of the Marines next to me went down, hit by a beam that melted through his chest plate like butter.
We managed to lay down enough suppressing fire to fall back to the garrison, but the entire time, those aliens were right on us. It felt less like a battle and more like a hunt.
Day 4: Defensive Line
We’ve been pinned down at the garrison for over 24 hours now. The aliens attack in waves, never letting up. The M.D.F. forces have been holding the line, but just barely. They’ve suffered heavy losses, and morale is low. Every few hours, we catch our breath, reloading weapons and patching up wounds, only to be hit again.
I’ve never seen anything like this enemy. They don’t just charge they adapt. Every time we think we’ve found a weak point, they change tactics, hitting us from a different angle. Their weapons are terrifying energy-based, able to punch through even our toughest armor. And their speed...From my vantage, I’ve seen them seemingly outrun bullets.
The M.D.F. commander, Captain Duvall, briefed us this morning. Reinforcements are still days away, and we need to hold out until they arrive. Easier said than done, especially when we’re losing ground by the hour. Duvall’s tough, but I can see the strain in his eyes. He knows, just as we do, that we’re in over our heads.
Day 5: The Night Attack
They hit us hard last night. We thought we had some time to rest, but the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, they came at us fast and relentlessly. Plasma fire lit up the sky, and the ground shook with the force of the explosions. It was pure chaos.
I was stationed on the eastern perimeter with my squad, laying down fire to keep them from breaching. I saw one of them up close for the first time a massive figure, at least seven feet tall, with armor that seemed to shimmer and ripple as it moved. Its eyes, glowing a dull blue, locked onto me for a second before it raised its weapon.
I barely had time to dive behind cover as a beam of energy tore through the air where I’d just been standing. I returned fire, but it was gone before I could line up a shot. These things aren’t just soldiers, they’re predators.
We managed to repel the attack, but not without heavy losses. The garrison’s defenses are weakening, and we’re running low on supplies. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.
Day 6: Close Call
Today was rough. We were reinforcing the northern barricades when the aliens launched another assault. They came in fast, using the terrain to their advantage, and before we knew it, they were inside the perimeter. Close-quarters combat with these things is a nightmare. They’re stronger, faster, and their weapons... I don’t even know how to describe the way they cut through our gear like it’s nothing.
I lost three Marines today. Good men. We’re doing everything we can to hold the line, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s enough. Every time we push them back, they regroup and hit us harder.
I’ve been running on adrenaline for days, barely sleeping between shifts. It’s hard to believe this is real like some kind of horror story playing out in front of us. But we’re here, and we don’t have a choice but to keep fighting. It is fight or die.
Day 7: The Turning Point
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. This afternoon, we picked up strange readings on our scanners energy signatures that didn’t match anything we’d seen before. We didn’t have time to figure it out before the aliens hit us again, this time with even more ferocity.
But something was different. These weren’t the same ground troops we’d been fighting these were bigger, more heavily armored, and they carried weapons that emitted a low hum, as if they were powering up for something massive.
We’re calling them “Bashers.” One of them tore through our defensive line like it was paper, smashing into the garrison’s western wall and nearly bringing the whole structure down. I was there, right in the thick of it, laying down fire with everything I had. It felt like shooting at a tank.
Somehow, we managed to push them back. But not before they left a path of destruction in their wake.
Day 8: The Plan
Captain Duvall gathered us for a meeting this morning. Reinforcements are still days away, and we’re barely holding on. But he’s got a plan. We’ve been tracking the energy signatures from the Bashers and believe we’ve found the source an alien base buried deep within the mountains.
It’s risky, but if we can take out their command structure, we might have a chance to turn the tide. My company’s been assigned to lead the assault. We’re leaving at dawn.
I don’t know what we’ll find out there, but it’s better than waiting here to be overrun.
This may be the last entry I make. If it is, know that we fought like hell down here. We won’t let Pittman fall without a fight.
--- End of Journal ---