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Horn inhaled, the warm, musty air of the VTOL almost choking her lungs as she held her breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
Exhale.
The cling of Viola’s shotgun as she gave the weapon a final checkover echoed throughout the VTOL. On her arm, Horn’s cannon felt heavy - weapons reminding the Troop just who was backing them, and what was at stake.
Three.
Two.
One.
Inhale.
Columbia. Gaul. Leithanien. All had their hands over this land; all had their own bids as they gambled over who would take the crown. Today, as the sounds of fighting below limped toward the VTOL, it was their job to stake their own claim. To try their hand at rolling the dice.
5 minutes until drop.
One.
Two.
Three.
Exhale.
Horn stood, feeling the Troop’s eyes follow her as she walked, pausing at the point just before the closed ramp.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Tempest Troop!” Horn turned, facing her soldiers, who all stood to attention.
“Today is the day we prove ourselves! For years, we have fought for kings, oligarchs, as mere soldiers and mercenaries. But no more! Today, our nation is counting on us! Today is the beginning of Victoria’s reclamation, and our comrades on the ground have fought tooth and nail, spilt their blood to provide us with this opportunity!”
“Are we going to let it go to waste?” A chorus of “NO” filled the cargo bay of the VTOL. Horn grinned, regarding each one of her soldiers in turn.
“Cello, you’re in charge of Delta fireteam - it’s up to you, Cornet, Snare and Triangle to push through the Duke’s backline and provide an opening for our forces on the ground to secure the palace and clean up,” The tall Vuoivre woman nodded, swinging her hammer up to rest on her shoulders.
“I will be in charge of Alpha fireteam. Myself, Bagpipe, Viola and Mandolin will be pushing into the palace proper to ensure the Duke is eliminated.” Bagpipe and Viola exchanged grins, whilst Mandolin nodded to the Lupo.
“Oboe, you are in charge of Bravo fireteam, Piano, Charlie. It’s up to the rest of you to take either wing of the palace and ensure no nasty surprises interfere with either of our main missions. Does everyone understand?”
“YES, SIR!”
The VTOL rattled as the loading ramp slowly wound down, coming to a stop with a clang. Horn walked to the edge, slinging her parachute over her back as she pulled down her goggles. The sounds of battle were deafening now.
Inhale. Exhale.
The crowd clamoured. They refused to let the show conclude.
They demanded the orchestra.
“Well, men, you hear that?” Horn turned back to her men behind her, the wind blowing against her back as she stretched out her arms. Cold air filled her lungs.
Inhale. Exhale.
“I think it’s time we give the people what they want.”
Horn fell. Weightless.
Inhale. Exhale.
Do not fret, men. The time has come.
Here comes the encore.