The group nodded. Nobody needed to be reminded of the coordinates. Nor of the fact that group Theta was a veteran squadron as well. Engaging their jet packs, they soared through the sky towards their new objective. Straight into a trap.
Snipers rifles, artillery fire, bombs, mines, it was the whole disaster scenario training at once for them. Only 17 troopers left alive after the first ambush. On Scral side were a rough twenty casualties as well, far too less to make up for the dead soldiers.
They were trapped, and hard pressed.
Garell peeked over a rock, and despite the rain of bullets coming his way, he kept looking. He ignored the constant ricocheting bullets as they hit his helmet without putting as much as a dent in it, and kept a close watch on an artillery position. He drew his sniper rifle, and with a single, perfectly aimed shot, he pierced the shell right as it left the cannon. The explosion killed every Scral standing close to the gun.
He ducked again, in time to make a Scral sniper swear silently, as he could hear the bullet whizzing over his helmet. He sighed. Another three troopers had died. Staying here wouldn't save them. Not at this point. He traded his sniper rifle for two burst assault rifles, and jumped straight up, his jet pack giving everything it had. As he soared into the sky, he activated his thrusters whilst his jet pack was still active, something that was generally considered 'highly risky' at best. This wasn't at best. As the bullets hit his armor, he managed to land in the middle of the encirclement, before a hissing sound made him aware that his jet pack was out of order. As if the leaking plasma fuel burning a part of his back hadn't told him that.
He let loose, a beast released upon his enemies. His burst rifles tore through the Scral, the special bullets ripping through their carapaces without any remorse. Scral after Scral died beneath his rage. He felt how bullets started to dent his armor, even pierce it at some points, without doing any serious damage, aside causing countless small, bleeding wounds. His vision darkened, a red gaze falling over it. But not all of it was blood. Most of it was the uncontrolled, untamed rage that wiped out his conscious, and turned him into a natural killer. He felt how his conscious slipped away, and rather than fighting it, he wholeheartedly gave in to it.
When he woke up, it was over.