“Why is Muulk always late?” whined Yil, “Just because he doesn’t have legs and can only move using pedal locomotory waves doesn’t mean he has to make all of us wait for him.”
“I think the fact that he’s the Field General of the Dominion military is the reason he can afford to make us wait,” replied Vic, “And I think you should keep your . . . tongue? . . . between your teeth if you know what’s best for you. Just because you’re not technically under the army’s jurisdiction doesn’t mean he can’t make life difficult for you.” Yil huffed, an impressive feat for a creature who didn’t stand upright, settling into a sullen silence. Vic agreed with Yil, although he would rather suffer a hernia before he admitted it. Why did Muulk have to be late for this meeting? For the first time since the Celzi had revealed their demon of a weapon, Vic felt hope. Hope that the Dominion wasn’t fighting a losing battle. Hope that would be proven genuine or false once the meeting was started.
The first glimmer of said hope had come from a minor skirmish on Helictor-4; an unimportant battle on a small planet. Apparently a single soldier, armed only with a Fusion Scythe, had managed to kill a Vulza. Never mind that the Celzi had bothered to commit one of their monsters to such a minor skirmish. How had a single soldier even survived such an attack, let alone retaliate to the point of vanquishing the thing? When the communications officer in charge first received the call from the commander of the 109th, he had assumed it was a joke, and a bad one at that. Once evidence had been provided there was no denying that it had happened, although Vic still did not truly understand how. The important thing was that he had managed it, and he had shown a Vulza could be killed without shooting it in the face multiple times with a coilgun.
Muulk’s shadow lumbered through the door before the General, appearing as though it were attempting to pull its creator through the door at a pace somewhat faster than a crawl. Vic knew that was a pointless battle. Field General Muulk was a Gordikl, a species nearly everyone agreed was gut wrenchingly horrid to look upon; It was even worse to view one in motion. Somewhere down the evolutionary chain a Gordikl had apparently decided he was too good for legs; cursing all future Gordikl to have the bodies of enormous slugs. But as Muulk oozed through the door, Vic didn’t think he had ever seen anything so majestic. They could finally start the meeting.
“I apologize for my tardiness, but I refuse to relinquish lunch for anything short of my death.” Looking at him Vic could easily believe it; although he worried the former would ultimately lead the latter in Muulk’s case. Once he had situated his bulk in the space cleared for him at the head of the table – how would he have used a chair anyway – Muulk motioned with an arm that seemed too small for his body. “Tul’c, if you wouldn’t mind, could you bring us up to date as to your team’s most recent project?”
Tul’c’cttvpxr’kl’nqqtcy’yz rose from his chair, straightening his clothes self-importantly, a smug grin spreading across his face. Vic didn’t really like Tul’c. A Ratak like himself, he annoyed Vic with his greater-than-thou attitude, and the belief that anyone who was not an engineer was not only beneath him in intelligence, but in worth as well. Vic had to admit one thing though. Tul’c was good at what he did. He was the lead engineer for any specialized weapons developments commissioned by the military. As such, nearly all of his projects were classified.
“Thank you General,” Tul’c purred, somehow managing to appear even more pleased with himself. “As most of you know, one standard cycle (6 months) ago, during a pointless skirmish on Helictor-4, a lone soldier managed to slaughter a Vulza with a mere Fusion Scythe. Obviously there was something different about him. Upon conducting a biomedical scan of the subject, we discovered that this soldier possesses a physiology quite unlike anything we’ve seen before. At least, anything we’ve actually been able to strap onto a scanner without it killing everyone in the room.”
A holographic display in the center of the table came to life, displaying a scanner readout of a bipedal creature. Vic couldn’t be sure of the size, since it wasn’t to scale, but he was unable to notice anything particularly odd about the creature. Truly, compared to Hunters, this thing looked hilariously docile. Admittedly, Vic didn’t know how to read bioscanner outputs. Something had to be special about it though, because every scientist at the table made sounds of extreme surprise, bordering on outright shock.
“As anyone who can actually understand bioscanner readouts can see, this creature’s incredible combat abilities come from an array of biological and even mental systems that have never before been seen. He is only one though, and we do not know where he came from, making it impossible to enlist more of his kind into the military. He alone will not be able to staunch the tide of Vulza and turn this war into a victory for the Dominion. Therefore, we decided to use the information gained from him to attempt to replicate his fighting abilities into something our soldiers could use. There were many excellent ideas as to how to accomplish this, as well as several . . . not so excellent ideas, one including the creation of giant robots to punch the Vulza into submission.” Tul’c chuckled – more to himself than anything – at such a ridiculous thought.
“We decided to focus on his skeletal system and its constituent musculature. His bones are a ceramic matrix composite with a hydroxyapatite, calcium phosphate, and an unknown protein base. We had once considered a similar material for the use in a new generation of combat-harnesses, but ultimately discarded the idea due to the cost required to find the necessary raw materials to create enough for every single troop. This material, however, is significantly stronger than our previous attempt, more than justifying the increased cost which production will require. Using this incredible substance, we fabricated an exoskeletal-harness upon which we affixed a weapon previously assumed to be impossible for personal use.”
The emitter on the table flashed, changing to an image Vic instantly recognized, although he’d only ever seen them as a concept, rather than an actuality. A personal plasma rifle. Before the invention of kinetic-pulse weaponry, if one was able to think back that far, a plethora of weapons were used across the galaxy, although most relied upon a soft projectile mechanism. The allure of unlimited ammunition was too great for weapons engineers to resist. It wasn’t long before the potential of plasma weaponry was reexamined.
It made sense. Plasma rifles would be ridiculously overpowered for use as a personal weapon, but who would complain that their gun was too powerful? Even with compression technology as primitive as it was during that time, it was still efficient enough to the point that a single plasma clip would contain upwards of 10,000 shots, which, for all but the most protracted battles, was an essentially unlimited number of rounds. Researchers had assumed creating such firearms would be easy since plasma weapons were already widely used on any medium classed ship worth their salt.
Upon its adaption for personal use however, they quickly encountered several insurmountable obstacles. First and foremost was the recoil. Plasma weaponry required a magnetic coil to propel the shot from the compressor, which created the recoil effect on par with a coilgun. Such powerful weapons were only ever seen on vehicles, turrets, and smaller ships for a reason.
Backlash of such magnitude would turn any unfortunate enough to be holding the weapon upon its discharge into a conglomeration of bloody scraps. Unless the militaries of the future would be handing their soldiers overcomplicated forms of execution, the recoil would need to be solved. The other major problem was the heat. Discharged plasma was hot. Although the combat harnesses could protect from such temperatures for a short time, they would only do so for about twenty shots.
Ways in which to fix plasma weaponry so as to avoid killing its users were never found, for soon after the first prototype had been created, kinetic-pulse technology was invented. Using no moving parts, sufficient, albeit weaker damage output than that of a plasma weapon, and firing a pulse composed completely on energy, resulting in a truly unlimited number of shots, kinetic-pulse weapons were obviously the better choice, and plasma weapons for personal use were completely abandoned. Until now.
“Plasma weapons were never adapted for personal use because of the hazards they presented towards their users. They, unfortunately, conveyed the greatest amount of damage for their size, which is essential if they are to be used as an anti-Vulza countermeasure. With the advancements in today’s technology, however, we have managed to reduce the amount of heat discharge to an acceptable level. At least it won’t melt anyone standing within two borts (1 meter). As for the recoil, the strength supplied by the exoskeletal-harness is so immense that it easily holds up to the destructive backlash. We could probably mount a Mark III coilgun turret on the thing and it wouldn’t break. Such strength did, however, come at a cost. The harness is extremely heavy, though still light considering its strength. Any normal soldier who attempted to move in one unassisted wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.”
“To fix that we installed a muscular system comprised of the most advanced electroactive polymers, biomimetically engineered against the creature’s own skeletal muscle system. Such advanced systems are, of course, quite expensive. I advice that only one soldier in each squad be supplied with one. Even so, the advantage such harnesses convey is undeniably necessary. Not only will a soldier equipped with one be able to kill a Vulza from a short range, they will be impervious to kinetic-pulse fire. Coilguns will still be a problem, but that still makes the harness nearly equivalent to a tank. Questions?”
Tul’c finished in a rush, breathing hard in his excitement. Vic knew he should be just as excited, but instead felt a sense of anticlimax. It just seemed to . . . simple. He had actually liked the giant robot idea, although he could see why this was obviously the better choice. Yil, tactless as ever, voiced Vic’s thoughts for him. “That’s it? That’s all we had to do? Just slap a big gun on a big harness and we’ve beaten the Vulza? Why the hell haven’t we done this before now?!”
Tul’c, looking as though he’d smelled something unpleasant, graced Yil with a glance, voice dripping with scorn, “Because. We only just discovered how to make the “big harness” in the past cycle. Remember the whole “Unknown Protein” part about this creatures bones? That means it was previously unknown, as in, we didn’t know it, as in, we couldn’t have created it until just now. That material is the only reason the harness is able to avoid being completely annihilated by the recoil of the plasma rifle. Any of our previous materials would have either been to weak or too heavy,” he finished in a huff. “Now, are there any more questions that do not insult my intelligence?”
“No, Tul’c,” Muulk replied hurriedly, before Yil could ask another. “On behalf of the Dominion, I would like to thank you and your team for your incredible efforts. You are dismissed.” Once Tul’c and his ilk had left the room, only the military personnel and Yil remained. As loath as Vic was to admit it, the Dominion needed Yil, perhaps even more so than Tul’c.
It had only been through Yil’s prodigious efforts that the military had been successful in the cover-up which was the war with the Celzi Alliance. Of course citizens of the Dominion knew there was a war, but as to its true nature, they were oblivious. No reports of devastating defeats reached the public ear. Even the Vulza were a secret, amazingly. No videos of their terrible battle prowess could be seen within the Dominion, except in meetings of the highest secrecy. Vic supposed these new exoskeletal-harnesses, and the soldier they had been derived from for that matter, would remain a secret as well.
Vic thoughts were interrupted by Muulks rumbling voice. “I haven’t dismissed everyone because we have yet to decide what to do with this soldier. He’s wasted upon such minor battles as are fought by the 109th.”
“Really sir, how invaluable is this soldier?” piped up Vic, “Yes, it’s amazing that he was able to kill a Vulza, but he’s only one. How much of a greater difference does he make that one rover with a coilgun couldn’t match?”
“I’ll assume from your question that you haven’t read any of the reports I sent you.” Muulk grunted. Vic winced. He knew he should have, but really, all the papers had just been incident reports. He had assumed they were just more accounts of the creature killing Vulza, or other similarly heroic acts. Incredible, to be sure, but nothing that could single-handedly turn the course of the war. He was soon disillusioned.
“To bring you back up to speed, over the past cycle the soldier has not only managed to kill three more Vulza, but has also been the reason his squad has been placed on the front line for every single battle.”
“What?!” Cried Vic, “That’s a death senten – wait. How have they managed to be put on the front line more than once or twice? No one on the front survives, it’s a meat grinder!”
“Exactly,” Muulk said, grinning at the expression on Vic’s face, “Not only has this soldier successfully led the charge of fourteen battles, he has somehow managed to keep his entire squad alive at the same time. That squad has only lost three of its members since he was enlisted, on a troopship that has such a high mortality rate that entire squads have to be replaced after every battle. This soldier has turned perhaps our worst troopship into one of our most effective. As happy as I am that we no longer have such a substantial drain upon our newly trained personnel, the reason the 109th was assigned to such an inconsequential sector was because every better division was needed somewhere else.”
“We’ll send them some of the new harnesses,” Muulk continued, “Which should be enough for them to deal with what they have over there. Aside from the four Vulza that were, for some unfathomable reason, committed to such a minor front, there aren’t any rovers, turrets, or tanks over there. If these new suits are as powerful as Tul’c says, they should only need three or four. Now that you completely understand how potent this creature is, what should we do with him? He’s wasted on the 109th. Ideas?”
Opening his mouth for the first time since the meeting had started, Ickret, a mere three star general and therefore most junior member at the table, spoke. “I’ve actually been looking into that. It turns out that the squad Human – that’s the soldier’s name – was placed into was already one of the most veteran squads of the 109th. They were considered good enough that a plital was reassigned to their squad when his original was annihilated by a Vulza. Apparently it was reasoned they would be the least affected by not having a full complement of competent members, and it made the paperwork look pretty. Now that they’ve survived more frontline charges than most 109th squads do battles, they’re by far the most skilled on that ship. I think they would survive a reassignment to the 74th.”
“Surely not,” snorted Vic, “I don’t care what kind of experience they’ve gained on the front. The 74th is the only division that we had before the war that isn’t dead now. They’re the only division we can count on giving us victories. The kind of mayhem they’re thrown into on a [weekly] basis would kill anyone from the 109th from the shock alone! There’s a reason we consider the entire 74th to be a special forces division and send only the most gifted recruits as replacements. It’s because they’re expected to go up against everything the enemy has and come out alive. The 109th gets those we don’t flunk out of boot-camp because we’re so desperate for troops. What makes you think they could even last a re (5 seconds) with the 74th?”
“Because they have Human,” retorted Ickret. “He’s managed to kill, on his own, with only a Fusion scythe, the creature that is able to crush turrets, flip tanks, and snap rovers with ease. He’s defeated the very thing that has allowed the Celzi to get this far. If he can face down a Vulza, and that squad is able to follow him as he does, what do you think could stand in their way?”
Vic didn’t really know what to say to that. Muulk made it so he didn’t have to say anything. “Well then, it’s settled. Human and his squad will be transferred to the 74th.” He seemed overjoyed that someone else had done all the legwork for him, probably because he lacked such appendages. “Now that’s settled, we can finish this endless meeting. I’ve a meal I’ve been dying to get to. Dismissed.”
Dear Journal,
I’ve found a new family.
Oh, and I think I might have messed up last time.
I don’t care though, King Arthur is better.
Who the hell is St. George anyway?
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a while Journal, it’s been kind of hectic. I know I know, stop yelling. Well when you think about it in the scheme of things, does it actually matter how long it was? The point we need to be focusing on here is that I’m back and that I missed you terribly. Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know how long it was. It’s ok, I’m back now you can stop crying. That’s better. Are you ready to listen to my story? Yes? That’s a good Journal.
In case you were wondering, I have not resorted to turning my mental Journal into an imaginary friend due to the extended lack of human contact. I’m perfectly healthy in every way. In the six months (sorry Journal) since I had joined the army, that was surprisingly true, especially given the fact that I was perhaps the most popular target on the battle field. Sure, I was usually in a constantly bruised state, but considering what those shots usually did to anyone else whose shield failed, I was looking pretty chipper.
I’d also been given a new name, although Manthlel and the squad still called me Human: “Vulza’trtr”. I think it was something lame like dragon slayer, but for some reason the first few times people said it they always seemed to get a kick out of it. Aliens, what can you say? To my utter disappointment, I hadn’t been allowed to keep any of their bodies of the dragons I’d killed. I could have made some Dragon Scale Armor! I don’t really know how I would have gone about actually making it, but I’m sure I’d have found a way.
I was lying in bed, munching on the seventh tasteless alien dough sphere of my lunch when Manthlel interrupted my “meal”. I looked up as he started to flail his arms about as though fighting off an exuberant Italian salesman. I would have just enjoyed the entertainment 6 months before, but now I recognized the weird “language” the squad and I had concocted so they could communicate with me. It was extremely simple. Really, it was just a slightly more comprehensive version of the gestures used by the military for silent communication on the battle field, although I doubt their version contained so many variations upon the thumbs up.
<Pack up, we’re leaving soon,> gestured Manthlel, which came across as a finger twirl and then an open palm that made it look like he was waiting for a high five. Really, it would have been a very simple gesture if he had only done it with one of his arms, but for some reason that I had not yet been able to comprehend, he gesture-spoke with all four of his arms simultaneously, making even the shortest conveyance an alarming symphony of twirls and thumbs up.
<Battle?> I gesticulated, making my hand into a gun as I shrugged in question.
<No. We don’t have a word for it. Pack up,> he conducted in reply. I sighed. That hand motion, the same someone who’s drowning makes as they reach towards the surface, was perhaps the second most common gesture, next to the thumbs up. It had been worth it though; to create a sign which admitted a deficiency in our cat fight of a language. After several days of frustrated caveman speak, I had finally managed to get the squad to understand what I had wanted that gesture to convey. Now it was in almost every conversation we had off the battlefield.
I don’t think they quite noticed the grasping gesture my hand had been making at the end of my extended arm, because the sign was starting to look dangerously close to the Nazi Salute, although in Manthlel’s case it looked more like he was saluting hydra with twice the vigor of the usual fanatic. I didn’t feel like correcting them, although it would be great if my laziness led to the first formal contact between humans and aliens looking like a neo-nazi convention.
Heh.
Manthlel walked away, giving me no choice but to cram the last alien dough sphere into my mouth, sling my lava scimitar over my back, and follow him.
<Where are we going?> I motioned, hoping to get a better idea of what this not-battle adventure would entail.
<First, a transport shuttle. Then-> He seemed to struggle with his hands <The troopship, but not the troopship.> Great, now Manthlel was trying to use caveman speak to have philosophical discussions with me. I scratched the top of my head, informing him of my confusion. He seemed to have been holding his breath, hoping that I would catch his drift. He deflated. <Just follow. We’ll talk about it later.> I hated that sign; a shrug accompanied by a bewildered twist of the hands. It usually meant another tedious flail battle of confusion was in the future.
Wherever I was going, it involved a transport shuttle rather than a drop shuttle. Perhaps a barracks? Maybe that’s what he had meant by troopship but not a troopship. I guessed I’d figure it out soon enough.
“What are they thinking?!” burst Cresh for the seventh time since the shuttle had started the two ricta (3 week) trek required to take them from what had become one of the safest divisions and into the most dangerous one by far. “We can’t survive in the 74th! Sure, Human’s basically invincible, but we aren’t! We don’t have the kind of training those guys do.”
“Keep your trap shut Cresh,” Growled Trxcl, “If command thinks we can survive up there then we will. They wouldn’t throw away good men. Not with the reserves in the state they are.”
“What if we’re not being transferred to fight?” asked Manthlel into the following silence. After his stunt with the first dragon and his refusal to run away from the following, the squad had become significantly more pleasant towards him. No, they weren’t really willing to be chums with him yet, but at least they didn’t glare at him every time he opened his mouth anymore. “What if the only reason we’re being taken along is because we’re able to issue a semblance of complex commands to Human? What if we’re just being sent as interchangeable translators?”
This utterance plunged the cabin into an even greater silence than before. In fact, very little was said during the entire trip.
Oh. that’s what Manthlel had meant. It was a transfer. After what I guessed was about 3 weeks, our shuttle docked with another troopship. I would have said it was identical, except for an extravagant paint job the previous had lacked, which attempted to make the lumbering troopship look like anything other than a gargantuan beached whale. Really, these things were just massive space blimps. How do you paint something like that to look fierce? A few minutes later when I got a look at the kinds of soldiers inside the ship, I figured they could have done better by painting the faces of the personnel on the hull.
If I had thought the soldiers on the last troopblimp had looked professional, then these soldiers were ninjas. Every one moved with the stalk of a killer, something I had yet to have seen in any alien. No one kept their weapons in the storage bins under their beds either. Everyone was in full combat gear, which seemed to be somewhat expanded from the usual gear that was handed out. Lava knives, swords, scimitars, spears, and even a twinblade – maybe he’d trade – could be seen on nearly half of the crew, and those without carried boring if no less lethal non-lava versions. Ray guns were also in supply. Everyone had an anti-tank ray gun, instead of just three per group, an well as two heavy ray guns, a pistol, a backup personal shield, and a grenade.
It was the grenades that had impressed me. I had assumed them to be your normal run-of-the-mill explosive type, but they had proven to be far worse. Instead, they seemed to let off some kind of mind-numbing emission that, if you were too close, would fry you brains out. Literally. Those grenades seemed to be the only thing that could legitimately hurt me. In fact, they were even more potent against me, although I don’t know why.
I was lucky my first encounter with them hadn’t also been my last. I had seen it coming though, and assumed it to be an explosive, which would have been just as lethal, so I jumped away from it. Even with three good four meter leaps between it and myself, it had given me a stunning headache when it had gone off. Now my squad could actually do something for me instead of it just being a one way street. I’d make sure no one could shoot them, and they’d make sure no grenades got too close to me. Turns out you can actually shoot these grenades and they won’t go off.
We’d barely had a second to stretch our legs after having been stuck on that shuttle for nearly a month before an alien I’d never seen before approached our blue-giraffe leader. Yeah, I technically knew his name, but how on Earth were you supposed to pronounce something that didn’t sound like it had any vowels in it? I just called him Turkey, because that was kind of what his name sounded like and it was easier to remember than “Terksal” or however you would spell it in English.
This new alien seemed to have gotten the short end of the stick when it came to balance, although it seemed to make it work with a thick tail. Apparently someone had thought it was a good idea to give a horse the legs of a kangaroo. I will say, however, that this particular biological configuration led to an extremely entertaining form of locomotion. Instead of walking like a normal being, it jumped like a kangaroo. With four legs it created an entirely different effect. Prancing majestically to our fearless leader, horse-kangaroo said something in a coughing dialect, hacking away until I was sure he or she was going to collapse a lung. Apparently it made sense to Turkey, because he started clicking orders at us.
Turning to me, he motioned <We are preparing for a battle. First, follow this one and do as instructed. Meet us back here at the shuttle.> Giving him the thumbs up, I followed after the horse-kangaroo, resisting the urge to make a “boing” sound in time with its jumps as I followed in its hop-steps. My fabulous guide showed me to a weapons depot similar to the one Manthlel had shown me upon my first day, except this one was significantly larger. It was still recognizable though.
“Oh no, I don’t need a ray gun. Wouldn’t work for me anyway. I’ve got all I need right here,” I explained, gesturing to my combat-harness and lava sword. Horseroo jumped up and down excitedly, gesturing towards my lava scimitar with his or – nope, check that – his snout. Definitely a he. It looked like he took more after a horse than a kangaroo. I glanced to where his snout was pointing. “My lava scimitar? Wait, can you get me any lava weapon I want?” He didn’t answer, or course, but kept jumping up and down. I tried a different approach. I pointed to my lava scimitar, then at the weapons depot, then held up two fingers. Horseroo cavorted gloriously to a console near the depot. Sitting on his hind legs like a kangaroo, except with another pair of legs rather than arms.
He somehow used his ungainly appendages to hit several buttons on the console, bringing it to life. It was much more interesting to watch this time though, since it fabricated my new weapon right in front of me. I watched as the alien 3D printer gave me a new sword in a matter of minutes. As I watched, I began to consider all the wonderful possibilities this machine could provide if I discovered how to use it. That would be for a later time, however. The machine presented me with my new weapon, sheath and all. I would have asked for a twinblade, but those looked like they required skill to use, so I decided it was better to stick to my unskilled hack and slash method.
Newly armed, I was escorted back to the shuttle by my guide with magnificent leaps. The rest of the squad were waiting. They too had been newly outfitted, each armed to the teeth.
<Follow us to the dropship> Turkey gesticulated.
Taking a deep breath, I followed the squad. Here we go again.
Trxcl seemed to be having difficulty summoning his usual determination as he began to give the squad his pre-game rundown. “There’s not much to this battle as far as strategy, or at least any strategy we need to concern ourselves about. Our orders are about as straightforward as they get. Charge the enemy and punch through their lines. That won’t be as easy as it was when we were with the 109th. There will be turrets, entrenchments, rovers, tanks, Vulza, and if the boys up here don’t do their jobs we might be getting a few Darkbats.”
+You’re not wrong+ mused Manthlel, closely examining his new anti-tank pulse-gun. It was times like these he wished it could actually live up to its name. Apparently there had once been a time when anti-tank guns could actually hurt a tank, but if that had ever been true, it must have been during the very first years of vehicular warfare. Now, you might as well hit the tank with your fists as shoot it with an anti-tank gun. Except for a Fusion weapon, no handheld weapon could harm a modern tank, or even one of the lightly-armored rovers, although it could probably put a dent in those. Manthlel didn’t know how they had been used in the past, but these days they were fastest way to shut down someone’s personal shield, as long as you had the stamina to hold the behemoth thing.
Trxcl wasn’t done yet, although Manthlel had almost stopped listening. “Because of all the coilguns and artillery-pulse fire down there, we won’t be able to use our usual charge tactic.” Shame that, it had been such a comfort. When they had realized that Human couldn’t be seriously hurt by heavy-pulse fire, they had let him lead the charge, the rest of the squad following in a single file line, attempting to cower in the wake of pulse free space Human created as they ran the normally fatal distance towards the enemy encampment. It wouldn’t help them now. Manthlel doubted Human could survive the explosion from a coilgun blast. After all, those were only things that had been able to kill a Vulza before Human had showed up.
“Remember your training, and stick together.” Trxcl seemed to want to say more, but in the end decided to leave it at that, pausing a moment to give Human that odd hand gesture before sitting down. The outer bay doors opened, an open maw into space, and began spitting out waves upon waves of dropships towards the small tropical planet below.
The moment our dropship shot out of the launch bay, I could immediately tell this battle was different from the others I had fought in. The scale was just so much more grand. Ours wasn’t the only troopship. 20 other monstrosities poured a steam of dropships to fall to the planet. The Armada accompanying the troopships was larger than I’d ever seen. Before, it had always been our one troopship, supported by two or three cruisers. In this battle, cruisers were the little dogs.
Behemoths I could only assume were battleships launched plasma bolts several times larger than our dropship at each other, which were somehow deflected by powerful shields. Carriers spewed endless ropes of energy from their turrets, attempting to destroy the small fighters that bit at their sides. Weaving in between the mayhem cruisers and destroyers chased each other, firing furious barrages of pulses and explosive projectiles alike, battering each other’s shields or bloodying the flanks of battleships. Even as I watched, an enemy cruiser got too close to a battleship. A port cannon charged and fired a bolt of plasma the size of a 747. It slammed into the cruiser with a terrible force, cracking the hull with the power of its impact, the heat of the plasma cutting the ship completely in two.
With the appearance of the dropships, the enemy fighters refocused their attention, abandoning the troopships and carriers, determined to make sure not one of us reached the ground. That’s when I noticed the addition our dropship had that the others I had been in before had lacked. A turret. Cresh, one of the heavies, was in the gunner seat, and soon our hull reverberated as the whump of heavy weapons fire emanated from a massive turret on our roof.
Cresh, it seemed, had deadly aim in space as well as on the ground. I counted no less than 5 enemy fighters fall to the precision marksmanship of our veteran heavy; an impressive number considering the speed with which the nimble fighters dodged the majority of the death that was flung their way. As impressive as Cresh’s aim had been, it had no effect on the number of enemy fighters who numbered in the hundreds. That’s when our fighters entered the fray.
Our dropship shook violently as explosion that were far too close for comfort detonated outside the window, whether they were fighters or dropships we often couldn’t tell. A stray shot from a battleship flew into the midst of the minnow fight that was the dropship convoy, destroying everything in its wake, leaving a stream of small explosions until it smashed against the hull of a troopship. The troopship was made to take a beating, even on that magnitude, and its shields held.
When our dropship miraculously hit the atmosphere, the roar of the ship entering the stratosphere was drowned out by the chaos around us. While the cruisers and destroyers couldn’t follow us down to the planet, the fighters weren’t about to let a little air stop them. They harried the convoy’s flanks all the way to the surface, only breaking off when the turrets from dropships that had already landed were able to shoot them from the ground.
Our dropship had been towards the end of the convoy, and many had already disembarked upon the battlefield before us. If anything, the chaos of the ground topped that above. It was like nothing I’d ever seen. First of all, there were vehicles. There were a lot of vehicles. Quick nimble hovercrafts toting two massive guns, one on each side, zipped about the battlefield, chasing each other and squadrons of men who were foolish enough to engage one in a formation. Their massive weapons discharging shots a ghastly shade of red which exploded wherever they hit, causing colossal gouts of dirt and earth and anything else that happened to be it way to erupt as though from a geyser.
Tanks, heavy, though still hovering above the ground, roamed around the battlefield, destroying anything in their wake. Bristling with weapons, they launched volley after volley of devastating fire into anything nearby, sending anything without the armor of a dragon into the void. Actually, dragons were included in the mix as well, and there were quite a few of those. Entire clutches (herd? crapload? flock? Metric ton versus imperial?) roamed around the battlefield, killing indiscriminately among the troops, although I guess the majority of the ones they killed were ours.
A particular group I saw were interrupted in their hunting by an equally angry herd of tanks. The ensuing fight was a sight to remember. The lead tank drew a bead upon one of the dragons with its main cannon, announcing it and its brothers presence by engulfing the unfortunate lizard in an explosion of fire and gristle. The drakes immediately disengaged from the soldiers they had been massacring, leaping at the tanks. The herd fired as one, reducing an entire wave of dragons to ash. Then the lines met. Tanks in the front were completely flipped, smashed into each other, the sound of shrieking metal punctuated by the roars of beasts.
The tanks weren’t dying easily. Unloading everything, every tank that died went out in a blaze of glory as every cannon simultaneously fired, engulfing its aggressor in the light from four ray pulses, two death rays (the ones that fire the red lights), and a flamethrower. More often than not, the ferocity of the attack would leave the victorious dragon dazed and bleeding. The tanks gained reinforcements, and the drakes were incinerated unless they ran.
Similar fights had left the battlefield blackened with ash as the burning husks of tanks and dragon remains lit the area with a choking light. Similar battles raged, adding their own luminance with their various firearms, voicing cries of hatred and despair as they locked in mortal combat for this once flourishing land now made barren.
<Follow!> shout-gestured Turkey, and we dived into the fray. We were noticed almost immediately by one of the light Hover-Humvees, which whipped around to face us, raining down the fire of hell upon us from its side mounted cannons. Unfortunately for it, I had seen it as well. I jump-flew. I shot an astounding eight meters! The gravity here was so minimal! I was even more powerful than I’d ever been, and reached the Hover-Humvee before it had been able to loose more than one shot from each of its cannons. It may have been shielded, but unless it had a force field it wasn’t stopping my lava scimitar. Apparently it didn’t have one. The vehicle may have been strong, but the driver was weak, and as both of my scimitars cut through the windshield as though it were butter, into the driver, and out the back of his seat, I could hear the shock and dismay from the enemies within.
Throwing myself at the window, I destroyed it with my lava sword, bursting into the Hover-Humvee’s cabin where two turret operators and an auxiliary manned anti-tank kinetic-pulse turrets on the roof. It was a small space and I was a small guy. We went well together. Too bad I’m not very good at sharing personal space. The hostiles who only moments before had thought to be our executors soon found themselves on the receiving end of their own devices, and were found equally lacking in stamina. Bereft of its driver and crew, the Hover-Humvee slowed to stop, sliding several extra meters to stop in front of Turkey’s stunned face.
“Please tell me you know how to drive one of these things. I don’t want to have to keep you guys alive this entire time.” Turns out, Cresh did. That guy was just chock full of surprises. Only four guys could fit into the Hover-Humvee’s, and we had 17 guys in total including myself. My squad’s personal shields wouldn’t stand a chance to half of the shots flying around. I had to get each of them behind some stronger shields. That meant I had to commandeer more vehicles. Another Hover-Humvee, having noticed my rather less than peaceful takeover of the last one, eagerly offered itself up to become the next on in my fleet, although I guess it didn’t see it that way.
It suffered the same fate as its brother, however, with my scimitars piercing its driver, then moving on to the beings within. A third fell in a similar manner. As my squad piled into the newest addition, I chose my last victim. The fourth Hover-Humvee was a little beaten up, but that described the majority of the vehicles kicking up dust on the battlefield. It would work though, and became the final member of our flotilla. Now our squad could do some damage. Moving in a tight formation, the simultaneous fire from eight death rays annihilated tank shields in a single shot, destroying them on the next. Dragons foolish enough to approach on their own were quickly destroyed, and any infantry who attempted a rush were gunned down by the withering anti-tank ray pulse fire from the turrets mounted above.
I didn’t need a Hover-Humvee. I had two lava scimitars. Giving Manthlel, who was driving the third Humvee, the thumbs up, I charged with my usual battle cry. There was a long way to go.
tiresiasofthebes 