Giving no time for enemy reinforcements, Admiral Jessup orders the assault on the moon to begin. Then he remembers the declaration he was to send when he jumped into the system before the battle began. He shrugs as he thinks, ‘Better late than never,’ then tells comms, “Comms, transmit the declaration of war on all channels.” He didn’t fail to miss her soft chuckle and smile.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” she replies.
Having already been briefed not to attack the installation where Odyssey is located, 200 heavy bombers, 3,154 fighters, and 4,613 fighter/bombers are launched. Once they form up, they begin to head down to the moon with the fighters and fighter/bombers leading the way.
15 minutes later, 6,900 dropships with 213,000 armored infantry aboard along with 200 gunships launch and set a course for the base on the moon.
Ltjg. Davies, the co-pilot for one of the dropships, is dividing his attention between the sensors and their course. No sooner do they enter the atmosphere than even more missiles begin to fill the air followed immediately by kinetics.
“Inbound missiles and kinetics,” he announces loudly, but calmly as he double-checks to confirm that their defenses are active.
The pilot, Lt. Brown, replies, “Roger that,” and begins evasive maneuvers.
He watches the scan display as the Archers, Makos, Warlocks, and Executioners attack the base’s defenses, clearing the way for the dropships.
As the dropships enter the drop zone, the ramp lowers, and the troops stream out, their suit computers stabilizing their fall and guiding them to their landing zone.
“Select targets,” I announce over the platoon link. The alien warriors and their machines seem to glow in the infrared. Amazingly enough, they have no heat discipline. By squads, teams, and then by individual soldiers, the network picks out their individual targets. Whenever possible, we opt to hit the aliens rather than their equipment. Guns don’t kill people, the aliens behind the triggers and swords do. With targets pre-selected, we all drift silently down, merely waiting until we’re a klick out for our parasails to deploy, which is when we can open fire.
At one klick, our remaining nanites deploy to create a parasail, arresting our descent with a stomach-twisting yank and allowing the suit computers to better stabilize us.
“Open fire,” I call out over the link. Our silent descent ends with the ripping sound of rifles on automatic. On the ground, alien warriors unexpectedly have heads and limbs blasted away from their bodies, and their fellow warriors who survive the initial volley have only a few moments to register what just happened before the same fate is visited upon them.
In my case, the network highlighted three aliens standing near what looks to be a communications tower for me to target. The first two went down without even realizing that they were under attack. The third swung its weapon out into the darkness, desperately trying to find a target. Apparently, it thought we were on the ground to its front rather than above. I stroked the trigger again before it had a chance to correct its mistake. In less than ten seconds, every visible alien was down and dead. A few seconds later, we were on the ground with our parasails quickly dissolving.
Floodlights come on and are shot out as soon as they are. We pump rockets into entrenchments and foxholes, decimating the aliens who were sitting in them. Even as the Warlocks circle the base, providing heavy fire support, hundreds of warriors stream out of the buildings, opening fire even as they run to close the distance with us.
I land near the comm tower just as two warriors burst through the door of a building next to it. The moment they see me, they fire in my general direction as they run my way, even as they draw their swords. One I shoot in the leg, and it goes down with a yelp. The other stops firing as it sees its bullets ricochet off of my armor, instead choosing to drop its rifle and draw its sword to strike at me. A single shot to its chest, and it slides to a halt at my feet. Behind it, the other warrior is targeting me, and then suddenly isn’t as an abrupt burp sounds. I glance over my shoulder to see one of my squad behind me, still aiming at the now-dead warrior.
A few moments later, the remainder of my squad joins up. Now comes the real fight as we take off running toward the horde of aliens as we’re darting from cover to cover, stopping to let loose a hail of bullets in their direction every now and then.
Sweating heavily from the combination of exertion and adrenaline, we near the main building. We halt about 50 meters from the door when Cpt. Hansen says over the link, “Ruiz, hold your platoon there. The rest of the company will join up with you shortly, and then we’ll enter the building.”
“Roger that, Sir,” I reply. “Alright people, you heard the captain. Let’s keep these fuckers busy until they arrive.”
No one replies, nor did I expect them to. My people know what to do and how to do it, and they know that I’ll jump all over their asses if there’s a bunch of meaningless babble over the link since it can lead to missing important info.
Sniping at individual warriors or hosing down larger groups of the alien warriors, we make them keep their heads down or risk losing it for nothing. Then artillery begins dropping around us again. God, I love artillery when it’s ours supporting us, but otherwise… Yeah, ‘nuff said. I throw myself down to the ground and do my best to melt into it as rocks and a massive amount of dirt from Goodman’s last position shower me. Looking over, I see her hand, twitching. I begin to move toward her but have to drop back down when more artillery comes whistling in.
After they hit, I look up, only to see a mass of aliens bearing down on us, so I call out, “They’re coming. Up an’ at ‘em.” Emptying the remainder of my magazine at them, I slip in a fresh one and throw several grenades in their direction. When they detonate, I leave the aliens to my platoon and crawl over to Goodman. My suit computer apparently sees something I’ve missed and takes over to yank around my rifle and hose down a squad of aliens that had suddenly popped up. They go down twitching and screaming. One of them pushes another alien off of itself and sits up, so I shoot it in the head.
I kneel beside Goodman, who is still twitching and moaning weakly. Looking her over, I can see that shrapnel had penetrated the side of her armor. The shell must have hit right next to her to be able to do that.
“I need a medic here,” I state over the link as I tag the position on the network. Thankfully, her nanites had stopped the flow of blood, although some still seeped out.
The aliens, realizing their rather precarious position, withdrew back into the building. Their attack had been haphazard, belying the lack of planning, but it was relentless. I have to admit that they are gutsy bitches, and I grudgingly admire the courage they display, even if their tactics tend toward being suicidal.
Our bombers and fighters withdrew, after decimating their anti-air and artillery presence, although the Makos and Warlocks remained to support us.
Just before local dawn, several special forces groups move in to recapture Odyssey, using their particular blend of tactics and insanity to clear out the aliens inside her. 20 minutes later, they announce over the link that Odyssey is clear of aliens and call in the engineers to get her under power.
Immediately after that, General Walter Kleinhaus, the ground forces commander, orders us to take what they are now calling the command center.
Cpt. Hansen leads the way to the buildings as artillery lands around them. Then someone calls out over the link, ‘Here they come.’ The air erupts in gunfire. What passes for grass, chips of concrete, and bullets bounces off of my armor. As I turn to engage a group of aliens, I’m suddenly struck in the chest, the impact knocking me down as the pain erupts and my suit displays a greenish-yellow icon on the HUD indicating minor damage. ‘That’s going to leave a bruise,’ I think. Getting up, I continue to advance to the command center. Then, I spot a group of aliens who suddenly pop up out of nowhere. Hansen doesn’t have a chance to react before they’re all over him, and no one can take the aliens out without also taking the chance of hitting him as well. One of the aliens slices open his armor from the stomach to neck, and he falls to his knees. Another swings their sword and decapitates him.
The amount of fire they receive in response literally turns the five of them into a large, steaming pile of flesh that bears no resemblance to anything even remotely humanoid.
When the company stops to stare, Lt. Garret forcefully states over the link, “Get a move on! We still have a job to do, people!”
It takes us another hour to clear the command center. Every new room or new corridor we secure costs us one or more good men or women. Finally, on the third subfloor, we find the crew of the Odyssey. Placing the ones that could walk in the center of a formation while the others are carried on someone’s back, we send the platoon outside with them. Then, we continue our search for the bodies of the others. We find the bodies of three men and one woman laid out in what seems to be some kind of shrine. ‘Is this some way of honoring them?’ I wonder.
As we gently picking up their bodies, Lt. Garret reports over the link, “Sir, we’ve retrieved the crew of the Odyssey. Requesting pick up at point Delta 4.”
Then we make our way back out of the building. No one has to say a word as we leave. Any aliens we encounter are turned into literal mincemeat whether they are armed or not. We find several dropships waiting for us as we exit the building. Loading up, they take off for our ship.
Leaning back against the bulkhead, I blow out my breath and close my eyes as I hear Gen. Kleinhaus order the remaining forces to withdraw.
After everyone has returned to the fleet, we’re watching the viewscreen when a very large, bright flash whites out the display for a few moments. When the picture returns, a huge mushroom cloud is forming where the base once stood.
Lt. Garret tells us, “Go get cleaned up, and get some rest. We’re done here, but I guarantee you that we’ll be back.”
◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇
Forty minutes later, we make the jump to Earth.
Later, I’m sitting in the enlisted lounge, sipping a beer as I look over the casualty reports.
I’d say that it was a somewhat costly victory. 2 carriers, 1 battleship, 7 battlecruisers, 22 cruisers, 83 destroyers, and 193 frigates were destroyed, and most others were damaged, although I’m sure the nanites are well on their way to repairing them.
1167 enemy ships were destroyed or so heavily damaged that it’s unlikely that they’re salvageable. The estimates place the number of troopships and fighters destroyed at over 25,000 and the number of casualties they sustained between 350,000 to 500,000.
1351 fighters, 1182 fighter/bombers, 152 heavy bombers, 6854 dropships, and 142 gunships returned to the fleet.
Out of the 213,000 armored infantry that landed on the moon, we lost 59,641. Another 4,937 were placed in a medical coma while their nanites heal their extensive injuries. Without our nanites, I can’t imagine what the casualty rate would have been.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s a rather lopsided victory for us.
Lt. Garret comes in, drawing quite a bit of attention, and once he spots me, he walks over and takes a seat.
“How are you doing, Sergeant Ruiz,” he asks.
“Fine, Sir.”
“Good to hear… You know that I’m not one to pussyfoot around. General Kleinhaus wants experienced people to train the new recruits. He’s asked for recommendations, and I recommended you. How do you feel about becoming a drill instructor?”
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