Bravo Squad - Late
Southern Indar
By Keltiones
"Okay platoon, regroup on the warpgate. Reinforcements have been requested at Tawrich Tech Plant. Repeat, all squads return to the warpgate."
The leader of Alpha Squad broadcasted this message to the entire platoon. I took one final look through my optic at the advancing Vanu tank column and the dust it kicked up – vibrant purple streaks in the red-brown dirt and scrub of Indar, pale kinetic-resistant fields shimmering in the midday sun. Behind the manoeuvrable Lightning tanks came the hulking Magriders, their Supernova cannons trained on our Amp Station's turrets and main battle tanks. The occasional blaze of plasma lit the walls of Zurvan as the Sovereignty pilots took shots from a long distance.
On either side of the road came Harassers and Flashes, loaded with infantry and ready to disembark. Behind these cruised the cumbersome Sunderers, again packed with squads of Vanu infantry, preparing to deploy and set up their link with the warpgate. It was a hopeless situation.
"Looks like there isn't much we can do, Six. We gotta get to the warpgate; we'll miss the Gal drop." Bravo Seven, the other Infiltrator of the squad, tugged lightly at my arm and retreated slightly further back up the ridge we were perched on, behind the cover of a pair of boulders which pressed up against each other – it was an ideal spot to make the jump back, out of sight of both the advancing vehicles and their air support. Sighing slightly, I turned my back on Zurvan Amp Station and made my way quickly to the boulders to find Seven waving goodbye as he was snapped back to the warpgate. I shook my head; that kid took everything too lightly. He had never been reconstructed before, so he was more or less a new recruit in that respect. However, this wasn't simply because he hadn't been on the battlefield for long. He was an incredibly skilled Infiltrator, using his Hailstorm coupled with a knack for tactical cloaking to become a virtual demon behind enemy lines, with me providing cover fire with my SR-7 bolt action rifle. Unfortunately, his remarkable ability led to his attitude of invincibility which had, on a number of recent occasions, almost cost him his life – at least for a time.
Standing up straight and slowing my breathing, I buzzed Command to let them know I was ready for the jump. A small countdown timer lit up at the top of my goggles' display, starting at ten. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, for the jump was never a pleasant experience. It felt as if you were being squeezed through a straw at several hundred kilometres per second; a sensation that you never quite got used to, according to veterans.
The timer hit zero and my viewing screen went blank. I hurtled through the intra-dimensional straw for an age-long second before materialising in Indar's TR Warpgate, short of breath and slightly disoriented. Gathering my senses, I stepped out of the tube which I had arrived in and glanced around. Seven was just ahead of me, Hailstorm hanging by his side, just catching up with a few more units my viewing screen identified as Bravo Eight, Nine and Twelve. Around us were members of our platoon, comrades from Charlie and Delta. Through the doorway to the terminal platform I glimpsed the last of Alpha Squad loading onto a heavily decaled Galaxy transport. As the last boots were on the craft, our platoon commander broadcasted. "Get a move on, platoon. We need infantry on the ground at Tawrich ASAP, so load up and move out."
I didn't bother with a resupply; the only bullet I had used was to take out a stray Light Assault unit who had moved a little too close to our position by Zurvan – a single shot to the head had dealt with him. I made my way directly to the Bravo Galaxy, passing by my squad mates huddled over terminals and weapons, checking and preparing. Climbing up into the main body of the craft, I nodded first to our squad leader and then to our pilot before manning the left wing cannon via a terminal set against the wall. It directly interfaced with my suit, providing a full field of view and a HUD indicating the status of the aircraft as it slowly filled up with Bravo Squad members. As the final squad member climbed aboard, I looked back to see that it was Bravo Seven. "You're late!" I called out to him, smiling as he told me to piss off.
Bravo One broadcasted that we were taking off and that we ought to hang on, partly in reference to a botched take off which had taken place a few months before. We shifted uncomfortably in our seats; while he took it lightly, Bravo Ten had to be reconstructed following the abrupt crash and it was still fresh in most of our minds. With that slightly unnerving thought, the Galaxy lifted off the launch pad and rose up level with the Alpha Galaxy, where we were joined first by Delta then Charlie. Another squad had been charged by their platoon leader with the task of air support for the Galaxy drop. All in all, seven airborne troop transports set off from the warpgate and headed west in the direction of our struggling Tech Plant. It was a magnificent sight to see, all the black and red masses soaring through the air with a common direction and a common purpose.
Our squad was more or less silent on the way to Tawrich. It was always like this before a large-scale assault against troubling odds, especially so when it was a Galaxy drop. There was so much that could go wrong, even the most junior squad members understood that. The flak clouds and swooping aircraft, the missile impacts and deafening drum of high calibre rounds on the transport's hull made for a claustrophobic experience which was only amplified by the distance between the exit hatch and the ground far below. We were infantry, specialised in capturing facilities and eliminating enemy foot squads rather than pilots who were used to the chaos of a dogfight – with the exception, of course, of Bravo Two, our designated Galaxy driver.
Over the course of the journey, I only saw one or two enemy aircraft, and those were far off. I unloaded a few high-calibre rounds at each of them, but it was pointless at that kind of distance. The bullet drop was minimal, but it was enough. Coupled with the speed we were travelling at, it made for a hopeless exercise. At least it gave me something to do.
The voyage was not long. After a few minutes, the flaring anti-air fire and blazing explosions were visible in the distance. A minute or so later, the smaller fighter aircraft came into sight, strafing and dogfighting. After those, armour's presence became apparent, along with Sunderers and Harassers. Finally, as we drew close, we could see individual units and flashes crossing the terrain, most likely soldiers of the New Conglomerate – most of our infantry were holed up inside the Plant itself, forming a defensive perimeter around the core of the facility. I saw Alpha squad's Galaxy slowing down and heard their leader broadcast as we drew level.
"Okay, people – we need boots on the ground to bolster Tawrich. However, before you all get down there, bear in mind that 50 more units isn't going to turn the tide of the battle, especially against all that armour. For that reason, I'm sending Bravo Squad behind the NC's lines to sabotage their squad beacons and Sunderers, at the same time as taking out as much of their supporting force as possible. That means engineers, infiltrators and medics – focus your fire on the classes that provide the backbone to their offensive force."
At this point, he switched to a squad-specific channel, and spoke to us directly. "Bravo, we're going to need all the help we can get – it looks like the whole of the damn rebel force is out there. Your job is to bring their assault as close to a stop as you can – at a minimum, reduce the rate at which they're bringing new troops into the area. Remember: you're on your own once you get out there. All you have are yourselves. Get each other's backs, and you should be alright. Over and out." He gave the order to descend, and our whole platoon followed the Alpha Galaxy down to the dirt. Charlie took a few hits before it touched down, but nothing major. It was up to us from then on.
Bravo One spoke quietly to Two, and we swung south and powered across the landscape at a low altitude, keeping below ridges and out of the enemy's line of sight. Arriving west of the vast bridge which spanned the valley near Tawrich, Bravo Squad landed and unloaded. One and Two briefly discussed whether or not they would need the Galaxy again, and decided that it would be best if they prevented it from falling into enemy hands. Two jumped back into the cockpit and punched a few buttons and flicked a few switches, causing the hulking mass of metal to lurch forward towards the edge of the cliff they stood on top of. He hopped out again as the flying transport plummeted into the waters far below, causing ripples to pass across the lake, fading as they grew further and further away.
Two re-joined the rest of the squad behind a stout ridge at the base of the dusty incline which led to Regent Rock Garrison. I had been sent slightly further up the hill to keep watch as the rest of us discussed the plan.
"It looks like most of their armour has already been deployed; reports from Tawrich are saying that they haven't seen any tanks join the fray for around 30 minutes. This bodes well for us, but at the same time means that we need to hurry up – if the NC's deployed their whole contingent of tanks, Tawrich won't last long…" One was saying as I looked out across the barren, desolate landscape which lay before me. I checked my gun; 4 rounds left in this magazine. I switched out, just in case – you could never be too careful. Something caught my eye as I finished reloading. Some movement, just to the north-east…
I hit my cloak the second I registered what it was. What looked like an entire platoon of rebel soldiers was tramping out from the Garrison. There was no order to their line, no clear leader; just the poorly structured mass, a perfect reflection of their cause as a whole. I pressed myself down behind a small boulder, hoping and praying that the wind would stay calm. Every infiltrator knew that if the wind picked up on Indar, your cloak meant nothing. The dust would reveal you and you would be a dead man.
As the last of them passed onto the bridge and out of my field of view, my cloaking field collapsed with an electronic sigh. I, too, let out a deep breath and returned to the rest of my squad, who were just finishing their discussions. I informed them of the infantry movement I had witnessed, but One didn't appear to be concerned. He simply commented that the more troops the NC had on the front line, the fewer there would be for us to fight.
Our tiny unit advanced up the hill to the bridge's entrance. Bravo Eight and Nine deployed a few anti-tank mines to buy us some more time if worse came to worst before we set off across the vast metallic structure.
Dodging in and out between the huge supports, our squad progressed swiftly to the plateau of rock which protruded from the floor halfway across the overpass. One called a halt and sent Seven forward to scout the area, with me hanging slightly behind as support. Creeping carefully across the open terrain, we spotted a Sunderer sitting idly with an engineer making a few repairs beside it. Seven pinged me with a brief text message: This one is mine.
The sun fell sleepily behind the distant ridges of Auraxis, casting deep purple shadows across the ground as my comrade activated his cloaking device and sauntered toward the unfortunate engineer. His outline showed up slightly crimson in my HUD, but he would be completely invisible to the enemies around him until he exposed himself for the kill. He dropped into a crouch just behind his quarry and raised his Hailstorm. Absently, a thought nagged at me; I hadn't yet deployed a motion sensor. Best to keep those for later, when there were more of our foes around to deal with.
The distinctive electronic sigh of a Terran cloak dropping melded gracefully with the hissing emitted from Seven's silenced Hailstorm. The engineer was down in a flash, and my squad mate began to retreat when a second, slightly differing electronic sigh was heard from behind the building to my right – a rebel cloaker. A scout rifle snapped once, twice, three times, and Seven fell to the floor with holes smashed in his chest and skull. I swore and dodged round the back of the building to meet the cobalt-clad infiltrator snapping a new magazine into his gun. I rapidly brought my own sniper to bear and put a hole in his head from point blank range, mercilessly landing my chainblade in his throat to finish the job. I tossed the body over the edge of the cliff and replaced my knife, shaking slightly from the sudden burst of nanite-aided adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
Remembering my fallen companion, I fired a motion detector at the Sunderer before running to his side. I opened a channel to my squad and requested urgent medical attention for Seven after confirming an all clear; both medics came running with their reconstruction devices and began pumping his body full of chemicals and electronics which would get him back up on his feet, theoretically. The effect in reality was an excruciatingly painful, indescribably disconcerting experience which took minutes to recover from without appropriate experience – a certain kind of knowledge that couldn't be gained without that level of torture. Seven, having never been reconstructed before, reacted just as I had many months ago when I was first reconstructed. Sitting bolt upright and gasping for breath, he desperately tried to suppress a scream of pain as the nanites finished their work on his vital organs and skeletal structure. Then he passed out.
When he regained consciousness, our heavy assault units had dealt with the Sunderer without issue and we had taken up position overlooking the valley in which our comrades were fighting for their lives. Explosions lit the dusky landscape along with bullet paths and vehicle lights. We planned to descend the slope and make our way to Tawrich Recycling before pushing south to Red Ridge Communications.
Our light assault units (Bravo Ten through Twelve) were the first to descend, only using their jetpacks to minimalize the impact of a freefall on Bravo One's command. They slipped and struggled down the steep, unforgiving incline, clinging carefully to the rock face so as not to trip on the ever-shifting shale which covered the pillar of red stone. When they reached the base of the natural tower, Ten indicated that it was safe for the rest of the team to descend, and one by one we edged down the treacherous slope.
Starting our journey across the base of the valley towards Tawrich Tech Plant's rebirthing station (or "spawn room", as soldiers had taken to calling it), we noticed that we were not alone down there. Indeed, the troops I had spotted earlier on the bridge seemed to have preceded us on this route, and were looking to flank our defending forces, trapping them against the advancing column of NC armour. We all immediately started tagging them, hoping that someone in the base might notice and redirect infantry accordingly, but the near full-strength platoon continued its advance. Seeing this, One immediately took action. "Two, Three, get turrets down ASAP. All troops, fire on my command. If we make enough noise, maybe we'll get some support from our comrades in Tawrich."
We all found some semblance of cover on the valley floor behind trees and rocks. Once we had accomplished this, One gave the command. The deafening clap of volley fire is always fantastic, especially when coupled with the sight of a scattering enemy – the hostile platoon was caught without cover and completely unaware of what was going on. In the usual NC style, they struggled without a coherent battle plan and found that their sheer strength in numbers was insufficient to combat the highly disciplined men of the Terran Republic. My SR-7 cracked; one, two, three, four, each bullet finding its mark in the body of a rebel soldier. I replaced my clip and fired again, this time with five bullets impacting against combat armour and flesh. A few light assault units had made it into the air, only to be eliminated by anti-air fire from inside the base; whoever was on the cannon must have been a deadeye. What that meant, however, was that we had succeeded in attracting the attention of at least one soldier within the base. With that thought in mind, we pushed all the harder against the ever-thinning blue mass of units. Their medics, of course, had been the first to fall, followed by their engineers and infiltrators, as per our platoon leader's orders.
Another magazine later, they were scattered, with two or three heavy assault units escaping into Tawrich only to be mowed down by the defending force. We hadn't lost a single unit that time, the element of surprise giving us all the advantage we had needed. Bravo Seven, however, appeared to be struggling; the effect of reconstruction was still taking its toll on his body and mind. He hadn't fired a single round in the last skirmish, instead taking cover behind a small ridge and pressing himself down into the floor. I remarked upon this to One, who decided to give my fellow infiltrator a choice – he could continue the mission, or jump back to the warpgate and store himself in a cryogenic chamber until we returned. It wasn't much of a choice; Seven naturally chose to continue the mission, and so we trekked on along the edge of the Tech Plant through a series of naturally formed stone arches and tunnels, eventually emerging behind the main bulk of the fighting where most of the enemy's Sunderers and Spawn Beacons had been placed on a plateau about 30 meters above the road, and level with the steep hill which led to Red Ridge Communications. We set about destroying the mobile beacons, extinguishing the azure flares one by one. We would all duck each time we heard aircraft overhead; a single strafing run from a skilled pilot could be the end of us. Bravo Seven, now (at least temporarily) recovered, located a group of infiltrators sitting on a different section of the plateau picking off our defending units, and eliminated them. It was that kind of effortless ability which we so prized in him; I hoped that his reconstruction wouldn't change that.
Up to that point, we had made every effort to remain undetected, but One concluded that, having removed the bulk of the NC's sniper support, we ought to let them know that we had them surrounded, so that the assault on the Tech Plant would at least slow as a result of their distracted forces.
Two and Three set up their turrets and Eight and Nine hefted their large anti-vehicle launchers. Four crouched behind a nearby boulder with his medical applicator at the ready while myself, One and Five travelled briskly down the face of the plateau and across the track to take up position on the other side. Our squad leader produced his own ML-7 launcher and the medic who travelled with us mimicked his comrade's action, hiding behind a boulder nearby. One ordered our light assault units and Seven to draw infantry and, if possible, armour out into the open so our squad had a clear shot of them.
"Affirmative, sir!" came the simultaneous response from all four soldiers, and they each made their separate ways off towards the New Conglomerate front line.
A few minutes passed with no radio contact. Our engineers shifted anxiously behind their anti-personnel turrets while the heavy assaults rolled their shoulders under the weight of their launchers. The medics remained still, prepared to put their compatriots through whatever torture necessary to keep them in the battle. Personally, I remained as still as I could, SR-7 rifle resting on my knee, every muscle tensed and ready to spring into action at a moments' notice.
Ping.
Bravo Ten came rocketing into the pass, diving for cover as a tank shell hurtled past and decimated a section of road just behind him. A Lightning came roaring down the track, bearing down on our light assault unit. Just before it reached him, three dumbfire rockets impacted with the hull and annihilated it, kinetic barriers and all. No sooner had that happened when Twelve contacted us.
Ping.
She was leading a small contingent of rebel infantry towards our kill zone, bullets whizzing past all the while. Ten had boosted up to the plateau and was already firing along with the turrets and light machine guns. I emptied my clip into the oncoming group, replaced it and emptied it again.
Ping.
Eleven fell out of the sky, hitting the ground with enough force to shatter his shields. He scarcely regained his feet before he was flattened again by NC munitions. Twelve cried out and ran to drag Eleven out of the fighting, but was blown away by a high explosive shell fired from the barrel of a Vanguard tank. Her ruined body landed some meters away, sparks flying from her forcibly deactivated jetpack. I glanced at the corpse but forced myself to shut it out in a moment, firing one, two, three, four, five rounds at the nearing foe. As I attempted to reload I dropped the clip and had to fumble around for it in the dust and dirt as rounds thumped into the rock all around me. Our engineers' turrets were overheating and they had to abandon them, firing down on the enemy with carbines and submachine guns before they were picked off by enemy snipers. Our heavy assaults were faring better, though they had exhausted the ammunition on their launchers; the hollow hulls of three tanks lay in the valley below us. The medic on the plateau began to revive one of the engineers when I spotted a blue figure materialize behind him – an NC cloaker. Swinging my smoking SR-7 around, I tapped the trigger and sent a bullet tearing into his lightly protected helmet. It shattered through the viewing screen and made a mess of the man inside, but I had no time to contemplate that. I pulled back the bolt on my rifle and brought it to bear once again, this time aiming for the blazing cacophony of advancing adversaries.
By the time I registered the red dot bouncing around on my HUD, it was almost too late. I began to dive away from the tiny metal cylinder when it exploded with a blinding light and a deafening sound.
I staggered for a moment, utterly blinded, before tripping on something and falling to the ground, rolling for a second or so. The ringing in my ears prevented me from hearing any of the desperate cries from my comrades. I couldn't feel anything anymore; I had just gone numb. Or perhaps I wasn't moving… I simply couldn't tell. I hit my cloak in my senseless panic and lay still until my vision started to return. As soon as it did, I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled up hill, away from the silent battle below me. I was still deaf when a stray bullet slammed into the small of my back, throwing me to the ground once again. I dragged myself behind a nearby boulder as my cloak field collapsed. I noticed in a brief, absurd moment of relief and joy that I heard the familiar electronic sigh, but immediately reprimanded myself for allowing emotion to take hold in a combat situation. I rolled over and looked down at the battlefield on the valley floor.
All of my comrades on the plateau had been killed. Large bullet holes criss-crossing its surface indicated that a number of strafing runs had been the end of them. The considerable remainder of the rebel force was making its way up the hill towards my squad leader who was holding a chaingun in one hand and his medic in the other, retreating across open ground while firing in the general direction of the NC infantry. I was astonished that he was still alive; while his command abilities might be called into question after this mission – if we even made it out in enough pieces to be reborn – his prowess in battle and sheer courage certainly would not. The shimmer of a resist shield surrounded him as he was lit from all sides by an oncoming storm of bullets. I raised my own rifle and started taking shots. I took down five enemies with five bullets and reached down to attach a new magazine, discovering that it was my last. With the last few shots, I had attracted the attention of about half of the thinning rebel force. I swiftly counted, robotically cocking my rifle all the while… five. A round for each one. They ran towards me, quickly closing the gap between us. One of them fell in tandem with the shell I emptied from the chamber. A second fell, then a third. They were growing close – I could no longer look down my sight at them. I fired a fourth round from the hip, miraculously eliminating another of the NC soldiers. One remained. He began to raise his shotgun to his shoulder as I released the bolt and swung the rifle up at him. I pulled the trigger.
Click.
It was my final magazine. The one I had removed earlier on that day, the single bullet which had found its mark in the head of a Vanu light assault unit now absent from my rifle. The single metal slug which had served me before now failed me in my most desperate moment. My hand darted to my sidearm half a second too late.
The buckshot impacted what felt like every point on my body. I was forced to the floor, pain bursting from every hole in my suit like napalm – inextinguishable, excruciating pain, the likes of which cannot be described, nor should be. I rolled about helplessly as my masked adversary pumped his weapon, the shell landing on the dirt beside me. I looked up at his unforgiving mask, the merciless scars and scratches showing a veteran of the war which had lasted a lifetime – or many, for people like him, who had doubtlessly been reborn a hundred times over. I looked down the barrel of the instrument of my destruction bleakly. In a moment, it would be over. I wondered if they would even be able to identify me. I saw his trigger finger twitch…
Ping.
Seven dropped his cloak and unloaded a full clip into the side of the man who loomed above me. His chainblade flashed and the faceless blue hulk fell, his life cut off.
The infiltrator dropped to one knee beside me. "I've gotcha, pal. Don't worry, it's all over. Stay with me for a little while; we'll get a medic up here and fix you up. Take it from me, you sure as hell don't wanna get reconstructed by one o' their nanite guns in the field…"
I smiled behind my cracked mask at his attempts to keep me conscious. That wasn't going to happen. We had failed. It would be another 20 minutes before command snapped me back to the rebirthing chambers at the Warpgate. I wouldn't last that long. Seven was still talking. "We did it, Six. We got enough of them to come after us that our buddies in Tawrich can push back now. One's just down the hill with an empty clip and a sore arm – you should have seen him! He took down half of those dead rebels himself…"
I smiled still, eyes closing. The reconstruction hadn't changed Seven at all. Before I slipped away, I managed to get a single text ping to my comrade. I hoped it would put him at ease. Simply, it read "Late".