Treasure Planet: the Procyon Wars

Prologue

"The Procyon Wars, though they had no real official name, were undoubtedly one of the bloodiest and lengthiest conflicts in the history of the Empire. Though spanning for many decades, there were brief periods of peace where each side would slowly recoup their losses, rebuild their armies and then the fighting would begin again only a few years later. It was a battle of attrition, one which neither could get a complete advantage over the other, while hundreds of thousands of soldiers, sailors and civilians lost their lives to the tides of unending battle…"

~excerpt from 'Soldiers and Their Stories'

Imperial Calendar 5.77.312

0641 hours

Karinhaus VI, Imperial Trenchline Station 19

107th Marine Brigade

Current Status: under attack

"BARRAGE INCOMING!"

It was a cry that every marine in the trench had become accustomed to, the whistling of laser balls high overhead as they came smashing down to send a plume of scorched earth high into the air. The burning stench of energy weapons discharging came to the nostrils of every soldier as they rose again, rifles cracking and sending bolts of blue light whizzing out into the haze, searching for the enemy. In response, green blasts licked out at the trenches, kicking up dust and dirt in small fountains. A heavy repeater opened up somewhere further down the line, and small explosions of laser bolts shone in the smoke, accompanied by the cries of wounded and dying. An enemy missile suddenly streaked out of the fog of war, whizzing past the repeater position and smacking into the side of a bunker, vaporizing the building in a blast of plasma. A section of trench was suddenly obliterated by a laser ball, sending plumes of smoke and what little remained of the soldiers who had been there into the air. However, the blast was contained by the diagonal shape of the Imperial lines.

A roar of war-fuelled rage suddenly rang out from the smoke and soup of other chemicals, and a second later the shout of "Infantry charge incoming! Fix bayonets and get ready!" Another battle cry lifted from the ragged Imperial lines, and they leveled their laser rifles against the wall of the trench, ready and waiting for the enemy, blades glistening on the dirty muzzles.

And, sure enough, from out of the smoke, they came. They were dressed for this kind of fight, grey trench coats and black helmets with the horse-mane crest colored white to blend against the normally clear sky. Dirty, grimy, furred and mud-caked faces roared, and thick, stocky rifles fired from hips. This was the ferocity of an infantry charge on a trench, the swarm to overwhelm the defenders and seize the dugouts and bunkers. Numbers and sheer tenacity made up for the lack of armor and the large amount of losses any day.

A wall of blue fire streaked out from the Imperial lines, meeting the Procyon charge with volley after volley of laser fire, cutting down men where they stood, sending them sprawling to the ground. The heavy repeater opened up at the same time several plasma grenades detonated, punching enormous holes in the charge. And yet still they came, shaken by the loss of so many of their fellows but still not deterred, closing with the trenches with frightening speed, a war cry on their lips and fingers pulling triggers.

The Procyons fell on the Imperial line, diving atop of the marines, tossing grenades or firing over and over from the lip. Red jackets were punched with scorching holes, blood of all colors spraying the trench walls and other bodies simply shredded to pieces. But the Imperials weren't done yet. The marines fought back with gun, sword and bare hands, slicing back into the Procyon troopers with a fury and swiftness that quickly overwhelmed the raccoons. Lesser trained and experienced units would have folded under such a ferocious assault, but the 107th closed ranks again, raising their guns to meet the second wave, already charging forward to finish them off. This time, they were accompanied by the lurching hulks of several of their assault walkers, six legged armored machines that fired laser bolts powerful enough to disable a Navy vessel. Bunkers exploded, men and women were torn to shreds, and entrenched armor was boiled away by the violent assault.

"Armored charge! Get your asses up there and counter attack!"

The only way infantry could attack fighting machines and walkers was to close with them and execute the crew or strap explosives on a limb, wheel or tread. But to do that this time, they'd have to kill the Procyon troopers.

The marines hollered their "Ooh-rah!" war-cry, swarming up over the trenches and smashing into the Procyon attack, devolving the fight into a vicious melee with knives, spades, swords and bayonets. Here, in close combat, numbers and willpower won out over weaponry and tactics nine times out of ten, and this was just the case. Stocks and blades slammed and sliced respectively, cutting the raccoons apart before the marines, who finally cleaved through the troopers, resuming their charge on the assault walkers, which were already closing with startling speed. Heavy repeaters opened up from the walkers, cutting down running figures in red jackets and white breeches, black boots covered in mud slipping out from under lifeless corpses and black helmets punctured through, vaporizing the skulls and brains within. But it was to no avail, as the marines finally closed to deal some real damage. Magnetic explosives were tossed onto limbs and chassis, detonating spectacularly and laying several machines low, their crews bailing out or simply erupting into fireballs. Needless to say, those Procyons who tried to run for it were swiftly cut down. Other marines who did not have the ordnance to take the walkers out with one clean throw clambered up the walkers, blasting open the hatches and pouring laser fire into the cockpits. Finally, all the assault walkers ground to a halt, useless wrecks now, nothing more.

A lieutenant stood, waving his sword over his head and yelling "C'mon! Counter attack!" Several whistles blew, sounding the charge. From behind the marines already out, the reserve marines poured out of the trenches, and the blurred shapes of fast moving cavalry surged forth, followed by the slower and less mobile heavy repeaters and field guns hauled by their crews. A squad of gunboats soared overhead and was quickly lost in the smoke, but the explosions of dropped ordnance and the high-pitched whine of Procyon weapons fire rang out, causing flashes in the fog of war.

A young marine ran up to the lieutenant, yelling "We finally going to crack 'em, sir?"

The officer shook his head, huffing as he tried to keep up with the other soldiers. "Who knows? This is the third time the Procyons have struck this week! I swear to Gods, if we don't get –something- out of this I'll smack the first general I see!"

The marine trooper and officer sprinted alongside each other as a wave of crimson finally breached the smoke, their comrades already engaged in the same hell they had visited on the Procyons. This time, however, the Imperials were making greater headway. The enemy general had made a critical mistake, committing too many soldiers to his charge and not leaving enough to defend against a counter-attack. Already, marines were dropping into the trenches, slicing and firing as they cut down raccoons left and right. The Procyon defense was hasty, slap-dash and imperfectly made, causing Imperial soldiers to easily penetrate the line and move through the trenches, trapping enemy squads in trenches and bunkers, cutting them down without remorse. There would be no surrendering or prisoners taken here. In this war, no quarter was ever given, or ever expected.

Several Procyon troopers rushed out of a bunker, only to get cut down by fire from the left, right and even above as the Imperials moved to surround and annihilate them. One made it out of the kill zone, slamming his back against the planking of another trench, breathing heavily and clutching his pulse rifle as he prepared to leap around the corner and return fire. Before he could, however, he felt something intrude his body, slicing deep into his chest. He looked down, suddenly feeling so week as he spotted the knife in his heart, a grimy black-gloved fist gripped around the haft. The fist tensed and the wrist flexed, twisting the knife deeper. The raccoon looked up, blinking blearily as he looked the marine in the face. Or, what would have been the man's face had it not been obscured by a pair of green-lens goggles and a black facemask, robbing that face of any sentient thought or emotion whatsoever. Absently, he noted that the coal-colored helmet on the marine's head was lined with white around the rim and edges, covered in blood and mud but still visible. The emblem of the Empire was also there on that helmet, in just as bad condition.

And then the Procyon died on that knife.

The Royal Imperial Marine Corps of Her Majesty's Empire battled on that trenchline for another four hours before complete line penetration was achieved. A week later and the Procyons would be abandoning that entire stretch of fortification, forced to retreat at least sixty miles to reach the next one and dig in again. The Royal Navy bombarded the Procyons from above as well as did battle with the enemy ships.

But here, in this very moment, the Imperial Marines knew nothing but war.