Frontier Planet Ayyers 4
Outskirts of largest city: New Sydney
Current Location: Town of Keylmar
" Raise your hand if you think we could use a Titan ! "
Crouched in a three point stance behind a low, well worn and battered stone wall that ringed the perimeter of one of the neighborhood the residential area, his V-47 Flatline Assault rifle braced over the top of it, and a grimy coating of dust covering him from head to boots, Rifleman Jack Cooper subconsciously wondered which of the nearby militiamen had expressed such wistful thinking. Consciously, though, he tried not to pay any attention.
Even though, however, whoever had said that was right. The men of Sequoia Company, 41st Militia Infantry Battalion, definitely needed some serious backup right about now.
Half a mile downrange, wading through a sprawling field of Durum wheat, came about fresh battalion of IMC regulars,accompanied by a platoon's worth of Spectre combat mechs.. They were advancing with a good tactical spread, moving at a pace that was roughly a jog. Their white uniforms stood out starkly against the amber waves of grain.
All too starkly.
Made it easy to count how many of them there were, and the numbers weren't in Sequoia's favor. The IMC outnumbered them at least 7 to 1, and a third of them seemed to be 'Heavies ': equipped with LMGs, and shield emitters.
They did have a good defensive location, though. Besides the low wall, they were sitting at the top of a hill that had at least a 45 degree slope on it ( Presumable, then, that the wall was there to keep children from tumbling off the edge ) but with the enemy outnumbering them roughly 4 to 1, and with reinforcements unlikely to arrive before the assault began, a tough strongpoint wouldn't save them. Not for long anyway. There were plenty of battles throughout history proving that.
Monte Cassino. Narva Bridgehead. Iwo Jima. Berlin. In all of them, the defenders had held the advantage, but in each case, they were defeated, in spite of how well entrenched they were.
A bead of sweat appeared on Jack's forehead, slowly sliding down.
He resisted the urge to wipe it away. Instead , he adjusted his grip on the V-47's barrel, steadying it again.
They'd been here for the past few hours, fending off probing attacks for the past one and a half, including a high speed windstorm swept clouds of gravel over them. Still, he had to keep it together and focus now. The position Sequoia occupied was at the center of the 41st's right flank, and if the IMC crashed through here, they'd fan out, attack the rest of the flank from the rear, and make the entire position untenable.
Didn't they all sign up for such odds ? Yes, but that didn't make it any less taxing on them.
It seemed that was the mood amongst most of the troops, or at least the ones in Jack's squad. It was all over their faces, on both the experienced and rookies alike, some subtle, others not. At least nobody had claimed they weren't scared. Anybody who had would've been called out as the liar they were.
Everyone, though, was aware of the gravity of their situation and the ramifications of failure.
Besides, if they actually pulled this off, command would have a glorious story about a tiny band of heroes stopping a enemy force multitudes bigger than them, so they could put it up all over the open news channels. Demoralize the IMC, and inspire Militiamen everywhere.
Garbage. You're letting your mind wander. Stop it, Jack.
Clack.
Amid the chaos of battle- the ear pain inducing, nonstop cacophony, with the sharp hammering, clattering noise of bullets being spit downrange ( and more coming right back at them )- the clack of a weapon as it ran dry, were what you focused most on.
He'd been counting the rounds. He knew he was empty, as he watched the action snap open.
Instincts and training took over immediately. Dropping to a knee, and pressing his left shoulder against the wall, he reached to his web gear to retrieve a fresh clip, moving as if on autopilot.
He seized the clip, slammed it home.
Click.
Jack had reloaded 4 times already.
Putting the rifle back over the wall, he pressed the trigger yet again. The V-47's muzzled flashed as it spat out more 5.45mm rounds at the oncoming enemy, now only 400 yards away, their own rifles hammering away.
Heavy cloud cover had rolled in, but even under the shadows, the enemy's low flash gunpowder didn't sparkle so much as it winked. There still seemed to be so many.
Within the past hour, the tide of the battle had ebbed and flowed. Opening fire at nearly the nearly the same moment, the IMC and Militia had fought to their strengths right from the outset: The Milita had stayed hunkered behind the shelter of the wall, staying as low as they could. It offered at least some protection from the increasingly heavy weight of fire( hardest hitting of which were the searing bolts of plasma from the Spectre bots' L-STARs ) that was battering them, as the IMC relentlessly continued to try and gain yards.
And would keep trying. And, at this rate, it seemed they might actually make it there. Sequoia had taken significant losses over the course of the fight, with at least a third of them casualties by now. Most had been stuck by the concussive blasts of the 'heavies's grenade launchers, and more only hadn't been lost by the fact that the company had wisely been spread out along the defenses beforehand.
We need reinforcements. We needed them yesterday. I know the Militia's stretched thin here, but still.
Maybe I was right about that morale boosting story. Ha. Small comfort.
He spaced his shots out. This magazine had to last as long as it could.
" Grenade ! "
The yelled warning from just off to his right caused him to involuntarily flinch. Reflexes again kicked in, though, and he turned that way to find an IMC fragmentation grande than had landed on the dewy grass.
Adrenaline surged, as fight for flight activated. For a nanosecond, he considered trying to grab it, and throw it back, but just as fast decided against it. He dived away-