Raider: Ballad of a Resistance Fighter
Here's the second chapter of this odd-little brain fart of mine. It goes deeper into the Invasion and gives a bit of a glimpse of what the refugees must endure against the Tyrum and their occupation of the Earth. Again, there are references "hidden" within and internet cookies for those who get them.
But before we begin, the mandated inclusion to any fanfiction work.
Disclaimer: The basic intellectual properties that inspired this story are not own by the author. Stellaris is owned by Johan Andersson and Paradox Interactive, while the setting of Stellaris Invicta is inspired by the let's play webseries of the same name by the Templin Institute YouTube channel. Please support the respective official release of each property however possible.
Sortie 2: Counter
It was another dark night, another boring night, and another overwatch mission to ensure that the underground railroad of refugees was secure against detection by the alien invaders. The overall operation was simple and straightforward; escort parties of refuges from waystation to waystation until they're well within the liberated territories. Every human alive equated to another possible recruit, another small victory against the enemy. Those on overwatch were assigned to not only protect the waystation from alien scouts, but to also act as early warning detection so that the refugees would have time to evacuate to another location. It was ill-advised for the refugees to move counter to the schedule, to move in between patrol shifts of the alien fighting machines, but circumstances forced one's hands to do the ill-advised.
However, Marcstryder's shift was over. He would rotate with another to keep watch as he returned with a small cadre of soldiers to rest in the waystation. They reached deep into the forgotten underground of the ruins, of what used to be a municipal utilities station if the number of pipes and infrastructure were any indication. To those unfamiliar with the location, it was a labyrinth of corridors and access ways, ideal to hide and protect the waystation from direct observation. It helped keep the idea that the area was abandoned and vacant.
Soon enough, the cadre of soldiers reached a door at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Marcstryder knocked on the metal door with the butt of his tactical torch. "Marcstryder. EN-384."
"Right. Let 'em in." One of the sentries spoke as the muzzle of a gun was pulled away from the improvised peephole and the cadre of soldiers was allowed entry. However, there was one final check as Marcstryder and the soldiers walked past a pair of dogs that guarded the entrance of the waystation. As the dogs made no noise other than a selfish whimper, they were cleared.
Though the momentum of the Invasion had slowed since the largest of the alien warships was disabled, they grew more innovative with each passing day when it came to the apparent extermination if not domestication of the human race. Recently they used a new weapon of war many have called "Infiltrators" that were effectively human puppets, one of the more visual atrocities the aliens have committed upon humanity. They appeared and acted like humans, since they were once human, but there were some subtle differences that made them easy to counter. For one, Infiltrators had limited dexterity when it came to hand gestures. It was one reason why High Command implemented the hand signal on a wide scale to prove that those who used the gesture were human. Another was that whatever processes were used to create and operate the Infiltrators easily agitated animals, most noticeably cats and dogs. Canines were ideal to immediately attack Infiltrators while felines were easier to carry. Still, the hand gesture stuck because it was only a matter of time until the aliens would have found a counter for the animals as well, or so many had feared. So far there was no such progress but few wished to affirm such paranoia.
Marcstryder went to the waystation desk and signed his name in the list to record the time of entry. Just past the desk was he met with the fullness of the refugee tragedy. Nearly every nook and cranny was occupied to bursting with poor souls who only owned the rags upon their backs, their eyes either widened in fear or sullen in fatigue, their minds ever thoughtful on how to survive long enough to see the next day. There were a steady stream of refugees that fled the occupied territories and towards the liberated territories, those that were brave enough or desperate enough to escape from their holes in the ground, bunkers and shelters, and live lives better than the mere rats that they had to hunt to survive. Illness and plague was rampant among the refugees whose bodies were too poor to properly fight against without assistance, without the aid and mercy of others. There was little to do than to reminisce of better days, to morn those that were lost, and wait for hope.
Marcstryder playfully readied his weapon towards a child who had made herself a toy gun from salvaged scraps, there were too few children who could even remember the concept of fun ever since the Invasion. Too many were scared to even try.
Soon enough, amidst the misfortunes of the refugees, Marcstryder found himself a spot to sit against and rest. With a sigh, he closed his eyes as fatigue finally caught up to him.
"INFILTRATOR!" Marcstryder awoke to the commotion of yells and dog barks, and almost by instinct he readied his weapon. He knew that the waystation was compromised before gunfire echoed throughout the sanctuary and refugees fled deeper within to escape the wrath of the human puppet. The sentry team and their dogs were wiped out from flashes of alien fire before the infiltrator aimed its weapon towards the refugees that did not react fast enough. All that remained of them were flash steamed chunks of viscera and hamburger.
Soldiers such as Marcstryder attempted to counter the actions of the infiltrator, but the aliens have dulled the infiltrator's sense of pain against such primitive ballistic weaponry. The bullet wounds may slow it, but it did not stop the unwilling agent of the invaders. A nearby explosion from the alien weapon fire knocked Marcstryder to the ground, he laid helpless as the infiltrator slowly approached him, the terrible weapon at the ready.
Only for a grenade shell to rip open the backside of the infiltrator. The enslaved human host was now free of its torment as the husk fell to the ground to reveal to Marcstryder one Vasyli Fox with a grenade launcher. "Safe. Da?"
Marcstryder picked himself up from the ground with a growl. "A grenade launcher in this confined of a space, you mad Ivan?! The blastwave could have killed us both!"
Fox simply shrugged. "Worked. Nyet?"
Marcstryder sighed before he spoke once more. "So what took you so long this time?"
"Refugee escort." Fox answered. "Needed piss."
Marcstryder groaned as his face met with the palm of his hand. "Of course you'd take a bathroom break on an escort mission through enemy territory… What else can Murphy throw at me?"
"Tak? What seychas?"
"Jerry Protocol, of course." Marcstryder answered. "Predictable bastards aren't they?"
This was not the first waystation to be compromised, nor was it the last. However, this became an advantage as High Command learned of a habit the invaders would do; whenever an Infiltrator had uncovered a waystation, it would send an alert to the aliens to send a strike force to the location of the waystation and lay siege. This made possible a predictable point of impact for artillery bombardment from long range as shells, rockets, and warheads fell upon the now surprised invaders and their war machines until all that was left was slag. Of course, the waystation was destroyed and the refugees must be evacuated beforehand, but the underground railroad was designed to be as modular to alter the route to another location without the collapse of the network itself.
It was a useful enough tactic, since it took out a good portion of the invaders war making resources, but how long could it last?
And we have another glimpse of the world that arguably birth the GTU into the galactic terror that it is today. Not too detailed, but just enough to tickle the imagination of the desperation and destitution of the world at the time, I think. Could be wrong though.
And I hear those of you who question of why the Tyrum would fall for such a tactic again and again as suggested in the story. That they're a hive mind and that they would have been smarter than that. Well I say that the Tyrum aren't the most imaginative of species since a good chunk of their technology was stolen from other species, it's a pretty sure bet that they don't know much about tactics. Heck, the Tyrum Hive mind would have written off such losses as acceptable. Perhaps even not worth the expenditure of reinforcements on a tiny, but stubborn planet as Earth.
Well, that's my argument anyway. Pretty sure either Marc or Larissa would say otherwise.
And of course flames and brutally honest reviews are not a requirement. This isn't tumblr after all and I'm self-aware enough of my literary skills to not be reminded of them every single second of the day.