June 6, 1982:
Steven Peterman could not see the alien ships from his current position, but he knew that they were there. Hundreds of ships had arrived in orbit twenty hours ago, and they had yet to respond to the communications that every major country in the world was sending in their direction.
Maybe they don't understand our language, He thought. Peterman knew that human languages were complicated enough without adding extraterrestrials into it. He had read enough science fiction magazines to know that communication would be extremely difficult. Even at forty years ago, he found them to be fascinating.
"Wonder what they're up to..." Robert Frank wondered. He was the senior of the two operators. "I can't stand this waiting."
"That's what we're here for," Peterman shrugged. If they received the orders, the two of them had the authority to launch the United States' intercontinental ballistic missiles. Most were aimed at the Soviet Union, with a few pointing in China's direction just in case. "You'd think they'd send some form of communication, even if we didn't understand it."
I have a bad feeling about this, Peterman thought. There were hundreds of ships and Peterman had trouble believing that they had crossed light years just for peaceful exploration. He tried to stay calm, but for him, this was like a nightmare. What chance did they really have against a foe that could travel through the stars?
Their ICBMs could strike targets in space, but it wasn't what they were really designed for. Peterman wondered just how many of the Minuteman missiles would get through. There had been talk of a satellite defense system, as the most efficient way to intercept such deadly weapons was from space. Until now, though, nobody did much except talk about it.
He pushed himself to his feet, stretching and trying to find something to calm his nerves. "Never thought I'd actually be wishing for the good old days of the Cold War," Peterman muttered to himself.
"Yes, it does seem a bit silly now to worry about the Soviets when there are greater threats out there." Frank responded, although Peterman had not intended to say that out loud. "We'll just have to wait for orders. I'm going to get some coffee; do you want any?"
"No, thank you." Peterman sipped from his tea cup. Although an American citizen, he had spent much of his childhood in Britain and some of their habits had rubbed off on him. "Five hundred ships... probably carrying millions of their people." Aliens or not, he didn't like the idea of murdering so many, but if that's what it took to keep his country safe, he'd press the button.
That was assuming they could do that. The United States had 1,049 ICBMs ready for launch; the Soviet Union had even more. How many would actually get through their defenses, though? Not very many; is this what the natives felt like when we arrived? Peterman thought. The analogy was not an especially encouraging one.
"We've got blackouts all over the country." Frank informed his co-worker when he returned with his coffee. "I heard some of the senior technicians talking about it."
"Are these aliens actually able to shut down our electrical grid?" Peterman gulped. If they removed their power supply...
"No, we've shut them down; concerns over EMP." Frank explained.
"Well, that's... a little better." The silos and most military facilities were shielded against electromagnetic pulses, but most civilian electronics weren't. No one was really sure just how devastating the waves would be if the missiles had to be launched, but Peterman didn't want to find out the hard way.
At least I left my final message, Peterman had called his family in Los Angeles. He had been divorced for ten years and not on amicable terms, but he wanted to wish his wife safety anyway; like her, he was terrified at what could happen to their three children.
They sat there in silence for an hour longer until the alarm began to sound. "Attention: we are at DEFCON 1!" The loudspeaker proclaimed. "I repeat: we are at DEFCON 1."
"Looks like they're hostile," Frank sighed. DEFCON 1 meant that nuclear war was imminent.
XXXXXXXXXX
June 7, 1982:
"Exalted Fleetlord, two days have passed since our arrival." Kirel informed his superior.
"How much have we found?" Atvar asked. The more success they had, the better. The problem was with so little time to do anything, none of them could be certain that they would disable the Tosevite's ability to resist. "If only we could have taken them by surprise..."
"No one could have anticipated such a rapid technological advance, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel reassured.
"Have those Big Uglies surrendered to us yet?" Straha asked, eager to begin the invasion. "If they haven't, I would suggest a few explosive-metal bombs to persuade them."
"Have you forgotten they possess such weapons of their own, Shiplord?" Atvar snapped at him, hissing with frustration. In order to successfully conquer Tosev 3, he had rebalanced his forces. The original plan was to have his forces evenly distributed throughout the planet, but instead, he was going to wait to conquer the less advanced regions. The major powers of Tosev 3 had to be defeated first.
"What do you make of their messages proclaiming peace... Exalted Fleetlord?" Straha asked.
Atvar wished he knew. It was strange for him. The Tosevites were clearly ready to fight; every power throughout the world kept as many of their killercraft in the air as was feasible. Fortunately, it looked like they could not follow Race pilots into orbit, so they had a major advantage there. On the translated communications, researchers surmised that many Tosevite males (but not females, for some reason) were being mobilized into their armed forces.
"Perhaps they wish to open a dialogue, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel suggested.
"Or perhaps they're weaker than we previously believed." Straha opened his mouth in amusement. "If they were in such a superior position, the Big Uglies would already have opened fire on us. The fact they have not suggests they know that we can defeat them."
What to do, what to do... Atvar thought, reconsidering his plans. If he was going to invade, he knew it had to be soon. Every moment the Conquest Fleet delayed gave the Tosevites more time to prepare. If he waited too long, they would be able to overwhelm his males with sheer numbers alone. The estimated population was approximately 4.5 billion, close to half their own population on Home.
"Prepare thirty-five explosive metal bombs," Atvar ordered. "Place them in the planet's orbit and detonate them. It won't matter how advanced they are if their electronics are in ruins."
"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel made the posture of respect and went to send the Fleetlord's orders. As they had detected hundreds of nuclear power plants across the surface, Atvar knew that they likely had some concept of electromagnetic shielding. Any part of their industry they could shut down, though, would work to their advantage.
"In addition, we need to clear the skies of their killercraft before we begin landing troops." Atvar added. "I do not want our males to be ambushed before even climbing out of their starships."
"That should be simple enough, Exalted Fleetlord." Straha made the affirmative hand gesture. "Their killercraft is inferior to ours in both number and quality, and I am quite confident that our pilots have superior training. We are the Race, after all, and the Big Uglies are nothing but savages." Atvar hoped Straha was right about that.
XXXXXXXXXX
Rafael Montes saw a large explosion in the distant sky. Even at the age of fourteen, he knew that could be nothing other than a nuclear weapon. He shivered in fear and wanted to hide, but knew that there was nowhere to go. The building was unlikely to give them much protection. Not long after, the lights had flickered and gone out.
The boy was no stranger to violence and had gotten adept at avoiding the dangerous individuals in East L.A., but even he had been terrified of the riots that had wrecked the city over the past few weeks. Even after the official announcement, some people had expressed doubt that aliens were really about to invade. Others believed everyone was dead regardless and decided to cause some chaos before the end.
"Did you see that?" Rafael ran out and told his parents. "I saw a massive explosion." Much of his sweat, hot as the day was, had little to do with the weather.
"Damn TV isn't working anymore," His father Edwardo cursed, throwing the remote aside. "What did you see out there, son?" Edwardo was thirty-seven years old and powerfully built, as he had done hard physical labor for most of his life. Dangerous as the streets were, Rafael always felt safe walking alongside him.
"I... I saw a big explosion in the window." Rafael explained. "It was from high up, and I think... I think it was from a nuke!"
"Should we get out of the city?" His mother Evelyn worried. Unlike his father, his mother was white and two years younger than Edwardo. "The city's a certain target."
"No, there's nowhere to go." Edwardo shook his head. "Right now, it'd be more dangerous to flee than to stay put. Just wish I knew what the hell is happening out there." Around his neck, there was a cross, which he grasped nervously, saying silent prayers.
I hope Nena and Bianca will be ok, Rafael thought of his ten year old twin sisters. Even though everything was going to hell around them, somehow they had managed to keep up a cheery outlook. Both of them were taking a nap, and fortunately missed the nuclear weapon exploding.
He went to the refrigerator and poured himself some juice, feeling powerless to do anything. Rafael knew he couldn't fight, he couldn't run, and he couldn't hide. All he could do right now was wait; it was completely out of his hands.
"We'll be ok, I promise." His mother smiled, hugging him tightly. Rafael had the feeling she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "We're safe in here."
"I really wish I hadn't seen that..." Rafael shuddered, drinking his apple juice. Even though he knew it was unbecoming of a boy his age, tears threatened to slip out of his eyes. He was terrified of what could happen to him. He knew what nuclear war meant, and now with the aliens arriving, it was difficult to keep his composure.
"Just wish I knew what the fu... heck was going on," Edwardo muttered, cutting his curse short at the last second. His mother was always furious when he cussed in front of their children, despite the fact that even Rafael's younger sister had heard all the words before. It was so absurd that Rafael laughed a bit despite himself.
"Thanks, Mom." Rafael forced a smile for her sake and gently pushed himself out of her grip. He knew he was too old to be comforted like that anyway; he wasn't a little kid anymore. I feel like one now, though. Rafael admitted to himself. He wanted to hide in his mother's arms once again and pretend that what was happening could not be happening.
His parents were just as frightened as he was, even though they were doing their best to hide it. Edwardo opened the door to their second bedroom to check on Nena and Bianca, as if fearing that they would suddenly disappear. "Still asleep; they haven't noticed anything." Edwardo sighed with relief. "We're about as prepared as we can be." That wasn't saying very much, though.
"Would you like some more juice, sweetie?" Evelyn asked, to which Rafael shook his head. He wanted to say something, but no sound emerged from his lips.
The electricity was down meaning that he couldn't watch his favorite television programs and it was too dark in the house to read, even inside his room. For the moment, there was nothing to do but wait and worry.
June 7, 1982:
Wuppah was the fifth to fly his killercraft out of the starship. He kept one of his eye turrets on his instruments at all time. No Tosevite aircraft had yet been detected, but that didn't mean they weren't out there.
"Looks like we may have taken them by surprise after all." Nesser declared. "Not one big Ugly aircraft in sight right now!"
"Kind of a shame; I was looking forward to a bit of action." Atvar agreed. Atvar was a fairly common name among the Race, but even so, his fellow pilots occasionally poked fun at him for having the same name as the fleetlord.
"Don't forget your duty; we need to clear the area so our starships can land." Hefron reminded. "Remember: their killercraft may be inferior to our own, but they're more than capable of killing you if you give them the opportunity. Always be alert." Many skirmishes had already taken place throughout the northern hemisphere. Fortunately for them, many enemy killercraft were caught on the ground before they could be used in all of the confusion.
"It shall be done." Wuppah stated. It sounded like pointless advice to him, but listening to some of his flightmates' arrogance made him think that it was nonetheless valid. Electromagnetic pulse bombs had already been launched prior to the main air assault, hopefully knocking out the Tosevite's capability to keep them from landing.
Unlike some of his squadmates, however, he had been listening to the stories of those pilots who had already encountered Big Ugly aircraft. While the Race still had the advantage, losses were appallingly high. Their anti-air defenses were more numerous than expected and the pilots that did manage to get into the air were quite capable of bringing a Race killercraft down.
A few minutes later, the first enemy aircraft were picked up. Wuppah was counting dozens of them, close to a hundred in the area. Warning was shouted, but everyone was already alert. In the immediate vicinity, they outnumbered the Tosevites two to one.
"Let's see how well they can cope with this!" Atvar exclaimed, firing half a dozen missiles in their direction. Wuppah hissed; they were still 40 Tlocks (80 kilometers) away, not exactly optimal for their weaponry. However, they were closing fast and would be within optimal firing range in less than a minute.
Three of the missiles hit their targets, three Tosevite aircraft crashing into the ground. Wuppah chose a pair of targets and fired missiles of his own. He knew better than to underestimate the enemy and was not about to take any unnecessary chances. He intended to listen to those who had already been in the fighting.
The dogfight was not one-sided, however. The Tosevites were already firing back, and Wuppah detected dozens of air-to-air missiles headed directly for them. He thanked the Spirits of Emperors Past that they had throughout to bring along jammer aircraft. Still, he wasn't about to rely on them alone. He took evasive action, intending to make himself as much of a moving target as he could.
Most pilots managed to survive the sortie, but five of their killercraft were hit, and only one of them was fast enough to eject before impact. That could have been me, He realized. He knew it was possible, but didn't think any of their weapons would have been able to hit them through all their jamming equipment.
"May the purple itch get under their scales.." Wuppah hissed, firing three more air-to-air missiles at his opponent. All of them were now within 25 kilometers of each other, with hundreds of missiles being fired on both sides.
Wuppah felt himself slammed into his seat as he maneuvered through the fray, being covered by three of his fellow pilots. He forced himself not to black out evading a pair of Tosevite missiles. One lost him, but he was forced to use many of his flares to intercept the second. That had been entirely too close.
He was forced to admit, the Tosevites had courage. Despite the horrific losses they had taken, none of them were attempting to retreat. If anything, the loss of their comrades only made them more infuriated. "How many killercraft do they have?" Nesser snarled in frustration. "We've got more headed our way!"
"Affirmative; I'm spotting at least another 50 killercraft, probably coming from a nearby base." Atvar stated. "Least we know where our target is now."
"We can land our starships as soon as we clear them from the skies." Hefron declared.
Wuppah hoped that they would be unprepared, but privately doubted it. Tosevites losses were much heavier than theirs, but even the losses they had taken in just a few minutes were considerable. "Then we'd better hit them before they have a chance to do the same." Hefron advised.
"It shall be done." Wuppah agreed, turning his killercraft to meet the new threat. Some enemy aircraft from the original group were still capable of fighting, however, and succeeded in bringing down another half a dozen Race aircraft before being shot down themselves.
"Squadrons 1 through 4, break off and destroy the Tosevite airbase." All of them received a message from the highest-ranking male in the area. Being that Wuppah was in squadron 2, he immediately obeyed orders, although he still hoped that the remaining squadrons had enough numbers and enough missiles to defeat the aircraft that were only two minutes away.
"This should be a lot easier." Atvar's mouth hung open. "Their killercraft are more formidable in the air than expected, yes, but on the ground, they are nothing more than giant targets."
"Assuming we destroy them before they manage to get them into the air." Hefron reminded. "We've done well so far. Another few minutes, we'll have won."
However, as it turned out, the Tosevites still had a few surprises remaining for them. Wuppah detected more missiles headed for his killercraft. His eye turrets wandered to the radar, confused at the lack of enemy craft in the immediate area. It took him a few moments to realize that they were being fired from the ground.
"Superior sir, we've got a further complication." Wuppah declared, switching to air-to-ground missiles. He only had four, however, so he knew he had to choose his targets carefully. "Got him!" He fired two of them at the Tosevite's missile launchers, both hitting their targets. We should have known we would encounter these vehicles.
While even less accurate than the ones of the enemy's aircraft, a couple of missiles did hit their mark, sending three Race killercraft crashing into the ground. Wuppah hissed in fury and made a mental promise to make the Big Uglies pay for the losses they'd inflicted.
"Okay, that's another three down." Atvar declared. Most of the launchers were destroyed, while the others... were most likely playing acting like the Ovort on Home, who were known to play dead in order to discourage predators.
As they got closer, more surface-to-air missile launchers opened up, causing little damage to the Race's killercraft, but proving that the Tosevites that they were not yet out of the fight. Two more planes were destroyed, but the pilots succeeded in exiting their killercraft in time. Wuppah only hoped they would be found before the Big Uglies got ahold of them.
When they got within range of the base, Wuppah spotted dozens of Tosevite craft still on the runway. They were frantically trying to get them in the air before the Race arrived, but they had run out of time.
"Let's show them who this planet truly belongs to!" Nesser declared, firing all four of his air-to-surface missiles, the Tosevite aircraft bursting in flames. Wuppah fired his last, as did all of his remaining comrades. He swooped down to pick off any stragglers, not wanting to end up in the middle of an ambush.
The Tosevites were brave, he had to give them that much. Many were running for cover, but were not retreating. Some of them were even continuing to fuel the airplanes and get them ready for flight in spite of everything. Guns were fired at them, having no effect, but Wuppah had to respect their bravery. They had to have known the odds against them.
Although all the enemy killercraft were destroyed, they still were not out of danger just yet. More surface-to-air missiles, smaller ones, were fired in their direction. Unlike the others, however, all Wuppah needed to do was climb and accelerate in order to avoid it.
"How many of those things do they have?" Atvar asked in frustration. "I thought we took out all of their installations!"
"I think they might be handheld." Wuppah stated, although he dearly hoped he was wrong. Large installations with SAMs were bad enough, but if any Tosevite could carry them, they were in a lot of trouble. Luckily, they seemed to have short range and a low flight ceiling. None of them succeeded in bringing any more killercraft down.
"Looks like this area's clear." Nesser declared. "Still... they did fight bravely, that much I'll give them."
"Yeah, once we've won, they'll serve us nicely." Atvar dropped his mouth.
"Bit first, we've got to defeat them." Hefron reminded. Once the thrill of battle was over, they began to remember that even if they won, it was not without a price. Too many of their comrades did not return; how many more had died in landings throughout the world?
XXXXXXXXXX
Just when Peterman thought it couldn't get worse, life found a way to prove him wrong. "We're sitting ducks here!" He complained. The aliens had figured out that the missile silos in the United States were a threat to them and were reacting accordingly. He did not know for sure just how many Minuteman missiles had been destroyed, but the number was not likely to be small.
"Bunker busters... we just lost silos 81 through 89." Frank groaned, rubbing his temples in frustration. In the event of a nuclear war, both sides had at least a good idea where the opponent's ICBMs were stored, making them targets. Having a large number of missiles widely dispersed, however, helped to ensure that the United States would have enough to hit back.
Fortunately, the one he was currently residing at had not yet been detected. Except for a few surface-to-air missile installations, it was all but undefended. If the aliens wanted to destroy it, there was little they could do to stop them. "Damn it, when are we going to receive the launch authorization?" Peterman complained. "If they realize we're a threat, we'd better use at least some of these missiles before they destroy them all!"
"We have our orders, much as we hate it." Frank replied. "There's a good reason it's very difficult to gain authorization when you're playing with this level of firepower."
And what good is it going to do us if we all get killed? Peterman snarled to himself. The instant the silos were hit, the majority of technicians had believed that orders would soon be given to launch. Instead, it had been close to three hours and still they were forced to sit tight. "If they obtain orbital supremacy..." Peterman worried.
Soon, they learned precisely what the delay was. Information had come in that some in the Politburo had concerns that the United States would use this as an opportunity to launch a First Strike on the Soviet Union. Commanders in the United States had expressed similar worries. Therefore, Reagan and Brezhnev were meeting in a secure location to assure the other that the only targets were the aliens orbiting above Earth.
"Perfect timing to let Cold War politics get in the way." Frank groaned when they had received the information.
"How fucking stupid can these people be?!" Peterman was about to blow a gasket. "Those fucking aliens are blowing us to bits and these people are delusional enough to think we'd launch them at the USSR! This is a load of bullshit! We need to act now!" He was seriously tempted to try and convince the other technicians to launch anyway without orders. Anything was better than just sitting here waiting for death.
Reports continued to flood in of more silos being destroyed. Plenty were still being overlooked, but the aliens had caused considerable damage to the nation's first strike capability. Peterman fidgeted impatiently, grabbing his launch key. Frank had been reluctantly convinced to do the same.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the President and Secretary of Defense had authorized a missile launch. Peterman and Frank turned their keys, as did the duo in the adjacent launch control center.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Are these reports of losses true?" Atvar inquired of his second-in-command.
"It appears to be the case." Kirel informed. "Hundreds of our killercraft pilots have been shot down; the majority are dead." Those who had managed to eject were likely to end up captured before they could be rescued. Tosevite losses had been a lot worse, thanks to Race numerical superiority, but when they had set up, they had not expected to lose any killercraft at all.
"And every silo we have detected has been destroyed." That was what Atvar had truly been concerned about. They might have been designed to hit other portions of the planet, but they were still a danger to the Conquest Fleet. "I wonder why they had not launched when we hit them. Perhaps our explosive-metal bombs prevented communication from getting through."
"We estimate three days before we can begin landing troops on a large scale, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel stated. "Their killercraft are inferior, but still deadly, and it will take time to clear them out of the sky." If anything, they were even more dangerous than their researchers and analysts had expected. Not only were the natives well-equipped, but they knew how to use their killercraft.
"All things considered, it is going well." Atvar hissed. "Remember, I want our starships to give whatever orbital support they can provide to our landing forces. They may attempt to drop explosive-metal bombs as we disembark."
"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel responded. What few weapons their starships possessed were defensive, not offensive in nature; large antimissiles and close-in-weapons-systems.
A few minutes later, they had received a disturbing report. "Exalted Fleetlord, the empires known as the United States and the USSR have launched missiles!" Atvar's adjutant Pshing ran in, looking to be on the edge of panic.
"How many?" Atvar demanded.
"Dozens; some of our starships are directly in their path." Pshing informed.
"Full evasive action; order them to accelerate and launch interceptors... now!" Atvar snapped and Pshing ran off to carry out his orders. According to his researchers, the missiles were easier to destroy before they accelerated to their full speed.
As the missiles were not specifically designed to hit space targets, most of them missed, with the help of the Race's defenses. However, three starships were hit, tens of thousands being killed instantly and the ships being turned into little more than melted slag. The shockwaves sent debris racing towards other ships, damaging another. Fortunately, they were designed to withstand dust particle impacts between the stars.
"How could this have happened?" Atvar demanded.
"Exalted Fleetlord, it appears that there were other silos that we had not identified." Kirel explained. "In addition, there were others that had not been as crippled as we hoped. These are designed to endure heavy damage."
"We had best keep this from happening again." Three ships gone, two others damaged, and close to 100,000 males dead. So far, this was only the first day of the invasion.
XXXXXXXXXX
June 9, 1982:
Pavel Babikov hoped they would be able to get close enough to their target to make a difference in the fighting. He didn't expect to survive; none of his fellow pilots did. All he hopes to do was last long enough to make a difference in the fighting. The majority of the fighters had already been destroyed, as were as many silos as the aliens could hunt down.
He was more than aware that his Mig-25 was no match for anything the invaders had, even without them significantly outnumbering his forces. Every pilot throughout the Soviet Union knew that they would be the first line of defense against invasion and that it was likely that most of them would not return home. Each one had gotten their efforts in order and prepared for death as best they could.
I just hope we're going in the right direction. The first thing they did was wipe out all the satellites in Earth's orbit. The second was setting off EMPs all throughout the Soviet Union, knocking out a significant part of their civilian power grid, hampering production. The third was hitting the locations where their nuclear weapons were stored. Their radar was picking up alien forces approximately 200 kilometers west of them, near Warsaw.
"For the Rodina!" Pavel declared. There were only fifty of them, too few to last long, but he had discussed a plan that should be able to take the aliens off-guard. We hope, at least. Troops were also being gathered near where the starships were landing, hoping to slow them down and hit them before they could gather in force. As the Soviet Army was scattered through Russia and Eastern Europe, it was proving difficult to concentrate them in one place.
"Wish we had a few fucking satellite images." One of the pilots under his command complained. Hours before the invasion began, the aliens destroyed all of their satellites, civilian and military both.
"Stop whining; we knew what we were getting into." A second rebuked them.
"Enough; we have no time for quarrels." Pavel snapped at them. "We're nearly within range, alien forces at 2:00. Ignore the aircraft; we're got more important targets." After they managed to get within 150 kilometers, he launched both of his R-33 missiles.
By that time, however, the aliens had already detected their presence, and they were forced to take evasive action. "Ignore the aircraft; focus on their transports!" Many were listening, but not all as they tried frantically to ignore the legions of missiles headed right for them. Their electronic countermeasures provided some protection, but even so, close to half his forces were shot out of the sky before they could get within 100 kilometers.
Pavel would not be dissuaded. He sped up, using his fuel lavishly; it wasn't as if he would be returning from the mission. As he got closer, he fired all his short-ranged missiles, hoping that they would at least have some effect.
It had only been ninety seconds and already only a handful of his pilots were left. Some were attacking the alien aircraft, in defiance of his orders. "Focus on the starships!" He ordered yet again, though it seemed that for some, their fear was overtaking them and were aiming at the immediate threat.
He launched his last missile, only to see it intercepted before it got even halfway to the target. So far as he could tell, not a single starship had been taken down and he had nothing left to fight with. That is, until his radar detected three of his remaining pilots accelerating to maximum speed, changing course and headed directly to their ships.
This might just be crazy enough to work. Pavel thought, following suit as he realized what they intended to do. He launched every flare he had as a distraction, hoping the aliens wouldn't realize what his intentions were. One way or the other, I'll find out. He accelerated to three kilometers per second; it wasn't as if he was going to survive.
He was less than five seconds away from one of the starships, which had already taken damage from numerous missile impacts and was trying to get out of the line of fire. I've got you, you son... His trail of thoughts ended as his plane crashed into the starship, setting off a series of explosions and bringing it crashing down to Earth.
XXXXXXXXXX
June 9, 1982:
Betvoss looked up at the sky, his eye turret searching for any Big Ugly aircraft that might spot them. Not that it would do him much good, as he knew perfectly well, but it could give him an extra few seconds of warning. He continued walking through the Empire known as the United States.
At least you managed to land successfully. Betvoss reminded himself. He heard the report of heavy losses among killercraft pilots during the initial landing as they cleared the way for their troopships to land. Never in a million years, however, would he ever have expected them to have the capability to shoot down their starships.
He thanked the spirits of Emperors Past that he was not on one of the starships that the Big Uglies destroyed. A few pilots actually slammed their killercraft into their starships, a tactic Betvoss believed to be completely insane. Their defenses had not acted in time because the Race found such suicidal actions beyond comprehension.
Before they landed, they had been surrounded by enemy troops and equipment. Killercraft pilots had dropped a couple of tactical explosive-metal bombs on areas where the Tosevites had assembled enough troops to pose a serious threat. It was considered regrettable, but necessary. Those not killed in the blasts or retreated had been taken prisoner, with hopes that the Race would learn more about Big Ugly capabilities.
"Least it's warm here, even if it's too humid." One of his fellow infantarymales Premas declared. They had been moving for two-tenths of a day and as of yet, had not personally encountered any Big Ugly resistance. Others, however, in their army had and suffer considerable casualties.
Probably take at least a week, perhaps two, for everyone to land here. Betvoss thought. Still, they would be able to make advances before then. Already they were advancing on a major city. Columbus, he believed the name was. They had already spotted Big Ugly roads, built with higher quality than he would have expected from them, making travel considerably quicker than it would have been otherwise.
"I keep wondering why we haven't heard from their infantarymales." Skyrim wondered. He was almost absurdly tall for a male of the Race (about 5 feet) and towered over his comrades. "Surely even Big Uglies would put up a fight."
"Maybe they're already trying to surrender." Votal suggested. "This place is amazing; never dreamed any place would have such much life." Betvoss had never seem so many trees and plants in a single area on Home.
He hadn't spotted anything but a few native animals, but Betvoss still had the feeling that they were out there, somewhere. "Warning: Tosevite forces in the area. Proceed with caution." His radio declared, as did everyone else's. Where could they possibly be hiding? He had run numerous simulations of just this kind of thing, although nobody on Home realized just how many plants were on Tosev 3 that could give the Big Uglies places to hide.
"Are they addled?" Skyrim wondered. "We haven't seen a trace of them." Part of that might have had something to do with the explosive-metal bomb that they dropped nearby, an air burst in order to minimize exposure to radiation. "Still... we'd better listen."
It was another daytenth before they saw any sign of their opponents. Unfortunately, they choose to reveal themselves by launching anti-tank missiles at one of their troop carriers. Betvoss dropped to the ground as quickly as he could, feeling slightly queasy when he saw the vehicle. Nobody was getting out of it alive.
The big Uglies followed up with machine-gun fire, forcing them to stay down. Betvoss and the others fired at where they figured the shots had to be coming from, but while screams could vaguely be heard through the firefight, it did little to halt the barrage.
The landcruisers turned around and opened up with their machine gun. The Big Uglies immediately scatter, but Betvoss refused to get up. He had a feeling that wasn't going to be all the enemy threw at them. His suspicion proved to be right when enemy landcruisers opened up on their positions while their infantry were getting out of their troop carriers in order to fight.
Two shots hit one of their landcruisers' front armor. The vehicle was disabled, but unlike the troop carrier, the males were able to escape unharmed. Helicopters blew several enemy landcruisers to bits, their guns delivering a heavy toll on their infantry.
They're hitting us in every direction! Betvoss came to the unpleasant realization once they were hit in two more directions. Even fission bombs had not deterred them from fighting back.
Three platoons advanced while others did the best they could to grant them covering fire. Betvoss had been through this scenario dozens of times in the simulator. That is, except for one detail: failing in the simulator would earn you a stern lecture from the instructor. Failing here would cost him his life.
His squad attempted to outflank the Tosevites, but they had already anticipated such at attempt and threw a few grenades in his direction. Had Betvoss moved a couple seconds faster, he would have been blown to pieces. As it was, he was forced to take cover behind a tree. They were pinned down, unable to move forward. They fired their rifles as well in an effort to halt any advance they attempted.
Betvoss was grateful he was wearing body armor, but it was only designed to protect him from a couple lucky shots, not a sustained barrage. Machine gun fire was everywhere, from both the Race and the Tosevites. "What are we going to do, superior sir?" he asked. "We can't stay here for long, or we're going to get overrun."
"I'd like to know where our air support is." Skyrim inquired. "They can't be missing an offensive action as great as this."
His question was answered when their helicopters wiped out every Tosevite vehicle in the area they could spot. Nonetheless, they fought back as best they could, even succeeding in taking down a couple more troop carriers. Ultimately, though, those in the enemy vehicles who had not died were either surrendering or fleeing.
In spite of overwhelming odds, though, the enemy had not yet given up. Betvoss and his squad were still pinned down, even if neither group had yet inflicted a single casualty on the other. He fired a series of shots, more to keep their heads down than any realistic effort to hit them. "By the Emperor, why are they still at it?" Skyrim complained. "They can't win, yet they're still fighting us." He threw a grenade in their direction, sending grass and dirt into the air, but accomplishing nothing else.
Gradually, the gunfire decreased as the Tosevites fell back, one group moving back as the other covered them. Betvoss attempted to pursue, only to be dissuaded by machine gun fire. They knew the country better than he did and were able to make good their escape. Votal hissed in displeasure, but did not follow. The last thing he wanted was to walk into another trap.
Five landcruisers and a dozen troop carriers were either disabled or destroyed, with two helicopters and a currently unknown number of males. This was more than Betvoss believed they would take during the entire conquest and as things went, the firefight was only a taste of things to come.
XXXXXXXXXX
June 11, 1982:
"Well, this is not a satisfactory beginning." Atvar declared, looking over the reports of the first days of combat. The Race had destroyed 6,000 killercraft over the past few days, achieving air superiority. Unfortunately, they had lost nearly 1,800 of their own, close to ten percent of what they had brought with them. If he only took into account the Tosevite craft that had not been destroyed on the ground the kill ratio was only around 2.5:1.
"Truth; we have achieved air superiority." Kirel agreed. "It is fortunate that we caught many of their killercraft on the ground before they had a chance to use them." In terms of combat capability, they weren't much less advanced than what the Race had, but their range was so limited that only a percentage of them were up in the air at any given time.
"By the spirits of Emperors past, we may succeed in this conquest after all." Atvar hissed. He knew that the fighting was not over yet, but they were advancing on every front. He reluctantly gave Straha credit for his ideas in repositioning their forces to face the most advanced Big Ugly empires first before dealing with the weaker powers.
The problem was close to a dozen starships had been destroyed by the enemy's explosive metal-armed missiles; wiping them out had been expensive. After the vast majority in orbit had been intercepted or evaded, the Tosevites had come up with something more ingenious. They simply waited for the starships to land and just after they attempted to return to orbit, launched their missiles at a time when they were unable to move fast enough to get out of the sky. In numerous cases, the antimissiles, CIWS and kinetic impactors had been overwhelmed.
He informed the commanders on the ground that speed was of the utmost priority. They could not allow the Big Uglies time to recover or to launch any kind of counterattacks. Since the landing, they had already lost close to 10,000 males with three times that many wounded; a dozen times that many had died in orbit. The Tosevites had suffered much more, but they could replace their losses much more quickly. Atvar was not about to give them the chance to do so. It went against their original plan for Tosev 3, and the Race, as a rule, was not good at improvisation. He hoped his subordinates would be able to compensate for that, but while some could, he highly doubted all of them would be able to do so. Despite ample evidence, some could still not see past their eggshells, including shiplords.
"Should we begin to broadcast surrender messages?" Kirel asked. "Our researches have had some success translating their languages. Convincing at least some of them to surrender will make subduing the stubborn ones less difficult."
"No, not yet." Atvar made the negative hand gesture. "Many of them will be unable to do so in any case after what we did to their communications centers." They had brought 1,500 tactical weapons (20 kilotons), 1,350 that could be used in either tactical or strategic use (200 kilotons) and 150 purely strategic weapons (1 megaton) Atvar knew he would likely have to use more before the conquest was complete.
"It is a shame that they had only a limited effect against their military." Kirel hissed.
"Truth, but this was anticipated." Atvar replied. "With all the nuclear power plants scattered throughout the advanced empires, it was inevitable that the Big Uglies would have some concept of nuclear shielding. Emperors be praised that we decided to bring explosive metal bombs along with the conquest." Some of the cost-cutters on home had argued against it, saying that it was unnecessary, but ultimately the Race's desire for thoroughness prevailed and they were brought along.
His adjutant ran into the room on all fours, looking horrified. "Exalted Fleetlord, I have news about the conquest!" Pshing exclaimed.
Based on his behavior, Atvar realized the news couldn't be good. Nevertheless, he stated: "Speak, Pshing. What has happened?"
"I regret to inform you that... that it appears as if five more of our starships have been destroyed during the landing." Pshing looked nervous, hoping the Fleetlord would not take it out on him.
"Impossible; how could this have happened!" Atvar screamed, making his adjutant tremble. After a few moments, his head become clear and he understood that Pshing was not responsible; he was only doing his duty and telling him what he needed to hear. "Do we know how this happened?"
"While their air to air missiles are insufficient to bring down our ships, even with multiple impacts, the Big Uglies have found other methods." Pshing replied. "In 2 cases, they launched larger missiles from the ground that, assuming multiple impacts and hitting our starships in vulnerable areas, are able to bring them down. In the other three cases... the Big Uglies slammed their killercraft directly into them."
"Who would be crazy enough to do something like that?" Atvar hissed. No Male of the Race would ever deliberately kill himself that way. He was beginning to realize that the Tosevites were more different than they were than his researchers believed. "What can you tell me about casualties?"
"In four of the cases, even if our ships are irreparable, we succeeded in saving most of our males and equipment." Pshing informed, dreading what he was about to say next. "On the 5th ship, one of their killercraft slammed into our reactor, with a total loss. We have yet to find a single survivor."
Atvar was barely able to stand upright at the news. Even taking into account their rapid technological growth, he never imagined the Tosevites capable of pulling off something like that. "This will never happen again!" Atvar declared, using an empathetic cough. "Set up anti-air and anti-missile defenses, and I want constant patrols around all starships that are forced to be on the surface. Once we have unloaded all our forces, bring them back into orbit."
"It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." Pshing gave the posture of respect and skittered off.
"Emperors be praised they did not use more explosive-metal bombs." Atvar had been informed that the bombs used in orbit were thermonuclear, instead of pure fission, something that had chilled his blood.
"I believe we have successfully removed their explosive-metal bombs, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel informed.
"Once that's done, perhaps we could move our starships higher into orbit as a precaution." Atvar stated to Kirel. "I do not believe that the Tosevites will be able to hit us from such a distance, but I am not about to gamble the lives of thousands of our males on that assumption."
"It shall be done, exalted fleetlord." Kirel responded. The process would take several days to be completed, in order to avoid possible collisions. Their starships would dozens of tlocks apart, but at the speed they were orbiting, the risk was there. Eighteen starships had been destroyed in total during the landing.
But for all the difficulties they were encountering, the Race was nevertheless winning the war, at least the opening stages.