Chapter 5: Warborn
Artillery boomed against the northern side of the Palace, sending a small gallery and a section of the ramparts tumbling to the streets below. It was a towering behemoth, at once elegant and brutally efficient. Long sections were exposed to the outside, protected with crenellations which had been repurposed into gun emplacements. From afar, Telex could be seen crowding the defenses. Two large gates sat ominously facing the attackers, daring them to test their mettle. Stretching before the southern approach to the Palace was a massive plaza, which had previously been used for city assemblies, was a hastily erected series of trenches and earthworks. A few bombed out buildings, sitting between the plaza and the Palace grounds, had been converted into shoddy bunkers. Massive rolls of monofilament wire had been stretched across the courtyard, creating choke points here and there. A dozen or so destroyed tanks lay scattered across the terrain, testament to the armored offensive which had driven the Irkens from the Palace grounds.
Here and there, Telex could be seen scurrying between the defenses. The majority were remaining in hiding, waiting for the Irkens to make the first move. They had made the most of the frantic warning they had received from Lortak, and the whole city within a block's distance of the Palace was fortified, although much of it lay under Irken control now. Smoke hung thick in the air, and small fires still burned across the plaza. The once-pristine skies of Galastrix were now overcast with an ugly gray shroud.
Crowded in trenches, bunkers, and tunnels, the 4th Shock Army of the Irken Armada waited for their orders. About nine thousand of them had reported in, nowhere near total strength, as the deployment had spread them to all corners of the sprawling city. General Kiir had received an Invader in his headquarters, and was now briefing him. The Elite squad he had arrived with stood still, silently eyeing up the Palace with disinterest. A crowd of Grunts had gathered, anxiously asking what the Elites knew about the plan. The brutish sergeant had growled at them to get back in line and shut up, and they fearfully had. And so they waited.
The captains began to receive their orders, and the orders funneled down to the lieutenants, who began informing their soldiers of the plan. Artillery would engage the guns on the Palace so they wouldn't be able to strafe the infantry as they advanced. The Elites and Grunts would advance over the defenses, and push their way to the Palace. Air support was busy engaging the Telexes' remaining fighters, but the Irkens wouldn't have to worry about air strikes falling upon them. As this was going on, a stir went up from the Irkens near the command center, a bunker which had been shattered by repeated rocket strikes.
The general and his staff strode purposefully towards the front. Amongst their ostentatious uniforms of a dozen colors was an Irken in the plain, bright red of an Invader, sticking out like a sore thumb. Larb didn't look at the Irken Grunts as he passed them by, trying to ignore their awed expressions. They made him uncomfortable. The Elites just looked at him with professional detachment. He was relieved to be back with Vyprec and his squad. He had come to know and trust them all; Wryd, Alak, Trig, Rorl, and Brev with the rocket launcher.
The scarred sergeant didn't take his eyes off the Palace as Larb joined him on his right. "How was the brass, sir?" he asked, sounding bored. Larb was amazed at how well the killer instincts had been honed with this one.
"Fucked, as per usual," Larb said with a grin. "Basically the general has his heart set on an all-out assault, and thus has no idea what to do with me. So he stuck us in the vanguard." He cast a sidelong glance at Vyprec as he said that. The Elite's eyes were gleaming, and he was nodding in approval.
"Can't fault him on that logic, Invader," the sergeant growled, allowing a slight smile to grace his brutal features. His squad voiced their approval as well. Vyprec looked up as General Kiir nimbly ascended to a vantage point in the midst of his troops. "Hush now, Invader. The general's gracing us with one of his speeches."
General Kiir was possessed of a lanky frame, but his gaunt body belied his respectable height. His viridian uniform was encrusted with service medals, and he wore great pauldrons of mirrored steel. A black, hairy pelt, taken from some great beast on a faraway world, was draped across his shoulders. His general's baton hung from his belt. His voice was amplified throughout the ranks, and he spoke with clear pride in his troops.
"My brave companions of the 4th Shock Army! Today, we cut out the heart of Galastrix's resistance. Today, we gain glory for the Almighty Tallest!" his voice boomed out, and the troops cheered. "This is going to be a tough fight, and thus it falls to us. The Irkens of the 13th Fleet are the Iron Fists of the Tallest, and WE are the greatest warriors within it!" Again the Irkens gave a roar of approval, affirming their resolve to their beloved commander. "Normally, I would regale you with tales of Irk's greatness, and tell you of how we shall smite the inferior species. That all changed when I learned that the 73rd Siege Army think they shall take the Palace, and are even now advancing to take your glory out from under you!" The soldiers cried out in dismay, denying it, and swearing they wouldn't let Kiir down. The general raised his hands, quieting them in an instant. He resumed, "Thus, today all I have to say is this... KILL! Kill for the Empire, for the Tallest, and for me! Earn this honor for yourselves! Go, SHATTER that Palace! KILL! THEM! ALL!" He bellowed, pointing at the Palace.
A shrill whistle echoed across the lines, and various captains stepped atop the earthworks, as per their orders. Hoisting their swords into the air, they looked back to their troops and shouted their battle cries. "Purity and death!" some screamed. "For the Tallest!" or "For Irk!" cried others. A great wordless roar was ripped from the throats of nine thousand Irkens as they rushed towards the Telex emplacements. Artillery boomed behind them, and explosions blossomed along the walls of the Palace like fiery flowers.
Larb took a deep breath as he went over the top, into the fight. Vyprec and his squad were ahead of him, but he closed the gap, his feet pounding along the hard packed dirt. All of a sudden, they were under attack. Laser fire chiseled through the air, and Irkens fell left and right. Larb heard the familiar rhythmic thud of kinetic field artillery and an explosion to their right sent rubble and Irkens flying through the air. Larb flinched, but kept running. The advance continued unabated, heedless of casualties. He had to make an effort not to outpace Vyprec's squad. As they neared the berm in front of them, Vyprec howled with fury, which Larb and the five Elites took up. Larb bounded ahead of his squad and leapt over the earthwork effortlessly.
Bounding over the lip of the berm, Larb came face-to-face with a Telex desperately reloading his rifle. Larb instinctively brought his gun to bear and shot the alien in the face. Bright green blood spewed out, coating Larb's face with an emerald paste. The Invader fumbled his hands to his face, wiping desperately to regain his vision. He jumped down and landed at the base of the berm, wheeling to the left on the balls of his feet. Firing two shots, he took down a Telex running full-tilt at him with his bayonet lowered. He saw a flash on his right, and turned to see his squadron hit the Telex.
The first thing Vyprec did after getting over the wall was murder someone. The burly sergeant stabbed a Telex in the guts, and withdrew it with a sickening sucking noise. Vyprec drew his head back and slammed his forehead into the dying foe's face. The Telex reeled to the dusty ground, his life pouring out onto the dirt. Vyprec stepped over him and began firing into the Telexes further ahead. The others downed a few enemies in close quarters, but the Telexes were already pulling back. Brev slid into cover behind a notched column, which had probably been hurriedly dragged into position as cover. Larb dashed across and joined him. The Elite glanced over and nodded.
"Invader," he said, sighting targets and firing controlled bursts at any Telex he could see. Larb peered over the cover and beheld the battlefield. The Irkens were advancing, slowly. More and more were swarming over the first defenses. The Telex soldiers had fallen back, and were now firing upon their former positions. "We're in the middle of it now, eh, sir?" asked Brev with a mischievous smile.
"Indeed," Larb replied, "they're falling back, though. This is too easy." Brev ignored him, and laughed as he made a kill. Larb couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with the Telexes' tactics. Vyprec ducked down next to Larb, and thumped him on the shoulder, shouting.
"Get down!" Larb and Brev went prone without question. A sharp whistling filled the antennae of the three Irkens, as a rain of mortars hit the Telex before them. "Go, go, go!" shouted Vyprec, vaulting over their cover. Larb and Brev scrambled after him. Larb saw Wryd hop out of a foxhole, blood pouring down her right arm. Rorl, Alak, and Trig dashed out from a ditch, covered in dirt hurled up in the explosions. The six Irkens charged the shattered Telex line, and began butchering the dazed survivors.
Larb's knife flashed in the firelight, slashing all around him. He gutted three Telexes; his flickering steel splitting open his foes. Vyprec stood above a shallow trench, gunning down a half dozen Telexes who had avoided the mortar barrage, his mouth stretched open in a crazed rictus of joy. Wryd walked among the wounded with her pistol out, jamming its barrel to the head of any who had not succumbed to their wounds. She dispassionately put them out of their misery, one by one. Brev hurled a grenade into a foxhole, and poured fire into the Telexes who scrambled to get out of the doomed position. Rorl, Trig, and Alak were behind cover, suppressing nearby enemies while their squadmates killed every impurity within reach.
Larb drew his knife from his latest kill's chest, looking around for more Telexes. Suddenly he heard Irken voices shouting, and he was tackled into a nearby trench. Spinning, he saw that it was Alak, who cried "Stay down, sir!" Before Larb could ask what the lanky Elite was doing, a large aquamarine beam swept over where he had just been standing. There was an explosion where the beam impacted, before it began to sweep over a wide area. Larb shuddered, realizing how close he had been to his death. "Turbolaser," Alak said, peering over the top of the trench. Larb could see it now, a boxy turret near the top of the Palace, rotating as it continued its sweep of the ground seized by the Irkens. A rocket whistled overhead, causing Larb to flinch as it screamed towards the Palace.
A cheering wave of Grunts was suddenly overrunning their position, charging headlong towards the enemy. Looking up, Larb saw Vyprec kneeling at the edge of the trench, offering a hand up. "We're not going to let Grunts take the Palace, are we, Invader?" His brutish features were twisted into a genuine smile, and Larb grinned despite the destruction going on around them. Taking Vyprec's hand, he hoisted himself over the trench, while Alak scrambled over and rejoined the squad. The noise of the artillery rose in a thunderous crescendo as the Palace was pounded with ever greater force. Larb was flooded with relief as he saw the turbolaser blown apart under repeated strikes from above.
The Telex soldiers were falling back in droves, abandoning their posts in an attempt to get away from the Irkens. Larb felt a surge of confidence, and quickened his pace, catching up to the front. His earlier misgivings evaporated; the Telexes' tactics were flawed because they were flawed. They can't stop us, thought Larb triumphantly. The Grunts cheered him and looked at him with awe in their eyes. Larb felt exultant, reveling in the glories of the battlefield. This was where warriors like him were at home. This was his purpose. With a light heart, Larb looked around, knowing that the day was theirs.
Suddenly, it all went terribly wrong.
With a shimmer of electric blue, a tall Telex in golden armor appeared in the midst of the Irken Grunts in front of him. In his hands he held a long staff, with a wicked curved blade at one end. At the other was a strange sort of weapon that Larb couldn't identify. He wore a helmet with a reflective visor; nothing could be seen of the alien's eyes. A flowing, golden cloak hung around the Telex's back. Must be a Palace Guard, thought Larb, remembering them being mentioned in the briefing.
To their credit, the Grunts around him reacted immediately. They stepped back, readying their guns, and a few drew their combat knives as they suddenly found themselves confronted in close quarters. These were Irkens of the 4th Shock Army, and despite Larb's professional disdain for them and their inferior PAKs, he knew that these Grunts were not green recruits, but warriors of the Armada. None of that was enough to save them, however.
Whirling his staff in a dizzying pattern, the Telex took them apart. Irken limbs flew through the air, and the black ichor that ran through their veins sprayed everywhere. A trio of Irkens charged the Telex, a brave but stupid display. The alien simply leveled the other end of his staff at them, and a blast of pressurized air blew the three of them through the air. Larb's sharp eyes noted that they were covered in terrible burns. The cries of horror and pain echoed from both sides of the line. Larb didn't need to look to know that this alien had brought some more of his friends, and that they had been cloaked as well.
It was over in a moment. Larb and the other onrushing Irkens were now the only targets. The alien's dispassionate visor looked towards him, and the alien's mouth creased, as if he had smelled a bad odor. He must've recognized my uniform, thought Larb. He knew that Invaders were shoot-on-sight targets for most races across the galaxy. Most of the others would capture Invaders because they preferred to torture them first.
Stepping forward purposefully, the Telex swung his staff's bladed end, in a strike almost too quick for the eye to follow. Larb slid under it, but the Grunt beside him wasn't so lucky. An Irken head landed to his left, a pained expression etched on its face. Larb spun up, furious and heedless of the Grunts who were scattering in panic. "Filthy Telex! You dare raise a blade against your genetic betters?" he shouted, drawing his knife with a flourish. He darted in, hoping to take the alien off guard. The blade streaked upwards, driven by the Invader's indignant fury.
The Telex intercepted the blow with the haft of his staff. The bladed end spun up and hurtled down towards Larb. He brought his pistol up, and swatted the blade aside. He tried to call upon his PAK, but its systems were still trying to reproduce the combat stims he had used up in the melee earlier. He traded blows with the Telex, each move calculated and precise. Larb swept his knife across in a wide horizontal slice, and he regretted it immediately.
The Telex's blade whistled in, and sliced through his side. The wound was not too deep, but white hot agony ripped through Larb as he slumped to the ground. His beleaguered PAK flooded his systems with painkillers, desperately trying to keep him in the fight.
Larb looked up, and blearily saw the Telex standing over him. The alien gave a salute of some sort with his bladed staff, and brought it up slowly. Over the cries of the retreating Grunts, the artillery rumbled out in a single discordant note. Larb closed his eyes to the sound of his death knell, and prepared for whatever lay beyond.
Suddenly, he heard Irkens shouting, and one flinty voice rose over the others, saying, "GET THE FUCKER! SAVE LARB!" His eyes flew open, as the Telex whirled around. It was met with a head butt from Vyprec. Larb watched in awe as his trusty squad of Elites threw themselves heedlessly at the foe that had effortlessly cut down dozens of Grunts.
The Telex rolled with the impact and came up on his feet, spinning and stabbing his polearm in a corkscrew motion, throwing a flurry of blows at the Irkens. They nimbly dodged around and deflected any blows coming too close to them or their squadmates. The Elites were fighting like gods, but none were able to land a blow on the alien. Larb noted dazedly that the artillery was growing ever louder, and saw in his peripheral vision that the Palace was being pulverized beneath the barrage. Mortars were falling here and there across the line, and smaller explosions from squad heavy weapons detonated in other places.
Suddenly, the Palace Guard kicked out at Wryd, striking her in the side of her knee. As she twisted and fell, the Telex's blade languidly slashed outward and neatly sliced off her wounded arm, just above the elbow. She screamed shrilly as she fell. Larb watched as Alak and Trig moved to stand over their downed comrade, snarling. The Telex took a step back and as his blade parried a blow from Vyprec behind him, the other end shimmered. Trig saw this coming, and tackled Alak out of the way. The blast clipped them, and both of their uniforms trailed wisps of smoke as they hurtled away from their foe. Gritting his teeth and forcing the pain to the back of his mind, Larb began to push himself up.
The Telex didn't even pause as Alak and Trig narrowly escaped being fried. Sliding his hands across the staff, the Palace Guard gripped it just below the blade and swung the other end like a bludgeon. Brev and Rorl were bowled over by it, Rorl's uniform smoking from where the still-hot blaster had impacted him. A strange, choking hiss echoed from under the Telex's helmet, what Larb assumed was the degenerate creature's laughter. Black Irken blood pumped from the slit in his side, but he put it out of his mind. Slowly, the Invader pushed himself to his feet, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.
"Fucker!" Shouted Vyprec as the Palace Guard closed in on him. The stout Elite sergeant threw his knife at the alien, but it just clanged off of its visor. Lowering his heavy blaster rifle, the sergeant started firing, yelling incoherently. The storm of blaster bolts failed to penetrate the strange armor of the Telex, but the impacts were forcing it back, slowly. Larb took in the scene as he stood up. Rorl and Brev were standing up behind the Guard, mad fury shining in their eyes. Alak had crawled over to Wryd, and Trig was beginning to pick himself up. Larb called on his PAK, and a long, sharp, spider-like limb slid out just above his shoulder, as the Palace Guard began to advance upon Vyprec.
With the spider leg hugging his side, Larb stumbled towards the duel like a sleepwalker. His mind was screaming to move faster and to save Vyprec, but his body refused to obey. As he neared the Palace Guard from the rear, Brev and Rorl tackled the Telex's legs out from under him. He stumbled and fell but recovered immediately. The blade swung about before the Telex, arcing towards the two Elites behind him.
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Vyprec screamed, as he threw himself in the path of the blade. As the blade cut into his side, he gripped it with both hands, and held it there, roaring as the Telex struggled to free his weapon from the pugnacious Irken. The alien's helmet tilted, and Larb saw his chance.
Calling upon what little energy his PAK could afford him, he leapt through the air, his PAK's limb raised and aimed at the Palace Guard's exposed neckline. Larb's heightened senses took in the duel as he inexorably flew towards the Telex. Blood was pouring from Vyprec's side and his hands. He smile and spat blood at the Guard, muddling his visor. Brev was looking at Larb, his eyes going wide. Rorl didn't notice the Invader; his fist was connecting with the Telex's side, to little avail. Further on, Alak was cradling Wryd, the stub of her other arm swathed in bandages. Larb saw Trig staggering towards the Palace Guard as well, his teeth clenched in pain, loosely gripping a combat knife.
The spider leg shot towards the Palace Guard. It was an ugly strike, a brutal stab powered by desperation. The Telex saw it coming at the last second, but didn't have time to turn as the gleaming limb pierced his neck. Bright green blood sprayed forth, splattering Larb's front side. He withdrew his PAK's extension with a sickening squelch. The Palace Guard fell away from the Invader, crawling on his hands and knees away from the Irkens. As the strange polearm fell from the Telex's grip, Vyprec grinned and sat down. Ignoring his hideous wounds, he wheezed "Now that... was a fight."
Rorl and Brev rushed to their sergeant's aid; Rorl stopped to kick the Telex back to Larb's feet. "He's all yours, Invader," he grunted, returning to help Brev treat Vyprec. Larb raised his spider leg once again, and looked down at the dying Palace Guard.
"You fought bravely, but you must pay for the crime of shedding Irken blood," he intoned dispassionately. Larb closed his eyes and thrust downward. Pulling the limb free, he had it retract back into his PAK and limped over to Alak and Wryd. Trig was lying sprawled beside them, utterly exhausted. "How is she?" Larb asked Alak, fearing the worst. Wryd looked very pale indeed.
"She'll make it, sir. But I think..." Alak halted as Grunts swarmed over their position. The distant artillery grew to a thunderous crescendo and a shell hurtled overhead, dangerously low. Larb flinched as the front gates of Galastrix's Palace were blown apart. A great cheer went up from the Grunts, who were once again flooding past the Invader's squad. Larb's sharp eyes picked up the figures of Telex soldiers pouring back through the gate, apparently readying for their final stand.
The battle swiftly moved inside, and the artillery died down as the Irkens flooded into the Palace. Larb was amazed the building was still standing after the pounding it had taken. He didn't doubt that there were no survivors of the Telex gunners who had been positioned on the ramparts. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to find himself facing General Kiir and a score or so of his staff. Larb threw a hasty salute, and realized he was the only one of his squad currently able to. The general returned the salute with a smile. Flicking his hand towards the battered Elites, a trio of medics fanned out to treat them. "Marvelous, you all," Kiir said quietly. "We saw the fight through your helmet cams. Absolutely marvelous." Larb kicked at the dust, embarrassed.
"But I'm in no shape to continue the fight, sir." Larb felt his antennae flatten in shame.
"My boy, do you realize that you're the only group that managed to kill one of those damned Guards in close combat? All the others had to resort to heavy weapons." The smile still hovered over the general's face. "You've done enough, Larb. You boys are heroes."
Larb looked around at the death and destruction around him. Smoke choked the skies, and fires raged throughout what had once been a beautiful city. Far off, tanks could be heard blasting at some unknown foe. He looked at Wryd, who had lost her arm. He looked at Vyprec, who looked as if he should be dead, but who managed to give the Invader a lopsided smile. He stood surrounded by heaps of dead Irkens and Telexes, lying together in death after they striving against each other in life. "Thank you, sir," he said at length.
The General patted him on the shoulder and started walking towards the palace, chatting with his subordinates. Larb watched him go for a moment, before walking over to help care for his wounded comrades.
Author's Notes:
I don't have much to say today apart that I'm sorry it took so long for me to update.
The chapter's title comes from the song "Warborn" by The Black Dahlia Murder. It really should be self explanatory.
Please leave a review if you like it. :D