Here's chapter 10 of Snakepit.
It's yours for reading, hopefully enjoy, and comment ! Even if it's just a "nice story" or even a "you damn Draka-loving bastard !" ;- Having feedback feels good. I think it also attracts more readers ;-)
Enough preaching, on with the story !
Chapter 10 – Spitting venom
Hyperspace, Twenty minutes to emergence
System Lords Alliance Hatak Staff of Might
"Power core operating at full efficiency, my Lord !"
With twenty minutes remaining before the assault fleet emerged in orbit of Bellenos, Karl'ac's crew was busy checking the Alkesh's systems. Such practice was a novelty too. Goaul'ds and Jaffas used to have a very care-free approach to their fighting tools, as in, "if it works, good, if it doesn't, tough shit". Still, Yu had always been a stickler for etiquette, and his First Prime had introduced many common procedures in order to smoothly integrate the varied System Lord forces under his master's command. For many other Jaffas and minor Goaulds, it also reinforced their perception that Yu's empire viewed them as backwards bumbling idiots. Which, more often than not, they were. Those weren't keen on self-criticism anyway. Others took the innovations, found them to enhance global efficiency and eventually came to accept them.
"Energy grid stable"
"Shields on stand-by"
"Weapons safe" It wouldn't do to activate shields or fire weapons inadvertently inside the bay.
"Navigation's calibrated, receiving telemetry from the Hatak"
Karl'ac acknowledged, checking everything himself. He was satisfied with his crew so far. Of course, they hadn't done anything dangerous yet. He reviewed the plan again. The fleet would emerge in real space two light-seconds from Bellenos, and immediately disgorge its small craft. They would proceed inwards, smashing everything in their path. It wasn't subtle, and in Karl'ac's opinion, didn't allow for unpleasant surprises. Still, it should be enough, if intelligence had been right about Camulus' forces in-system.
He repressed a snort. Intelligence. At least he had wisely pre-loaded a hyperspace route back to the fleet's assembly point in the navigation system. It would save a few precious seconds if he needed to leave the area in a hurry.
Planet Bellenos
Same time
It was early dawn. A faint glow was coming from the East, and the planet's twin moons had long disappeared under the horizon. The team of Draka commandos had buried the three bodies, tidied the site, and slunk through the woods until they came in sight of the city's walls. They laid on the woodline, their adaptive camouflage hopefully preventing the guards on the walls to detect them. At least those Jaffas didn't seem to use any mean other than Mark 1 Eyeball, but they couldn't rule out more exotic means of surveillance. So far, there was no sign of alert. Anton watched the two guards by the open fortified gate as they inspected a peasant's hand-drawn chariot. It was apparently filled with sacks of grain. The farmer was standing aside, a hint of nervousness on his craggy face. A young boy was holding his hand, his son, likely, watching the big warriors with the universal look of fascination that boys have in front of soldiers.
The Jaffas finished their inspection, apparently satisfied that the sacks of grain were indeed sacks of grain. The leader waved his hand, and the man hurriedly grabbed the handles of the chariot, pulling it with a grunt of effort. As he disappeared under the gate, one of the Jaffas grinned and ruffled the boy's hair, telling what Anton assumed had to be the traditional "yes lad, eat your soup and when you grow up maybe you'll be a soldier like us !". He'd seen that scene often enough back in the Domination, when Janissaries came back to the plantations, sporting medals and ribbons and scars that made serf women swarm around eager to spread legs for the big burly warrior. It was the best way to make teenage serfs enlist as well. At least until Ghouloons made Janissaries obsolete.
Anton smiled, remembering his youth in the Aquitanian family plantation. The ancient chateau of blonde stone, the carefully tended lawns, the artfully crafted gardens with their elaborate air of wildness. The vineyards stretching in the distance over the gently rolling hills, producing some of the Domination's best vintages. Happy pre-war times, when the vendanges saw every serf hand take part in the grape picking, and the nightly parties in the serf quarters to celebrate a day of good work. There was a big feast at the end of the vendanges, where his father awarded the best workers with a deserved reward. The following two days were traditionally left to much-needed rest before the plantation's routine life resumed. Well, that was the closest one could come to the Draka ideal life, he often thought. In his case, the memories were made even warmer by the fact he'd lost his virginity during one of those nights. He remember the wench clearly, a very pretty and fresh-faced sixteen year old gold-skinned brunette with the firm body of someone used to spending time outdoors, yet with the softness only found in serf females. It had been... quick, but he'd improved vastly over the following days. In fact, he'd exhausted the girl to the point she had to be excepted from field labor. Which had brought him a fatherly tirade on the need to spare the workforce during such a labor-intensive period. The young Polignac had made a contrite face, and picked a fresh wench ten minutes later.
He was pulled from his remembrance by a flashing signal in his helmet display. It came from the spider, with a video feed showing the stargate being activated. He frowned. There was nobody around, therefore it came from outside. And contact with Dante wasn't due for another hour.
The molehole stabilized, and almost instantly Jaffas started pouring through, staves ready to fire. They deployed around the gate, while more emerged in a continuous stream. Anton made the spider's camera zoom on the closest warrior. The glyph on his brow was definitely a different design. And the way those guys acted, they weren't coming for a friendly tea and crumpets. That meant one thing, his mission was certainly going to become much more interesting.
Well, no plan survives contact with the enemy, eh ?
***
The Drakas didn't know it, but the newly-arrived Jaffas bore the mark of Dhakhan, a single golden chevron. Their arrival was timed to coincide with the task force's translation from hyperspace and hopefully confuse the defenders. Nor did they come alone. As the last Jaffa footsoldier stepped out from the gate, he ran to the side. The reason for his haste became apparent two seconds later, as a streak of grey metal burst from the molehole and started to climb away. The idea had come from Apophis' First Prime, who was notoriously curious of ancient Jaffa lore and history. His research had unburied, quite literally, an antiquated Death Glider designed to fit in a stargate. He'd very quickly grasped the tactical benefits of the formula, and Apophis had had seen its merits as well. Sure, the craft had its drawbacks, mainly a reduced maneuverability compared to regular Gliders. Still, the limited number of them had come in handy in previous attacks.
It also meant they weren't a surprise any more. As the third gateship appeared, the first one, now circling high above the gate, was hit by a powerful plasma bolt coming from the castle's direction. The shot, equivalent to a Hatak's secondary battery, blew it apart, incinerating the pilot and showering the ground below with flaming debris.
The remaining two, joined by a fourth and last, dove for cover precipitously, as another bolt missed the second Glider by a hair. On the ground, the Jaffas fell in a column and started jogging for the town.
***
"Did you see that ?" came the barely muffled exclamation in Anton's hear. He'd seen it indeed. The stone castle might look medieval, but the gun turret that suddenly emerged from the central tower was not. Nor was the bright golden blast of plasma that shrieked overhead towards what the Draka assumed was one of the strange little craft that came from the gate. His suspicion was confirmed seconds later when the spider view showed a flaming piece of wreckage impacting the ground in front of the stargate.
He murmured as much for himself as for his team. "Things are heating up, aren't they ?"
The town's gate was closing up as well, and Jaffas could be seen swarming the crenellations. The Draka zoomed in on a team of warriors pushing and pulling a larger version of the staff gun in place, which he assumed to be the Goauld machine-gun equivalent. They weren't alone, he counted five more of those, set up to cover the dead ground around the walls. There were more on the castle's ramparts as well.
He was curious to see how the attackers would proceed. In their place, he'd set up his own heavy weapon teams at the edge of the woods, and lay down covering fire. He'd also call for some mortar fire, and possibly some smoke to cover his own infantry. The big cannon on the tower might need the special attention of a hypervelocity arrow.
Well, it was a good opportunity to watch how Goaulds waged ground warfare.
***
Karl'ac felt the slight lurch signaling the translation to normal space. Almost immediately, the bay door slid open and the docking clamps released their hold on the bombers. He was third in line, and watched his squadron leader push out of the Hatak, even as he maneuvered his own Alkesh out of the holding area and in line with the exit. The second quickly followed, then it was his turn. On the left, Gliders were speeding away with little regard for strict formations. He passed the threshold and spared a glance around : the Staff of Might was the apex of the five Hatak formation, all disgorging small craft and accelerating towards Bellenos and its two moons. Strangely, the tactical net didn't show any enemy craft yet. Karl'ac was too jaded to see that as a good thing, but for the moment he contented himself with settling in formation with the rest of his unit. Their primary task was supporting the infantry attack on Bellenos' capital city near the stargate. Normally, the gate itself should be secure, and as soon as the heavy defenses around Camulus' palace were suppressed, more Jaffas would land in assault Tel'taks as part of the second wave. Other units would similarly attack and capture the planet's industrial sites, including the large shipyard where several enemy Hataks were under construction.
A beeping sound attracted his attention, and a blowup of the tactical display appeared in front of him. At last, enemy reaction. Shoals of Death Gliders were powering up from the surface of the larger moon. This was expected, and the display showed their own fighter screen altering vector in order to place themselves between the defenders and the attacking bombers. They were already at the limits of visual range, but sun light occasionally reflected on the small ships like dim fleeting stars. They were now only on light-second from the planet, and the second, smaller moon, no more than a captured asteroid really, was occulted by the planet's bulk.
Brighter flashes started to appear as the two formations of fighters clashed. From this distance, it was only a subdued light-show, pinpricks of light flittering on and off with the occasional flare, rapidly fading, that marked the death of a ship. Those started being more frequent, until the space ahead appeared filled by stroboscopic lights. It looked very pretty, reflected Karl'ac. As long as the Jaffas were doing the dieing, he added cynically. Hundreds of them must be already dead, and more were pouring in. Camulus had to be expending all his Glider force, but they were seriously attritting the attackers. Karl'ac could now see damaged friendly Gliders crossing his own path. back towards the Hataks. It shouldn't be long before enemy ones started appearing as well. He glanced at the holographic map. They were much closer to the planet now, and at their current speed they'd start breaking atmosphere in four minutes. It was no use trying to move faster, since they'd need to slow down before reentry. Even Goauld inertial compensators and shields had limits. Zooming down too fast would overwhelm the engines braking ability (not to mention their thermal dissipation rating) and they would ultimately become a very large glowing crater.
There they were ! The computer warbled a proximity alert as a pair of enemy fighters swoop past, reversed at maximum thrust and started to pursue the formation. Karl'ac wasn't too worried yet. The two small ships started weaving and bobbing aside as the Alkesh gunners started pouring fire at them. His own status board showed his craft's twin defensive turrets moving under the direction of his Jaffa crew, the gun predictors taking care of parallax issues. Such fool-proof automation was indispensable, since most Jaffas weren't noted for their smarts. With computer-assisted aiming, it was fairly easy to saturate the target's predicted trajectory with plasma. In theory. In practice, sane Glider pilots learnt very quickly not to fly predictably, and those who didn't, well, that's why they were expendable.
Nevertheless, with twelve gunners all focusing on them, the two attackers were blown up in a matter of seconds. One of them, surprisingly, managed to eject before his fighter was vaporized. He might even have survived, since he wore a survival suit. In a stroke of very bad luck, however, he was right in the flight path of another formation of Alkeshs, and one of them splattered him like the proverbial bug on the shield. Karl'ac let out an evil laugh, then almost bit his tongue as the ship was jolted by an impact on the shield. Concentrating back on the tactical display, he noted that they were now in the middle of the furball, and Camulus' attack pilots were seizing the opportunity to take potshots at them. And while an Alkesh was shielded, it wasn't rated for sustained fire.
More shots found their mark, and Karl'ac started doing evasive corkscrew maneuvers. It made them harder to hit, but conversely the formation's defensive fire became scattered and inaccurate.
As more formations entered the fray, the depleted fighter screen couldn't protect every bomber and some started taking damage. Karl'ac was briefly distracted from his flying by a bright flash ahead. His sight focused on a flock of fighters, the computer helpfully marking them as hostile in holographic super-impression. They were speeding past a destroyed Alkesh, broken in two and streaming sparks and superheated air. Karl'c nudged his own trajectory down to give the wreckage a wide berth, then the killer were on him, swarming his ship like angry wasps. His own gunners were giving as good as they got, managing to destroy two while the remainder poured fire in. The bomber shook with every impact, and the shield strength indicator plummeted, taking the ominous blue color of imminent failure instead of a healthy golden hue. Karl'ac's skillful piloting was to no avail, he was cornered by the nimbler fighters. He could see, from the corner of his eyes, the indicators for other ships in his formation blink out of the tactical display, overwhelmed and either destroyed or too damaged to continue. He gritted his teeth and started swearing, cursing Camulus less than Dhakhan's moronic stupidity. Faced with the near-certainty of death, even a Goauld couldn't remain impassible. As to his crew, they were yelling colorful insults at the top of their lungs, directed at the enemy Jaffas, with a strong emphasis on the lack of virtue of their Unas-loving mothers, wives and daughters.
Great was hence his relief, as a trio of friendly Gliders dove in and started firing at the fixated assailants. Three were blown up immediately, and the rest peeled away to face the new arrivals, leaving the besieged Alkesh alone. Karl'ac took advantage of the lull to check in. The fairly scattered formation was down to five ships. More than half their number out, that was bad. They were just going to enter range of the fixed defenses. He noted as well that his leader had disappeared, and he'd automatically became formation lead. Recognizing this, the others started to form up on him, clear of the thickest combat. Bellenos was looming ahead, filling the viewscreen, and they were streaking past the larger moon. As they came at their closest approach, the defenses on the satellite started firing. Those bolts were stronger than fighter weapons, and even a glancing hit would ruin an Alkesh pilot's day. Fortunately, they weren't any faster, and this gave them a half-second to react and avoid the fire. Short, but doable. The bobbing and weaving resumed, the bombers flying through the shower of golden fire, yet some of them, unlucky or too tightly bracketed, fell to the distant guns. Karl'ac saw one of his ships take a glancing hit that disabled its shield and took a chunk of its engines. The fire switched immediately to another target. Without power, the ship was doomed, unable to alter the vector taking it straight into the planet's atmosphere at high speed. The crew, if they were still alive, and they probably were, was going to cook to death before the craft exploded or crashed into the ground.
Another Alkesh took a direct hit and vanished in a blinding explosion. Pieces of hull and machinery, and what looked suspiciously like a human torso, continued their way forward in an expanding formation. And then the three surviving bombers were clear, the moon's guns switching to the following groups. The sudden calm was almost disturbing. Karl'ac started to brake, imitated by his subordinates. The shield was back to strength and damage was only cosmetic. A few hull plates blackened and buckled where plasma had bled through the depleted shield. Nothing to worry about.
***
On the planet's surface, six Drakas were almost too stunned for words. Almost.
"What the...?"
"I can't believe this !"
"Freya's tits, this is the funniest thing I've seen in ages !"
"That's because you're a sadist, Maxwell"
They were half-buried, covered in vegetation, on top of their suit's natural camouflage abilities. From their vantage point, they could clearly see the battle raging in front of the city wall. They laid on the North side, away from the area in front of the East-facing gate, and watched as the attacking Jaffas did their best impression of the human wave, running across the clearing and firing from the hip, aiming in the general direction of the wall's defenders. There had to be a thousand of them, and while the volume of fire was visually impressive, it was, from the distance, totally ineffective. Return fire from the defenders was not as wide, and here and there running Jaffas stopped, stumbled and fell with a smoking hole in their armor. One didn't stop after taking one staff bolt, and continued running, albeit without his left arm. Anton watched in fascination as a bearded warrior tripped, his right leg still attached to his body by a few strands of flesh, then steadied himself using his staff as a crutch and hobbled forward, a grimace of pain on his face. A couple of steps later, he stopped for good, as another plasma bolt blew his head clear off.
The lead Jaffas were now two hundred meters from the wall, and the heavy guns on the wall joined the fray. When one the powerful shots connected, it only left a cloud of blood that stained the grass red. Near-misses were still enough to toss Jaffas in the air.
"These guys are getting slaughtered. Seriously, this is moronic" Rayner said with a tone of professional disgust.
More warriors were still pouring out of the wood, and the Drakas were almost relieved to see that some were finally setting up their own heavy staff cannons to fire at the wall. One team managed to score a direct hit on a defending weapon, the subsequent explosion tearing a chunk of the crenellations and showering the ground below with body parts.
The three gateships streaked in from the North, flying at tree-top level, and strafed the length of wall with devastating effect. Defensive staff cannons blew up or fell silent, their servants dead. The fire tearing the attackers apart abated, enabling them to renew their rush forward.
The flyers started to curve back, pursued by steady fire from the tower cannon. Each miss produced a devastating explosion, blowing huge trunks in the air and causing a string of regularly spaced mushroom clouds. The deafening noise and the shockwaves washed over the battlefield, and the Drakas felt each tremor shaking the ground. Maxwell hooted under the drowning racket, obviously enjoying it. Anton let him, there was no chance he could be overheard, and the man was professional enough to stop when necessary.
He watched in awe as a large flaming trunk crashed on the field, crushing a score of Jaffas.
The rearmost flyer was finally overtaken and vanished in a fireball, plowing in the woods and leaving a trail of burning trees. Anton reflected that whatever the battle's outcome, someone would have to extinguish the string of fires now raging in the far side. It even seemed that some "misses" had actually hit a village or two, judging by the secondary fires starting.
The remaining pair was coming back perpendicular the wall, walking fire towards the fortified gate. They found their mark, and the thick wooden panels vanished in flame, the surrounding stone works shattering and crumbling. The tower cannon crew rather foolishly tried to shoot them down, loosing a salvo towards the directly approaching fighters. Foolishly, as while they succeeded at destroying one and damaging the other, firing so low also meant that the remaining shots completed the destruction of the gate and dug a huge furrow in the ground ahead, ten meters wide and sixty meters long where nothing was left but ashes and glassed earth. Inside a wider radius, the heat wave caused the grass and men close by to burst in flames even as the shockwaves catapulted them in the air to land fifty meters away. The damage abated quickly with distance, yet almost nobody remained standing in the field, killed, injured or simply bowled over. The crippled flyer, in a final act of defiance, bore straight for the top of the tower. The Drakas were amazed to see it crash harmlessly on a shimmering wall that appeared out of thin air. By the Race spirit, they've got energy shielding ! Wait till the folks back home learn that.
Stunned silence descended on the field for a few seconds, then the first screams started. Jaffas with open fractured limbs, ragged shrapnel wounds and horrible burns called for help, even as the valid ones came slowly to their feet, picked up their weapon and gingerly began to advance again, joined by more Jaffas coming from the woodline. They certainly were persistent buggers, Anton thought.
The renewed wave advanced without opposition until it came within fifty meters from the smoking breach, seemingly unfazed by the still intense heat coming from the scorched earth. They merely ran as fast as possible, shooting from the hip in the general direction of the collapsed gate, hoping to suppress the meager return fire from the few concealed defenders. Finally, the Drakas watched the human mass funnel itself unto the ruins and disappear into the town. The din of screams, shouts and staff blasts was telling. The defenders had to be buying time for the rest on the garrison to converge in, with their lives. The rest of the perimeter wall was emptying, only a few sentinels remaining in case an attack came from another direction.
Just as things seemed to somewhat calm down, the tower cannon pivoted and spat a salvo northwards.
***
The three Alkeshs in arrow formation were starting to skirt the fringes of the planetary atmosphere, diving in at the steepest angle they could safely manage. Ahead of them, the various pieces of debris from their fallen comrades were already burning, including the tumbling disabled ship which was shedding glowing debris and sparks. Karl'ac spared a brief thought to the fellow Goaul'd inside who had to be roasting to death, determined to avoid the same fate. As they hit progressively denser layers, the slight tremors increased to a steady buffet, as the inertial damper fought to counteract the unpredictable random accelerations. Luckily, the shield was keeping the superheated air away from the hull material, and the engines were dumping away the radiated heat as designed.
As the ship followed the reentry trajectory without manual input, Karl'ac took the opportunity to review his attack plan. What would have been a vanilla bombing pass against a single planetary defense gun was getting complicated by the fact only three ships remained from the starting twelve. As it was, the gun would have them in range before they could even retaliate. Unless, that is, they made their approach below the horizon. He studied the relief map. Yes, those hills to the North of the city could effectively conceal their approach to the last moment. They would pop up, launch the energy bombs and dive back down behind cover.
He updated the plan, and received acknowledgements from the two other bombers. By now they were zipping down the stratosphere at supersonic speeds. He spared a glance at the tactical display, under the revised flight profile, they were twelve minutes from the target. His formation should still be the first to attack. And hopefully, they would catch Camulus in his palace.
The ships skimmed over the omnipresent forest interspersed by scattered villages and fields, flying as low as they dared to, the speed of their passage ripping leaves from the trees and occasionally dipping so low as to flatten a few treetops under their shield. It was a dangerous and utterly thrilling ride, but they were safe from the planetary defenses. Those should anyway be kept busy by the supporting Hataks now in position and trading fire with the major moon's fixed guns. Sensors were picking up heavy weapon fire overhead.
Karl'ac checked the status of his weapon system a last time. He was coming up on the last leg of the approach, the ridge on the horizon hiding the city, and the palace's position was locked in the computer. Now was the most dangerous phase of the attack. He regained manual control of the Alkesh by placing his hands on the twin red interaction surfaces, and took a deep breath, purging his mind and concentrating on the incoming maneuver.
The three ships maneuvered in perfect synchronization, surging up until they came into view of Camulus' capital city. The computers made a last adjustment, the bomb launcher doors opened in the blink of an eye and the devices lobbed two glowing spheres of self-contained plasma each on a ballistic trajectory. It only took a second and as soon as it was done, the pilots banked hard to dive back under cover, pivoting in mid air and pushing their engines to maximum thrust to change vector with stomach-churning brutality. The extreme maneuver took the defense by surprise, and the return salvo missed to the relief of the three crews.
Alkesh energy bombs were remarkable. Basically spheres of superdense plasma contained in a self-sustaining field, their yield could be dialed as necessary and they were uniquely fitted to bringing down shields. The Jaffa servants at the top of the tower only had time to curse before the first volley hit their position, impacting the shield and overloading it. Heat and concussion barely had time to propagate before the second volley landed, however, and without a shield to absorb it, they released their entire strength in an explosive manner, first incinerating the cannon and its crew, then shattering the top half of the tower, and finally setting the surrounding buildings on fire. Additional damage was caused across the town by falling pieces of debris, flaming logs and stones crushing roofs, bashing heads and starting fires. The wounded's screams of agony were joined by the wailing howls of women who'd lost husbands and children, adding to the din of combat taking place in the streets as Dhakhan's Jaffas pushed their way farther into the city, bolstered by the spectacular destruction of the mighty castle tower.
"Good work warriors ! I bet Camulus wet his pants !" Karl'ac allowed himself a smile of satisfaction, answered by the laughs of the Jaffa crew and the cheers of his fellow pilots. Their most difficult task done, it was time to return to the fleet. The three ships started to climb and accelerate on a vector that would take them around the planet. Hopefully, by the time they'd circle back, the battle for orbital supremacy between the Hataks and the moon fortress would be over. Behind them, billowing smoke marked the success of their mission.
As the ships gained altitude and left the scattered clouds far below, the sky darkened progressively until blue became the familiar black expanse of space and its myriad sparkling stars. Out of curiosity, Karl'ac tapped into the wider communications net. Immediately, excited cries, barked orders and situation reports poured in. It seemed the remaining attack squadrons had taken a heavy toll as well, though not as bad as Karl'acs leading formation. Evidently the following waves had encountered weakened opposition. They mostly reported mission success, blasting the way clear for the troop transports now launching from the Hataks. It seemed as if the assault was going to succeed after all.
Bellenos' minor moon was now in sight, looming ahead in low orbit. It would even mask them in case the larger moon was still firing.
One report somehow attracted Karl'ac's attention. It seemed the attack on the shipyard had been a dud. The bombers had leveled the defense guns with no loss to themselves, but the ships reportedly in construction were nothing more than barely laid keels. The leader was complaining on the channel about intelligence being wrong as usual and spies all being traitors anyway. Karl'ac snorted. It wouldn't be the first time, and didn't change much to the outcome. Camulus had truly been caught with his pants down. Now he would have to explain his defeat to Anubis. Ouch.
Something caught the edge of his vision. He focused back and scanned the portion of sky. His eyes couldn't see anything other than the small moon. His sensors didn't report anything either. He relaxed in his seat. Such illusions happened often enough in space, with nothing but blackness and stars to stimulate the eye.
He straightened suddenly. Either his vision was really playing tricks with his mind, or there had been a brief glint, like the sun reflecting on a smooth surface. Eyes wide open and searching, Karl'ac strained his neck forward. There. No doubt this time, he'd caught a flash. How ? There was nothing on this moon that would reflect light this way. He was puzzled for a moment, and directed his ship's sensors to do a close sweep. He suddenly had a bad feeling. The scan's results came on display, and he broke into cold sweat.
Under construction my ass ! Those are fully functional Hataks ! Realization came at once. They'd been suckered into an ambush. The fleet was committed, with a severely depleted fighter screen and Tel'tak transports launching.
His Alkesh's passive sensor arrays picked up energy spikes, and he reacted instinctively, wrenching the ship in a hard break turn, calling his formation to do the same. Streams of energy passed right where he'd been fraction of a second before, and the burning flare of explosions coming from behind told him his subordinates hadn't acted fast enough, even before a glance to the tactical board confirmed the fact. He engaged in frantic evasive maneuvering as more fire bracketed his ship.
One of his Jaffa crew shouted urgently. "My Lord ! There are at least four enemy Hataks on the surface of this moon ! We must warn the rest of the fleet !"
Karl'ac snared back between gritted teeth. "I'm busy just trying to stay alive here ! The fleet can deal with four Hataks !"
He swore as a close shot grazed them, the shield flaring and dropping to half power.
"Fuck this ! I'm out of here !"
Punching the control to activate the hyperdrive, he congratulated himself for his forethought on planning an escape route in advance. The blue-purple swirl of an hyperspace window blossomed forward and the bomber vanished into the alternate dimension, golden plasma bolts passing harmlessly where the craft had just been.
Back in real space, dark ominous shapes, now fully powered up, detached themselves from the bulk of the captured asteroid that had sheltered them from view. Yet the four brand new ships weren't the only threat looming over the Alliance fleet. Deep in the bowels of the moon, buried under hundreds of meters of dense metallic ore, titanic machines rumbled to life, humming with the power of several combined Hataks. Relays and generators crackled with lightning inside a massive spherical assembly, from which sprout-like projections ran to the surface. As energy levels continued to climb, the meter thick trinium alloy cover slid apart over one of those extensions, revealing a large focusing head that oriented itself towards the five Hataks now coming over the horizon.
Inside the structure, safe in a control chamber buried under kilometers of rock, Camulus stood up from his raised throne and encompassed the Jaffas manning the consoles in his gaze, before settling on the wall display showing a view of the attacking fleet. His eyes flashed, and with a cold cruel smile he spoke a single command.
"Commence primary ignition."
System Lords Alliance Ship Staff of Might
Same time
"My Lord, we have subdued the weapon batteries on the moon and the enemy Glider force is all but annihilated. Our attack squadrons report success across the board. It is time to launch the ground invasion !"
Dhakhan listened to his First Prime's report with intense pleasure. Camulus's defenses were crushed, and his capital was ripe for picking. It would be a great success, one that would no doubt curry him even greater favor and importance at Yu's court. Not to mention how it would increase his stature and appeal in the eyes of the Lady Chiang-Mu. He knew she would eventually give in and spread her lovely legs for him. And with her support, he would in due time overthrow that decrepit old mummy Yu. His empire would be his... Dhakhan, Supreme System Lord !
"Send the troops in ! Today is the day I stomp the weak Camulus under my feet !"
"By your command, My Lord !"
His First Prime bowed and relayed the order. Down in the massive ship's bowels, Tel'Tak transports left their docking cradles, loaded to the brim with Jaffas. They streamed out and accelerated towards the planet, the warriors inside bracing themselves for the discomforts of an assault reentry, and filling their minds with thoughts of plunder, loot, rape and pillage.
Then all hell broke loose.
The first sign of trouble came when the sensor Jaffa froze in place. The next came almost immediately after when four Hataks appeared out of nowhere. And the final warning came when a very large energy buildup was detected coming from the small moon. Cries of consternation were the next step as energy readings peaked, and an intense whitish beam erupted from a point on the moon's surface, reaching the closest Alliance mothership and bisecting it like a giant knife through butter, its weakened shields showing only a token split second of struggle. Silence fell then on the Staff of Might's bridge. Dhakhan and his staff watched mouth agape as secondary explosions dotted the two separated halves, quickly ended by a massive and catastrophic conflagration that blew pieces of the destroyed Hatak in every direction.
"It's a trap !" a shocked second-rank Goaul'd managed to blurt out.
"All ships, fire at the moon !" the strong voice of Dhakhan's First Prime boomed into the stunned bridge and broke the spell. The Staff of Might and its brethren poured fire from every weapon battery, aiming at the devastating beam's point of origin. The fiery bombardment stream crossed the void and impacted a shield, the normally invisible barrier looking from the distance like an iridescent soap bubble. A bubble that didn't seem fazed the least bit by the angry fire it was absorbing. As the Alliance motherships were thus occupied, their new opponents opened with all their might, sending their own stream of gold plasma hurtling back towards them. Each found its mark, and Dhakhan's Hataks started to shudder under the assault.
"Jaffa ! Report !"
The First Prime answered his master's barked order. "My Lord, the enemy ships are dividing their fire, keeping every one of us under pressure. They have also launched fighters in order to intercept the troop transports"
"What's the status on our shields ?"
"They were already weakened by the fight with the larger moon's defenses My Lord ! Against fresh ships, we are at a disadvantage ! And this despicable new weapon is recharging as we speak !"
The Goaul'd commander pondered the facts for a moment, trying desperately to find a solution. He hadn't planned on such treachery ! Such a weapon was unheard of and dishonorable ! His thoughts were interrupted by the commander of the Iron Blossom, her normally serene face visibly fighting to keep a calm facade.
"Lord Dhakhan, we cannot hold ! You have to call off the attack now before this cursed weapon fires again !"
"Lady Kono-Hana, need I remind you who's in command here ?" the ebon-skinned Goaul'd scowled.
"You are, Dhakhan, which means you have to take a decision before we're all blasted apart !" came the angry reply. "Or was Chiang-Mu wrong to trust you with this command ?" she added in a ton full of dangerous undertones.
"Enough, woman ! I won't tolerate our impertinence ! Now you will..." he stopped in mid-sentence, as the communication was suddenly interrupted. The cause was obvious in the outside view. The Iron Blossom was breaking up, carved in two by the fiendish beam. Something unpredicted happened, saving the mothership from immediate destruction : the beam stopped abruptly, as the Allied steady fire managed to overcome the shield and destroy the surface emitter.
Cheers and cries of relief erupted in the bridge. Dhakhan himself smiled with respite.
"Victory's mine ! No one defies me !" His roar of laughter drowned the room in turn.
Regaining his composure, he turned to the Jaffa at his side.
"Status of the troop transports ?"
"They're now breaking atmosphere, My Lord !"
"Very good, now let's concentrate on those offending Hataks ! I'm sure they're dying to be spared from the pains of continued existence after the destruction of their perfidious weapon !"
The remaining three functional Hataks focused their fire on the leading opponent, hoping to overcome its shielding, while the crew of the Iron Blossom evacuated the crippled starship using whatever means at their disposition. Teltaks from the other ships rushed to its flanks and the ring transport rooms worked overtime.
Renewed exclamations of joy and triumph burst in the allied bridges when the targeted Supremacist mothership suddenly fell out of formation, its shield faltering and weapons going silent. Those Hataks were definitely inferior. Dhakhan's First Prime reflected that the vessels must have been rushed into service, and it also meant Camulus had had wind of the attack beforehand. He shrugged imperceptibly. For all he knew Dhakhan himself could have betrayed the secret to some wench he'd banged and forgotten. Sometimes it was hard to be a faithful First Prime.
A sensor operator called.
"My Lord !"
"What is it, Jaffa !"
The answer came with a slightly hesitant voice.
"The moon.. it is turning, My Lord !"
Incredulity tainted Dhakhan's response.
"What do you mean, turning, moons don't turn, you fool !"
"My Lord, look for yourself... it's orientation is changing relative to us. The weapon we destroyed is moving away !" The Jaffas pointed to his display. His master had to agree : the rolling motion was visible, and it was new. What sort of devilry...? What did Camulus do with this moon ? Whatever. The weapon was destroyed. It wouldn't trouble his plan again.
It was time to review the ground invasion... The first wave was hitting the ground now.
***
"Those were nice fireworks" Maxwell remarked to no one in particular.
Rayner quipped in. "Some pretty big explosions, outside of the atmosphere... and those traces looked a lot like weapon fire"
Polignac observed the sky for a moment, using the full magnification on his helmet display.
"And those are reentry
trajectories... they're too neatly grouped to be a bunch of debris".
"I'd bet on troop transports, or gunships"
"We'll know in a few minutes, I think"
The sound of battle was still coming from inside the city, even if a bit more subdued than before. The attackers had to be making progress, but the Drakas couldn't see, which was frustrating. At least no humongous plasma bolts were flying nearby. Those were real nasty.
There was a puzzling fact in the data they had accumulated so far. More precisely, in the lack of a specific kind of data. They had deployed various sniffers around, from the snooping modules on the drones to the listening devices integral to their suits. Apart from the few fixed-frequency waves that came from electrical circuitry, there wasn't any radio traffic. Not even the fleeting whispers of a modern frequency-hopping burst encrypted datanet. In fact, the electromagnetic spectrum was almost barren. Yet those Goaul'ds had to communicate and couldn't rely only on whisker lasers. Which led to the conclusion that they were using something entirely different from radio.
That made capturing equipment and/or personnel even more crucial.
"We're not getting anything else by staying buried here" As usual, Maxwell was bluntly stating the obvious. Observing was all well and good, but the current chaos inside the walls should enable some freedom of action. It was still a hell of a lot riskier. Drakas, of course, loved danger.
Body language was restricted in a full coverage suit, but the subtle shift in their commander's posture told his soldiers that he'd came to a decision.
"Right. I'll go with Rayner and Maxwell. You three stay here and cover us."
Exaggerated sighs made it clear that the rearguard trio wasn't too happy to miss the fun. And that it wouldn't prevent them from following orders.
It was the moment. The handful of Jaffas still on the closest section of wall had their attention distracted by the fighting going on below in the narrow streets. The Drakas brought their rifles in position, took aim, and fired. Six Jaffas dropped bonelessly a fraction of a second later, a substantial portion of their brain matter now a fine red mist in the air. The small short cracks of the shots was lost under the general noise and confusion. The remaining pair got the same treatment before they could do so much as gape in surprise. The bodies were still in the process of falling when the three soldiers launched themselves towards the rampart. Running at full sprint and taking advantage of their suit's strength augmentation, they covered the three hundred meters distance in barely ten seconds and leapt up, landing smoothly and silently behind the crenellations. Crouching, they quickly scanned the surrounding areas then, satisfied they hadn't been spotted, flattened themselves on the stone surface. The mimetic coating reconfigured itself instantly, blending itself to the grey rock. Now the Draka observers had their first good look at Camulus' capital.
It was both familiar and disconcerting. Familiar as the medieval-style layout of narrow streets and multi-story wood and masonry houses seemed to jump from a history book. Disconcerting because, well, that wasn't what one expected from an alien civilization on a planet 34000 LY from Earth. The wooden frames of the roofs looked sturdy enough to support a soldier's weight. Good. Hopping from rooftop to rooftop would keep them out of the streets, and out of the Jaffas' attention.
The central section of the castle was still burning in the distance, the thick black smoke adding an element of cover and distraction. From their vantage point, they could make out fleeing townsfolk and distant discharges of plasma indicating street fighting, progressing slowly towards the palace and its technological treasures.
Before the Drakas moved, however, a rapidly moving shadow glided towards their wall section. A glance showed the dark smooth pyramid shape of a Tel'Tak transport coming to a stop a few meters away from their location. They felt the weird "push" of the contragravity engine over their body, and saw identical shapes taking positions all around the town perimeter.
Great. They saw an apparently empty section of wall and thought it would make a great place for an assault landing. Anton's mind cursed the Demon Murphy, probably the only tradition Draka and Democracy forces had ever shared. Body and mind primed for action, the three Drakas watched in wonderment as a set of dark grey rings dropped down from the hovering ship, a bright white light pulsed inside them, and they finally retracted back into the transport's belly, leaving a group of Jaffas in their place. The vessel accelerated away immediately, its pilot unwilling to spend any more time over a combat zone than absolutely needed.
The eight Jaffas were about to discover a brand new world of hurt as three snarling Drakenses unstuck themselves from the floor, combat knives in hand, and sprang into action.
Despite his surprise, the closest Jaffa tried to lower his staff. Before his could complete his gesture however, the lead Draka leapt in the air and kicked the warrior's unprotected head, crushing his skull. He then landed in the middle of the Jaffa group, driving his dagger-shaped combat knife down on the furthest warrior's cranium, holding on the hilt while his fist drove into his victim's back. The body fell forward, gore and brains leaking out of the ragged cavity. The Draka didn't pause, shifting his position slightly and launching his foot sideways to connect brutally with the leftmost Jaffa's knee. The burly man screamed as his leg gave way under him, then the return kick launched him clear over the wall, flailing wildly until he crashed into the ground head first, blood splashing over the hard-packed earth.
The remaining Jaffas tried to react, but the speed of the Draka assault, and unwieldy staves hampered them. Anton trivially blocked a staff swipe with his left hand, then pushed the weapon aside and drove the heel of his hand straight into the bearer's nose. Sharp shards of bone drove into the Jaffa's brain, collapsing him instantly. The Draka flowed into movement once more, thrusting the dead man's staff hard into his next opponent's solar plexus, then grabbing the doubled over's man head and twisting away, breaking his neck and sending him down to join his dead comrade below. From the corner of his eye, the Merarch saw another alien warrior flying back from the impact of Decurion Rayner's augmented fist. Draka hand to hand combat emphasized simple but effective killing moves, and the fluid practiced grace of the Drakensis made it a lethal dance. While Jaffas were bred to be warriors, they lacked the New Race's artificially enhanced speed and strength. Anton ducked under a swinging staff and drove his dagger up to the hilt in the Jaffa's torso, the piercing blade punching effortlessly through the chainmail and reaching under the ribcage to puncture the heart. He retracted his arm and turned, ready to tackle another opponent. It was unnecessary. Rayner had just dispatched the last standing Jaffa with a crushing blow to the temple.
The dead bodies were dumped unceremoniously over the edge, landing in tangled heap. The whole affair had taken a mere five seconds. Anton glanced over the crenellations. More of the invading Jaffas had been dropped and were now jogging towards the wall, transporting what looked like sections of ladder.
"Let's go !"
Taking the cue, Rayner and Maxwell followed their commander and jumped the ten-meter gap between the perimeter wall and the first row of houses. From there on, the intervals between roofs was narrow and the three Drakas bounded from house to house on a heading taking them towards the castle.
As they moved deeper into the city, they came closer to the frontline, where vicious house to house fighting was taking place between attacking and defending Jaffas in the middle of terrified civilians. As they jumped over a narrow street, the Drakas caught a fleeting glimpse of two Jaffas, they couldn't tell which side, dragging a screaming woman by the ankles.
"Hey, just like Janissaries" Rayner observed with amusement.
"Why aren't we doing this whole rape and pillage thing ?" Maxwell lamented theatrically. "Instead we're jumping around like monkeys... SHIT !" His burst of profanity was accompanied by the sound of wood shattering. Polignac and Rayner stopped in mid-run and backtracked to the point where a brand new ragged hole explained the soldier's sudden disappearance. Peering in cautiously, they saw Maxwell below, brushing dust and small fragments from his suit. "Yank-damned wood's rotten !" His look of disgust seemed apparent even through his faceless suit helmet. As if on cue, the roof creaked, groaned and sagged under the remaining Drakensis' weight.
Anton evaluated the situation. "All right, we can't risk you jumping back on. The whole structure could come down. We're coming in"
Maxwell stepped aside as first Rayner, then Polignac dropped down. They were in a cellar of sorts, without any opening other than the newly created hole. Aside from a thick layer of dust and a generous coating of cobwebs, there was nothing to see, but Rayner's eye caught a handle on the ground. Coming closer, she saw that it indeed belonged to a trapdoor. She gestured for her companions to join her and pointed towards it. They took overwatch positions as she kneeled down, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The door didn't budge. She pulled harder, and the handle separated from the panel. She shook her head and uttered a string of obscenities, then cocked her fist and drove it hard into the offending piece. The planks splintered and her gloved hand ripped the chunks of wood aside, fully clearing the passage. Maxwell dropped in the dark corridor below, crouched and took a few paces forward. The others landed behind, rifles at the ready, and they started to move in tactical formation. Four doors communicated with the corridor, two on each side, and the Drakas assumed they led to the second-story rooms. From the dilapidated look of the surrounding, it wasn't luxury housing. They didn't linger to check and reached a narrow ladder descending to the first story. A small window on the street-facing wall let dim light through. Given the narrowness of the gap between roofs, it probably never saw direct sunlight. The whole place reeked of unwashed bodies and stale food. The first level was barely cleaner.
"Sure you want to shag the locals, Maxwell ?" Rayner mockingly inquired.
The subject of her taunting opened his mouth to speak, and shut it immediately when angry shouts and the sound of things being broken burst from below. All humor forgotten, the Drakas listened intently. The noise was coming from ground level, and frightened male and female voices mixed in with the thudding of boots and the unmistakable crackling of a staff gun prepped to fire. Desperate pleads for life were cut abruptly by the woosh of a plasma discharge. A female scream answered, followed by the wails of children. More staff fire ended those.
"Shit" Anton muttered under his breath. It was as much a reaction to their compromised situation as to what sounded very much like the slaughter of non-combatants. It wasn't something Drakas endorsed. Oh, sure, he'd killed serf civilians before. It had always served a purpose, however. Here, it appeared like gratuitous brutality.
He peered cautiously down the stairs and caught sight of a pair of boots moving toward his position. Another was following, and he heard at least two more soldiers present. He raised his head back, unclipped a flash grenade and tossed in down the shaft. It exploded a few seconds later, blinding and disorienting the aliens. Maxwell took point in the stairs, carbine raised, and fired twice, each shot dropping an enemy in quick succession. A few steps later, he pivoted left and shot another Jaffa as he came in sight. Behind him, Polignac did the same to the last dazed intruder. They spared a brief glance around. It was a common room, containing a table with assorted rough stools, some chests covered with blankets and a chimney used for cooking. A dead couple and two children laid near the table. There was no point lingering and the Drakas went straight to the open door, pausing to look outside. More shouts could be heard, and the smell of smoke told of fires burning.
I really hope they have some form of fire service, Anton thought.
The trio stepped into the street, and headed in the direction of the castle in tactical formation, running half-crouched and rifles covering every direction. The Merarch still hoped to reach the castle's vicinity without encountering too much opposition, but even in the confusion of battle, his hopes were getting lower and he was starting to have second thoughts about the whole affair.
His doubts proved right when they rounded a bend and found a squad of Jaffas, Camulus ones from their facial tattoo, running in the opposite direction with guns ready, obviously to counter a penetration by the attackers. They stopped at once, bewildered by the appearance of these strange opponents, and instinctively fired before they consciously registered it. Jaffa aim was notoriously atrocious. On the other hand, they were in a narrow passage, and their targets were a mere five meters ahead. This meant that of six shots, a staggering half found their mark.
One impacted straight on Maxwell's chest, jolting him slightly back. The scorching plasma scored the surface of his armor, disrupting the mimetic coating and ablating a thin layer of the carbon-beryllium carapace. Despite the suit's isolating property, he clearly felt intense heat seeping through, probably enough to give him a first-degree burn. That was negligible, but he'd have to avoid further hits in the same area. A second shot glanced on his left arm, dissipating most of its energy harmlessly on the masonry behind. The third shot avoided him entirely and instead spent itself on Anton's thigh. He winced slightly at the burning sensation, then returned fire along with Maxwell, stitching a line of bullets across the group of Jaffas. On full auto, the Tolgren caseless carbine was able to expend its 50-round magazine in two seconds. The 6mm pre-fragmented bullets ripped through Jaffa armor as if it were paper then expanded into the soft tissues, causing vicious grieving wounds. The noise was lost in the overall din and the six warriors dropped bonelessly before they could fire a second volley. Blood seeped out, staining the dirty cobblestones.
The Drakas advanced cautiously forward until they reached a T-intersection. Multiple, heavy footsteps were coming from both directions, and a quick peek around the corner showed more incoming Jaffas. From behind, more shouts told of attacking warriors coming up. They'd run into a crossfire, Anton thought. Fortunately, the New race had many tricks. He made a gesture, his index finger thrusting up. His seconds understood and braced themselves, flexing their legs, then uncoiled explosively, jumping up with the power of oversized grasshoppers. Which wasn't that far from the truth, as Drakensis incorporated, among others, genes regulating elastin production, the protein responsible for the insect's spectacular detent.
The three genetically modified soldiers landed lightly on top of the roof, and climbed out of sight from the street, thanking Murphy that this one wasn't eaten by termites. A short moment later, they heard the firefight erupt below.
It was soon eclipsed, however, by fire coming from the heavens. It was very high, and even through magnification the source was hard to discern. Explosions and weapon fire were still unmistakable, as well as the plummeting shapes of damaged troop transports trailing black smoke. More shapes resolved as fighters descending through the atmosphere, harassing the vulnerable bigger ships. It looked like another air battle. A very unbalanced one. More transports were dropping off, or outright exploding, as they tried to evade their nimble pursuers. It wasn't long before the first out-of-control vessel impacted the countryside, an earth-shattering boom and a climbing fireball marking its demise. More followed, littering the city's surroundings with dozens of additional smoking pyres.
To Anton's professional eyes, it looked a lot like fortunes had reversed and the attackers were starting to get their ass whopped. Which would spell the doom of his plan of reaching the castle and stealing valuable data or artifacts under the cover of the mayhem. It might well be time to backtrack.