Scorched Earth, Black Snow
Having studied the history of mankind's homeworld, Corporal Holland was aware of the concept of scorched earth.
It was a concept that had been limited to when humanity had been confined to the third planet of the Sol system. Back when it was left fighting over everything from resources, to ideologies, to the borders of nations that had ceased to exist centuries ago. If an army was sent into retreat, they might literally scorch the earth behind them as a form of asset denial. Of course, that tactic had limited worth when the United Powers League had begun colonization of the Sol system, where fire couldn't burn on most of the system's planets and moons, and where the armies being used weren't large enough in size to warrant the tactic in the first place. If the UPL wanted to take you out, they'd do it quickly and effectively. And even in the 25th century, with humanity spread out over well over a hundred worlds, scorched earth wasn't a tactic that was used readily either. War in the 25th century was often either fought in space, or in brushfire skirmishes on the surfaces of planets and moons. The tactics that the UPL had begun at Sol had kept humanity's ruling government going over the three centuries that had followed.
And yet here, on the ice world of Braxis, 60,000 light years from home, Holland was reminded of it. Because as he and the Cronus Wing forces advanced across the snow, closing in on the planetary capital of Boralis, he could see the results of the path UED tactical bombers had paved for them. He could see where the snow had melted, revealing the barren soil underneath. He could see where the snow remained, but had been blackened by the fire. And what caught his eye more than anything else, were the burnt-out remnants of the forces of the Terran Dominion. Tanks. Speeders. Soldiers. All of them had been in retreat to the capital, all of them had been taken out lest they pose a threat later. Holland was pretty sure that the Planitia Conventions had rules against that, but then again, tyranny of distance was a thing. Rules didn't apply out here, on the other side of the galaxy, or if they did, what was the Council going to do? Slap their own soldiers on the wrist for bringing the descendants of criminals into the fold? Censure their greatest admiral for heavy-handed tactics, including, but not limited to, unleashing captured zerg on an unsuspecting colony? Hardly.
Holland had studied Earth's history. Dehumanization of "the other" had worked then, and it still worked now. Watching the holos on Eridanus III, before being shipped off to Earth, he'd seen the same tactics used by UNN. A reminder to the people of the United Powers League (sorry, United Earth Directorate) that their erstwhile cousins who'd come to inhabit the Koprulu sector had never meant to come here at all. That they were the descendants of convicts, of everyone from murders to the cybernetically enhanced, and their debt to society was still over 200 years outstanding. Yet still, marching by the bodies, trying to look away from their burnt flesh, but finding his eyes wanting...it was hard to do so. Terrifying as they were (or at least how the holos had presented them as), he'd have gone for fighting some aliens right now.
"Company, halt."
Or failing that, moving onward. Not staying here in the presence of 400 men and women, marching to the distant lights on the horizon. Not here, so close to the death and decay that the UED's invasion had unleashed. Still, the captain's words had been heard over the radio, and smiths like him were nothing if not obedient. The platoon stopped marching, with every private getting into a firing position. Him, being slightly above the rank and file, instead walked over to Sergeant Sun…if only to get away from the charred corpses nearby.
"What have we stopped for sergeant?"
She looked at him, her visor hiding her face behind her helmet. "The hell you doing corporal?"
"Asking questions. I think that's part of my job description."
"No, your job description is to follow my orders. Orders I get from Lieutenant Evengelo, who gets them from Captain Mandela, who gets them from some bigwig even further up the chain of command." She looked around, before murmuring, "besides, I don't know."
Holland raised his visor. "Why?"
Sun raised her own visor, took a sip from her flask, then splashed the water on Holland's face. "Get back to your position corporal. You'll know when you need to know, and so will all the other grunts."
"Yes sergeant. Of course sergeant. Returning to the grunts sergeant."
Holland turned around and walked back across the snow, already regretting raising his visor. Not so much for the water, or even the chill, but rather, for the smell. Twisted metal and burnt flesh. He'd smelt both before, while fighting under the banner of the UPL, and not forgotten either. But looking down at the bodies, he was reminded that familiarity didn't decrease impact.
He crouched down in the snow, and, biting his lip, reached for one of the Dominion marines' bodies. The power armour they used was primitive - 200 years removed from that used by UED smiths, and while the ATLAS supercomputer had allowed the convicts' descendants to develop along a path not too dissimilar from their Earthborn cousins, the technological divide was still there. A divide that would shrink, as the mission plan required the expeditionary fleet to rely on local resources rather than bringing a surplus of their own tech, but regardless, for now, on this world, the distinction remained. But a distinction that was shrinking, as Holland reached for the marine's dog tags. Through the shattered helmet and off the man's throat, dangling across scorched skin. He winced as he pulled it out, seeing the glowing orange writing on it.
O. TERRANGA
PVT
20-3-80
AB
SA-06-KILU-194
For all the cultural similarities, usage of the English language was among them. But he-
"What you doing?"
He got to his feet and looked at the smith who'd come up beside him. The woman's visor was up, so she recognized it as being Private Shintaro.
"Looking the dead?" she asked, gesturing at the tags.
Holland glanced back at the marine's corpse. "Not much left to loot."
"Eh, speak for yourself."
"I will, actually. And on that note, you should get back in formation."
"I-"
"Yes, private, you should." Sergeant Sun walked over. "Now."
Shintaro nodded and returned to her fellow smiths. Holland didn't smile - he had a good guess what was coming.
"I give you a job to do, I expect you to do it. Not play bloody star tourist," Sun snapped.
A guess that was pretty accurate.
"What have you got there?"
"Excuse me?" Holland asked.
Sun extended out her palm. Holland put the dog tags in it. Her visor was still up, and as the sergeant looked at them, Holland saw something dance in her eyes. Amusement? Disdain? He couldn't say. Whatever the case, she handed them back to him.
"Looting the dead, corporal?" she asked.
"Looting's what we're here to do. Figured I should get to a good start."
Sun's lips quivered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that sounded seditious."
Holland felt a chill run down the back of his neck, and not just because of Braxis's icy wind.
"But thankfully, I do know better. And yes, the mission plan requires a fair bit of looting to free the people of this sector from the tyranny of the Terran Dominion, so if shooting comes before looting, who am I to argue?"
Holland knew that she wasn't. No NCO was. Actually, come to think of it, no-one in all of UED space was. You didn't argue with the Council. You did what you were told. But...
But he looked back at the corpse of O. Terranga. At the horror on the marine's face before the fire took him. Stood there, and felt the chill drop even further in temperature.
"Something wrong corporal?"
He glanced back at the sergeant. "Liberators," he murmured. "You think that's what he called us, when we first landed? When we beat off the recon teams? When our bombers burnt everything?"
"Corporal..."
"You think that's what they're going to call us?" Holland asked, gesturing towards Boralis. "You think when we attack the city proper, the people are going to welcome it?"
Sun didn't say anything.
"Well?"
The sergeant sighed, and glanced at Boralis herself. "You don't think we should be here, do you?"
"No." Holland didn't see any point in lying. "Is that unusual?"
She glanced back at him, smiling like a shark - one of those giant fish in Earth's oceans that had gone extinct in the 21st century. "Well, let's just say that it might be a reason why you haven't got your sergeant's bars."
In spite of everything, Holland clutched his fist.
"And between you and me...well, for now at least, we're not attacking Boralis."
Holland blinked. "Excuse me?"
Sun glanced around, before whispering, "recon team's made contact with some anti-Dominion insurgents. Confederate Resistance Forces or some nonsense. Apparently their leader says he can get us in through the back door of the capital."
There were a hundred questions on Holland's tongue, but he only went with the first one. "The city has a back door?" he murmured.
Sun laughed grimly. "I hope there is, because I sure as hell don't want to go in through the front one. Yeah, the convicts are two-hundred years behind, but that doesn't mean they can't hurt you."
Holland didn't dispute the point. Nor raise that the people who sent soldiers to do hurting were rarely hurt themselves. Emperor Mengsk was tucked safely away on Korhal, and the Council was tucked in even more snuggly on Earth. If the Dominion repelled the UED, Mengsk wouldn't be scarred by it. And whatever happened to the fleet out here, the Council had even less to worry about.
Sun patted him on the shoulder. "Keep your head in the game corporal. Because if you survive Braxis, you'll need it." She pulled her visor back down. "We all will."
If Sun was trying to fill him with confidence, she'd failed. But then, he wasn't sure she was trying. All he knew was that he was just standing there. Waiting. Watching.
Legs deep in the blackened snow.