This story is a one-shot about a single battle between the Empire and UNSC. Unlike other stories I've written, the style will be a little bit different since it's not going to be a 100.000 words story. As you will see down below, some scenes won't be as big as others. However, I do hope it will prove to be an interesting read for all Star Wars and Halo fans. The story is inspired by the Sabaton song "Fields of Verdun", which is based on the battle of Verdun during WW1.
This first chapter will be somewhat of a setup, while the real action begins in the following chapters.
Disclaimer: I know nothing about military tactics or jargon. Apologies to any military personnel out there if I get things wrong.
The war between the UEG and Galactic Empire rages on! In an effort to bring the UEG under its heel, the Empire has launched a new offensive on the UNSC colony of VOSEMIA. After a valiant defense of the UNSC's navy, the Imperials have finally begun their ground assault. Thousands upon thousands of men and women pick up arms to push back against the alien invader.
In order to assault the capital as soon as possible, imperial army GENERAL ARNDALL LOTT has deployed his forces in the Valtawa Wilds. Fighting under his command is the ruthless 71st Imperial Army Corps. The UNSC immediately responded by sending GENERAL ARTHUR HUFFMAN to combat this threat. Together with the 27th UNSC Marine Division and the 38th Armored Battalion, the general has entrenched himself between the imperial forces and the capital. Their moto is clear: "They shall not pass!"
But who will claim victory on the FIELDS OF VOSEMIA…
Bryan exhaled loudly as he placed yet another sandbag on the edge of his trench. This had to be the umpteenth bag that he had filled, and his arms were beginning to ache. The soreness in his muscles had been steadily building up as he worked on the fortifications. A droplet of sweat slowly trickled down his left temple, leaving a glistering layer behind that coated his head. By now, his short-cropped dark hair was drenched underneath his helmet. Bryan reached out and wiped it away; the work was tiresome and exhausting, but it had a clear purpose that he couldn't ignore.
After all, these sandbags would probably save his life in the long run.
The young private – no older than twenty years – looked around and saw that his comrades in arms were equally occupied with their own tasks. For as far as he could see, UNSC marines dug trenches, foxholes and filled bags with the very dirt that they took from Vosemia's soil. It was a small mercy that the weather was cloudy, because he didn't know how fast they would work if the warm sun shone down on them; their work was grueling enough as it was already.
Bryan glanced at the fellow occupant of his trench, and nudged the man's shoulder, "Reiner, hand over my water, will you?"
The older marine sighed loudly, as if to emphasize how exasperated he felt at the request. Of course, Reiner wasn't that much older than him; only two years or so. The heavy gunner was a private just like him.
"You know, you could just hold on to it yourself." Reiner complained in his heavy accent. An old German dialect, if he remembered correctly, "You don't have to annoy me every five minutes for another drink. What do I look like? Your personal butler?"
"Do you want an honest answer?" Bryan chuckled, reaching out to grab the bottle.
His partner shook his head, "Unbelievable…"
Ignoring Reiner's mutterings altogether, he quickly raised the bottle to his lips and drunk from it. The refreshing coolness of the water was more than welcome. Despite it being a mild temperature, it felt as if he was going to fall over from the heat.
They had been working on the fortifications for quite some time now; the network of trenches that they had constructed reached from the base of the hill all the way to where the river was. The Valtawa Wilds were notorious for its lush forests and steep hills, as well as the large river that passed right through it. All in all, it was a pretty good defensive location to set up shop.
Considering the imperials were planning on passing through to reach the capital, Bryan figured it made sense to dig their trenches and foxholes here. The river was a natural roadblock, and there were no bridges for the imperials to cross. Well, there had been one, but a few demolition charges later it was nothing more than a burning wreck.
"Hey, stop staring and get back to work!"
Bryan blinked as Reiner threw a small ball of dirt at him. The hardened soil bounced harmlessly off of his uniform, but left a brown smudge behind. He gave the heavy gunner a deadpan look- already wiping off the specks of dirt that were left on his chest.
"Was that really necessary?" He grumbled.
"Considering you still haven't finished with those sandbags, I'd say it was." Reiner shrugged, completely unapologetic. His fellow marine could be quite uncaring at times, and the man's current attitude did little to surprise him, "You always slack off when you drink. I'm not going to do all the work here."
Bryan rolled his eyes at the curt response, but relented and got back to work. As much as he hated to admit it, he did have the tendency to get lost in his thoughts whenever he took a short break; he was an experienced daydreamer. He grabbed a nearby sandbag and picked it up, lifting the heavy weight with his legs instead of his back, and carried it over to the edge of the trench.
The trench they had dug wasn't as deep as those of centuries ago when humanity had been confined to Earth, waging world wars that had devastated entire countries. No, it would provide excellent cover from enemy fire and artillery, but they were hardly wide enough to allow dozens of soldiers to get in. Bryan sighed as he continued the repetitive work; pick up a bag, carry it around, and place it where it would block the bullets.
Or, well, plasma bolts- he wasn't much for details.
Of course, he and Reiner weren't the only ones at work. The entirety of third platoon was focused on building fortifications. Other marines were also digging the last of the trenches, and others were digging foxholes or filling sandbags with the dirt that they dug up. Luckily they had made good progress, because he could already see the turrets being assembled. They had an arsenal of M343A2 chainguns – the latest variant – at their disposal, but there was an equal amount of the older M41 Vulcan.
While the former was more modern and reliable, in wartime they had to use whatever was available to them. Bryan remembered the quartermaster mentioning that they simply did not have enough of the M343A2 because the demand was higher than the production capacity. After all, the output of the factories on planets such as this one was responsible for whether the marines got the right equipment or not, and unfortunately it fell short.
But that didn't mean it was a complete disaster; Bryan's own sergeant, Davidson, was a veteran of the human-covenant war and had reassured them that the Vulcan was more than capable of ripping the imps a new one.
Bryan figured they were going to need them. This was his first real battle, as he had enlisted only a while ago and had finished bootcamp recently, so this would also be his first encounter with the imperials. From what he had heard and learned, the Empire was fond of sending in massive amounts of soldiers and walkers to win its battles. The marine corps was outnumbered most of the time, and only skill and steadfast determination would save them.
"Heads up, we got another bunker drop." He heard Reiner say, prompting him to focus on the familiar rumble of a Pelican's engines.
A familiar sight of two Pelicans appeared in the air as the aircrafts approached. Hanging underneath from multiple cables was a pre-fabricated bunker, the kind that could be deployed at a moment's notice. Among the marine corps it had received the nickname of a "bunker drop". Bryan watched with interest as the Pelican pilots carefully hovered a previously marked spot, where a group of marines were waiting for the cargo to be deployed. Once they seemed to be in the correct spot, the bunker was released from the sturdy cables, allowing it to fall on the ground below.
"There goes another one." Bryan remarked, watching as the marine around the bunker began to prepare it.
With the ability to deploy these pre-fabricated bunkers it had become much more efficient to set up a proper defense. Even now there were other bunkers all over the trench line, filled with turrets and soldiers who would use said weapon emplacements. The imperials would have to bring out to the big guns to put a dent in those.
Reiner nodded, "Seems like it. The general really doesn't want to lose this spot. Can't blame him of course, but it makes you think, no? Just how many imperials are going to come charging out of the forest, or how many walkers are going to try and stomp us flat?"
It was a frightening prospect that Bryan shared; seeing so many assets being assigned to one position meant that it wasn't just of great strategic importance, but that the enemy would fight hard to take it. He silently hoped his trench would be enough to save him from a blaster bolt.
"Well, we've got enough mortars and machine guns to stem the tide." Bryan offered weakly, feeling some unease well up as well. He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid, "Besides, we got the high ground."
Reiner snorted, "Yeah, as if that's going to win the battle for us, Dummkopf."
"Hey! What did I tell you about insulting me with words of your own language?!" He growled indignantly.
"Less talking, more working." The taller man rolled his hazel eyes, clearly not amused, "If you put as much energy in doing your job as you do in wasting time – mine in particular – we would have been done fifteen minutes ago."
Bryan gave an offended look, but knew better than to argue with Reiner.
"Dunham! Schwartzman! Have you finished with those sandbags yet?" Came a familiar bass voice from behind.
Walking up to them, carrying an MA5D assault rifle that hung on his back, was sergeant Davidson; their CO. To Bryan he was the very image of a sergeant. Tough, tall, built and a hardass. Sergeant Davidson knew how to whip his squad in shape, and his glare could make them squirm harder than their own mothers. Unfortunately that glare was aimed at them at the moment.
Standing at the sergeant's side was their fellow squad mate; private Lorenzo Salvini, their medic. His occupation was marked by the red symbol on his gear, showing that he was in charge of helping the squad in case of injuries that were sustained on the battlefield. Bryan didn't know that much about the man, other than his Latino inheritance and youth. Hell, the guy was younger than him!
"Just five more, sarge." Reiner responded quickly. If there was something that the sergeant hated even more than slackers, then it was being slow in answering him, "One more minute and we'll have finished up here."
"About damn time." Davidson grunted. "I've got one of the tank crews asking for help to dig a big nice hole for them to put their tank in, and I just so happened to volunteer the two of you. Understood?"
"Roger that, sarge." Bryan sighed, already accepting his fate; he'd be sweating a lot more today.
"Salvini, you'll help them out. Understood?" The sergeant turned his attention to their medic, who had been watching silently.
"Yes, sir." Salvini nodded eagerly.
Bryan recalled that Salvini had been at work a bit further down below, helping some other marines with the barbed wire that they were setting up. Unfortunately there wasn't much of it; the nearby fort's supply depot had had more ammo than barbed wire. However, there was enough to seriously impair the enemy's ability to approach their position, and that was good enough for the marines.
Another grunt, "Keep up the good work. Who knows? The two of you might actually be able to kill an imp after all."
Well, that was as much praise as they were ever going to get. With his next objective in mind, Bryan resumed his work by helping Reiner set up the last of the sandbags. The whole time he wondered what the imperials had in store for them.
"Give it to me straight, specialist. What do you have for me?"
Kowalski took a deep breath as he processed the general's request, already adjusting the holotable so it would project a three-dimensional image of the Valtawa Wilds. The familiar noise of the command center of fort Nightwell was drowned out as he focused on his task. Standing at the other side of the table in a crisp uniform was general Huffman himself, who was in charge of the defense of the area and the 27th Marine Division.
General Huffman was well in his early sixties, yet remained an imposing figure. After all, Huffman had been a marine long before he had become a general, and that never faded away. The man wasn't as tall as one would imagine, but his sheer presence made you feel very small, and Kowalski had experienced this many times before. The general's grey hair was neatly cut, and his heavy mustache was well-groomed; the latter wasn't exactly proper regulation, but no one berated him for it.
There were two things that the general took pride in; his command – which had rewarded him success and the respect of his troops – and the patch of hair between his upper lip and nose. Not even his own wife could remove it, and according to the general he was still winning that particular war.
Having served under the man as part of his staff for quite a while now, Kowalski was familiar enough with the general to know what he wanted, giving him ample time to prepare. His fingers glided over the display with practiced ease, hitting the correct commands to bring up the right projection; the imperial staging area in the Valtawa Wilds.
"It's just as we thought, sir. Our scouts confirmed our suspicions." He began, gesturing towards the three-dimensional projection. An area of a plateau surrounded by hills and steep ridges was highlighted, and multiple symbols for buildings and troops dotted the place, "The Empire has chosen this plateau as their main base and staging area. It's a wide patch of land, so if they're following standard imperial protocol, they'll have set up everything a base needs in a matter of hours. Reports indicate that a shield has already been powered up, protecting the whole plateau from any kind of attack."
"What about the air?" Huffman asked, eyes scanning the highlighted area.
Kowalski shook his head, "There are regular patrols of TIE fighters at every moment. Any fighter or bomber will be intercepted long before they can get to the target, and even then there's still the shield."
"And they won't be stupid enough to forget setting up AA turrets." The general finished in understanding. "Any estimates about how many troops they've brought along?"
He had to look that up for a moment. Even though his memory was superb, he didn't want to risk giving faulty information. The general needed the correct intel to formulate a plan, and Kowalski prided himself in having never failed to deliver.
"We've had two Acclamators touch down next to the plateau, meaning we're looking at the very least at 10.000 enemy soldiers, not counting the materials and armored support they unloaded." Kowalski explained. Their sensors had registered the familiar shapes of the imperial assault ships, but it hadn't been hard to look past the large vessels descending towards the planet, "As for air support, I believe they have several squadrons of TIEs available. Perhaps a few gunships as well."
"Meaning we'll have to rely heavily on our anti-air capacities." General Huffman sighed. "We barely have an air force left, and the remainders are currently locked in dogfights with the imperials in the sky. Make sure to distribute enough AA rockets launchers among our troops, as well as position Wolverines at the back of our lines. We can't completely neutralize the airborne threat, but it'll have to do."
Kowalski nodded in understanding, "I'll make the necessary arrangements."
The whole marine corps knew of how the Empire favored using TIE fighters for CAS in large amounts, but it was also a commonly known fact that the TIE fighter was incredibly fragile. A single well-placed rocket could blow a starfighter out of the sky. Even better, a Wolverine would be the bane of existence for any TIE pilot ordered to make a strafing run.
"Good. Now, as for their walkers and floating tanks, we'll have to rely on our gauss cannons that we're setting up along our trench lines. Those things are the only anti-tank cannons that we have in our arsenal. The 38th Armored Battalion has plenty of armor-piercing shells left, the last time I checked, so that should do." The older man mused before adding wryly, "Besides, if all else fails, our marines can switch to their good old SPNKR rocket launchers."
"Quite right, sir." Kowalski chuckled.
With the whole planet under siege, diverting UNSC assets had become a complete nightmare. It was a small mercy that the Empire did not have enough star destroyers in orbit to supply bombardment to its forces down below. As it was, only a handful of support ships were hovering above Vosemia, while the other imperial vessels were patrolling the system in case of an UNSC retaliation.
Ferrying supplies and the likes had become a stressful endeavor; the imperials weren't opposed to sending out aircraft to bomb all highways and bridges across the planet, meaning that trucks could only reach destinations that were close by. Kowalski had insight in the logistics of their unit – being part of the general's personal staff – and knew that they had only enough food and munitions to last them a week at most.
And that was a very optimistic estimation.
The same thing could be said for troop management. The 38th Armored Battalion had almost been unable to support them due to initial bombardment by the imperial air force, but luckily one of the roads had been left untouched, allowing the Scorpion tanks of the 38th to arrive in time. They were being set up along the marines and dug in for a steadfast defense.
"Alright, there's nothing else to cover on that subject. Have our sentries in the forests reported any incursions yet?" The general spoke up as he paced around the table.
Kowalski shook his head, "The area is clear for now. Aside from the occasional scout trooper or probe droid, the Empire hasn't sent in any troops as of yet. However, that might change soon when they finish preparing their base."
"They're trying to get a better feel of the terrain. Huh, so they're not going to charge in recklessly this time then." Huffman mused quietly. The gears in the man's mind were turning, and the short silence meant that he was analyzing this information, "We're dealing with a competent commander for once. Not those glory-seeking types that we come across occasionally."
"How so, sir?"
"Well, for starters, this guy decided to choose a position that has natural defenses against any sort of counterattack." The general gestured towards the map with a wrinkled hand, "Then he chose to set up a base properly to make sure that future assaults would run smoothly and that his staging area is well-defended against possible air raids. Not to mention the bombardment of our infrastructure, the reconnaissance efforts to map out the terrain…" A sigh escaped his lips, "Needless to say, the imperials are preparing themselves for a siege. They're making sure that their supply lines are in order, and with their defense they'll be able to act aggressively, while we'll be put on the defense."
Kowalski slowly understood what his superior meant; the imperials knew they didn't have enough support – both from the air and orbit – to charge in with blitzkrieg tactics. Instead, the enemy was preparing themselves to hammer down on the UNSC defenders, and slowly chip away at their walls. Such tactics were uncommon among a substantial number of imperial commanders.
Their conversation was interrupted, however, as a new figure approached the holotable. Wearing an officer's uniform that was in pristine condition, as well as a green cap that matched the outfit, Kowalski recognized the woman as colonel Vivian Chase, who was also part of the general's personal staff and in addition his second-in-command. She had dark skin and dark hair, but her eyes were as green as the grass in a lush meadow.
The colonel walked up to them and immediately saluted, "Colonel Vivian Chase, reporting for duty."
"At ease. We don't have time for the formalities." Huffman waved away her concerns for professionalism, but made sure to show his appreciation of the gesture as he nodded respectfully, "What's the status with our artillery, Chase?"
"The Kodiaks have been positioned where you requested them to be, sir. Captain Bradford told me has a view on the areas several kilometers in front of our forces, and they're making some last-minute checks now. There's plenty of ammunition for them to use, plus I've arranged two trucks to move any additional shells from the fort to them if needed." The female officer responded dutifully.
"Precisely what I was hoping to hear. Well done, Chase."
Kowalski would feel sorry for the imperials if they hadn't decided to lay waste to the planet. If there was anything that a soldier feared, then it was a precise artillery bombardment, which the Kodiaks were known for. The imperial soldiers would experience hell on earth if they came in the firing range of those artillery units.
"My pleasure, sir." Colonel Chase replied neutrally.
"Any status updates on our defenses?" Huffman asked next, picking up his mug of coffee.
The colonel was quick to deliver, "We're nearly done with setting up everything. All bunkers have been delivered by our pilots, and word from the field is that all trenches have been prepared. There's just a few turrets left, but those should be finished in an hour or so. The men will be ready for whatever the imperials throw at them."
"They'd better, because we're all that stands between the Empire and the capital." The general deadpanned before taking a sip, "If we don't hold the enemy here, countless civilian lives will be at stake, and Vosemia will fall before our backup arrives."
"Do you really think they're coming, general?" Kowalski asked, sounding more nervous than he would have liked.
There were a few seconds of silence before he received his answer, "We have to assume they will. Otherwise this fight will be over quickly."
"That bad?" Chase spoke up, more curious than unnerved.
The elder officer shrugged his broad shoulders, "We need to look at this realistically; the Empire controls space, and they're contesting for the air. Right now, all we have is the ground, and even that's not certain. I have faith in our men to do their duties and hold the line. However, I also know that the imperials aren't pushovers like many believe them to be. They'll throw everything they have at us – be it a walker or their goddamn kitchen sink – and we're going to lose a lot of men as a result, which we can't afford since we won't receive any reinforcements."
There was no fear or anger in the general's voice, as far as Kowalski could hear. If anything, the man barely had any emotion in his voice, sounding more like was simply delivering a fact. In a manner of speaking, that was actually quite accurate. The Empire had a lot of fanatical soldiers in its ranks. Storm troopers often lived up to their names by charging towards the enemy, disregarding their own lives in favor of the cause. They made for better targets, but some were bound to get lucky or have the skills to back up their commitment; the result was not pretty for the UNSC defenders, as well as the Empire itself at times.
With that in mind, Kowalski could understand the emotionless tone of the general. A wave of relief and sympathy washed over him. While he was glad that he wouldn't be in danger of having to face a horde of storm troopers anytime soon, his fellow marines on the frontlines wouldn't be so lucky.
Bad weather is on the horizon. We're going to be in for a treat.
Sergeant Tiberio Malkin, sergeant of the 71st Imperial Army Corps, grumbled to himself as he stared at the sky from his spot on the road of dirt inside the imperial base. Being a native to an agricultural planet, he had learned how to predict the weather from his father; a seasoned farmer back home.
Tiberio had been a farmer once too. However, that all changed after pirates had raided his people's lands, pillaging and murdering citizens left and right. His own father had died at the hands of a pirate, and as his farm burned to ashes, Malkin had realized that there was nothing left for him on his world.
Instead, he visited the nearest imperial recruitment office and joined the military. After five years of dedicated service, he had become a sergeant in the 71st Imperial Army Corps, fighting for the glory of the Empire and the security of its citizens. His life was now in function of making sure that scum such as the pirates on that particular day could no longer threaten the order that the Empire imposed.
And now, his duty had brought him here to Vosemia; a UNSC colony that stood in the Empire's way.
Malkin gazed at his surroundings, noticing that the base was coming along quite nicely. The pre-fabricated buildings had already been set up; the barracks were lined up in an organized manner, the motor pool was housing their armor, the utility buildings were being filled with supplies, and the command building was bristling with activity. His boots marched over the loose soil beneath his feet as he headed over to the barracks.
Hundreds of imperials walked around him, fulfilling their own assigned tasks with an impressive efficiency. Malkin gave a nod to a pair of guards that strolled by him. They returned the gesture out of respect as their chins almost touched the breathing apparatuses of their helmets. No imperial army trooper ever wore those things outside of combat; not only was it unconventional, but it also took away any fresh air and condemned the wearer to inhale stale oxygen. Both men carried their standard-issued E-22 blaster rifles in parade rest as they patrolled the compounds.
If there was one thing that the imperial army took pride in, then it was how fast and efficiently they could set up an FOB. Everything was well-organized to the point that even a blind man could find his way throughout the base.
Inside the motor pool, all vehicles were positioned according to type and role. Rows upon rows of dormant AT-STs were huddled together, and next to them were the repulsorlift-powered vehicles; the sturdy 2-M hover tank, as well as the reliable ITT. Engineers were swarming around the machines, making sure that they would be in perfect condition for the upcoming assaults. The last thing they needed was a malfunctioning leg component in a walker, or a problem with a tank's blaster cannon.
Standing proudly at the end of the motor pool, looming over the rest of the much smaller armored vehicles, were three iconic AT-ATs; the epitome of imperial walker doctrine. Of course, Malkin had fought alongside those for a long time, and knew that three AT-ATs wouldn't be enough. They'd be prime targets for UNSC artillery and anti-tank weapons. He also knew that general Lott wouldn't commit those walkers just yet; the imperial infantry would have to soften up those defenses first, and only then they could move in with the giant walkers.
"What a pain in the ass…" The sergeant muttered, shaking his head at the sight of the three AT-ATs.
His ears tingled as the familiar whine of an ion engine boomed in the air. Malkin raised his head, seeing two TIE fighters fly by above the FOB. The small airstrip had also been completed only a few hours ago, and the pilots were already in the air to provide security. The familiar sight of TIE fighters flying above his head always filled him with a sense of safety.
"No! Don't connect the blue cable to the red one! Do you want the lights inside the barrack to explode?!"
Malkin raised his eyebrows at the angry shouts, as did a few other servicemen who were nearby. The noise came from two imperial technicians, both of them working on a power panel linked to one of the barracks that housed the soldiers. From what he could see – and clearly hear due to the volume – was that one of them was messing up.
"But you just said-" The technician who was crouched next to the panel began, only to be cut off by his senior.
"No, I told you to connect it to the green one! By the emperor, how deaf are you?" The other black-clad man said exasperatedly.
Well, that was a situation he wasn't going to get in between. Malkin shook his head as he left the scene, continuing onwards to his destination; he still had a squad to brief. Despite most of the base being completed, there were still a few things that needed fixing, and one of those were the lights inside a handful of barracks. Luckily all power generators were already up and running, so the issue should be fixed in the evening or so.
The army sergeant walked further towards his own barracks, crossing paths with numerous soldiers. They chatted among themselves or walked in silence, and he didn't notice any nervousness in any of them. Sure, everyone had their thoughts about what was going to happen, but morale was as high as it could be. However, Malkin wondered how that would keep up once their first engagement with the UNSC begins. Having fought the UNSC marine corps before, he knew they were going to suffer considerable losses.
Malkin was deep in thoughts as he contemplated their chance, but paid enough attention to his surroundings to see he almost bumped into someone. He looked up and saw that it wasn't a person, but actually a droid.
The KX-series security droid regarded him for a split second before resuming its patrol. The tall, lanky droid was followed by two more as they patrolled the area. Each droid carried an E-5C heavy blaster, which was a rare weapon for an imperial to have. After all, these blasters have been around for decades, all the way back to the Clone Wars. Makin knew why the security droids had them though; they were easy and cheap to manufacture, and the overheating problem that it was known for had little effect on droids as long as the weapon didn't melt down.
He stood there silently as he watched the droids march. In the past, it would have been a very rare occurrence for a security droid – which was actually a battle droid despite what the manufactures said – to be part of an imperial assault; much less an invasion force. Malkin didn't know all of the details, but apparently high command had decided that the addition of droid forces would bolster the imperial armies and produce more results.
He wasn't going to complain; the droids could be as lethal as a regular soldier, and if a droid took a bullet for one of his men then that was a resource well-spent. The KX-series often joined in during a battle, while security was left to organic guards and their droid cousins; the imperial sentry droid. The latter wasn't as agile as the more mobile KX-series, but far more durable. Malkin didn't care that much in the end. Leave the droid tinkering to the engineers.
As he neared the barracks, he spotted a lone figure sitting on a stack of crates. Normally this wouldn't catch his attention, but the fact that the army soldier belonged to his own squad made him pause. The soldier was also wearing mostly green armor that every army trooper possessed, with the sole exception that he lacked the helmet.
"Blakes, what are you doing out here?" Malkin asked the trooper, stopping next to the crates.
His subordinate looked up from a datapad with a startled expression, "Oh, sarge. I'm just reading a message from home."
"I see." Malkin hummed, staring at the datapad before turning his gaze back to the private, "Any particular reason why you're not in the barracks for this?"
"Lin and Doi are back at it again. I prefer to read my letters in silence, so I decided to come out here." Blakes shrugged.
Malkin resisted the urge to groan out load. Lin and Doi were also part of 5th squad, but they had more arguments than a married couple. Their bickering was legendary among the platoon, and despite his efforts they still couldn't stop themselves from bickering over the most silliest topics. He'd have thrown them under a walker ages ago if they weren't excellent support gunners.
"Seems about right. Not even I have enough patience to put up with that." He nodded in understanding. He could already feel the headache approaching, "So how's the family?"
Blakes smiled, showing the mirth in his eyes, "They're doing great. Dad's surgery went without any problems, and my little sister graduated five days ago. She's already been promised a position at a major biotech company in their research department. She can't stop saying how excited she is in the letter."
"Good to hear." Malkin grinned, patting the younger man on the shoulder, "Next time we're on leave, we'll go celebrate the occasions; both your dad's recovery and your sister's graduation."
"I can't wait for it!" The private laughed heartily.
Malkin joined in, yet deep in his mind he wondered if they would be around to celebrate. After all, the battle would be fierce and devastating, and their platoon was going in first.
"There are still UNSC ships lurking around in the system, Lott. I cannot provide any orbital support unless the plan is to leave us vulnerable. You will have to make do with what you have."
He wasn't angry, and neither was he happy. No, the emotion that he currently felt was different. It was one that he regularly felt whenever he had to talk to Pierce; how that man had become an admiral in the imperial navy, he would never know nor understand. The sheer stupidity of the person that he was talking to was mindboggling. It carefully gnawed away at his patience, which was beginning to run out with every damn word that left the admiral's mouth.
If you had to choose a specific mood, then you could say that general Arndall Lott was pissed. The people inside the main HQ's command center knew this, staying away to avoid pissing him off even further.
"And as I've told you," He said with restrained frustration as he spoke through clenched teeth, "I can't follow the schedule that I've been given if I don't have orbital support. The UNSC has had plenty of time to dig in, and I'm only able to attack from one spot. They know this without a doubt, and they'll have set up a wall of defenses that will be a kriffing hell to break through. I need that support!"
He slammed his fist on the holotable for good measure, causing the projected image of admiral Pierce to flicker for a brief moment. Tension hung in the air; Pierce and he didn't mix, and the persistent claims that the admiral needed all of his ships for patrolling the system was a load of bantha poodoo in his opinion. While he was army and didn't know much about naval operations, he did know that the fleet assigned to the invasion force was big enough to spare at least a light cruiser, if not an actual star destroyer.
"You know my answer." Pierce said curtly, chin held high as if he was better than him, "That will be all."
The holoprojector dimmed as the officer ended the conversation. Lott placed his hands on the table and took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger in front of his subordinates. While he wasn't the most professional general in the imperial army – as many of his colleagues could attest to – he wasn't unhinged enough to go on a rampage like an idiot child.
"Well, that could have gone better." He looked up and gave his second-in-command a flat look.
"You don't say." His tone couldn't have been drier as he rolled his eyes, to which the colonel shrugged.
"Just saying; we both know the admiral's as stupid as they can get, so why should we surprised by this outcome?" Livton offered in a carefree manner that would have made other officers frown. Lott didn't give a damn. His subordinate got him results, which was all that mattered, "Still though, it's going to be difficult if all we have are transports and light carriers. Those are only good for a sensor scan; not a bombardment."
Lott sighed, "I know that. However, if that nerfherder is going to hoard all of our ships, then I can't do anything about it."
He crossed his arms, both black sleeves blending in with the dimly lit commander center. Other officers preferred wearing their crisp and clean uniforms, but as for him? Arndall chose to wear his black field armor, with helmet and blaster firmly attached. He didn't care much for the formal dress uniform; it restricted too much movement.
The damn collar also itched incredibly like hell.
"So what are we going to do now then?" Livton asked next.
Arndall grunted as he pulled out a cigarette from his pouch, "Despite the best attempts of our scouts, we haven't made much progress in spying on our foe's defenses. All of the probe droids that we sent out were destroyed by sentries in the woods, and there've been three skirmishes between them and our scout troopers. We've caught glimpses of a large entrenched position filled with UNSC marines though. In addition, the intel on the terrain retrieved by our scouting parties and recorded by our sensors will be put to good use."
"How so?" The colonel asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
Lott keyed a command in the holotable, causing it to change as an outline of the Valtawa Wilds – as the locals called it – was brought up, "I briefed Maelstrom Battalion of your 1st regiment an hour ago. I would have passed the orders through you, but you were preoccupied with offloading the rest of your men."
"Fair enough." Livton nodded.
"Yeah, well, your men will advance through the wilds at approximately 1500 hours." The general continued, exhaling smoke as he relished the cigarette. He gestured towards the tree line that went through the forest, "Their task is to clear out any sentries that they find, and probe the enemy's defenses. I want to know what we're up against; just looking through a pair of binoculars won't do, but a short attack will."
His second-in-command seemed to understand what he was getting at, "Maelstrom Battalion will test the UNSC's strength before pulling back quickly. That way we can get a feeling for how strong their position is. Alright, seems about right. What comes after that, though?"
"Then the fun part begins." Lott grinned sinisterly, "I've already marked a perfect position for our engineers to start digging a trench line and set up fortifications. Not only will it serve as a forward outpost, but it's also a spot where we can position our AV-7 cannons."
The AV-7 cannon was an artillery piece that dated back to the Clone Wars. It was a large cannon that stood on four legs and could be used as an anti-vehicle cannon as well, though it did an excellent job as artillery support. Back during the Clone Wars, the cannons had been partially responsible in securing a major defeat for the separatist forces on the planet of Christophsis, and the imperial army hadn't phased them out just yet like they had done with other republic vehicles.
In Arndall's opinion, it was a foolish decision to throw away perfect equipment such as the LAAT or AT-RT. While the latter was still sparsely used by certain scout trooper divisions, the former was an excellent gunship that could serve many roles and excel at them, but it hadn't been decommissioned years ago. At least he had his AV-7 cannons; they were effective enough and were easier to move through the forest than the Self-Propelled Medium Artillery walker.
"You're planning on bombarding them with our artillery first; Maelstrom Battalion can supply us with better coordinates, and then it's just up to the cannons to soften them up." Colonel Livton nodded in agreement, "Sounds effective enough. Do you want me to prepare the rest of the 1st Regiment?"
"Have them stand by in case we need them. Tomorrow the rest of our troops will arrive, and then we'll launch an all-out offensive." The general said as he exhaled another cloud of smoke.
The lower ranked officer raised an eyebrow in curiosity, "Who are we expecting?"
"The 4th Galactic Marines Regiment is supposed to arrive by midday, and they'll be accompanied by the 26th and 32nd Shock Trooper Battalions." Lott explained. The imperial general leaned against the table as he glanced at the map, "The Galactic Marines are used to fighting in hazardous environments, and they are some of the best soldiers in the entire Stormtrooper Corps. As for the shock troopers, I requested them since I expect heavy fortifications, and they excel at breaking through an enemy's defenses."
"Well, I know that the 44th Armored Battalion has already set up shop in the motor pool, but I didn't expect this many troops for just one location." Livton said, slightly in awe; that was at least 3000 more soldiers in addition to their armored units and the 71st Army Corps.
Lott grimaced, knowing that he would need every last one of those soldiers. The war between the UEG and Empire was going on for more than a year already, and there was no clear end in sight as of yet. That didn't surprise him; wars tended to last for years, but the problem was that neither side could gain the advantage. The Empire had larger numbers and could afford to lose assets, but the lack of intel on UNSC worlds was what made the conquest so slow.
Vosemia was one such worlds, and the Terrans would defend it valiantly as they had done before on other colony worlds. Lott was privy to the casualty numbers, being a high-ranking officer with almost unlimited access to the reports, and to say that they were bad would be an understatement. It took entire legions to pacify a single planet. The reason why he had requested such a large amount of forces – and that they would be elite forces – was that he knew it would be extremely difficult to get past the enemy, seeing as this was his only ticket to the capital city.
"Let's hope they'll be enough then." He said after a while, already through half of his cigarette. His staff was competent enough to put an ashtray on the holotable, and he dropped a burnt stump in it, "High command wants us to secure this world as soon as possible. The navy has had problems with ferrying supplies due to UNSC convoy raiding, and this colony can be turned into a new supply depot; it should make it easier to supply our comrades on nearby worlds."
At that, the colonel sighed, "Easy for them to say. They haven't had the pleasure of being shot at by a UNSC-made rifle; I still have the scar. Not to mention those poor bastards in the navy… Can't imagine how terrifying it must be to be shot at by one of those MAC cannons that the Terrans love to use."
"Force be with them." Lott agreed, showing respect to the poor sailors aboard the star destroyers.
"Better start praying for us too, sir. Vosemia is going to be a tough fight."