The stars twinkled high above the battlefield, indifferent to the suffering below. A wide valley with rolling hills throughout, and a small river along the deepest portion. Guns pounded and flashed on both sides of the horizon. Soldiers in shiny plate armor stained with mud and dirt huddled in bunkers and fortifications. On the opposite side of the valley were more grunts in their own trenches, wearing cloth uniforms with only armored vests and helmets, but sheltered in similar lodgings.
Though night had fallen, the soldiers of the Rebellion and the Horde still fought small skirmishes along the line. Tanks moved to and fro, performing counter-battery fire against the cannons of the Rebellion. Arrows and bullets rained down on Horde troops hunkered down in trenches, while mortars and energy weapons replied. Most of those unengaged tried to rest, or entertain themselves to drown out the endless shelling.
It felt so unique in their minds, such an immediate threat, the worst conflict they could imagine.
The Rebellion soldiers were holding out, but only just barely. The Horde just couldn't crack them.
It was hell. What possible environment could be worse than this?
As the history of war teaches however, there's always new weapons, new clever ways to kill, new terrors.
But trench warfare certainly had its own flavor.
The flavor of blood, muck, and brass, the smell of flesh, and gunpowder, and the sound of those never ending pounding guns.
A gunnery crew of the Horde stepped away from their field gun, resighted and aimed at a grid point on the map. The night was chilly, but the heat of the gun and its spent shells gave off was enough that they had all taken off their helmets and vests.
"On the way!" a man yelled, clutching a cord attached to the gun's breech. He yanked it hard, and the gun leapt back, sending a round high into the air.
After a second or so, its report was indistinct from the others fired by the rest of the battery.
"Load!" an officer shouted, and the crew opened the breech. A spent smoking shell was thrown back amidst a cloud of hot gases, and a woman carried another shell to ram into place.
"Up!" She yelled.
An observer called out firing corrections, and they readjusted the gun. They stepped back, "Fire!"
"On the way!"
The loader grabbed another shell, then turned and halted. The rest of the crew had frozen, looking up at the sky.
"What-?" she asked, then spotted a streak of red light across the sky. It was hard to spot among the clouds, a shining white outline with a red glow, and a trail of black smoke behind it. It must've been some kind of flying machine.
The loader realized it was getting closer. Then she noted something else. A small glowing slug, arcing downward-
It was their last shell. Whatever it was, the object was going to intersect with it.
The flying machine shuddered and waggled, as more flames shot out.
The vehicle descended further, and roared overhead, toward the front line, letting out a deafening series of booms and a howl like a banshee.
One of the artillery observers watched it go by, as it flew over the Rebel lines.
Must've been some new weapon, he thought, there'll probably be some more casualty reports in the morning…
He suddenly spotted a strange blue shimmer on the field, along the same track as the flying machine. It was about half the distance between him and where the machine had disappeared.
He raised his binoculars, but couldn't make out much. A few silhouettes, not much else.
Apparently, someone else spotted it. Star shells, designed for illumination, went off on both sides of the battlefield, lighting up fortifications, tanks, enemy soldiers…
...And four strange individuals standing in the middle of the battlefield.
One wore a red turtleneck under her grey-shouldered uniform, two wore gold, and the fourth was wearing a teal turtleneck. All carried sidearms and backpacks. All looked extremely confused.
"Vadelar, where the hell did you put us down?!" the woman in red demanded, her furry tail swishing angrily back and forth. Her fangs were bared in anger and fear, and her eyes dodged around rapidly, while her tall cat-like ears twitched. She clutched her phaser tightly in both hands, ready to level it at anything. She wore no shoes, instead her bare fur and padded paws protected against the mud they stood ankle-deep in.
The young man she yelled at in the jungle green turtleneck was a humanoid with blue skin, and a distinct bifruticating ridge along the center of his face. He looked around in shock and bewilderment.
"I...I...ma'am, the ship was on fire! I didn't have a very wide selection!"
A shell landed nearby, and the Caitian officer hissed, "Everyone get to cover, regroup at that crater over there! Turn out your flashlights, I don't care how dark it is!"
Gunfire rang out, the ground rumbling under their feet as more shells came down. Light guns on both sides fired, sending rounds high into the air, that unleashed harsh orange light as they slowly descended. Screams and cries reached their ears as the battlefield was illuminated by the star shell ammunition.
A brace of fire scattered the group. The woman in red grabbed the human in gold following her and threw him into the ground beside her.
The gunfire swept overhead, and moved somewhere else.
"C'mon, Hawkins," the officer barked, pulling her subordinate to his feet, "Keep your head down and keep moving!"
Hawkins peered around in the gloom as they ran, the muzzle flashes and star shells ruining his night vision, "Lieutenant, I can't see Vadelar or Zolka-"
His voice abruptly stopped, but he kept running.
The junior grade lieutenant looked to her side to order him to move faster, and for a moment saw a horrific image.
An arrow was embedded in his carotid artery, blood spurting as his eyes rolled. He was still running at full speed as though he were alive, and for a moment longer, he was.
Then his body went limp, and flew headlong into a nearby crater.
The lieutenant dove in after him, "Hawkins!"
Facedown in the mud, not even making any bubbles, he was obviously dead. She paused to strip him of his gear, throwing his combadge, phaser, and tricorder in his pack.
A figure appeared at the top of the shell crater, pointing a bow wildly. He couldn't see her, but the lieutenant could see him.
She raised her phaser, sending the foe down in a flash of light.
Clambering to the top of the crater rim, she looked around, and spotted the rendezvous point.
More figures were appearing in the distance, and she ran hunched over to avoid a volley of musket balls, bullets, and arrows.
Finally, she was able to dive into the crater. It was deeper than most, making it easier to hide in.
Ensign Vadelar, the bolian, was huddled in it. He pulled his phaser and held it shakily on the lieutenant.
"Stand to, Ensign!" she snapped, and he relaxed, "Hawkins is KIA, where's Zolka?!"
Vadelar shrugged, "Lost track of her!"
The lieutenant cursed, "I got Hawkins' gear, so we got some ammo."
She tapped her combadge, "Mayday, mayday, mayday! Belleau Wood, this is Charger 3. We've done an emergency beam out roughly twenty klicks from our runabout's crash site. We've taken casualties! One missing, one dead, two survivors confirmed! We're pinned down in the middle of a battlefield! Request immediate extraction! Belleau Wood, do you read?!"
When there was no response, she repeated the transmission. With still no response she tapped the badge again and barked, "Mayday, mayday, mayday! Any federation forces receiving me, this is Lieutenant Mikins P'noa of Charger 3 transmitting in the blind! Need immediate evac! Mayday, mayday, mayday!"
The officer growled, there was no response at all.
She glanced at the ensign beside her, "You set a subspace beacon, I'll burn them down."
Mikins stepped up to the rim of the crater, and set her phaser to wide beam. Then she turned up the power to 6. The strongest setting below "kill".
A squad of enemy soldiers, the ones in armored vests, were coming.
Her grip tightened on the phaser, Hawkins' shocked face running through her mind.
She recalled an old song, from years ago. "For a moment he is mystified, 'there must be some mistake', as it all drains out in a crimson lake"...
Mikins pushed the firing stud, and an invisible beam of particles slammed into the enemy. The entire enemy squadron just...collapsed. No injuries, nothing. It wouldn't be pleasant waking up, but they'd live.
The lieutenant wanted to do more to them, but couldn't. She knew she couldn't.
Another squadron appeared, taking cover this time and firing back.
The lieutenant felt a bullet graze her ear, and roared in defiance, changing her phaser setting to wide beam. With another touch of the stud, another particle beam set a line of fires that flames burned the cover the enemy hid behind.
A stabbing pain hit her shoulder, throwing her fire off, and setting alight the ground in front of her.
"Lieutenant!" Vadelar called out, and she reached back, feeling a wooden shaft embedded in her shoulder.
She stumbled back toward the ensign, and retrieved the medical kit with her left hand.
"Ensign…" she garbled, and gestured wildly to the shaft, "Break that thing off, but don't pull it out!"
"Uh…"
She could feel it shifting slightly, and screamed, "Don't move the bottom half, damn it!"
He seemed to get it, and the snap was drowned out by more gunfire.
A shot from the hypospray, and persuading Vadelar to put a gel pack around the arrow kept it from moving around more.
She stood up and moved toward the opposite side of the crater from where she was shot.
"Keep working on that beacon!" she barked before Vadelar could protest, and went prone on crater lip. She screamed with pain, but gritted her teeth and bore it.
The enemy in plate armor were advancing this time, with bowmen supporting. Bowmen wearing the same uniform as the man she had shot earlier. The killers.
They were trapped. Trapped by the people who had killed Hawkins, and probably had grabbed Zolka.
Monsters. Savages. Murderers.
They killed Hawkins. They shot down her ship. They were going to kill her. They were going to kill her crew.
Federation instincts, Starfleet training, the Prime Directive, all were buried underneath the emotions that came from failing to protect those one cared about. Empathy and protection drowned out her frontal lobe with the need to escape, to survive, and to protect.
"Burn! Burn, damn you!" she roared, and turned the setting all the way up to 16. Maximum power.
Mikins pushed the firing stud, and a whole squad...disappeared. There was simply a red glow, and then...they were gone. They burned away like a magician's flash paper. The ground underneath was scorched and turned to glass. It had been burned down to the topsoil.
The lieutenant's hands shook, and her eyes widened at the sight. Her comrades in the visible light spectrum would only see a glow, but she could see them as they died. For a brief instant, she saw their forms in the glow, saw everything they were being incinerated.
She had just…
Mikins had protected her crew. The enemy slowed at the light show.
That sort of thing drained too much power. Level six would do. It had to.
"What's wrong with them?! Why don't they stop?!" Vadelar demanded, his eyes fixed on adjusting Hawkins' combadge, "Usually the phaser works!"
"I don't give a damn, just get us out of here so we can fry this place!"
The lieutenant's phaser buzzed with a low power alert, and she swapped it for Hawkins'.
"Thanks kid…" Mikins whispered, and switched it to burst fire, a narrow beam setting down to level six.
Troops fell left and right, the lieutenant dodging from either side of the crater despite her injuries. Artillery fire came closer and closer, more and more weapons devoted to their little position.
"Good luck taking me down, you'll all burn with me!"
Bullets tore through the air above her, but the lieutenant only screamed louder, her throat going raw, "I'll take you all on, come and get me you bunch of primitive screwheads!"
A tank rumbled in the distance, and several shells landed nearby. There were so many coming...
"Vadelar, how's that beacon coming?!"
"Lieutenant-oof!"
She turned back.
The guys in armor had snuck up on her somehow. Several enemy soldiers had Vadelar at sword point, beaten and bruised, with his fists bloody.
"Surrender, Horde witch, or he dies!" one yelled.
Mikins fired without hesitation. The level-six wide-beam stun blast knocked everyone unconscious. She blasted another two parties from each side of the conflict as they crested the crater rim.
Making sure the ensign's face was out of the mud, and not caring less about the other guys, she stuck her head up out of the crater again. A blast from the almost-drained phaser lit another fire around the pit.
The enemy seemed to be holding back for a moment. A moment's reprieve was what she needed.
She tapped her combadge, "Lieutenant Mikins P'noa personal log. Probably my last for a while. My runabout suffered some sort of system crash. We lost contact with the ship, our warp core went offline, so did our shields. We got shot down. Emergency beam-out. I've got one missing, one KIA, one unconscious, I'm myself injured. I'm the only one still standing. I don't think we're going to last the night. If we do, we'll try to make it to the runabout. But at the moment...there's not much we can do."
She considered her weapons beside her, three type-2 phasers and the personal type-1 she kept on her and hadn't used yet. "I might be able to cobble together a few force fields to protect against the shells…"
Sweat poured from her hands, and she was panting harder than usual. "...And against the heat. Damn it."
A gust of wind drew her attention. The guns had reduced somewhat.
The next thing she knew, a bunch of her flames were extinguished, and she was several dozen meters in the air.
Then she was in peaceful unconsciousness.