Aterran-Maxima

An Auraxian's Collection

Cold Steel

Throughout Auraxis, the reliance on vehicles was still a necessity in the war. It would remain that way for years after the end, even as teleportation technology advanced further beyond its current restrictions. Such was the striking power and utility of land based vehicles that as the war continued on harsher environments of the Auraxian continents that a large amount of research was devoted to increase efficiency and eliminate problems surrounding vehicle usage. This increased focus on the backend increased the production and change of vehicle usage among the factions, to the point that armored contact battles on a large scale drastically increased, alongside their casualty ratings.

Several weeks after the Shattered Warpgate incident on Esamir, but before the establishment of an ad-hoc warpgate by the Terran Republic, the Vanu Sovereignty had pushed forward and begun the excavation in the north east of the continent. The potential knowledge and resources besides its baseline readings were considered an invaluable asset to the war, resulting in a full assault on the position by the New Conglomerate. The Sovereignty was well entrenched by the time any true assault could be mounted, ensuing in a standoff made by a singular boundary, a large river that had appeared as a result of the incident. Two skirmishes had ensured the Conglomerate to lose over four companies worth of troopers before a large-scale engagement had been required. A Bastion Fleet Carrier could not be requisitioned to the front due to the nature of the energies pouring out of the area, alongside the potential damage the large scale weaponry could potentially cause. Reports had visual confirmation of multiple super heavy vehicles, 'Colossi' that would make suborbital assistance near impossible.

In response Operation Stormbreaker was drafted and pushed through. Later known as The Battle of Cold Steel in the book A Beast in the Machine penned by Lesper. , a combatant of the engagement, the New Conglomerate would dedicate the elements of thirteen armored Divisions as well as dedicated support from the air to push across the river alongside the infantry units already on station. Featuring the lauded 5th, 7th, and 9th Armored Brigades, and the prominent 1-7/76th, The Triumphant. As a member of the 5th, Haurse held the position of Tank Commander for the Adamante Resistance.


The grinding of treads and throaty roar of the engine filled the hull of the Adamante Resistance in a near deafening cacophony of sound. The occupants of the vehicle wouldn't have it any other way of course, because it was the roar of battle, of the fight for freedom. Below in the frontal cabin , Halten worked his magic, coaxing an equal speed to match the audible output of Adamante. It had been noted previous times that Halten, despite barely having a perception of the world outside our armored hull, had a knack for displaying keen dexterity in the way the tank moved. Admittedly we knew it was from the upgraded chassis that allowed the mechanisms within to stop and rotate at a faster pace, but we still said it was because he was a shorter fellow (on the side of 5'7") that allowed him to manipulate the gears and petals easier.

The remaining three members of our crew, myself included, were functionally together in the rather condensed turret of the vanguard. I was positioned on the right side, in a raised seat with a viewing port, the main sensors, radio, and secondary weapon's control stick. All in all, as the Tank Commander I had a visible lion's share of responsibilities, but there was no other way. The other two members of the turret needed to be completely focused when it came to combat on their jobs. Their name was Vatrik, shared of course considering they were twins, we called them G.V and L.V respectively to their positions of Gunner and Loader. Their positions were unironically chosen because G.V had a slightly better eye than his brother, and L.V didn't have his arm in a sling when it came to choosing positions on the tank.

Unlike the Prowler of the Terran Republic, which had an automatic loading system to down size the size of the turret, or the Magrider of the Vanu Sovereignty, which functioned more like a submarine than an actual tank, with an engineer instead of a load, the Vanguard was old school. Featuring a dedicated loader for shells instead of the two other options and discluding the option that will not be named, made the vanguard a bit of a larger target than most were comfortable with. Most being the keyword, the real geniuses down in the NCRD decided what better way to take the Vanguard's weakness and tool it up to be the strong suit, adding in more armor, a larger engine, and slapping a recycling shield unit to make it an even bigger (now glowing target).

Enough of the bullshit though, let's get to the knitty-gritty. We reached up at grid 0580-1680 as our staging area at around 1100 EAT, sun was shining, armor was flashing, and engines were roaring as over two thousand armor pieces culminated into pre-designated sections and squadrons. The plan was to descend into the Northeastern grid from the west, fanning out along the road until we hit the infantry line, from there we would split down the line, 5th elements would hit from the direct breakaway, 9th down to the south of the line, and the 7th somewhere in between. We would wait for everyone to hit positions and have the infantry mount up in transports we brought with us before trying to cross.

This of course was going to take some time, giving the Vanu some more time to really sink in to either the snow or how fucked this showdown was about to be. So it was no surprise when the first plasma shells started landing among our positions within minutes of our launch from the rally point. Thankfully the column didn't take too much damage, multiple tanks had been either washed in shrapnel or plasma burnoff from close hits, and another Vanguard had been nearly shelled directly with its saving grace being the commander's quick reaction time to throw up the shield unit. In response, a drumroll began from behind our own lines, preset artillery emplacements began to fire indirect shells over the ridgeline towards enemy positions. As we exited the decline's surrounding walls, the land opened up for a clear view of the effect the barrage had.

The farside of the shore was blanketed in smoke and snow, but we could still clearly make out the forms of enemy infantry clad in purple, alongside the shimmer of moving magriders alongside the now disrupted landscape. Our own side of the river didn't look much better, just inverted with blue and several dead men. It was clear enough that the enemy's barrage wasn't directed fully at us, rather they were aiming for our own lines, possibly to mount a breakout. It was good enough to assume that we were just in time, and that was something the men on the line desperately needed by the looks of it. As the flash of steel and blue-gold camo patterns flashed on the horizon to their rear, the troopers began to cheer, shouting and raising close fists as the armor rolled in and started to fan out to assault positions.

"All units, this is Dawn Breaker." came a voice through the radio, Dawn Breaker was the call sign for 5th's command and control unit, "We cannot wait for the others to fill into their spots. Advance across the river and begin the assault." Engines roared into life as the column spread into companies, down to individual squadrons, till the shape of an arrowhead was formed. As squadron leader Adamante was at the front, the left flank was taken by Love Life, the right by No Quarter. We would be the sixth squadron across, and as the first squadron's treads sank into the water and slush of the river crossing we collectively came under fire.

The cultist had been a cunning foe throughout the war, bringing to bear a mean intelligence that reduced battles to a game of numbers and statistics to be weighed in response to potential gain or losses. They had learned that engaging at the maximum range of their weapons effective use wouldn't do much to the heavy armor of the Vanguards, and unlike the Terran's didn't have the numbers to effectively shell. So they waited, waited for us to start crossing the river, the water slowing down our treads making us easy targets as we funneled towards our given objective. Lance fire began to impact plates directly, while rockets and plasma accelerators either became near misses or direct impacts. Shields flickered to life as the forward element came to a staggeringly slow pace, turrets rotating towards the backwash and light-ups of enemy positions. The river was too dangerous to pop smokes around to provide visual break, so we just had to press through, firing as we went.

The condensed space of the river was a death sentence for many of the first tanks to cross it, and we left behind over seven engines in the rush to get across. It was later counted that among the three armored units that went in, over fifty percent of our losses came from crossing that river. My own tank received a glancing blow of plasma on the forward left track that dangerously rotated us through sheer force. With an urgency born of desperation, Halten readjusted the treads, and we nearly leaped forward in our seats as he increased the horsepower to nearly redline the engine.

"Left side, bearing 341, up 25!" I called out, and the crew responded in kind, "Target; weapon emplacement, H.E!" L.V was already loading a shell into the breach as G.V adjusted the targeting systems and waited for the turret to stabilize. He held up his fingers, counting down manually as the turret fixed onto the position. I glanced back into the visor, did a quick estimation, and screamed "FIRE!"

The 120mm shell screamed out the barrel like a demon, and in the blink of an eye had traveled the 800 meters to land directly in the weapons emplacement, obliterating them in a ball of fire and shrapnel. Other tanks did the same, and as we crested the bound out of the river we received the greeting party that awaited us. Up the road, slightly over a thousand meters out was an arrayed company of magriders, firing in salvos as their plasma accelerators cycled by squadron. It would be a tough slog, but we could easily break through them if we got close.

"All units, Firestorm," came the voice of a Commander over the radio. FireStorm was the first squadron leader, and while he had lost one of his flankmen, he had responded by reaping a toll across the enemy positions. "Keep arrowhead formation and follow through, spread once we're past that line." We didn't need to respond, just follow in, and so we pushed forward, firing as we went. Lines buckled and disappeared in waves of fire as we continued the assault, and more than once both sides took a shell that put a tank out of commission. We closed nearly 200 meters of the gap when it went to shit.

At the start of the incline towards the enemy's line, directly on the road, the first squad disappeared in a thunderous crack. I got a clear view as Firestorm shook drastically, and then it was rented asunder, turret blasting away as the internals cooked off. A scream of death washed over the radio as his flankman Guardian melted into slag from the buffeting waves of the explosion paired with a direct hit of a plasma bolt, reducing the turret to a searing u-shape that glowed a shock burn of tainted blue. The plan was a no-go, and the assault would falter due to the road alone being mined. I keyed in the unit radio, thinking quickly.

"Break formation! Spread out and assault the lines odds North, evens South!" There wasn't any time to relay much else as the thunder started up again, this time with the enemy guns aiming right for our now locked formation.

My quick thinking had possibly saved the formation the grizzly and ignoble death of dying at the river bank, as companies by squadron split off, following the direct command. We were still being hammered, but as the squadrons skirted around the ruins of the first tanks, the fight resumed. Targets were filling my line of vision enough to keep me verbally occupied between my own tank and the squadron, and soon enough I was speaking in numbers more than actual words. Our line of tanks had spread quickly enough, but every so often a Vanguard would go down. We needed to get over the lines and into their back, or else the other two units would be left to dry. Our main problem was now we were in overwatch from the road, the magriders having built a wedge that rained down fire on us, and every time a response bellowed from our lines the skimmers would jinx slightly, causing the shell to go wide or fall short. We were going to our doom if this keeped up.

"5th Division,76th inbound. Shell inwards targets and keep them locked in." came an echoing voice from the radio. It was a surprise to hear that considering how far up shit creek we were. I triggered the squadron channel.

"Fire for effect, inward towards those maggies!" was the explanation given, and I didn't wait for a response, signaling the V's "Bearing 300, up 9! AP!" screaming all the while "Aim for the engines, fire when ready!" leaving the pair to the task. Within seconds the cycling of the loader and firing mechanism were clanging away, depositing empty casings that rattled in the turret. I kept a solid view of the carnage as the terrain around the maggies kicked up dirt and snow. A shell landed true among the skimmers and detonated the main cannon of one, resulting in a ball of superheated plasma ripping the tank apart from the inside.

We kept it up for merely a minute before something glimmered in my peripheral. I adjusted the mirrors and was suddenly met with one of the scariest things a dedicated armor crew could encounter on Auraxis. Flying low from the north was a formation of aircraft, eleven deep in a wide v-formation. On the flanks rested four individual Reaver fighters, outfitted specifically for air to air combat, their wings decorated with a multitude of kill symbols and the numbers 76 embossed upon their ocean blue hulls. The aircraft in the center were a different beast altogether. Clad in resplendent gold and black, the 67th Triumphant's Liberator Gunships shone in the sunlight, casting shadows as they blitz their way over the terrain. Braced upon the underside of the gunships resided the long barreled form of the Dalton 120mm Anti-Armor Cannon.

Within seconds they had doubled the distance from the northern cliffs and closed upon their intended target. The Magrider pilots either didn't see them or were not receiving radio communications, hinted by the too late movement of the skimmers as the shells were landing atop them. The earth shook for a second as the fifteen shell salvo obliterated the enemy wedge formation, and as the Triumphant veered off a visual crater filled with shattered engines and plasma back blast remained.

"5th, objective cleared, clear effect on target." came the same voice as before, "You are clear to proceed with assault. I say again you are clear to- SPLIT LEFT! SPLIT LEFT!" The tone of the sender had gone from professional to terrified within seconds. The reason why became apparent a second later. Three massive beams of purple split the sky, screaming toward the turning forms of the 67th, followed by the sudden burst of anti-air fire. Two of the beams went wide, but the last engulfed one of the liberators, disintegrating it instantly.

"All units be advised," came the same sender as before, this time over the operation wide band frequency, "visual confirmation of three super-heavy colossus units. I say again, visual confirmation of three super-heavy colossus units." The liberators came out of their sharp turn and immediately thrusted low, desperately trying to get under the angle of the guns. The 67th had done its job however, and it was time for us to repay the favor.

"5-Over, 5-Over, this is Adamante Resistance, fall in on 6th Squadron for the breach." I transmitted across the unit radio, before looking down. "Halten! Full throttle, take us into the breach!" His response was muffled, but we felt it as the Vanguard leaped beneath us, rolling us as quickly as possible towards the remains of the enemy tanks. Chatter filtered through the comm as squadrons pulled together, either sorting new tanks into other roles or casualties requesting recovery & repair. Love Life had taken a direct hit to the treads, so in response Parragon, the sole survivor of 4th squadron, took over our left flank. We rolled right up to the enemy line, secondaries subduing what was left of the enemy infantry while our turrets faced inward.

"Get ready to engage super-heavies." I stated to the crew as a scowl appeared on my face. "Station us at bearing 35, down 5,aim for the sponsors first."The thing about taking on super heavies is that most inexperienced commanders will focus on the two most dangerous parts of the tank, the cockpit or the main cannon. Both of these are great to take out when you can, but they were the two most well protected spots on the colossus alone. A smart commander will aim to disable the tank, specifically looking at the treads and the defensive measures like the four sponsor turrets.

"A-R, N-Q, how do you want to take this?" came a burst from the squadron line.

"Thinking I take Spons, you and Parragon take out the treads and support elements, how copy?" I scratched my face, hoping Gordan would agree to the plan.

"Solid copy A-R, we've got your back." the channel flickered away in a blink of static. I was glad to know Gordan was all in on the plan, he was good enough if a little headstrong at times. I was glad he didn't try and go after the main for the glory kill. Parragon might have been a quick fix to the squadron, but its Commander, a woman by the name of Bevveran, didn't raise a response. I had hoped that was due to agreement at the time, but it was actually because they had tragically taken equipment damage as we entered the breach from a stray round, and had to pop the top hatch and communicate with signals. Still, she caught on quick enough, and as we broke through the rise into the northern side of the site proper, I was glad she did.

Turns out the Vanu had broken off their tank elements to work as guard teams for the super-heavies, and the one 67th just blew to hell had been ill separated from their charge. We roared into the breach and immediately were under fire from the colossus sitting mere meters inside the gate. We were in the worst type of position for a vanguard, the one time our tanks got beat out in raw power and endurance, with our backs proverbially against a wall. If we stopped and tried to slug it out, we might get lucky, but it would stop gap reinforcements lending fire power to the engagement. That and we had no idea if the other units had fully engaged their line sections yet, could be that another superheavy would be rolling through the roadway from the south or east in mere moments with its contingent of armor as well. So we took the only option, we didn't hit the breaks.

Within seconds of the first rounds bouncing off our armor from the autocannons of the Colossus, Halten pushed the throttle again, redlining the engine to the point that we out paced the formation of the squadron. He let it ride as we returned fire, before releasing it, and triggering the shielding mechanism of the tank. A bright blue glow lit us, interrupted by flashes of light as shells slammed against us, rocking the hull. We were in a slow trundle of a pace, but it painted us as a prime target, just enough of a distraction so that Parragon and No-Quarter could break at the flanks. They sped past in seconds, and Gordan's tank got off a lucky hit, shattering the forward railings of the tread on his side. The Colossus knew what was happening, and had been trying to back away, sponsons already retracting the other two tanks as its main barrel descended intently focused on us.

We were in a one way ticket straight to hell when I saw the shot happen, the crux of the entire engagement for us, the unit, and the front. Time had slowed for me as the barrel had descended, and the rear capitator's lit up with a malevolent fury. I saw Parragon nail the forward sponson on her side with a direct blow to the sensor cockpit, silencing the weapon as the feeding system was torn apart. No Quarter had already knocked two more sections of tread out in a precise blow, slowing the super heavy to a slanting crawl in reverse. Our armor sparked rapidly as singular bullets and shells rattled against the barrier, before it failed completely in a snap of hard light.

The shot that mattered the most however, tore from our barrel in a beautiful explosion of fire. The round flew straight on, corkscrewing rapidly, sunlight flashing off the metal as the round beamed from our barrel, directly into the Colossus. G.V, had, as I learned later, stroked the trigger right as we had been hit by a plasma burst, which had knocked the stabilizers of the tank. Instead of hitting the center of the turret's rotation collar, and therefore disabling it, the barrel jerked upwards, directly into the line of the other barrel. A one in a million mistake had launched our shell directly into the maw of the sub-orbital laser weapon, sending it straight through the firing matrix, the focusing array and compressors, and into the capacitor. With the force of a small sun inside the battery, it had collapsed the containment fields, and that energy fed back reactively into the turret, shattering it in a blinding flash of light that left me dazed for more than a few minutes.

It had been so bad that L.V thought I had been shot, and braced me repeatedly looking for a wound until I had verbally told him 'Fuck off, you wraith-slip wanna-be'. He had laughed it off as his brother cheered in the cockpit and the radio sparked with excitement.

"Holy shit A-R, nice shot!" Gordan laughed, thoroughly impressed with my gunner's skill (or luck) despite the fact we had just about died. I laughed at that, but before a response could be mounted, the remainder of the unit filtered in behind us, and I heard Dawnbreaker.

"All units, good job at opening the door. 7th is hitting right now and 9th isn't far behind. First through tenth squadrons secure the breach and wait to link up with infantry elements. All other Squadrons push inwards and begin Vector 13-2 sweep" There was a pause, before he continued, "Who got that kill on the super heavy?" A silence stayed in the channel before I heard Gordan's voice filter through.

"It was Adamante Resistance, Dawnbreaker. His gunner scored a hit straight down the barrel." He didn't even play it up, and wasn't disappointed to say he didn't get it either.

"No shit, well the 67th saw that, Adamante. They said thanks in advance. Looks like you'll need a new tag for that one, just don't go making it a habit of big game hunting. We saw that little light show from all the way back here." Dawnbreaker begrudgingly stated.

"Of course Dawnbreaker, Adamante out." I called in, before releasing the radio. I turned to L.V and G.V before shouting in excitement, which was welcoming in return by their own, along with Halten's from below. "Not often we get to kill a bigger bastard than us, right lads?" I asked, getting the reply of "Yes sir!" in return.

Though our part in the operation was completed, the aftermath left us with a terrible wound. The total casualty listing for both personal and machinery from The Battle of Cold Steel had put a dent in the NC arsenal that would take over a year to even recover. I 'm not completely sure if the outcome and research was worth it looking back, but I wouldn't have given up the time out there for anything in the world.