Overhead missile barrages from BM21 GRAD Rocket artillery woke Jake in his trench. He looked up at the arching projectiles, watching the flames of their rocket motors snuff as they turned into normal artillery shells. He murmured, "Christ, that's the fifth fucking time this night," as he pulled his helmet over his eyes. Indeed, night had well and truly fallen over this side of the mountainous planet, with the sole lights being those of the stars and the ever-more-frequent rocket artillery.
"They couldn't've pulled those old US military MLRSes outta storage, could they?" Jane murmured sarcastically as she leaned against him, looking up as the rockets impacted the side of a mountain that the troop had taken barely two days ago. She rubbed her eyes and elbowed Jake in the arm, telling him, "Be thankful they haven't dropped cluster bombs on us yet. I can see the assholes doing something like that..."
Jake scoffed and put his helmet back on normally, stating, "Fuckers probably would, wouldn't they...?"
He peeked over the cover, watching the distant GRAD Battery firing away... Only for the return fire from Howitzers atop one of the other mountains to thunder. He followed the shells' trajectory as best as he could, then watched the rounds slam into the enemy's Firebase. Distant, muffled explosions and screams intermixed, becoming an audible cacophony that would probably deafen anyone close by.
Jake scratched his brow, then hummed and dropped back down into his trench and said, "Well, that's them dealt with... Seriously, it took them that long to bring our 152s up..." as he checked his rifle in the dark. Overhead, the starlit sky still flashed from time to time, UNSC Navy warships still in high orbit engaging the Federation's vessels with high-caliber rounds and missiles.
They'd brought a few reinforcements along, appearing on the other side of the planet and sending the boats down on a swinging low-orbit burn to touch down and reinforce their comrades. They were learning, which was surprising, but also kind of scary. He hummed and peered over the edge of the trench again, hearing the faint tune of a guitar coming from the enemy's own trenchline.
The tune was, yet again, something terribly old by their standards, but catchy. The group was probably Militia inhabiting this planet, something which even Jane pointed out by saying, "Them Militia boys got some interesting song choices..." As she peered through a pair of NV Binoculars toward their trench. The men sung along to the semi-alert tune of the Guitar.
"It's an old song about a girl," Jake snorted as he took a sip from his canteen, "Seems like the average Militiaman, aye..." before humming. He asked her, "Hey, you think we're gonna have to run a foot patrol to secure those villages past Hill 023?" and motioned about the way of the aforementioned hill, where the fires of counterbattery fire strikes still burned, courtesy, presumably, of secondary ammo explosions.
She nodded, "Yeah... Our Platoon and Company are usually at the forefront of the shit, man."
"Can't even arse the Sixteenth to do their job. They're Recce..." Murmured the man as he rubbed his eyes. He paused as a distant whistle echoed, then looked overhead. What looked like a meteor shower flashed, dozens and dozens of small streaks across the dark sky up above. He spoke, "Holy shit, they're dropping the 501st in... Those are ODSTs coming down on enemy positions."
"Fuckin' hell, talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a nut," Laughed the girl, a grin on her face, "Think they'll open us up a path?"
"I bet my ass we'll just be trekking through the mountains tomorrow..." He laughed, too, shouldering his rifle. He leaned back down into the trench as a Marine stepped by them, dropping a can of Ammo with both Battle Rifle and AR mags before stepping off. The two gave him quick thanks, then hummed and wondered if this meant the enemy was gonna try a breakthrough tomorrow.
He looked over the edge one last time for the night, noting the rotting, burned-out husks of BTRs and other military vehicles from the late 21st Century, destroyed, burned, broken, barren. Their crews had either burned alive or were killed when coming out of the vehicles, shooting their pistols and carbines. There was still a distant smell of burnt flesh in the air, though the fading odor of Cordite still hanged high.
Dipping back down and closing his eyes as he cradled his rifle, he let Jane do her own thing, all while the Sarge and Lieutenant Parisa swung by to check on them and the rest of the unit. Light and noise discipline was still in place, not to mention taking cover away from enemy NVs and maybe even the few thermals their tanks and transports came with. They had apparently not met the heavy enemy armor yet.
Come next morning, Third Platoon set off alongside the rest of their company on the roads cleared by their mine-sweeping drones and travelled by their vehicles. Moving down the tracks on each side of the road that ascended up the hill, the group passed by the dead of that night. Second and Ninth had gone in and killed or forced the men in the trenches opposite them to surrender, so that had given some breathing room.
Jake hadn't heard a single gunshot. Least that meant he got enough shuteye for the patrol toward the village, he then thought as they walked past corpses lined up neatly and covered by a tarp. The Feddies, probably. The group continued their march forward, up Hill 223 and past the burned, twisted metal husks of the enemy's BM21 Grad launchers. A Marine sat on a still-intact metal box, rifle laying beside him as he looked around. His platoon CO was giving a BDA on the targets.
The boys gave waves of the hand to the Third as they walked through, with Parisa returning the waves calmly as she hefted her rifle over her shoulder. After passing Hill 223's summit and descending from it, the advancing company maintained a brisk walking pace through the valley that led to the next village. Tall peaks, slopes populated by mountain goats and the rare destroyed enemy outpost up above. Two Pelicans flew in low, one of them with its rear-left engine smoking. Their cannons were glowing orange and their missile pods, expended.
"Seems like Air Cover came in with the Helljumpers," Niura commented, looking up as another pair of Pelicans flew low, followed by one of the more terrifying weapons in the UNSC Arsenal. An AC-220 Vulture gunship, its missile pods expended, bore the marks of battle as it flew. Autocannons had torn holes into its armor, apparently, alongside what looked to be the thin, narrow holes of ATGM hits.
"Damn," Parisa whistled, "Didn't think I'd see Vultures again after so long..."
"Took them a while to redeploy those things," Nico voiced. The Vulture had been the workhorse Gunship of the UNSC. Something akin to the Covenant's Scarabs, really. Rare, but deadly and terrifying when it appeared in the skies of a planet. The group paused as they saw two more gunships, these ones escorted by Hornet light VTOLs, rolling into the mountain valleys as well, all from the FOB.
The group marched forward into the first village, almost ten klicks out from their old position. On the rooftops of the makeshift homes, built out of metal pre-builds, ODSTs clad in their standard black armors greeted them. A pair of snipers covered the entry from a rooftop, with a lower roof being used by an anti-tank team. All roofs had been barricaded with sandbags.
A dead T-series Russian tank, perhaps a T72, lay in a ditch on the side of the road, barrel bent way out of shape, ERA blocks missing or destroyed. A single hole marked the hit from a Jackhammer launcher, right to the driver's port. A pair of ODST riflemen inspected the vehicle, one stood atop it while the other smoked a cigarette, her helmet off her head. She grinned at the Third and their Company, giving them a wave, emerald eyes glimmering with a hint of crazy, the eagle tattoo on her tanned cheek distorting with the smirk.
Parisa gave a nod to the shooter, then turned back to see a reporter attached to the company taking a picture. Nico commented, "They're pulling out the really old pieces of shit from the museums. Those are tanks from the old rodina..." as he hefted his LMG onto his shoulder, "To be fair, same for the BRDMs, BMPs and BTRs. We abandoned those designs a long while ago."
"Everything about this war feels like it's either a replay of the shit our ancestors did in the last years of the 20th, first of the 21st, or the Interplanetary and Rainforest Wars of the 22nd century..." Parisa shot back as they pushed deeper into the town and into the square of the place itself, one patch of flattened dirt with a few paved roads and a destroyed Anti-Air gun. Kneeling in the middle, hands behind their backs, Mobile Infantry in their standard grey overalls were being guarded by the watchful eyes of a platoon of Helljumpers.
Parisa hummed as she saw an approaching Spartan-IV. Nominally, Spartan-IVs were part of their own branch:The SPARTAN branch, obviously. They were the UNSC's most special of special forces, but that didn't mean many didn't want to stick around with their old platoons. Here was a textbook case, a man with grey hair and slight wrinkling to his handsome face approached, an ODST helmet appropriated for MJOLNIR GEN3 armor slung under his arm. Behind him, half-a-dozen others were also clad in the Spartans' telltale gear.
"Well, holy hell," Parisa smirked as she raised a balled fist, ordering a halt, "Just the man I was looking for. Hey, Gunny."
"Lieutenant," Gunnery Sergeant Eddie Buck gave a quick salute to the woman, grinning. The two then met in the middle and shook hands, with the Gunny stating, "I thought I saw the last of your sorry ass in New Mombasa..." while scanning the group. He quipped, "Back in command of the old Third, eh? Hey, kids. You all look like hammered shit, compared to even when I last saw you."
Various replies, ranging from Jake's jovial 'Certainly feeling the suck, Gunny!' to Jane's lukewarm, but still friendly 'Not like you look any better, Gunny...' which was followed by a nod, to even Nico's 'Privyet, Starshy Serzhant', which was more a joke about language that the Ruski grinned about, echoed from the platoon and the rest of the Company. They still remembered Alpha-9, at least.
The man gave waves, then looked to Parisa and asked, "Take it Command slapped your briefing onto me, eh?"
"More just hear to ask about opposition. Talk on the BattleNet is that the Five-hundred-first secured four villages from here to near the ass-end of the Valley and we're supposed to reinforce said ass-end," She replied, shifting her rifle onto her back, "So, I thought I'd come to ask if I should expect IEDs on the road, or ambushes, or something, considering we're in a mountainous area with a lot of caves."
Buck nodded and showed her, Jake and Niura to follow. The Sarge then turned to the platoon and said, "Alright, Third Platoon, take a breather! We'll be out the moment the El-Tee's done chatting! Move it out! Weston, Touma, up front with us!" only to walk with her two selected escorts to a small tent set up in the midst of the square, one that had tables with maps, freqs and a multitude of long-range radio equipment.
Buck pulled out a map and splayed it out on the bigger table in the middle, spreading it out on top. He pointed at the map, at a red circle that encompassed an entire valley, stating, "This is a local map we managed to retrive and this is our valley..." as he traced it with his finger. He pointed at the village they were in and said, "We're here, at the village of Mosley's Town, apparently referring to Oswald Mosley, whoever that is-"
"British Fascist," Snorted Jane, "Ultranat type. Fitting name for this hell-hole."
"Right," He nodded as Jake let out a short laugh, then continued, "We secured five villages uphill including this one and are currently two heavily-defended ones away from the enemy's main positions and the last Space Port on the planet," pointing to the five villages they managed to clear out. Camden being the next after this one, then Ibrahimgrad, apparently named after some local religious figurehead or something, then sister villages that made up an actual small commune called New Lebanon.
"Boys at the front are reporting much more fierce fighting here in New Lebanon, but almost all villages save for ours are being hit from the hills and mountains. Fed troops scattered all across the mountains and several garrisons were found at grids Golf Fifty-Three through Bravo Fifty-Two, so basically along the entire valley. Mountaintops are, as you said, Artillery and murder hole-filled."
"We'll call airstrikes if we get met with heavy fire," Niura stated, then murmured, "We might need better cover than foot-slogging through an entire uphill battle."
"Vehicles are still rolling in from the capital and our captured Space Port, but the road's been blocked," Buck told them, pulling out a marker and marking the road with a dotted line, "Got hit by precision fire from more modern SPGs they brought outta the museums. Counter-battery couldn't find and wipe'em in time and Wombat drones have been facing minimal jamming that's pretty annoying for thermals and NVs."
"So, what I'm hearing is we either wait here 'till we get transport up the MSR," Jake huffed, then sighed, "Or we brave it with only air support and no real cover between us and maybe a dozen Guerrilla platoons in the valley..."
Buck shrugged, "We were ordered to hold these positions for the time being. I can send a transfer platoon once the Pelicans swing by to help you guys back up MacDougall's unit in Leb," And put his helmet on. Parisa gave a nod and a quick thanks, before motioning to the platoon to pack their kit as the roar of jet engines sounded overhead. Pelicans flew in as, in the distance, the roar of missiles and gatling cannons filled the air.
"Take it we're taking the hike?" Niura asked Parisa as they walked.
"Best we got. God only knows what kind of counter we should be expecting from the Feds..." Parisa replied, then paused as she looked upward, at the steep slopes of the place. She took her binoculars out and looked at what seemed to be a cave opening, then sighed and radioed, "Buck, you may wanna ready your men... I'm seeing enemy scouts in the caves above-" Only to pause as a bullet snapped just by her ear.
She swore, "FUCK! CONTACTS, UP HIGH!" as the pandemonium came.
Earth, Geneva
Sky Marshal's Office
Flashy, bright and beautiful, the Sky Marshal's Office was situated at the top of the highest building of the Federation capital, just above the area where the central government would meet to discuss important matters. Marble floors, walls lined with oak and gold and beautiful paintings, opulent and eyecatching, alongside vaulted ceilings and furniture so expensive, it'd make any sane man blush.
And behind a massive oak desk, rubbing her face at the unfolding mess that she had inherited from the now-defunct Dienes was the newly-employed Sky Marshal, Tehat Meru. She looked over the documents sent to her on her tablet, murmuring to herself, "This is un-fucking-believable..." as she saw that they'd lost more planets in the span of a few months than she thought possible to lose.
Their forces had been stretched thin by combat against their alternate-reality brethren, who held not only the Gateway that had connected their two Milky Ways, but pretty much the entire Star Cluster around the thing. She tossed the tablet aside and sighed, running a hand through her slicked-back brown hair and staring at the computer screen. She tapped a few buttons and spoke over the intercom, "Send in Colonel Jenkins, ASAP."
Before long, the Sky Marshal's order was fulfilled. Lucky break for her was she knew Jenkins had been recalled temporarily to Earth. She saw the man clad in a jet-black Psi-Ops uniform step in and stood up. The man took his peaked cap off and snapped a crisp salute, his slim face a steel mask, unflinching. Meru saluted back and stated, "Take a seat, Colonel. I'm gonna need some advice on matters pertaining to national security."
"Certainly, ma'am," The man replied as he took a seat. He tried to feel for a pulse on the matters they'd discuss, but had to admit, Sky Marshal Meru had a better mental fortitude than about 95% of the people he'd met on the job, including his own friends. She sighed, pulling out a set of china cups and pouring herself and the man coffee. She slid a cup of black coffee to him which he graciously accepted, as not even Psy-Ops would dare disregard a gift from the Sky Marshal, then sat herself down.
She breathed in, then out and sighed deeply, "I'm gonna be blunt, Colonel, we're up the shit's creek without a paddle. I've been looking at options to minimize the sheer size of the fuckup Dienes caused by declaring war on both the UNSC and the Bugs and, I can't see a way out of this hell. We're fighting a technologically advanced and well-equipped enemy on one fuckin' side, one that's already seized several of our colonies, and on the other we're fighting a swarm of Bugs hell-bent on killing us all."
Carl Jenkins felt... Genuine surprise for the first time in his life as he stared at the Sky Marshal. The woman continued, "And now I hear these bastards brought fuckin' aliens to bear down on us. Reports from Planet P, Tango Urilla and the likes of hinge-jawed, bow-legged alien bastards who can disappear and reappear as if they're able to camouflage themselves like Chameleons. This entire mess is FUBAR."
"Ma'am... Is it really that bad on the UNSC front?" Carl asked more out of courtesy than anything. He was a Psy-Op, Intelligence, he knew just how badly they were losing. To see the Sky Marshal like this? It was surprisingly demoralizing to see the very woman who spoke of fighting the Bug meaning knowing the bug now talking like a defeatist staring her loss in the face.
"Don't patronize me, boy," She shot back as she took a sip of the coffee, "You and I know we're lucky they're taking it all slow and methodical. They could'a probably wiped the planets just with the Kinetic batteries on their warships if they wanted and rushed Earth to sandblast Geneva, but word is they actually give a shit about the people on those worlds. What with all of us being Humans and whatever."
Carl murmured, "Hate the government, not the people..."
"Exactly..." The woman hummed, then she rubbed her eyes and said, "Look, I need ideas. Brainstorm with your pals at Mil-Int, something or other we can do so we can focus on one front or the other, cuz as it stands? We're losin' more people now than we've ever lost policing the damn Mormons on their illegal shitholes. Mama needs a goddamn break after all the shit Dienes left on my table..."
"I'll see what I can do, ma'am..." The man replied, awkward. He stood to his feet, to which Sky Marshal Meru gave him a quick salute and a nod to dismiss him, before walking out. He murmured to himself, "Only option right now would be to either sign a truce with the UNSC or destroy the Bugs so we could redouble our efforts... And I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't think any of us will take a goddamn truce..."
The Federation had lost too much to the UNSC, then. And they had a fearful near-traitor in the Sky Marshal's chair...
It was win or die now...