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Grass Eaters 3 | 37 | Close Air I
🕑 Added 2025-01-17 16:47:01 +0000 UTCTRNS Sonora, Crissoel (25,800 Ls)
POV: Catarina Ibarra, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
Sieges were rarely airtight. In terrestrial warfare, cutting off the ground line of communication — the most accessible routes between a defended unit and its nearest secured supply points — did not entail closing off all avenues of access. Interdiction was by itself a complex task; perfection was impossible due to a myriad of factors from terrain to the presence of non-military personnel to enemy ruses. A terrestrial siege could be successful in its objective of reducing the amount of supplies that reached the enemy, even if the siege was porous, as it often historically was.
The same was true for interstellar siege. In space, the interception of every single FTL-capable ship that passed a star system was a difficult and expensive task. Even though concealment in space was much harder, unarmed fast ships with very little mass and cargo could evade blockades by simply burning hard. They could not outrun missiles, but as long as there were enough unarmed fast ships and they stayed out of the effective combat range of patrols, there was not much the blockading force could do.
So when the lone TRNS Sonora saw a squadron of Znosian recon spacecraft emerge from blink to immediately scatter, it only managed to chase down three of them with its powerful thrusters before the remainder burned out of its projected blink limit interception radius towards Znos.
“Those squirrelly critters,” Kyrylo cursed. “Should we follow them into the next system over, Admiral?”
“Negative, Captain,” Catarina ordered. “At most we’ll get another one or two, and the rest will outrun us when we need to refuel. Better to play it safe here, with those Resistance ships we have to babysit…”
Kyrylo nodded, sitting back resignedly in his chair. “What do you suppose the Buns were trying to get through?”
“Those special light recon ships? Can’t carry much cargo and they’re too expensive to waste on some mundane munitions, so probably some Very Important Buns. We already know their Eleven Whiskers Sprabr just left town from our guys on Grantor. So putting two and two together…”
Kyrylo thought for a moment. “Throwing twelve rare ships at a blockade for one measly Bun. Think Atlas would give either of us that consideration if we ever get stuck behind enemy lines?”
She snorted. “Unlike them, our ships don’t grow on trees, Kyrylo. You ever get yourself stuck in that position, I’ll go reserve you a spot on the Wall of Spacers on Charon myself.”
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Prunei City, Grantor
POV: Bertel, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
Five Whiskers Bertel ignored her instinct to duck down in the gunner seat as her Skyfang gunship dipped below an old stone bridge — its rotors passing just centimeters beneath the structure harmlessly.
As part of a Marine garrison division, they were not one of those elite Skyfang crews bred and trained for direct assault during the first phase of a planetary invasion. As a result, her war experience had mostly been in escorting search and rescue, flying in only a few missions against hardened guerrilla targets after the combined arms assault divisions put down most of the conventional Granti Army forces during the Grantor pacification campaign a few years ago.
But the last few weeks had been an education.
For most of their tour on Grantor, pilots in her division had no compunctions against flying high in the clear skies of the pacified predator planet. In fact, it was encouraged. The higher you flew, the more you could see.
As it turned out, the more you could see, the more enemies could see you. And that was a problem when the locals acquired deadly shoulder-fired surface-to-air weapons from Great Predator infiltrators operating out of Grantor City. Those abominations rarely missed.
Her division only lost half a squadron of Skyfangs and went through three assignment-of-responsibility hearings before they got the message. Some of the elite veteran pilots from the initial planetary invasion had to be brought back from offworld to re-train them to fly against ground troops who could effectively fight back against their domination of the sky.
But hey, it’s not like they were doing anything else with the Navy being rolled back everywhere near the Slow Predator front…
Nap-of-the-dirt flying. That was the new name of the game. It wasn’t just flying below the vegetation canopies. They actively had to plot their courses to follow the lowest possible terrain in any area they traversed. Which implied they had to be intimately familiar with the local terrain.
There had been an adjustment period. A few pilots were generally unsuited to flying so low. Accidents became more common. And somewhat worryingly, some of the Slow Predators were stringing wires between tall buildings in the city; that trick hadn’t gotten anyone in her squadron yet, but that the local agitators were promoting it as a leisurely “fun” activity geared towards their non-fighters was not great for her unit’s own morale. The local State Security garrison had been working overtime after their sector governor was replaced — twice — from Grantor City for their failure to clamp down on it.
It wasn’t invulnerability. Flying low protected them from most threats and minimized their exposure, but if a Great Predator trained hunter-killer team with a medium-altitude sensor drone wanted you dead, they were going to get you. Luckily, those had mostly been around the capital Grantor City, and Prunei was a couple continents away from there.
The feeling of power Skyfang pilots had felt as they watched over and gunned down the small shapes scurrying around on the ground… it had quickly been replaced by sheer terror, knowing that a second’s break in concentration could end up with you crashing into the side of a low building, or an incoming Great Predator missile with your name on it. The threat could come from anywhere, at any time, and it could even come for you if you were doing everything perfectly, right as you were bred and taught to do.
Five Whiskers Bertel wondered if that was how the locals all felt… before the Great Predators joined the war.
Nonetheless, she did her job.
She glanced at her pilot in the backseat. Sminski was a pro, gently pushing on his control devices as the Skyfang weaved between the city streets.
Their radio buzzed. “Skyfangs, this is Oats Battalion Aviation. Any Skyfang in the Prunei air zone, come in.”
Knowing that Sminski would be too busy flying to respond, Bertel hit the radio talk button. “Oats Aviation, this is Floppy-4 responding.”
“Floppy-4, Oats Aviation. We have a logistics convoy driving through the northern residential zone. That place is filled with their Underground operatives and fighters. Digital Guide predicts a chance of predator ambush. They need an escort through to downtown, just in case.”
Bertel checked her map and the indicators on her dashboard. The Skyfang had enough fuel for an extra escort run. “Oats Aviation, Floppy-4 acknowledges the directive. We are on our way.”
She turned back to her pilot. “Got that, Sminski? We’re going to the cesspit.”
That was the name of the dangerous residential zones that the Underground had all but taken over. Rumor was they controlled it so much that they even created their own parallel administration system down there.
“I heard that,” her pilot replied dryly as the new course appeared in their heads-up displays. “ETA four minutes. Watch the rooftops.”
It took them five to get there as they skimmed the city streets. Bertel panned the gun camera around carefully, keenly aware that if anti-air teams were waiting for them on the low rooftops of the apartments and low-rises they were now hovering snugly between, they would be sitting prey. But they had no choice. Flying high in the northern Prunei residential zone was an instant death sentence.
To her relief, Bertel didn’t see anyone in her thermal view as she scanned the low skyline. Then again, if there had been, she doubted she would have been able to see them anyway.
They finally came into view of the logistics convoy. It was not a few trucks. Not even just armored trucks. There were two full-sized Longclaws, at least three platoons worth of Marines in heavy armored personnel carriers, and two Light Skyfangs with their reconnaissance sensors vigilantly watching over the streets of the Granti city. It might not be resource efficient, but the days where Znosian supply convoys could travel without the expectation of enemy ambush were long gone.
The streets looked deserted.
But Bertel knew better. This was the residential zone. Bertel knew that in every house, every building, there were hostile predator eyes observing the progress of the convoy as it made its way downtown.
“I’m going to fly us at a two-kilometer separation,” Sminski said as he put in a course slightly lagging behind the convoy. “More flexibility.”
She acknowledged the update and kept her attention on the gun camera as they ducked into the streets behind the supply vehicles. They wouldn’t have full visibility on the front, but if they were needed, the Skyfang could always fly forward to provide cover.
Which proved necessary about ten minutes later.
Bertel couldn’t see everything at the front, but she saw enough of what happened to piece it together.
The enemy chose the perfect spot for the ambush: an intersection surrounded by four apartment buildings. Each of the mid-rises were about seven or eight stories high, and the convoy was coming out of an underpass.
Whooooooosh. Boom.
Half a dozen smoke trails raced from the surrounding buildings into the intersection, rockets hitting the leading Longclaws in their vulnerable side armor and engines. Both of them instantly sank into the streets, their hover engines disabled. Two predator anti-armor teams raced onto the underpass bridge, above the vehicles from both sides.
Whooooosh. Whooosh. Boom. Boom.
The rockets they launched finished the Longclaws from their rear and boiled up several more of the armored personnel carriers.
The radio network filled with the sounds of battle and numerous requests for air support.
The Light Skyfangs positioned above the convoy responded first.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.
Their 20mm chainguns lit up the bridge top with explosives, tearing apart the predators who’d rushed onto it, and they began pouring fire into the buildings around the intersection.
Half a second later, a duo of dumb rockets raced out near the top floors of the buildings at the intersection, one missing and another nailing a Light Skyfangs straight in its main rotors. It lost control and careened into the streets below in a fireball of fuel. The small arms fire from the buildings thickened, some hitting the weak glass cockpit of the only remaining Light Skyfang.
“Ah! I’m hit!” Its pilot coughed into the radio as the aircraft retreated away from the engagement. “Ground team, we’re taking too much rifle fire and leaking fuel. We need to return to base urgently. May the Prophecy be with you.” Trailing black smoke, the Light Skyfang engaged its collective, rising higher above the city streets to get out of the intense fire.
Bertel saw the fatal mistake and urgently spoke into her microphone in warning. “Light Skyfang! You’re flying too high! They’re going to be able to—”
Boom.
A trail of white smoke from a far-off rooftop interrupted her words, terminating the Light Skyfang’s flight with a violent explosion. She closed her eyes for a second as its wreckage sank into an adjacent street off her field of view.
“Gunner, do you see where they launched that?” her pilot asked urgently.
“Negative. But we shouldn’t try to find out. Keep us between these residential buildings. Someone else is responsible for dealing with the rooftops.”
“Understood, what about those predators attacking our convoy on the ground?” Sminski asked as he lowered the Skyfang further into the urban cover as a precaution.
“Negative visuals, but I see the buildings our ground units marked,” Bertel declared as she pulled up the sensor data from the front. Two of the buildings had been marked high priority, but the obscurations blocked even her thermal sensors from a clear view. She spoke into her radio. “Ground team, do you see where they are in the structures? There’s too much smoke and fire! I can’t get a clear visual.”
A squad leader who obviously needed more training on radio etiquette screamed back at her, barely audible with the sound of gunfire in the background. “They’re all over the mid and upper floors! Hit it hard!”
“Ground team, this is your air cover,” Bertel replied patiently. “Which floor did you say you see them on?”
“All of them!” the squad leader shouted. “Level the stupid buildings now!”
Bertel eyed the updated markers on her sensors and sighed as she prepared the guided missiles on her console. “Keep us steady, Pilot. I’m going to hit the building with the Thorns.”
“Steady.”
“Launching.”
Fwooooooosh.
The large anti-armor missile rushed out and covered the two kilometers in under ten seconds. It was designed to blow through predator armor and bunkers, and the thin walls of the residential building offered less resistance than usual.
“Hit.”
The bottom of the first residential building on her target queue disappeared in a cloud of smoke. A few seconds later, the entire building folded in and collapsed under its own weight. Bertel selected the second marked building with her paw.
Fwooooooosh.
“Launching… Hit.”
The second building crumpled in much the same fashion as the first. For good measure, she put a long burst of her chaingun into the fallen debris preemptively.
Rat-at-at-at-at-at.
From the radio, Bertel could tell that the incoming enemy fire had slackened, but the panic from the squad leader didn’t decrease one bit. “There’s more of them! These two buildings!”
Two more marks appeared on her helmet mounted sight.
“Are they in the—”
“They’re shooting us from those buildings! Hit them again!”
Bertel queued up the two new targets. “Launching more missiles…”
Fwooooooooooosh. Fwoooooosh.
Another two buildings disappeared, covering the entire area in smoke and dust from her sights, furthering obscuring the firefight.
She called back down in the radio, “Ground team, we took out the buildings and our Skyfang is out of missiles. We will be returning—”
“Ahhhh! They’re still hitting us. They’re mixed in with us on the streets!”
Bertel scratched her whiskers as she squinted into her gun camera. There were a few flashes of hot spots here and there showing all the gunfire. But it was really hard to tell which were their people and which were the enemies. “Which ones are ours?” she asked into the radio.
“We’ve got strobes! We’ve got markers! Hit everything shooting at us!”
She checked her screen for the telltale thermal beacons that the Dominion’s ground troops often carried with them, and the ground team had put a marker near one of the developing firefights. But from this distance and with this much chaotic combat, it was impossible to tell the infrared strobe signals from the ongoing combat around them.
She turned back to Sminski. “Pilot, I can’t see anything through the smoke. Can you get us closer?”
“We’re already well within the danger range of their guided missiles, Gunner,” he cautioned, gesturing out the window at the building rooftops adjacent to the Skyfang. “We can’t maneuver around this low. Any closer and even their unguided rockets can hit us.”
Bertel considered the dilemma and took one last squint at the raging firefight on her gun camera. She keyed the radio again. “Ground team, we can’t get any closer. We are going to be firing blind into your proximity. Take cover.”
Comments
M
A nice day to meet some friends! (This would be funnier in German^^)
