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The New Species 35
🕑 Added 2023-04-17 14:00:04 +0000 UTCChapter 35
Subject: Staff Sergeant Power
Species: Human
Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.
Ship: USSS Liberty
Location: Planet Alpha
"So what are they calling this system anyways, sarnt?" PFC Reinhardt asked SGT Gruff.
"Don't think it has a name, right staffsarnt?" Gruff asked me.
"There wasn't one in the brief. It probably has one of those alphanumerical names, like Alpha Zulu Tree Fower Fife," I replied.
A few brief chuckles arose when I said 'fower'. It was one of the oldest jokes in the military, pronouncing the word four the exact way that the military phonetic manual tells you to. It all started with a misprint, legend says, way before we ever even got to space. Someone wrote down the pronunciation of four as 'fo-wer' but put the hyphen in the wrong spot resulting in 'fow-er'.
It stuck like napalm, although you'll rarely get in trouble for actually saying 'four' outside of training. And the only reason you get in trouble during training is because you get in trouble for ANYTHING during training. A fuck-up is just an excuse to make you stronger.
"What about the planet we're landing on? It's gotta have a name if we're taking it over," Reinhardt asked me.
"Why do you care? You looking to buy a plot of land to retire on? That's pretty forward thinking there, private," I replied.
That wouldn't exactly be a bad idea. Military servicemembers who were involved in seizing land often get a pretty big discount when it gets parceled up, which gives you plenty of cash left over to build stuff on that land. That would only happen if we kept the planet, and that was a pretty big if.
"No staffsarnt," Reinhardt answered.
"Not like we're conquering it anyway," SGT Int chimed in.
We had all seen the USSS Nidhogg exit warp in Alpha Centauri. Brint had fucked up reciting the cycle of operations of the C21B Service Rifle and as punishment Gruff was making him count destroyers. When he stopped every NCO in the squad looked in his direction to yell at him, but when we saw the dreadnought we found ourselves speechless.
The USSS Nidhogg isn't a secret, but it's not wholly disclosed to the public. A lot of people know that it can destroy planets, and nearly everyone in the military knows that it wouldn't bother targeting a single planet in the first place. It has Mega-MACs that are big enough to turn a continent into a crater, but its primary armament is a beam that can cause a star to go supernova in less than three minutes.
The reason the dreadnought is so large isn't because of its primary weapon, though. It's big because it has several layers of armor and has been overfitted with reactors and shield generators. Three minutes is a long time in combat, and the Nidhogg must be able to complete its mission for it to be an effective deterrence. The entire reason the ship isn't extremely classified is to deter xenocidal warfare against the US or its member species.
There is something that's secret involving the Nidhogg, though. Earlier in my career I had completed MARSOC and been assigned to Intel. During my time there, I was told a lie by my superiors and wanted to prove that they were lying. I think it was probably part of a training program, a test of some sort, but in the process of uncovering the lie I found out about the Dreadnought Reserve.
Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of ships just like the USSS Nidhogg. All sitting in deep-space, completely unmanned and only guarded by a small fleet of VI controlled ships. I was shocked and appalled at this discovery. One ship signals a wish for deterrence. A fleet signals a wish for an excuse.
I learned that this was highly classified information after I had confronted my superiors about it and been arrested. They made me tell them in detail how I came about the information, and thankfully for me I had done so 'legally'. They were forced to cut me loose, but went into excruciating detail on what would happen if I spread knowledge of the Dreadnaught Reserve. They plugged the leak and I went on my merry way.
That had been the end of my time with Intel, as well. They didn't want me poking around any further and I didn't want to accidentally find more galactic secrets. They did pay me for uncovering the leak, though, which was nice of them. 'Shady but not evil' is the unofficial motto of Bureau of United Systems Intelligence.
"You would know that they're calling it OU Planet Alpha if you had payed attention to the verbal brief or read your fucking packet, Reinhardt," Gruff spoke up.
"I didn't read the packet either, to be fair," Corpsman Yunk provided. "Don't even know what the mission name is."
"It's Operation Vainglorious Infiltration," Omega said.
"The hell it is."
"No it's not."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
"What possible drug could an AI take to get that high?"
And a chorus of other negative replies chimed in before I finally stated, "It's Operation Vanguard."
"Tsk," was Omega's reply.
If I didn't know any better I would say that we hurt its feelings. I looked at Gruff, and he moved his helmet in a slight horseshoe shape that indicated he was rolling his eyes. The shuttle shook, which immediately brought us all back to the reality of the situation.
"Entering atmosphere," our pilot said.
"Omega, what can we expect the enemy to have armament-wise when we get groundside?" I asked.
"Orbital scans showed Infantry, armor, and artillery. They're about as equipped as a standard military," it answered.
"What about air?" asked SGT Int.
"Well they did, but that's no longer a concern. Same with antiaircraft and long range missiles. We have complete air superiority, so feel free to call for air support as needed. If you're good, you might even get some orbital support. You'll have to ask nicely, though."
I nodded gratefully. Trying to kill a tank without high explosives was a pain in the ass, even as a gen-alt with guardian armor. Omega continued to answer questions as I pulled up the map of our LZ and our objective.
I had briefly glanced at it before we boarded the shuttle, and something about it had bothered me. On closer examination I was able to see why. Omega wanted his box in a spot that was surrounded by hills. It would have been a decent spot if we were a mortar team trying to take out enemy armor, but as infantry it was the worst place we could be.
"Omega," I began, "is there any particular reason you have our objective in this location?"
"The hills will provide cover from enemy armor and it should be easy to kill enemy infantry as they crest the hill. Plus the location is close enough to enemy transmitters to give me an access point to their systems."
I searched the map for a moment as the rest of the marines looked at each other. Then I added a waypoint to a large hill with plenty of flat land surrounding it.
"Is this location close enough to the transmitters?" I asked.
"Yes... but why?" Omega asked.
A chorus of laughter rang through the shuttle as the other marines checked their maps.
"I don't understand," Omega said. "You'll be vulnerable to fire from all directions."
"When you're on top of a hill, you can use the hill as cover while denying that same cover from the enemy. It's also easier to shoot down than it is to shoot up, mostly due to sunlight and such." Int said.
"Yeah, that and grenades. Didn't study infantry tactics very much, didja?" CPL Chang chimed in.
"Tsk."
Omega probably had studied infantry tactics but like most non-infantry, probably thought that it knew better. Many virtual reality first person shooter players joined the corps and were shocked when they discovered that the tactics in their little games didn't work very well in real life. Age old wisdom dictates that one should ALWAYS take the hill.
I changed our objective marker as the lights within the shuttle turned red and an alarm began blaring. The ride had smoothed out, so most of the newer marines were confused. Those of us who had been on these shuttles in these circumstances before knew better, and weren't very surprised.
"Ma'am? Is this alarm anything to be worried about?" PFC Rogers asked our pilot.
"It means we're being shot. Our shields are holding up fine, so whatever's doing the shooting isn't rated against aircraft. It's nothing to worry about while you're aboard, but the landing's gonna be pretty hot so you might as well worry about that instead," she replied.
"They still got it so you can't turn it off?" Gruff asked.
"Yup. Apparently we gotta know whenever we get hit."
We sat sat quietly and waited for the landing. The only sounds were the occasional shifting of the shuttle and the impact alarm. After a few moments, the fidgeting started. Weapons checks, making sure seals were snug, tapping feet and fingers on whatever surface was available. Standard fare for impatient marines. We didn't have to wait long, though.
"Drop off imminent. I was right, this LZ is hot. Careful out there," our pilot said.
"Roger that, ma'am. Alright marines, places. Charlie's on point. Reinhardt and Boyle are carrying the box," I ordered.
"Oorah staffsarnt!"
We stood as we felt the shuttle land and the two privates grabbed the box. I chose these two because one of them is right handed and the other is left handed, which lets them keep their weapons outbound in opposing directions.
The hatch opened and we were treated to the sight of the shuttle's shield flaring. It looks similar to an aurora when it's light on light. Just a dull orange wave when it's kinetic, though. CPL Chang took the lead and was followed by Rogers, Higgs, then Int. Their weapons began firing as soon as they cleared the shield.
"Bravo's next. Go go go!" I shouted
Brint took point for Bravo team followed by the box carriers with SGT Gruff trailing. Their guns also began firing as soon as they cleared the shield, which is a less than great sign of the fight to come.
"Livingstone, you won the tossup for point this time, right?" I asked.
"Yes staffsarnt!" Livingstone said with glee.
"Well get going, then."
I gave the lance corporal a slight shove and followed directly behind him. Private Johns was directly behind me and LCPL Hart was guarding our ass. Livingstone left the shield targeting left, so I targeted right and stepped out, immediately sighting something to shoot at.
Shot, sparks, target falling. Move to defensive position, get some space. Acquire next target. Shot, no sparks, fire again. Shot, sparks, target spazzing. Shot, target falling. I'm hit, only a tenth gone. Not a concern. Shot, miss, shot, sparks. Acquiring. Shot, headshot. Target still mobile, they don't need a head? Shit. Shot, center mass, sparks, target down.
Hit again, taking a knee, scanning, two targets, switch to auto. Die motherfucker die motherfucker die get some, release trigger. Targets down. Scanning sector. One more, switch to semi, shot, target falling. Checking fallen targets, no movement. I kept my eyes on my sector until the rest of the gunfire stopped.
"Clear?" I asked.
Twelve green lights lit up to indicate an affirmative. I gestured for us to start to move out, and we all stood back up and began to march. The ground beneath us was an unnerving yellow color, and didn't quite feel like dirt. Too crunchy. The sky was a darker than normal blue, which led to some odd optical illusions. Mirages, I suppose.
There were random hills of varying size as well. Some of them were closer to mounds, and off in the distance it looked like there might be some mountains. I wonder if that means there's tectonic activity? I tried to remember my geology lessons to no avail.
As far as plants or animals, there were none. Not a blade of grass or even a small lizard as far as our magnified eyes could see. The only sound was some wind and the crunch of our boots as we marched. As the hill we wanted to be on got into sight I smiled. It was perfect. Around the base of the hill was a vast amount of relatively flat ground, giving us perfect coverage all around the hill.
"Alright, excavation tools out. Help Yunk dig a nice pit on the top for him and the box to hang out in. Then buddy up and dig yourself a hole about three quarter of the way up the hill. I want a nice radius with good spacing. Don't forget your sumps. Make 'em nice and big, we don't know how large their grenades are," I ordered as we reached the base of the hill.
"You think they've got grenades, staffsarnt?" PFC Rogers asked.
"If they've got tanks, they've got grenades. Now get to diggin'."
Bravo team remained with the box as the rest of us dug the pit. A few random robots came to check on us, but they were quickly taken care of. When the pit was big enough, Bravo team carried the box up the hill and then we all got to work digging our foxholes.
I ended up paired with Lance Corporal Hart. We dug a luxurious hole in the hill that would be our home for who knows how long. I couldn't help but grin knowing what awaited our enemies once we were done. There's nothing more infuriating to an assault team than foxholes on a hill.
Once everyone was done the sound of e-tools being collapsed and stored was quickly followed by the sounds of guardian gauntlets smacking together. Standard procedure for foxholes was to have one on watch and one down for rest. The sound was roshambo {rock, paper, scissors} to decide who took which shift first.
"So hey, uh... staffsarnt. You wanna play roshambo to see who's on watch first?" LCPL Hart asked me.
"No, no. I trust in your watch-taking capabilities, Lance Corporal. Why don't you show 'em how it's done?" I said with a grin.
Hart sighed as he turned to look over the landscape and I laughed as I sat down. Rank has its perks, and being squad leader is even better. I double checked my weapon and leaned back. I was nearly ready to take a nap when Omega pinged our comms.
"Everyone is in position. Beginning Operation Vainglorious Infiltration," it said.
A series of obligatory negativity and profanity rose from the foxholes in the hill. I just rolled my eyes and closed them, ready for a little nap.
Comments
dumbo3k
I appreciate how much of a troll Omega can be, especially when it comes to the operation name. But it's also nice to see he isn't completely omnipotent, like when the marines overrule his defensive position waypoint.
