Index: Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 1
Deployment
They were not supposed to be in direct contact with the enemy. Not until all combat worthy frontline units of their colonial militia became incapable of stemming the tide or were wiped out by enemy troops. Then and only then would the 3rd junior militia platoon, part of the White Tigers rear guard company, be deployed on the line of combat contact.
Support detachments of the Terran Minarchy’s colonial militia were motorized units, quick on their feet and lightly armed. Their everyday job was keeping networks safe, coding the comms links of frontline units, and maintenance & supply. This is why, when a full strength Taz’aran mech-troop dropped on their position out of nowhere, they suffered heavy casualties. Indeed, they did destroy two of the enemy’s PA with anti-material railgun rifles and shoulder-held RPGs, but said power armor infantry squad came supported by one entire company of crack infantry.
If being under assault by fifteen foot tall, armored mechs, armed with heavy infantry weapons was not enough...
Elite formation, said the commander of the 3rd Captain Karenski, just before he died. Taz’aran stormtroopers were equipped with one of their Imperium’s most devastating short range beamguns, the RBG. Otherwise known as the “Taz’aran Messenger”, it was a rapid beam gun, largely inaccurate at longer ranges, but monstrously effective up close and personal. Few light troops could withstand the combination of red hot particle-beams and a rain of assault grenades. To make matters worse, these stormtroopers wore armored suits with integrated engines and grapplers, which made them extremely mobile.
While half their power armor mechs laid down heavy beamfire and launched cluster munitions flying above the camp, those already on the ground used their grav-skis. Darting across the supply base, they lobbed their large hand grenades blowing up pillboxes and earthworks. Others, used their vibroblades and sidearms to take out the company’s trucks and towed anti-aircraft railgun cannons.
Even with surprise, numbers, and firepower on their side, said Taz’aran crack troops suffered casualties. The 3rd had alert sentries and one anti-material platoon armed with anti-tank railgun rifles made by Mosin Co. The crews of their towed guns also carried one RPG per crew and they too returned fire. During this short, but intense firefight, another handful of Taz’aran mechs were either heavily damaged or outright destroyed, two of their pilots successfully ejecting. Armed to the faceplates, these pilots proceeded to join the stormtroopers, clearing trenches with their particle-beam snub guns, plasma hand grenades, or heavy pistols.
The surviving Terrans offered stiff resistance. Sporting a wide array of devastating weaponry, including high-powered Krupp laser rifles, directional fragmentation grenades, and compact, yet devastatingly accurate Mannlicher railgun carbines, the youngsters may have had little combat experience, but tardy on the firing range, they were not. Despite the sweeping advance of Taz’aran troopers, many of them breathed their last assaulting surrounded pockets of Terran militiamen.
Had this been a battle between different species and cultures, the Humans and their Client races would’ve surrendered. The Taz’arans, however, they were not known for being merciful, nor were they honorable combatants. Considered the greatest invaders of Fringe Space, they wiped out everyone who offered even a token resistance as a constant reminder to their fellows that, fighting against the Taz’aran Imperium was beyond folly. Unfeeling, thinking only of career advancement and filling their pockets, noble officers of the high command echelon engaged in mass enslavement of conquered civilian populations.
Terrans, having quickly and painfully learned about current day interstellar slaving economy, following a devastating invasion on their own homeworld, adopted a new prime directive – “Smite your enslaver or die—there is no try!”
Thus, when some of the Taz’aran stormtroopers lobbed stun grenades aiming to incapacitate, the militiamen went down together with their attackers. Elite this unit may have been, but whoever commanded it, they craved slaves to sell on the markets and this want of theirs cost them one entire platoon worth of stormtroopers.
No one was that daft as to lay silent as they were being killed and the Terrans sent multiple links for reinforcements. Though, how many of these managed to pierce the enemy battle net jamming, the militiamen could not know. Thus, they assumed themselves dead and fought with ice cold abandon, to the last drop of blood, shot, and grenade... just like any other Terran and their Clients would.
As one of the last surviving platoons of the 3rd noticed while holed up in one of their earthworks, this Taz’aran mobile assault infantry unit had sniper support outfitted with grav-harness. One did not have to try and peek over the ledges or machine gun apertures to get themselves beamed in the face. Only two, at least the youngsters assumed they were two, the snipers had effectively doomed them.
Wounded and pinned down, the tired youths had used up most of their power packs and considered themselves done for, when something happened. The youngsters were able to use their laser rifle integrated scanners and zeroed in on one of the snipers, when he... vanished from their scopes. Perhaps, a few of them thought, the Taz’arans considered them no longer a sizable threat and had ordered most of their elite unit elsewhere?
It was not the case since a dozen star-seconds later, they saw the sniper’s lower torso floating their way, grav-harness still operational, his upper body nowhere to be seen. Blown in two by a railgun round so accurate, to the militiamen that meant one of their own specialists was lurking about. Yet, what could a single sniper do against an entire PA platoon supported by stormtrooper infantry?!
Their wonder transmogrified into hope when one of them noticed a number of rapidly multiplying Taz’aran corpses popping up on his scanner. He could not see who or what was killing the stormtroopers, but they did die and in a most expedient, silent manner. Most were shot to death with armor-piercing subsonic needles. A few cut by vibroblades, and some... they lay their heads mangled, spines or necks shattered!
A vicious, happy simile blossomed upon the faces of all young militiamen, for they now knew that commandos of the Terran Minarchy were here and hard at work. Everyone realized that their doom was postponed. More, they could engage the Taz’arans and distract their troopers, aid their specialists! Which the youths did immediately and pounced at a nearby stormtrooper squad, which was still in the process of clearing one of their earthworks.
They’d be beamed to death or fried alive with plasma grenades otherwise, yet today there was an angel watching over their backs. A diminutive silhouette dashed around the trench as he blasted most of the Taz’arans from point-blank range using one insanely modified shredder rifle. Though well armored and able to move swiftly, none of that could seemingly help the stormtroopers and each ate a cloud of nasty flechettes. He left a bunch of dismembered corpses in his wake; a handful of confused enemy troopers fell prey to the relentless youth.
They used what shots were left in their power packs to kill the enemy and immediately proceeded to loot every single piece of usable ammunition from their bodies. Moving from one trench to the other, the militiamen witnessed two Taz’aran power armors getting themselves blown up by overpowered Wire anti-material missiles. Whoever had aimed and fired these, they were experts in operating this portable, stealthy munition.
With each following star-minute, the militiamen proceeded to unalive more and more of the enemy. Ragged, tired, and thirsty, they nevertheless succeeded in their self-appointed task. The enemy, though they realized at some point that there were special operators at work, were misdirected long enough for the Terran commandos to do their jobs and do them well. Phasing in and out of their thermal optic camouflage shrouds, said specialists appeared to be on the small side, but nevertheless just as and more deadly as their Human-size counterparts.
One, the toughest and tallest of the three commandos, it was him who operated that shredder rifle. He made sure that all Taz’arans who carried heavy weapons like missile launchers and particle-beam repeaters were dismembered. If sometimes his gun was left empty, the man proceeded to unalive them with a short vibroblade or his high-powered laser pistol.
The sniper, they saw his hazy silhouette only once, when he disintegrated one otherwise skilled Taz’aran by use of his disruptor sidearm. Otherwise, there’d be a barely audible his, a pop, as a whispering railgun projectile coming from nowhere delivered inescapable death. Virtually all enemy snipers were snipered in due time; no grav-harnesses, cloaking fields, or running helped them avoid their doom.
Last but not least, there was another commando whom they rightfully assumed was a scout. This specialist wrought havoc to all Taz’aran battle nets, hacked their comms, and probably uploaded a bunch of unwanted algos into their suits since those oh-so-useful integrated engines would suddenly fly them straight into his crosshairs. At one point, this small death was perhaps forced to draw sidearm because the militiamen witnessed one of the surviving PA pilots fried by intense Rontgen rad-rays.
Supply base littered with dead enemies, it would be quite daft of the Taz’arans if they did nothing. The militiamen expected arty or even a low-yield orbital strike, but they got air instead. When the Taz’aran air support arrived, three up-armored grav attack craft (GAV), the commandos deftly operated the rear unit’s last anti-aircraft railgun cannon. They would definitely fire at the deadly Gav before these rained down a torrent of beams and explosive munitions on them, that was what the youths thought.
No.
One of the enemy GAV suddenly lost control and slammed into the ground with furious force. Splattered like a metal pancake, its wingmates cautiously increased altitude as one of them changed course... crashing with the other. Both craft, engulfed in plasma fires and ripped to bits by their own exploding munition, “landed” atop one of the Taz’aran dropships.
Still, the commandos did not fire the cannon.
When all casualties were loaded, the surviving PA mechs and stormtroopers retreated inside their craft, only then did the three unleash railgun fury. True, the dropships did indeed sport good energy shields, yet these became temporary off-line. Precious few star-seconds, but quite enough for the light anti-aircraft railgun cannon to rip the dropships apart with accurate bouts of automatic fire. Fiery packs of melting megasteel projectiles slammed into their hulls and detonated inside, painting their cargo holds with stormtroopers, power armor pilots, and crews...
Hands numb from shooting and shoulders in pain after throwing entire boxes of hand grenades, the surviving militiamen gazed upon their bloodied faces with looks of pure disbelief. True, they were ready to lay down their lives since their soldierly duty demanded it. One who volunteered not to invade, pillage, or molest, but to protect their loved ones, they did not fear death. The youths never hoped for their comm links to pierce Taz’aran jamming, nor did they expect any reinforcement except perhaps a mechanized platoon or two.
Instead, they were given another chance to live and by the enigmatic Terran commandos nonetheless!
Surviving today meant that they’d live to save the lives of others. That some day in their future, they would enable the victory of another frontline troop in life-saving combat. That they’d keep evacuating the wounded and ensure their speedy recovery. Most important of all, that every combat unit was supplied with plenty of munition, for otherwise those of the greatest profession of all, they could not ensure the doom of Terra’s enemies.
The survivors noticed that one of their surviving cargo vehicles, a powerful Danube eight-wheeler truck loaded with guns and ammo, it was speeding away towards the front, and shared tired grins. Not if but when the three smallish commandos got there, the obnoxious Tazzies would learn that not even their so called “elites” could face the specialists of the Terran Minarchy and escape with their skins intact!
OOOOO Nice Work, Knight!!
Badass Bunnies! 🐰😎🐰