Landfall
Story by HAAS_Bio_Fox on SoFurry
Time for more Roland.
“Do you think they'll attack?"
Sgt. Hassel let the question stand for a minute as he glanced just above the parapet.
That was playing it risky but the periscope was shot out and he didn't want to lose the small one in his back pocket.
Maybe he was just temping the danger to break the monotony, or maybe deep down some part yearned that a 7.62 or lord grant a 14.5 would crash through his skull and finally free him from this dirt ditch…
No, they didn't have to attack they just had to wait till his side broke out of insanity and rebelled or their pressured officers under orders from useless politicians put them on a death charge. To which undertrained conscripts who while for the time holding the benefit of numbers would eventually be torn down by the relative handfuls of devoted militia.
“Sargent?"
No, he had to look good in front of the troops. If the young ones thought he was despaired it would ruin them.
“No, they'll just wait us out and treat us to the odd – "
A nearby bang had Hassel jolt down as his accompanying private did the same. The danger was luckily far from them but it was good to know the natural responses were still working.
“Committed bastards" the private mumbled while Hassel just nodded in agreement.
“I'm going to check the line" Hassel said as he finally got up and walked his way down to the sight of the shrapnel blast.
The troops had settled down, most of those he walked past were just complacent to the day to day. Most standing about mainly at the firing line so not to incur the wrath of commissars. Those commissars whom even in the face of the Joplin campaign's complete stagnation still somehow had it in them the force to spit out patriotic diatribes on how they were the glorious liberators here to bring civility and order to lawless Feds… It held weight during the start, but after a berated occupation and then being forced out of the city; it didn't hit the same.
None of the troops were buying it, but none spoke; knowing such fearmongering chatter was an easy trip to a tribunal, imprisonment or just being shot.
It was at that moment Hassel felt an odd presence in the air, a strong feeling of foreboding till: *CRACK!*
A sniper's round zipped harmlessly overhead. The trench did provide perfect cover though the discomfort of being shot at still had Hassel crouch down.
Someone must have been AAAHHHH!
Hassel jumped back as he seen the body drop into the trench. The initial thought of it being a corpse was not something far from his mind but as the body groaned and started to get up the human was reassured the idiot had not died (by some miracle).
“You're supposed to keep to the trenches you fool" Hassel scolded the soldier for his blatant neglect of life (tactfully ignoring his own from only moments ago). Though once the soldier was finally up, the Sgt was presented a model cainanid soldier though his uniform was dusted over with dirt from the fall.
“Acceptable criticism Sargant, but HQ requested I get this message down here ASAP and the trenches are quite, winding… Do you know were the Major is?"
…………………………
Major Crook.
Luckily he was were Hassel had expected; checking the troops at the sight of the shelling… It seemed a bit hyperbolic to call it that.
They had done shelling; thirty - five howitzers behind the line had thrown HE at the large concrete towers to quite a minimal effect.
In return the Feds gave them a slap.
Mortar fire was common to start, but now they were being conservative with it. Only firing them off on positions they knew held important equipment; MGs, mortar pits, radio stations, trench intersects or aid stations.
What had now become common was the seemingly homemade shrapnel bombs. Some of them appearing like large spheres. The type of objects that could have just been thrown out of a catapult or large sling – shot, the more professional ones seemed like modified mortar shells.
“Major Crook!" the messenger called as he saluted. Crook was just in the middle of checking the auto – cannon at the gunnery post. None of the crew had been hurt but the weapon was damaged beyond any field repair and the lupine operator seemed to shiver off to the side still trying to comprehend how he even survived.
The Yersin finally broke away from the weapon as he addressed the messenger “ah so the kings and queens hath finally come with requests for their drones; well what is it my friend?"
The collie just came forward handing the telegram over to the rat, giving the major time to consider the contents; seemingly the type of thing the dog had been told not to be discussed openly.
The Yersin couldn't help but laugh, “ah… So I see the radios are still not working; the Fed's still blaring Tendrik or Kurk's 13th Sonata…? Or maybe they've finally started to play the modern stuff…? Hell if you told me it was the classics I would have turned a radio on"
The collie was still quiet, likely a fresh one, all protocol and respect… No fun.
Crook flicked through the telegram:
Luckily not orders to attack…yet… Reinforcements? Well the grinder could do with fresh feed, though this one did feel different… He thought back to some old expression someone told him…
10 seconds to might night; maybe he was being generous, he would just have to see where the reinforcement put them.
“Thank you son; if you must return do send my regards to HQ and reminds those Lords and Ladies that the dutiful footman are doing the lords work. If not, please fetch me a tea from one of the dug outs"
The collie only received Crook's words with a salute before walking away… Just no fun.
“Major?" Hassel finally came forward and Crook received the Sgt's presents quite happily.
“Ah – ha good to see you son, I do hope you've been keeping the young ones safe; you know how restless they get waiting to fight and the restless are at times tempted to do reckless things".
“I'm doing the best I can Major… What was the message about?"
Crook just smiled, “it would seem my friend, we've finally got the help we've been waiting for"
“Shall I make the troops ready Major?"
Crook only gave a small nod of the head as he contemplated the coming fight, “aye, I feel the ball will get rolling quite quickly and I doubt will be playing a game of cricket with the Federals when we finally go to meet them".
Hassel nodded his head before breaking away to do as the Major requested.
Crook just walked back to the parapet, watching out into the wasteland before the city. It wasn't an unattainable distance, in the grand scheme of a campaign it was just a small walk, about… A thousand yards… A few burnt out husk lay about here and there.
The last attack was a mess, but then that was an unorganized counter – attack, Blasted miners; there's no way they could take the city!
Well they did and they held it; oh CSS commanders, oh how Crook enjoyed them…
He was sure not even General Ovex had been informed till their forces had been scuffed. He couldn't remember who was in charge of the front at that time but the excuse which had made its way down the front from HQ would stay with him; I was just acting on personal discretion.
Oh how he wished he could remember that name or that person; they were probably in a ditch now, likely by the commissariat. Ovex had always been forgiven… Well only because he'd have no officers if he order execution for insubordination.
The Yersin just smiled to himself as he pulled back softly humming a tune to himself:
?! ?! ?! ?? ????????? ?????!
??? ? ?? ????? ???? ????????, ??
?, ?? ??????-????????? ?????
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“Make sure your weapons are stowed and secure, be sure your weapons are unloaded and on safe; we don't want any accidents from jolts or bumps on re – entry"
The air – crewman walked up and down the tight interior of the transport; checking the craft and it's 'cargo'.
“Also keep your food down! We waste hours cleaning these buckets and if you fuck it up you're cleaning it up and you got no excuses… We ain't making a combat drop!"
Roland couldn't stop her leg from bouncing; here they go… Any time now.
The crew continued to check and check again; both the inside and outside. This technically wasn't the navy's job anymore. For once in their few rare moments the air force finally made an appearances.
They technically handled all of the 'in atmosphere' activity. Technically being a very stretched word; the “space navy's" craft and fighters for the most part had a duel functionality these days.
A lot of the older types couldn't and it was back in those days the air force had a purposes… Now they were meek shuttle drivers and PDF forces.
Their helicopters seemed to keep them relevant; but completely in atmosphere ground attack and inceptor planes had been overtaken by duel function space – craft.
Though supposedly if campaigns lasted long enough the admin would roll out the stock of surplus planes. Some of them very old and some supposedly museum pieces, Roland wasn't sure, but words like Eurofighter and F – 22 Raptor seemed to suggest something cool even if they were supposedly old.
Admittedly they weren't the most irrelevant; that went to the navy… The sea – navy. Roland had only seen them referenced once (in a caricature at that) she glimpsed it off a paper some Yersin's were reading.
An image of an officers ball filled to the brim with the (space) Navy and Army officers mingling amongst the majority of the scene while the subjects of the image were set right in the back corner. The single Air – Marshall who even in his isolation still looked disgusted to the fact he was sharing a table with the Sea Admiral.
If Roland recalled it the sea navy was officially called something like the Aquatic Combat Forces… Or something to that effect.
“Keep a hold of your harness!" the crewman's shouting had Roland come back “don't stand up at any time during your journey and if you're going to die be sure to do so after leaving the craft; enjoy your flight"
With that the crewman left and the interior of the craft went dark, pitch black for a couple seconds till dim running lights turned on and the transport started to rock as engines began to spin. Now the ride was getting ready to go and Roland felt every fiber of fur across her body stand on end.
The internal intercom chimed in as the pilot provided a calming commentary;
/Good day ladies and gents, welcome aboard to your premium flights with the air core; please feel no temptation to stare out of the windows during our decent to the war – zone that is the planet of Joplin. This isn't because we don't want you enjoying the sight of space; we just don't want any of you going blind as you stare at forming plasma on the craft's hull/
The craft's rocking became slightly more violent as it rolled into position. A separate section of the hanger was set up for launches, an area that could be depressurized without requiring the engineering crew to suit up.
/Luckily this flight won't be too long; an hour, two tops…/
The movement finally came to a stop; the craft likely in the launch bay; final checks before…
The rocking started again, not as strong as getting locked into the tube but there was a clear speed and force to it and within a couple seconds, all the feeling went away.
All the force gone as they entered the vacuum of space. A loose pen floated through the cabin; though with nerves so high most of the those inside just watched it in silence.
Smaller ships weren't granted the pleasure of gravity generators.
/Enjoy the reprieve folks; we'll be hitting the atmosphere soon and remember don't look out those windows/
The silence stayed, only the ambience of the transport to break it. There was always an anxiety in transportation; a feeling ingrained from many boardings while under fire… It might not have been boarding the Leon but those feeling stayed.
Admittedly it could have come from other fears. This was one of the few time most of these marines were fighting in atmosphere. CMC operations had a tendency to stay within ships, on space stations or the open field being fighting on the surface of moons and other small astrological bodies that had no atmosphere and very little gravity.
The idea of fighting on dirt and soil with no need for helmets and supplied oxygen had some kind of novel feeling to it.
They were trained for it, all services were trained for infantry fighting and thinking about it like that they were probably the most appropriate choice.
It would probably put the fear in everyone if they started handing rifles over to the ship's crew and order them to the frontline as well… They least had some experience.
Though the exchange of battle EVAs for ballistic vests and other small armor pieces was never a comfort. Infantry body armor didn't really have same level of protection and Roland had the bullet scars to prove it. It was something at least and she would be lying to herself in thinking the EVAs were anything to write home about; she had some wounds from that too.
It was mainly the Administrative thoughts behind it that made sobering sense;
A puncture in a EVA could mean death in a near instant; so that armor was made stronger with automated puncture repair systems for just in case.
Though on the ground, while bullets were still a risk; it didn't run the danger of decompression… Really thinking about it like that, there was some comfort to be had.
Roland just closed her eyes to trying to ease her mind, taking a deep breath and holding;
Just get through this and you'll probably go home.
She exhaled and seemingly on that, the ship began to rock again: re-entry.
There was an apparent feeling of gravity returning, a pull that had all of them sink into their seats as they shook side to side. It didn't last long and eventually that all seemed to disappear as well. Finally a smooth flight similar to any conventual flight.
That seemed to help relieve everyone's tension, maybe not the tension of battle but for this moment it had been settled that they weren't going to burn up in atmosphere.
/Welcome to Joplin; enjoy the sights before you make them ruins/