Chapter 1- Drop
We moved in, under the cover of the coronal mass ejection of the twin suns, our dropships taking care to not get too close. I don't feel fear as acutely as I once did. The injections, the hypnotic preparations, the training - physical and psychological- they all should have seen to that. But those twin suns, tearing at one another and ripping apart their sibling?
Terrifying, I'll say that. Even under the protection of god knows how many inches of armor and shielding, I was terrified. I trembled before nature's power, knowing that in the eye of god- we were but motes. But before God, came the officers. And in their eyes, we were inadequate.
Lieutenant, the sergeant, the section leaders, they all lined up. Standard spiel. No heroes, do your job, show up for retrieval, know the plan, you got that, you damned dirty apes. I fell in with my section.
-"So, here's the plan, you damned dirty apes. Smash-and-run raid, softening up the planet for the force. I expect little to no un-expended bombs, but you know how these are. First section, you are to attack the trenches."
The First Section collectively gulped at this. The trenches, as we called the Indig's fortifications, were a long death-trap of automatic weaponry, barb wire, and booby traps. Unlike our fore-fathers in the First World War, we were significantly helped in this effort by modern technology. But we did not relish the task.
I was with Second Section, who were tasked with clearing out Indig bunkers along the polar regions. We were to insert via Capsule - and with a hearty kinetic bombardment from naval support beforehand to soften up resistance. Our job was comparatively easy compared to First Section, because we were to strike a non-vital target.
-"Second Section, to Capsules! Pronto, you damned pieces of shit, I don't have all day to close your mouths so the drool doesn't come out! First, get ready for insertion! Remember: EVERYONE FIGHTS. NO ONE QUITS."
The Mobile Strike Infantry get a lot of the limelight, and justifiably so. But we grunts? We don't get powered armor, like you see in the propaganda holo-reels and the VR simulators that Activision and EA-Bethesda-Molyneux Commune get paid millions to make by the DOD. You know, the ones that have you playing as a one man army and killing a ton of Indigs while your squadmates unironically scream "Ooh-rah" and "United North American Federation! United North American Federation! United North American Federation!" ? Yeah, that shlock.
Solar-Warden does thing like we did a couple centuries ago in Viet-nam. Rifle, kit and maybe reactive metallopolymer body armor if we're lucky. If you're really lucky, automatic support weapon or grenade launcher. Makes equipping us less expensive than MSI with their fancy power armor suits and Gatling-Ruger DEWs and the like.
If the MSI are the modern-day Samurai, as I've heard the holo-reels call them, we here at Solar-Warden are the Ashigaru.
So, the capsules. You ever skydive on Earth? Sorta like that, but 10x terrifying thanks to the addition of the cold, remorseless void of space. Oh, and this is SOP for insertion into lightly defended areas. Fun for the whole family!
Impact is worse. You feel the capsule suddenly lurching to a crawl. Then, SPLAT! You hit land, and the door opens up, and you are sent flailing into the world like an infant out of the womb. Except, in this case, outside usually has people shooting at you.
The first thing I heard when I crawled onto the surface of the planet was the sound of Indig warriors, having sighted us, doing their war chant. I, with the help of the Indig Post-War Reconstruction committee, have managed to get a reproduction of one such chant. It is attached to this document for your perusal, and to show why I feared these warriors so much.
So, the Indigs. You have probably heard of them, or seen pictures of them on the holos. Lemme tell you, they're an inspiring sight- and a terrifying one, when these great green-skinned warriors are pissed. Now, despite having recovered various technologies from crashed starships of other races, the Indigs are still pretty primitive technologically, weapons-wise.
For example, the throwing spears - Eklwa- that whizzed past me and the rest of my unit before the Indig regiment - Umpo, I believe they're called - charged. Though doing little damage if they riocheted, these are still incredibly lethal if they hit home- owing to the strength of the Indig's arm and the slightly higher gravity of their native planets.
The next sound I heard was the sound of ten thousand feet, like a series of thunderclaps. The sound of the Umpo, having formed for battle, charging.
Battle had been joined.
We moved in, under the cover of the coronal mass ejection of the twin suns, our dropships taking care to not get too close. I don't feel fear as acutely as I once did. The injections, the hypnotic preparations, the training - physical and psychological- they all should have seen to that. But those twin suns, tearing at one another and ripping apart their sibling?
Terrifying, I'll say that. Even under the protection of god knows how many inches of armor and shielding, I was terrified. I trembled before nature's power, knowing that in the eye of god- we were but motes. But before God, came the officers. And in their eyes, we were inadequate.
Lieutenant, the sergeant, the section leaders, they all lined up. Standard spiel. No heroes, do your job, show up for retrieval, know the plan, you got that, you damned dirty apes. I fell in with my section.
-"So, here's the plan, you damned dirty apes. Smash-and-run raid, softening up the planet for the force. I expect little to no un-expended bombs, but you know how these are. First section, you are to attack the trenches."
The First Section collectively gulped at this. The trenches, as we called the Indig's fortifications, were a long death-trap of automatic weaponry, barb wire, and booby traps. Unlike our fore-fathers in the First World War, we were significantly helped in this effort by modern technology. But we did not relish the task.
I was with Second Section, who were tasked with clearing out Indig bunkers along the polar regions. We were to insert via Capsule - and with a hearty kinetic bombardment from naval support beforehand to soften up resistance. Our job was comparatively easy compared to First Section, because we were to strike a non-vital target.
-"Second Section, to Capsules! Pronto, you damned pieces of shit, I don't have all day to close your mouths so the drool doesn't come out! First, get ready for insertion! Remember: EVERYONE FIGHTS. NO ONE QUITS."
The Mobile Strike Infantry get a lot of the limelight, and justifiably so. But we grunts? We don't get powered armor, like you see in the propaganda holo-reels and the VR simulators that Activision and EA-Bethesda-Molyneux Commune get paid millions to make by the DOD. You know, the ones that have you playing as a one man army and killing a ton of Indigs while your squadmates unironically scream "Ooh-rah" and "United North American Federation! United North American Federation! United North American Federation!" ? Yeah, that shlock.
Solar-Warden does thing like we did a couple centuries ago in Viet-nam. Rifle, kit and maybe reactive metallopolymer body armor if we're lucky. If you're really lucky, automatic support weapon or grenade launcher. Makes equipping us less expensive than MSI with their fancy power armor suits and Gatling-Ruger DEWs and the like.
If the MSI are the modern-day Samurai, as I've heard the holo-reels call them, we here at Solar-Warden are the Ashigaru.
So, the capsules. You ever skydive on Earth? Sorta like that, but 10x terrifying thanks to the addition of the cold, remorseless void of space. Oh, and this is SOP for insertion into lightly defended areas. Fun for the whole family!
Impact is worse. You feel the capsule suddenly lurching to a crawl. Then, SPLAT! You hit land, and the door opens up, and you are sent flailing into the world like an infant out of the womb. Except, in this case, outside usually has people shooting at you.
The first thing I heard when I crawled onto the surface of the planet was the sound of Indig warriors, having sighted us, doing their war chant. I, with the help of the Indig Post-War Reconstruction committee, have managed to get a reproduction of one such chant. It is attached to this document for your perusal, and to show why I feared these warriors so much.
So, the Indigs. You have probably heard of them, or seen pictures of them on the holos. Lemme tell you, they're an inspiring sight- and a terrifying one, when these great green-skinned warriors are pissed. Now, despite having recovered various technologies from crashed starships of other races, the Indigs are still pretty primitive technologically, weapons-wise.
For example, the throwing spears - Eklwa- that whizzed past me and the rest of my unit before the Indig regiment - Umpo, I believe they're called - charged. Though doing little damage if they riocheted, these are still incredibly lethal if they hit home- owing to the strength of the Indig's arm and the slightly higher gravity of their native planets.
The next sound I heard was the sound of ten thousand feet, like a series of thunderclaps. The sound of the Umpo, having formed for battle, charging.
Battle had been joined.
