QUIST CITY — DEFENSE LINE 6, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Vdrastostr, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
The Znosians were not all gullible. A good trick only worked so many times against them. In this case, exactly four times.
The 6th defensive line figured it out, about six kilometers in.
“Five Whiskers Vdrastostr, they didn’t use our prearranged secret phrase in the message! And we don’t have a Five Whiskers Brunkt in the previous line!”
Vdrastostr was an experienced commander. Her training and experience from her two-year tour on Grantor taught her exactly how to deal with lying predators. She tilted her head, and spoke back into the radio, “Five Whiskers Brunkt, can you get Five Whiskers Sprert on the radio? I have something I need to consult with him on.”
The voice claiming to be Brunkt replied on the network calmly, “Sorry, Five Whiskers Sprert is busy with something. I take full responsibility for not being able to connect you with him. Would you like me to take a message to him?”
“No. It’s not urgent. I’ll call again tomorrow. 6th defensive line, out.”
Vdrastostr looked at her confused underling in dismay as she switched off the radio. “That is not one of ours,” she declared. “Our frontlines must have been breached. All of them up until our lines, possibly.”
“But… that voice sounded so real! Are you sure—”
Vdrastostr sighed. “Yes, I’m certain. Sprert isn’t real. I made that name up. The predators aren’t the only people who know how to lie.”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?” he whispered as if the enemy could hear them through the radio even with it off.
Come to think of it, maybe they could.
“Get ready for contact. And get the long-range signal rockets. Fire them into the air the second you see we’re under attack.”
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QUIST CITY — DEFENSE LINE 7, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Kivnolshot, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Five Whiskers Kivnolshot, the 6th defensive line just sent up a long-range signal rocket! They signal they’re under air attack.”
“By what?! We haven’t heard anything on the radio!”
“The message spelled out… flying machines.”
“Why didn’t they tell us that on the radio?!”
“I don’t know, Five Whiskers.”
“Well, ask them!”
“They’re saying it was a malfunction.”
“Oh, thank the Prophecy!”
“But Five Whiskers, that’s… an oddly specific malfunction!”
“Clarify with them.”
A few moments later, she took off her headset again. “Five Whiskers, the radio operator from the 6th defensive line said they mistook a flock of local winged creatures for the enemy. We can safely disregard the signal rockets. And I checked with the other defensive lines before them. Nobody’s seen any signs of the predators.”
“Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Kivnolshot sighed in relief. “Whew. Tell the sentries to keep an eye out, but cancel the alarm condition.”
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QUIST CITY — DEFENSE LINE 8, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Zrintr, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
Five Whiskers Zrintr, the officer in charge of the 8th defensive line, saw the signal rockets from two lines ahead of her, and she was not nearly as gullible as her counterpart in the previous line.
It took her all of three seconds to decipher the deception. “Predator lies. Switch off the radio. Send up signal rockets to tell everyone to disregard their electronic communications and pass the word with hoppers: the predators are using winged machines.”
“Yes, Five Whiskers. What about us?”
“Turn up the new electronic jammers we got in the latest supply shipment and aim them towards the sky. Maybe they’ll work.”
“Yes, Five Whiskers.”
As it turned out, their primitive but powerful jammers did work on the incoming drones. For about 15 seconds. Which was the amount of time it took the anti-radiation sensors mounted in the incoming drones’ noses to triangulate the jammer locations and home in on them.
It wasn’t strictly necessary because the drones were fully autonomous and didn’t need real-time orders from their controllers, but their primitive intelligence chips reasoned that they might as well be thorough. Besides, their controllers might want an accurate real-time battle damage assessment, and they just couldn’t have that while being jammed. So the jammers had to go.
Their next wave of flying explosives arrived on scene to obliterate the entire garrison of the 8th defensive line right on schedule.
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QUIST CITY — MALGEIR FIELD BASE, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Spemplige, Malgeir Federation Marine Infantry (Rank: Delta Leader)
“Ma’am, we’ve penetrated the Grass Eaters’ 8th defensive line! Our Marines are moving in to secure their position.”
The Delta Leader thanked him with a satisfied smile. “Good. What about the other battalions?”
“They’re still tangling with heavy Grass Eaters resistance on their sides, a few lines back. They might be having some technical trouble with the new equipment,” her subordinate reported with as little triumph in his voice as he could manage. “We’re the furthest in so far.”
“Careful, Gamma Leader. For the sake of morale, we must not mock their slow progress,” she cautioned. Then, she added slyly with a petty smile, “even if we are better at this than they are.”
He matched her grin. “Yes, Delta Leader. Should we wait for them to catch up? Or ask for orders from above?”
She waved a paw at him airily. “No need. We planned out this exact contingency with the half Grass Eaters in the staff meeting yesterday. There is no benefit in giving the enemy extra time to regroup and figure things out. We should be careful not to overextend. But we should — as they say — push until the enemy stops us. Our plan of operation is to advance, advance, and keep on advancing. Let division headquarters know our intentions.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Yes, ma’am…”
(To be more precise, the alien advisor that was present at the briefing was asked where they should stop advancing, and he’d replied something along the lines of “we’ll stop when we get to Znos”. But that was a problem for another day.)
A few moments later, the gamma leader looked up from his console. “It looks like we’re being jammed by Grass Eater radio stations on the surface.”
“Is it— is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” he said, pointing at the newly installed communication device with its odd markings and knobs. “But according to procedure, you should log this incident, even if the message did come through. Respectfully, Delta Leader.”
“Ah, right. Of course. Thanks for the reminder.” Spemplige made a note of it on her own console. “What did they say?”
“They said: division approves, excellent initiative, keep up the attack.”
Satisfied, she nodded. “You know what to do.”
“Launching the next wave… now.”
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QUIST CITY — DEFENSE LINE 11, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Strost, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Defensive line number 11, this is Defensive line 10. Come in! Come in!”
The radio operator of line 11 looked up at Five Whiskers Strost. “Should we answer? They say they are Defensive line 10, but they might be the predators. They might have penetrated the line and are now calling us to tell us not to worry again. They’ve done that with all the other defensive lines ahead of us.”
Strost took a second to think. “Maybe. Let’s at least see what they have to say. At least we’ll know to prepare if they do.”
The radio operator activated the transmit switch. “Defensive line 10, this is 11. What is your status?”
Rat-at-at-at-at-kaboooooom.
There was the distinctive sound of gunfire and explosions in the background. More incoming than outgoing, it seemed. “Thank the Prophecy someone’s there! They’re disabled our outer defenses and overrun our trenches! Enemies in our wire— the abominations are right on top of us. We have a flooded cave! Flooded cave! Flooded cave! We need immediate fire support at our defensive line!”
Flooded cave.
That was the code phrase of the week, a signal for when a defensive line had been breached by the enemy. The radio operator’s training kicked in. “Artillery? Where?”
“Where?! They’re right on top of us! Call everything in and let the Prophecy sort us out! Our lives were forfeited the day—”
“Defensive line 10? Defensive line 10!”
The transmission terminated from the other end.
“Five Whiskers? We have their lines pre-zeroed with our mortars. We can have rounds down range in fifteen seconds!”
Strost hesitated. “It might be a predator trick. To get us to fire on our own troops. Call them again. See if there’s someone else there we know who can confirm the order.”
The operator fiddled with his radio controls. “Hello, anyone at defense line 10? Anyone at defense line 10, please come in!”
Bsssssssssssssssssss.
There was no response. Just static.
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
“Send over a runner with signal rockets. I’m not firing at our own people until I get confirmation that the radio message wasn’t a predator ruse!”
“Yes, Five Whiskers.”
It only took about 15 minutes for a messenger to physically hop over to the 10th defensive line.
The messenger hopper was greeted by a surprised platoon commander, in a position that was very much not overrun. The enemy hadn’t reached the lines yet. Everything was fine. The runner sent up a signal rocket back to the 11th line, confirming Strost’s initial suspicion that the radio message was indeed an electronic deception from the enemies.
Unfortunately for her, Strost was no longer alive to receive the signal.
The go-getter in charge of the 12th defensive line was a less discerning commander. After being informed that defensive line 11 was being overrun on his radio, he wasted no time ordering his mortar team to open fire.
Strost was killed in the first barrage: impressive accuracy even for a mortar squad that had pre-aimed at their location. Some of the Marines in her position managed to get into cover and the bunkers before the following volleys arrived. They quickly sent up signal rockets countermanding the fake orders on the radio, but the damage was done.
The Malgeir troops arrived two hours later to the defenses mostly in tatters, cleaning up and taking it with ease.
That was a trick that only worked once, but none of the subsequent Znosian defensive lines got any bright ideas about firing artillery into their falling positions. Which made things a lot safer for the Malgeir Marines moving in for cleanup.
Exactly as it was intended to.
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QUIST CITY — 115TH COMBINED ARMS DIVISION HQ, QUISTQUEU-3
POV: Vzglars, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Seven Whiskers)
In her makeshift division headquarters, a reinforced bunker hidden among the urban maze of buildings in the capital city, Znosian Marine 115th Division Commander Vzglars looked on in shock at her computer officer as he reported the bad news.
“Seven Whiskers Vzglars, our defensive lines have gone silent. We have just confirmed this information.”
She stood up to her full height of 1.1 meters, the fur on her back bristling in agitation. “Defensive lines? Multiple of them? They’re at our third line of defense already?!”
“No, Seven Whiskers. It appears we’ve lost contact with twelve, maybe thirteen, of our outer defensive lines on the northwestern side of the basin,” the computer officer reported miserably.
“Twelve?! How am I hearing about the seriousness of the attack just now? I thought the combat computer said it might have been a probe from the predators!”
“Twelve or thirteen, division commander. I take full responsibility for my failure to produce useful results out of—”
“I don’t care about that! Why did we fail to detect the attack early?!” Vzglars shouted.
“Seven Whiskers, there was some confusion early on and the misinformation on the radio confused everyone. We thought the outdated signal rockets were misfires or a ruse from the enemy. But on the combat computer’s recommendation, we sent a runner down to the outer perimeter, and she reported back on the radio that all was quiet on the perimeter.”
“All quiet?!” the division commander repeated, her fury masked in her soft voice.
“Yes, we only realized our mistake when she didn’t come back after an hour. She made an excuse on the radio, but—”
Vzglars snorted, “More predator lies.”
“Yes, Seven Whiskers. They are whispering lies to us on our radio network. We should disregard all messages we get on our radios, especially the ones insisting that everything is fine. And we also need to ignore the messages saying that the defense is breaking or being abandoned. They are using that to get us to fire on our own positions.”
“So everything is fine, and everything is not fine?”
“Yes, Seven Whiskers, though it seems that the situation is closer to the latter than the—”
“I know that, Computer Officer!”
“Yes, Seven Whiskers Vzglars.”
She sighed with frustration. “Where are the predators now?”
“They’re approaching the city limits, as best that we can tell. If they continue their current rate of advance, they’ll be in the city by dawn. What should we do?”
Vzglars considered the problem for a moment and came to the conclusion she knew she should have reached hours ago. The predators were going to win here regardless of what she did. The open entry of the Great Predators into their new… coalition made the fate of Quistqueu-3 a foregone conclusion. All she could hope for was to increase their casualties or waste their time.
And she couldn’t even do either of those things without knowing more about their new weapons and tactics. They needed more time. Time to figure things out. Time they didn’t have.
“Computer officer, give the order to disperse.”
“Have you decided which of our units are to become guerilla cells and which are to go underground into the tunnels with us, Seven Whiskers?”
“Let the combat computer decide, and pass the orders down. And let’s hope these new Great Predators don’t know as much about counterinsurgency as they do about radio trickery.”
“Yes, Seven Whiskers.”
“Oh, and get the doomsday devices ready and move them into the city.”
“Seven Whiskers?”
“The new orders. The ones from Navy Eleven Whiskers Sprabr. We are not to assume that our Navy will be back here in this system anytime soon. Therefore what we will do here is not an inefficient waste. If the Dominion must retreat, and we cannot have the planet, nobody can have it.”
“I understand, division commander. Our lives were—”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
There was some quiet commotion near the entrance of her bunker.
Vzglars frowned. “What’s going on out there?”
“I will go check it out, Seven—”
The computer officer’s next words died in his mouth as a hefty-sounding piece of metal bounced off the doorway entrance landing on the bunker room floor with another meaty thud. It took her expensive training and breeding less than half a second to identify what it was.
“Grenade!”