August 12, 2019

Felomia

Henry hurriedly linked up with Olmich to organize the deployment of their newly arrived reinforcements. Four Abrams and four Bradleys grouped up by the gate, ready to set up a defensive line outside the walls.

“Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up several deployment plans,” Olmich handed Henry a tablet. “Swipe to scroll through the plans. If you want to make an adjustment, you can drag and drop the units.”

“Hmm,” Henry said as he analyzed the formations. “The first one is optimal, but relies on the hope that the monsters never even reach the minefield. If the monsters make it past the minefield, retreating would cause a traffic jam.” He looked at the second plan, shook his head and went over the final arrangement. “This seems better; let’s go with the third plan.”

“Got it, sir. The knights are bringing a fresh batch of ammo and explosives. I reckon your fancy doodads are running outta juice by now, so feel free to pick up some new equipment at the tent over there,” he gestured toward the establishment beside him, where guns and gear were lined neatly upon rows of tables.

“Thanks for the tip, Commander. Any word on the helos?”

“Still about an hour away. The tangos are gonna be here way before then, though.”

Henry shouldered his N109. “Damn. How about anything from the outposts?”

“The outposts and supply points are running on skeleton crews since most of them were diverted here. Not much to ask them for.”

“I see. Well then, let me know if anything new arises.”

Olmich nodded. “Will do, sir. Good luck.”

Henry returned to his post along the wall, watching the tanks below him file out onto the plains. He was grateful that the locals did not dig any ditches or trenches — they would’ve seriously impeded the effectiveness of the American armored elements.

The knights and a few local residents stared at the metal behemoths with wonder in their eyes. Despite having become accustomed to the Americans’ vehicles and aircraft, they had not yet seen their ground-based combat vehicles. The heavy machines tumbled along the dirt roads, kicking up dust as they exited the gate.

Several knights directed the civilians back indoors, cautioning them against disrupting the Americans during their work. The residents then flocked to their rooftops, hoping to catch a glimpse of the action, but the walls were too high. While they hoped to see the metal behemoths at work, they realized that the only way this was possible is if the gate was breached. Dejected, they retreated back into their homes and patiently waited out the storm.

The American vehicles arranged themselves in a concave rather than a straight line. Through this positioning, Henry established an effective route back to the gate, should the armor units need to retreat expediently. With all men and vehicles in place, it became a waiting game. Silence reigned over the scarred battlefield; all of the local wildlife had been scared off by the combination of monsters and explosions. Only the wind bore witness to the stalwart defenders, their sights aimed at the forest and fingers on their triggers.

The telltale sign of the coming horde finally revealed itself via a lone, guttural roar from somewhere deep in the forest. The Tarasque’s bellow echoed, followed by the sound of splintering trees and the chill-inducing chittering of the Spyders. A group of birds that hadn’t yet fled the carnage made the decision to leave as their nests were trampled down by the monsters. From what the Americans could tell, the monsters were now but a couple miles from the edge of the forest.

“Hostiles inbound, ETA: two minutes!” Henry heard a voice in his ear. Olmich and his team gave callouts, assisted by the small quadcopter drones overhead.

Henry rapped his fingers along his rifle, taking a breath as he counted down mentally. Three, two, one. He began charging his weapon. “Thermopylae Platoon, engage the Tarasque first. Concentrate main cannon fire and TOW missiles on Target Priority One. Gunners and Bradley cannons are to engage the smaller hostiles.”

“You heard the man! We can’t let Dragonslayer Squadron one-up us! Oorah!”

Henry returned his attention back to his rifle, which was almost completely charged. “Perfect,” he said as the Tarasque emerged from the tree line. A resounding blast from his rifle signified the beginning of the battle. The blue bolt impacted the Tarasque’s head, followed by a barrage of 120mm armor-piercing sabot rounds, then anti-tank missiles.

The Spyders below the Tarasque were instantly pulverized by the concentration of fire, leaving nothing but scorch marks on the ground where they once stood. The local wyverns assisted as much as they could, torching lines of approaching Spyders and corralling them into a choke point. The firepower unleashed by the defenders produced so much smoke that it took several seconds to clear.

“Hold fire!” Henry ordered. With no targets visible, there was no point in wasting ammo. As the smoke began to clear, he noticed the dark silhouette of the tarasque, still standing. “What the hell…?”

The beast roared in anger and pain, perhaps hatred, if such a monster could develop complex emotions. It charged through the smoke, revealing a face full of holes — enough to give most of the defenders trypophobia. The top of its head was deformed and charred from the impact of Henry’s weapon. Blood oozed from four small wounds, and upon closer inspection, Henry found that he could even see the forest through the holes.

“Sabot went right through the damn thing! There’s no way we missed it’s fucking brain!” Henry yelled as he charged up another shot. “Switch to HEAT!”

“Copy,” the tank commander responded. “HEAT, loaded!”

The tanks fired again, striking the charging beast without fail. Using the onboard fire control systems as an aid, the tanks directed their punishment at the Tarasque’s head. All four shells found their mark, causing the beast to rear backward on its hind legs as it desperately tried to avoid the stinging, burning sensation of the shells. Several TOW missiles then impacted its torso, pushing onto the ground.

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A wave of silence washed over the defenders as they watched in apprehension. Will the beast roll over and get up, or will it stay down? Their curiosity could not be satiated; they still had a horde of Spyders to mow down. Disregarding the Tarasque, the defenders redirected their attention toward the smaller critters.

Henry heard an unsettling click in his rifle. He checked the weapon’s charge and to his dismay, discovered that it was dry. “Damn, I’m all out,” he declared as he picked up a Barrett that he had leaned against the wall earlier.

“Same here,” his teammates said as they replaced their weapons.

“Goodness,” Kelmithus sighed. “Just how many of them are there?!” He picked up another mana gem from a half-empty box and clutched it, drawing energy to strike the front row of Spyders with a bolt of lightning.

Dr. Jones swung his staff in an upward motion, causing the ground below the Spyders to erupt into spikes, impaling dozens of them. “Looks like a hundred or so,” he said as he lowered his staff, allowing the spikes to sink back into the dirt.

Four resounding booms soon followed, clearing out dozens of the tightly packed monsters. “Gotta be less than a hundred now,” Henry said.

Sure enough, the Spyders’ numbers dwindled rapidly thanks to the addition of the tanks and infantry fighting vehicles. By the time the horde reached the first line of C4 and claymores, their numbers were reduced to merely a couple dozen. These last few survivors were promptly turned into dust as the explosives were activated.

Ron turned to his right, placing his hand up to block the intense luminosity from the blasts. “Well, that sure got all of ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Henry clapped his back. “Good shooting, good spellcasting. Hoo, boy.” He checked the box of ammo. “I’m glad we didn’t run out of bullets; this thing is almost empty!”

A low screech emanated from the plains, somewhere past the smoke and burning Spyder husks.

“That can’t be good…” Emma frowned.

“Aw, shit,” Henry said. “There’s no way that damn thing is still alive…” He brought his hand up to his ear. “Commander, we just heard a noise, toward the forest. Still got those drones up?”

“Yes, Major. I was about to recall them because they’re low on battery, but there should be one that’s still good to go. Moving it up now… Okay, I see the Tarasque. What in God’s name? It’s moving around! Is that its brain?!”

Henry and the rest of Alpha Team looked at each other in shock. “Commander, say again?”

“Sir, it’s moving toward us. I don’t know how it’s still capable of comprehending our —”

“Thanks for the intel, Commander. Thermopylae Platoon, get your guns ready. Damn thing still ain’t dead.”

Trampling over the bodies of the slain arachnids, the Tarasque lived up to its name and origin. The resilient being lumbered forward, having lost the capacity to charge. Still, it somehow retained the capacity to recognize its targets: the defenders of Felomia. It pushed toward the front lines, walking into the erupting ground. As if it were mindless, it trudged onward, shrugging off a wave of explosives and gunfire.

“Goddamn,” Ron said. “Just how much does it take to kill this thing?” He poured bullets into the open wounds of the creature, dealing as much damage as he possibly could with his weapons.

Another volley from the tanks struck the bloodied giant, causing it to release something between a gurgle and a wail. With an ear-piercing cry, it fell to its side. The heavy beast crashed down with an audible thud, tossing a cloud of dust into the air. The defenders ceased their fire, but maintained their aim.

“Is it… dead?” An Ecithian archer wondered.

“Shit, I’d be surprised if it ain’t,” an American Marine responded.

“Olmich?” Henry called into his network.

“Yes, bringing the drone for a closer look, sir. Hmm, I think it’s dead.” The drone hovered lazily above the Tarasque’s smoldering head, blood oozing out of dozens of wounds.

Henry frowned, thinking about the creature’s incredible survivability. “You sure?”

“Dead, likely. Neutralized, definitely. Sir, I’d recommend waiting around at least until our reinforcements arrive. Should be about five minutes now.”

“Noted. We’ll maintain position. Let us know if anything unusual happens, and be sure to check in with the Colonel.” Henry opened a fresh bottle of water beside, enjoying the cool rehydration.

“Will do, sir.”

——

The distinct buzzing of helicopters shattered the relative silence of the battle’s aftermath. Residents poured out of their homes. Staring at the flying metal chariots with great curiosity, they pointed and gawked at the machines while simultaneously bracing themselves from the wind. Six of the more angular ones, described by the Americans as ‘Apaches’, broke off from their tight formation, splitting into pairs as they formed a perimeter around the town. Six of the tubular ones — the Chinooks — settled down by the town circle, which was open enough to accommodate them.

Henry approached them and directed the officers on board toward the Town Hall, where he introduced them to Colonel Sanders. After pleasantries were exchanged and orders given, Sanders spoke privately with Alpha Team. “Ambassador Perry is in the lobby with Lord Talvin. Before y’all head back home, General Harding and the DoD have some questions regarding the Tarasque. They want to send a team of analysts right away.”

“It was a tough nut to crack, sir,” Henry said.

“So I’ve heard. Good work out there, Major. I hope to work with you and your team again.”

Henry smiled, appreciating the compliment. “Same here, sir.” He shook Sanders’ hand and walked into the building, linking up with Perry.

“Ah, Major Henry Donnager and comrades!” Lord Talvin exclaimed. “I have the utmost gratitude for your assistance. Although, I do apologize for asking so much from your team.”

Henry waved his hand. “No worries,” he said with a smile. “We’re just glad to help. More of our guys are coming here to build up defenses so Felomia should be completely fine for the foreseeable future.”

Lord Talvin bowed. “And for that, along with our liberation from the Nobian Empire, we are eternally indebted to your kind. I assume you’ll be departing soon?”

“Yes, right after we give a call back home. Ambassador, where’s the communications room?”

Perry gestured toward a hallway to their left . “I’ll bring you there.”

They bid goodbye to Lord Talvin, who resumed his duties regarding town affairs. The communications room, a converted office, was a small walk away. They walked in and Perry pointed at a device on the center of a table, surrounded by several documents.

Henry fiddled with the device until he established a link with Fort Grenden. “Alpha Actual to Fort Grenden…”

“Alpha Actual, this is Fort Grenden. We read you.”

——

The White House

President Keener paced around his office as he pondered the events in Felomia. Based on the information provided by several magical scholars from their allies, alongside the first-hand accounts of Alpha Team and the other defenders, it was obvious that the monster horde was organized by the Eanish. No other nation had the capability to coordinate monsters to such an extent. While the Divinians could certainly do something like this, Keener saw no reason for them to actually engage in such conduct. On the other hand, the Eanif Imperium had every reason to do this: they could probe the defenses of the Americans and simultaneously infiltrate allied regions while Keener’s forces were busy.

Already, he suspected that there must be several spies in Felomia itself, their objectives likely related to documenting American tactics and weaponry. On the eastern side of the continent, he wondered how many had already snuck into the Sonaran Federation. With this in mind, he ordered CIA Director Samantha Gray to coordinate with the NSA and other intelligence agencies to conduct counter-espionage in Gaerra.

Considering the potential imminence of an Eanish invasion, President Keener authorized the deployment of more units to this new planet. Obviously, such a massive military deployment could represent an international crisis, especially without context about hostile nations on the other side. This represented a recurring issue that has only recently become a major thorn in his side. The excuse of hostile wildlife will only last so long.

Thankfully, with footage from the Defense of Felomia, such concerns could be temporarily waived; the cascade of chittering creatures and the titanic, tanky Tarasque were justifiable threats. Of course, he made sure to edit out any instances of Alpha Team’s exotic weaponry.

With a tight grip on the portal itself, he felt confident in General Harding’s ability to maintain the secrecy of their operations in Eanif. However, with the steadily decreasing size of the anomaly, more precautions will be necessary, Keener thought. Although they still had years before the thing vanished completely, not enough was being done currently with regards to portal research. To compensate for this, construction equipment was brought through the portal. Keener effectively wanted to transform Fort Grenden from a military base and research facility into a self-sustaining colony, in case his people became stranded for whatever reason.

With these major issues out of his mind, Keener relaxed, slumping down on a couch. The only thing left to do was to prepare for the upcoming spectacle: the first rocket launch in (known) Gaerran history. Excited for the event, Keener wondered how the natives would react to such an awe-inspiring scientific accomplishment. Would they be offended by the Americans’ attempt to tread into the domain of the gods? Would they be impressed by sheer scientific prowess? Or would they disregard it as a simple show, and dismiss the implications of such a feat?