“What kind of fucking shit-show is this?”
Michaels stepped out of the Humvee before it had completely stopped. He ripped the silver oakleaf off his helmet before shoving it onto his head, annoyed that he had neglected to remove it earlier. He glanced at his watch. 0922. Fuck, and we’re already eight hours into the day.
The convoy behind his Humvee dispersed around what was supposed to be the Ganlin field headquarters. “It looks like we rolled into a fuck show, sir,” his driver commented, heavy on the Bronx accent.
“What it looks like is a three-ring circus being looted by a stampeding herd of horned, fox-cat… things,” Michaels growled, slamming the door behind him.
“Recon reported the Ganlin were in trouble, but it didn’t sound this bad,” Sergeant Major Barakis said, walking up from his own Humvee with an unforgivably chipper spring in his step. “Something must have changed.”
“Let’s go see what it is, then,” Michaels said, turning to march into the chaos of the disintegrating field command, a retinue of his immediate command staff, aides, and a fire team escort falling in behind him.
“Isn’t this supposed to be the bulk of the Ganlin army?” Major Winters asked. His new XO had only just relieved barely a week before. She struck him as competent, but he still hadn’t had time to properly get to know her.
At least she just transferred from a frontline deployment, Michaels thought. This isn’t the Middle East, but we’ll need her combat experience.
“The Ganlin Royal Host is most of their standing army, yes,” Barakis answered, still too cheerfully. Michaels had noticed that the more things went to shit, the happier his Sergeant Major got. He swore he could almost see the forty-six-year-old Marine absorbing happiness from the panic and mayhem around him.
“Wait, are they ganlin or keshmen?” First Lieutenant Simms asked. Simms was the HQ company’s XO, and acting as CO while Captain Nyles was on convalescent leave.
“The species is keshmin,” Barakis corrected. “Their nation is the Kingdom of Ganlin.”
“How are you able to keep all of this straight, Sergeant Major?” Winters asked.
“Eidetic memory, ma’am.”
Winters gave him a side-long glance before her attention was drawn by the scene ahead of them.
Michaels stopped as two keshmin drug a chest across their path. Their steel helmets askew and half their plate and chainmail missing, they screeched at him in a chirping language he didn’t understand.
“Tell me why we’re here,” Michaels said as he watched the two keshmin struggle to haul the chest away.
“Some kind of portal opened up less than forty-five minutes from San Diego,” Barakis answered.
“Uh-huh.”
“Fuzzy aliens with magic on the other side.”
“Yep.”
“Losing a war with puritanical elves with even more magic.”
“Mhm.”
“Frontline of the war and both armies are half-a-day’s march from the portal.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, and the elves are bent on exterminating anything that isn’t an elf, and sent the diplomatic party we sent to open communications with them back to us in very small pieces packed into very fancy boxes.”
“Right,” Michaels said, moving forward again. “Just needed a reminder.”
“They couldn’t make these guys any more of a comic book villain, could they?” Winters asked.
“Probably not, ma’am.”
Further conversation was put on hold by their arrival at what appeared to be the main command pavilion. A three-peaked pavilion, with three out of four sides rolled up for air, the red and blue canvas showed only minor soiling from field use.
The inside, however, was in a state of utter disarray.
Keshmin in fancy clothing and armor screeched at each other over tables strewn with maps, markers, a couple swords and knives, and a dozen or more items Michaels couldn’t identify. As the Marines entered the pavilion, the keshmin twitched and looked up, almost in unison. Their ears swiveling to catch more sound, but not towards the humans. Over the chaos of the camp, Michaels heard the familiar thump and rumble of not-so-distant explosions.
Chaos descended again, this time with a feverish pace, until one of the keshmin with fancier armor barked over the din. Pointing about as he shouted orders, he managed to restore some semblance of order before turning to the humans as they approached.
“You in charge here?” Michaels asked.
The well-dressed keshmin yipped a response. Catching himself mid-sentence with a growl, he turned and barked at a harried-looking assistant. After rummaging through an over-turned chest, the young man rushed over with a softly-glowing, crystal… thing, wrapped in thin bands of gold and silver.
The assistant yipped a question, and the Ganlin commander impatiently waved a hand at him. With a wavering breath, the younger keshmin steeled himself, then his eyes lit up bright silver as he snapped the crystal in two.
The crystal shattered into specs of energy and a concussive pulse burst across the camp. Michaels felt something tingle in his head, and the young keshmin promptly collapsed, flopping on his tail with a yipped, “Oof.”
“I am Lord General Ki-wan Rurn Yangri,” the older keshmin said. Michaels snapped his gaze from the assistant, who seemed to be merely stunned, to the Lord General. He could understand him. Not as if the keshmin were speaking English, but as if Michaels was fluent in whatever language he was speaking. “High Commander of the Royal Host and Supreme Commander of Armies of the Kingdom of Ganlin. That mana crystal was worth two chests of gold, and could have powered a heavy artillery piece for a week, but I feel it is worth far more for both our forces to be able to understand each other.” He held out his right hand in a familiar gesture, his left casually resting on the hilt of the sword on his hip.
“Lieutenant Colonel Henry Michaels,” Michaels replied, extending his own army to shake hands only to have the Lord General clasp his forearm instead. He quickly adapted. “Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, First Marine Division. What’s the state of things here?”
“Disaster,” Yangri replied. Gesturing towards the encroaching sounds of battle. “The bastard elves managed to force-march nearly twice the forces into battle than we expected, and sent the heaviest concentration of their mages and gemblade regiments right down the middle. We did our best to hold, but what artillery we have left barely flickered their shields, and they decimated our pike formations before they even closed to melee.” He sighed. “We’re fighting a rearguard as we fall back, but the whole line is collapsing. The elves are pouring through, not half a mile away, and the Royal Host is in total rout. We have no choice but to retreat.”
Michaels took this all in, nodding as the Lord General spoke. It was a dire situation, and with the Ganlin army in shambles nothing would stand between the portal and Earth. But he had also read the reports initial recon had made on the capabilities of both forces, limited as they were with barely more than three days since the portal first opened. He allowed himself an internal chuckle at the opportunity the universe had seen fit to give him.
“Retreat?” he said. He forced his own expression to stay stone-cold neutral, but he felt the determination of the Marines behind him harden. “Hell, we just got here!” He turned, leaving the Lord General looking nonplussed. “Sergeant Major, get those trucks unloaded. Anything that isn’t combat gear gets dropped on the deck. Everything and everyone else who was issued a rifle heads to the front.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Barakis snapped to attention, then did an about face and marched out of the pavilion, barking orders.
“Lieutenant, take two squads and keep them behind to set up a command post. Radio’s your first priority.”
“Right away, sir!” Simms replied, turning on his heel and racing off to give his own orders.
“Major, get on the horn with the boys at FOB Tolkien. We need them to send up everything they’ve got, no holding back.”
“I’m on it, sir,” she said, turning away to follow after Simms.
Yangri did a double-take as Michaels turned back to him. “Was that a woman?!?” he asked, pointing after Winters.
Michaels ignored the comment. “What forces do you have that are still under command, Lord General, and where are they positioned?”
***********
Corporal Jamie Bradford was having a very interesting day, and she was beginning to think that it was not the good kind of interesting, after all. Her squad was a rifle squad, but she and most of her platoon had been loaded up with the headquarters company and sent to help set up a forward base at the Ganlin army camp. Shaking her head as a tingle flared between her ears and shot down her spine, she thought back over the chaos of the last three days.
There was the rush to stand up and secure the Earth side of a fucking portal to another world when it first appeared, then the rush to set up a FOB on the other side of the portal, which some asshat had managed to get named “Tolkien,” and then the rush to link up with their new, medieval, alien allies, and now they were maybe three hours into a war that Congress just declared against genocidal fucking elves from another world. She chuckled. As crazy and mixed-up as the last couple days have been, I’m surprised I’m even still with the right unit.
“What are you laughing at, Bradford?”
“Just wondering how much more shuffling around it would take for us to get dumped in with an Air Force unit, Sergeant.”
“Ain’t no five-star hotels with in-house spas around here, Jabs,” Sergeant Ramirez said.
“Nah, but a girl can dream, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, well, save your dreams for later. Looks like the Sergeant Major’s putting us to work.” A communal groan sounded throughout the truck they’d been crammed into. “Alright, everybody out! And somebody wake up Hicks.”
Bradford thunked her fist down onto Corporal Hicks’ helmet twice, startling him awake. “Wake up, fuckface,” she said before jumping out of the truck with the rest of her fire team.
“Man, fuck you!” followed her out of the truck.
Once out of the truck, Bradford’s mood began to darken. Away from the rumbling engine, she could make out the sound of explosions in the distance. They hadn’t been given much intel about the “magic” weaponry used by the elves and the keshmin, but from what she did know, they must have been closer to the line of battle than Intel thought. Shouldn’t really be surprised at that…
A more immediate threat presented itself as the Sergeant Major moved down the dispersed line of Humvees, trucks, and MATVs, dolling out orders and work with the angry glee possessed only by the senior enlisted. With an internal groan, Bradford slung her rifle over her shoulder and corralled her fire team into the work party.
She hated work as much as the next Marine, but she was a career-driven female in one of the Corps’ first integrated combat units, with three generations of Marines behind her. Slacking off was just not an option for her, and she had to keep her natural competitiveness always on.
Bradford and her fire team were soon hauling gear out of trucks and the back of Humvees and stacking it on the ground with little ceremony or order. Some of the Marines stopped to gawk at the locals, who looked like they were scrambling to pack up or haul away whatever they could carry. A few of the locals stopped to gawk at them, and as Bradford passed some of them, she was amazed to find that she could understand their yips and barks.
“Quit yer gawkin’, Private!” Gunnery Sergeant Wilkins snapped. “This Humvee’s not gonna unload itself!”
“Gunny, they’ve got fucking horns!”
“And I’ll shove them up your ass if you don’t get it in gear, marine! Get back to work!” Even the few locals who stopped to gawk at them quickly made themselves scarce. Bradford considered that to be a wise move on their part.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The HQ Company XO came through and snagged a couple squads, directing them to start breaking out and setting up equipment rather than just stacking it. Bradford found herself hauling some equipment over to where they were setting up, next to a gaudy-looking pavilion. She had been listening to the intermittent explosions getting closer in just the ten minutes they had spent unloading, and combined with the general disarray of the alien camp she knew things weren’t going well. Shouts could be heard not far away, and as she and a private she didn’t recognize set their crate down, she heard the new XO talking with the radio operator.
“Ma’am, TOLKIEN reports that most of Second Battery from Third Battalion is on site, but they just started un-packing. 4th Battalion reports they’re still bringing the second half of Alpha Company through the portal, and Delta Company only just showed up on the Earth side with elements of 1st Battalion.” The radio operator paused. “They’re scrambling, but most of our assets are still unpacking.”
“Then we get half of Alpha Company! Tell them that anything that’s not already on its way needs to start rolling here now. We need whatever they can send us, ASAP! Do they have an ETA on the flyboys yet?”
“A squadron of Cobras is en route from Pendleton, ETA one-five mikes. Air Force has two flights of A-10s en route from Davis-Monthan, ETA twenty mikes.”
Feeling the gut-sinking butt-pucker of her trouble instincts kicking in, Bradford stopped her turn back to the trucks and looked across the camp. “Shit…” Streaming through the tents was a mass of people, keshmin, all soldiers. A trickle at first, but she could see a growing throng further ahead. Some of them were carrying pikes, or strange, glowing staffs. Others had abandoned their weapons. Some were wounded.
Bradford recognized a rout when she saw one.
“TWO FIVE!” Colonel Michaels bellowed, stepping out of the pavilion. “Lock and load, we’re moving out!” Bradford unslung her rifle and moved to join the rest of her squad. “RETREAT!”
“HELL!” Bradford shouted back with the rest of the Marines.
“TWO FIVE!”
“RETREAT, HELL!”
“MOVE OUT!”
“First Platoon! On me!” Lieutenant Leidowitz shouted, waving his platoon forward through the camp. Bradford fell in with the rest of her squad on her platoon leader. “Vehicles gotta go around the camp, we’re pushing through on foot to plug the hole! Double time, Marines!”
Bradford surged forward, past the trampled tents and fleeing keshmin, toward the sound of battle. Smoke and dust started to fill the air, some from fires she could smell burning, others from weapons fire. The rate of thumps and explosions was not what she was used to hearing, but as she drew closer to the fight, she could here electric zaps and crackles, more shouts and cries, and the clash of metal.
Moving through the haze of battle, Bradford passed more wounded. Some had collapsed from their injuries and lay keening on the ground. Some were dead. Some still walking, their wounds fresh. As the marines moved against the current of fleeing troops, the Ganlin soldiers shied away from them. Bradford didn’t know if it was because they appeared alien, or because they bore more than a passing resemblance to the elves the keshmin were fighting.
More shouting, and flashes and crackles ahead, and Bradford was in the fight. A figure loomed out of the haze, tall and lithe. Squared off against it was a keshmin soldier, shorter, stockier, but still thinner than the humans Bradford was used to seeing. The keshmin held a pike before him, his ears flat against his skull as he backed away from the elf. Two more keshmin lay dead in the dirt, their armor and bodies split open.
The elf raised a glowing blade, and Bradford didn’t hesitate.
***********
Rinn Ahyat stared death in the face. Fiercely gripping the haft, he managed to keep his pike pointed at the gemblade soldier and unwavering as he carefully stepped back. The elf casually stepped over the dismembered bodies of Rinn’s comrades. Rinn spared the bodies a glance. He and Kehkk had managed to stick together since they had been assigned to the same unit at the start of the campaign. The other keshmin he had only known for the last three hours since he had been thrust into their pike formation.
Ears flat against his skull, he snarled defiance at the elf. Rinn had lost his helmet at some point, he couldn’t remember how, and he had never been issued a full hauberk. He was a pulse artificer, not a front-line pikeman, but the mana crystal in his stave had run dry three days before and there hadn’t been enough replacements to go around.
Every Soldier of the Host was a pikeman, however, and he knew enough of how to use one to be useful. Not that he made much difference. They might have held, despite the reinforcements the elves had been able to summon out of thin air, if they had artificers reinforcing their armor and weapons and shielding against the elven mages. If they had more artillery to punch through the elven shields. More archers and crossbows to wear the elven formations down at range. He had felt the surge and tingling effects of the mass translation spell cast back at the camp, and cursed the lack of artillery that holding such a powerful crystal in reserve had cost them.
The elf absently drug his crimson blade through Kehkk’s corpse as he swaggered towards Rinn, the mana-charged edge burning its way through flesh as much as it sliced. For a moment, he saw the tattered remains of his mother and sisters, the smoldering ruin of the home he had joined the Host to defend. The leveled town he grown up in, destroyed despite their success in driving the elves back.
Rinn’s senses snapped back to the present, the collapse and route of the Host around him. The total defeat of what remained to defend Ganlin and all her people. He locked eyes with the elf, who regarded him with a contemptuous smirk, utterly confident in his superiority. No pikeman had ever stood against a gemblade alone and won. No day is a good day to die, he thought, but today is as good a day as any. Steeling himself, he braced his back foot for a lunge towards death.
Three deafening bangs behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked in shock as three holes appeared in the gemblade in rapid succession, the third punching into the elf’s face right below his right eye and blowing brains and shattered bone out of the back of his helmet.
Rinn stumbled back, tripping over his pike and dropping it as he landed on his tail. The blade’s crimson glow flickered out, and the elf fell over dead.
“Contact!” someone shouted, and a rapid staccato of deafening cracks and bangs erupted around him. Forms sprinted past him, wearing unfamiliar armor and clothing, carrying weapons that spit fire and thunder at the elves. He gaped as elves dropped left and right.
One of the weapons boomed just above him. Flashes of gold flying through the air caught his eye. Before he could turn back to see who these new allies were, someone grabbed the back of his gambeson and his view jerked around as he was physically drug across the battlefield.
Yipping in surprise, he fumbled for his dropped pike, but failed to grab it before it was left behind. The crackle of spell fire and mana pulses zipped around him as the elven mages returned fire, and the weapon of whomever had his collar barked three more times before Rinn was hauled into cover behind a half-demolished stone wall. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils with an unfamiliar tang.
His collar released, Rinn scrambled to turn around, and found himself face-to-face with a stocky elf! It grinned at him, showing muted canines no elf ever had, before they both reflexively ducked as a salvo of fireshard spells slammed into their piece of wall. “Kawalski!” the stocky elf shouted over its shoulder. “Get me suppressive fire on the right!”
“Aye, Corporal!” someone shouted in reply, followed by a rapid burst of thunder. Rinn had never heard anything shoot so fast.
The Corporal next to him was already popping out of cover, lining up on an elven mage to their right. The weapon barked once, and he saw the mage’s shield flare hard despite the hot piece of metal that bounced off his face. Recoiling from the noise and impact, he caught a glimpse of some mechanism moving as the terrifying weapon barked again, spitting out another golden tube of metal. To his surprise, the mage’s shield barely flickered as it collapsed and the mage fell to the ground.
“The wizards are shielded!” the Corporal shouted. “Double-tap the wizards!” The weapon barked twice more, but with the last shot something caught and the mechanism inside didn’t return forward.
Fearing his savior’s weapon was broken, Rinn peaked around their cover and blanched under his black fur. A formation of legionnaires was sprinting at them. While no gemblades, they were still highly-trained and seasoned soldiers, and every one of them was equipped with enchanted swords and armor. And they were almost right on top of them.
“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” the Corporal shouted, almost in his ear, and the larger tube under the main tube emitted a flash of light and a thwuump. Something popped out of the end that was moving just slow enough to see. The Corporal grabbed his collar again and yanked him back under cover as the object struck the ground in the middle of the elven formation. He felt the concussive thump through the ground, and the explosion briefly deafened him.
Ears ringing, he lay on top of the Corporal for a moment before the stocky elf shoved him off. He saw him move and talk as it worked its weapon, dropping a box out of it and slapping a new one in, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying over the constant bell in his head.
Cautiously, he poked his head out of cover to see what had happened to the elves, only to stare at the dismembered corpses scattered before him.
He heard some muffled noises beside him, but paid them no mind even when they got more insistent, until a gloved hand clapped down onto his shoulder.
Startled, he turned to find the stocky elf looking at him with a strange expression. “Are you okay?!?” he shouted, and Rinn realized it was an expression of concern. So alien and bizarre to see on an elvish face.
“YEAH!” Rinn shouted, louder than he needed to as his hearing came rushing back. Grimacing, he repeated himself with a less-intense shout. “Yeah!” He flinched down as another salvo of shard spells struck their cover. “Who are you?!”
“Corporal Bradford, Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, United States Marine Corps!” the stocky elf shouted back, holding out a hand with a smile. Rinn stared at it a moment before extending his own hand. “Second Artificier Rinn Ahyat, Third Line, Fifth Regiment, Royal Host of the Kingdom of Ganlin.” He almost yipped in surprise as Bradford took his hand instead of grabbing his forearm, but managed to maintain his composure.
As Bradford gave his hand a firm squeeze and a shake, the pieces all started to fall together for Rinn. The rumors of a last-ditch measure. The shortage of mana crystals. The hard surge of magic three days ago, and the renewed Elven offensive. The rumors of a new ally. The mass translation spell. It’s impossible… Mere speculation. They couldn’t have…
A burst of raw mana slammed into their piece of a wall, fracturing off small chunks of stone. Rinn reached for his staff on instinct, only to be reminded that he had nothing more than a knife on his belt.
“Looks like the pointy-eared bastards are pushing back,” Bradford said, leaning out to spit more thunder and fire at the elves. The battle continued to rage around them, and Rinn saw more of the stocky elves streaming in from behind while his own people fled the approaching elven legions. Not all of the Ganlin soldiers were fleeing. Many just kept on going once they passed the growing line of their new allies, but some rallied and began digging in, or forming into new lines.
Bradford ducked back with another burst of spell fire, and as the snap and crackle of spells flying through the air increased in intensity, Rinn feared that their new allies were only delaying the inevitable a few minutes.
Then a horseless carriage roared up beside them, made entirely of metal, with a weapon on top that was enclosed in heavy armor. Spells zipped and crackled by, many slamming into the carriage with plinks and clanks and bursts of fire, all to no effect. The weapon on top spat death in return, hammering out with a booming roar. Rinn peaked around his cover and saw ranks of elves knocked flat by this weapon, and several others that joined it as more of these horseless carriages joined their line. Dozens more of these Marines came up with them, following behind to use them as cover.
Three more Marines slid into cover on the other side of Bradford, each bulkier than the last, and nearly shoved Rinn out of cover on his side. “Making friends with the locals, Corporal?”
“At least I’ve got friends, Kawalski,” Bradford snarked back. “Where did you assholes lose yourselves at?”
“Had to deal a group of those lightsaber fucks, then Gomez got himself shot in the chest with one of them magic missiles before we could get to cover.”
“Because somebody wanted to Rambo his SAW like a fucking dumbass!”
“We’re fighting an army of magical elves straight from a Lord of the Rings convention, who WOULDN’T want to Rambo a SAW?”
“Shut the fuck up, Kawalski,” Bradford shouted. “Gomez, you good?”
“Yeah, I’m good, Corporal. Cracked my plate and knocked me on my ass, but I’m fine.”
“Who’s your friend, Corporal?” the third marine on the end asked, peaking around his side of the wall before ducking back from another spell burst.
“Guys, this is Second Artificer Ahyat. Second Artificier, this is my fire team, Lance Corporal Kawalski, Private First Class Miller, and Private Gomez.”
“Nice to see the Corporal’s got a new boyfriend,” Kawalski grinned at him.
“Kawalski, I will shove that SAW so far up your ass you’ll be cycling the bolt with your goddamn teeth if you don’t shut the fuck up!”
“Oooh, don’t tempt me with a good time!”
“Jesus, Kawalski, just go fucking kill something.”
“Now you’re talking my language!” Kawalski heaved himself up and stood behind the wall. He braced his weapon on top of the wall and with a whooping yell, sprayed a long burst of fire towards the enemy. “Fuck yeah! GET SOME!”
“Crazy bastard!” Miller shouted at him while taking shots from around is corner.
Rinn stared at them. “You’re all insane!”
“Ha!” Bradford laughed. “We’re Marines!” As if that explained it.
Just when Rinn though things couldn’t get any crazier, Gomez piped up. “Hey, cavalry’s here!” The ground began to rumble under Rinn’s tail, and a monstrous behemoth roared up the rise their piece of wall had been built on. Larger than any carriage he had ever heard of being made, it was covered in impossibly thick plates of armor, and rolled on giant metal links. A terrifying weapon was mounted on top, and it swung from side to side like a predator looking for its next meal.
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THE GODS IS THAT?!?!”
“M1 Abrams!” Bradford grinned as the beast rolled to a stop alongside their wall. “Fourth Battalion’s finally arrived!”
“Ah, shit, they’re going to fire!” Miller said. “COVER YOUR EARS!”
“What?!” Rinn said, clamping his hands over his ears. As loud as these Marines’ weapons were, if they were concerned about noise, he wasn’t going to wait for an answer.
Then the hammer of the gods thumped next to him. The weapon was so powerful the monster next to him jerked back in recoil, and the concussion kicked the dust out of his very soul. Rinn screamed.
“That!” Bradford shouted back. Another hammer thumped its booming roar further down the line.
A door on the carriage to their left opened, and a stocky elf whose bare skin was almost as dark as Rinn’s fur poked his head out. “On your feet, Marines! Air support’s inbound, orders are to prepare to advance!”
“You heard the man,” Bradford said, standing up and offering a hand to Rinn. He took it and she hauled him up beside her. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard a distant whump-whump-whump-whump, and wondered what new destructive terror these Marines from United States were about to unveil.
Offensive magic still crackled and zapped through the air around them, but little was directed at them. Bigger targets had taken the elves’ attention. Rinn looked out at the battlefield before him, the field he had spent the last day being pushed back across by the elven legion arrayed before them. He thought he had seen devastation wrought by their two armies as they had pummeled each other across the field. What he saw now was a hellscape. Bodies and pieces of bodies littered the cratered ground. Smoke and dust filled the air, and he coughed as the wind blew the acrid odor into his snout.
The distant whump-whump-whump turned into a roar as several somethings thundered overhead. He looked up as several thin, boxy, angry-looking machines flew by, spitting smoke, fire, and death as they went. Kawalski whooped as their trails of fire met elven shields and shoved them aside like they weren’t even there.
“Cobras,” Bradford said.
“What?” Rinn looked back at the Corporal.
“They’re AH-1 Viper Cobras. Attack helicopters.” As if that explained everything.
The attack helicopters split to either side of the elven army, continuing to spit fire and destruction as they tore into their flanks. Then Rinn heard a distinctive sound unlike anything he had ever heard before.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT
A rapid series of lights blinked and flashed across the elven legion, followed by the delayed sound of a crackling staccato of explosions.
“Woooohoooo!” Kawalski crowed. “Fuck yeah! Bring the brrrt, baby!”
The great beast to their right growled forward and thumped it’s godhammer once more. The carriage to their left surged ahead as well, its own weapon hammering away. Rinn struggled to hear anything over the deafening ringing in his ears. He felt Bradford slap his back, and he nearly stumbled.
“-on, Ahyat, let’s go give these bastards some payback!”
“Ha, look at that, Bradford’s already beating up her new boyfriend!”
Rinn started to roll his own eyes at Kawalski, then stopped and did a double-take at Bradford. “Wait, what?!?” HER?!?!
“Get your fat ass moving, Kawalski,” Bradford snapped. “Move out Marines! TWO FIVE”
“RETREAT, HELL!”