AN: Happy Feast Day of the Queenship of Mary! Would you all be interested in having me republish my old works? They’re really, really, really bad. Also I am thinking after this battle is over to make about 5-10 chapters of what are pretty much vignettes of the various theaters of battle that are pretty much just flavor.
Also this will be the last chapter I’ll write and publish as a high school student!
Taris
John snapped his rifle, a no frills MA5C, to and fro. He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was 300 meters from the target, the pod had landed him exactly on his planned drop point.
There wasn’t a soul in sight and the night air was thick with smoke, but John could still hear the pandemonium in the surrounding area. Alarms blared throughout the city amidst the cries of panicked and fleeing civilians. John activated his active camouflage module and sprinted through the empty lot to the cover offered by nearby buildings.
John hurried past a group of disorientated workers pouring out of a burning generator control complex.
“Cortana, status report.” He said.
“The rest of the team have landed exactly as planned. They’re moving to the rendezvous now, Chief.”
“Make contact with the prowler in orbit, I want up to date topographical scans and updates on the other teams’ progress through STARS.”
“Got it.”
STARS, or the Stealth Tactical Aerial Reconnaissance Satellite, was the UNSC’s solution to the problem of coordinating complex operations under total stealth. The Republic would be hard pressed to locate the baseball sized device in orbit alongside all the other debris currently floating around.
John cut through an alleyway separating two different highrises. The target area came into view.
Blue Team’s target was one of many auxiliary power arrays for the upper levels of the planet. Although the entire backup grid would be insufficient to power a planetary shield generator indefinitely according to the most up to date intelligence and the main grid having been vaporized alongside the generator, the brass didn’t want to take any chances.The Republic had the ability to deploy localized shield generators, and thus both Blue and Green teams had the job of ensuring the total destruction of the two auxiliary power stations closest to the planned landing sites at the very least.
John turned a corner and came face to face with the rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse only 200 meters away from the perimeter of the auxiliary generator complex. He saw three friendly IFFs inside.
John flicked his green acknowledgement lights twice, signaling to his team he was approaching their position. Receiving their reply of one green flash, he gently slid open the entrance.
He was met with the sight of Kelly unpacking gear while Fred pulled security.
“What’s the situation?” John broadcasted to Fred over their TEAMCOM, deactivating his camo while dumping bags full of spare ammunition and other gear to the floor.
“Blue Four’s in the rafters scoping out our infiltration point. There’s been no patrols so far, it seems they’re still trying to figure out what’s happening.”
“Once Blue Two’s done unpacking the explosives, we’ll go in fast before they can lockdown the facility.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
John glanced towards Kelly, who was nearly done unloading the C-12 blow packs and canisters of C-7 foaming explosive.
“All set, Chief.” She said, standing up and hefting two large packs.
John nodded at Kelly before transmitting to Linda. “Blue Four, have you spotted any patrols?”
“Negative, Chief. I have eyes on our planned entry point and the primary generator’s support structure from here.”
“Blue Four, hold your position and provide overwatch. Blue Two and Blue Three, gear up.” John ordered.
The Spartans immediately got to work. Kelly handed the C-12 blow packs to Fred, who secured them to his backplate. Kelly clipped two bandoliers of C-7 across her chest and swung a blow pack over her shoulders.
John double checked his belt carrying grenades for his M319 launcher to ensure it was properly fastened to his waist. He conducted one last sweep of his equipment. His rifle was in working order, the bolt’s cleanliness was only tattered by the sheen of a thin film of lubricant. Satisfied, John began to assess the rest of his hardware. Spare magazines were neatly tucked away in the various pouches around his body, ascension and grappling gear secured in a thigh pouch, and his M6D pistol was held tight to his hip.
John donned two packs of C-12 alongside two C-7 bandoliers, passing a third one to Fred.The three members of Blue Team subsequently checked each others’ gear to ensure everything was good to go.
“Cortana, status on the other teams?” John asked.
“Everyone made the drop and have regrouped. Teams Red, Green, Crimson, and Gold are moving on their objectives now.” Cortana reported. “I’ll continue monitoring their progress.”
“Good.” John replied, opening a transmission over TEAMCOM. “I want everyone to maintain radio silence until we plant our explosives and regroup at the rendezvous or we spot trouble.”
Three green lights lit up on John’s HUD. John activated his camouflage module, the other two following suit.
John took point, carefully sliding open the warehouse door, motioning them to move out. They sprinted across the area to the target, nearby buildings growing increasingly scarce as they got closer to the perimeter wall.
The wall itself was not at all impressive. It was a simple two meter tall concrete construction built to deter vandalism, not to stop a squad of experienced saboteurs.
With a rapid jump, Blue Team had scaled the obstacle.
“Chief, there’s the main control center for the power generator.” Cortana pinged a waypoint to a small hut located not far away.
John signaled to his teammates and began to move towards the building as the others spread out around the generator structure.
The Chief peeked inside the building, seemingly evacuated in haste. Scanning the interior to ensure it was safe, he entered in.
“There, that access terminal.” Cortana indicated. “I'll shut down the reactor and see what else I can do.”
John inserted Cortana into the system.
“Powering down the grid now.” She said. “Hmm, interesting. I’ve accessed Republic communications and they have yet to fully realize the scale of the attack.”
“Well they’re about to find out.” John said, retrieving Cortana and moving to regroup with the others. “Has Gold Team made it to their objective?”
“Yes, but they’re taking it slow and maintaining stealth. The communications array is a guarded military installation. Things would be a lot easier if it wasn’t built on a closed system.”
“Maybe you should file a complaint.” John said, approaching his designated site.
“I think your explosives will be more than enough.”
John could already see Kelly and Fred hard at work securing their explosives to areas key to the structural integrity of the generator. The generator dome itself was shaped like a mushroom with a cylindrical base. All Blue Team had to do was blow the supports at the bottom and the whole thing would collapse in on itself.
John stowed his rifle and laid the two C-12 packs before himself, unloading small bricks of the malleable explosive and planting them along the base of the structure at regular intervals. A single one of those bricks had the capacity to level a five story building and the UNSC wasn’t taking any chances with this operation.
Once he had exhausted the supply of one of the packs, John left the other pack in place to concentrate the force of the explosion. He took out a canister of C-7, spraying some of the foam in between the bricks of C-12 and on nearby support beams. The Chief retrieved thirteen more canisters and affixed them onto the beams.
With his supply of explosives deployed, John began to attach blasting caps to them, linking them to a remote detonator. Finished with his job, John caught up with Kelly and Fred who were already making their way back to the warehouse. After once again surmounting the ineffective wall, they quickly arrived at their destination.
“Everyone’s explosives set?” John asked, receiving three green lights in his HUD as a response. “Blue Four, get ready to move. Blue Two and Blue Three, link your detonators to mine.”
The Chief paused for a moment as they synchronized their detonators to his before starting a countdown. John flashed his red, amber, and green status lights to act as a countdown.
“Blowing it.” John activated the explosives.
A second later, the resulting shockwave washed over the dilapidated warehouse. Whatever glass remaining on the windows shattered. The power generator unceremoniously came crashing down, throwing up a plume of dust into the sky.
From landing to completion of their primary objective, Blue Team had only taken nine minutes.
They were still ahead of schedule and the invasion had yet to truly begin.
Taris System, Republic Orbital Medical Facility
“What you are, I was once. What I am, you will surely become.”
Aayla woke with a startle.
“Master Jedi?” A 2-1B surgical droid said with concern. “You’re finally awake. Is everything alright? We were just about to transfer you to the Jedi Temple, your shuttle is waiting.”
“Yes, thank you. I see you have taken good care of me.” Aayla said, glancing down to her left leg.
“Your leg has nearly made a full recovery.”
Aayla twisted her body out of the bed to stand up.
The medical droid held its arm out. “Not so fast, Master Jedi. You still need rest for a few more days.”
Still sitting, Aayla nodded and gazed out of a nearby window. A near constant flow of traffic entered and exited the ecumenopolis. The massive kelp farms could only do so much to feed the tens of billions of people inhabiting the planet, meaning the food deficit would have to be filled by the importation of goods.
Aayla liked the change in scenery, preferring the safe enclosure of the sterile white room to the chaos of battle. However, she soon felt nauseous after sensing the groanings of tens of thousands of clone troopers.
So much suffering had been endured on their part, but it was not yet over for them. Now that new blood had been spilt in this war, its end grew more and more distant.
Aayla could only wonder how many of her men survived the battle on the ground. The fleet had gotten utterly thrashed, but she hoped Bly and his forces fared even just a little bit better than that.
A new dread took hold over her. ‘How will the Order survive this war?’ She thought.
The current war the Jedi Order found themselves entangled in was brutal enough already, but that battle had proved to Aayla things could get much worse. The Republic had blasted itself headfirst into a far more frightful, and uncertain, lightfight.
Aayla sighed, engaging her mind in another pensive thought. ‘At least here I can find a moment’s peace.’ She began to relax, before she saw a bright flash far outside the window.
UNSC Warhound
Admiral White was nearly disappointed at the lackluster reception the Republic gave to the invasion fleet. They had dropped out of slipspace after a few weeks of travel, fifteen minutes on the dot after Operation: SUCKERPUNCH and the deployment of an advance force of Spartans.
“Have Rear Admiral Kristiansen’s stay in reserve by the star’s asteroid belt. I want Rear Admiral Sukenori’s frigates and destroyers patrolling in wolfpacks throughout the system in groups of no less than four ships. Captain Haithum, take us in to mop up what’s left of their fleet.” White ordered, with a hint of disdain escaping his lips at that last command.
“Aye aye, sir.” Captain Haithum replied, setting out to fulfill his orders.
The discombobulated Republic forces wouldn’t pose any serious threat to the fleet. At a glance White counted only 200 ships on his tactical display, most of which were barely functional, out of the once four to five hundred strong fleet.
Admiral White reckoned the nukes had caught the enemy fleet in the middle of a refit or resupply as most of the wreckage seemed coalesced around what was left of the orbital dockyards.
“Sir, some captains are worried about the civilian traffic around the planet. There’s thousands of civvie ships out there in the firing line, sir.” The communications officer reported.
White grimaced. “They’ll move out of the way once we start firing.”
The communications officer nodded and relayed Admiral White’s response to the fleet.
“In MAC range in sixty seconds, Admiral!” The weapons officer called out.
“Fire as soon as we’re in range. We can’t afford to waste time.”
“Aye sir.” The officer said, carrying out his duties. Not long after, coordinated MAC fire across the fleet wiped out whatever remained of the destitute Republic force.
Disorientated or not, the Republic fleet was well out of the effective range of their turbolaser weaponry and were unable to return fire.
Admiral White felt neither pity nor remorse for the Republic fleet, callously watching as the hulls of the enemy combatants burnt and twisted. However, he did feel slightly uneasy due to the thousands of civilian vessels surrounding the planet, both entering and exiting.
“Admiral White, I’m commencing the assault.” Fleet Admiral Cole broadcasted.
“Understood Fleet Admiral.” White responded. That was his queue to maintain a two hundred thousand kilometer spacing between Cole’s fleet and his fleet. “Thrusters to fifty percent. Have our combat air patrols maintain a ten thousand kilometer screen around the fleet. I want our C709’s laying down a Moray and Hornet minefield spaced 400,000 kilometers from the planet focused on their likely point of entry”
“Aye sir.” Haithum replied. “Lieutenant Jackson, you heard the Admiral.”
“Aye aye sir.” The navigational officer replied, complying with the order.
White was tasked with a boring, but crucial job. He was to hold formation in reserve with his allotted carriers. It was no doubt a penal assignment, Cole could’ve given any other flag officer the duty, but nevertheless he needed someone there ready to respond to any possible Republic reaction force. Once a beachhead was established on the planet, White would form a defensive perimeter around the planet. From there, it was only a matter of holding out until Admiral Whitcomb was able to punch through with Admiral Trench and the Confederate Navy down the Hydian Way.
‘Strange.’ White thought. ‘Deep in the belly of the beast, and yet not so much as a peep from the other side.’
“Is something wrong, Admiral?” Captain Haithum asked.
“It’s been ten minutes since we hit them, even if they haven’t sent word, it’s only a matter of time before they respond in force. They can’t just ignore a whole system going dark, let alone whatever stories the fleeing civs will tell.” White turned towards the communications officer. “Lieutenant Scheffer, have the Spartans knocked out their main communications hub?”
“The prowlers are reporting that Spartan Gold Team is nearly done crippling their communications. They’ve also been keeping Fleet Admiral Cole up to date on the Spartan teams’ progress.”
“Admiral, flash message from the prowler Spectral, Republic fleets mobilizing in the Skorrupon system.” MacArthur reported, pulling up a galactic map. “A recon picket should be arriving within the next ten minutes. So far nothing from other systems, but the first fleet could arrive in as soon as one hour.”
White knew Cole would’ve doubtless heard the same, his thoughts confirmed by a simple transmission from the Fleet Admiral. “Watch my back. Good luck Admiral.” The transmission cut out.
White straightened his composure. “So.” He grimaced, leaning with his hands on a nearby rail. “This is where the fun begins.”
Taris
The UNSC Airborne had arrived to little fanfare. Only faint, random fire from plasma, laser, and flak batteries dotted the skies above the ecumenopolis. It was the clearest sky Staff Sergeant Alex Fletcher had ever seen during a combat insertion throughout his nearly thirty year long career. For that, he had to thank the Spartan teams for disabling the main anti air grid. He wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of the fifty inactive turrets he had been able to count so far.
However, on the ground it was an entirely different story. From his position within the helicopter, he could see what the Navy was putting groundside targets through. Archer missiles rained down on anything that looked remotely like an anti air battery, constant sorties of bombers and fighters disgorged from the ships in orbit, and thousands of transports flew towards their objectives.
Fletcher and his squad had the pleasure of riding first class, in the troop compartment of a UH-144TC. It was the dedicated troop carrier variant of the UH-144 Falcon, being large enough to transport a full squad of infantry and their accompanying equipment. Hundreds of Falcons were next to his own, all prepared to unload their complement of soldiers. Once the enemy air defenses had been sufficiently suppressed, the Charon-Class Light Frigate Heavy Handed broke through the atmosphere and let loose her complement of Falcons among other aircraft.
“Approaching the drop zone in one minute!” The pilot announced.
Fletcher and the rest of the 101st Airborne Division had the important task of securing the biggest spaceport this side of the planet. It was one of the few areas on the planet capable of supporting the landing of the UNSC’s massive logistical vessels. The top brass also wanted it as intact as possible. Damaged landing strips would need to be patched, and they weren’t risking a stray bomb or missile causing the whole thing to collapse into the lower levels no matter how improbable that might be. That ruled out dropping ODSTs to storm the place as they would lack fire support from the fleet. Thus, the job fell into the lap of four Airborne divisions, who had organic fire support in the form of its helicopters and other aircraft with just the right amount of firepower. However, two ODST divisions were dropped around the 40 kilometer perimeter to maintain a cordon and set up blocking positions. Once the spaceport had been adequately secured, twenty infantry divisions would land and start pushing the frontline further away.
Fletcher peeked out of the Falcon’s troop bay. “So much for that idea.” He muttered.
Nimble AV-14 Hornet Gunships flew about the area, strafing Republic targets on the ground with rockets, missiles, and cannonfire. Plumes of smoke rose high into the air, both from the fleet’s munitions and from the fighting on the ground. A Scorpion missile streaked off from an AV-19 SkyHawk, blasting apart a building suspected of housing a rocket launcher team. Even Fletcher’s own transport eagerly joined in, suppressing possible Republic positions here and there with its 20mm M638 autocannon.
Fletcher looked back at his squad, sizing them up one last time. “Gonzalez, your shield generator’s off!” He scolded.
“Sorry Sarge!” The corporal replied, quickly activating his armor’s very important feature.
Fletcher knew the freshly winged soldier was normally more put away, but he wouldn’t fault him this time so long as that was the last time he made the mistake. The 101st had only recently received shield equipped armor and were still getting used to it. Fletcher himself was still adjusting to the new gear. He switched on his HUD’s VISR mode, double checking to make sure his objective was still marked. From what he could see, there were still civilian spacecraft landing and taking off. There were also thousands of vessels still parked on the ground. Whether they were fried by an EMP or not, Fletcher couldn’t tell.
“All squads, once we hit the dirt, rally at this building!” The platoon commander, Lieutenant Anosike, transmitted while marking the structure on the TACMAP.
“Starting my landing! You boys have fun down there!” The pilot said.
Fletcher watched as the Falcon began descending. “Touchdown! Hit it troopers!” He yelled when he figured the helicopter was about a meter off the ground.
He was the first off and laid himself prone on what looked like a concrete tarmac. He kept his head and MA40K on a swivel. Once the whole squad was off, Fletcher began to reorganize them.
“C’mon you slobs, let's move!” Fletcher urged his men as the Falcon took off. “Keep a ten meter spacing, traveling overwatch! Let's go!”
Seeing how they landed without coming under fire, Fletcher sprung up and began to jog. The rest of his squad did in like manner, with Fletcher and his fireteam on point. He could see hundreds of other soldiers rushing along the spaceport with him.
The rally point was two hundred meters away, further towards the center of the operating area. After a two minute trot they reached the building, a hangar for a large freighter. Fletcher’s squad was the first to enter, with the rest of the platoon not far behind.
After ensuring the building was cleared, the rest of Easy Company came forward, along with Captain Springer. The platoon and squad leaders all huddled around him as he started to talk.
“Listen up men.” He began, projecting a holographic map. “The main point of enemy resistance so far has been this building right here, only a few hundred meters away from us.” Captain Springer gestured to the middle of the spaceport.and continued. “Republic bastards sounded the alarm and dug themselves in at the main terminals.They’ve been giving the Pathfinders hell trying to move into there. Air support’s been keeping them pinned down and away from any exterior firing positions. Command wants them gone within the hour. Mortars are already laying down a smokescreen, we’ll advance the company two platoons at a time, breach this wall, make contact with the Pathfinders, and then pour in. Once we have a foothold, reinforcements from the battalion alongside an armored platoon link up with us to clear the area. We move in three minutes, so prep your teams, hooah?”
“Hooah!” Staff Sergeant Fletcher and the other paratroopers cried in unison.
Taris System, Republic Orbital Medical Facility
Boss awoke as his eyes slowly twitched open. He was inundated in the unmistakable alazhi, kavam, ambori mixture of a bacta tank.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The tank began to drain of the fluid. Boss blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He snapped to a state of alertness as his mind, still groggy, processed the red emergency lighting and accompanying alarms. He hastily removed himself from the straps suspending him above the floor of the tank, unfastening the rebreather from his mouth. The seal of the tank popped open and Boss opened the door.
Boss gritted his teeth as he put weight on his wounded leg which had evidently not completely healed. From that alone he figured they had kept him on sedatives since the end of the battle and let more seriously wounded troopers receive bacta tank treatment first. He disregarded the pain and began to gain his bearings. He made out a fellow clone who was talking to a meddroid which began to voice its concerns. The clone simply ignored the droid and turned to Boss.
“We’re under attack, sir! We’re rousing the rest of your squad now too. Your gear’s in the armory.”
“What’s the situation look like, trooper?” Boss asked, making for the door.
“Not good, sir. Seems that most of the fleet is out there burning.” The trooper said, following Boss’s lead.
The armory wasn’t far off, and Boss was soon fully geared. More and more clones began to filter in until about a hundred of them filled the room, including members of Delta Squad. Scorch was the first to meet him.
“You’ve seen better days.” Scorch greeted.
“That’s what happens when someone goes through the trouble of saving your shebs.” Sev said, not far behind.
“Any word from command?” Boss asked.
“None, sir. The Terrans must’ve cut our communications.” Fixer noted.
“Terrans? Here?” Boss asked. “How long have I been out?”
“Three weeks. I saw it myself, some of their nuclear weapons detonated within the fleet and on the planet.” Fixer replied. “A few minutes ago a whole armada of theirs arrived in the system. It probably won’t be long until they send a boarding party.”
“We’d better get off this station, then.” Boss turned to a nearby clone. “Who’s the current ranking officer on this station?”
The clone paused in thought for a moment. “General Gurdar is, or was, I don’t know if he’s still alive. His section of the station got hit by debris a few minutes ago.”
Boss shook his head. “He’d be a medical officer anyway, who’s next?”
“General Secura, they were just about to transport her back to Coruscant, she’d be in the recovery ward.”
Boss immediately took stock of everything in the room, from guns, to armor, to the very men standing before him. “Listen up! We’re sitting ducks up here. I need forty volunteers to come with me to Taris.”
Some murmuring broke out, before some moved towards the front of the crowd.
Boss nodded at the volunteers before turning back to his own men. “Delta Squad, lock and load!”
Taris
Staff Sergeant Fletcher winced as a man from the weapons platoon smashed through one of the glass windows to set up a M247H heavy machine gun mounted on a tripod. Fletcher peered out of the shattered glass window of the hangar, the quick developing smokescreen enveloped the building the company was about to storm and mingled with the whitish gray dust kicked up by the fighting. The M247H, and the other machine guns being deployed would have a commanding view of the battlefield once the smoke cleared.
“Get up here!” He barked at the squad of combat engineers who had just arrived Encumbered with explosives, rubble crunched beneath their boots.
“I’m Sergeant Tanner, nice to meet you too.” The lead combat engineer grumbled.
Fletcher merely nodded. “Alright troopers, when we start moving we aren’t stopping until we hit the outer wall. These poor saps are gonna make us a quick entrance while the other platoons move up. Alright, get ready.”
“First and Second Platoons, move up!” Captain Springer shouted over his comms.
“Let’s go!” Fletcher yelled, leading his men out of the building.
What met Fletcher’s gaze caused him to tense up. His view was met by what his mind told him was a killing field, a deathtrap. Training, and years of experience, had burned into his mind that this was what an infantryman was supposed to avoid. It was wide, open terrain with scant cover save for sparse piles of rubble and vehicles, parked or lying as wrecks. The fact the smokescreen obscured his thermal signature did little to allay his fears. If the enemy decided to blindly fire into the smoke, the only thing he’d be able to do about it would be for him and his men to drop into a low crawl.
Fletcher decided it would be best for his men to extricate themselves from the situation as fast as possible. “Let’s move, go, on me!” He began to run.
After what seemed like forever, he passed through the smoke and soon reached the comfort of a solid concrete, or whatever its Andromedan equivalent was, wall. He didn’t let that relief continue for more than a split second though, quickly urging his men and the pioneer squad to join him.
The rest of the platoon arrived in short order, with the other platoon not far behind.
Fletcher observed as the sappers placed shaped charges at various locations of the perimeter wall, keeping a respectable distance.
“You know, they coulda dropped us closer.” Private Bagrov moaned. As the newest member of the squad, he was given charge of the M739 SAW.
“Stow the bellyaching soldier! Remember, you’re a trooper now.” Fletcher reprimanded.
“Pathfinder 6, Pathfinder 6 this is Easy 1-6! We’re blowing the southern wall and coming to you, over!” Lieutenant Anosike broadcasted.
“Easy 1-6 this is Pathfinder 6, you’ll be bringing up our rear, check IFFs. How copy, over?”
“Pathfinder 6, Easy 1-6, affirmative, Easy 1-6 out.” The lieutenant ceased talking over the radio and turned towards the combat engineers. “Alright, blow it.”
“Everyone get back!” One of the combat engineers warned, waiting for the compliance of the two infantry platoons.
Lieutenant Anosike double checked to make sure his men were clear of the blast zone, and Fletcher kept his squad especially close to himself.
“Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!”
A blast shook the ground beneath Fletcher’s feet, masonry and steel flew with sparks into the air over his helmet.
“Lieutenant Michaels, break a squad off to hold this corridor and bring the others in through here. Let’s move!” The lieutenant shouted, being the first to storm the breach.
Fletcher and his men trailed close behind the lieutenant’s squad. As the sappers cleared a path directly into the building and the platoon poured in, he could hear exchanges of gunfire and plasma bolts distinctly from the din of the battlefield.
“Friendlies coming in! Friendlies coming in!” Lieutenant Anosike and Sergeant Fletcher yelled as they approached friendly IFFs. Although it was unnecessary due to the IFF transponders implanted within all UNSC personnel, it was still standard operating procedure.
The paratroopers had passed by a few UNSC casualties, some dead and some being tended to. However, there seemed to be a lot more enemy than friendly bodies sprawled out in the concourse of the terminal. That was a reassuring thought for Fletcher. Some of the Pathfinders had also taken up the duty of policing civilians into out of the way rooms where they’d be unlikely to interfere with the fighting.
A nearby wounded Pathfinder spoke up. “The lieutenant’s down there.” He was smoking a cigarillo, holding it tight on one side of his mouth with his lips. “Follow the gunfire.”
The lieutenant merely nodded and motioned Fletcher and the rest of the platoon onwards. The sounds of the gunfight grew closer and closer. It was not long before the firefight embroiled Pathfinders came into view.
They were intermittently exchanging fire with an enemy position further down a walkway. From what Fletcher could glean from the hellstorm of plasma, the Republic forces had thrown together a firing position for a machine gun. Conversely, the Pathfinders weren’t returning the favor nearly as much. The most firepower an individual Pathfinder packed might be an assault rifle with a 60 round magazine or a disposable rocket launcher. They simply couldn’t contend with the enemy weapon, which Fletcher was told could fire hundreds of bolts before needing to reload.
If things kept on going the way they were, the enemy would gain fire superiority and the offensive would stall, even if only for a few minutes.
By viewing IFF tags, Lieutenant Anosike located the Pathfinder unit’s commanding officer and tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Fletcher was familiar with the man, Captain Pedersen. Captain Pederson and his Pathfinders had done a great deal of work ensuring Fletcher, and other paratroopers like him, made accurate landings on the correct drop sites.
The man stopped firing and turned around while crouching down. “About time you showed up!”
“What’s the situation, sir?” Lieutenant Anosike asked.
“Those bastards have built up a pretty good barricade and dug themselves in. I don’t have the men to spare to flank around. I need you to take those sappers and blow your way through these rooms and hit ‘em where it hurts, understood?”
“Yes sir.” Lieutenant Anosike replied. “Alright. Sergeant Fletcher, you and your squad are with me. Sergeant Tanner, mousehole us a path around that MG nest. I’ll mark a waypoint.”
“Roger that sir.” Fletcher replied, turning around. “You heard him! Let’s get a move on! Sergeant Tanner, you mind starting the blasting?”
“Not at all.” Sergeant Tanner replied, motioning his men up with breaching charges.
Fletcher couldn’t help but appreciate the man’s nonchalant alacrity in carrying out tasks set before him. If there was one thing Fletcher hated in a man, it would be feeling the need to complain about everything.
“Sergeant Rodriguez, get those guns up and start pouring fire down that pathway. Sergeant Ramos, you’re with the Captain until we regroup.” Lieutenant Anosike ordered.
Under the cover of the other paratroopers, the combat engineers placed demolition charges on the wall to an adjacent room. They blew the charges and the three squads moved in, with Lieutenant Anosike opting to take point.
Like clockwork they cleared the room and breached another, rinsing and repeating until they closed in on the waypoint marking the machine gun nest.
“I count at least ten hostiles on my motion tracker.” Lieutenant Anosike said, gesturing to the right. “Sergeant, get a charge on this wall.”
“With pleasure.” Sergeant Tanner said.
“Bagrov and Lawrence, right here on me.” Fletcher whispered. He could tell Sergeant Tanner’s squad was enjoying being relieved of their explosives. Even with the UNSC’s relatively comfortable load bearing equipment, the option to shed a few pounds off the hump was always warmly received.
The two men hefted their M739 SAWs onto nearby furniture, deploying bipods and readying themselves.
“Everyone ready?” Lieutenant Anosike asked, to the affirmation of everyone. “Alright. Hit it.”
“Fire in the hole.” Sergeant Tanner said.
The wall blew outwards, sending the blast and resulting fragmentation into the defenders on the opposite side. This was soon followed by the entrance of multiple M9 frag grenades and bursts of fire from the SAWs. Not long after the ensuing tumult of blasts and gunfire, the paratroopers made their entrance.
The Lieutenant and Sergeant First Class Nowak were the first in. Fletcher followed soon after, peeling left to watch further down the walkway. He quickly sighted in what he thought were stunned ammo bearers from the containers they were carrying.
Fletcher began firing, and the rest of his squad who were now flowing in did likewise, filling the hallway with lead. From the lack of white armor, Fletcher assumed they were fighting second rate volunteers. Nevertheless, they were sprawled dead on the ground in seconds.
Fletcher took one look over at the Lieutenant, who appeared to be locked in a hand to hand struggle with the enemy in their firing position. In this case, the enemy appeared to be one of the Republic’s vaunted clone troopers. He glanced towards the hall and back to the enemy position. At a second glance, he saw that there had been a whole squad of clones occupying it, but most of them had met their end to explosives or gunfire.
The firing position was crowded as it was by men from both sides, it would do no good for Fletcher to add himself to the chaos. “Let’s keep moving! Down the hall, squad on me!” He yelled.
Not long after, Fletcher heard an explosion sound from behind him.
UNSC Warhound
“We’ve just mopped up the last of their reconnaissance elements.” Rear Admiral Sukenori reported. “They arrived five million kilometers away from us. It was mostly lighter vessels so we had no trouble taking them out at range, but I have no doubt they’ve reported our fleet’s dispositions even through our jamming, sir.”
“It was only a matter of time.” Admiral White sighed. “Keep your force ready for the next Republic wave. All you need to do is keep them at a distance and they won’t be able to do anything. I need you to attrit them as much as possible before they reach the rest of us. Keep on your toes Admiral.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Admiral White, out.” He keyed the transmission off and turned towards the communications officer. “Lieutenant Scheffer, any new reports from Admiral Whitcomb?”
“Yes sir.” The man opened a new window on his console. “Admiral Whitcomb and Admiral Trench have overrun Botajef and forward elements are fighting in the Bandomeer system, sir.”
“Good.” Admiral White replied. “The sooner we can dump this planet into the Confederacy’s hands, the better.”
The longer the UNSC remained present in the system, the more time the Republic would have to muster a response and the more casualties the UNSC would take.
Just thinking about a military operation on a city covering an entire planet made Admiral White’s skin crawl. Though the Terrans had 600 years worth of doctrine and experience to put into action in urban terrain, the planet could quickly turn into a meat grinder if the Republic was able to regroup, reinforce, and throw their weight around.
With that said, it still fell on the Navy, on Admiral White, to ensure that didn’t happen. Without orbital superiority, the Republic forces on the ground were at the mercy of the UNSC fleet. That was the lesson the previous war had taught them.
Having studied extensively the relevant portions of the Andromeda galaxy, Admiral White was able to do the rough mental calculations. Bandomeer was roughly 5000 light years away from Taris, which meant that Admiral Whitcomb was 2 days away at best. On the other hand, the Confederate fleet could make it to Taris within the day if met with no resistance. However, that wasn’t likely to be the case.
A small sliver of Admiral White wished that the raid on Taris hadn’t been bumped up to a full scale invasion, but he quickly suppressed any doubts he harbored. This was the right way to end the war quickly. Strike them as hard as possible where they weren’t expecting it and let the Confederates smash through the rest.
With that said, the element of surprise would quickly fade away. It wouldn’t be long before the enemy arrived in force, and then after that it wouldn’t be long before the rest of their forces more towards their core worlds were mustered and burning at full speed for Taris. Even with ONI’s diversionary efforts, it was a matter of when the Republic could mobilize their fleets, not if. That wasn’t even factoring in the fleets retreating towards Taris away from Admiral Whitcomb and the CIS.
It was rather unfortunate that the timetable for the UNSC’s involvement had to be turned up to eleven. Operation: SUCKERPUNCH was the UNSC’s largest coordinated fleet action since Reach, with thousands of literally moving parts. If White was lucky, his fleet, Cole’s fleet, would have enough time to lay a nuclear minefield and maul whatever spearhead the Republic sent through. From then on, it would be a grind until the Confederate reinforcements arrived.
However, it seemed luck was not on his side. MacArthur’s avatar flashed to life to deliver a report. “Admiral, the Spectral reports that Republic forces as far as the Brentaal system are mobilizing. It appears our electronic warfare campaign has been successful, they’ve resorted to using courier ships. New estimated arrival of the first wave, one hour.”
Taris, 10th Systems Army ‘Crimson Dagger’ Command Planetary Headquarters
The Master Chief took careful note of his surroundings, making sure his steps were soft. Even under the cloak of active camouflage, Blue Team was maintaining strict noise discipline within the depths of the Republic HQ.
Fireteam Jackhammer had been the first to make entry, but in keeping with the strict radio discipline necessary to maintain stealth they had remained totally dark.
Though explosions rattled the inside of the complex amidst the sounds of alarms and panicked foot traffic, John trusted the ability of the Spartan-IVs to keep it together. They were chosen from the UNSC’s best, and John had seen Spartan Harland keep cool under worse situations.
Blue Team was cautiously making its way towards the Republic command center deeper within the facility, where they would hopefully link up with Jackhammer Team and try to force a surrender out of the Republic command and control personnel. If that failed, their orders were to capture or kill.
John, who was on point, picked up friendly IFFs. He winked his green HUD light twice, signaling to Team Jackhammer that they were approaching. The other Spartans of Blue Team followed suit.
He came into view of a dimly lit service corridor bathed in red emergency lighting, evidently negatively impacted by the UNSC’s bombing campaign.
John’s VISR outlined the shimmering silhouettes of the Spartan-IVs in green. Were his HUD not activated, his enhanced eyesight still would’ve spotted the faint, subtle figures of the cloaked Spartan-IVs, even in the poor lighting conditions. However, to the naked and unaugmented human eye, it would take nothing short of bumping into one of them to detect the motionless supersoldiers.
John signaled with his hand for them to fall in behind Blue Team. The command center was only a few dozen meters further down. The Spartans gave the increasingly present enemy foot traffic wide berths. It seemed the flow of security personnel and message couriers entering and exiting the command post never let up for a moment.
It seemed to John that they would have to storm the command center rather than quietly waylay the commanding officers. John motioned for Fireteam Jackhammer to fan out and cover their entry. Now, it was time to wait for the opportune moment. The other Spartan teams were waiting for John’s signal to storm the place and blow them their route of egress out of the complex if things went sour.
John counted at least thirty hostiles inside using his motion tracker, not including the fifty he had kept an exact count of running into and out of the room.
“Fleet Admiral Cole is reporting they’ve secured the landing zones, Chief.” Cortana reported.
“What kind of resistance are they facing?” John asked.
“Light, so far. I’ve hacked into the Republic battlenet and they’re only now starting to organize a defense. It won’t be long before they move their command center somewhere else.”
John decided that Blue Team had waited and observed long enough. He held up two fingers and made a sideways cut. They flowed into the room, barreling through those obstructing the doorways. Having cleared his corner, John swept his aim towards the center of the room.
Most of the officers were huddled in a semicircle around a single man, whom John identified as General Stalach, the commanding officer currently in charge of the planet’s groundside defenses.
Blue Team decloaked as Kelly slung her shotgun and shoved her way through the assembled officers to grab General Stalach. She kept her pistol pointed over the man’s shoulder towards the other occupants of the room.
John, Fred, and Linda quickly dispatched the security personnel who had the situational awareness to ready their weapons.
After the guards’ corpses had hit the floor, the General and the other officers merely stood gawking at what had transpired in front of them.
“I think it’s best to let me do the talking.” Cortana said.
“Be my guest.” John replied.
Cortana began talking using John’s external speakers. “General Stalach, on behalf of the United Nations Space Command, we demand your full surrender of this planet.”
The officer began to angrily remonstrate with the Spartans while trying in vain to loosen himself from Kelly’s grip. “If you think I would hand over my code cylinders to mere droids, you clankers must have faulty programming!”
“Blue Two, grab them.” John ordered.
Kelly grabbed the cylinders from his breast pockets and inserted them into a nearby port. John simultaneously placed Cortana into the system.
“Authentication codes fabricated, voice sample extrapolated, and…” Cortana paused before snapping her fingers. “Broadcast done. Thank you for your cooperation, General.”
The man gave the Spartans an incredulous look.
John began broadcasting over the SQUADCOM. “Green, Gold, and Red Teams, begin extraction.”
Nearly instantly, the walls opposite him began to blow, causing the assembled Republic personnel to hit the deck. Kelly retrieved the code cylinder from the port and hauled General Stalach towards their new exit.
John retrieved Cortana as the Spartans from the other teams began to police the other high value prisoners out of the command center towards a Pelican which had just touched down.
He checked the time. They had met Operation: SUCKERPUNCH’s strict timetable. If they had broadcasted his ‘surrender’ of the planet while the Republic’s communication infrastructure was still up, someone else would take control soon after. If it was before the invasion force arrived, the Republic forces would see through the ruse and entrench themselves within the city. The UNSC needed a very precise combination of surprise and application of force to have the best chances of winning.
Even with the fruits of victory falling into their mouths at a lightning pace, it now fell on the Navy to hold their ground in orbit. If Fleet Admiral Cole were to somehow lose, it would have been all for naught.
Taris
Former staff sergeant Lieutenant Fletcher breathed deeply with every drag of his cigarette and bump in the road. After Lieutenant Anosike and Sergeant First Class Nowak had bought the farm thanks to the grenade held by the bastard they were grappling with, he was quite possibly the UNSC’s first battlefield commission of the war that he knew of. He was probably the Airborne’s first at the very least. He wouldn’t be the last either.
After the main terminals had been cleared of enemy resistance, Easy Company’s M831 transports were dropped in and the fleet began offloading in force. Now the company’s mission was to push the frontline 50 kilometers away from the landing zone within the day. If the Republic’s on-world forces hadn’t surrendered, they were to advance another 25. Holding a front that large would’ve been madness for the UNSC force if there wouldn’t be an ocean to their flanks.
Some of the passengers in the back flinched downwards as a low flying Longsword blitzed past overhead. Fletcher had no idea exactly why it was flying so low. The enemy was laying down their arms and most of their heavy AA batteries had been rendered ineffective anyway.
While he looked up, he saw streams of civilian craft fleeing the epicenter of the UNSC landings. Fletcher was surprised at first that they had survived the EMP, but figured that they had been parked deeper underground, were EMP hardened, or simply just got lucky. The UNSC would start shooting down any craft flying above a certain altitude about two hours after the invasion began. Fletcher hoped they got the memo. He’d seen the guns on a Longsword chew through Covenant bombers like a hot knife through butter, it’d be no surprise as to what they could do to a flying taxicab.
Fletcher took one last puff of his cigarette before flicking it into the road. He turned around in the shotgun seat of the Warthog to take a look at the column behind him. About a dozen transport Warthogs were interspersed with a few of the newer M20 model. He wished he had gotten some with a 20mm on the back instead of the 12.7mm Vulcan. Though the Vulcan was capable of turning cover into concealment and then into thin air, the 20mm packed that extra punch to expediently penetrate the concrete construction of the planet’s buildings. Fletcher also wished they were riding in their Falcon transports instead, but they were being used by other units which were being sent to areas which HIGHCOM had deemed more important.
‘The UNSC’s premier airborne infantry driving to the frontline. Tough luck.’ Fletcher thought. As cynical as he was, he surmised that they’d be tasked with holding the flanks while the responsibility of anchoring the center to blunt Republic attacks would fall to the mechanized units.
Fletcher kept his rifle at hand, resting gently within the crook of his arm and lap. He kept his eyes assiduously scanning the surrounding architecture and columns of civilians fleeing the advance of the UNSC. He had his fair share of run-ins with insurrectionists in cities not too dissimilar from this one which taught him that adopting a blasé attitude on the field was a sure way to meet an early grave.
He knew he wasn’t the only one concerned about civilian irregulars, the reason the top brass had ordered the 50 kilometer advance was due in part to the millions of civilians which lived within that zone who would be displaced. They wanted an area of operations devoid of partisans.
To Fletcher, it was a nightmare with how crowded the streets were with scrums of refugees but he was glad that they had the smarts to keep out of the way of his column.
Fletcher continued to scan around him, the amount of alien faces illuminated by his headlights staring back was an unwonted sight and he felt a pang of disgust. He’d spent the better part of his life getting shot at by xenos and he found himself unnerved when they weren’t trying to kill him.
“Damn surprised we haven’t been shot at yet.” Corporal Cooper, Fletcher’s driver, said.
“Well don’t go and jinx it.” Fletcher replied. “The fleet plugged them up in orbit real good, wouldn’t surprise me if a frigate’s been swatting down dropships all day. ODSTs pinned them in their base down here too. Must’ve stopped ‘em dead cold.”
“Easy Company, halt!” Captain Springer transmitted, interrupting their conversation.
“Whoa, that’s not right.” Fletcher said to the driver as they lightly jerked to a stop. “We’re five klicks from where we’re supposed to be.”
“General Boucher has ordered all forward units to halt and await further orders, Easy 6 out.”
“Go figure…” Fletcher muttered. He keyed his platoon’s radio channel. “First Platoon, dismount!”
He hopped out of the shotgun seat and took a knee next to the vehicle. “I want First Squad to begin setting up a checkpoint at this intersection. Second Squad, keep an eye on the civvies and make sure they keep moving. Third Squad, I want you to pull security.”
The squad leaders all gave their confirmations and got to work. From then on, it was a whole lot of anxious waiting. Fletcher did his best to marshall the men under his command, but he could tell they were all nervous to get a move on again. Already hundreds of potential insurgents had passed by their position and the stream showed no signs of stopping. Fletcher was put even more on edge by the civilian vehicles that moved past. Fighting in cities of millions during the Insurrection was bad enough, but ecumenopolises filled with billions? The thought was insanity to him. Thankfully, if everything went well, they’d be off to the next planet within the month.
A few minutes passed by until one of his men pointed towards the sky. “Sir, check it out.”
Fletcher peered up into the stars. “Damn…” He muttered. He brought a pair of binoculars to his visor. “Fleet’s putting up a hell of a fight.”
Of course, there was only so much detail he could pick up with the combined zoom of his helmet and the binoculars. However, he could still see the flashes of nukes and other weapons as well as the ships closer to the planet.
“This is Easy 6, mount up and advance to Phase Line Alpha. Republic forces have landed planetside.”
UNSC Warhound
The intelligence reports were right. A Republic strikeforce a hundred ships strong dropped out of hyperspace and were immediately engaged by Rear Admiral Sukenori, but then another fleet of similar strength dropped out much closer than expected. The only UNSC ships present to oppose their advance was an Autumn-Class Heavy Cruiser plus a dozen of her Halberd-Class Light Destroyer escorts who were conducting a fighting retreat towards the planet. Other than that was the minefield, which had grown to considerable size.
That didn’t worry Admiral White one bit, he had ample reserves to intercept the ships long before they could reach the planet, but it was the tens of thousands of fighter craft and dropships being disgorged which did. Even with the ironclad perimeter the fleet held around the planet, the vastness of space meant that they were bound to slip through.
“If one dropship makes it through, the jig is up.” He said, glancing towards Captain Haithum. There were still millions of Republic military personnel on the planet who had yet to be marshaled into POW facilities, or who had never laid down their arms in the first place. If the surrendering Republic forces not actually captured yet came into contact with the ones arriving, they would soon rejoin the fight.
“Our Stalwarts could cover that axis of approach.” Captain Haithum suggested.
Although he wasn’t keen on spreading his battlegroup’s primary anti-fighter escorts across a wide swath of space, he had little choice. Admiral White turned to the communications officer. “Lieutenant Scheffer, tell our Stalwarts to maintain a two hundred kilometer dispersion around the L2 Lagrange point. I want the cruisers Yalta, Heavy Metal, Thunderclap, Edgecase, Nutcracker, Fire And Forget, Early Grave, and Delaware to follow us in with their escorts.”
“Aye aye sir.”
“Captain Haithum, move us to intercept, but keep our distance. I don’t want those bastards touching the planet.”
“Aye sir, Lieutenant Jackson, take us in at 15Gs. Lieutenant Donovan, charge up our MACs and keep all missile pods hot.”
The bridge crew gave their assent and got to work. Admiral White knew that this would be the defining moment of the battle. Without a swift victory in space, the fleet might get bogged down or worse, the ground force could be cut off.
“Sir, ONI’s latest report shows massive fleet movements headed our way in only thirty minutes! Incoming ship profiles include a Mandator II.”
Admiral White's heart skipped a beat. The Mandator II-Class Star Dreadnought, classified as a supercarrier by UNSC standards, was larger than even the Infinity herself. He was momentarily confounded by ONI’s lack of intelligence regarding the force deployments closest to the Taris area of operations. The nearest vessel of similar size was supposed to be undergoing repairs at least two hours away, not thirty minutes.
A single ship that size alone didn’t pose much of a threat, depending how close it got to the UNSC fleet. What heightened the threat level was the fact that it would invariably be accompanied by an armada. It would spell disaster for the UNSC fleet if it were able to close the distance. Immediately White began to think of what he would do in the worst case scenario, if it and its fleet jumped out of hyperspace right into the middle of the UNSC invasion force. Though there were some which White reasoned they could deal some serious damage to the Republic fleet, every possibility where the UNSC fleet survived in any meaningful way was when they turned tail and ran away. Even if that was unlikely given hyperspace’s seeming allergy for gravitational bodies, it was still a distinct possibility.
Despite this, he knew there was no use in worrying when there was a battle to fight. He sent a message to Fleet Admiral Cole warning him of the possibility and for him to stay alert. Regardless, Admiral White would do his duty to the last, all he could do was pray and hope it was enough.