Los Angeles
Commander Whitaker watched as his Foxhounds descended into the embroiled city. The cascade had performed some kind of ritual that had transformed and enslaved the legions of the damned that had coalesced around it. Whitty had figured there would be more to this operation than just killing a demon, so he reacted to this development with a shrug and a general airstrike order against the cascade. The 10 gunships harassed the cascade by flinging ATGMs and 40mm rockets at it while the rest of the airborne forces made for their designated landing zones. Two Foxhounds broke off on a CSAR tasking to recover the remnants of the ill-fated ISR task force. He was particularly interested in the three Freikorpsmen who were calling for a medevac. One among them, the wounded man who had nearly had his soul sucked from his body, reported that he had gained vital information. Whitty promptly designated the Rifle himself as precious cargo and sent a squad to retrieve them.
The 1st Airborne Brigade had four objectives to secure. By design, they were large flat areas with defensible positioning. The Stormriders would land, disgorge 100 Rifles per objective, and keep these areas secure as heavier forces in Kestrel landing craft came in behind them.
These objectives were the Union Pacific rail yard, which had been designated objective "Jadot"; Dodger Stadium, which was objective "Dodger"; Long Beach Airport, objective "Jaffna"; and LAX International Airport, which was the most important of the four. The expansive airport was not only the most ideal but was also connected directly to the beachhead that the amphibious forces would be using when they came ashore with heavy armor.
Whitty was particularly worried about Jadot and Dodger, however. The I-5 and I-10 highways were clogged with civilians in a mass exodus. Much of the city's innocents had seen the writing on the wall and were making a run for it. Cars clogged the roadways, creating a band of light directly through the center of the city with their headlights. Many had been abandoned, and streams of people on foot walked along the roadways out of the city. The two objectives were directly next to the interstate. If the forces landing there were besieged, then civilians might get caught in the crossfire.
Battlefield intel reported that the mass of augmented gangsters and police was descending on objective Dodger. Whitty watched from his own bird as Stormrider's Charlie and Echo Companies landed, two Foxhounds at a time. Thankfully, the enemy approached from the south, and the risk of munitions and fires being directed towards the interstate was somewhat minimized.
What the airborne commander observed intrigued him. The vampiric forces did not approach as a mob of wild gunmen. They advanced on the stadium methodically. With a surprising degree of discipline, they did not fire on the Foxhounds that hopelessly outranged their small arms. Instead, police with machine guns began raking the upper works of the stadium bleachers where Rifles had taken up their own defensive positions. These automatic riflemen kept Whitty's forces suppressed while armored vans barreled through the gates toward the structure. A more unsure commander might have given direct orders to that platoon, but Whitty trusted his men. The threat was spotted before long, and the lead armored vehicle was struck down from on high by a heavy weapons team with a recoilless rifle.
The rocket descended from the topmost bleacher and impacted the front windshield of the van. The projectile penetrated the outer armor and detonated inside. The vehicle lifted off the ground and tumbled onto its side, its roof and belly blown open like a deer carcass that had been set upon by a pack of hungry wolves. Vanguard machine gun teams laid down their own fire, and soon the entire empty parking lot became a frenzy of tracer fire flying back and forth.
Dodger Stadium had been chosen for its defensibility. The large structure was surrounded on all sides by miles of flat concrete parking lot. Any hostiles attempting to approach would be forced to cross a veritable no man's land. The concrete flattop quickly became a hell of its own as the firefight intensified.
The estimated total number of enemy combatants was somewhere between 900 and 1,500. He estimated there were atleast 400 pressing the stadium against his 2 platoons. Accounting for his troops generally superior training and equipment, he expected they still had an advantage. As if to spite him, he then observed a ganger rush out into the open, only to take a machinegun round to the chest. The round passed through and spattered against the pavement. With some struggle, he got up and began running again until he found cover. Such a feat was not possible for a baseline human. The hot and heavy .30-06 AP should have torn him in two. Instead, it passed through him with minimal damage, similar to how it would have against a vampire. Whatever the cascade had done to them, it had certainly improved their durability. Whitty didn't like that. This battle might be closer fought that was comfortable. He left the situation be when a combat controller put in a call for air support.
Screecher strike aircraft were orbiting the city and ready to put warheads on foreheads. Heavy restrictions had been placed on their use to avoid civilian casualties. But the enemy line was taking shape and he assessed there was minimal risk of civilians being in the line of fire, as long the combat controller didn't lase the wrong position. He let the call the go through and turned his attention to a less desirable situation developing at Los Angeles International Airport.
The air traffic controllers at the airport had been instructed by a Vanguard broadcast to cease all ground movement and to divert any inbound aircraft. Not used to not being in complete control of Los Angeles' airspace, they refused and were repeatedly telling Vanguard aircraft to vacate their airspace. Whitty was amused by the balls on the individual in the tower to tell dozens of heavily gunships to get out of his airspace so he could resume regular air bus service. An argument developed between one of the Stormrider officers and the Tower Controller. The angry and sharp-tongued civilian wasn't having any of it.
Whitty interrupted the exchange. "Listen up, Tower. This is Vanguard Commander Whitaker, 1st Airborne Division. Your airspace is officially under new management, effective immediately. Clear the skies or we’ll be forced to charge you for the air traffic control lessons we’re about to deliver. Consider this a friendly reminder that we have warheads ready and waiting, and they don’t do well in congested airspace. Over.” He said with cocky indignation.
After considerable pause, the controller acknowledged and all ground traffic was halted. Air traffic in the area began to make noticeably hard turns away from Los Angeles. It was just in time, as a stricken gunship floated shakily onto the taxiway with the pilot barely able to maintain control. The tail and starboard engine trailed flames from an encounter with the cascade. The VTOL unceremoniously flopped onto the taxiway, chewing up concrete but otherwise coming to a safe landing. The crew began to bail out.
Although the airport was far from enemy forces, Alpha and Bravo Platoons job of securing the airport would be difficult. The terminals were filled with terrified civilians. It was also alot of ground for 100 Rifles to cover. Whitty briefly considered redeploying forces from Jadot, the rail yard, to LAX but decided against it when he saw where the rest of the enemy forces had gone. Another 600 combatants were bearing down on the rail yard. Delta and Foxtrot platoons were already dug in and the enemy would be throwing themselves against prepared defenses. They had a numerical advantage, but the frequent and increasing tremors were throwing off everybody's name.
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The wounded Freikorpsman lay on a stretcher while a medic tended to him. Despite his extensive wounds, which included internal bleeding and broken ribs, he spoke clearly and concisely to the Stormriders' intelligence officer. The two were connected by a digital comm link since the officer was on the Iron Heart and the Foxhound was still an hour out.
The R1C relayed data with an urgent edge to his voice. The S2 could tell that it pained him to talk. Everything he said was diligently noted and typed out onto a datapad. The data was compiled into a message to be sent off to Terra Vanguard command back on Salvo Island. Unfortunately, some of it was OBE, as Iron Heart had already received word that Salvo was under attack. However, some of the information—such as who was behind Kotlin, what their plan was, and a slight glimpse into vampire internal politics—would be useful. Even the somewhat small details the Rifle was was providing could prove game-changing for the Vanguard's fight.
The S2 couldn't imagine what this Rifle had just endured, having almost had his soul ripped from his still-living body by a demon.
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Perelli finished relaying what he had learned. Everything hurt—not just his muscles and bones, but somehow, even his soul. He didn't know such a thing was possible. It wasn’t any kind of mental or moral humdrum; it hurt physically in a way he couldn’t describe. And yet, his soul also ached in the metaphysical sense.
The Foxhound bumped along at high altitude, en route back to the sky-carrier. As they flew, it passed the main response force—dozens of heavily laden Kestrels and some heavy-lift cargo aircraft heading toward Los Angeles in formation. Perelli pondered his decisions. Depending on how one looked at it, he had either technically gone rogue or followed Terra Vanguard’s spirit and doctrine to the letter. His actions and advisement had nearly gotten the rest of the team killed, himself and two others captured, and he—despite the futility of the situation—had gotten Cutup 2 killed. Was he wrong? Had he singlehandedly botched the operation? There was some relief in knowing that the Freikorps in the building had been extracted alive. Their wounds were serious but recoverable.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
There would no doubt be an investigation into the R1C's actions. With his information passed on and the morphine taking effect, he drifted off into an uncomfortable and guilt-ridden sleep.
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Objective Dodger
Chief Rifle Klaus Weber gripped the railing at the top of the Dodger Stadium stands to keep himself from falling. Another tremor shook the ground, this time enough to send the less well-balanced to their knees.
"Damn, these shakes!" exclaimed a sniper lying on his belly a few feet from him. "Can't keep a bead on these buggers!" As if to punctuate his point, he adjusted slightly and fired. RC Weber had no doubt that he still hit his target. He could relate to the sniper's words, however. The earthquakes were getting worse as time went on. He noticed they didn't last long, only a second or three, but they gained in intensity every time.
He didn't have time to ponder the implications or causes. The battle at the stadium had only intensified since their opposed landing. The enemy was making good use of their positions, frequently switching locations and slowly encircling the stadium, forcing the platoons to spread themselves thin to maintain a perimeter. Several armored cars and a few technicals burned at the edge of the lot, most having been taken out by the heavy weapons teams. Vanguard wounded were mounting. His squads were still flush with ammunition, and the threat of Screechers cratering their position was keeping the enemy from advancing. But they were still fighting viciously.
The gangers and cops had started making feint attacks, pressing hard in different places along Weber's perimeter. His officer, before being domed by a lucky sniper, had concluded that these were not probing attacks but diversionary ones. But what could they be diverting attention from? Drone sweeps had not revealed anything, so he was left to ponder his paranoia as he waited for whatever was to come to show itself.
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The Cascade
The streets of L.A. were calm yet filled with noise. The boom of jet engines and explosions carried down the empty streets, reverberating off buildings. The streets themselves were littered with dropped items and abandoned cars—cars that were being pushed aside by long tentacles of glowing energy. Sadie was unsure of what to do next. The attacks from the flying machines were incessant, never giving her a moment's respite. Even as Eclipsion attempted to guide her toward a place where she could have vengeance, they harried her.
A large gray camouflaged gunship targeted her from behind a tall glass building, its pylons heavily laden with rocket pods. It didn't spend more than a moment exposed; it quickly fired a spread of rockets at her. Eclipsion dutifully protected his ward. Tentacles lashed out with impossible speed, detonating the rockets in mid-air before they could reach her. The gunship darted back behind cover, using the buildings to shield itself.
Eclipsion needed to expand. It had been denied the soul of the soldier it had sought. It needed power to spread its love but it could not come by it conventionally. Sadie held hatred in her heart. That hatred, projected onto another living soul, was powerful, even if artificially stoked by the demon. That power was only boosted by the unnatural nature of the Vanguard soldier's soul. Like Eclipsion, he was not of this Earth. His soul was not supposed to be here. That brief encounter had told him much. That soldier's life was snuffed out once before in a vain conflict of epic scale and then brought back to this plane of existence. The light had laid claim to it, and he was ushered into... a place, a place Eclipsion could not bear to think about or communicate to Sadie. He only told her it was a bad place, where freedom and his love would be suppressed. They were here to suppress it in this world. Sadie could not let that happen, or her world would fall into ruin. Eclipsion told her this, and so she followed his instructions.
Sadie thought it a good idea to attempt to flee; to take the newly created army of thralls and disappear somewhere that Eclipsion's machinations might flourish. This was sharply rebuked by Eclipsion. In order for his love to spread, blood must flow.
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Chief Weber's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the battlefield through a pair of high-powered optics. They were similar to a pair of binoculars but used digital lensing to render distant objects in high resolution. Weber didn't like the piece of equipment when it was initially issued to him, arguing he could do the same with a simple pair of traditional focusing lenses, but he had to admit he had grown to like them. The same way one might not be able to go back to 30 frames-per-second after experiencing 60. It was a small but noticeable upgrade. He did not, however, grow to like what he was seeing.
Down Highway 110 toward the stadium, a glowing figure had emerged from the downtown towers—a woman wrapped in a sphere of energy. The cascade was coming for Objective Dodger. The thrall attacks had grown more vicious simultaneously. Weber was not one to lose his nerve. He hadn't lost his nerve when Soviet tanks beat down the gates to Berlin, and he certainly wasn't about to do so much as sweat in the face of this hellspawn. He said to his radioman without looking away from his optics, "Fire support, mortars, grid 34T Bravo 7452. Target is enemy heavy in the open. Eight rounds, cluster. Fire for effect."
The command was relayed, and seconds later, mortars set up on the infield coughed. 81mm projectiles flew high, arcing over the stadium wall and flying toward the target. Their angle was rather shallow, as they were engaging at their maximum range. Weber observed the 7-kilogram explosive package detonate at a predetermined altitude, spreading hundreds of small bomblets over the target, devastating the area as if a series of really big firecrackers had exploded in tandem. Vanguard mortars had a large number of range advantage over conventional systems, but their explosives' weight was similar.
Weber observed the cascade emerge from the smoke. "Scheiße!" he hissed. If the gunships couldn't kill it, of course the mortars wouldn't, but he was hoping to at least slow it down. His two platoons of light infantry were in trouble. If that thing got close before the main landing forces could arrive, it would be a massacre.
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Terra Vanguard Mobile Command Center
Leader-Commander Tambor observed a holographic map of Los Angeles and its surroundings. It was the ghostly blue projection often depicted in fiction. Real-time satellite photos, pre-made maps and 3-dimensional modeling showed the most up-to-date layout of the city in extreme detail and in full color. There were some rough edges where objects were left unrendered or poorly rendered due to a lack of information. Still, it showed the city and all of its bumps, bridges, alleys and even trashcans. Positions of Vanguard units were displayed in real time. Blue parachute icons denoted where the Stormriders had landed. Red lines showed approximated enemy positions. One large red circle showed the position of the cascade.
Tambor did not like what he saw. The good news was that the advanced elements of the Stormriders were fully deployed at had seized their objectives. The follow-on forces were inbound and their landing would take place imminently. But not soon enough. The cascade was bearing down on objective Dodger. Even if the heavier forces landed, it would not likely be enough to stop it. Repeated gunship attacks and bombing runs had not even scratched the cascade. The Rifle in charge of Dodger had even requested a saturated bombing run. Tambor had been hesitant to let that one go through, the collateral would not look good. They were already doing a number on the cities window repair bill. All was for not, as the bombs detonated pre-maturely. The tentacle-like whips were negating anything of sufficient explosive weight that they threw at it. They needed something that it couldn't just deflect or even possibly intercept. They had to take it out before it reached Dodger, or the stadium and the civilian caravan behind it would become a massacre. A debate took place around the hologram.
"We should redeploy. Evacuate Dodger and consolidate at LAX. We'll be able to bring more guns to bear." Someone said.
"That would take time, and expose even more of the city. Keep in mind, that thing is irradiating everything near it."
"Can we ask the United States for support? There's an entire Marine Expeditionary Unit in San Diego. We could offer transport and have them in the fight in two days."
"Two days?! There'll be thousands dead by then! Besides, they're not equipped for this kind of fight."
Tambor let the debate take place. None of the suggestions were viable. Then, someone said something ludicrous.
"Sir, we could activate Project Checkmate." Dewitt recommended without a hint of sarcasm. That instantly drew Tambor's ire. He snapped a grave look at the commander.
"Absolutely not." Tambor said. His tone suggested that Dewitt had crossed a line by even mentioning the project. "I will not subject an entire cities population to that level of destruction and consequence."
Dewitt chose his next words carefully. "Conventional weapons are not working. A flame barrier isn't going to stop this like that sea monster. And we can't exactly set off a nuke...Not that we have any." He added, glancing at their presidential representative. Thorpes brow furrowed in concern, but he did not press the matter.
"I will hear no more mention of Checkmate. And that is final. That is not a weapon we use when we think we're going to lose. It's for when we've already lost." Tambor said firmly. "Besides, I have a better plan." He adjusted the map. "Continue landings as normal. Even those due to hit the ground at Dodger."
"It won't be enough."
"It doesn't need to be. What we need is to lure the cascade into the stadium. If it sees us landing forces elsewhere it will get suspicious. The Stormriders there will continue to defend. Have the light-armor coming in move eastward out towards the freeway. They are to evacuate civilians from the freeway and establish a 5-mile barrier to the north and south, force the civvies to detour. Nobody can be allowed to get in." He zoomed out the map. "Place Standoff #6 on standby. Tell them to load an X-ray module. Target the stadium."
Dewitt's eyes widened. Now it was his turn to admonish his commander. "You're going to condemn two platoons." He said darkly.
Tambor looked down the bridge of his nose at Dewitt. "Two platoons or an entire city?"