Objective Dodger
The situation at the stadium was deteriorating. As the cascade drew closer the new-born thralls fought with increasing fervor. Their attacks came at great cost to themselves, but their daring was pressing the Stormriders hard.
Chief Weber clenched the railing tighter as he surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding before him. The once-lavish stadium now looked more like a fortress in the midst of a siege. Rubble and debris piled up at the bottom of it stands as its structure was being torn apart. Its concrete walls were pockmarked with holes punched by bullets and explosives. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of gunpowder mixing with the dry concrete powder that filled the air.
"Contact right!" a sniper shouted, jerking Weber's attention toward the parking lot. A wave of thralls surged forward, the corrupted police and gangsters moving with an unnatural grace, their eyes glinting with the malevolent light of the cascade. They advanced in disciplined formations, their weapons at the ready, moving as one toward the stadium, ignoring the crackle of gunfire erupting from the Rifles’ positions. Their advance was organized, lead by armored vans that they sheltered behind.
Weber barked orders through his radio, "Echo Company, shift fire! Left flank! Rockets, take'em out." His voice was steady, but inside, anxiety gnawed at him. The thralls had already inflicted significant casualties on his men, and the relentless tremors only amplified the tension in the air. It was as if the very earth beneath them was warning of impending doom.
"Reloading!" shouted one of his riflemen as he struggled to load fresh magazines into his weapon, his hands shaking. "They're coming in fast, Chief!"
"We can’t let them breach the perimeter!" Weber replied, his gaze locked on the advancing thralls. He watched as one of the gangsters, barely flinching from a barrage of gunfire, pressed forward, firing indiscriminately into the stands. "Keep your fire disciplined, aim for the heads! Don't let them close the distance!"
The weight of the situation bore down heavily on the Stormriders, but their training and grit kept them in check. They poked from cover and made sure that enemy fire was returned in kind. Each crack of a rifle echoed like a death knell. Another wave of thralls charged forward, a mass of twisted flesh and fury, screaming their war cries, their weapons glinting under the parking lot lights, what few were left. The first rays of sun were just beginning to crest the horizon.
"Brace yourselves!" a voice rang out, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of gunfire and the frantic shouts of soldiers. The makeshift barricades they had erected in the parking lot crumbled under the sheer weight of the assault. A Molotov cocktail flew through the air, crashing into the barricade and igniting it in a burst of flames, scattering Rifles.
"Regroup and fill those gaps! They’re using the fire for cover!" Weber shouted as he aimed down his sights, taking careful aim at a figure emerging from the flames. A shot rang out, and the gangster crumpled to the ground. Weber felt like a colonial musketeer defending a frontier fort from the savages. The Battle of Peking came to mind.
The thralls surged forward, their relentless advance a testament to their twisted strength. Weber could see the effects of the cascade in their eyes—there was no fear, no hesitation, just a single-minded focus on destruction. "We can't hold them much longer!" one of the Riflemen yelled, more of a candor assessment than an expression of panic.
Weber's heart raced as he took stock of the perimeter. The two platoons were already stretched thin, and casualties were mounting. The light infantry were still engaged, but they were being forced to give ground. More and more thralls were pouring into the parking lot, flanking their positions, pushing the Stormriders back against the walls of the stadium.
"We need to consolidate our fire! Everyone, focus your weapons on that point! Mortars, carpet the entire grid!" Weber called, desperately rallying his men. The pressure was mounting, and they needed to hold the line. With each passing second, the thralls encroached closer. The echoes of their war cries filled the air, mixing with the sound of gunfire and rush of blood in his ears.
"Chief! We can't keep this up!" a soldier shouted, falling back as the thralls pushed into the defensive lines. "They just keep coming!"
Weber's mind raced. He needed a plan, something, anything to turn the tide. He turned to his radiomen, "Alamo!" He told him. He Radiomen looked unsure. "Send to all units and make sure Iron Heart hears."
The radiomen finally nodded. "All units, all units! Alamo, Alamo, Alamo!" He shouted over the net. "Alamo" was the codeword to fall back into a tighter coil around a more defensible position. For the Stormriders at Dodger that meant the infield square of the baseball field. Fortifications had already been prepared and the outer walls of the stadium would now be mined with anti-personnel ordnance. Everything in Iron Heart's airwing had would also be dropped on the parking lot.
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Salvo Island, Standoff Array
Alarms sounded across the floating platform of gun number 6 of the Standoff Array. A specialized cylindrical module was carefully loaded into the railgun's expansive breach. A series of alarms and klaxons wailed as the gun began to rotate and elevate on its platform.
In the control room, the gunnery officer announced the mission: "Firing point procedures! Low-orbit mission with single-body re-entry. One round, X-ray. Target: Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles. Crosshair will be on home plate. Terminal targeting provided by local air assets. Standby for order to fire from on-scene commander."
A series of reports came back from the control team, each responsible for different aspects of the immense cannon.
"Elevation zero-four-five. Bearing three-zero-zero!"
"Guidance handshake established. Shooting solution ready!"
"Gun ready!"
"Ordnance ready!"
"Ready in all respects!" came the final report. The gunnery officer hovered his hand over the safety cover of a red-handled trigger, poised to fire the building-sized rail cannon as soon as he received the order.
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Objective Dodger
Weber jumped behind the barricade. Charlie and Echo had evacuated the wounded and now held position on the infield, surrounded by piles of corrugated steel, concrete, and assorted debris that offered only meager cover. There was a brief lull in the fighting, during which troops reloaded magazines and topped off their reserves. The Foxhounds had stopped coming, as enemy RPG and even small arms fire had grown so intense around the stadium that they couldn't safely land. JDAMs pounded outside the stadium as the Screechers did what they could to crater the parking lot and keep the enemy at bay. The bombs were detonating directly outside the stadium walls.
Weber observed a FLIR cam feed from a drone on his HUD that showed the enemy swarming around them. He could see the explosions sending debris flying skyward—some of it high enough to crest the stands and land amongst them. Weber's heart sank when he saw the mass of bodies part. The cascade was crossing the lot. It was right outside.
Two Rifles sprinted from the tunnel that connected the infield to the support facilities beyond. One covered his teammate, firing wildly as he carried a reel of detcord that unwound behind him. He jumped the barricade and pressed his back against it next to Weber. With expert dexterity, he cut the cord and stripped back the jacketing, then affixed the exposed section to a detonator. He held it out to his Chief. "Honors, sir?"
"You can have it," Weber told him while looking up at the stands lined with anti-personnel mines. "Wait for my signal."
The Rifle ripped off the safety cap and held his thumb over the red button, looking to his Chief and awaiting his word.
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Newly minted thrall and Oyabun of the Inazumi-Gumi, Hirota Ren, prepared to make the final assault on Dodger Stadium, where the enemy was holed up. He drew his katana as he was surrounded by his loyal men.
"Today we establish our fief! We fight for riches and glory, for the honor of the Inazumi-Gumi! For immortality!" he shouted, sword raised. His men cheered and raised their weapons. Ren pointed his sword forward, and his men charged. He was just about to follow them when a cloud of smoke enveloped him from behind. Arms grabbed him, and he was forcefully spun around. He was about to strike whoever had stopped him until he saw who it was.
"Vespera-joshi!" His eyes widened with surprise at the sight of the vampire. "Finally, you have joined us. We are about to—"
"-Die," Vespera cut him off. "You are more useful alive." She gripped him, and they disappeared in a cloud of smoke before he could protest.
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Weber watched the entrances. Thralls began to pour out and a gunfight erupted all around him. "Alles gute, trottels." he muttered maliciously. He pointed at the Rifle with the detonator and he thumbed the device with a smile.
The stands, the entryways, tunnels and adjoining hallways erupted in a massive series of explosions as the mines detonated. The anti-personnel mines contained a lethal mixture of varying shapes of shrapnel that ensured a wide pattern that could penetrate even the least-gapped of armor plating. Then came the secondary explosive grenades. Anyone not killed in the first blast would then have to survive a series of small grenades that would be spread by the initial explosion. These popped off like firecrackers in the wake of the primary detonation. And to top it all off was a special treat: tear gas. The gas was dispersed with the initial blast. It had a powerful psychological effect. Those that survived the shrapnel and secondary would naturally have an accelerated heart rate and be breathing heavily. Their first breath of survival would be one of poison.
The survivors crawled on the ground and stumbled around disoriented in the gas cloud. Weber tentatively peered out from behind cover, as did the other rifles, his bell was thoroughly rung from the shockwave. "Lay it on thick, eh?" He glanced at the Rifle with the detonator, who shrugged.
Weber ordered everyone up and pointed at the stands, "Engage!" His order was followed by a lackluster volley of fire. There weren't that many targets left, and shooting wounded was a waste of a good bullet.
The dawn sun eked over the horizon. The tips of the tallest buildings in Los Angeles and the surrounding mountains began to glow an immaculate amber. The Eastern sun glinted off of broken glass and highlighted towering pillars of smoke. It also highlighted a large and tight-knit formation of aircraft flying in from the west, riding hard.
Kestrel landing craft, boxy and ugly, sliced through the air, their engines screaming as they approached the stadium.
The heavily laden craft came in fast. The first to land did so quickly. Their engines flared as they pulled hard G's to arrest their momentum. The pilots forsook caution and landed their craft with a thud onto the center of the field. Others landed on the east side of the stadium parking lot. Their sentry guns firing continuously, peppering enemy positions. Their engines thrummed as they dropped ramps revealing heavy weapons teams and armored vehicles ready to engage. The moment the doors opened, a wave of relief swept through the beleaguered Stormriders. LAVs in dragoon patterns with twin-linked 30mm cannons rolled off the ships, followed by infantry and some lighter combat utility vehicles.
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"Get those guns ready!" Weber ordered, his voice booming above the chaos with a air of relief. “We’re not done yet!” But his relief quickly soured. Only two vehicles had landed inside the stadium. The rest were landing outside and they weren't moving to help his platoons. Instead, they rushed eastward, out of the lot at high speed, moving towards the freeway. Weber raised an eyebrow and ran towards the nearest LAV on the field. The commander sat on the cupola of his turret.
"What the hell is going on?" He shouted.
"New orders." The vehicle commander, an ensign, told him as he jumped down from the hatch. "You don't know?"
"My radioman is dead. My last orders were to hold and await you guys." Weber said.
The LAV's engine hummed low as the crew prepped for action. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the distant echoes of gunfire. Weber's heart raced, a mixture of dread and disbelief coursing through him as the ensign explained.
"The orders from command are to sacrifice the stadium," the ensign said, his voice heavy with resignation. "They’re going to destroy it with the cascade inside."
Weber’s stomach dropped, and a wave of nausea washed over him. "Sacrifice?" he echoed, struggling to comprehend. "You can't be serious! We need to hold this ground!"
The ensign's face was grim. "We hold their attention, Chief. It’s the only way to ensure the cascade doesn’t escape while minimizing danger to civilians. Command believes that if we hold it in one place, they can hit it with an X-ray round. Completely obliterate it from orbit. You and your men... you’re the bait."
Weber's fists clenched at his sides. The weight of reality pressed down on him, and the implications of their sacrifice settled like a stone in his chest. "So, we're just pawns on the board, then?" he asked bitterly, his voice low.
"It’s a strategy, Chief. We might not make it out of here, but our deaths won’t be in vain. We can’t let the cascade reach the civilians outside." The ensign placed a hand on Weber’s shoulder, a gesture of solidarity amidst the bleakness.
Weber swallowed hard, his mind racing. Charlie and Echo were counting on him. The lives of his men hung in the balance, and here he was, caught between duty and despair. He turned back to the chaos unfolding around him, the distant sounds of combat only fueling his resolve.
"Get those guns ready!" Weber ordered, his voice booming above the chaos with an air of determination. “We’re not done yet!”
"Listen up!" he shouted, gathering Charlie and Echo around him. The men looked at him with a mixture of determination and fear in their eyes. "This is it! We’ve been given an impossible task, and we’re going to see it through! We hold this stadium, and we keep the cascade here, where it can’t hurt anyone else!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, steeling their resolve. Men who had fought side by side, sharing laughter and sweat, now stood united in the face of overwhelming odds.
Weber took a deep breath, feeling the weight of leadership settle heavily on his shoulders. "Prepare for the worst," he said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "But fight like hell."
The men began to fan out, taking their positions and preparing their weapons. The LAVs turned their turrets outward, ready to spew 30mms of hate.
"You're staying?" He asked the cavalrymen.
"Just the two hulls volunteered." the ensign pointed out. "You need to be an enticing target."
Weber cast a glance downward, then saluted him. "For humanity."
"For humanity." The tanker returned the salute.
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Terra Vanguard Mobile Command Center
"I can not allow you to do this!" Thorpes gestured wildly around the table. "My President has given you a wide berth for action. This situation is already unacceptable. You were this," He pinched his fingers together, "close to having war declared just for the damage your forces have done so far. NOW YOU INTEND TO DEPLOY A W-M-FUCKING-D on American soil!" He voice grew into a shout as he berated Tambor, who didn't flinch nor was he moved from the displeased scowl he wore ever since ordering the strike. "This is unacceptable!"
Thorpes was clearly a patriot in every sense of the word, brought to genuine rage by the notion of what the Vanguard was doing. Tambor grit his teeth internally. He knew how the man felt. No doubt this would sully the good foot that he had got off to with the Americans. But Tambor had to take into account the wider strategic situation. The U.S could bring about significant forces to fight the cascade. Fighter jets, infantry battalions, Marines, there was an Arleigh Burke-Class destroyer just off shore. But it would take days for them to respond, and the fighting would last several more and incur thousands of casualties. And the Vanguard couldn't bring anymore forces to bear quick enough. The fleet wasn't there yet and the Cry Havoc wouldn't be coming at all. While they were fighting this battle, the carrier was under siege back at Stingray. A conventional army could not face this threat. Right now, Tambor was looking at a few dozen dead civilians, several hundred dead hostile combatants and about 2-dozen of his own casualties. That itself was a miracle. Hopefully one he could use to smooth over tensions when this was all over.
Still shouting, Thorpes was escorted from the room with promises of sanction and military retribution, as well as a request to be returned to his people. Tambor would give him that. But right now action had to come first. He looked to Dewitt, who appeared unsure. "Give the order to fire Standoff six-"
Dewitt interrupted him, "Sir, the fleet is 6 hours out. The fast amphib is carrying elements of 4th armored and the missile boats could-"
"15 second countdown, per procedure." Tambor continued without raising his voice or admonishing him. His tone was even and clear. Dewitt nodded, swallowing his objections and made the call.
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Objective Dodger
The cascade ripped into the side of the stadiums concessions area. The energy tentacles wrought terrible destruction as they forced their way through the concrete supports. The multi-level section came crashing down into a heap of rebar, plastic, cement and colorful signage. This power, this love, that coursed through Sadie... it was intoxicating. Eclipsion had such grand plans. It showed them to her. But first it needed the souls in this place. She had come to this stadium often as a little girl. Her father would take her. She had fond memories of it or... no she didn't. No, she didn't, that was right. She always hated this place. It was a monument to human stupidity. Hit a ball and get a million dollars. While thousands of proles would be entertained by gluttonous consumption as they distracted themselves from the horror of their everyday lives. Lives that Eclipsion could free them from now that he was here.
Pieces of rubble were pushed aside as she approached the battlefield. She could feel each of the thralls lifeforce end abruptly as they met their end looking down the barrel of a Vanguard gun. Useful pawns, expended for Eclipsion. Their deaths would not matter after today.
She crested the top of the pile of rubble. The battle lay before her. The pitiful slaves of light ran to and fro in a spirited, but futile defense. As soon as she came into view, they all ceased fire. A momentary silence fell across the battlefield as they repositioned. Turrets slewed onto her and rifles raised. More than a handful of grenades were primed.
Eclipsion flared his energy around her in a menacing display. Only for her to be shaken to her knees. An earthquake gripped the stadium, more powerful than any that had come before. The ground shook violently, causing everyone to fall to the ground. Loose rubble and rafters fell from the crumbling sections. The shaking was accompanied by a terrible shriek that resounded across the entire landscape.
Sadie looked over her shoulder as she sensed it come ashore. It was a soul she didn't recognize. Something big.
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"What in the bloody hell is that?!" Commander Whitaker exclaimed with disbelief as his Foxhound orbited above the chaotic expanse of downtown L.A. The FLIR cam on the nose of the aircraft fed live footage back to the mobile command center, its eerie glow illuminating the faces of the officers inside. Leader-Commander Tambor, watching the feed from the MCC, mirrored Whitaker's shock.
From the depths of the harbor, the creature erupted like a mountain birthed from a cataclysmic volcanic eruption. A titanic wave of water was violently displaced, crashing against the shore with the force of a tsunami. The surge swept over the sandy beaches, mercilessly flooding oceanside businesses and homes, washing away everything in its path—cars, debris, and even the unfortunate souls who had lingered too close to the water's edge. Soldiers stationed at LAX in the control tower gaped in horror as the floodwaters surged, swallowing the beach they had secured and rushing onto the tarmac with relentless fury.
The creature itself was a nightmare made flesh, the same that had ravaged Tinian, only larger. Close inspection through the unfiltered optics revealed a writhing mass clinging to its back, an undulating sea of flesh intertwined with grotesque tentacles. Each tentacle thrashed violently, sending plumes of briny water cascading around it.
As it made landfall at the Chevron oil refinery south of the airport, the monster's colossal, spider-like legs drove its long centipede body onto the land, crushing everything beneath its weight. A deep furrow carved itself into the earth, water rushing to fill the void it left behind. The creature's feet smashed oil tanks with sickening ease, rupturing high-pressure lines and unleashing a geyser of pressurized black oil that shot skyward like a dark fountain. The air thickened with the smell of fuel as the oil ignited, flames blossoming in a fiery explosion that painted the sky orange and cast monstrous shadows across the landscape.
But the horror didn't end there. The writhing masses on the creature's back erupted into a frenzied chaos, detaching and tumbling to the ground like nightmarish spawn. Hundreds of grotesque, wriggling creatures poured forth, fleeing the inferno that ignited behind them. They scuttled across the pavement, slipping and sliding as they sought refuge, a nightmarish tide of life spilling into the chaos of the city.
With the flames raging behind it, the behemoth had no option left but to push forward, its path set toward downtown L.A. The ground shook beneath its titanic advance.
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Standoff 6
"...4...3..."
"Checkfire! Checkfire! Safe all weapons!" A frantic voice erupted from the control room, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife.
The gunnery officer's heart raced as he immediately halted the countdown. With a swift motion he returned the safety cover over the trigger, his fingers hovering away from the console in a clear display of compliance. "What’s going on?" he demanded, his brow furrowing with concern. A checkfire at this critical moment could only mean one thing—something had gone terribly wrong. It was also a precarious position for the gun, with its capacitors fully charged and a volatile cargo loaded into the breach.
"Receiving new targeting data! Orders from the Leader-Commander himself!" The voice on the comms crackled with urgency, urgency that ignited a sense of dread. "New target is the creature! Designate Master-2. Orders are to disregard the countdown and fire at will!"
"With pleasure," the gunnery officer replied, a mix of relief and adrenaline flooding his system. He swiftly reinitiated the firing procedure, fingers flying over the controls with renewed purpose.
“Ready all systems! Fire at will!” he barked, the resolve in his voice echoing through the control room.
The room pulsed with energy as the team braced for impact.
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Standoff 6 fired. Arcs of light ran along its length, culminating in a frenzied outward burst of lightning strands from the muzzle. The projectile exploded from the tip in an arc of light. The gun platform was bracketed by recoil, causing it to bob in the ocean. Clouds parted in a circular pattern around the launch area. In less than a second, the X-ray module was over the horizon and climbing toward the thermosphere.
The module traveled at blistering speeds, its surface superheating from friction with the atmosphere. The telephone pole-length device glowed a bright burn orange by the time it entered space. It entered orbit and began to spin about its axis using pressurized nozzles. It oriented itself nose-on toward Earth as it passed over the Atlantic, completing a full orbit around the planet in a mere minute. It settled into a stable position over the U.S. West Coast.
The nose cone jettisoned, and the device began its transformation. The X-ray module was an orbital laser. However, it did not focus light through a series of lenses. Instead, it focused the nuclear blast of a 1-megaton high-yield nuclear device. Using a long tube made of a yet-unclassified metallic composite material, the blast was focused along a slowly tapering cone inside the tube. The final product was a focused beam of nuclear energy, 2x2 miles wide. It concentrated the destructive energy of an atomic blast into a scalpel-like precise beam while amplifying its destructive potential and minimizing fallout.
The beam lanced down through the atmosphere in a beacon that could be seen across the entire hemisphere. It was dead on, striking Master-2 in the center of its back. The entire area was engulfed in light and superheated in a picosecond. Nearby water sources flash-evaporated, creating steam explosions. Everything within the beam's width blackened and vaporized. Without the initial release of energy, no radioactive debris was thrown far afield. The occupants of the nearby airfield were forced to take cover and shield their eyes from the beam but remained safe.
The monster, however, was not. It barely had time to release a pained shriek before its innards were cooked and boiled, causing gore to explode from its interior. Its tentacles withered into dust. Its entire body was bisected by the beam and slowly disintegrated. By the time the explosion in orbit faded and the beam began to dissipate, all that remained was its disembodied head, which now lay limply in a pool of flaming oil.
Several seconds of silent awe enveloped the entire battlefield at the display of destruction.
In the MCC, Dewitt and Tambor shared a look. Dewitt understood the risks and consequences they had just accepted by choosing not to destroy the cascade. The X-ray module could not be used in the same hemisphere twice due to radiological and atomic interference buildup. Tambor didn't show it; he remained rigid and unreadable. But internally, he was greatly conflicted. He breathed a sigh of relief that the Rifles at Dodger would be spared disintegration by their own leader. But now they were at the mercy of the cascade, a potentially far worse fate.