Dreamer dove into cover as a burst of high calibre bullets tore through the air he had been in a moment before. Beside him Nightmare returned fire, silencing the machinegun nest with a well aimed salvo. All around them the other Genesis were doing the same, advancing at lightning pace. It was necessary, as high above the Novican reinforcements were beginning the lengthy process of transferring planetside. Every Genesis knew it was of vital importance that this would not come to pass. But how to stop hostile landing craft from setting down on a planet when you lacked the ordnance to fire into orbit? They had considered several strategic possibilities. Hi-jacking other shuttles in order to ram them into the landers? Not feasible, landers were sturdy craft and any shuttle large enough to do sufficient damage to down one would be shot down long before it would reach them. Use civilian shuttles to sneak skyward and board the landers? Dismissed, as the forces inside the enemy craft were numerous and well armed, enough to swiftly deal with a handful of Genesis breaking in. Ambush them at the landing zones? That was the plan with the highest chance of success. It would take time for the reinforcements to disembark and during that process they would be at their most vulnerable. Given that the newcomers would be veteran combat troops, that wasn't nearly as vulnerable as the Genesis would have liked, but it was their best chance. Between booby-traps, improvised explosives, a good vantage position and the lack of offensive armament on the landers themselves, it was their best bet.
Dreamer had designated it as plan B.
Now they were working on plan A. It was a long shot, dangerous and risky, and the Novicans could thwart it with relative ease. He would not have risked it against a capable military. Even now he was certain that enemy command had predicted his actions. Not that it mattered. While it still came as a shock to him that there was such a massive time lag between the orders being given and them being executed, he was not going to let such an opportunity slip him by.
His platoon struck the first orbital battery with impunity, barging through hastily set up defences, trusting in their shields and speed to keep them alive. They succeeded, with far more ease than he had thought possible. There were fewer hostiles than expected. Far fewer. Just like there had been less enemies along their approach vectors than there should have been. He blinked in confusion. This made no sense. The enemy should have reinforced these key locations. As his men set to work and began preparing the facility for use, he checked with the other platoon leaders and his concern grew as they all reported having faced the same situation. Few enemies on the target sites, no traps left behind, no signs of sabotage. The Imperials had taken over several major batteries, the local power plant and the shield projector, without any noteworthy resistance.
That meant that everything was unfolding as the Admiral had predicted. It did not convince him that she was right. There were sensible reasons for it, which did not align with her projections. They could be conserving their forces for a singular, overwhelming assault while they were distracted, hoping to catch them between hammer and anvil. He kept his eyes out for additional airborne reinforcements as well. If gunships began streaking down from the sky, they'd be pinned down until they regained control of the air again. Still, the lack of a physical response on the ground or rapid alteration in space was worthy of note. And of concern. There were so many ways the enemy could strike at them, now that they were forced out in the open. Despite their strength and unprecedented numbers, they were at their most vulnerable since the beginning of the operation.
He kept his focus skyward, watching the enemy descend towards the planet as the Genesis rapidly finalised their control. Hijacked reports began streaming in of enemy troop concentrations on the ground. The battle was about to begin, and this time they were locked to defensive positions, making them a static target. He did not like it, nor did any of his brothers. Yet this was what the situation demanded of them.
He began to issue orders. Static targets they may be, but that did not require all of them to just sit patiently and wait for the enemy to strike.
Genesis would not quietly surrender the momentum to their foes.
Vosjlaw felt sweat pour off his face as he focused on the planetary troop movements. He wouldn't go as far as saying that the tide of battle was turning, not when the Imperials still hadn't taken any noticeable damage and definitely not with his own casualties mounting at an incredible pace. Yet for all that there was a change happening. More and more commanders on the ground, few of them high ranking officers as most of those were slain in the opening waves of the all-out Imperial attack, were beginning to realise that their enemies couldn't be stopped through conventional tactics. With all hope of an easy victory firmly pushed out of their mind by the already incurred losses, they were more open to the drastic measures he was putting forth. The total mobilisation he had asked, begged for, was finally happening. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, millions even, were moving towards the designated zones of conflict. Not with the intent to rush in and engage, not yet at least, but grouping up just outside the Imperial area of operation. Or as much as possible, given how fluid a battlefield was.
Martial law was finally fully enacted as well. Conscription had begun to pull more men under arms, not that they'd be very useful, but quantity had its advantages. He had even caught word that the public schools had press-ganged their pupils into service. That he did not like. Those schools, originally a project to give the impoverished a chance, focused more on the greatness of the Confederacy than teaching anything else. He wondered if he ought to push those units to the very front. On one hand, they were kids who didn't know war and weren't mentally sound. On the other, they were fanatically zealous, equating the Imperials in at least that singular aspect. He dismissed it as a problem for later. Right now he had more immediate concern than a handful of child-soldier battalions.
His own plans had been read. At least partially. He didn't know how far they had seen into his hand, given that the largest group was clinging to their AO, yet that he had been read could easily be seen as the other Imperial units still scattered across the planet had begun to move incredibly erratically, becoming utterly unpredictable. He grinned and called over an even more weary looking Grevorich. "Commander," he greeted as the older man joined him at the massive screen. "We're making progress." He pointed towards the active Imperial units that were spread far and wide, then slid his finger across the zig-zagging trail of destruction they left in their wake. "I've got good news. The plan is working. They know we're trying to pen them in. They're moving to avoid it. Quite efficiently too."
Once these remarks would have caused the Commander to sigh and roll his eyes, to spit out a snarky comment about the thousands of lives that had been lost so far. He had long since run out of energy for that. His eyes were showing the utter exhaustion that he was feeling, almost hiding a still burning flame of determination, though they were smouldering coals rather than the open fires of before. Vosjlaw knew better than to assume they had been doused, however. The man wasn't a quitter, for all his other faults. And resisted his plans with a passion.
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"I fail to see how this is good news, Vosjlaw," came the sighed answer.
"Oh," he replied, feeling a flush of annoyance towards the man before shoving it down. Grevorich wasn't a combat officer. He couldn't hold this against him. He could, however, hold it against him that the man hadn't called actual combat personnel into his staff earlier. And that he still refused to grasp the truth of the invasion. A lot of good men and women had died because of that. And more would, as long as the stiff neck kept up his resistance.
Rather than continuing that line of thought he called up a different map, one that showed all the power plants, major centres of industry, shield projector complexes, all important targets that the Imperials were so keen on striking. The overall map instantly turned into a cluttered mess.
"Follow their movement," he explained. "Normally they just run from target to target, taking the shortest route possible before levelling it. They can't do that anymore. They're forced to move between every target they engage. Assault a completely different location following indirect attack paths."
"They still destroy everything they encounter," Grevorich countered, unimpressed.
"Yes," Vosjlaw continued, undaunted. "But their rate of destruction has slowed down significantly. Where they normally struck a new target nearly every two hours, now they need at least six to eight hours."
A spark of life returned to the older man's eyes. "So you're telling me that we've slowed them down," he asked, the burning ember catching fire and leaping up into a blazing inferno. "That we have sacrificed thousands of soldiers, countless civilians, brought the entire planet under martial law and are grinding our entire industry to a halt, sparked off hundreds of civilian conflicts and consigned entire sectors to chaos to slow them down?"
"Baby steps, Grevorich, baby steps," Vosjlaw soothed him with a grin. The furious gaze washed over him without affecting him. The man was unarmed and should he try anything, his own men would put him down before he could endanger their operation. "At least we're achieving something. Them slowing down gives us more time to prepare. Group up our forces, lay more mines. Toughen our defences. It also makes them easier targets for orbital bombardment. Less collateral damage." He turned away from the screen and directly faced the man. Still in power armour, albeit without his helmet, he towered over the Commander. Not that he needed his armour to loom over the man. The usual arrogance that the Commander had shown towards him had evaporated ever since he had been made to... cooperate. "Tell me," he continued, "how fares that discussion?"
The fire in Grevorich' eyes rapidly petered out, returning to the barely smouldering embers. "I..." His gaze fell to the ground and the man seemed ready to sicken up. Vosjlaw waited, forcing himself to be patient. The man still refused to acknowledge what needed doing. Still. After everything that happened. After seeing cordon after cordon end up penetrated with ridiculous ease. After seeing the enemy ambush armoured groups with improved explosives, evade gunships with inhuman speed, tear infantry to shreds with those thrice-damned disruptors. He was pretty sure they'd long since surpassed the levels of damage a concentrated orbital bombardment could have done. In terms of military casualties at least, he amended to himself. He understood that. His men understood that. More and more commanders and soldiers on the ground began to understand that, hell, some of them even requested it, their own lives be damned. Yet those cowardly bastards up in the sky still refused, calling on redundant clauses that they could ignore unlawful orders, citing estimated civilian casualties.
"They're refusing." Vosjlaw could hear the silent approval in that, and had to resist the urge to clock the man for it. "They believe that an orbital bombardment is excessive and will cause unnecessary and avoidable casualties. They also cite the reinforcements, believing that this will allow our ground forces to quickly subdue the Imperial invaders." The man's eyes shot back up and locked themselves to Vosjlaw's face. "After all, forty thousand power armoured troops, with all the equipment and vehicles in tow, will make short work of a mere two thousand."
His gauntlets dug into the metal of the console as white-hot fury raged through him. The man still didn't get it. Still. He had ambushed the bastards with men in power armour. With armour support, gunships overhead, with everything. It had been a total loss, with a scant few wounded on the Imperial side and numerous dead on theirs. And that had been a perfectly executed ambush. If they sent the Nineteenth in to root them out... Forget making short work of them, he'd call it a bloody miracle if they came back at all. Sure, they would hurt the Imperials. Their assaults would slow down to nearly nothing. It would also force them to switch from open war to hit-and-run tactics. Engaging in guerrilla warfare with the Imperials on Nagalan? It would be a damned death sentence to allied logistical operations. As he had elaborately explained. Multiple times. They could not afford that. They needed to cleanse this infestation quickly, before the entire logistical network would grind to a halt. Already several fleets would be running low on supplies. Ammunition, fuel, spare parts, even food. An army devoured equipment and utilities, a fleet was an even more ravenous beast. They needed those supplies. They needed Nagalan, free of Imperial invaders. Better to have a quarter of the planet be scoured clean by orbital fire than leave an entire army of those inhuman freaks running lose, wreaking havoc where-ever they pleased and disrupting vital operations. Not to mention that those freaks were operating on a time table as well.
He was spared of the necessity to formulate a somewhat diplomatic answer by Lieutenant Nayasi's urgent voice. "Sir! We've lost contact with an planetary defence station in the designated landing sector!"
He stomped over to her, his heavy footsteps ringing through the command structure. Grevorich was no longer on his mind. The Imperials had made their move. Cocky bastards. They knew he was trying to pen them in. He couldn't hide moving well over two hundred thousand. Not with their orders being broadcasted on every available channel. The Imperials knew they were going to be penned in, surrounded by a perimeter thick enough that even they wouldn't be able to break out of it. And they still had gone in. Ah, he grinned to himself, that is what I love about a good plan. You're forced to make the move, even if you know it's putting your head into the noose.
"They're planning on taking over our defences!" he roared, taking care to put the appropriate amount of outrage in his voice. "Contact Admiral Listranoi! Tell him his landers will come under fire! We've lost control of the local defence grid!"
Officers leapt to obey his orders in a blind panic, as true to his word, more and more defence sites went dark. He hid a grin, knowing it was futile. The landers had already begun their slow descent. The unwieldy landing craft would stand no chance against the incoming barrage. It would be a total turkey shoot. Forty thousand men were about to be slaughtered without having even the chance to fight back.
Just as he had planned.