by JR Handley
The enemy stopped and stared when Task Force Vengeance dropped among their ranks, not expecting this technique. The Legion took full advantage, firing their carbines the entire time. Soon they were in close and engaged in vicious hand-to-hand fighting. When his carbine became ineffective, Lance slung his SA-71 and grabbed his sword. He never stopped charging towards the enemy, not wanting to give the insurgents an easy target.
Kicking his assault thrusters past the recommended limit again, Lance was soon vaulting over the enemy’s cobbled-together polycrete position. While still in the air, Lance swung his sword and sliced through the carbines of the three closest insurgents. He laughed as they fell back, landing on their butts. They scrambled to reach for their secondary weapons, but Lance was already in motion. He thrust his sword into the flank of the insurgent on his left, pushing through his torso. The momentum shoved the impaled enemy into his brother, wounding him as well. Lance used his forward momentum to lean in, spinning towards the insurgent he’d stabbed, while mule-kicking the enemy behind him.
As Lance struggled to withdraw his sword, Sashala danced around his periphery, slicing and stabbing the enemy. When he finally freed his blade from the dead insurgent, she’d already killed several more, including the ones whose carbines he’d destroyed. Weapons free, he grabbed a fragmentation grenade off his hip and threw it to his right. With the explosion keeping the enemy off-kilter, Lance and Sashala charged down the insurgents’ barricades to the left. They killed the enemy as they ran, hands and heads rolling with equal abandon. Heedless, the two charged ahead with their brothers and sisters trailing in their bloody wake. It looked like their charge disheartened the insurgents, who clumsily dodged Lance’s and Sashala’s blades. The insurgents tried to avoid them, choosing to attack the nearest carbine-wielding Marines instead. Lance used the opening to link up with one of the 5th’s Mini Gunners, assigning him in the task of keeping the trenches behind them clear of insurgents.
While continuing to engage the enemy, Lance received a constant stream of updates from the rest of the task force. The ruse had worked, giving the Legion time to get into the enemy’s outer barricades. When they finally realized what his plan had been, a simple flanking and envelopment maneuver, it was too late. They’d spent so long getting creative with their tactics that they hadn’t accounted for a simple textbook maneuver that every Marine was taught while still in the crèche. Nor had the insurgents anticipated how the Legion’s new tech would affect them.
Soon Lance met up with the lead elements of the 828th, allowing him to turn and head back the other direction. This time his charge was more difficult, as he had to jump over the blood-slicked ground. The enemy insurgents littering the ground between their own barricades added to the difficulties in retracing his steps to clear the other side of the insurgent lines. Lance ignored the thought that some of those bodies were his Marines, and charged toward the enemy. He reached the insurgents just in time to add a few more carcasses to the heap before he encountered the 6907th.
With the battle won, Lance paused to catch his breath and take stock of what the assault had cost. The losses for the Legion were devastating. Both flanking regiments had lost over twenty-five percent of their troops in taking the objective. It could’ve been worse, given the layered defenses, but the bait had worked exactly as he’d planned. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Colonel Gillen had died in the initial charge, buying the rest of the battalion time to close with the enemy. He’d been the first Marine into the hull where the insurgents had built their barricades, earning the dubious honor of getting the first confirmed kill. He’d been gutted afterward. But when they retrieved his body, they saw he’d taken four insurgents with him.
Lance knew one more battle like that would call the entire operation to a halt. If they bled any more troops, they’d be stopped in their tracks and waiting on a complete reinforcement. Knowing his three regiments couldn’t operate with their ranks so ravaged, he made the decision to combine the remaining Marines into the 6907th and the 828th. The severe loss of not only personnel but also officers made Lance feel that this was his best use of manpower. While his subordinates handled those details, Lance stood down Task Force Vengeance so they could resupply themselves with the weapons from their fallen brethren.
— Chapter 62 —
Late Evening, Post-Revival Day 217
Makoni Ship Factory, Baylshore
Commander, Task Force Vengeance, Human Legion
Recovery from the battle in the repurposed ship hull took longer than Colonel Lance Scipio would’ve preferred. The insurgents had built a stable barricade network, and most chose to fight to the bitter end. The Legion had also required time to treat their wounded. They’d suffered various wounds, from enemy sabot hits to assault cutter gashes. The enemy’s barricade became an impromptu field hospital and temporary base while they recovered from the battle. The enemy insurgents were left to their own devices, receiving neither treatment nor consideration once they were unarmed. They’d been pulled into the open area that Lance had charged across not that long ago, and placed under guard. Before decisions could be made about what to do with them, the Marines of Task Force Vengeance decided it for him.
The stillness was broken by the crackle of sabot fire erupting from where Lance had placed the prisoners under guard. The disruption caused the rest of Task Force Vengeance to look up, searching for the nonexistent threat. Grabbing his carbine, Lance rushed to the sound of the guns, with Sashala hot on his heels. When he got there, he saw his Marines putting the barrels of their carbines against the enemies’ heads and firing a single shot each. Not satisfied with merely killing the enemy, the rest of the guard were repeatedly stabbing the dead with their assault cutters.
Brain matter was spattered everywhere, the cold gray polycrete floor around the prisoners growing slick with insurgent blood. Lance noticed when the enemy blood mingled with that of his Marines, it became indistinguishable. What hurt the most, however, was when he realized that he didn’t fault them as much as he should. The enemy had fought with vicious and hidden attacks, denying them a target upon which to vent their rage. It was hard to resist an unseen enemy, and the wrath of having nobody to shoot back at was wearing his force thin.
“Cease fire!” he roared over the din of the carnage.
He knew Xena had amplified his voice over the audible channels and the LBNet frequencies, but he had to repeat his command three times to get the firing to stop. When the Marines finally regained their composure, Lance began chewing their asses. They’d wasted sabots when supplies were at a premium. Resupply wouldn’t happen until they secured the facility. He reminded them that he’d deal with the killing of unarmed insurgent Marines. Turning to their commander, he continued his dressing down.
“Colonel, if your Marines ever disobey my order again, I’ll disband the whole damn regiment. Get a grip on your troops!”
Before the colonel could muster up any kind of rebuttal, Lance addressed the entire task force, who stood watching the proceedings.
“We can’t win freedom for humanity by killing every human who disagrees with us! Hopefully some of the enemy will cross sides, and when this war is over, they’ll join us in overthrowing the yoke of White Knight oppression. Kill them in every battle. Show no mercy on the field. But when the fight is over, you’re still god-frakking Marines. If another Marine goes rogue, I’ll shoot the entire unit myself. Horden’s bullocks, police your own or die by their actions.”
When he saw his troops, especially the Marines in the 828th, looking around aimlessly, he knew the matter wasn’t done.
“Are you picking up what I’m laying down?” he demanded.
Satisfied with their acknowledgment, he sent them back to securing the area. Lance knew they need to get back to work. The rest of the factory needed to be captured. Not wanting to sit around, he called up his AI.
“Xena, how close are we to being ready to continue the mission?”
We have everything in place. I was about
to notify the chain of command when the shooting started. Give the word, and the scout drones will proceed us.
Pleased with this news, Lances opened the LBNet to give his new orders.
“Scouts, send your drones out. Commanders, prepare to move out. Wires, get the 6907th ready. You’ve got the lead. Let’s hope the 828th doesn’t shoot us if we’re wounded. Make it happen!”
With a renewed purpose, the entire task force began performing last-minute checks on their weapons and armor. The drone footage came, showing another empty level that was free from detectable traps. He wasn’t sure if any enemies were remaining in the facility, but if there were, he didn’t want to give them time to prepare more defenses. Checking with his XO, he saw she’d assigned 6th Battalion as the lead element. Smirking, Lance pinged his regimental sergeant major.
“Thorn, looks like your daughter will be protecting you this time. Her batt’s the lead element.”
Not fazed, Thorn merely belched into the LBNet channel and asked when they could expect a coffee re-supply. Lance couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he was still chuckling to himself when the task force stepped off. They moved tactically, so it again took time to officially clear the level, but it was declared clear quicker than the scout drones could report on the status of the next level. The pause ended up creating an accordion effect, and Lance had to remind his subordinate commanders to control their forces. One level blurred into the next as they pushed through several levels of abandoned machinery and half-finished spaceship parts.
Pausing, Lance watched the video reports from the next level. If this factory was a mirror to the one on Serendine, then this level would be a glorified supply depot where raw material and smaller finished parts sat. He watched as the drone flew down the ramp, and observed the insurgents who waited behind a barricade built of hastily assembled junk from the factory. They’d cleared the level of all the supplies and created an impromptu fortress of junk. It was defensible – ugly, but defensible. There were two less substantial barricades and firing positions, and then the large space ended in a ramp down to the next level.
Looking closer for potential high-value targets, he saw the unit’s distinctive insignia. Lance froze. It was the 941st TAC Regiment. His regiment. The place where he’d earned his ink. He unconsciously rubbed the spot on his right shoulder where his unit crest had been permanently branded into his soul. He wasn’t sure he could do it, fighting his family like this. Seeing the 941st markings brought home how stupid the mutiny was. Marines killing Marines was as close to fratricide as he could imagine.
Turning to his sergeant major and long-time confidant, he struggled to find the right words.
“Thorn, I can’t do it. Not without trying to save them first,” he said. “Send out a drone. Ask to parlay with their commander. If they have the same commander as I remember, then we’re in luck. He’d remember me, though not always for flattering reasons. His name was – is – Colonel Hunding Thrain. He’s one of the most severe Jotun officers I’ve served with. If the Dual Plague didn’t kill him upon revival, he should still be alive.”
“Scipio, you’re missing the larger threat to the colonel’s life. Spartika. Would she let a threat to her command live? Would the Jotun, a loyal White Knight officer, subject himself to her authority? The colonel was likely killed, and there’s no reason to think she wouldn’t have put loyal officers in charge of the regiments under her command.”
Lance paused to think about the issue for a moment before answering.
“She might’ve killed the Jotun officers, or left them all on ice, but the size of her force would prohibit her from putting her loyal officers in all of the regiments under her command. More likely she’d promote the senior sergeants, fill their heads full of lies, and carry on smartly.”
Sergeant Major Thorn was quiet for a moment, likely considering his words carefully, but he ultimately responded with another question.
“Do you remember who the senior sergeant was?”
“The 941st’s senior NCO was Senior Sergeant Enoch Foster. He should still be alive. He was the ‘follow orders, no matter the cost’ sort of Marine. I can’t image he’d be purged by Spartika, since he was too devoid of personality to be a threat. He was an honest sort, just lacking in imagination.”
Lance was shocked out of his memories of his childhood on Cardamine Island by the sound of Thorn’s deep belly laugh. The other Marines around them looked over, concerned at the odd behavior from the typically harsh NCO, as they waited for the next phase of the assault on the factory. He knew few people saw the sergeant major in his unguarded moments, only the senior staff and his daughter, Cristal.
“Scipio, son, have you learned nothing since you were promoted to sergeant and beyond? If he survived the loyalty purges and Culls, he wasn’t the dullard you present him to be. Give the NCO some credit. You weren’t as aware of the world. You were a young crècheling. So what do you plan on doing with this knowledge of their chain of command?”
“Finally, a question I was prepared for,” Lance said happily. “The enemy knows that we’re here, so we don’t have the element of surprise to lose. I’ll have the drone fly in, blasting the 941st’s motto and a request to parlay with Colonel Thrain or Senior Sergeant Foster. I’ll mention the time Corporal Bails got drunk, loaded an SA-57 Dragon’s Breath Flame Thrower with his baby-making juice, and tried to impregnate a wild cholba. He thought the offspring would be the start of his grand army. It became something of a regimental joke afterward. Something that wouldn’t be known to outsiders. The colonel insisted on it, lest we end up in the Cull. I imagine it’ll spark just enough curiosity to get me that parlay–”
“And then what, Scipio?” Sergeant Major Thorn demanded. “We can’t weaken the task force with a large contingent of troops, and we can’t lose our commander.”
“I’ll go out alone–” Lance started to say, only to be interrupted by Sashala’s loud cough. “I’ll go out with my honor guard, Lieutenant Kraevoi, and a section of Marines chosen by her. I’ll strip to my damn birthday suit and show my tattoo if that’s what it takes. Xena informs me that the drone is ready to go, so now we wait.”
He felt the tension rise between him and his two closest companions, Sergeant Major Thorn and Sashala. It felt like the wait lasted forever. His task force was getting jumpy, as well, seeing enemy forces behind every shadow. Before he could decide whether or not his proposal had been rejected, the drone reported. The 941st demand that he arrive alone. Lance knew that couldn’t happen; Thorn and Sashala wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he replied, using the drone as a relay, that he’d bring a squad as an honor guard. He didn’t expect them to accept it and was counting on them counter-proposing a small section as his escort.
“It worked. Grab your section, and let’s go,” he ordered Sashala.
Without looking back, Lance handed Thorn his carbine and proceeded down the passageway. It wound down in a gracefully sloping pattern until they emerged on the next level. He was greeted by a company’s worth of carbines when he came down the ramp, all of them pointing at his head. They seemed tense, but Lance trusted that his former comrades would be disciplined enough not to pull the trigger without authority.
“I think,” Lance said, “this is where I say ‘Take me to your leader.’”
He’d meant to lighten the mood. It didn’t work. The gruff voice of one of the 941st’s leaders ordered Lance to advance forward, leaving his escort by the ramp. Knowing Sashala wouldn’t stay, he insisted she follow him while the rest of the honor guard held firm. The unit commander, whom Lance could now see was human, curtly agreed with the request. The two of them, surrounded by a company of 941st Marines, slowly advanced towards a group of waiting senior officers. They raised their hands as he approached to show their peaceful intent.
“Good evening,” Lance calmly said. “Now pull these jug-heads back so we can talk freely.”
“Who are you to tell us what to do? We’re the most feared regiment of the White
Knight’s Human Marine Corps,” ground out the officer, his blackened visor serving as a mask.
Lance slowly lowered his raised hands down to his head, not wanting to spook the guards, who had their carbines pointed at him. He gently unlatched his helmet from the coupling joint on his neck guard and removed it before slowly clipping it to his belt. With his face exposed to the officers of the 941st, he took a moment to stare into their blank visors to show his sincerity.
“I am one of you, born and raised in Kalino City, on the cesspit known as Cardamine Island. A son of the 941st, who had the honor of calling Tango Squad, Dog Company, my home. I wear your ink on my shoulder and in my heart. I know the lies you were told by this imposter Spartika. I know her cause is self-serving. She defied the White Knights for selfish gain and rejoined them when it was convenient for her personal war with Nhlappo. She claimed the mantle of their leadership to justify her mutinous behavior. That Aux should’ve been put down as a babe, for surely she was suckled by poisonous teats. I serve the new Human Legion, that humanity might live free and prosper.”
The pause was long, and the more it dragged on, the more concerned Lance became. He didn’t know who commanded the unit; they still hadn’t shown him their face. He was about to concede defeat, accept that they wouldn’t join the Legion. He’d offered them the chance to join, surrender, or die. It appeared as if they’d ignored him until the 941st officer finally answered. While he spoke, the officer removed his helmet and clipped it to his belt, mirroring the seriousness Lance had shown to the gesture.
“I’m the new commanding officer of the 941st, Enoch Foster. A human colonel, if you can believe it. Can you prove your claims?”
Lance breathed an audible sigh of relief and answered in the affirmative as he slowly began stripping out of his combat armor. He set each piece in a pile at his feet as he slowly undressed, until he was naked from the waist up. With his shoulder free, he slowly turned to show the crest of the 941st encircled by the flowing script of the unit motto.
