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Grass Eaters 2 | 9 | Holdout IV
🕑 Added 2024-06-05 16:47:01 +0000 UTCPriunt Hydroelectric Dam, Datsot-3
POV: Skhork, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Six Whiskers)
Perched atop a hill, Skhork peered through his zoom optics at the river cutting through the valley below. He scanned the area, his gaze calculating.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Not a predator in sight.”
Beside him, his Gunner nodded. “It’s one of their old automated hydroelectric power plants. The combat computer speculated they would not have much security here because it does not generate much power for them in comparison to their fusion plants.”
“Nonetheless,” Skhork countered, “If we destroy it, the water from the ensuing flood will be extremely damaging to the towns downstream. How many local casualties did we estimate?”
“About two thousand, more or less.”
“Excellent,” he said, his tone satisfied. “It’s not every day you have an opportunity to exterminate two thousand predators without a fight. We will need to prioritize targets like these in the future.”
They continued to stare at the solitary designated communicator stationed right outside the control room. A few minutes later, she excitedly gave them the paw signal.
Mission accomplished. Optional objective in progress.
A platoon of infantry escorted the Engineer out of the facility.
A few minutes later, they got another signal.
All objectives complete. Exfiltrating.
The remaining Marines jogged out. Skhork and his Gunner stayed where they were on the overwatching hill. There was no harm in waiting, and he wanted to observe the aftermath. He told himself this would inform their future sabotage operations against the Lesser Predators, but really, he just wanted to watch something blow up.
He was not disappointed. A few minutes later, a series of explosions flashed over the downstream side right before the sound reached his ears. Chunks of concrete were thrown into the air like toys, tumbling into the water below. Local winged animals in the forest took flight, some too late, as the holes in the dam’s supporting structure widened. More and more water rushed through… until the rest of the barrier couldn’t hold anything back. Its center crumbled, collapsing into the water. More water rushed through, roaring as it cascaded over the broken remains and sending sprays so high they caught the light and created a visible rainbow.
Skhork looked at the mesmerizing colors with satisfaction. “Now, we can go.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Priunt Security Force Headquarters, Datsot-3
POV: Vionvu, Malgeir Federation Security Forces (Position: Chief Sector Commander)
“How many have we lost to the sire-less Grass Eaters?”
“We’re still counting the missing, sir, but over fifteen hundred civilians confirmed dead so far.”
There was a moment of silence in the command center as the room digested the staggering death toll for the rural sector.
“What are we going to do about it? Somehow, I doubt the persistently annoying Grass Eater cell in our sector is just going to be satisfied with exactly one power plant and one hydroelectric dam,” the chief sector commander mused, his voice a blend of frustration and resolve.
“Commander, I suggest we deploy our new… combat units to the remaining power generation facilities.”
“I’m inclined to agree. Any objections?”
“Ahem!” the face on the command center’s large screen cleared her throat for attention.
The room of Malgeir security commanders looked up at her.
“Yes, advisor?” Vionvu asked, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance.
The Federation had recently insisted on micromanaging the security situation on liberated Datsot by saddling them with a series of newly appointed security advisors. She hadn’t bothered to introduce herself to the team, but it was clear she was not a local — not to the sector nor the planet — judging by her perfect Malgeirgam accent. If he didn’t know better, he could have mistaken her voice for that of a Federation Channel One newscaster.
Typical bureaucrats from the central government to slow us down with someone like her for an active combat command—
“Forgive my metaphor, Chief Commander,” she replied, raising her snout unnaturally on the screen. “But if we have a flooding boat, we don’t start tearing out other pieces of the hull to patch the leak.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed as his patience ran low. “Elaborate, please. We have no time for imaginative analogies.”
“Your new combat units in Sector 05 are defending other critical infrastructure, like the spaceport and the storage hub. If you divert them, those will become even more vulnerable targets of opportunity for this enemy cell.”
“So… you’re saying we should do nothing,” he retorted in disbelief.
The figure on screen seemed to waver. “There is not much you can do for them. That is the nature of defending against holdout cells while stretched for troops. You minimize the damage they do by holding onto your strong points and—”
“And abandoning our people? I think not, advisor.”
“That… is your prerogative, Chief Commander,” she said, shrugging her shoulders… weirdly. Vionvu gazed at her face uneasily. There was definitely something unnatural about this advisor.
She continued with a different track, “Consider this: before this Sector 05 holdout unit completed its attack on the prior fusion plant, it identified itself on the radio as Fearless. That is not an uncommon identifier among Znosian troops, but in this sector, it belonged to only one unit unaccounted for: a unit of Longclaw Marines.”
The hair on his back raised instinctively. Znosian Longclaw units were the darkest material of his nightmares before Datsot liberation. They tore a hole through the Malgeir defenders, wherever they went. Their training, equipment, experience… legendary, and it was never fun to be on the other side of a legend.
The advisor explained, “I looked into it. We recorded the destruction of three Longclaw vehicles belonging to this Fearless unit in the liberation campaign. One totaled in a rotary wing attack on a hill assault, another two heavily damaged. Later, the damaged two were scuttled in their retreat from their sector forward base. That makes three, and you know as well as I do that these ahem… Grass Eater units do not come in threes.”
Even the way she slurs is too posh and proper. I wonder how much she paid for her lucrative government job.
Then again, her logic is sound.
“Surely the last one must be out of power, munitions, and supplies by now?” he speculated hopefully.
The figure on screen shifted slightly. “Yes, that is a sensible possibility given that it hasn’t been seen since. However, before the cameras in the recently destroyed fusion plant cut out, they saw the Znosians escorting an apparently high-ranking officer into the facility — five lines on a blue patch — and it was recorded scrounging for electrical items in the storage warehouse. Can you think of a reason why a five whiskers Marine officer from an armored unit would be looking for supplies in a power generation facility?”
The security commander’s mind raced as he reached the conclusion that he knew she wanted him to. “Supplies for their remaining Longclaw… and the dam, they must have been looking for it there too!”
“That is my favored hypothesis,” she confirmed, not bothering to hide her relief. “These operations are merely a cover for that larger objective. An operational Longclaw, supported by the cell’s remaining infantry, would be a major threat to your spaceport and storage hub without your new combat units deployed there.”
“But what about the rest of the people I’ve been charged to defend?!” he exclaimed in frustration.
“He who defends everything, defends nothing,” she replied simply.
Another one of those pithy, pointless Malgeirgam platitudes, I’m sure.
She pressed on without regard for his internal monologue. “The holdout units are eventually going to make a move on either of your strong points or be slowly bled to uselessness as they can’t replace their units. And when they do mount an attack… well, that’s what you’ve been training with those new units and weapons for.”
He pondered the tradeoffs for a minute, then nodded bitterly in agreement at the screen.
Perhaps sensing his seething, she added, “You— we can evacuate the civilian population in Sector 05 that live under our remaining three old dams in the sector, though. And if it makes you feel better, you can divert some more of our local militia units to the power plants. Just know that they would likely be lost to any serious assault by this cell. It’s your call.”
Hm… Perhaps I should have thought of the civilian evacuation idea first.
“Yes, it is,” he said, sighing. “The new combat units will stay where they are. But the local security units— we can’t let the Grass Eaters roam and attack our infrastructure for free. And of course, we’ll evacuate the residents of the flood zones.”
She tilted her head, awkwardly again, but remained silent.
There really is something wrong with this advisor, he thought. Something about her face, maybe? Or am I just being prejudiced?
He relayed the new commands on his datapad and then looked up at the advisor again. “Any other suggestions before we move onto the logistics pile up in Zone 14?”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Priunt Fusion Power 5, Datsot-3
POV: Skhork, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Six Whiskers)
The gatehouse guards slumped to the floor, dead before they heard the volley of shots.
“Go! Go! Go!” Skhork shouted at his platoons as they surged through the gates of the power plant complex. He knew they had no margin for error. With the Longclaw and its power charger in tow following right behind his infantry, all his infantry: this was going to be it. Either they succeeded here in their mission, or they were all dead.
The buildings erupted with gunfire as his veteran troops swarmed the under-defended buildings, though there did seem to be a few more guards here than there were at the last power plant raid.
The predators might be slow, but they occasionally do learn… Not fast enough, though… hopefully.
He looked back at his crew, busy setting up the unloaded Longclaw at the charging station with the makeshift charger. They had practiced and rehearsed the motions back at their hideout repeatedly, and they knew exactly what to do.
“Done!” his Engineer shouted at him as he hooked up one final component from beneath the engine at the back of the armored vehicle. “Ready to go when they deliver the power.”
A few more precious minutes passed as his troops cleared the buildings, then a runner from the front reported back. “Casualty report. Three killed, one lightly injured in Platoon 4, Six Whiskers.”
“Progress?”
“They’re securing the control room right now, sir. Any additional orders before I run back?”
Skhork checked his watch. A bit slower than expected, but they were still on schedule. “Remind them to hurry. We can’t afford any more delays. Their orbital support isn’t going to be below the horizon forever.”
“Yes, Six Whiskers!” the messenger said as he hop-sprinted back towards the sound of gunfire.
Another ten minutes later, the campus went quiet. Skhork’s Engineer let off a triumphant shout. “Yes! I’ve got power from the control room! Starting the charging process!”
The Driver poked his head out of the Longclaw cabin a moment later, giving them the paw gesture for success. “We’re getting power. Keep it going!”
It was not a very long wait. The power station output more than enough power to charge a lonely Longclaw. Skhork climbed into the Longclaw cabin with the rest of his crew. They quickly ran through the combat diagnostics program that evaluated the status of the vehicle.
“Drive systems, nominal.”
“Combat computer, nominal.”
“Cooling systems, functional.”
“Primary ammunition, half combat load. Secondary ammunition, quarter load.”
“Surveillance drones, nonfunctional.”
“Communication systems, disabled.”
“We are good to go!”
As Skhork got ready to button up the vehicle, he saw the runner hopping back towards them on the exterior camera. Standing up tall in the cupola, he waved at the runner excitedly. “The Longclaw is ready! Tell the platoons to move back to the rendezvous!”
The runner yipped, out of breath, “Six Whiskers… the troops… in the control tower… they saw incoming Lesser Predator reinforcements from the main road… Two rotary wings and a convoy of twelve transport vehicles!”
Skhork’s mind raced. How did they get here so fast this time? Skhork cursed under his breath. His Longclaw could get away easily if he started driving now. But if they caught up with his troops… he couldn’t attack the spaceport with just his Longclaw. Armor unsupported with infantry? That would be suicide.
A quick glance down at his combat computer told him the same.
“Runner, tell the platoons to move back to the rendezvous. The Longclaw will move to support Platoon 9. If you don’t see us back at the rendezvous in six hours, retreat and follow your standing orders.”
“Got it, Six Whiskers! May the Prophecy be done through you!”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Vmusht, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
Vmusht’s face turned ashen when she saw the urgent paw signals from the spotter.
Two rotary wings and twelve armored transports. The rotary wings weren’t the big problem. That’s what the portable air defense operators she brought with her were for. But twelve transport vehicles?
Last time she had trouble with just three, and she had much fewer qualified anti-armor operators this time. If they assumed the mines took out three of the vehicles, an optimistic estimate, they had rockets for… at best… another two or three. The remainder would undoubtedly unload their troops, and if these were the combat robots from last time…
But… the mission came first. And they had a chance to delay the enemy. This would not be a wasteful sacrifice. She steeled her face, ready to deliver the bad news to her platoon.
Her lieutenant exchanged a knowing glance with her. “Our lives were forfeited to the Prophecy the day we left the hatchling pools.”
With a nod, Vmusht rose, standing up on the berm of her dug out, raising her voice. “Platoon 9, tonight, we rejoin the Prophecy…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Her air defense operators waited to launch their portable missiles at the last possible moment, right before the armored vehicles entered their kill box. Vmusht thanked the Prophecy for their training and experience.
Two smoke trails lanced out from the forested area they were hiding in. One of the predator rotary wing gunships saw the threat coming, releasing a cloud of countermeasures as it tried to move out of the path of the missile, but it was too late.
Both were hit. One ate a hit in the tail: without the counter torque, it spiraled out of control, crashing into a fireball in the forest below.
Hot shrapnel from another missile sprayed into the main engine of the second aircraft: its rotor, still spinning with the airflow from the rapid descent of the aircraft, allowed its pilot to keep control as it slowly floated towards the ground for a semi-controlled landing.
Vmusht didn’t wait to see if the crew of the downed gunship made it out alive, instead barking an order to her demolition engineers to trigger the explosives on the road.
The convoy on the road exploded into chaos.
Her heart cheered as the first three armored vehicles instantly cooked up in flames.
Two rockets lanced out from her anti-armor team in perfect precision, destroying the last two vehicles of the convoy and immobilizing the remaining stuck in the chaos.
Five enemy vehicles down, seven more to go, Vmusht counted in her head.
As her launchers reloaded, she saw the remaining armored vehicles in the convoy come to a halt. One of them must have spotted the origin of the anti-aircraft missiles: its autocannon thundered, lighting up the forest behind them with high explosive rounds.
She didn’t have time to check whether her people made it out alive. The ramps on the vehicles dropped open, and enemy troops stormed out the back, firing their rifles at the trenches on the side of the road. She silently sighed in relief as she saw they were Lesser Predators… just the organic beings she was used to and not the new, mechanical ones she feared.
Her machine guns punctuated the night with their rapid fire, killing most of a predator squad as they exited their vehicle and pinning the remaining enemies down as they laid on the road. The disorganized predators spat a few rifle rounds towards her people, which were generally ineffective… until their vehicles swiveled their turrets towards the Znosian positions and began to pound them with their oversized autocannons.
One of her machine guns quickly fell silent. Then, the other. The fire from her other rifles began to slack as the incoming explosive rounds from the armored vehicles kept their heads down.
The pair of anti-armor launchers were finally ready, and she watched as they stood up in their dug outs, aiming at the convoy. But before they could fire, the enemy vehicles’ guns cut down one of them where they stood.
The other launcher managed to get her shot off, but the predators’ infantry targeted her, killing her before she could get down back into cover. On the road, Vmusht heard one of the enemy vehicles explode… one fewer autocannon raking her troops’ positions.
But they had nothing more for the remainder of the enemy vehicles.
This is it, Vmusht realized. Hopefully that was enough for the other platoons to get out.
Looking at the other troops huddled in the trench with her, she calmly sat down, closed her eyes, and began reciting the Prayer of Death. “My eternal gratitude to the Prophecy for this insignificant life of service. May It prevail through the will of others, and may the service of Its faithful and worthy Servants bring about Its coming. For Its glorious purpose, our lives were forfeited to the Prophecy the day we were hatched.”
She could barely hear herself in the din of battle. Looking around, she saw the others following her example, making their recitations to themselves as well, a few joining paws with their trench neighbors in solidarity as they readied their souls for the end.
But the end did not come.
Instead, she heard a loud whistle scream through the air.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Skhork, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Six Whiskers)
Another of the Lesser Predator vehicles exploded into flames.
“Gunner, second vehicle, 1-5-4-0, straight front, fire!”
She didn’t need Skhork’s instruction. As soon as the autoloader completed the reload, his Gunner sent another kinetic round towards the conveniently lined up enemy vehicles, perfectly calibrated for range and atmospheric effects by the combat computer.
Barely glancing at the result, she skewered another Lesser Predator vehicle. Then another. And only when she was targeting the last surviving vehicle of the convoy did the predators in it finally manage to pinpoint the location of their Longclaw.
Futilely, it sent a frantic burst of their low-caliber autocannon rounds in her direction. Most of them missed. A few bounced off the thick frontal armor without denting it. If Skhork was an undisciplined predator, he might have laughed or commented about how much he missed being a real Longclaw Commander.
Instead, he watched calmly as the Gunner serviced the final target without prejudice.
“All enemy vehicles destroyed,” she reported. “Platoon 9 is cleaning up the dismounted Lesser Predators and readying to leave.”
As the enemy vehicles died, the troops rushed out of their trenches towards the now-suppressed enemy troops, executing them. Skhork could see a couple of the squad leaders wave thankfully in his direction. “Good, let’s get out of here too. We only have a few more minutes before our orbital window to get to cover closes.”
