SSharp
Inactive Member
Khorovarolor
Second Quarter, AF 260
2600 Hours Abwehr Standard
AAF Khorovarolor Staging Area 03
The natives had proved to be uncooperative, following the end of the Plague nearly two years ago. With the simultaneous collapse of their government and destruction of their military forces at Abwehran hands, it was only natural that there would be resistance against any foreign power trying to keep things under control. But somehow, it was still a surprise to people who were paid more than William Harke.
The young Leutnant currently had his arms folded, one pair atop the other pair, as he watched his platoon slowly wake. It was mostly a male platoon -- which reflected on the AAF in general -- of forty-eight... no, forty-seven strong. His eyes rested on the only empty bunk in the Platoon's small barracks. On top were the goggles belonging to what had been the only Nightwalker among them. She must have felt out of place among so many Surfacers.
Sarah Merkov hadn't returned from the last patrol. William thought he was lucky -- if that bomb hadn't gone off so early, he would have lost the core of his platoon -- even if he cursed the Khorsoi to hell. Why couldn't those ungrateful bastards see that they were only trying to keep the peace? Why couldn't they see that they were only trying to help? But, again, it was only natural.
When the Khorovarolor Government had collapsed, the Abwehran Star Empire stepped in to stop the chaos before it could start. Marines were landed, and temporary bases such as the one his platoon's barracks belonged to were set up. In the eyes of the Khorsoi, it was an occupation. Many blamed the plague on the Abwehrans too. A good portion of what amounted to the Khorsoi's Army vanished around the same time, and used their training to good effect. There was still fighting in some of the more wild areas of Khorovarolor, on top of the urban insurgencies and riots.
"Chief." William's quiet voice carried over to his senior NCO.
The man looked up from where he sat reading an electronic letter -- probably from Home -- and stood. "Yes, Herr Harke?"
The man's four arms were large and toned. His brown, flattop hair only added to his image as a body builder.
"Chief, assemble the Platoon. We're going out on another patrol in the Refugee camp. Assemble them quickly."
"MARINES! ASSEMBLE!" Chief shouted at the groggy faces.
The platoon moved to file into their four squads, and then lined up by fire team. There was Stabsbootsmann Erikk, Heinrich, Toam, and Dillzbee with their squads.
William stepped in front of them -- only a meter away in the cramped space of the barracks -- with the Chief on his left. "I want this Platoon prepared for a patrol of the Refugee camp. Standard kit, but I want the Medics -- " There were only three, now, with Sarah gone from Erikk's squad. " -- to carry an extra kit in case we need it. We're doing a long circuit, so bring some rations along. We'll eat while we move at 3400 Hours. Any questions?"
"Sir," A lowly Maat asked from the back of the formation, "are we expecting an attack? This is our second patrol in a day. In two days, if you want to use the damn Khors' time."
"You'll know when I know. This is just business as usual, Marines. Now get prepped. We're moving out in thirty minutes."
As one, the platoon shouted "Jawoll!" and rushed to obey his orders.
William desperately hoped there wasn't something in the works by the Khorsoi. He hoped that it would just be a boring patrol. He hoped that no one would get hurt.
He should have know he would be disappointed.
----------------
3200 Hours
The Platoon was spread out in a lumpy line. At the head, Heinrich's squad moved in pairs as they picked their way through the general trash and chaotic 'streets' of the tent-city that made for the Refugee Camp. Tall tents, short tents, shacks, shelters, and even large boxes made homes for the Khorsoi who had fled from their small towns for the 'safety' of the bigger cities. A child drew pictures in the dirt, happily humming a song. As the Marines of the Abwehran Star Empire passed, a female Khorsoi picked the child up and vanished into a tent with a furious glance at William.
Other Khorsoi civilians acted much the same. An older one even spat on the boots of Heinrich's point-man as he passed. But usually, it was an angry look, muttered curses or avoidance. The latter behavior made for clear movement, and was the most common.
As they slowly came upon the center of the Refugee Camp, the numbers of civilians seemed to thin, until finally there were none left. At that point, in the dead-center of the Camp, William called a halt to his makeshift column.
His squad leaders gathered 'round while the enlisted formed a tight perimeter around them on the street.
"What's wrong, Herr Leutnant?" The Chief asked.
"Something's up. Where are the civvies?"
"The Plague? Violence? Maybe they finally decided to go home." Erikk supplied.
"I hope for the Plague. Fewer Khorsoi makes for a better day, I say." This, from Dillzbee with her arms resting across the rifle slung across her chest.
William shook his head. "Erikk, I want you to have three of your marines double back and around the other side of the center, and if they see anything suspicious I want them to report in."
"Jawoll." Erikk inclined his head respectfully.
"I want everyone else to eat and rest for a few minutes, then we'll start moving again."
With that, William turned away as a clear sign of dismissal. He had to think for a moment.
Anything could be up ahead, and he didn't cherish the idea of 'finding' another bomb. Worst still would be an Ambush, which was why he had sent those marines to double back on the other side. If they saw those Marines, though... It would cause a panic in the insurgents, force them to either attack or, better yet, disengage and wait for someone else. Fight or flight, and William knew which he would choose.
Once satisfied that his platoon was well rested, William gave the order to advance once more.
The first few minutes of the renewed patrol went by peacefully, moving through a 'street' amongst the tents. It was hardly comfortable, with the Abwehrans forced to walk closer together. Elbows bumped, and the stench of sweat and excitement filled ones' nostrils.
Then, when they exited the small street and entered a large open area, all hell broke loose.
A bomb exploded from beneath Heinrich's point-man. The poor Maat disintegrated into a mist of blood and shattered bone. Behind him, most of his squad were swept off their feet and hailed by shrapnel.
Then, sounds of gunfire came from the next street over. William saw Erikk move his hand to his radio before the next bout of gunfire erupted from across the clearing. The Stabsbootsman collapsed with several holes in his chest, and someone began crying out for a medic.
The Marines who were still standing hit the ground, or ducked behind any cover they could find. William chose the space behind a tent to hide. The chatter of a machine gun filled the air, and bullets ripped into the ground or stitched across jerking bodies.
"RETURN FIRE!" The Chief roared at the dazed Marines. The ones who hadn't before now brought up their rifles and fired wildly at the now-visible Khorsoi.
William brought his own weapon to bear, and added his fire to the rest of his platoon's.
Suddenly, the unfairness of it all struck him for the second time that day. What had his marines ever done to deserve this? They hadn't pulled the trigger. They hadn't killed anyone who hadn't attacked first. So why did his boys have to suffer for something that had happened two quarters ago? Why?
Then the second bomb went off, and the thoughts of how unfair things were vanished forever from Leutnant William Harke's mind.
Second Quarter, AF 260
2600 Hours Abwehr Standard
AAF Khorovarolor Staging Area 03
The natives had proved to be uncooperative, following the end of the Plague nearly two years ago. With the simultaneous collapse of their government and destruction of their military forces at Abwehran hands, it was only natural that there would be resistance against any foreign power trying to keep things under control. But somehow, it was still a surprise to people who were paid more than William Harke.
The young Leutnant currently had his arms folded, one pair atop the other pair, as he watched his platoon slowly wake. It was mostly a male platoon -- which reflected on the AAF in general -- of forty-eight... no, forty-seven strong. His eyes rested on the only empty bunk in the Platoon's small barracks. On top were the goggles belonging to what had been the only Nightwalker among them. She must have felt out of place among so many Surfacers.
Sarah Merkov hadn't returned from the last patrol. William thought he was lucky -- if that bomb hadn't gone off so early, he would have lost the core of his platoon -- even if he cursed the Khorsoi to hell. Why couldn't those ungrateful bastards see that they were only trying to keep the peace? Why couldn't they see that they were only trying to help? But, again, it was only natural.
When the Khorovarolor Government had collapsed, the Abwehran Star Empire stepped in to stop the chaos before it could start. Marines were landed, and temporary bases such as the one his platoon's barracks belonged to were set up. In the eyes of the Khorsoi, it was an occupation. Many blamed the plague on the Abwehrans too. A good portion of what amounted to the Khorsoi's Army vanished around the same time, and used their training to good effect. There was still fighting in some of the more wild areas of Khorovarolor, on top of the urban insurgencies and riots.
"Chief." William's quiet voice carried over to his senior NCO.
The man looked up from where he sat reading an electronic letter -- probably from Home -- and stood. "Yes, Herr Harke?"
The man's four arms were large and toned. His brown, flattop hair only added to his image as a body builder.
"Chief, assemble the Platoon. We're going out on another patrol in the Refugee camp. Assemble them quickly."
"MARINES! ASSEMBLE!" Chief shouted at the groggy faces.
The platoon moved to file into their four squads, and then lined up by fire team. There was Stabsbootsmann Erikk, Heinrich, Toam, and Dillzbee with their squads.
William stepped in front of them -- only a meter away in the cramped space of the barracks -- with the Chief on his left. "I want this Platoon prepared for a patrol of the Refugee camp. Standard kit, but I want the Medics -- " There were only three, now, with Sarah gone from Erikk's squad. " -- to carry an extra kit in case we need it. We're doing a long circuit, so bring some rations along. We'll eat while we move at 3400 Hours. Any questions?"
"Sir," A lowly Maat asked from the back of the formation, "are we expecting an attack? This is our second patrol in a day. In two days, if you want to use the damn Khors' time."
"You'll know when I know. This is just business as usual, Marines. Now get prepped. We're moving out in thirty minutes."
As one, the platoon shouted "Jawoll!" and rushed to obey his orders.
William desperately hoped there wasn't something in the works by the Khorsoi. He hoped that it would just be a boring patrol. He hoped that no one would get hurt.
He should have know he would be disappointed.
----------------
3200 Hours
The Platoon was spread out in a lumpy line. At the head, Heinrich's squad moved in pairs as they picked their way through the general trash and chaotic 'streets' of the tent-city that made for the Refugee Camp. Tall tents, short tents, shacks, shelters, and even large boxes made homes for the Khorsoi who had fled from their small towns for the 'safety' of the bigger cities. A child drew pictures in the dirt, happily humming a song. As the Marines of the Abwehran Star Empire passed, a female Khorsoi picked the child up and vanished into a tent with a furious glance at William.
Other Khorsoi civilians acted much the same. An older one even spat on the boots of Heinrich's point-man as he passed. But usually, it was an angry look, muttered curses or avoidance. The latter behavior made for clear movement, and was the most common.
As they slowly came upon the center of the Refugee Camp, the numbers of civilians seemed to thin, until finally there were none left. At that point, in the dead-center of the Camp, William called a halt to his makeshift column.
His squad leaders gathered 'round while the enlisted formed a tight perimeter around them on the street.
"What's wrong, Herr Leutnant?" The Chief asked.
"Something's up. Where are the civvies?"
"The Plague? Violence? Maybe they finally decided to go home." Erikk supplied.
"I hope for the Plague. Fewer Khorsoi makes for a better day, I say." This, from Dillzbee with her arms resting across the rifle slung across her chest.
William shook his head. "Erikk, I want you to have three of your marines double back and around the other side of the center, and if they see anything suspicious I want them to report in."
"Jawoll." Erikk inclined his head respectfully.
"I want everyone else to eat and rest for a few minutes, then we'll start moving again."
With that, William turned away as a clear sign of dismissal. He had to think for a moment.
Anything could be up ahead, and he didn't cherish the idea of 'finding' another bomb. Worst still would be an Ambush, which was why he had sent those marines to double back on the other side. If they saw those Marines, though... It would cause a panic in the insurgents, force them to either attack or, better yet, disengage and wait for someone else. Fight or flight, and William knew which he would choose.
Once satisfied that his platoon was well rested, William gave the order to advance once more.
The first few minutes of the renewed patrol went by peacefully, moving through a 'street' amongst the tents. It was hardly comfortable, with the Abwehrans forced to walk closer together. Elbows bumped, and the stench of sweat and excitement filled ones' nostrils.
Then, when they exited the small street and entered a large open area, all hell broke loose.
A bomb exploded from beneath Heinrich's point-man. The poor Maat disintegrated into a mist of blood and shattered bone. Behind him, most of his squad were swept off their feet and hailed by shrapnel.
Then, sounds of gunfire came from the next street over. William saw Erikk move his hand to his radio before the next bout of gunfire erupted from across the clearing. The Stabsbootsman collapsed with several holes in his chest, and someone began crying out for a medic.
The Marines who were still standing hit the ground, or ducked behind any cover they could find. William chose the space behind a tent to hide. The chatter of a machine gun filled the air, and bullets ripped into the ground or stitched across jerking bodies.
"RETURN FIRE!" The Chief roared at the dazed Marines. The ones who hadn't before now brought up their rifles and fired wildly at the now-visible Khorsoi.
William brought his own weapon to bear, and added his fire to the rest of his platoon's.
Suddenly, the unfairness of it all struck him for the second time that day. What had his marines ever done to deserve this? They hadn't pulled the trigger. They hadn't killed anyone who hadn't attacked first. So why did his boys have to suffer for something that had happened two quarters ago? Why?
Then the second bomb went off, and the thoughts of how unfair things were vanished forever from Leutnant William Harke's mind.
