The Marines made short work of their opponents. Against the relentless advance by the 4th Fleet's Marines, veterans of the Rok'Veru Offensive, the former Paragon mercenaries could not stand up to them. Whilst skilled as paramilitary operators, it had been too long since any of them had faced an equally professional and deadly force. They also had the huge disadvantage of lacking power armor.
Complacency alone was a deadly fault but coupled with the enormous handicap of facing modern power armor with barely adequate weapons, the mercenaries put up a brave though brief resistance. It took the Cavaliers exactly thirty seconds to wipe out the position before them. Led by Phaedra, the Cavaliers, minus their medics, ploughed through the front rank of the mercenaries. The six Nepleslians were ripped to pieces by pulse lasers and the heavy power armor weapons.
Phaedra was the spear-point. A long volley of mini-missiles spread out from her Hostile's calves, destroying the obstacles in her path and scattering her opposition. Liberally applied ARROWs were the textbook assault cover. And infantry had no defense against them. As she and her squad passed through the smoke and debris, they found a pair of mortar teams hastily trying to pack up. That act of equipment preservation cost them their small chance of escape as the Cavaliers simply gunned them down where they stood. No mercy was offered. Those were the orders.
Once upon a time, Phaedra had been chastised for gunning down defecting NMX Nekos. Today, the same man who had chastised her was giving the execution orders.
"Brilliant work, Cavaliers. Looks like we've got 'em. Admiral's compliments, all 4th Fleet Marines report for immediate debriefing. Time to break open one of those crates of whiskey the Admiral gave us," Leon Santiago congratulated them.
-------------------------------
"Bernhard!"
"What, Romero?!" All of a sudden, the nightmare was gone but the scorched and ruined streets remained. But there weren't fires as far as the eye could see. All of the damage was localized to just this area. The cold fear in his gut remained but it was as if waking from a bad dream by having cold water doused on him. Bernhard slowly unclenched his fingers, shocked that they were clenched and that he was on the ground.
"Did I..." he started to ask but immediately enveloped by Laura's VOID.
"First time I ever saw Marines hug each other like that in Armor," Sergeant Hardman commented as his squad appeared on the roof. Laura gave him a middle finger.
"You should always be prepared for the unexpected, Sergeant. First rule of warfare." Corporal Holmes' interjection received the same response.
Bernhard's temporary lapse would be dealt with later. With Sergeant Volkov and qualified doctors. For now, Laura was glad he was back amongst the living and not lost in the ruins of Rok'Veru.
--------------------------------
Later
Sweaty, stinky but alive, the Marines gathered in one of the lounges. It was an odd place to choose but the Marines grabbed the comfy chairs and lounged around. Some from Rochester's squad started napping on the carpeted floor.
The Cavaliers were joined by a face they'd never seen. Introduced as Pvt. Alexander Reams, the new guy fell into the squad without a voice of complaint.
Then one of the doors to the lounge swung open and in a crisp blue and black uniform, with golden decorations adorning his shoulders, Grand Admiral Valken marched into the room. There was no announcement of "Officer on deck."
As some of the Marines made to stand and salute, Valken waved them to remain as they were. He was flanked by a pair of bodyguards and Rear Admiral Ironside.
Uncharacteristically, he pulled up a chair and sat down in it. His entourage appeared surprised by the move but stood around him like statues.
"I've been in a lot of wars. They are really strange things, unpredictable and chaotic. But this... this isn't war. This is someone's political game and from what I have seen of the outside, you've beaten it. Someone, something is at work here and rest assured, the IPG will find it. While we've been back, you've been my bodyguards, protecting this gilded cage. Thank you. I think this is the second time that some of you have saved my bacon so doubly thank you to those people.
"We have a month until the New Year. Starting tomorrow, you have leave but you're restricted to the planet. The 405th will take over guarding this building though I doubt they'll try anything like that again. I won't even be here. Tomorrow, I transfer my flag back to the flagship. The new Dauntless is arriving and we can begin fleet maneuvers. After that, we're going to have a friendly exercise with parts of 2nd and 3rd Fleets, including ground combat on Delsauria. Chief Santiago," Valken stood and handed the Marines' senior officer a slip of paper.
"Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you." The Admiral left with a ghost of a smile on his face. As the door closed behind Admiral Ironside, Leon looked at the paper and read it aloud.
"'All personnel who have served more than six months are hereby awarded elite status. All personnel who have served less than that are promoted by one grade. Promotions and pay adjustments are effective immediately. Signed, Dominic Valken.' Oh, there's a postscript. 'This week's code for the contraband locker on the 8th floor is AMBER. Help yourselves to it this one time and don't tell anyone. Not even Admiral Ironside or she'll do this to me!'"
Leon started laughing and handed the paper to the others. It had two little hand drawn comical figures, fat and short. One was obviously the Grand Admiral in his uniform, fleeing for life while the other was an exaggerated Admiral Ironside with knife and pistol in one hand looking to murder him. The figures were even colored with pens, showing how much work the Grand Admiral had put into the doodle.
