Retribution- The Future of Warfare
I'm not sure how this system is working now that the switch to IPB has been implemented, so EVula if you need to delete this post to get things working right, go ahead. I'll just resubmit later. Otherwise...enjoy.
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Retribution: The 'Future' Of Warfare
Enlightenment and Free Nations of Sol forces have set aside their differences in order to combat the alien Naztain threat that even now sweeps across their worlds. But in an age of increasing computerization and less human contact between battlefield entities, complacency and underestimation can be deadly indeed...
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Quit your whining, Dazger. Its only about twenty kilometers give or take until we actually enter a combat zone. Until then, keep your damn mouth shut and do the rest of us all a favor. Ayan, micronuclear armaments specialist for strike group Antrat-Midgar-Five-Five-Zero rolled his eyes and kept on marching. The small group of soldiers moved warily down a corridor recently cleared by human coalition military dozers amidst the rubble and ruins of the enemy city. Gunshots and occasional explosions echoed in the distance.
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Twenty-five kilometers away, an intense firefight was taking place. The marines of Free Nations of Sol Strike Group Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine, equipped with Powered Combat Armor and firing gauss weaponry, methodically advanced forwards, their weapons striking down enemy signatures with deadly precision, infrared light refracted through their advanced comm.-linked scopes.
Fall back! someone screamed through a personnel commset. The marines moved backwards as the ground began to shake, and a burst of mortars rose into the air like a brilliant starburst, their lithium-metal engines burning brightly, lighting up the gloom of late dusk and nightfall among urban ruins. Blasting downwards towards the ground after reaching their apex, the explosion cleared the vicinity- rubble was blown away as if it were dry leaves caught in an autumn wind, fragments of Naztain troops arced into the air, splattering in every direction, and the puddles of fuel upon the ground suddenly burst into blaze, illuminating the surroundings in an eerie, flickering orange glow.
One of the marines toggled open his helmet visor and wiped his brow. Good job, EG289, he spoke into his radio.
Everyones accounted for, sir. The reply was quick and deferent.
Good. Call in the convoy.
This is Eridan-Galba 2-8-9, reporting the termination of enemy hostiles at Sector Fifteen, Quadrant A. Permission granted to move convoy forwards no more than two hundred meters. A radio crackled, and a train of massive military trucks, their plasma-combustion engines rumbling beneath layers of armor plating, began inching forwards, their gunners lowering their sights and scanning the desolate, wrecked terrain for any sign of enemy activity.
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Aleph Command Sector, otherwise known as AlephCom to commandants and soldiers alike, was usually a place of dimmed lights, commandants and tacticians huddling over holo-displays and brightly-glowing computer screens, all light-years removed from the action. Tonight was no different: the escort of the convoy was being managed and directed from light-years away through subspace radio transmissions, carried directly upon the ethereal void.
Upon the holo-display at the Fifth Station, a group of red circles blinked out of existence, and the purple symbols formerly engaging them began moving forwards. About a fifth of a kilometer behind the symbols (represented upon the display as twelve inches at this magnification level), a line of blue squares slowly advanced forwards, and part of the screen started flashing a faint green.
It would be an uneventful night.
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Private First Class Lance lifted his helmet visor, a confused look upon his boyish face. Sir, weve just received new orders from AlephCom: we are to move eight kilometers towards the southwest and intercept a Naztain demolition squad moving towards the convoy position. Im transmitting specifics right now to your suit computers.
The leader of the platoon gritted his teeth, and another bomb exploded in the distance, briefly illuminating the Army of Sol emblem etched upon his left shoulder pad. A mental impulse established a communications connection with the rest of the strike group: Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine, prepare to move out per new orders. Coordinates 1042.12- 443.67, sector fifty-eight. Your suit heads-up displays should be briefing you on the mission niceties as soon as the transmission concludes.
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Gunner, Class One Stephen frowned as he surveyed the terrain through a macroscope, the land brightly laid out in the bright greens and blacks of infrared. Picking up his radio, he fingered the trigger upon his Deathmaker 15A automatic mounted rifle: Im picking up at least fifty signatures, without identifying signal beacons. They seem to be enemy units His military truck, the third in the convoy, bumped along the roughly-hewn path.
Suddenly, bolts of plasma began flying towards the vehicle. I thought our strike group cleared the sector! What the (*) is going on? Stephen swung his gunners seat around, lowered himself into combat configuration, and began answering fire- it would not be long before the whole convoy began answering fire.
The trucks suddenly began picking up speed; the fifty or so shapes came closer, bounding towards the convoy. Tracer fire arced across the blackness.
There are too many of them! Cant hold them followed by a scream, from the gunner for the rear truck. Stephen turned around suddenly: a Naztain, its claws smattering into the unprotected body of the hapless gunner, its mandibles open The gunfire swung around, and the Naztain was blown apart with a horrific screech. In its place, fifteen more appeared, bounding towards the convoy at great speed, each stride bringing them ten or so meters closer to the unprotected convoy.
Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine report in! Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine report in! No response Stephen switched the radio channel: Central Command! Under attack- please advise. There are too many of them to hold off! No response either.
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Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine trudged towards the target zone, warily scanning the wrecked structure ahead of him for potential enemy snipers or ambushers. None here move on, and with a rough gesture the assault team moved on.
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Deciding to breach military protocols in order to buy the convoy some time, Stephen began scanning for friendly troops in the vicinity. He finally found what he was looking for in the form of a tank group not more than six kilometers away. Rousing the commander upon radio, he began screaming into the radio.
This is Convoy 15-243-3A, requesting immediate assistance! We are under heavy attack and unable to make contact with either our escort group or AlephCom! Repeat, requesting immediate assistance!
After an agonizing fifteen seconds, a response: Were coming, Convoy 15-243-3A. Sit tight ETA is fifteen minutes. Can you hold out?
Well try. Stephen shut off the radio and trained his guns upon yet another target.
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The trail of blue squares moved smoothly across the path delineated by a red line running through the contour map projected by the holo-device. Stephens voice, muffled and full of interference, filtered through the commandants headset. Roger, sir, everythings perfectly normal right now. Well keep you updated as we move towards the target
The commandant looked across at his young assistant. Hopefully the Enlightenment sapper squad will be able to demolish the assault fortification blocking the convoys way across the Sector Twenty-Five bridge before too long
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There they are Private Lances voice filtered over the headset.
Everyone take your positions, was the quick reply. Im about to call in an airstrike upon the enemy. I hope that convoy is safe I dont know what AlephCom was thinking reassigning us out here, the leader muttered.
A TracComp .scrolling lines of data as encrypted codes were authenticated and transmitted to a groundsweeper squadron circling in a holding pattern at high altitude. Fifteen seconds
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Something is terribly wrong here, Dazger moaned, as the soldiers of Antrat-Midgar-Five-Five-Zero climbed over a particularly treacherous pile of debris. I can feel it in my bones
For the last time, shut up and keep on walking! The annoyed reply filtered through the suit radio. Fine! Ill conduct a sweep for you see? No enemy signatures! Were perfectly fine! So shut your yap, or Ill do it for you!
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Five bright pinpoints of lights appeared in the sky, twinkling against the jet-black night, as the faint roar of turbine engines began to shake the ground.
There was another minute of silence as Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine waited anxiously for the groundsweepers to arrive.
Theres something wrong, sir. They dont walk like Naztain and they certainly arent equipped with Naztain weaponry
Sir! The radio beacons theyre not Naztain! Theyre Antrat-Midgar-Five-Five-Zero!
The captain of the platoon examined his maps. Damn it to hell! Youre right were right on their projected path! Im calling off the airstrike!
Too late! I cant rouse them on radio frequencies Im going up to warn them!
Wait! No! The private leapt up, making himself visible, and was promptly cut down by returning fire from the jittery Enlightenment troops.
No! What the (*) did you do that for?!
The airstrike! Get back, men!! The drone of the turbines grew deafening.
()! () () ()!
A second too late, the men of both Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine and Antrat-Midgar-Five-Five-Zero realized the fatal mistake that had been made, right before the plasma-bombs that exploded and blossomed into incandescent blossoms of fire immolated both squadrons, burning fire smashing into the position, incinerating even the stone. Molten steel pooled onto the ground, white-hot, and plasma splashed onto the nearby structure, scalding the top three inches of alloy plating right off the surface.
Many of the men in both squadrons had often shared their fears about death. Lance was deathly afraid of dismemberment by Naztain melee troops, while Dagzer had always considered death by burial and suffocation too terrible to tolerate. In a perverse way, it was probably one of the most merciful deaths that the war could have offered a quick, painless snuffing-out by plasma so hot that nerves and brain tissue were hydrogen vapors before consciousness died.
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The sleek groundsweepers roared over the terrain and began climbing steeply.
Red Four reporting in. Sensors confirmation of scheduled target destruction over
Red Leader weve lost their beacons. Thats strange I hope theyre alright over
This is Red Two Im buying my fiancée a wedding ring with the bonus were getting for our next successful mission thanks, guys over
Red Three, here Im buying you all drinks when we get back. How does Victory Vodka sound?
Save it for base, you guys over The squadron leader flicked a switch, and the bombers roared into the distance.
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AlephCom was quiet. The quiet was disturbed only by the tapping of keys and faint whispers.
Weve got confirmed destruction of the Assault Fortification the convoy is moving along smoothly, and Eridan-Galba-Two-Eight-Nine has reported nothing out of the ordinary so far. Its quiet the commander noted.
Too quiet the assistant added.
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The tanks had finally arrived and not a moment too late, thought Stephen. Answering shock-cannon fire finally began to quell the Naztain advance, as the lightly-armed soldiers were no match for the heavy armor. A few of the insect-like aliens were ground under the treads of the tanks, while many more were pulverized by the deadly cross-fire. Stephen had always found them a disquieting enemy undoubtedly insectoid, but also just mammalian enough in nature to make fighting them a uniquely disturbing proposition. And they were definitely not the mindless teeth-gnashing drones that the most venerated science fiction had made them out to be
How many more minutes before the last two vehicles are operational?
Five, at the very most. Give me a bit more time. The reply, impatient and frustrated, crackled over the radio.
Tank squadron weve got a suspicion here could you check out the assault fortification at coordinates sector thirty for us? It should be gone by now Stephen eyed the dark road ahead, lit only by the floodlights of the lead vehicles.
Negative, sir. Our long-range sensors indicate that it is still there.
Curses (*)! This is Gunner Stephen reporting in, were taking the alternate route Antrat-Midgar-Five-Five-Zero failed to neutralize the assault fortification AlephCom must be out of their collective mind , he thought to himself.
With the Naztain fleeing at this point, the lead truck ground onto a lengthier- but safer- detour. The truck convoy took a sharp turn, this time escorted by the tanks.
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Everything is quite fine Lances voice crackled over the AlephCom commandants headset.
Its going to be a quiet night tonight The assistant turned and left the room.
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The Naztain clicked his mandibles, the functional equivalent of a smile, but also denoting a sly sort of pride in his accomplishments. He rose from his post and stepped away.
Distributed operations involving central commanders light-years away from the engagement zone controlling multiple entities in real-time. Commands executed at an unprecedented rate no matter the distance between commander and soldier via subspace communications
The humans had obviously not counted upon the severance of said communications and its replacement with a cleverly fabricated but lethally deceptive substitute- Naztain systems displaying a markedly different picture of the battlefield to commanders and soldiers, but both as far from the truth as possible. The convoy had not been destroyed- a failure, to be brutally upfront- but the technology had been proven now.
This post has been edited by UE_Research & Development: 09 September 2004 - 07:24 PM