”Sir, the first armada has been annihilated. Survivors report that the Huujin turned their orbital defenses on the armada, and assassinated the admiral. Additionally the fifth and eight both report enormous casualties.
Sir, our losses have passed three million.”
Yragi swallows.
He had known this war was a folly, and the losses had proven that.
But the Huujin betrayal? He hadn’t expected it. Nor had any of the other chancellors.
“Sir, there are also reports of the alliance taking the Yul system.”
Yragi frowned even further.
The Yul system had been one of the best fortified positions in the sector, and had been containing the primary repair and refueling stations, in addition to the most important fuel dump in the contested sector. Losing it would be catastrophic for the armadas and would delay any deployments by many cycles.
It was unacceptable.
“Do we have any fleets that can respond to this?”
The control officer shakes his head slowly.
“The second, third and fourth armada is still preparing to deploy. The sixth and seventh are still being manned.”
Yragi takes a deep breath.
“Call all chancellors in the war council. We must increase our drafts. And we need to discuss the mercenary option.”
Olaf was bored.
It had been several cycles since the battle for Yul had finished, and he was bored out of his skull.
Being stuck in this damn system was like going to the dentist: Slow, painful, and disgusting.
The dust was getting to him. He hadn’t had this much heat, dust and sand since he visited New Jerusalem, something he hadn’t had any intention of repeating. But here he was, sitting among other berserkers, all bored.
It had been fun to terrorize the locals, for a while, but then it had lost its luster. He had noticed that they all reacted the same way: They always fled, screaming. Never putting up a fight. Never showing any guts.
It was a world of maggots, and he was stuck guarding the shithole.
What he wouldn’t do to get some action-
The alarms start blaring.
Olaf smiles.
“THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A JINX!”
The loudspeakers come online.
“ALL SOLDIERS TO BATTLE STATIONS! PREPARE FOR COMBAT!”
Olaf chuckles to himself. It fuckin’ worked.
The night sky was crisscrossed with anti-air fire, and Olaf could see spaceships burning in orbit.
The fact that he could see it from down here meant that they were big.
He could see the hostiles’ fire rain down on the huge shield covering the city, making rather beautiful ripples spread across the shield as if it was a still pond.
The Demiossians’ tech wasn’t half bad, for xenos. The shield didn’t as much as falter.
Olaf could see enemy troop transports catch fire as they were hit by AA fire, and come crashing down to the ground.
It was beautiful, and he couldn’t wait for the first enemy wave to land and attack them.
His hands were shivering in anticipation, and his whole body was tense from his sheer bloodlust.
The boxy contraptions made landing. He could see xeno centaur-creatures swarming out.
Quintar.
He’d always wanted some Quintar skulls.
Though for now he had to wait.
When they got past the shield, he would tear them to shreds. But for now he had to wait.
He spots the alien Warchief or whatever they were called line up the centaurs, and the charge began.
Alpha Ungal rallied his troops with a veteran’s experience.
He’d been through a lot of battles with Human pirates in the past, so he knew what to expect. At first the Humans would fight like wild beasts, but then when they started to take losses, they would crumble.
“Five females and a thousand credit to the one to kill the Human commander!”
He could hear his troops roar with bloodlust, and he smiled as other alphas made their way to the surface.
His rival, Haren, landed not too far away.
“Race you to the enemy commander, fuckface!”
His rival snorts.
“I have no intent of sitting still so you can win, ye daft guul!”
Ungal laughed. Today he would be able to show everyone his superiority to his rival.
He raises his plasma rifle in the air, and roars.
“CHARGE!”
His troops charge as ordered and he can see the other warbands follow suit.
He quickens his pace. No one would beat him to loot and glory.
The Humans hold their ground, and as Ungal breaches the barrier and raises his gun, they start opening fire.
Their accuracy is impressive, but Ungal knows that there are too many warriors here for the Humans to shoot down.
Ungal shoots at a Human that was standing outside of the trench.
The human moves impossibly fast, and dodges the bolt, and then starts to charge Ungal.
What is he doing? Humans aren’t this reckless!
No matter, he will trample this insolent ape!
Olaf easily dodges the large, blundering creature, and leaps onto the back of the centaur-xeno.
He is slightly impressed when the beast doesn’t instantly topple, but then again the Quintars were renowned to be the strongest species in the galaxy, not counting humans.
Grabbing the howling chieftain by the neck, Olaf begins to steer his unwilling mount around, merely tightening his grip every time it starts to resist.
Olaf howls with joy as he cleaves through the creatures’ comrades, who seem taken aback by the mere idea that their chieftain was used as a pony.
The xeno takes two plasma blasts to the chest, and collapses with a pained groan.
Olaf grits his teeth.
Fuckers took away his fun.
Now he was angry.
He charges the shooter, another chieftain from the looks of it, and he allows the blood rage to consume him as he rends flesh, bone and metal with the brutality of a demon, and the grace of a dancer.
Though to Olaf, it was all a dervish of carnage. Within minutes, Olaf was covered in alien blood. But he didn’t care.
They had killed his pony.
No one kills his pony.
Mayuki roars over the deafening sounds of the battle.
“Hold the line!”
To tell the truth, there wasn’t much of a line to hold. The trenches were becoming filled with corpses as more and more Quintar were charging their position.
The ones who could see the bloodbath trying to retreat, only to be forced onwards by the press of bodies from behind.
Mayuki could see the anti-air turrets explode as alien bombs detonated in green fire, and how more and more dropships landed.
There was no hope. There was just too many of them.
Then she spotted Olaf, standing in a sea of broken corpses. He slew Quintar left and right, never pausing, never doubting.
Never afraid.
She looked on, for a moment stuck in awe for the red hurricane of gore that was tearing through the Quintar.
He wasn’t a man. He was the will of god made manifest.
She takes strength from this knowledge, and she rallies her troops.
“For Gammorrah, brothers and sisters! With me!”
The battle raged on, and the proud warriors of Gammorrah held the line.