[sarnas]

This is the second part to one of my novels, so you may not know what the people look like or who they are, but all will be explained later 8) Comments please!



Alistair lay flat against what remained of the planet’s capitol city, covering his head as mosquito dive bombers hummed overhead, scant feet above the Greek soldier’s head. Despite his wish to keep all of him in one piece, he could not resist a glance at the passing craft. It always fascinated him how the tiny space craft failed to hit the ground as they pulled up at the last second from their nearly ninety degree dive. Before he cowered back behind the ruined cover, he observed small objects drop from the mosquito dive bombers. As soon as they had arrived, they had vanished. A series of massive explosives rocked the earth below him. Dirt, stones, rubble and occasionally reptilian limbs rained down on the Greek infantry squad. The target, a group of dozens of Rogz, had been almost entirely obliterated, the dive bombers being much more accurate than the high level bombers. All the mosquitoes’ had to do was aim their craft, and let the bombs fly. First Lieutenant Andrastea was soon upon the men. “Onwards you lazy sobs, get moving! You want to live forever?”
“Hell no!” The sixty infantry replied as they leapt from cover, and charged the last known enemy position. High level bombers passed by over head. Alistair experienced an odd feeling every time he saw bombers go by. Some of the boys up above would not be coming back home. They would be busy pounding the Shrak Collectives positions farther into the city. Alistair gripped his weapon in one hand, using the other to pull himself up from the rubble. Moving was difficult with shields, which rubbed against anything you were trying to grip, and gave you less balance on your feet. Compared to some things Alistair had seen, he would rather have them on than off. A wounded Rog tried to crawl away from the battle field. The reptilian creature was missing both legs, and the short scaly neck was punctured in many places. Its jaw was open, displaying many rows of small, sharp teeth. Its head was very narrow, widening the farther back one looked. Its eyes were the size of fists, yet no pupils could be found within their black depths. Both arms and legs carried three joints and three fingers or toes. The large, whip like tail carried an odd hook on the end. Some soldiers had observed Rogz using the hook to climb. Those men were now long dead.
“Your mine, you little piece of shit.” He whispered, stepping on the alien’s body, lowering his weapon. When he pulled back the trigger, a trio of bullets shot forth from the spears tip, burrowing into the Rog’s head. Blue blood splattered across the paved road. “Good riddance.” He spat on the corpse, and kept walking.

Rounds pelted off the energy field scant millimetres before his airtight battle armour. “Cover, take cover!” Alistair shouted, as the percentage meter showing his shield’s status dipped dramatically. Bullets flew by beside his head, fired from his comrades into the buildings in the next intersection. The entire area looked dead. No building was left untouched. Some seemed to have been bitten by giants, while others had simply collapsed. Bullet holes and burn marks covered every foot of ground. Crumpled bodies from both sides were too easy to find, along with the shattered wreckage of fighting vehicles. One Greek soldier yelled out “Five of them, third floor, red building!” Alistair adjusted his view, and sure enough five bulbous, grey heads filled the empty windows of the said building. Their long ‘spiker’ rifles struck out from the window frames. Small orange crystal-darts shoot from the barrel’s end, heading towards the advancing infantry. One Greek took several hits, his shields becoming visible as they flickered, and tried to protect the man inside. As he dove for cover, another round struck him in the neck. With the round gliding through his now useless shields, and striking the weak neck armour, the man was dead before he died. The round shattered after penetrating the man’s skin, sending lethal shards flying into his vital organs. Blood splattered over the silver visor and leaked through the hole within the armour. His jugular was sliced open in several places, shards stuck into his spinal cord. Shards the size of fingers sliced into the already dead Greek’s lungs and heart. He crumpled into a pool of his own blood.

The platoon took cover, each man trying to kill the enemy without risking his life more than a soldier had too. “Alpha squad, suppress those cock suckers!” “Aye sir!” Alistair stayed behind the stone wall. He only showed his hand, blind fired his entire magazine in the Rogz location. A soldier huddled in the middle of the street, aiming his SMISW grenade launcher. When the trooper fired, a trail of smoke shot from the rear of the weapon, as the ordnance left the barrel. The soldier’s aim was true, and the shot entered the building before exploding. Crumpled bodies slumped onto the window sills, whilst one of the five fell from the fifth story to the ground. “Bravo squad, secure the building, Charlie squad give them cover. Go, go, go!” Alistair crouched behind the wall, leaning out as he raised the rifle scope to his eye. Even when not under order, it was unspoken law to watch each other’s back. Two squads of infantry advanced cautiously towards the target building. Just because the enemy looked dead... Looks could be deceiving.

Bremusa flew in support of the armoured assault group. Triangle formations of light tanks advanced before trios of their heavier cousins. It seemed the higher-ups were throwing everything they had left into the attack to retake the capitol. The first attack had failed, leaving three divisions trapped within the cities limits. This attack was much larger. Hundreds of squadrons, fifteen armoured divisions and sixty infantry divisions led the charge into the once great city. The defences were still intact, and soon machine spikers were raking their way through the infantry like a scythe through wheat. Both sides began to launch artillery salvos at one another with shells soon filling the air. Many buildings were destroyed in the onslaught, softening up the enemy positions. Shrak artillery landed amongst the infantry, killing whole squads at a time. Sniper fire added to the butcher’s bill, as the second wave fought to liberate Syracuse. Soon the Brazkars began firing their distinctive anti-tank field guns upon the Greek advance. Balls of pure blue energy glided through the air, passing through armoured vehicles as if they were paper. Greek dive bombers descended upon these targets first, along with a screen of fighter escorts. Bremusa slammed the throttle into full, twisting her craft to avoid a fatal anti-air round.

The air battle that clouded the sky was furious. Fighters turned and twisted, each trying to get behind their targets ass. Collisions killed almost as many as guns or missiles. Hundreds of drop ships descended upon their drop off locations. Dozens never made it; even with scores of fighters doing everything they could to protect them. Thousands of infantry advanced across the wetland plains. Greek tank units probed the defensive line, looking for weaknesses. There were rarely any. Both sides seemed intent upon leaving the victor a useless corpse of a city. Infantry squads took shelter behind the hulks of crippled tanks as more men were thrown into the attack.

Bremusa flew low and fast beneath the Shrak bomber squadron. The enemy planes resembled huge beetles. Only on a much larger scale, and very well armed. Tracer rounds missed her interceptor by the smallest of margins, as she attacked from below. She tilted the small interceptor’s nose into the sky, lining up her craft with the first bomber in range. She squeezed the trigger for four seconds, sending hundreds of rounds into the black armoured belly of the bomber. Sparks flew as the rounds impacted upon heavy armour. Smoke poured from the left engine slit, and the heavy craft began a slow spiral to its death. Her wingman Ares had done the same to a second target, and both interceptors levelled off, preparing the next attack. Within seconds they had passed beneath the lumbering squadron of sixteen craft, now missing two from its ranks. “Let’s hit ‘em from the top, Ares.”
“Roger that wing leader. I’m on your eight o’clock.” The second interceptor, sure enough, was behind Bremusa and to the left. She pitched her craft into a half loop above the bombers. Bremusa lay inverted, above yet really below her stretched out the war torn city. Flights of fighters passed at break-neck speeds. Bremusa let out a sigh of relief, as none had targeted her. As the swift interceptor began to stall, gravity brought the eight energy cannons upon their next target. Without hesitation, she pressed the trigger. None of the hundreds of rounds missed their target. Flames began to lick away at the alien craft. The flames consumed the bomb bay, at the bomber exploded into debris. With gravity and momentum against her, Bremusa flew through the deadly cloud of metal. Shards stuck into her thick canopy, but caused no damage. Finally, the rest of the squadron arrived, and descended upon the bombers like carrion birds. “Bremusa, don’t you think we should save some for the squadron?” Both women chuckled.
“We saw them first, Ares. They were the ones who showed up late to the party. Let’s go get ‘em.”
“To all airborne units this is dasher 38, we are commencing our attack. Repeat, dive bombers inbound. Can someone get those damn fighters off of our sixes?”
“This is Bremusa of Draken squadron, interceptor core. Where the hell are you guys?”
“I see you. Shit he’s on me tight. Uh... I’m on your 4:20 position, copy that, over?”
“Were on our way, stay alive Dasher 38, Bremusa out.”
“I’ll try, Dasher 38 out.”
Bremusa turned her craft around, and made all speed to the besieged dive bombers.

Andronikos found himself firing his battle wolf’s weapons constantly, as he never ran out of targets. The Greek first wave had failed, leaving scattered units trapped within the city. The second attack aimed to do what the first failed; to retake the capitol city of Syracuse. Shrak raptor squads defended chokepoints, along with thousands of the more numerous and agile Rogz. Braskar artillery and fire teams lay waste to the Greek units advancing upon the city. Artillery rounds exploded all around him, whilst his own side caused similar damage inside the city. His wolf stalked through the shallow water of the wetland, as he searched for his next target. A Shrak machine gun nest was giving an infantry platoon too much trouble for them to handle. Andronikos smiled to himself. ‘You have one machine gun. I have six.’ He let lose with all six weapons, his rounds shredding into the Shrak gun position. No one, or no thing, could survive such a concentrated attack. The infantry cheered, and leapt forward to continue the attack. Within seconds new weapons were trained upon the infantry, and many fell under the onslaught. Andronikos fired his energy cannons into the nearest building, shattering the first floor, causing the upper levels to collapse. No guns were fired from that building after wards. Fifteen squadrons of dive bombers flew over head, striking enemy gun emplacements and entrenchments a few blocks up from the front line. Greek fighters strafed the narrow streets, providing what support they could to the men down below.
Without waiting for infantry support, he ran his wolf into the city, eager to distract as much fire as he could. Through the range-talker an unknown voice spoke to him. “Good work, mercenary. The 306th highlander regiment are following you in, do you copy? You keep those men alive, you hear me?”
“Roger that, sir. Providing support where I can.”
The man was right. Three hundred infantry poured through the street. The city fight began, with infantry raiding buildings where the forces of the Shrak Collective had barricaded themselves. In such tight quarters, Andronikos was of no help, so he continued forward, taking out machine gun nests as he went. When he reached the next intersection, two braskar anti-tank guns greeted his arrival. One shot missed by inches, while the second struck the right legs armoured pad. Warning lights flashed on his HUD, depicting the damage. With a three second burst, his machine guns tore apart the crew of the first weapon, as he desperately tried to get behind cover before the second could reload. Before he could retreat behind a nearby building, he saw the long barrel begin to glow blue as it charged, ready to kill. The Brazkars never saw the dive bomber coming. It had pulled up and left before the bombs even struck their target. Heaps of stone and debris were thrown into the air, which were soon joined by violent clouds of blue energy as the gun emplacements ammunition began to cook off. “Thank Zeus, I’m alive.”

The building was secured, and the communication troopers hastily set up a rescue beacon upon the roof. Alistair stood outside with the lieutenant. “By the gods, look what has become of our capitol.” He spoke in far off tones. “Look what has happened to our home!” Alistair stayed quite. The higher-ups were never supposed to show emotion, or at least this kind. “They will all ****ing pay for this, every last cock sucking one of them!” “Sir, yes sir!” Alistair replied to that just fine. The lieutenant seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. “Shit, Alistair. How are you doing, son?” “Good enough as one can be in these circumstances, sir.” “Remind me to tell your father about the deeds you have done your planet, eh?” “My father is dead, sir.” “Oh. Shit. Well your mother than.” Alistair looked away. “She is dead too, sir. Of my family, I am all that is left.” “By the gods, lad I’m- Shit. Everyone inside, now!” It took Alistair several seconds to understand the order. When he looked down either street, swarms of Rogz, supported by groups of Brazkars flooded the streets. He unstrapped his rifle from its back strap, and fired off several rounds as he ran into the protection of the city. Every window was soon filled by a Greek soldier, whilst a machine gun team set up to cover the main entrance atop the stairs. Alistair and the lieutenant ran past the MG team, and raced up the stairs to take up positions overlooking the street. “Ready all weapons! Prepare you next magazine. Pick your targets and fire on my command. Heavy weapons, fire at will.” Three grenade launchers were fired from various levels and sides of the building, impacting amongst the hordes. Alistair followed the horde with his range-finder, waiting for them to pass into optimal killing range. “All weapons, fire! For Zeus!” “For Zeus!” Alistair echoed, as he fired into the horde. His shot hit the Rogz neck, traveled through the spinal cord and into its comrade directly behind him.
From the roof came a hail of machine gun fire, as the trapped platoon attempted to stave off the attack. In rapid succession, the lieutenant dropped three enemies with three shots, before ducking behind cover. Spiker rounds soon filled the air, and many troopers were hampered by non-fatal cuts or scrapes from passing shards. Scores of Rogz fell on each street, yet they continued to advance closer and closer to the building. “Here we hold them men. We are not running anymore! This is where we fight and die, for the gods!” “For the gods!” The belugard infantry replied, taking heart in mention of the mythos. The trooper next to Alistair fell with a gurgle, an orange spiker round imbedded within his neck. The mans eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the ground. Seventy five yards. Alistair kept firing into the horde, felling each that he hit. Yet more kept coming. More rockets, along with a newly emplaced machine gun spat death into the enemy. Fifty yards. “Men of Greece, full auto!” Alistair flipped the rate of fire switch from single to auto. When he lined up his next shot, he raked his rifle left to right, as did all the men fighting around him. Whole lines of Rogz fell under the concentrated walls of lead, and as always, there were more to take their place. Ten yards. The swarm began to envelope the entire building, and the forward few who survived the defensive fire began to climb the stone walls. The LT primed his last hand grenade, dropping it into the solid mass below him. “Cover!” The blast sent blood and limbs flying. All that stood now between the Greeks and the Rogz was the windows, and the entrance way. “Hold for the love of Hades, hold!” For the first time in his life, Alistair disobeyed and order. “Sir, we cannot hold them, sir. We need to barricade the windows, or we ****ed, sir. They can ****ing climb! There are too many points of entry. We have to eliminate as many as we can, and focus our firepower on as few as possible.”
“Private first class Alistair, you smart son of a bitch. Blockade the windows!"Get to work.” He did not realize until after the battle that he had been promoted.