Fyra Five

-December 19th, 3246-

"Welp, we're alive."

"Are ya sure?"

"I'm pretty sure this ain't hell, too ugly for that."

Val and Moore looked through the external scanner, checking that all was clear outside of the ship. Convinced that it was, they slowly opened the airlock by the Boarder's loading ramp, rifles at the ready for any enemies that might lay in wait. Nothing. Some artillery rumbled in the distance, but the dusty gray plain on which they had crashed seemed to be empty. Hundreds of shell craters, torn up trenches and disabled vehicles littered the ground around them, any one of which could hide a potential ambush.
"Vell, Rat, are we going to go down?" Val asked, using Lieutenant Moore's nickname, a nickname acquired through his capability to reach any target by whatever means necessary.
"Oh sure, sure we're going down, at least you and I are. Whaddaya think Ryss? Strongpoint Kursk is roughly three k's that way, an' they prolly saw us coming down."
"Which means the Shvir did too. There's a relief group coming, I think, or at least it looks like some troops moved out of the strongpoint judging by our scanners, and they're headed towards us."

"We got movement!" Willy gave a shout, pointing to something outside the door. Following his finger, Moore could see a column of Shviri soldiers slowly picking their way towards the crashed Boarder. They were cautious, no doubt fully aware that even a crashed ship could have functional weapons systems, and a crew that didn't want to surrender.
"Shit, looks like the Shvir caugh' on to us quick. They got tanks too. Ryss, I'm gonna git out  with 'al an' lead our rescue back here."
"Good, I'll do my best to defend 'til you get here with the cavalry. I think there should be some weapons and munitions in the storage bay, an' the armory, I'll deal with that, Rat," he smiled at Moore, who grimaced at the expression and pulled his helmet on, his opposite turning towards the ships crew, "Just go. Captain, get your men!"
Ryss was already in his element, shouting for the ships officers. Moore gave a slight nod to his squad and dropped out of the airlock. He rolled with the impact, knees aching under the strain of his armored form hitting the ground. Val followed shortly after, landing with a thud.
"So far so good sarge."

"So far so good," Moore agreed with Val's statement. He could almost see him grinning, despite the helmet's faceplate. The young commando always saw everything as a joke.
"Le's move, due east, stay low, don' wanna get spotted."
"Gotcha sarge."
Moore released his camouflage cloak, allowing it to unravel and screen him, finally pulling the hood over his helmet. Only his air filter protruded beyond the cowl. Val did the same, the two men's cloaks slightly shimmering as they distorted the light around them, making each crouching commando near invisible.
Rubble-strewn ground crumbled and gave way with every footstep, small rocks and shrapnel clattering with unnerving noise. Moore crept up to the remains of a shviri fighter, crouching behind the burnt out husk. A loud humming noise was coming from behind it, interspersed with the crunch of boots. There was no other sound, but Moore had already heard that hum before, peering around the corner merely confirmed his suspicions, a small shviri force, no more than a platoon of infantry, was advancing towards the crashed Boarder, a pair of hover-tanks floating behind them. Commanders stood high in the vehicles' turrets, scanning the surrounding area as the vehicles slowly progressed over the uneven terrain. Moore swung his head back into cover, motioning Val to stay silent and listing out what he'd seen with his hands. Val merely nodded his understanding and hugged the side of the fighter more closely, nervously gripping and re-gripping his rifle. The sergeant reached for his thigh, checking that the strap on his elongated combat knife was loose, ready for instant action if needed. The aliens had stopped, he wondered if they'd been spotted. The only option was to stay still. The hum of the hover tank was unnaturally close, the marching had stopped. He could hear one of the shviri officers talking, his deep, emotionless voice carrying towards the commandos.Then, the boots began marching again. Moore didn't sag with relief, he just waited, allowing the sounds of the shviri column to carry farther away. He turned back towards Val and nodded. They rounded the edge of the crashed alien craft, moving towards where the human column had last been spotted. Gunfire was echoing from the crashed Boarder, the timer was definitely kicking in.

"It's our guys sarge, they even got a few jags," Val whispered to Moore, pointing to a company sized group of human para-troopers, led by at least a dozen Jaeger class reconnaissance walkers. The small, bipedal machines moved across the uneven terrain with ease, towering three meters above the ground.
"Le's not spook 'em, don' wanna git some friendly fire coming our way."
"Think they'll shoot us if we pop out on them? Hell, think they even speak gen?" Val asked, the heavy accent of his voice accentuated by his whispering. It was a legitimate question, while the Naval Commando was composed of soldiers from every corner of the Imperium, most regular divisions, even specialists, were drafted from single planets and star systems, ensuring fewer communication issues. Officers could be expected to speak "General", the standardized Imperial, and human, language of commerce. How well, however, was a whole different issue, and thus Moore decided not to respond, instead observing the column as it progressed towards their ship.
"Alright, be ready to dive for cover if they start shootin' and keep your hands up so they know it's us."
"Considering how the army boys love us, I think they might shoot us anyway," Val said sardonically.
Moore looked at him, his mocking expression hidden by the helmet faceplate, then he stood up.
"Heyo, down there."
Instantly, every gun in the company swung towards him, a few shots rang out and clattered off the rubble the sergeant had been hiding behind and he cringed for a second, keeping his hands in the air.
There was some cursing as the company officers ordered their men to cease fire.
"Come down, keep hands in air!" One of them shouted in a heavily accented voice.
Slowly, rifles lifted above their heads, the two commandos walked out.
"Oh god, Scipio's golden boys."
There were some derisive comments coming from the soldiers. Known for its independence and closeness to the center of power, the Special Naval Commando was not a popular sight among the army rank and file, or any Imperial service for that matter.
"Commando?"
One of the men, obviously the commanding officer, inquired.
"Yessir, Sergeant Moore, Corporal Valeri, first company, first platoon, SNC, Captain Timoshenko."
Moore said, reading the mans identification tag. The man waved it aside, and questioned further, "You from the ship. More of you on the ship?"
"Yep, six more of us, and then most of the crew."
The man nodded and motioned his company to keep moving.
"You come with us, understood?"
"Sure thing. We'll lead the way. Make it quick or we won' make it by nightfall."
Darkness was falling, they needed to reach the ship before night fell. Moore nodded to Valeri and the two raced ahead of the group of paratroopers, ghosts flitting from cover to cover. Captain Timoshenko watched the two men disappearing ahead and passed an order to A platoon recon. they'd try to keep pace with the commandos, their jaegers capable of far greater speed than any human. He could hear the fire of heavy artillery in the distance and see the explosions beginning to mushroom around the crashed Boarder. The timer was running out.

The Boarder was taking heavy fire, land based artillery pounding its armor relentlessly, the massive ship an impossible target to miss. It was disconcerting, but the continuous barrage had brought some relief, thus far though, despite Ryss' initial worries, the shvir had been content to let the human vessel sit and slowly get demolished from range. Only one party had ventured near, and they had easily been driven off by Ryss and his men. The ships guns were all out of action, but it seemed that the aliens didn't realize that fact, as they kept their distance. Other than that, all had been quiet, and in their time spent cooped up aboard the vessel, Ryss had found a lower ramp that extended nearly to ground level, and most importantly, remained undamaged by the crash. It would provide them with a far more convenient exit than the high jump they had been faced with. Outside, enemy ships had been landing a couple kilometers out of gunshot, no doubt disgorging more shviri soldiers and materiel to the front-lines. Already Ryss had counted three regimental transporters, at least twenty-thousand more aliens on the moon's surface, a disturbing prospect when he considered their meager numbers. He had kept the rest of his unit busy, planting demolition charges in the lower supply levels. Two of the transport bays had been crushed or irreparably damaged on impact along with their cargo of food and medical supplies. That left three more filled to the brim with salvageable materiel.
"Spotting drone, mark left!"
"Bringing it down!"
Asch, the fourth man in Ryss' squad, was the section's designated marksman, and he now took aim through the cramped viewport, trying to center his modified Akarn on the small robotic craft.
The rifle cracked once, then twice. One of the contraptions wings was violently torn off and it fell in a downward spiral.
"Good riddance." Kwame spat in derision.
Night was almost upon them, the final rays of the orbital star fast disappearing, replaced by inky darkness.
"Sir! Column, three-hundred meters out!"
Ryss allowed his helmet's built in zoom and night vision to zero in on the group of soldiers approaching, scanning for any distinguishing marks. There was no mistaking the walkers, a standardized airborne pattern of jaeger. He squinted his eyes and smiled, two figures were moving ahead, only barely visible in their "cold-suits", masking all body heat, Moore and Val.
"Good, our guys. Kwame, Jeff, hold position, I don't want anything jumping them!"
The captain of the ship, Bishop, was watching the whole thing go down expectantly. A navy man, he was in his element on a ship, plying the stars, but here on solid ground, he'd been satisfied with allowing the commandos to run the show.
"Open the airlock!"
The door slid open. Their two friendly commandos were less than twenty meters away.
"Without a hitch, eh!"
Ryss shouted down at Moore, waving his hand to attract his attention. The junior sergeant nodded his recognition and moved in, signalling the walkers that were trailing him to move closer. There was more infantry following, taking up positions to form a small perimeter around the Boarder.
"Ryss! All clear out here, we don't got much time! You ready to move out?!"
"Ready!"
He motioned to the ship's captain, and he began disembarking his men. The Boarder's crew was massive, far outnumbering both the commando's and the infantry company that was present. At least five-hundred had survived the fight and crash, and now made their way down onto solid ground.
"Stop! Stop!"
"Who the hell are you?" Ryss said, completely tactless as he addressed the man running towards them, a platoon of soldiers behind him. It was Captain Timoshenko.
"You do not speak that way. What is this? You bring supplies, yes? Sergeant, you take supplies off ship, we need as much as possible, really bad."
The man was barely visible in the darkness, but Ryss tore off his helmet, his face invisibly reddening with anger. He was a short-fused individual, and this man's ridiculous request was intolerable, they didn't have time for moving supplies.
"I'm not offloading six-thousand fucking tons of supplies!"
Timoshenko's eyes visibly grew wide, "Six thousend?"
"Yes, now we need to get this crew out."
"We have no space for crew. Not enough supply, not enough room."
"Then make room."
"Then you help load, we get gunships, understood?"
Moore pulled Ryss aside, Bishop taking his place in talking to the airborne officer, who instantly began discussing offloading the supplies, and ordered his subordinate to call in shuttles. Under cover of night, they would have some measure of safety against shviri anti-air defenses, but it would still be out of the question to offload all of the supplies, at best they could get a couple hundred tons, then blow the rest sky high.
"How bad is it Ryss, they don't have supplies for the crew, but we can't offload everything, not enough time. Think they're really that stretched?"
"They might be, the blueskins have been attacking this place for a month now, and it's housing what, two times more divisions than it was supposed to?"
"We can't stay, crew can't stay, hub of everything here is Centerpoint, right?"
"Yeah."
"Fine, then we help them get some supplies, get the crew to whatever forts they have, then haul ass over to Centerpoint, we'll evac down to Fyra from there. Should work perfect, right?"
"If that perfect's as perfect as everything else has been, then we're screwed."
"No other chance. Here, Ryss, I'll talk it out. Start moving all the unnecessary crew to the strongpoint, get them out of here, they're useless anyway. I'll deal with this officer, only important thing is that we get down to Fyra and back with the platoon."
"Fine by me," Ryss snorted in disgust and pulled his helmet back on, allowing Moore to talk with the airborne captain. A dozen bright blue dots were fast approaching on the horizon, gunships coming in from "Kursk" and whatever underground hangars were still intact there. Ryss tried to rub his weary eyes, then realized he was just brushing against his helmets goggles. He yawned and passed the orders for the crew move. It was going to be a long night, and an even longer way to Fyra proper.

Short Story, "Re-routed"

-December 19th, 3246-

"Told ya we should haf waited for our own ship to get us down there, this could haf easily waited a day or two," Corporal Valeri said, his voice calm and relaxed as he scratched his nose.

"Hess nee's us now, an' this is the only way we're gettin' to Fyra on such short notice. Think I wan'ed to be in a blockade runner?" Sergeant Moore responded, coldly eyeing his fellow commando and fingering the trigger guard of his assault rifle.

All around them, the ships crew was in a flurry of motion, with dozens of junior officers pacing to and fro, the captain barking off short orders to each in turn.

"The shields are out!"

"Re-route power from the weapons!"

"Starboard engine number two, it's burning!"

"Seal it off, right now, and open the airlock! Make it go out!"

"Yessir!"

There was no denying it, the frigate was being torn apart by alien fire and there wasn't much time left to reach the target. Moore peered over at the rangefinder, cursing silently. Their hopes of making it to the planet itself were dropping every second. A crewman shouted that a second engine was lost. They'd be too slow.

"We aren't making it, are we sarge," Valeri's matter of fact tone carried over the mess of shouting on the bridge.

"We're damn well gonna try," Moore grumbled. The other members of his squad merely watched the spectacle with mild interest.

"We'll make it sarge."

It was Wilhelm, or "Little Willy" as the rest of the platoon called him. He was the youngest member in the entire unit, and his boyish features emphasized the fact. The naive optimism was doing little to help the situation, drawing some cold glares from his other squad mates. He merely smiled and shrugged in response. Kurt, the last member of Moore's squad, turned back to tossing his combat knife up and down, disinterested in the discussion.

"Where's Ryss and his squad. I thought they were checking on the engines?"

"I don't know Val. Hopefully they'll be back soon," it was all Moore could do.

"Boarding craft incoming! Fifty-k clicks to starboard!"

"Shoot them down!"

"Point defense is down sir!"

"Evasive action! Now! Turn right at 'em! Hard starboard!"

The entire ship was falling apart at the seams. Its structure creaked and groaned as its remaining thrusters were pushed to the limits, trying to perform the needed maneuvers.

"Captain! Get this damn ship to Fyra Five, we aren't making it planet side!"

"This is my ship and my orders are to get planetside Sergeant! And goddammit we're following those orders!"

"Damn the orders, we either land on the moon or we don't land at all, we won't make those three-hun'red k's! Land this goddamned ship, land it now!"

The older, bearded man stared at the young sergeant, scrutinizing him for a few moments. Moore held his ground, and the man's gaze, the two locked in a contest of wills.

"Captain, the ship won't make it!"

It was one of the junior lieutenants, racing towards them. Seeing the tense situation, he hesitated for a moment.

"Turn the ship towards Fyra Five."

The words were almost a whisper.

"Sir?"

"You heard me lieutenant, get this ship on course to Fyra Five. Move!

The last word was came out in a bullish roar, stunning the young officer into action. The whole ship shuddered, as if struck by a massive fist.

A technician ran in, a panicked look on his face.

"We've been hit sir, they hit us, the Shvir hit us with a boarding pod! Right by the engines!"

"Goddamit, of course they did! Get the gun crews to the armory!"

Moore spun to his squad. They were already up on their feet, waiting for the word.

"Stay on course cap'in, we'll deal. Le's move boys!" Moore pulled his helmet on, allowing the mechanical seal to snap tight. Instantly, the HUD filled his vision, flooding him with a deluge of information.

"Ryss, where ya at!" He was holding on to his comms, waiting for a response, none was coming.

"Ryss!"

"Right here Moore, get your sorry group down here, we'll need you right bad."

"On it!"

"Right an' down squad, le's go!"

The stairs clattered with the impact of the commandos' heavy boots as they raced downward, headed towards where the breach had been reported. An airlock hissed as it opened. Instantly the HUD external oxygen monitor dropped to zero. The air behind them howled past, carrying all before it. As one, the squad dropped down, hunching over. Magnetic soles latched onto the deckplates, holding tight against the onrush.

"Make sure yer on shor'-range talkies," Moore reminded the group. Once in a vaccuum, they would have no sound without the benefit of their helmets comms. The airlock snapped shut behind them. Instantly, silence. Val moved to the corner and raised his fist. Moore slowly peered around, looking down the long hall that lay ahead. The breach made by the boarding pod was obvious, the wide, ragged hole made by the craft still filled with the pods bulk. Nearly two dozen bodies lay scattered around, some alien, most human crewmen, unarmed and unable to defend themselves. Moore sighed in relief internally, none of the bodies bore the black uniforms and armor of the commando. Brief flickers of light emanated from the halls before them. A clear sign of a firefight.

"Keep going!" he shouted.

"On my left sarge, we got company!" Willy knelt behind another corner, firing down towards the engine rooms, the normal clatter of the Akarn inaudible in the vaccuum. At least a half dozen of the shviri attackers turned around, one dropping to the ground. The alien's short laser carbines returned fire, flashes sparked on the walls and floor. Willy cursed and clutched at his shoulder plate. The black slab glowed slightly from a direct hit, but it was nothing serious, merely a distraction, nothing more.

"Kurt, Willy, take 'em! Val, come with me! We're pushin' on!"

"On it boss!"

More Shvir, five total. Two rifles snapped up, the aliens never had a chance. In a flurry of Akarn fire five bodies hit the ground, weapons falling from lifeless hands. Moore raised his hands to his comms again.

"Ryss, where ya at!"

"We're falling back toward the engine rooms, Jeff's rifle got hit, you gonna be here?"

"Coming in from the bridge, got Val with me."

"What 'bout the others?"

"Pinnin' the rest of those bastar's down!"

"Get down!"

Vals warning came just in time. A shviri officer was swinging his sword in a wide arc, aimed right at Moore's neck. The sergeant ducked, allowing the blade to pass without resistance. Vals rifle came up muzzle flashing, pointed squarely at the officers head. The alien crumpled in a heap.

"More coming!"

There must have been a dozen shvir ahead of them now. The sudden flashes of their lasers interespersed with the sparks thrown up by ricocheting bullets from the commandos' assault rifles.

Ryss was on the comms again, a tone of relief in his voice, "They're falling back! You there?"

"Hell yea, they're falling back on us goddamit!" It was all Moore could respond with.

Four of the Shvir were charging forward, crouching low as their comrades covered them.

"Grenade out!"

Val rolled the spherical device down the hall, right towards the aliens crowding in front. A bright flash and shrapnel filled the cramped area. Blue blood spattered the walls, and the two commandos turned the corner again, opening fire on any survivors left in sight. More flashes came from behind the aliens.

"Ryss, over here!"

Moore called out and jammed a new magazine home, motioning Val to take point.

"Willy, Kurt, y'all ok?"

"Moppin' up," Kurt responded shortly.

The Shviri soldier was facing the wrong way, he only sensed Moore coming up on him too late. The alien swung his bayonet against the small human, too slow, Moore cut him down with a single rifle round. All was clear. A commando's helmet poked out from behind the far end of the hall, and slowly, Ryss his three men walked out, gingerly stepping over the alien corpses.

"The breach didn't self-seal." Moore stated immediately.

"I noticed, sealing pipes are out, the gens got KOed by a las' blast." Ryss responded.

"We need to get out of here, we'll be hitting the atmosphere soon, don't wanna get caught out."

"Atmosphere? Can't be that close to Fyra, can we?" Ryss responded to Moore with some surprise. He didn't ask questions though, motioning the group back towards the blast doors leading into the engine rooms.

"We aren' makin' it to Fyra, ship's too far gone, we'll be crashing on Fyra Five." Moore said in a matter of fact tone.

"Fair enough, not like the Shvir control sixty-five percent of the surface or anything." Ryss was displeased, but there was nothing he could do.

The door slid open, instantly allowing the onrushing air to hurl past. Moore was the last to stride through, striking the control panel with his gloved hand and allowing the door to close shut. Oxygen levels normal, pressure stable. The whole ship was shaking now, shuddering.

"We're going too fast," Kurt said, loading a new magazine.

"Of course we are," Val replied, eyeing him coldly.

"Belly landing in a Boarder, sounds delightful," it was one of Ryss's men, Kwame, and he was cleaning blood off his combat knife, running the blade along his pant-leg.

A few snorts of derisive laughter followed.

"Check your magazines, lets head for the forward ramp, be ready for a rough landing, we're going straight into a warzone. I don't think our boys down there control much of anything, except the fortresses. Moore, the captain know about those? We'll need to land close if we wanna get out alive."

"I'll go tell him. Kurt, come with me, Willy, Val, go with Ryss, now!"

Moore ran his hands over his magazine pouches as he ran, already thinking to the landing, the need to fight through to one of the perimeters as soon as they landed. Fyra Five should have its own atmosphere, should be breathable, terraformed. He tried to remember the divisions stationed there, and wondered if they were all still intact. Those same divisions were their only hope for rescue. The ship had a small armory, but the navy men weren't well trained for ground fighting, they'd have to hold the ship and get reinforcements to reach them. It would be up to him and his men, soldiers of the Special Naval Commando, to get that help, or die trying.

Colonel Vasiliy Zhukov of the 14th Airborne stood in the dugout, looking toward the enemy positions from his command bunker. He and his battalion had been holding strongpoint "Kursk" for two weeks now, defending against the constant tide of Shvir, protecting their orbital defense batteries at all costs. Keeping a constant watch had been key to their survival. Then, a sudden flash above. He peered through his binoculars. A ship, their own judging by the boxy, utilitarian design. He cursed, it was crashing, plunging earth-ward like a comet. It would overshoot the strongpoint. He tried to guess where it would land, couldn't be more than a kilometer out. The whole vessel roared overhead, thousands of tons of steel rushing past, engines howling and trying to slow the ships descent. The hull was glowing red, and the colonel could feel the superheated air pass by him as the craft began to approach the ground. They were going to land inside Shviri lines. He cursed again. The earth shook and shuddered as the massive craft tore a terrible path across the dust covered surface. It could be carrying supplies, reinforcements, anything could be useful.

Zhukov twisted his mustache for a second, then made up his mind and motioned his second in command over.

"Leftenant, get A and B recon on it, follow up vith first company, I vant to get to that ship and whatever it's bringink. Get any survivors and supplies you find back here."

"Yessir!"

"And let's hope there's something left." he said to himself, watching the red glow that hung around the crash-site and wondering if anything had survived.