Tannenbergs End

Notes: IVS is my acronym for Imperial Void Ship and is used to describe any named naval vessel utilized by the Imperium.



The IVS Tannenberg was taking fire, every deck ablaze, its oxygen supplies bleeding into the emptiness of space. Only a few of its turrets were still intact, their guns blazing, delivering devastating volleys of fire to any alien ship that strayed too close to the wounded beast. The shields were gone, there was no hope of raising them again. The shiltron defense system had long since given out, defense lasers overheated and rotary cannons out of ammunition. One by one, all weapons that remained were going silent as the shviri ships began to pick apart the stricken cruiser.
Rear-Admiral Fisk stood on the bridge, listening to the screams echoing across the comms as the situation swiftly deteriorated. The convoy he had been assigned to escort was scattered, all ships doing their best to reach their objectives planet-side. The shviri ships had been held up far too long to interdict the mass of transport craft. He had succeeded, he knew it, and it came at the cost of his entire command. Nearly nine-hundred thousand men, and three million of tons of supplies would be making it to Fyras surface, but at a terrible price. Only two of his destroyers were still fighting, trying to flee the battlefield. The rest were tattered wreckage, their burnt out hulks floating through the vast scrap fields formed from the detritus of war created during the siege. Slowly, Fisk closed his right eye. The other had been shot out by shrapnel nearly a decade ago.
"Abandon ship."
His voice was almost a harsh whisper, but the battle was over, the only hope for the crews salvation was an immediate evacuation.
"Sir?"
The ships captain, Sean, looked at him, not comprehending. Hearing that his will was not being done, Fisk turned on the man, his one good eye boring into the man.
"You heard me. Abandon ship. Send out the order immediately. All non-essentials off."
"Yessir!"
It was a flurry of orders as the officer began shouting out the commands. Several of the bridge crew began getting up, moving towards the remaining lifeboats. Their chances of survival in space would be slim, even slimmer if their vessels landed in shviri controlled territory, but still better than the certain destruction that awaited all who remained aboard the Tannenberg.
"Sir. You should leave before it's too late, We'll will clear out whatever's left."
It was his adjutant, Lena, looking up at him, a concerned look on her face. Fisk merely shook his head.
"X turret isn't evacuating sir, communication is cut."
One of the technicians shouted at the captain.
"Go tell them in person, I want everybody off, now!"
"Captain, go with them. I want you off this vessel. Go, get out!"
He shouted the last orders with greater force, overwhelming any objections the man may have planned to voice.
The bridge was empty, only the helmsman, Sims, and Lena remained, one desperately trying to keep the ship on course, the other trying to convince Fisk to leave with equal desperation.
"Sir, you need to get off."
A slight, saddened smile came across Fisk's aged face as he looked at his adjutant..
"No, it's over. Everything that happened here needs to be recorded, take it to Scipio personally if needed. This blockade needs to end, or there won't be any more convoys making it through."
"There's still a lifeboat ready, we still have time," the young woman persisted, pressuring him to act. But for Fisk, this was the end. He had done his duty, won dozens of victories in the fighting retreats against the shviri armadas, but now, it was all over. Slowly, he descended the stairs to the steering controls.
"Sims, activate the blink drive, start the countdown to a jump."
"Fucking god! Fisk, it'll tear this ship to shreds. The drive's already damaged. There's no getting out. We can't blink away!"
Sims almost snarled the words at the officer. He had Fisks other eye. Both had been on the Mandrake when a corsair shell had torn her bridge apart. It had flown between the two officers as they stood mere meters apart. In an ironic twist of fate, both had lost an eye that day, a seal of blood upon their war-torn history.
"I'm not getting out. Give me the controls."
"Fisk, I object, you can't, this ship, I, I-"
He reddened a little and stopped talking, but there was no condemnation coming from Fisk, he was not used to being called "admiral" or "sir" by his closest associates, but he expected their absolute loyalty. Sims relinquished his post, moving to begin the work needed to activate the blink drives, stepping back to stand near Lena as he did so, the young woman merely looking on in confusion, frozen and unsure of how to act. Together, they were two of the closest individuals to the old imperial officer. Sims a relic of Fisk's mercenary past, a battle scarred veteran of a dozen battles. Lena a young protege fresh out of officers training, a symbol of the new navy Fisk had helped build for the Imperium. He looked on calmly, entirely out of place in the desperate situation at hand, eye locking with Sims for a second, his former first-mate merely shook his head, a grim smile stretched across his features. Fisk turned to Lena, quickly listing out his last will, "Three minutes, the grav generators will be out, and this will all be over. Get off this ship, make it back to Bryga, make it back any way you can, tell them everything that happened, you have your report. It's an order. Run!"
She gulped, snapped to attention and raced off, barely keeping her balance as the whole ship shuddered under a new set of impacts.
Sims smiled coldly at the admiral, stretching the long white shrapnel scars that pockmarked his face. His bionic eye focused past the admiral as he worked the controls rapidly, turning the ship.
"Think she'll make it? I know we will, but them lifeboats Fisk, they ain't safe."
Sims asked jokingly. He had never been serious, and now, facing death, all vestiges of seriousness were gone. Fisk accepted his friends morbid humor with a slight sigh, behaving almost bored. Giving Sims the response he was oh so used to seeing when others heard his jokes.
"Of course she will."
Fisk smiled to himself and began turning the ship, working the controls of the massive light cruiser with skill long since ingrained in instinct. The ship normally needed a massive crew, but with all critical systems failing and the only remaining function being steering, one helmsman sufficed. Fisk wasn't going to try and talk Sims out of joining him, the man wouldn't listen even if ordered to do so. Staunchly loyal to his Captain, from mercenary to imperial officer, he would follow him through to the very end. There was a fire blazing on the starboard side of the bridge but the admiral was no longer paying attention. Automatic extinguishing systems kicked in, and instantly ceased. The pipes bearing the fire suppressant were damaged beyond repair. It mattered not. In front of him, Fisk could see the sleek outline of a shviri battlecruiser, its weapons blazing at the human ship that fast approached it. The range-finder ticked down at alarming pace, the ship rapidly flooding the view-ports of the Tannenberg. The gravity generators gave out, and slowly, both remaining officers felt their feet leave the ground, only staying in place by the virtue of their grip on the control panels. Peace, serenity. It was so calm here at the end. He could hear a wild yell of defiance coming from Sims, a shout more appropriate for a victory rather than a violent death. Fisk released the panel, floating upwards ever so slowly, his whole world dying around him. He sucked in one last breath, and closed his eye.

The Tannenberg plowed into the alien warship like a mailed fist, reinforced prow buckling shields and multi meter thick armor plate with ease. The explosions of munitions and power-cells on both ships tore a flaming path of destruction through the massive vessels, sudden oxygen loss throwing flares far out into the cold void. The damage was catastrophic, neither craft would survive the impact, but it no longer mattered to the Tannenberg, an unmanned behemoth in the throes of its last moments, unwilling to breath its last without dragging its foe down with it. Engines sputtered and rear-drives failed, silence, no more lights, last breath spent in one glorious charge. Then, the blink drives detonated. A violent implosion disintegrated the super-structure of the human light-cruiser with contemptuous ease, crumpling the vessel like tin-foil. For a second the alien vessel seemed to remain untouched, its graceful lines only marred by its slab-sided foe. Then it too was dragged into oblivion. Within seconds of the human cruisers death, the shviri vessel began to be torn asunder in . Armor plating stripped off in a matter of seconds, wreckage sheared off in great chunks and hurled into the void, the alien ship strained against its inevitable destruction, the whole vessel heaving and twisting in a sickening motion as it was utterly demolished, as if writhing in agony with the pain of its demise. Six thousand souls, human and shvir, annihilated in moments. All was silent, slowly, every flame died, snuffed out by the cold void, leaving the silent tomb of the two mortal foes to float away in silence. Another gravestone in the debris fields of Fyra.
Lena turned away from the external monitor, looking about the lifeboat. It was near empty, most of the crew had abandoned ship long before her, only a dozen remained aboard the bulky vessel. All seemed to be bridge crew, many heavily burned or injured. Wounded. Dying. One of the crewmen lay ominously still, dark blood spread across his tunic, while smaller crimson droplets hung within the stale, recycled air. The gravity-less lifeboat plied on. The charts indicated they would land upon Fyra proper. At least some of them would reach their destination Lena thought grimly. Even from space, she could see it was a warzone. There would be no salvation for them if they landed in no-mans land, or even worse, shviri territory. The life-boat had no real controls, it merely careened ever closer to the nearest habitable planet. One of the others was shouting over open comms, hoping against hope to get a response from down below. It was one of the few operable pieces of equipment on the lifeboat, but no response was coming. They were on their own.

A Commandos Peace

-December 21st, 3246-

Moore moved like a shadow through the tunnels. They seemed devoid of life. The soldiers who they had passed by earlier were gone. The condensed space shook with constant, violent impacts from the artillery that now roared above ground. At least it wasn't naval guns. As long as the dug in rail-guns could defend against orbital assault, they'd be relatively safe from such incursions.  He looked at the map in his hand, he was almost there. Almost in the correct section of the tunnel network. He'd have to get the wounded out somehow. Somehow, it was always somehow. He had no idea what to do. There would also be infantry at the front, and those would have to retreat, somehow. He couldn't hear gunfire or any of the usual indicators of combat, but a dead paratrooper and a pair of shvir lay on the ground. Moore hoped he wasn't too late. The sergeant rounded the corner and heard a crack.
Instantly, he dove for cover, the bullet meeting empty air and striking the tunnel wall. Wait a second. No shvir would be using a solid slug rifle, or any small arm of that sort.
"Goddamit! Stop! Don't shoot! I'm coming to help!"
There was no response, slowly, the commando sergeant peered around the corner, only exposing his black helmet and visor.
"Blyad! One of you!"
Moore smiled to himself, the words spoken reminded him of Boris, one of his former colleagues, years back when he'd begun his commando training. Except for one thing, the voice was female. Crouched down and staring at him, smoldering pistol still in hand, was a lone medic. She wore the same standard exo-suit and camouflage common to the airborne, with the small addition of a dulled red cross on her upper arm-sleeve. Behind her, he could make out movement, there must have been at least a score of wounded soldiers lining the tunnel, some propped up on empty crates of supplies, others dropped wherever their comrades coming from the front had left them. A pair of stretcher bearers carried one of the wounded past Moore, the mans face was deathly white, a bloody bandage covering a terrible stomach wound. The sergeant shuddered, a motion thankfully hidden under his armor, and darted forward to the woman.
"You need to get out of here there's a shviri breaching team that's already breaking through the tunnels, they won't be able to hold them. Ya'll are gonna be cut off in minutes. They're shortening the front, everybody's moving to the second line."
She drew herself up, standing level with Moore, approximately. Even with the bulky exo-suit, her slight build meant she stood a good few inches shorter than Moore. Certainly not someone who could intimidate a room by their mere presence. Completely unlike Boris.
"And the wounded, what I do about them? They can't move, we don't move."
"You and your friend over there, start moving them, I'll make sure nothin' shows up from the tunnels."
"Yes, nothing ever goes wrong, no? We will move them, but it going to take time." She said sarcastically.  It sounded exactly like something Boris would say. To a letter, cynical insight included.
"What's your name again?"
Moore inquired, a tone of curiosity in his voice. She looked at him incredulously for a second, as if surprised by the question. The expression on her face was exactly like one Boris would make.
"Medical Officer Sokolov, Natasha Sokolov."
"You know a Boris Sokolov, shock commando?" Moore suddenly pressed, a grin spreading across his face, hidden beneath his skeletal face-plate.
"Misha, start moving the wounded!" Natasha hollered at her comrade, grabbing a hold of an extra stretcher, the two began loading up another wounded man. Moore turned away to make room, wondering if he'd get an answer as he began to move down the hall, looking for any sign of trouble.
"Boris, Boris is my brother, mister-"
"Sergeant Thomas Moore."
"Ah yes, he complain about you, I remember! Say you never shut up. But you were not sergeant then, just training."
Moore scowled a little under his mask.
"Well, good to know he said such nice things about me. At any rate, you sound exactly like him. Lot easier on the eyes though," Moore quickly joked as he made his way down the tunnel he had originally followed to reach the wounded. Natasha's eyes hardened and she muttered something under her breath as the two medics began removing another casualty. Moore chuckled in response. The previous pair of stretcher bearers was there now, moving another man. Moore vanished into the tunnel. It was all calm, almost as if the alarm had been entirely false, not that Moore could complain if it was. Moore behaved in a nonchalant manner, but he kept his wits about him, moving slowly through the tunnels. There was shouting behind him, it was the infantry from the outer line, retreating. Moore could make out a few men pass behind him, dragging their wounded, shouting. One of them, an officer, ordered two of his men to stay behind. Moore could hear gunfire somewhere far away. It was already in the halls. He tensed instinctively, the flicker of calm was gone.
"Where's the rest of you?!" he shouted at the officer.
"Gone! A few are retreating through secondary tunnels!"
The man responded, his voice filled with anguish as he raised his head to face the commando. Moore felt bile rush into his mouth as he saw the mans face. A cracked visor covered the mans eyes, but the flesh was burned raw, no doubt from one of the heat based weapons the shviri had a penchant for using, possibly a plasma flamer. He asked no more questions and merely turned to face forward. Looking for his first target and wondering how he could cover both flanks.

"Heyo Rat!"
Moore winced at Vals shout, even though he knew it was only inside his comms. He turned around and sighed with relief as he realized the rest of his comrades had followed. He fully understood Ryss' reluctance to risk those under his command. But from Moore's perspective, there was only one correct decision, and that was to aid the defense until their evac arrived. He nodded slightly to Ryss, who immediately motioned his squad towards the wounded. They'd take up positions beyond the medical chamber, where the shvir had already made their breach a few minutes ago. There was shouting at the end of the hall. Moore began making his way forward, his squad close behind him. A deafening roar. Gunfire, screaming, the shvir had made another breach.

 The SNC was never meant to fight holding actions. It was never meant to fight in a siege. They didn't have exo-suits to carry heavy equipment. They didn't have the ammo, or the armor. They didn't have the numbers. But there was nobody else. A few paratroopers were retreating down the tunnel, falling back, dragging another wounded man, his leg must have been torn off in the explosion. Moore guessed he wouldn't make it. The shvir turned the corner, crouching low in the tunnels, all of them far too tall for the low ceiling. He could hear another roar, a neighboring tunnel collapsed, the paratroopers were sealing the tunnels.
"Willy! Tell those fuckers to stop, or we're all dead men!"
He knew the young commando hated leaving and falling back from the fight, but he could easily make it back later, and Moore wasn't about to let his efforts be undone by the panic of a command structure trying to preserve the core of its defense at any cost.
"Affirmative sarge!"
Always so formal. Moore opened fire. Gobbets of blue blood spattered the walls. Val and Kurt were at his side, pouring measured fire into the attacking mob. Already, three or four shvir lay lifeless in the tunnel, slowing their comrades advance. These were no ordinary aliens though, Moore could see their modified bodies, limbs replaced with mechanical augmentations.  Grenades were being thrown, no time to kick them all away. The commandos split. Detonation. The brilliant light shut out by the helmets systems. Kurt was silent as ever, Val was laughing, Moore cursed as he felt a bit of shrapnel lodge in his chest-plate. But the black armor had held true. He swung out into the open again, firing at the aliens that now advanced two abreast. They could easily hold here he thought.
"Moore, we got a problem!"
It was Ryss, and he sounded worried, or about as worried as the steely commando ever got.
"There's three damn tunnels leading here, this damn medbay's a nexus. The sheevees are starting to find their way down all of them, we're gonna be flanked!"
Moore nodded to Val and Kurt.
"You two, go, I can hold here 'till Willy gets back!"
The two men didn't ask any questions or argue, they merely turned around and began making their way back to the other squad, firing a parting burst before vanishing like ghosts. Moore was now alone. The lighting flickered and failed.
"Hey, Willy, what's the status on the tunnels?"
 "They're holding off sarge, I'm headed back inside. Any idea how long 'till the wounded are out?"
Moore turned around and hollered behind himself.
"Hey, Natasha, ya there? How many more?"
"Not good sergeant, we need more time."
 "Goddamit, not moving fast enough. Willy, I need you down here, now!."
Moore turned back towards his front, too late. The shvir had taken advantage of his moments distraction to close the distance. He fired, bullets sparking against  their thick armor. One toppled to the ground, the wreckage of his augmented limbs sparking and twitching for a few seconds before finally expiring. Laser rifles seared into Moores armor. For once, he was thankful that the protection the bulky black carapace offered. There was no way Moore could slow down the sudden rush. The empty magazine fell from his Akarn. Too late to reload. He drew his pistol. The silenced weapon whistled gently as he emptied his entire clip, backing away as carefully as he could, giving himself distance to reload. Some of the shvir, led by an officer and obviously incited by the failure of their laser weaponry to put the little man down, suddenly charged. Moore only barely evaded the incoming sword stroke, lightly moving to the side, allowing the blade to smash into the ground. The sergeants hand darted to his hip. Out came the stiletto, a steel spike aimed directly into the aliens unarmored side. It slumped as the knife reached its heart, the creatures weight dragging Moore's knife down with it. Moore acted on instinct, dragging the officers sword clear of his hand as he crumpled. Suddenly, the hall was illuminated by light, gunfire, Moore could hear a shot ricochet off his shoulder plate as he jumped aside. Behind him, Natasha was emptying the remainder of her clip into the aliens, killing the two nearest the sergeant and slowing the press of bodies.
"Holy shit, thanks!"
The medic merely nodded in response, holstered her pistol and moved back, dragging one of the wounded back down the tunnel, illuminating the way with her headlamp. Moore swiftly reloaded his own weapons and hefted the officers sword. Moore was no stranger to the blade. A member of the finest fencing academy in the entire Imperium for over a decade, he still marveled at how light the saber felt. Even a rapier felt clumsy and bulky compared to the alien weapon. The balance was perfect. The weapons qualities were something he didn't have long to think on as the shvir pressed onward inexorably, unfazed by their lead officers sudden demise to an inferior creature like Moore. He drew the sword, letting his Akarn dangle empty at his side. This was not the situation he wanted to be in. His armor was good, but not proof, eventually it would fail, or the shvir would hit the joints, or his neck, or they'd bring up a plasma flamer. Moore shuddered at the thought of being immolated. He had to fall back, but there was nowhere to go.
"Sarge!"
It was Willy, rounding the far corner of the tunnel, rifle blazing in the unlit corridor. He fired a few controlled bursts and moved up. The tunnel was choking up with shviri dead and wounded, making it increasingly difficult for them to maintain the pressure. It was miraculous to see how quickly the tide could shift in such close quarters. The aliens numbers were working against them. Moore smiled grimly to himself and pressed forward, killing the nearest with a single strike of the officers sword. Willy was firing over his shoulder, advancing a mere meter behind his sergeant as the two pressed forward. The wall of dead and wounded wouldn't hold indefinitely, it wouldn't even hold for long, but it would hold long enough, they'd easily get everybody out and be clear at this point. The shvir were hesitating, their thirst for battle quenched by somewhat by the brutal slaughter being perpetrated by the commandos defending the hall.
"Willy, go help move the wounded! Hey Ryss, what's the status!"
There was silence on the comms. Damage and knockouts weren't unknown, Moore changed back to his own squad.
"Hey, Kurt, Val, status!"
"There's a lot of them. Ryss is in the other corridor, we got pushed back. Kwam and Jeff should be with him still. No contact with 'em."
 Kurt responded, his calm, cool voice seeming completely out of place when one considered what he was saying.
"Goddamit, get contact! Willy, drop the wounded, get over here, take my place. I'm movin' to bail 'em out!"
Moore turned and ran back down the hall, bypassing the wounded men that lay strung out along the hallway. There were only a few left. They should have plenty of time, but something told Moore that was no longer so certain.

Moore could hear the fighting long before he reached the scene, and what he saw seemed to be a situation straight out of a nightmare. The shvir had sent combat drones down from the surface and were flooding in from two of the three tunnels, all converging on the medical bay. Far better armed and armored than any being of flesh and blood, they were pressuring the three commandos back, unhindered by the small pile of demolished machinery strewn across the hall. So far they had kept the alien forces from pincering the last tunnel, but it would only be a matter of time before that changed. There was only one course of action to save the trapped commandos, attack.
The sergeant flew past the his squad-mates like a black lance, Akarn raised and ablaze, bayonet affixed and glinting with every flash of the rifle.
"Shit, sarge is going in! Kurt, watch my six!"
Val jumped to his feet, Moore knew he'd be the first to pick up the slack, always keen to follow in his sergeants footsteps. Sizzles of laser fire, a sudden flare of pain in his shoulder. He'd been hit. Moore fired a final burst and let the rifle hang at his hip, then drew the shviri officers sword. The aliens never got a chance to register the shock of the assault as the slight human cut them apart with impeccable precision, the blade a whirling arc of death in the darkness. Behind him came his comrades, the only indicator of their position being flash of rifle barrels.
"Right hand hall sarge!"
"Let's go!"
 Moores voice was a harsh snarl as he led the way. Up ahead he could hear the gunfire, echoing in the cramped space. There they were. Kwame and Jeffrey, firing at a cluster of incoming shviri automatons.
"Where the hell is Ryss?"
"Gone, took a shot in the throat. The fuckers killed him. Killed the two paras with him too."
Kwame spoke the words without any sign of emotion, keeping his focus locked on the shvir in front of him. Moore's eyes widened with shock. He cursed under his breath. It had been his fault. He had dragged the rest of the unit down here, to defend wounded who weren't even their own. He pushed to the front, searching for a glimpse of the sergeant anywhere.
"He's gone Moore, all we can do is get the body."
Asch shook his head slightly. Moore suddenly felt the pain in his arm, the agony of the laser hit. The weight of guilt. No! There was no time for such stupidity. They had gotten breathing room. He was the only man left in charge, he had to decide what to do immediately.
"Fall back!"
He ordered the group to retreat.
"What about Ryss' body?!"
"We either get out or we all die, Ryss has his peace!"
He knew that Kwame and Asch were weighing his words, deciding whether or not to listen. Moore could sense their anger, their disgust with him and his decision. The pall of resentment hovered over them even as they kept shooting at the encroaching shvir. Finally, as one, wordlessly, soundlessly, they began to back off, rifles still firing at every alien and machine that poked around the corner.
"We're all clear sergeant! We're all out!"
It was Natasha, Moore could hear the relief in her voice, but all he felt was bitterness, fury. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Hatred. Rage. Wrath. All evident in every motion he made as he tailed the column of retreating commandos. A shvir charged out of a side tunnel. The sergeant impaled him with a single sword stroke, not bothering to confirm the kill, he knew it was a death-blow before it had even struck. His shoulder burned, but not nearly as much as the shame. He had betrayed his own peers for pride, for unnecessary and illogical heroics. Moore shook his head. Natasha was urging them onward. Willy was still firing at something Moore couldn't see. Detonation. The tunnels began to explode. Debris fell around the retreating commandos. A chain reaction seeking to obliterate, annihilate. Strike down anything within reach. An all consuming roar. They were all running. Fleeing. The sliding blast door slid shut a heartbeat after Moore threw himself through, dropping the shviri blade to the floor.
"We're all clear boss. We did it."
It was Valeri, striding over to Moore, a grim look on his face.
"Yes we're all clear."
There was nothing more to say.

The Man in Charge

-December 21st, 3246-

The initial onrush of the shvir melted instantly, pyrakite explosives tearing through their lead ranks. Those that followed came in an unstoppable onrush, ignoring the shorn off limbs and gore spattered walls, all that remained of the leading elements. The clatter of Akarn rifles filled the crowded space, interspersed with the paratroopers Type 84 assault rifles and shviri laser carbines. The aliens were dying in droves, choking up the couple meters that lay between them and the human defenders.
"Grenade!"
Moore cursed and punted the sphere back towards the shvir. The room was in the midst of absolute havoc. The last staff members were exiting out the rea. One of the paratroopers standing next to the sergeant dropped dead, a laser having cut cleanly through his throat. The commando pushed the body aside, firing his rifle one handed as he struggled to retreat towards the exit. The clip clattered to the ground and the sergeant fumbled for a second, firing the moment he had reloaded.
"Fall back!"
Ryss shouted the command, entirely redundant in the situation at hand. Moore was the last man through the doorway, seconds later, a trio of plasma grenades obliterated the insides of the command bunker. The trench-line was crumbling under a seemingly unending barrage of artillery fire. Everyone had already retreated, the only thing left along the path back to the second defensive line was the dead who had fought for control of the defenses, dozens of paratroopers and seemingly hundreds of shvir, having choked the defenders in their own corpses.
"Sheevee tank, range five hundred!"
Val shouted, barely peering over the edge of the wall.
"Ignore it and keep moving!"
Moore responded, ducking down as he heard the shriek of incoming artillery fire. It was the human artillery, firing on their own positions to slow down the shviri advance.
"Great, now we can try to avoid everybody's fire!"
"Shut it Val! They're right behind us Ryss, fucking sheevees. Pass me another charge."
"Get in the goddam dugout! What the hell are you doing Moore, get inside!"
 Ryss dragged Moore through the doorway of the dugout just in time, the fizzle of shviri lasers missing their target filling the air where his head had been split seconds earlier. The room was barely lit by emergency lights, a single lantern and some empty cartridges of ammunition littered the ground. A tunnel entrance lay directly ahead. Whoever was supposed to be here had long sinced abandoned the position.
"These fucking things should lead back, let's move!"
"Ryss, they're rigged with explosives. And everyones gone, they're gonna blow 'em!"
"Screw that, get moving, Moore, you take point, I got the rear!"
Moore rapidly complied, opening the bolt-hole and dropping through it. His ankles screamed in protest as he fell nearly two meters. The hole was deeper than he had expected. He should have used the ladder. The tunnel networks were the arteries of human resistance, the aliens may have been able to block resupply routes above ground with artillery and air support, but not down here. Here all was safe. Unless the aliens took the front lines, then all would have to be destroyed. Moore could already see the charges lining the walls, lights softly blinking where they lay wired along the support beams. The tunnel itself was compact, narrow and low ceilinged. Moore was not a tall man, but even he had to hunch over slightly. Behind him he could hear the thuds of the remainder of the two commando squads dropping inside. There were multiple annexes leading off from the main tunnel in which they were, it was all a veritable warren of pathways leading to various points along the line.
There was shouting, screaming up ahead. A few squads still moved past them, breaking off for the farther reaches of the front-line, seeking to reinforce portions of the trench lines that had ceased to exist. Order was lost. Moore shook his head in disbelief. With that disorder, the front was lost, and far too soon. How could they ever hope to hold. Behind him, men were moving down the tunnels, seeking to set up and recover the defensive positions lost. A full platoon of infantry moved past, looking at the commandos with a mixture of disgusted and questioning glances.
"Scipios golden boys."
One of them spat. Moore wondered if the rest of his men were annoyed with this treatment. The paratroopers didn't realize that their orders were different, and loose at best, but holding action was not what they were meant to do.
They emerged in a cramped ante-chamber. A few hallways further down, and the whole group had successfully returned to the command bunker. This wasn't the front-line control dugout, relatively weak and indefensible. This was a massive structure. There was a heavy hum of electronics. Dozens of computers and holographic maps with hundreds of officers, soldiers, medics and other staff moving back and forth.
"We need our fleet, or we're all dead men," Kwame hissed angrily.
Instantly, Moore spotted the figure of one of the officers, a smartly dressed young lieutenant, bellowing orders. Instantly, he was up in his face, shouting at the man. The sound made gravelly through his respirator.
"The fucking front line is lost, we need to retake it, we need to reinforce, the sheevees are pushing in!"
"Reinforce with what you idiot!" The man angrily shouted back, snarling at the commando sergeant. As he turned around, Moore could make out the mans other arm, wrapped in bandages and bleeding profusely.
"Where's your colonel?! Where is Colonel Zhukov?!"
"I don't know! They got to main bunker in center of 'Kursk', trying to organize overall, I'm in charge here right now."
Angrily, the officer turned away from Moore, hollering at one of the comm operators.
"What the hell do you mean, they're lost. How the hell did we lose communication- Damnation! See if you can raise first company."
"Sir, there's a lot of wounded in the eastern tunnels. We can't move them. They're all gonna get swarmed. The shvir broke through in B sector, by the Boarder."
Moore was furious, he was being ignored, there was no escape from the present situation and he was entirely uninformed as to what was happening. Beside him, Ryss chafed in similar impotent anger. He pulled off his helmet, it was something he always did when he felt the need to think, to calm down.
"Raise a platoon, get them help, we have to pull them out!"
The young airborne officers voice was almost rising to hysteria, panic.
"There's nobody sir, we've moved everybody to the front line, the rest are holding at least two hundred-meters west, in the tunnels. We'll never get somebody to them in time."
Moore swore silently under his breath. Ryss looked at him sternly, he was the senior sergeant and he rarely, if ever approved of Moore's impulsive decision making, let alone his decision to become involved whenever and wherever he felt he could make a difference.
"You aren't doing it, those wounded aren't our problem Moore. Our problem is us, you already risked too much out there. We should have never been at the front."
"You'll just stand here, let our own flesh and blood die to those, those fucking things!"
"We have our job, they have theirs!"
"We have no fucking job, we're trapped, the only difference we can make is here, and now!"
"Get your shit together. We're moving back towards Centerpoint. This situation will have to be sorted out by them."
Ryss motioned to the airborne troops that surrounded them.
Moore bared his teeth in a soundless snarl. The mop of black hair that surmounted his head, far longer than permitted, gave him a dishevelled, savage appearance. There was rabid conviction there, fanaticism. The young sergeant was convinced of his own truth, of his own correctness, and would not be persuaded otherwise. The greatest weakness of the commando, lack of purpose and objective, even for the briefest of moments, could lead to bickering and disagreement as a course of action was charted.
"We have to wait for orders, once we know exactly what they wanted, we can start risking actual missions."
"We were given an order to assist if reasonable. We don't assist now, they're all dead."
Moore drew himself up and turned to the Lieutenant.
"Where the hell are these wounded, give me a map, quickly."
The man looked at him as if he were mad and might bite him at any minute, but complied and handed him the necessary intel, pointing to where the wounded were in the tunnels.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Gonna go kill some shvir and hopefully get your people out of there."
"Alone?"
"If I gotta, then yeah."
The man stared at him incredulously.
"You'll never make it. The shvir are already breaking through. We need at least a platoon to fight through. Shit, Vlad's cut off."
"Close enough for me, damn sheevees can't fight in tunnels."
Moore growled and pulled his helmet on. The airborne officer was about to protest again but it was too late, the commando officer was already gone, heading back down into the tunnels from whence he'd come. His voice crackled over the internal comms.
"Val, Kurt, Willy, follow me, we're gonna bail our new friends out of trouble."
"Should we follow?" Val asked.
"He's impossible. The idiot seems to forget that I'm in charge. He's letting his emotions cloud his judgement," Ryss sneered. How the hell had Moore become a sergeant he thought. The man was tactically capable and a peerless soldier, albeit with somewhat shoddy marksmanship. But his volatile, impulsive attitude was not a good quality for any officer in the commando.
"Do we follow?" Val repeated. He was by far the most loyal of Moore's men, generally in full agreement with his insubordinate commander. Ryss didn't answer, angry and undecided. If he didn't help Moore, the man would probably die. If he did, he would only reinforce his own lack of control in the two squads, allowing himself to be dragged back and forth on the impulsiveness of the younger sergeant.
"Sir?" Val asked.
"You're his men, do as you see fit," Ryss almost spat the words out. He was being impulsive too, hot headed and letting anger get the better of him. He could see the six helms of the other men standing still, watching their officer rage, all emotions hid behind those black faceplates. The only sound coming from them was the rasp of breath through the rebreathers. Light glinted off those insectile black eyepieces, judging, waiting.
"Grab another map, lets go follow Moore."
He whispered quietly, almost inaudibly.
"What was that sir?"
Willy inquired, cocking his head to the side as if it would let him hear better.
"You heard me, get a map from the airborne and we're going down there. See if you can scrounge up some grenades and ammo real quick."
His men dispersed, moving as quickly as possible. It would be less than a few minutes before they'd head down. Slowly, Ryss dragged his hand over his helmet, drawing in a deep breath of filtered air.
"That bastards gonna be the death of me. Fuck Moore!"
He cursed to nobody in particular, the sound of his voice lost in the commotion of the surrounding bunker.

Stuck

-December 21st, 3246-

"We ain't leaving Ryss."
"You're fucking joking, right?"
Sergeant Ryss responded, even though Moore's strained face made it clear that he wasn't. They had reached Centerpoint easily, and gotten rid of responsibility for the Boarders crew as swiftly as possible, but to no avail.
"They don't have any long-distancers, only got a few Drakkens, and a squadron of fighters, they're keeping those for local and it's not like we can fly any of 'em."
"What about another blockade runners? Or resupply ships."
"After that last disaster, we're done. No more resupply missions and from the scattered messages they're getting, it looks like blockade running is going to be out of the question, the Shviri are pulling their cordon too tight."
Ryss pinched the bridge of his nose, none of the commandos had slept in forty-eight hours, and Moore could feel it taking a toll on him. The rest of their squads were sleeping in place, braced up against the wall, only Val was pacing back and forth, restlessly tossing his rifle from hand to hand, occasionally glancing up at the two sergeants.
"Everybody up!"
As one, the commandos snapped awake, some yawning widely, others immediately snapping to attention. Moore himself wanted to keel over and fall asleep, but he wasn't about to declare it openly.

"What's the news sarge?"

Willy inquired as the group began to move back towards their temporary quarters.

"Bad, we're stuck here, we'll do our best to help out with what we can, but Hess wants us planetside, not up here, so keep an eye out for a chance to get off this rock. All of you."

They had been assigned one of the dugouts at fortress "Kursk", an incredibly cramped storage space meant to store munitions. It seemed that the entirety of the garrisons mood was grim, he'd heard constant reports of incoming enemy troops, and seen their transports landing outside of the range of their orbital defense batteries. The actual fortress was a webway of subterranean bunkers and trenches, with small turrets and sheltered firesteps dotting the upper portion of the fortress. Living quarters and all storage facilities were in the center of the fortress, buried deep beneath the moons surface and powered by subterranean generators. For the moment though, it was home for the commandos and all they could do was make the best of it. Moore propped himself up against munition crates and chewed on a ration-bar. Sleep was taking him quickly, he realized dimly.
"Willy, wake me up if anything happens, standard two hour watch cycle. I'm turning in."
Willy merely nodded and stood up, heading towards the hallway connecting the storage annex to the main fortress, but Moore was already fast asleep, curled up in his cloak with his head propped up against the crates.

"Sarge! Sarge! Wake up!"
"Dammit Willy, I'm up! Oh, shit, it's you Kurt, your watch already eh?"
 Moore snapped up and lifted his rifle, the rest of his squat was standing up groggily. Ryss was already awake, trying to stop one of the soldiers rushing past them. A klaxon sounded, hurting Moores head with its deafening howl. He shook himself awake and hastily doused himself with some of the water in his canteen. The bunker shuddered and the lights flickered, instantly causing the commandos to look upward cautiously, waiting to see what else would happen.
"We're under attack sarge, the sheevees are making an attack on the west gate."
" Not our problem," Kurt said bluntly.
"Kurt's right, let's wait, not our job to defend this installation, it's probably just a probe, the shvir are usually slow 'bout attacking," Ryss decided.
"Fuck that, ima gonna go take a look aroun' up there, not like we have any objective right now anyway," Moore said.
"Just don't get yourself blown up," Ryss cautioned.
"I don't plan to."
Moore slung his helmet over his head, grabbed his Akarn and began making his way up towards the surface.

The upper tunnels were filled with smoke and commotion. Wounded lining the halls. Screaming, shouting, dying. The firesteps were a flurry of weapons fire, the clatter of automatics overlapping with the roar of dug in anti tank guns. Moore slowly peeked over the edge, eyes widening at the sight of onrushing shviri tanks and infantry. One of the vehicles suddenly detonated as an anti tank gun found its mark, tearing the turret off its bearings with ease.
"Need ammo over here!"
"Taking fire!"
"Tank is out, pass me a rocket!"
"Fucking god! My leg! My leg!"
Moore was no novice to combat, having served four years in the marines and commando, but that had been before the shviri onslaught. A man toppled over and fell on top of him, head smouldering from a direct laser hit. There was no helping him. Moore dragged himself up and kept going. The aliens were too close, a machine gun crew fumbled reloading a new drum. The alien was only ten meters away. Moore swung his rifle up and fired a quick burst. The alien dropped instantly. The gunner nodded quickly to Moore as the two men resumed their fire but the commando was on the move already.
There was a commotion at the far end of the trench, panicked shouting, gunfire. The entire section of trench was engaged in a brutal melee. Moore activated his long range comms, quickly connecting with Ryss, "Yo, we got trouble down here. This isn't a probe, tha's for sure."
"It's not our job to help here."
"Hell yes it is, we got nothing else to do and we wanna live 'til evac!"
"Fucking god Moore, I told ya not to get yourself shot!"
"Yeah yeah, workin' on it, just get e'rybody down to the command bunker!"
A shviri officer suddenly spotted Moore, his distinctive black uniform causing him to stand out among the paras around him. The aliens pistol came up, too late, Moore fired sooner. Moving through the trench now, concrete rubble spraying his armor as the reinforcing structures took fire, Moore cursed and scrambled forward. The entrance to the command bunker was a tangle of bodies, a pair of paratroopers was keeping watch by the small doorway. Rifles instantly swung up as they spotted Moore. He raised his hands up and they motioned him to come in, warily eyeing the trenches behind him.
The inside of  the bunker was a flurry of commotion, orders being issued and junior officers racing to and fro to carry them out. Moore instantly singled out the commander of the installation, a certain Colonel Zhukov. He was about to ask the man what was going on, but the officer had spotted him first, and was urging him to move closer. A rocket struck the ceiling, causing the whole bunker to shudder. Moore swept aside the small cloud of dust with his hand and moved forward, not pausing to remove his helmet when he approached the colonel.
"Commando -"
"Moore, Sergeant Moore."
"Moore, your men are still stuck here, correct?"
The sergeant felt a little bitter at the thought, yes they were still stuck here, and they were doing their utmost to get off. He was halfway expecting an order from the colonel to leave the "Kursk" position and fall back to Centerpoint.
"Yessir, there's no transport available."
"Well, then you help here, we got a message from your command. Right here, you can read it. They're quick at picking up what happened."
"Fucking God!" Moore slammed his hand against a control panel as he read the orders. Rage was welling up inside him. There would be no replacement transport, there was no way they'd get off this damn rock. The only addition to the message was of small comfort. A blank-check of some sort, to pursue objectives of opportunity until further notice and attempt to cooperate with the local infantry.
There was a commotion at the entrance as the remainder of the commandos made their way inside, their skeletal face-plates and black body-suits coated with dust and small bits of rubble. Moore motioned for Ryss to come up, the senior sergeant slowly made his way towards the colonel.
"We're not getting a fucking transport Ryss, look at this. Apparently just came in."
Ryss shook his head in disbelief as he read the message. Moore could see Val's half cocked head, reading everything over the sergeants shoulder, hand drumming silently on his pistol holster. Ryss' hand slid over his face-plate as he read  the remainder of the message, cursing softly under his breath.
"We're not meant to do this. We don't have heavy weapons. Hell, all we got is Akarns and some pyrakite charges."
The colonel had walked off, leaving the group of commandos to ponder their predicament. There was more shouting at the entrance.
"Nother wave incoming!"
It was a scream from a runner, racing into the bunker, gasping for breath. The frontline command bunker wouldn't hold for long, "Kursk" was a perimeter fortress, and it was already obvious the outermost line wouldn't hold. They'd have to evacuate into the second line of defense, maybe even the third. Eventually all that would be left was the inner keeps and the Centerpoint, the core hub of the entire fortress structure. Moore had raced through the likely outcomes in seconds, licking his lips in consternation. He turned towards the command staff and the remaining paratroopers. A hard impact echoed across the sealed doorway. Moore saw the rest of his squad take up positions to cover the entrance. He grabbed the Colonel by the shoulder, turning the taller man around, his goggles staring straight into the mans eyes.
"Colonel, evacuate now. Get all the fucking staff out of here. We'll hold here!"
The man looked around, realizing the truth of the matter and instantly began shouting orders in whatever tongue he spoke. Men snapped to attention and ran about. He could see a few stretchers bearing wounded being moved out. The door was buckling. Moore could hear a sizzle on the outside, the bright light of a cutting laser breaching the portal blinding to any uncovered eyes. Kurt had already laid a pyrakite charge outside the entrance, the remote detonator uncovered in his palm. Moore sighed and leveled his rifle, waiting for the inevitable breaching squad to storm in. The die was cast, everything was falling apart. If only there was some starlight.