Farlorn's Forlorn
Chapter Eight: Storm of Steel
Part One
Location: Lahag Erli, Cresh Sector, CIS Trenches
Tags:
Luna Terrik
BX-72967-RAZOR
OOM-018-GEM
Tiria Reinhart
Objective: Hold the line at all costs. Oh God, there's so many of them.
Farlorn wove through the communication trenches to the fire-line. Men in his path made way and saluted smartly at his presence but he barely responded. Just a nod there, a mumble of acknowledgment and a slight gesture to be at ease. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere far, far away, on a world that now bore no life and what seemed like a lifetime ago.
He was there in that dark tactical room again, the eerie blue glow from the holo-monitor before him highlighting his features into a gaunt face with no eyes. Everybody in the room was silent, waiting for what he was about to say. Sweat beads rolled down faces and breaths were shallow and fast. It was hot and damp despite it being in the middle of the winter season.
The tension in that room had been so strong it would have taken a lightsaber to cut through it.
He spoke and the temperature dropped. “Transmit a message to Confederate Central Command. Inform them that Imperial Remnant elements have emerged in the Carian System. They must move with all haste to prepare a response lest more undefended worlds fall.”
“More undefended worlds?" A man amongst them stammered. “What of us?”
A fit of rabble broke out. Farlorn raised his hand and the room fell silent again. “It is my deepest regret to say that your world has only a day left to live, if not hours.”
“We could fight-” someone ventured bravely.
“With what? Your Defence Forces are wholly underequipped. You barely have enough of a fleet to deter off shambling pirate bands. Do you truly believe you can stand fast against a disciplined and drilled brigade of their crack shock troops falling upon your heads?” He stated coldly. “And do not even entertain the idea you can beg for mercy, the Empire is one that has no concept of the innocent, surrendered, and what is morally decent. I have seen them cleanse entire worlds clean of life, burn entire villages down, and murder children until the street gutters ran red with blood.”
Nobody said a single thing. The hush seemed to last for agonizing hours when Farlorn knew that it was just a minute.
“We have but one choice,” His voice was grim and stern. “My transport ships will be in synchronous orbit in less than an hour. What Confederate soldiers and equipment still left on the ground will be given priority on the shuttles. Private spacecraft will be seized to expedite this progress. If there is room and time, we will take what non-combatants we can.”
The fact that he knew there was no time to save any civilians was what he didn’t say. What he asked of was already beyond impossible.
A native officer stepped forward through the crowd, his face was completely red. “You bastard! Y-you’re leaving our families to die! I will not give such an order.”
There was some murmuring of agreement throughout the crowd. The officer took another step forward, emboldened. “What do you know, off-worlder? If I had known Confederate dogs like you would tuck tail and run at the slightest hint of trouble and kidnap our brave men with you, I would have told you to go to hell with your offer.”
Farlorn drew his pistol and shot him through the head. Inside the close confines of the tactical room, the boom was deafening. But nobody moved, those close by the now crumpled corpse not even daring to wipe the brain matter from their faces.
He waved his blaster, wispy smoke coming from both barrels. His voice was low and every word carried with it unquestionable authority. “Know this, any insubordination to this course of action I have given my full authorization to deal summary punishment. Any trooper that refuses to board his ship will be shot on the spot for desertion. They are no longer citizens or militiamen of Caria, they are now soldiers of the Confederacy and under my command.
He paused and looked for any disagreements. There were none.
“You all have a choice now. Stand with me, and we might salvage what little we can from this impending disaster. Stand against me, and watch everything you love be destroyed and know in your last moments that you could have done something, but didn’t.”
They all stared at him, incredulous, the enormity of his decision sinking in.
“DO IT!” he bawled and they scrambled for their lives.
“Sir?” The voice of Bellary squealed in the comms-bead in Farlorn’s ear.
“Hmmm...” Farlorn came back to his present.
“What is it?”
So lost in that memory had walked all the way to the frontline without realizing it. The trench was dug in three meters deep with a wooden firestep facing no-man’s-land beneath the parapet and armored loopholes. There was a traverse every ten meters made with earth-filled sandbags and gabions so that if a shell fell directly into one section, the whole line wouldn’t be butchered by the shockwave. The long barrels of Heavy Automatic Slugger and Autocannons scanned the landscape. Once in a while, guided by their spotters, a sniper would take a shot, a cracking sound that echoed throughout to signal their kill.
“Colonel Fenris would like to inform you that his guns are now in position at the ridgeline. It will take his guns ten minutes to calibrate and by then, he will be ready to give out fire support.”
Farlorn sighed.
“At last, it seems that the dolt can do something competent at last. Tell him to prepare his ammo depots because once his cannons are ready, we will be ordering a general advance. I will not allow the Grand Marshal to go forward alone and unsupported.”
“Yessir, I’ll pass it along.” With a snapp-hiss, the link closed.
Farlorn spotted his second-in-command Fennstrum talking with some of the soldiers a little further down the line and made his way towards him.
“Major,” Farlorn said,
“What’s the situation at the moment here?”
Fennstrum wrapped up whatever conversation he had before he even acknowledged the presence of his senior. Neither of them denied the friction between them. Fennstrum had always blamed Farlorn for leaving their world to die in such a callous way, but those feelings had long since faded away. But Fennstrum, being Fennstrum, had found other ways to hate Farlorn.
“The snipers are reporting that they’re spotting increased movement in the insurgent trenches,” Major Fennstrum looked like a snake that had been given human form, with shifty eyes and features as defined as a bayonet. His voice was just as sharp too.
“It could be nothing, could be everything.”
“Have all the men move to maximum combat readiness. This could be them preparing another assault.”
“That’s impossible, given how many times they’ve bashed their heads against the same part of our line and we’ve given no indication of giving way,” Fennstrum clicked his tongue,
“Is what I would say if they even had nailed down the basic concept of sanity, which they clearly haven’t. You willing to bet?”
“Major, you’re speaking to the heir of a great and noble family back on Zolan whose pure lineage goes back to millennia. I’ve got a credit here and there I can use for the occasional frivolous expense.”
“Ah, you’re a blueblood. That would explain the constant titanium rod shoved up your arse.”
“Careful, Major, a quote like that could land you a court-martial.”
“What makes you think I care? If anything, it’s a medal of pride if it’s from someone like you.”
Fennstrum took out a Cigarra Pack and slotted one between his teeth. He fumbled for a lighter and lit it under the cover of his palm so that any enemy snipers wouldn’t see the spark and zero in their crosshairs on it.
“You know, that’ll kill you eventually, Major,” Farlorn remarked.
“Oh yes, the less time I have to spend with you on this mortal plane then,” He rolled his eyes,
“Yes, yes, yes. These are disgusting things, blacken your lungs, give sores on your tongues, make your eyes real red, and puts holes in your noggins… want one?”
“Kriff yes,” Farlorn said.
That was what his mouth said, anyway.
The sound was utterly stolen by the bone-shattering lightning-crack that deafened him for a moment. He looked to the rear and saw a large segment of the line barely a hundred meters back disappear in a stupendous burst of fierce light so bright that pain seared his eyes. A white-hot cone of air arced up into the sky, dozens of meters tall, followed by a massive shockwave that slapped away the undisturbed air with an almost agonizing force. Almost disconnected, a horrendous superheated thunderclap of noise snapped across the dark landscapes so loud it made the ground tremble. The solid wall of air that followed was so forceful, so shocking that soldiers around Farlorn were decked over and staggered around gasping from the breath that had been knocked out of their lungs.
“Shit,” Farlorn gasped but then he steadied himself.
“TAKE SHELTER!” He bellowed again and again as sirens wailed before his voice was drowned out by further shell-fall.
***
They fell in the rain. They fell like rain.
It was their last-ditch. The enemy had lost any care for the long term and was firing their entire stock of artillery shells. They kept firing and firing until their eardrums burst and they wept blood from their eyes from the sheer shockwaves created by the guns that had ruptured their veins. Rusted gun barrels glowed red from the constant heat of and more than one had a misfire that resulted in a tremendous explosion that killed the entire crew in a gun-pit.
But fueled in a stupor by narcotics constantly being injected into their system and by the threat of their masters that shot anyone that lagged behind, they kept up a fire rate that would have put even the best Confederate gunners to shame.
The Confederate lines were drowned in a fog of atomized mud and debris. Deflector shields flickered on but many were struck by the heavy railway guns that went through them like they were never there. Even hard-dug ammunition bunkers were penetrated by the super-heavies and went up in explosions that leveled their surroundings for hundreds of meters.
Farlorn pulled down Fennstrum just as the screaming shell struck the traverse, sending clods of mud and plankboard whizzing out at near-supersonic speeds. Farlorn watched one such piece of shrapnel tumble just inches away from his face. Time seemed to be all wrong as he could see every individual splinter on it.
He saw Trooper Chang thrown backward ten meters down the trench by the sheer force of the board impaling him. His chest deformed and caved in. Blood splattered out of his mouth as it was open in a scream, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He slumped over but he didn’t fall over because he had been stuck clean to the wall.
Trilia was wailing in agony as a trooper struggled to field dress the terrible wound on her belly. Yellowish loops of intestine were spilling from the bright red gash in her khaki tunic looking like the beached remains of a cephalopod. Just one look told Farlorn that she wouldn’t make it.
His entire body aching and unable to hear out of his left ear, he rose to his feet, using the wall as support.
He looked up and saw the charred corpse of Lieutenant Harkos, who had faithfully served him through thick and thin for three years through the bloodiest battles he had ever seen, snared on barbed wire upside down on the parapet.
He smiled at his Colonel with wide, wide white eyes. His eyes still remained, his irises so small that it looked like they had been replaced by white tea saucers. With most of the flesh burned off his face, his teeth curled into a broad grin. It was part amused, and part agonized as if he had just laughed at a very funny joke while being mangled by shrapnel. He looked like he had been so taken aback by the sudden and random nature of his demise that he couldn’t do anything but chuckle and grin from ear to ear at the event.
Look what happened to me, huh? So bad. So sad. But, eh, what can you do? Wonder if the lads gonna have a jolly good laugh time at this.
Farlorn blinked away the blood that was flowing freely from a bad cut on his forehead though this wound seemed insignificant to the wounds laid bare before him. Feeling like thorns suddenly bursting in his veins, he felt nothing more than sheer rage and fury as he stared into those eyes.
Men and women he had known for three years being butchered in such a senseless manner. They were dying in their dozens for no good gain for their priceless blood split. He had made a promise to all of them when they left their burning world. And here, in mud and blood, he had broken that promise.
He fought the tears back and replaced them with anger.
“I will not…” he oathed under his breath. His entire body was shaking.
“I will not… I will not allow any prisoners to be taken. I will not allow a single one of those insurgent scum I lay my eyes upon to leave it alive.”
He could keep that promise. He would keep it.
The bombardment crept backward further onto the communications and reserve lines, engulfing them into a curtain wall of explosions so thick a fly couldn’t make it through, much less any back-up. That meant only one thing. This was a prelude to an offensive.
“Sir,” Fennstrum was on the firestep with his macro binocs,
“I think you get to keep your money.”
Farlorn leaped to his side. He couldn’t see much through the fog and mist but Fennstrum’s optics cut clean through it. He saw vague phantom shapes rising from their trenches in their dozens, no, hundreds… no, thousands. Lines upon lines of advancing infantry for two kilometers.
“How many?” Farlorn breathed out.
“I don’t know, if I was a betting man, and after this, I don’t think I am, I would say that’s around ten thousand of them moving forward now.”
“Oh my lord,” Farlorn turned around and saw that a Ranger that had overheard the two talking,
“That’s a kriffing lot of them.”
“Indeed. There are so many of them and this world is so small,” Farlorn grinned like a wolf who had just found his supper,
“Where shall we find room to bury them all?”
The uncertainty and doubt in the man receded away like a wave. This was Farlorn’s strength, his secret wonder-weapon, and the reason why he had rallied his broken soldiers to triumph time and time again.
He would meet impossible odds with a smile and a charismatic and witty quip.
Bellary blundered into their section. His whole uniform smeared with a mixture of mud and blood yet despite that the radio-set on his back was spotless.
“Bellary, can you get me on speaker broadcast and on all comms waves?” Farlorn jumped off the firestep and made his way to his chief-comms officer.
“Here you go, sir,” He handed Farlorn the comms-handset.
“Everyone’s listening.”
Farlorn thumbed the handset and raised it to his mouth. When he spoke, his voice boomed out from Bellary’s speakers, clear as day, clear as a victory.
“Is this all they can send at us? This horde of inferior scum-sucking ragged beggars? This rabble? We are the vanguard of the greatest army this galaxy has ever laid eyes upon and this is all they send at us?” He laughed, the sound of it crackling through the speakers and reverberating around the burning landscape.
“The sheer numbers of our armies have covered continents, the fury our guns crack them with ease, and our tanks grind entire mountains to dust. Forgive me that I must order you to waste your ammunition on their worthless soul.”
Shells fell all around him and liquid mud drizzled down like rain but the Colonel didn’t even flinch.
“Remember your homeworld, my dear men, remember long lost Mother Caria. Remember how men like them butchered your wives, your husbands, your father, mothers, and children without a second thought! Do not think that these ones would not do the same to the loved ones of others!”
More shells continued to fall. One hit barely a dozen meters away in the center of a fully crewed gun-pit. Someone was wailing. The mud that drizzled down was no longer just water and mud. There was blood and body parts in it.
“I ask each of you one simple thing: fight. Fight till every single blaster bolt is expended. If your bayonets are shattered, then use your hands If your hands are broken, fight with your feet. If your hands and feet are broken, fight with your teeth. If there is no breath left in your body, fight with your spirit and the rage upon your lips against this foe! I do not expect death to be an excuse in the face of such pitiful foes.”
A wave of noise so loud that it drowned the chaos of the creeping bombardment hit Farlorn’s body like a solid wall. It was the voices of thousands of loyal soldiers. He drew his vibrosaber for all to see and aimed it at the enemy.
“Not one step back! Show no mercy! No hesitation or quarter! Say it with me. Scream it. Cry it. Howl it until your throats are raw and sore so that every single bastard on this world can hear it. For the Confederacy and the Vicelord, may he reign everymore!”
“For the Confederacy! For the Vicelord!”
“Louder!”
“For the Confederacy! For the Vicelord!”
“Louder! Men of Caria, is this all you can muster? Louder so our grand admirals can hear us from orbit!”
“FOR THE CONFEDERACY! FOR THE VICELORD!”
Adron Malvern
Acantha Malvern
Gerwald Lechner
Oleander Webb
Kyyrk
