FARLORN'S FORLORN
CHAPTER SIX: DIE IN DARKNESS
PART ONE
Location: Quesaya
Character: Colonel Anakwar Farlorn of
The First-and-Only Carian Ranger Regiment
Tags:
GL3AM
John Locke
Vytal Noctura
Danielle Mueller Jari Valnora
Aria Nox
Rayna Lockley
The sun was about to come up. But they didn’t wait for the day to break. They didn’t wait for the weather to turn perfect or the dark clouds from the horrifying night to part. They didn’t wait for the local authorities to clear the space-port of them. They didn’t wait at all because they did not concern themselves for what nature had to pathetical say to them or the groveling protests of some money-grubbing pathetic dock owner.
They didn’t care at all because they were far, far mightier than all of that.
If any of the long lines of refugees trudging along dirt-paths or the farmers that had chosen to stay to protect their livelihoods had looked up, they would have noticed that against the fading night sky, two new stars winked into existence. The transports hung in space, stabilizing themselves within the planetary orbit before the command was given. They were like swollen insect queens as they birthed out their offspring into the cold airless void.
Across the wide-open sweeping grass fields, over the mountains of which sat the diving mines that had promised to bring prosperity to this backwater but instead brought death and despair, above dying brown estates, a door was kicked open. It began as a barely perceptible whisper in the air after an otherwise windless night but started to grow.
A farmer patrolling her fields, clutching a bolt-action slug rifle older than her was the first to notice. She licked her thumb and held it out. The morning wind always moved in from the west, rushing to fill in the warm air that distant dawn was heating in a land far-way, but this one was heading east.
The breeze violently and suddenly increased to a withering gale, a blistering belt of wind that ripped through the tall dying plantation stalks around her rippling wave. The most brittle or weakest of her crop were ripped with their roots right out of the earth or forced to bend into trembling right-angles. She nearly fell over in the face of such power, bending her knees low down to reduce her profile. She cast a look up and saw the sky split open.
She saw the thick black clouds above part themselves, speckles of dawn poking through a hole nearly ten kilometers wide. There was a great big noise, such a noise that it felt as if someone had fired a gun next to her ear and left her nearly deaf, her ears ringing for days. It was the noise of the atmosphere being ripped open by tens of thousands of tons of steel. The ground underneath her trembled as if it feared what was coming. As if something was being cast down from the golden heavens above.
It was right to fear what was about to come.
Somewhere up there, the God of Agriculture scattered his metal chaff from his hand through the hole created in the clouds. Hundreds upon hundreds of shuttles hurled themselves in a near-vertical drop as their engines blasted away with such force that the flames trailed out behind them for dozens of meters, with such speed that the nose of the ships had turned bright orange from the friction that was being created.
Upon each and every Oberon Class Shuttle was the bright vivid hexagon with dark purple outlines resting on one of its bases, dissected into six triangles, and containing a smaller hexagon at its heart. It bellowed, it screamed out the name of the proud nation they served.
They were the Confederacy of Independent Systems, the bulwark of a quadrillion thankful souls and the torch in the darkness, burning away the tyrants and despoilers in righteous fire.
At the last moment, the small fleet of vessels ended their death spiral towards the earth and pulled up a kilometer from the ground, like spreading grain seeds caught up in a hurricane-force tempest. They flew over the fields roaring, scattering trains of refugees away, making them dive for cover for they could not know what those strange metal birds truly were. Those strange birds screamed, louder than anything ever had on this backwater world. They passed over a lake, lowering their altitude to barely a hundred meters from the surface. Clouds of steam and spray were blasted by the force of hundreds of quad engines. A great mist spread for many kilometers and later it was found that the water level of this body of water had dropped by five meters due to the sheer evaporation that had occurred.
The forward landing party slammed their vessels into the dirt five minutes before the others in a flat bracken field two klicks from the city. Metal ramps dropped out and men clad in beige combat fatigues and steel bowl helmets yelled out battle-cries as they dashed out. Many in their ranks carried heavy chugging fuel tanks upon their backs and long tube projectors with ignitors at the ends of each sputtering a blue flame. They spread out and began to burn away the dying vegetation to clear a field for the landers following in close behind them. The flametroopers were experts at their jobs, burning away the thickest vegetation while making sure that the flames did not spread beyond their control or interfere with deployment. Several walked around with hoses that sprayed out white foam to extinguish fires once they had done their duty. Acrid black soot, ash, and smoke choked the air but was driven away by a southerly wind. It could easily be seen all the way from the City of Quesaya.
Thrusters whining and cycling hard, the bulk of the Regiment’s landers followed close behind them. A thick wave of dust was kicking out from their impacts as the first wave set in, landing claws extended as they settled in as they came down. Hatches opened and thousands of troopers marched out onto their assembling grounds, commanders within their midst with voice amplifiers screaming out orders.
It looked chaotic, confusing, with no seemingly no rhyme or reason but really it was organized and extremely disciplined. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to do in the most efficient manner possible. They had done this dozen of times before. As rapid-deployment light infantry, this was their specialization. If they screwed the pooch on this one, they might as well put in their resignation letters now.
Heavy bulk landers came in, raising walls of dust, and shaking the soil with their landfall. Their massive belly hatches yawned open and lines of cargo trucks and MTAT-1 APCs came flowing out in long ordered lines.
Before the hour was even done, two battalions had loaded up on a dusty road outside the landing zone in matt-black eight-wheeled trucks or their armored transports and were rumbling down towards the city with the others just a few more minutes behind them. The supply transports jiggled noisily along as they followed close behind the armed forces as the fuel cans, spare parts and wheels draped to their side shook with every rotation of the wheels. Rope netting was draped over their payloads.
Within each transports troopers in simple beige battledresses with black combat webbings and white puttee wraps around their shins and forearms chatted readily with their comrades to the side or across them. Their weapons, webbing, haversacks, musette bags and bedrolls were gathered under their feet. They played cards over their equipment. Many credits and bottles of drink were lost in the half-hour ride to the city.
Ahead of the main column rode the advance party, half a dozen staff cars, and two laden trucks with a dozen outriders mounted on speeders. They rode at near full-speeds, the scouts forth blared out sirens for any refugee to move over to the side at once.
In the lead staff car, a man sitting in the back red velvet cushioned seat was dragging his finger down the screen, speed skimming the myriad of reports coming in, analyzing them, and devising responses to counter any threats. The situation here was calm but was under great strain. Supplies at the hospital were sorely needed as well as a garrison force to defend from any further threats. Heavy weapons were also demanded in order to deal with the largest of the overly-aggressive local wild-life, reported at over fifty meters in size and leaving destruction in its wake. Light artillery, anti-tank rockets, laser cannons, and guided airborne munitions were being slowly loaded off the heaviest bulk-landers for the fourth battalion.
This man had a long drawn face with rounded cheeks and fierce green eyes that was intense as a targeting laser. Dressed in a black officer’s uniform with yellow epaulets with a single star upon them, golden Aiguillette strapped across his right breast and his medals just under his rank bar under his left, he had a peaked cap perched atop his short-cropped auburn hair with a bright purple sash around it. It had a single silver badge in the very center, the insignia of the Dauntless Corps, the mallet used to smash in the heads of the foes of the Independent systems while the sledgehammer of the Army pummeled away at its corpse.
“Sir, communications are up,” The passenger right next to the driver spoke up as he fiddled with the car’s comms-unit.
“We’ve got a connection to all Ranger ground units and the ships up in orbit.”
“Good work, Bellary, can you get me on Confederate wide-band?” Said the commander. His voice had a soft nearly-aristocratic complexion yet there was clearly a layer of war-forged steel underneath that thin layer.
“It’s done,” The commanders comms-officer said after a minute of fine-tuning the signals. He turned around and gave him the vehicle’s comms units headset.
“Thank you,” He placed the headset on and tapped at the mic.
“Hailing all Confederate forces currently in Quesaya City, Colonel Anakwor Farlorn at your service. My Carian First Regiment has been deployed planetside and is on route to provide assistance to the current situation. I have three and a half thousand men at my disposal, a small assortment of light armor, and several tons of rations and medical supplies. We are heading towards the city with an estimated time of arrival of half an hour.
Communications at large have been splotchy recently. I request that all friendly and armed local forces report in. If any of you require support, please inform and I will provide to the best of my ability.
We will cleanse these lands of these beasts and bring the light of the Confederacy to the population.
Long live the Independent Systems and hail to the Vicelord!”