Tales From the Terran Republic

Chapter Enclaves

Narva-6

Human Population: 1278

Primary Occupation: Agriculture

Primary Product: Vitamin Enriched Rice, Strain 13b

Actual Product: Coca Leaves

Colony Ownership: Aster Agri Corp

Actual Owner: Void Gazers

Sergeant Gluush of the Federation Expeditionary Force took cover behind a rotting log, trying to press himself into the mud.

They hadn’t even managed to make it to the farm complex, still eight kilometers away. Massive explosions had wrecked all of the APC’s in their convoy sending them tumbling into the swamps below.

They knew to expect homemade bombs. These were humans after all. Their skill with crude chemical explosives was well known but they were told not to worry. Their APCs were heavily shielded and armored. It would take a blast from a grav-tank to stop one of them, and they were flying over a hundred meters above the marshy ground, well beyond the range of even their infamous shaped charges.

It didn’t matter. One second they were closing in on the farms and the next… There was the shriek of an alarm and then… BOOM. There was a huge hole in the APC and they were falling…

And over half of his squad was dead. They lost two more who couldn’t get free of their “safety restraints” before the APC sank into the mire.

In seconds, their company was decimated with the stunned survivors cowering behind whatever they could find trying to figure out exactly what just happened.

“Sergeant!” a voice shrieked.

The sergeant winced. Why hadn’t the captain been one of those killed?

“Sir?” the sergeant replied as the captain waded up.

“You will stand and salute when addressed by a superior officer!”

“Sir, please get down!”

“Sergeant!”

The sergeant reluctantly stood and saluted the captain. As he did so he noticed something strange.

Someone had cut the some of the limbs of a nearby thurga tree.

Nine-hundred meters away a barrel, wrapped in something resembling moss, slowly shifted by a few degrees.

“Sergeant, gather the men and prepare to march to that rise.”

“Are you certain, sir? That would put us-”

“It’s the only solid groun-”

The sergeant stood open mouthed in horror as the top third of his commanding officer disappeared, spraying him with a light green liquid.

A moment later he tried to dive for cover.

He wasn’t fast enough.

***

Keel Orbital

Human population: 130

Primary Occupation: Misc.

Colony Ownership: None

Actual Owner: Unaffiliated

The remaining shreds of the station security, the system SDF, and the six Federation military personnel still left alive were throwing tables, chairs, boxes… basically anything they could lift, into an elongated pile.

It was supposed to be so easy. The humans had all withdrawn into a few sub-sections on level twelve. The station security sealed off the area and the SDF, backed by the Federation, were then going to sweep through the area, detaining all of them in preparation for deporting the lot of them to Raylesh after they subdued the system.

That’s not what happened.

“What’s happening?” The station manager shrieked in dismay.

“What does it look like?” a Federation lieutenant snapped. The lieutenant turned to a wounded trooper who was hunched over an instrument panel. “How are you doing, son?”

“I’ll live, sir,” the trooper said and then laughed. “until they finish the job.”

“Any luck getting through?”

“No, sir,” the trooper replied. “Those blighted porkies have locked down the whole station.”

“How?” the station manager yelped.

“Hackers, good ones.” the trooper replied. “They own the station now.”

“Who were those guys?” an SDF officer, bleeding from multiple punctures in one of his arms and torso as he slumped against the wall, asked.

“The ones in gray?” the lieutenant asked, “No idea. All I know is that they are spawnfuckers.”

“The who?” the station director asked.

“There are these guys in light combat armor with mottled gray coverings,” the lieutenant replied. “You can’t see them on scanners and they are deadly. They were calling the shots and once we tried to run, they were the ones giving chase.”

“Terrans?” the director asked. “I heard-”

“No,” the lieutenant replied. “Only the rabble had AK’s. These guys were packing energy weapons that I’ve never seen before. I’m not sure if they are blasters, gauss rifles, or something in between. Whatever they are they will punch a hole in you big enough to step through.”

“You’ll get to see them soon enough,” a trooper said as he slowly limped behind the makeshift barrier.

“Where did they com-” the director started to ask before cut short by a loud explosion.

The hatch blew off its hinges and flew into the room.

The lieutenant thought of his wife as he uttered a silent prayer to his ancestors.

Gods of my father, Gods of my mother… Let me fight with honor… Let me die proudly...

A cylinder shot into the room filling the space with a strange shimmering smoke.

The lieutenant activated the scanners in his helmet. It was useless.

He heard many running footsteps approaching. He dropped his gun and drew a ceremonial blade.

A human hurtled over the barrier with ease, bearing down on him.

A blade attached to his weapon! the lieutenant thought in amazement as he assumed a fighting stance. That’s genius!

A second later his last thought was, Was this enough to please my ancestors?

“Clear!” a gray clad soldier shouted.

“Clear!” another one replied.

An old man walked in wearing a Raylesh SDF uniform. Underneath the SDF designation there was a strip of gray cloth with the letters “USMC” embroidered on it. On his left shoulder he wore a patch bearing an eight-rayed star with an eye in the middle. On the right was a worn patch bearing three swords going through a star.

“Good work, devil-dogs!” he exclaimed. He pulled out his communicator.

“We got the last of them.” he reported.

“Took you long enough, Gunny,” an old woman snorted.

“Ma’am, they can’t fight worth a fuck but they sure as hell can run,” the old marine chuckled.

“Move to point Omega, Cover the unaffiliated while we do a little shopping.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

Capital City

Human population: 125,000+

Primary Occupation: Misc. with focus on light industry.

Colony Ownership: None

Actual Owner: Unaffiliated

Colonel Laurent looked at the map and released a frustrated sigh. They weren’t coming.

This wasn’t good.

“They are probably calling for reinforcements,” he said in French to a nearby officer.

“Good luck getting them,” the silver haired woman snorted. “I suspect they might be a little short-handed at the moment, sir.”

The colonel carefully examined the map. The Federation forces were well positioned and enjoyed complete air superiority.

Leaving their positions and moving to engage them would be suicide.

He let out a chuckle. They were trapped in a trap of their own design. They couldn’t leave porkie town without exposing themselves and remaining here was suicide. The Federation could simply keep them pinned down until they massed sufficient force to stage a successful assault.

Not good.

An iridescent green Jova walked into the room.

“Hak’ kalal!” Colonel Laurent exclaimed.

“Hak’ lolr!” the Jova replied and then twitched his mandibles in a smile, “I was expecting a bit more excitement today.”

“Me too,” the colonel chuckled. “Goddamn Feds are actually acting with foresight and intelligence. This unexpected development is most inconvenient.”

“Who woulda thought,” the Jova replied.

“I thank your people for the intelligence, Major” the colonel said after a moment. “It has been most useful.”

“Think nothing of it,” the jova said with a smile, “we take a rather dim view of genocide… Though after today perhaps we should start supporting the Feds instead. How much blood does it take to slake your thirst?”

“This isn’t about blood,” the colonel replied. “We are trying to damage the Federation’s ability to fight. We can’t hope to cripple their fleet but their ground forces… that we can do. They committed enough of their troops that we have a very real opportunity to significantly diminish their capacity. Even though we haven’t killed nearly enough to cripple them we have done enough damage that they won’t risk additional units quite so readily.”

“Interesting,” the Jova replied. “Working with you has been most educational.”

“You think this is educational,” the colonel replied. “just wait. We have so much to teach your people.”

“I am eagerly looking forward to that,” the Jova replied. “My bags are already packed. The wife is less than pleased, though.”

“You could bring her along, you know.”

“Absolutely not,’ the Jova laughed. “I will happily risk my hide but there is no way I’m bringing my family to Raylesh… I’m sorry,” the Jova winced, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” the colonel replied. “We’re used to this. We’re porkies. Nowhere is safe. At least on Raylesh they can be comfortable while they wait for the inevitable.”

“Um… so,” the Jova said uncomfortably, “is there anything you humans need? Any supplies?”

“We are doing quite well at the moment,” the colonel replied. “Please pass along our gratitude to all of the enclaves. In fact,” the colonel smiled, “could you please ask people to stop sending us stuff? Every single food preservation unit is stuffed to bursting.”

“We feed our worries,” the Jova laughed, “and it seems that we aren’t the only species with that drive. I will pass the word along. Let us know when our grandmothers can break out the stew-pots once more.”

“Don’t worry,” the colonel laughed, “we will.”

“To change the subject,” the Jova said, “I do have several requests for training units from a number of species. It seems we aren’t the only ones who are… concerned… by recent events. I also have several other races that want to be added to the ‘list of friends’ and wish to know what that would entail.”

“Damn,” the colonel laughed, “At this rate we there will be nobody left for our pirates.”

***

Kestra-3

Human Population: 2518

Primary Occupation: Mining

Primary Product: Rare earth minerals

Secondary Product (Covert): Uranium

Colony Ownership: Hass-Reek Mining Corp

Actual Owner: Morgan Enterprises

Major jK-Beel stepped onto a makeshift platform in front of his expeditionary force.

“Listen up!” he shouted. “We are about to go on our first sortie against the humans entrenched in the Kee Mine. I’m not supposed to tell you this…”

The major inhaled a deep steadying breath.

“Due to logistics issues our attack has been a bit delayed relative to the other ‘police actions’ across the Federation… Things have… Well, they haven’t gone well.”

He paused as the muttering resided.

“They haven’t gone well at all. In fact, it’s been a complete shit-show. I don’t know all the details but the reports are pretty grim, especially on the ground. The humans are not only resisting they are doing a damned good job of it. This IS NOT going to be a summer stroll. We need to expect determined, armed resistance.”

He scowled at some amused snickering and “They’re gonna die’s”.

“Stow it!” he shouted. “I’m fucking serious! The entire Raylesh and Zaran expeditionary fleets have been completely wiped out!”

The room fell into a shocked silence.

“We’ve lost contact with Raylesh, Zaran, and a dozen human enclaves. The ones that we are still in contact with report horrific losses!”

The major activated a holo-projector.

“This information is being officially suppressed because they are afraid of losing morale,” the major shouted. “Well, I’m more fucking concerned with losing men! You need to know exactly what we are heading into and it is NOT good.”

He waved his hand and an image of a Raylesh SDF soldier in combat armor appeared.

“There are reports of what appear to be actual military units mixed in with the locals in all enclaves,” he bellowed. “I hope to every hell in all of your belief systems that I’m wrong but, based on the carnage, I think it’s these assholes, Raylesh SDF.”

He looked at his troops.

“Has anyone ever been stationed in the Raylesh system?”

He paused hopefully. Unfortunately, as expected, nobody responded.

“Well I have!” he shouted. “Whatever preconceived notions you have about the SDF, forget them. The Raylesh SDF is a serious threat whether it be in space or on the ground. They don’t fuck around. Personally, I would rather tangle with a Xvli. These troopers will fuck you up!”

The projector started showing different uniforms and gear sets.

“If you see ANYTHING like one of these photos call it in IMMEDIATELY!”

He turned to face his men.

“There are a few things I want to get clear RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” he shouted, stamping his hoof. “NO SALUTING! If ANYONE salutes me I will treat it as if you made an attempt on my life!” he yelled. “They have top-class marksmen and they USE them. Expect snipers! You are also trained to acknowledge orders loudly and clearly and use ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’. Don’t do that either. You are basically screaming that you are talking to a target, one you are standing right beside. They use sonic enhancement. They hear that and you are begging for a sniper to open up your vitals!”

He started to pace.

“Sergeants and squad leaders, you have been trained to call in for instructions whenever facing an unusual situation. You have instincts. Use them! If you wait for orders it could be too late. Follow your orders but if you run into something unplanned, do what you have to do to survive. You have my personal guarantee that I will back you up as long as it isn’t outright mutiny. Taking cover or even retreating is NOT cowardice under fire. It’s good sense. Don’t throw the lives of yourself and your men away for no reason. We have a mission to achieve but we can’t do that if we are dead!” Images of IED’s appeared.

“These are images of various improvised explosive devices. Do NOT underestimate them! If you noticed, they can look like ANYTHING. If you see anything that looks remotely out of place, shoot it. If you see some freshly overturned earth, shoot it. If you see a vehicle parked alongside or under your path, fill it full of holes. If in doubt, shoot it then shoot it again. Most of their explosives will be detonated by one of our projectiles.”

He paused and took another breath.

“Concerning the rules of engagement… If a human is armed, fucking shoot them. Don’t challenge them. Don’t order them to drop their weapon. SHOOT THEM! If you detect a concealed human, order them to show themselves. If they don’t, OPEN FIRE! Assume ANY adult human is a potential combatant. In fact, ANY human is a potential combatant. Just because it’s a kid doesn’t mean it’s harmless. I don’t care if you have a son or daughter their age. If they are carrying a weapon SHOOT! If you can’t see their hands be cautious. Make them reveal their graspers. If they don't, SHOOT!”

He paused.

“We are Federation Troopers, not death squad members. Don’t shoot any human that you see but if you have the SLIGHTEST funny feeling about the situation have them lie down in the submission position. If they refuse, SHOOT THEM!”

He let the muttering subside.

“Our orders have changed. Preparing the humans for deportation to Raylesh is off the table. We are to secure the area, establish a perimeter, and clear the area of weapons and explosives. We will then transport the humans to a holding area being established by our engineers.”

He stamped his hoof.

“Everyone look to their left and to their right. Those men are the ones that are going to keep you alive. Those are the men that you are going to keep alive. Officers, trust your men. Men, trust your officers. We can’t help our orders. We are being sent into harm’s way. THAT is our job. HOW we follow those orders, that we can help. The brass has ordered us into this pit. I’m ordering you to SURVIVE. Now mount up and may the Creators be with you.”

As his men filed into their APC's, the major shuddered. This was going to be the Terran War all over again. No, it was going to be worse. In the Terran War we weren’t invading their homes. We weren’t rounding up their children. These humans would be fighting for their very survival. They believe that we are going to send them and their families to disease-riddled worlds to die and that’s exactly what we would have done if it were possible.

On the trip over he had studied them, the porkies. He read their history. He knew what they were capable of when pressed and he knew exactly what he was sending his men into. This wasn’t the Terran War all over again, he realized as ice gripped his heart. It was going to be the Sol Wars all over again, creators help them all.

But that wasn’t what truly bothered him. What truly bothered him was that he and his men were the raiders. He tried, but he couldn’t shake the thought. They were the raiders in this new Sol War. He was on the wrong side. He had orders to follow and a duty to perform and he would but…

The humans were fighting for their children and their homes. What was he fighting for? Order? Stability? The rule of law?…

Death camps?

He clenched his molars as the APC’s lifted off. This reminded him of something from his race’s history… Something he did not like one bit.

Was he fighting on the right side?

He turned and walked towards his command post. He tried to clear his head. He had his orders. It was his duty to follow them.

Yeah, ‘Just following orders’… Wasn’t that what they said as well?

He winced. His ancestors fought and died fighting tyranny, fighting genocide. Some of his direct ancestors died in places exactly like where the Federation wanted to send those humans. And now, he was the one wearing those steel shoes. He was the one stomping the children into the mud.

This was wrong. What would his ancestors think of him? Could he even enter the sacred tombs after this? He didn’t think he could.

“Ancestors forgive me...” he muttered as he walked away.