The First Drop
Corporal Alex Finley
Agartha, the Colonial Confederation
September 20th, 2365
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, drop!”
Corporal Finley felt his stomach rise up in his chest as the clamps on his drop pod were released and he began hurling down towards the secessionist world of Agartha at over thirteen-hundred kilometers per hour. The feeling of being weightless combined with his anxiety about his first combat drop nearly sent him into a panic attack, but his controlled breathing kept him from losing his cool.
“So who all is excited to kill their first reb, “Alwafi yelled out across the pod.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Private Fenderson yelled back. “My cousins live on Mare. Have you seen the news about the rebs bombing it from orbit?”
“Yeah I saw it on IMC’s feed last night,” Frank Giovanni interjected. “Made my blood boil watching the bombs fall.”
Finley was angry too. He had been angry enough when they had voted to secede and had rounded up and imprisoned Federal loyalists across their systems, and even more furious when they had declared war on the FRS, but now they had attacked a Federal shipyard and were bombing a planet that had formerly been apart of their autonomous state but had chosen to stay loyal to the FRS. The rebels claimed to be fighting for their freedom against the FRS, but their general population couldn’t even vote in their “elections,” leaving political decisions to the old first colonial families’ aristocracy. To make matters worse, they used indentured servants to do strenuous and dangerous labor and forced them to pay for their own accommodations, effectively making it impossible for the servants to ever earn their freedom. There were rumors on darker parts of the subspace network that they even bought slaves from the Sildoria Crime Syndicate on the black market, and it was a known fact that they had used the Korosi they had captured during the war as forced labor in ways that were even more brutal than anything seen in the Xu-Murdoch Prison Colonies or the Galrescom Mining Company. They had somehow managed to convince the general population that lived in their systems that the problems in their society were the cause of the Federal government, even though they had lived with near-total autonomy since 2251. Just another example of some rich a******s starting a war to protect their greed and lying to get the poor to do the dying for them, he supposed.
Finley knew it was nothing new. He had always had a fascination with history and had studied it intensively in school and his free time growing up. From the ancient wars of Mesopotamia to the Bleeding Years and beyond, the story had almost always been the same. Rich people getting into fights with each other for money and power, while the poor fought for them and gave their lives for some lofty, often imaginary, goal. He wondered if he was being used just the same as the rebs on the other side but cast that thought aside. No, it's not the same, he considered. It’s a mistake to make a false equivalency. They are absolutely the villains here. They broke the peace and picked a fight where there was none, and have a sick, twisted, authoritarian ideology. They deserve everything that we are going to unleash upon them.
“We are about to enter the atmosphere,” Sergeant O’Connor yelled out.
Finley leaned his head back into his seat and turned on the dropcam feed on his HUD. The view from the bottom of the pod was incredible. Agartha’s endless rolling gold and green fields lay spread out before his eyes, dotted with lakes and small seas as far as he could see. Directly below him, a pulsing green circle highlighted the landing zone of the 5th Alpha Centauri Orbital Assault Corps. Across the horizon of the planet, he could see other ships firing off thousands of drop pods to take part in the massive invasion of Agartha. He looked back down at the planet’s surface as a faint orange light appeared in the center of the screen and the drop pod began to rattle. Finley could tell it was the heat of friction from entering the atmosphere. It grew larger and larger until he was no longer able to see the planet’s surface at all. He closed the dropcam and looked around. The rest of his squad had also leaned back in their seats, preparing for the atmospheric thrusters to kick in.
A warning appeared on his HUD.
Atmospheric Thrusters engaging in five, four, three, two, one.
The drop pod shuddered and an enormous roar filled his ears. His body felt like a Centauri fur dragon was sitting on top of it as the forces of gravity pressed on him from above.
Frank Giovanni’s face was turning a slight shade of green as the pod shook.
“Hey Giovanni, you aren’t going to puke again are you,” Alwafi gritted through his teeth, “No one here wants to get bathed in your vomit like last time we did a practice drop.”
Finley wanted to laugh at it, but the force of gravity from the deceleration made everything difficult. He opened the dropcam again to see how far they were from landing. Agartha once more appeared on the screen. There was enough detail now he could see various lakes and rivers flowing across its surface, and could make out some of the larger cities and towns now as well. Just off the center of his screen, he could see a medium-sized city. Most likely where our objectives will be, he considered.
“Anyone think it’s odd that we aren’t taking any AA fire,” asked Private Jacob Freger.
“Maybe the planet didn’t want to secede,” Giovanni responded through the nauseous grimace on his face, “like Mare. Maybe they will welcome us with open arms.”
“The Tartessos Sector had divided loyalties when it came to secession, but the government of Agartha was staunchly pro-Finks,” O’Connor interrupted. “The reason we aren’t taking AA fire is most likely because Naval Intelligence picked our LZ away from rebel defensive positions. This is a sparsely-inhabited planet with a small population of only seven billion people on it. The rebs can’t afford to defend the entire surface and have most likely gathered their forces to defend strategic objectives like major cities, industrial sights, and fortifications. The rebs of the Tartessos Sector have a lot more experience dealing with planetary invasions than we do. They faced off against the Korosi War Clans a few years ago and learned a lot about how to properly defend against orbital invasions.”
“Well it’s their loss not trying to stop us from landing,” Alwafi replied. “It’s smooth sailing for us now.”
“Let’s see if you still feel that way when we meet those gathered forces Alwafi,” joked Ustinova.
Finley continued watching as the surface got closer and closer. The altimeter read that they were only five kilometers up now and that their descent was beginning to slow. One pod sped past them, its thrusters flickering. That can’t be good, he realized.
All of a sudden the speeding pod’s thrusters blew out. Finley watched in horror as the pod began to spin violently around and accelerated towards the surface.
“Holy s**t,” Alwafi cried out, “anybody watching the dropcam? One of our pods just went into freefall!”
Finley turned off his cam and felt a sickening lurch of fear in his chest. The last thing I need right now is to watch another one of our pods smash into the surface.
“Poor bastards,” Private Hiro Toyama replied.
“Anyone know which squad that was,” Corporal Schwartz asked, his voice quivering.
“It’s… it’s Alpha Company’s command p-pod,” Sergeant O’Connor stuttered.
Captain James’s pod, Finley realized in fear.
“S**t, what are we going to do O’Connor? We need Captain James,” Schwartz said, his voice panicked with concern.
Sergeant O’Connor regained her composure and barked out “There’s nothing we can do for them now. We have a chain of command for events like this. Prepare for landing in thirty seconds.”
The deceleration became strong and stronger until a sudden thump and a release from the crushing gravity of deceleration as the altimeter reached ground level told Finley that they had landed. A hatch on each side of the pod sprung open with a hiss.
“Go, go, go,” O’Connor barked. “Form a parameter around the pod.”
Finley stood up, the mechanical clanking of his exoskeleton and the shriek of atmospheric strike craft soaring overhead filled his ears as he lumbered out of the pod into position and raised his autocannon. The pod had landed in a sea of one-and-a-half-meter-tall golden grass-like organisms that had flattened around the landing site. The air was filled with the roar of other landing craft and pods coming out of orbit, and a few hundred meters away smoke was rising from the crash site of Alpha Company’s ill-fated command pod.
“Who’s in charge now,” Giovanni asked, his voice wavering with concern.
“Doesn’t matter,” Alwafi quipped, “the Colonel is going to send us into a head-on assault regardless of who our Company CO is.”
“I think it’s First Lieutenant Kowalski,” Fenderson called out.
“I can’t believe our luck. Our first drop and our CO gets killed before we even enter combat,” Ustinova muttered.
The company comms crackled open.
“This is Lieutenant Kowalski,” a voice said, “our planetary landing craft are thirty seconds out with our transportation. Form up on my mark for boarding.” A flashing beacon appeared on Finley’s HUD twenty meters away.
“You heard the Lieutenant,” O’Connor boomed, “move out.”
The ninety surviving members gathered around the beacon and watched as scores of large Manta-class landing craft move down through the sky to bring heavy equipment to the initial forces that had landed in drop pods. One came down near their position and released eight Ram APCs and four Jack Rabbit light recon vehicles before taking off and heading into orbit once again. Finley’s HUD marked the closest Ram as the vehicle they were supposed to board. As they began to climb in, Colonel Yearley’s voice came in on the regimental comms.
“111th, our objective today, as part of the 25th Light Infantry Division, is to act as a reconnaissance screen for the 5th Shock Division and the 2nd Light Armored Division as we move to seize a strategic gas extraction operation located here.” A map of Agartha opened up on Finley’s HUD as he sat down in a seat inside the APC. He could see the pulsing green ring that showed where the 5th Alpha Centauri Orbital Assault Corps had landed and a solid green line stretched out around it like a flower blossoming, showing the 5th’s area of operation on the planet. The map zoomed in, magnifying the green ring and showing the 25th Light Infantry Division’s landing zone on the northern edge of it, as well as a hundred-kilometer-wide red area to the north of that, marked gas extraction wells.
“I requested that we may have the honor of leading the vanguard into the fight.”
“Great,” Alwafi sassed out loud in the APC, “of course he did.”
“Shut the f**k up Alwafi,” O’Connor growled.
“Our regiment has orders to find and report any rebel activity en route or in the target area. If we encounter any rebels we are to dig in and engage while waiting for backup. Intelligence reports that we outnumber the rebs by a large margin. There are two rebel army groups numbering around two million troops on this planet compared to our fourteen orbital assault corps, meaning we outnumber them seven to one. Their forces are made up of mostly local Agartha militia units, but there are several Colonial Guard divisions in the northern army group. We have a good chance of encountering them at gas extraction wells. I’m confident that the 111th will prove more than a match for Colonial Guards, and I’m eager to meet them on the field of battle.” Colonel Yearley chucked over the comms.
The map zoomed in once again to show the route the 111th was taking from the landing zone to the gas wells.
“We will move up along these routes to the wells. They move along sparsely inhabited agricultural lands worked by indentured servants. We have orders from Earth to liberate any indentured servants we find along the way. Their populations will be happy to see us and might be able to provide us with additional intelligence about rebel movements and positions. The gas wells are dangerous places and will most likely be manned by Korosi slaves. We also have orders from Earth to free them. I for one am not happy about freeing those savages and I am sure that many of you feel the same way, but orders are orders. Earth wants this war to be as clear cut as possible to show that Colonial claims that they are fighting for freedom are without merit.”
Finley had mixed feelings about the order, but he grew uncomfortable at the way the Colonel talked about the Korosi. They had been brutal savages during the Korosi War, eating people and harvesting their organs to replace their own genetically-damaged ones, but deep down, they were humans too. Humans corrupted by a tragedy, not of their making. The greed of the EME and its failure to take precautions when dealing with ancient alien ruins had ruined Koros and mutated those living there. They are a product of their environment which we created, he considered. Perhaps if they are not left to their ruined homeworld they will regain their human spirit and become civilized.
“Go forth and make the Federal Systems and Alpha Centauri proud,” Colonel Yearley boomed before closing the regimental comms.
They drove along through what seemed like endless prairie across the surface of Agartha for two hours without seeing a single structure. The planet felt empty but the rolling hills and fields of grass-like lifeforms filled with two-meter-high, six-legged grazing mammalian creatures that stretched to the horizon were beautiful to Finley as he looked through the APCs holocam network. He was glad they were in the Northern hemisphere where it was summer though. He had seen the snow-covered Southern hemisphere from orbit before they dropped and wanted no part of the freezing cold weather other Assault Corps were no doubt dealing with while securing that portion of the planet.
“Can you imagine how boring it would be to live on a world like Agartha where the entire planet has pretty much the same biome,” Alwafi asked the squad. “Nothing but endless rolling plains with no major oceans. No wonder the rebs here were pissed off and decided to leave the FRS. If I had to live on a boring world like this I would be pretty pissed off too.”
“I don’t know Alwafi,” responded Schwartz, “I kind of like it. It seems peaceful enough. Looks like they don’t have any Centauri wasps here, which is better than we can say about AC.”
“Ehh, I will take a few bugs for an incredible ocean view any day of the week,” Alwafi replied with a sneer.
An alert popped up on Finley’s helmet. Unidentified armed personnel detected ahead. Prepare for combat.
“Alright Flyswatters, we are approaching a small village. Looks like there are a few score of indentured servants there as well as some armed men and women,” Colonel Yearley boomed through the regimental channel, “they appear to be Agarthan militia, so let’s show them what you Alpha Centaurians are made of. Prepare for your baptism by fire.”
The APC stopped moving and the rear door opened up.
“Alpha Company, line formation on the left flank,” Lieutenant Kowalski yelled out, his voice wavering under the burden of his new command.
“You heard the Lieutenant,” Sergeant O’Connor yelled out, “everyone out and into line formation!”
Finley gripped his Martian Arms 20 millimeter, triple-barreled, rotating autocannon as he lumbered out of the APC and into line at the far left of the regiment. The low hum of the regimental shield generator, mounted on top of one of the APCs, buzzed as his exoskeleton clanked along through the fields. Up ahead about five-hundred meters away he could see a town of hundreds of buildings separated from them by an ad-hoc barricade made up of farming vehicles, scrap metal, piled earth, and various pieces of furniture. He magnified his vision ten times until he could clearly see the armed troops dug in behind the barricade. It was clear they were militia now. Finley’s targeting system had identified one-hundred-ninety-seven of them, but the numerous red target reticles were distracting so he switched the auto-target computer off. Only a handful of them were in exoskeletons, while the rest were wearing outdated traditional combat armor which would make them slow in the coming fight. Half of them weren’t even wearing the yellow-with-a-green-stripe-down-the-middle uniforms of the Tartessos Sector and were instead dressed in assorted civilian garb underneath their armor. In the center of the barricade, they had a Tartessos Armory Model 2338 coil gun mounted on a stand overlooking the field which the 111th now stood, while the rest of their infantry seemed to be armed with obsolete small arms such as conventional rifles and light machine guns.
“You getting a load of these rebs,” Alwafi asked in the squad comms, “someone forgot to tell them to prepare for modern combat.”
“I almost feel bad for the poor b******s. They barely even have exoskeletons,” Giovanni chimed in, “can you imagine how heavy that armor must be without them?”
“And they don’t even have a shield generator. We are gonna kick the s**t out of them,” quipped Schwartz.
“Quiet,” barked O’Connor, “never underestimate your enemy. We may outmatch them in numbers and equipment but they are fighting in their own backyard.”
“Sorry Sergeant,” Schwartz grumbled.
“Let’s just worry about doing our jobs. Keep your weapons at the ready,” O’Connor commanded.
Finley raised his autocannon and pointed it at a rebel wearing an exoskeleton who appeared to be armed with an older single-barreled 20-millimeter autocannon. I guess having the exoskeletons might not pay off for them after all. It makes them priority targets, he considered.
The 111th Light Infantry Regiment was now deployed into two lines, with five companies including Alpha Company deployed in the front line, and three companies deployed in the backline. The Rams and Jack Rabbits were deployed behind the backline to fire over the heads of the infantry while the regiment’s artillery support company was deployed with two mortar batteries on each flank of the line of vehicles. The logistics and medical platoons were stationed in the rear, out of the enemy’s line of fire. It was the standard offensive combat formation for Federal infantry regiments in open field battles. Finley wondered how intimidated the rebels must have been to see Federal assault troops arrayed in battle formation in front of their meager town.
A Ram command variant bristling with optics and antennae circled around the line of troops and stopped between the 111th and the town. A voice began to boom out from speakers on top of the vehicle.
“Rebel forces of Agartha, this is Colonel Yearley of the Federal Army. Lay down your weapons and come out with your hands up and you will not be harmed. If you refuse, we will unleash hell upon you and your town.”
A moment later the entire barricade erupted in a barrage of fire that caused Finley to jump inside his exoskeleton. The rounds impacted the shield in front of him causing blue ripples to spread out like raindrops on a pond. The rebel coil gun fired towards Yearley’s APC, but being outdated, it failed to penetrate and instead made a large bright blue flare where it came into contact with the shield.
“Guess that’s a no,” Alwafi snickered.
Colonel Yearley’s Ram drove back around behind the line leaving a thin cloud of dust in its wake. When it was safely back behind the lines, Yearley opened the regimental comms again.
“The enemy has refused our generous offer of surrender. Advance to the edge of the shields and prepare to engage.”
The entire front line began to march to the edge of the shield which came down into the field about fifteen meters in front of them. When they reached the edge they came to an abrupt halt and stuck the ends of their weapons outside of the shield bubble.
“All units open fire,” Yearley shouted.
Finley squeezed the trigger at the same time as the rest of the front line. His exoskeleton rattled as his autocannon’s barrels rotated and spit round after round downrange into his target. Finley thought he saw the rebel he was aiming at lose his entire upper right side before he fell over, but it happened so quickly it was hard to tell. He adjusted to select another target but they were dropping or taking cover too fast so it was impossible to find one to shoot at. Explosions from the 111th’s mortar batteries burst in and around the barricade. One landed directly on top of the rebel coil gun which blew to pieces; its gunner’s torso and head blown high into the air in a cloud of viscera, machinery, and dust.
“Finley,” O’Connor’s voice appeared in his squad comms, “fire into the barricade. Even if you can’t see the targets you can penetrate their barricade and have a good chance at hitting them behind cover.”
“Yes sir, Sergeant,” Finley replied.
He lowered his autocannon and fired along the line in front of him, punching holes through the scrap metal and farming vehicles that he could see clearly with his magnified view.
“111th, fire and advance,” Colonel Yearley bellowed. “Tear the rebel scum to pieces!”
Finley trudged forward through the smoke and dust clouds that were drifting over from the town, firing his autocannon in short bursts in the direction of the barricade. As he got within a hundred meters of the town he saw a tattered white banner raised on the end of a steel beam waving over the barricade.
“Hey guys, there’s… there’s a white flag by the barricade,” Finley stuttered into the squad comms.
“Good spot Finley, I’ll relay the message to command,” O’Connor replied.
Within seconds Colonel Yearley’s voice came on the regimental comms.
“111th, ceasefire, ceasefire.”
The staccato of shooting faded away and there was silence across the battle-scarred field.
Behind the barricade, between twenty and thirty tattered militia members, some of whom appeared to be wounded, stood up and walked out with their hands raised. Finley kept his autocannon trained on them just in case, but there appeared to be no fight left in them. As they approached the line Finley could see the terrified or shocked expressions on their faces and felt sympathy for them. They had been woefully unprepared for this fight, and traitors or not, they had only been defending their homes.
As they approached closer some of the other members of the regiment began to call out to them, mocking them.
“You traitors learn your lesson yet?”
“Don’t f**k with Alpha Centauri, rebs!”
“Next time try not bringing your grandfather’s gun to the fight!”
The jeering was interrupted by Lieutenant Kowalski’s voice on the company comms.
“Alpha Company, we have been ordered to move up over the barricade to secure the town with Bravo Company. We won’t have the shield generator with us so stay alert and in loose formation.”
Alpha and Bravo companies fanned out and approached the shattered barricade. One of the farming vehicles had caught fire and black smoke hung over them as they advanced. When Finley reached the barricade he raised his autocannon and pointed it over the other side to clear it of possible enemy holdouts. He could see the shattered body of the first rebel in the exoskeleton that he had killed. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. His helmet had been cracked in half exposing his brown hair and glazed-over blue eyes, as well as the large hole that had torn half of his jaw off. His right arm had been blown off at the shoulder and his torso had been ripped open by autocannon fire, spilling what was left of his lung and liver into a pool of dark blood and red gore that surrounded him. Finley looked away and felt a wave of guilt come over him. It wasn’t even a fair fight, he thought. They never even had a chance.
All around were other torn up rebel bodies; there yellow and green uniforms or civilian outfits stained dark brown by their blood. Some of them were still alive, and the moaning they made filled the air. It was the most horrible thing Finley had ever seen.
“My God,” Giovanni shuddered, “we tore them apart.”
“Looks like you owe Schwartz an apology Sergeant,” Alwafi mused.
“Just because we whipped this militia rabble here doesn’t mean what I said wasn’t valid Alwafi,” O’Connor responded, “Never underestimate your opponent. I doubt they will give up the gas wells so easily.”
As they entered the town Finley saw civilians peering in terror out of the windows of the buildings. He kept his autocannon pointed up in case there were any militiamen hidden inside who were planning an ambush, but he saw nothing but fearful and shocked townsfolk as they advanced down the road towards the center of the town.
Up ahead was an opening that must have been the town square. In the center of it, in front of what was clearly the town hall, the red and blue-striped flag of the Colonial Confederation was flying from a flagpole flickering gently in the wind. Lieutenant Kowalski motioned to two soldiers from another squad, and they walked over and began to pull it down. Kowalski reached into his combat bag and pulled out a folded Federal flag. He handed it to the two soldiers and they began to hoist it up over the town square.
“We got contacts coming down the street,” Ustinova called out, surprising Finley and giving him a stab of worry in his stomach.
Finley dropped to his knee and raised his autocannon. The rest of the companies formed a half-circle around the flag and aimed their weapons. Down the street, a crowd of haggard-looking people were approaching. They stopped for a moment when they saw the Federal troops, then began cheering and racing towards the square. Finley’s jaw dropped.
“I… I didn’t expect any locals to cheer for us,” Fenderson muttered.
“Neither did I,” Finley admitted.
“They’re indentured servants,” Kowalski exclaimed, “lower your weapons.”
Finley lowered his weapons and the ragged mob rushed over.
They looked dirty and tired. Most of them appeared to be sunburned and underweight, and their clothing was faded and cheap-looking, but their faces were full of tears of joy. Several of them ran up to Finley and began to touch his armor.
“Thank you! Thank you,” they cried out, “thank you for liberating us.”
One of them, a woman who looked young but sun-damaged for her age, kissed his visor and handed him a flower.
“Uhhh, thank you for the gift,” he stammered.
“No,” she said, “thank you.”
“Were they mistreating you here,” he asked.
“We have had to work for eighteen hours a day and they don’t give us enough to eat. We work in the sweetgrass fields on the north edge of the town, and if we stop to rest they take away our meager rations or confine us to the justice hall for reconditioning.”
The guilt that Finley had felt about killing the rebel earlier dissipated.
“Well I am glad we could stop that,” he said with anger in his voice. “You should talk to the Lieutenant over there and tell him what you told me.” He gestured towards Lieutenant Kowalski. The woman walked over to Kowalski and Finley turned to look up at the town hall with fire in his eyes. Inside he could see a man with grey hair standing in the window watching.
As the crowd cheered, a column of Ram APCs began rolling into the square, with Colonel Yearley’s command APC leading the way. When they reached the square, the hatch on top of Yearley’s Ram opened up and he poked his head out of the top.
“I’ve been told that you poor citizens have had your rights abused by the filthy traitors here,” he roared.
The crowd roared back in affirmation.
“Then the wealth of this town is in the wrong hands. Soldiers of the 111th, loyal citizens of Agartha, you have my permission to take what you want. The town is yours.”
Finley grasped his autocannon and turned towards the town hall. It probably had more than a few valuables, and the condition of the indentured servants had evaporated what sympathy he had felt for the free residents here. The figure in the window had disappeared and he was eager to find him and have a chat.
“Come on guys,” Finley gestured towards the town hall to the rest of his squad, “we should see what we can find up there.”
“I like the way you think Finley,” O’Connor smirked. “I bet there are plenty of credits in there for all of us, and probably some good intel as well.
“Maybe you’ll make general one day yet Finley,” Alwafi snickered as they walked over to the building's front doors.