[GZG] [GZG Fiction] A Royal Escort

New Guardian Times, Orduna, December 20th, 2196

This morning it was our time to go down and join the street fight, give
a unit in there a break. I know many other reporters have tried to
describe this kind of fighting, but I've decided to give it another go
as I'm not convinced previous attempts have been completely successful.

These actions are always in small groups. We were one squad in the
platoon of men detailed with clearing out to the lane's end, responsible
for clearing the buildings lining the block on along on side of the
road. Another platoon tasked with the buildings opposite. In reality
this meant while you started with a squad you devolved in the end to
holding unit of a squad a house. And after having already taken
casualties, this meant as little as five men per building. 

When in building clearance actions you stay together and clear it as a
unit room by room. We even had buddies so we could cross check after
each engagement. Even though I was formerly a non-combatant I still
carried a SG58 and was paired with the Danish heir to the throne Prince
Christian. After the relocation of King Edmund to Earth, Prince
Christian is the highest ranking of the various royalty on Mars
(including anther crown princes, and three other more junior royals).
Though in truth it is the sons of the CEO's of the megacorps that
probably have the greatest power at their beck and call; and there are
at least four of those in service on Mars. This struggle crosses all the
social divides.

The Kra'Vak have quite effectively used the buildings as barriers. In
the buildings that have seen the least modification from their human
form, where we fight with the least disorientation, there are typically
snipers or walls that have been loop holed to allow for machine guns to
be sighted. In the more alien constructs they tend to put heavy machine
guns in the labyrinthine passageways at either end and then line the
diaphanous walls of the main hall with hidden warriors. We have no idea
what role these halls play, but they have been dubbed the "pool room" as
they each contain a long central and often muddy pool. These can also
house submerged Kra'Vak waiting to pounce spider-like on the unwary. 
 
The relic human buildings are relatively easy to tackle. Instead of
trying to clear via the door we blow straight through the walls for the
length of the row, never once needing to be exposed to those watching
the street. Or unfamiliarity with the Kra'Vak housing makes them a
trickier proposition, blasting their walls either has no effect (the
blast washing back over those on our side of the wall) or it brings the
whole structure crumbling down, creating a rubble mound that you can not
be sure is 100% alien free. Consequently, when it comes to clearing out
these places you have to dig them out, sometimes literally. While
individual actions are lightning fast the overall process is a cautious
business. Even in the midst of an assault there are no cinescope-like
dramatic charges, we know better than that. Instead you probe in your
tiny groups, moving along a few metres apart, sticking as close to walls
and cover on either side as is humanly possible. As one wise arse
sergeant said to me "you need to be one with the wall grasshopper". You
run at a creep, as hard as that is to manage. Springing forward maybe 3
metres then you squat, wait, check around and begin again. We probably
look like demented jerky monkeys or territorial crabs or something
equally ludicrous, but it works. 

Even if it were possible to use live coverage there would be little to
actually see beyond walls and dust. Nearly everyone tries to remain
hidden the majority of the time. Only occasionally do they flit across
openings, meaning that at any point in time there are only a few people
observable. On the other hand, you can hear an awful lot. Scuttling and
scraping (all the more unnerving when it's on the other side of a wall
from you). In places where the walls are known to be penetrable such
noises draw bursts of fire aimed squarely at the scratching. This
occasionally bears fruit, though equally often it simply makes us the
target for the same kind of semi-blind fire.

When we get to the bigger alien dwellings the units come back together
and act in a more coordinated fashion. One squad making a stealthy
approach up one side or the other of the building, while the rest of the
platoon hangs back and draw the attention of the occupants by saturating
the front walls and openings with bullets, laser and plasma fire. They
even toss in the odd grenade, and if you're lucky you get support from a
mortar squad sitting farther back in the main area held by the human
forces; lobbing the fire in over our heads.

The squad tasked with initiating penetration of the building first
secures the closest end of the building. Taking, clearing and covering
the first passageway. They do this with explosive hand grenades and
machine guns - flash bangs are completely useless against the Kra'Vak
which are not dazzled by them in anyway. 

If sufficiently fast this can be accomplished with little injury to our
side and before reinforcements can aid those in this outer room. In
these cases it seems the remaining inhabitants draw back deeper into the
building and construct barricades to help them defend the main hall. The
odd warrior is left along the way to slow down the human advance, but
the bulk is drawn up for a more coordinated defence and melee in the
hall. After the first few slaughters we now steer clear of direct
engagement in the halls, preferring instead to throw in grenades and
roll in and out spraying the space with concentrated fire. This form of
fighting is still very close and frantic, often happening in the space
allowing for only a few metres separation, but it is still seldom actual
hand-to-hand, which the Kra'Vak excel at.

In contrast, if the initial attack goes poorly for the humans the
Kra'Vak come back in force. Usually overwhelming and dispatching the
bulk of the squad before they can extricate themselves. This is a
terrifying and stomach churning event to witness even from a distance.

Thousands and thousands of these little skirmishes will be needed to
clear even one suburb this way let alone the entire city. No single one
of these actions is very large. But you can see that in only a matter of
days they can add to form a man-sized war; one with thousands dying on
both sides.

Finally we had reached the end of the street. While we were sure the
houses adjacent to the ones we had cleared - the buildings that sat
behind or beside those that were now ours, but opened out on to
different streets - still contained enemy troops our little remit was
done. Lt. Joachim Kirsch came over, his smart sheet already powered up
and with a map display. He called Prince Christian and I over to a
company-level briefing. 

We dropped back to a small knot of people tucked in a little ways back
between some low walls. He began explaining what we were to do next.
There was a Kra'Vak strong point one block over, a solid looking
building that may have been some kind of factory. Whatever it was it now
sported four machine-gun nests and it had to be neutralised before we
could continue. There were friendly troops in wedges to either side of
us, but as yet nobody had been able to get close to the machine guns.
Our platoon was rejoining the company to see it destroyed.

"So this is how we'll play it," the lieutenant said flicking his gaze
around his platoon leaders. "We've reorged and drawn the heavy weapons
together in they're own platoon for now. It'll be clear why in a minute.
Make sure you inform your men ASAP so we can get this going fast. Right
now for the assault plan. Drescher, you take your rifle platoon in
first. On their tail, and I mean RIGHT behind them, will go half of the
heavy-weapons platoon under Bauer, you are tasked with covering the
first platoon. Right Lutz?"

"Yes Sir"

"Then comes Rothliburg's rifle platoon and a small section of mortars
under Gottlieb, in case things get heavy. Then Ziegler's rifle platoon.
Bringing up the rear, will be the rest of the heavy-weapons under
Pfeiffer, they can protect our collective arses."

Dismissing the small body the bulk dissolved, slipping back to their
units. Not us though, we'd been told to stay a moment. With a
micro-frown the Lt turned to me and said "We don't know what we'll run
into. So I really don't want to stick you right out in front. So I'm
going to split up your nice little partnership with the Crown Prince,
you come along with me instead. We'll be nicely cocooned in the middle
of the company, keep you as safe as possible. Okay?" 

The hardcore reporter in me wanted to protest the decision, but
discretion won out. I'd rather go in a little way back than not at all,
which was apt to happen if I challenged the Lt. on this. So I simply
said, "Okay." After the last few hours I'd gotten over any fear that had
been lingering, it's remarkably hard to stay afraid once you're in the
middle of something with a dedicated all consuming goal. It's always
anticipation that gets you, waiting to be at the front, waiting for the
faceted eyes and ceaselessly squirming mandibles of the Kra'Vak you've
surprised to sense and register you and for it to send the message to
its alien brain to pull the trigger. Fortunately this particular foray
was tossed on us so quickly there wasn't time for much anticipation. 

Right on cue the clouds opened and rain began to fall, giving the dusty
street a slippery veneer. It had obviously set in for a while. I was ok
in my borrowed Panzergrenadier combat suit, but I felt sorry for the
bedraggled Jagers, who were going to cover us from the human held
streets leading up to the Kra'Vak stronghold. They were all cursing
their luck, as none of them had spray vests and it was clear that in a
very short time there wouldn't be a dry thread between them. If I lived
through this attack I knew I'd be allowed to fall back to a tent and
warm refreshments, but I had my suspicions that these light infantry
would have no such option and would have to sleep where they were in
what ever condition day's end found them. 

Just as the Lt. was asking me if I was ready to go, rail-gun slugs
suddenly came whipping savagely right over our heads. 

"Damn, they've seen us. Those damn slug throwers have all seeing eyes!"
the lieutenant said bitterly, crouching down and trying to peek over the
wall we were behind to get a better assessment of the situation.
Signalling to the men around him he called out "We'd better hold up here
for a minute." 

Along the entire length of the company, the soldiers all crouched down
lower behind whatever cover they were using, small walls, crates,
vehicle hulks. The vicious little projectiles whanged into the walls
behind us. The Jagers also having to duck for cover. Finally mortar fire
called in by the Lt. silenced the barrage and the order was given to
start in. We began by crouch running down the side of a small wall. At
the end of that protection we had to sprint across the street into a
culvert right under the nose of the building. From there we had to turn
down a side street before we reached the breach in the masonry we were
to use to gain access to the body of the structure. 

The troops went forward in single file. When they ran it was in that
crouched, bent over, apelike form that has become the classic stereotype
of the posture of an infantryman in a dangerous space. Once beyond the
culvert they filtered out a little, lining up on either side of the
opening, backs to the wall, eyes darting in all directions looking for
threats. Those closer to the ends squatting to wait, while those right
on the breach were standing on their toes ready to jump in.

The lieutenant and platoon leaders kept up a constant stream of
commands. I couldn't really hear anyone other than the Lt. clearly. He
was imploring the troops nearest to him, telling them they needed to
"Spread it out! Do you want to draw fire? Don't bunch up! Keep it
spread! A nice five metres. No dammit, further apart! Oh for... Spread
it out for fucks sake!" 

While I understood why the Lt. wanted space, I sympathised with the
troops too. There is this almost irresistible urge to close up on a
friendly body when you are in danger. Almost in spite of yourself you
find yourself running up close to the person ahead of you, feeling safer
in their company, even though you aren't really.

Now the Lt. started bellowing new directions. "Hey Metzger, watch for
snipers, down there on the left side of the street, and you, Ackermann,
watch the right side. Now you too", he yelled pointing at the next pair,
"do likewise. I want each pair to cover each other the same way." 

Most of the troops about me were armed with the same big SG58 rifles I
was carrying. Some of them already had grenades ready in the underslung
barrel of the auto-grenade launcher. All of them seemed to be bristling
with hand grenades. One carried an IAVR. The soldiers carrying the MG-66
SAWs and SK-51 PPIGs had been brought together in two groups. One was
already in side the breach; I could hear its sharp reports from where I
was crouching. The other was behind us, just reaching the culvert.
Interspersed through this crazy line of soldiers was the odd medic,
their specialty marked by the subtle black cross or crescent marked on
the front of their thigh pouch. 

Beyond the leaders' yelling there was little talk. The troops were bent
to the task, passing the odd signal by hand down the line. They weren't
particularly heroic figures as they moved ahead. There was none of the
classically romantic vision of bold and savage but chivalrously gallant
knights of ancient Albion about these troops. They were hesitant and
cautious, like hunters, though most looked more like the hunted. There
was a palpable tension undercut by confused excitement and a grim
anxiety. The play of this ensemble of emotions clear on some of the more
inexperienced faces. 

I had probably seen more war than at least half of these kids. I'd been
through more sideline skirmishes than most people had had hot dinners.
I'd been front and centre in the third solar war and many of the early
skirmishes with the Kra'Vak in the rim-worlds. And to my suddenly
ancient eye these children seemed terribly pathetic. They weren't
warriors. They weren't anything like the hardened men and women who had
slugged it out in the TSW. They were eons away from the monsters they
were about to encounter. They were just Swabian boys and girls who by
the mere whim of fate found themselves here with rifles or what not in
their hands sneaking down a death-laden alley to the side of an alien
infested architectural monstrosity in the shattered remains of a city on
a foreign planet. And what's worse all this in full kit and the driving
rain. Every single one of them was afraid, but there was nothing in
their power that would let them quit. There really was not any choice in
the matter. In their hearts they were good kids and there was no going
back. They know and I know, and I think you should know, that even
though they aren't warriors born to the kill, they win their battles the
best way they can. They get the job done and ultimately that's the real
point. 

_______________________________________________
Gzg-l mailing list
Gzg-l@lists.csua.berkeley.edu
http://lists.csua.berkeley.edu/mailman/listinfo/gzg-l