[GZG] RE: [GZG Fiction] Landing At Cabot Beach

Landing At Cabot Beach
 
New Guardian Times, Ariza, September 10th, 2196
 
One of the interesting consequences of the Kra'Vak jamming comm channels
has been on reporting. At first there were many apologies as to the lack
of live feed, but eventually it became an accepted novelty of the
conflict. Of particular note is that the tone of reporting is vastly
different to the hyperbole riven reports of the three Solar Wars, where
embeds tried to capture the attention of viewers with the extreme
reporting that has dominated the tri-vid channels since the Realist
Faction lost in the Media Wars. The dominance of live conscious
streaming and digi-edits had seen an end to the reporter who hunted out
the story and filed a finished copy. The viewers were now privy to the
search, the more you paid the deeper you got to see. The biggest battles
between the braners creating the encryption on the streams and the
corporate hackers trying to see the secrets being sniffed out. 
 
The current conflict has turned everything on its head. At least as far
as the topic of the war or cosmic news goes. It has again opened the
door to a wider range of reporting styles, from euphemistic to realist
and has encouraged more time spent on story construction. This is mainly
as uploading spots are limited, rationed and sporadic. This is all fine
by me, its given me the chance to end my patchy career as a Martian dust
sifter and take on the role as scout and embed reporter. For the last 5
weeks I've been with the OU. I got to ride in with them during the
landing on Cabot beach during the first few days of September. The
Australians and Papuans landed in one body with the Maorilanders leading
up the second group. They were tasked with following up the NSL units
that were the first to hit the beach, who were down as a covering force
to seize the ridges above the beach, which they did in about an hour.
The whole thing had been practiced in dry run for 5 weeks up in Candor
Gulf before it went live on Ariza.
 
The dawn was perfect; with the faint light of Phobos lost amongst the
thick cloud the  ships carrying the troops, together with five
supporting warships (charged with protecting the landing from Krak grav
tank attacks), stole in without contest. Intel had shown that the coast
was partly fortified, with a battery on a promontory about 4 kilometres
to the southwest.  
 
The NSL had been taken across in drop ships and VTOLs, the IJN ground
forces paradropped in, but the OU came across in grav APCs on the back
of the wet-navy boats. Once they got within a few kilometres of Ariza
they flew in under their own steam, bouncing over the tops of the surf
and up on to the beach. Shallow water boats dropped the Swabian and
Eurasian PA off along the 5m depth contour, the suits expected to walk
ashore from there. That wasn't a completely successful exercise, with
seven of the oldest ESU suits failing and the troopers inside drowning
before they could surface.  
 
The first units landed without a hitch, but the following units were not
so lucky drawing fire before they even crossed the coast. Oberst Kaufman
logged his landing as five fourteen September 5th 2196. While the
standing orders had been to avoid firing until the first wave were
completely ashore, trying to use bayonet or gas were possible, this
order was soon disregarded as irrelevant as a Kra'Vak patrol came upon
the landing and called in support before they could be despatched. It
was then a mad scramble to get ashore before the transports were brought
down. Men were leaping into the water, stumbling ashore, almost falling
over themselves to get up the beach. 
 
Around three hundred years ago a wise man said "There is no retreat once
you start an invasion: you hit the beach and you go in." Ain't that the
truth. We had to run in water from up to about our knees through to
waist deep and hope and pray the intel guys had been right that there
were no mines. Some of the smaller less well equipped guys were all but
worn out before they even cleared the surf. They were waterlogged, with
impregnated uniforms, full kit, extra ammo pouches and then their rifles
weighing them down. 
 
Halfway up the beach I paused to check a young man lying in the sand.
Encourage him on. He looked all of 17 and when I touched his face to
rouse him he was ice cold. He must have drowned in the surf and rolled
shore with the waves the tanks were forming. I switched my wrist band to
medscan, the only bit of kit from my sift mining days that was of any
real use in my new career. It was no use however; he was flatline with
no chance of resuscitation. If there had been even a sniff of life in
him I'd have hit him with a combo stim and tried to save him. 
 
The tanks too were in a made scramble to get clear of the beach and at
least four unfortunates were run over in the chaos. Just when I thought
we were clear of the worst of it for now, having reached our holding
position beyond the dunes at the head of the beach, fire ripped into us
from the hills to the southeast. Intel had noted the bunkers in the
hills, which had a nice view of anybody clearing the beach, but we
hadn't appreciate they're position until their fire hit us. The hills
forming an ever rising series of perches. There was no avoiding it
though, the other approaches to Ariza being too step to land the foot
troops or to exposed to fire from the main body of the Isthmus in the
east and south. A company of Panzergrenadiers with a platoon of PA in
support were sent to clear the ridge. They approached via a series of
steep gullies cutting into the northern side of the ridge, trying to
find cover amongst the rubble and boulders lining the rough ground. It
was not a complete success, as the sheer slopes of gravel meant they had
to work hard to gain any height in the advance. The Krak fire creating
sparks and flashes as it hit the stones around the Swabian advance. In
an effort not to make sitting targets the Panzergrenadiers rushed
straight up the steep slopes. Their boots sinking into the lose ground
and giving them a sliding, scrabbling gait. The OU, who were now all
ashore, watched all this from below, doing their best to provide
covering fire and force the Kra'Vak to draw back in where they couldn't
target the NSL advance.
 
The Swabians did eventually take the bunker, but not without significant
losses. Apparently few of the Krak waited to be tackled directly,
engaging the granadiers as soon as they penetrated the bunker. It is
said that one huge Bavarian took down nine enraged Krak all by himself,
emptying all his clips he then swung his rifle by the muzzle, snapping
one's neck, catching another and crushing his upper body and flinging
another against a wall pulverising its skull. I do not know if this
story holds any veracity, but when I was allowed access in the next few
days I did find a dead Krak with its skulls smashed in. There were also
many other body parts, but the stench turned my stomach so, even through
my snout mask that I did not stay long to search for more evidence of
this Herculean feat.
 
It is impossible to say what happened next, except that it went quite
for a while, except for the commanders desperately trying to find out
where the rest of the supporting waves were. Apparently some mistake
further up the chain had seen a delay and we would have to hold on with
what we had until they arrived. With this clear the troops still on the
beach and those in the immediate surrounds were all given revised orders
and told to head for Ariza. They did this in fine cheer and with much
determination, but it was a slow and dangerous process as we kept
encountering alien positions, who would sit quiet until we had passed
someway by, before opening up on our flank. Then it would be the same
routine over and over, clear the position, regroup and advance. While
bloody, this approach was still seeing us capture good ground for the
alien occupiers until we hit the final defile before reaching the
outskirts of Ariza proper. 
 
The Krak had a machine gun in the valley to our left. The usual method
was failing badly due to the density of fire this gun was bringing down.
In under five minutes three squads of Papuans were isolated, lying on
the bare earth or along the culvert's edge trying desperately to scrape
some kind of hole for cover with their entrenching tools. Wounded were
screaming and the place was a mess. Two stretcher-bearers of the 2nd
Battalion tried to affect a rescue of those lying closest to the safe
positions the OU held on the western side of the cutting, but both were
shot by the Krak. Finally, Sergeant Mayer led a small party in a mad
dash, rescuing nine men. 
 
Once clear of this we were into Ariza's agri-district. The open ground
had to be crossed quickly or there would be an enormous loss of life.
The OU set off at a dash, clearing the farmland within half an hour. The
leadership during this time was quite impressive. It is quite impossible
to maintain even a semblance of fine order under such conditions, but
they were magnificently prepared for just such events. The company and
platoon commanders had been trained at length in Palm Rock to act on
their own responsibility and the benefits were seen clearly during the
farmland crossing. Platoon commanders knew their intended rendezvous
point and lead their clutch there by what ever route seemed shortest,
safest and most effective. 
 
It was soon after we entered the main industrial district west of the
main harbour in Ariza that we felt our first experience shrapnel bursts.
Given the guns were hidden amongst the cities buildings it was extremely
difficult to uncover them. Those in the memorial parkland above the
harbour were soon placed and then silenced almost single-handedly by a
wet-navy cruiser, which saturated the emplacement with shells. The other
guns were harder to root out, and at least one was self propelled,
making it exceedingly hard to locate and destroy. It continued to fire
sporadically most of the morning, but was hit just before noon, which
was a grand relief for all of us. Unfortunately it was short lived and
the battery began to fire almost continuously, dropping a salvo of four
shells about twice every minute for the best part of the afternoon. It
was only when a low flying squadron of VR flyers bombed the entire line
of warehouses lining the eastern rim of the harbour that the shelling
finally stopped. It had been carnage, watching hour after hour as
shrapnel burst over head. Our wet-navy support could do practically
nothing to help. Despite their best efforts the OU spotters couldn't pin
the battery down, so it was impossible for the Navy to knock it out. The
Polynesian officer who eventually fixed the Krak gun's position well
enough for the VR fighters to knock it out came back all smiles, but
with blood and grime smeared across his face. He had taken a hit through
the cheek, the bullet taking away his front teeth on that side. He got
the medic to dress his wound, stim-pack him and then he winked at me
made some comment about having gapey teeth anyway and headed back to his
unit. 
 
During the entire time the OU held the eastern harbour and the NSL held
the west and cleared the edging industrial zone in preparation for the
landing of the main force the one thing that brought the most cheer was
the steel of the officers. Young Lt Douglas, who I had stuck by through
much of the advance thus far, sat in the scaffold amongst the shadows of
the walkway and searched the surrounds for Krak troops. An adjacent
company made to cross between streets to his east and seeing them in
trouble he directed a runner to link up with them and tell them of their
position. The runner was felled by a Krak slug after only 20 metres. Lt
Douglas with no apparent thought to his own safety swung down from his
vantage point, sprinted to the other company's position, and then began
running back to us, stopping to pick up the wounded man on the way.
Within seconds of reaching the relative safety of our lines the harsh
bark of a Krak gauss SAW was heard and the Lt fell spilling his cargo.
Arm chair theorists of past wars would claim such acts were foolish, a
good officer lost, but it would be absurd to pretend that was true of a
life lost in this way in this war. In this desperate fight no-one knows
how long his example will live on. None who heard the men talking next
day could doubt its value. "We have the best damn officers" one
Australian told me amongst a string of profanity over his morning brew
next day. He was not the only one I heard express such statements over
the course of the next few days. What's more we had depth enough that
others equally tiger-like are able to step up into the shoes left behind
by such brave men. And as icing, as a direct result of knowing where we
were the other company was able to link up with us and root that knot of
Krak out.
 
I do not think anyone got a real count of the number of Krak holding the
harbour, but it has to be over a few thousand. This meant as we pushed
further into the area we met increasingly stiff resistance. Every person
was on the firing line, the Krak counter attacking in force too great to
allow for our troops to consolidate their positions. The squad I was
with basically said our only choice was to hunker down and hold our
block over night until we could use the glare of the next noon to dig,
or get enough air support to neutralise the threat.
 
The night was tense and uncomfortable, we were tested a few times. The
Krak attempted several charges along the waterfront and into our extreme
right. For the most part you could follow the charge by listening to the
fire, a few blocks over, sweep by in a dopler-like wave. When the attack
came our way, the men waited until the enemy were within 50 metres,
across the street and square in front of the warehouse we were
occupying. The Krak never once waited, driving on relentlessly, flinging
themselves flat to let our machine gun fire fly over their heads before
leaping up and pressing further on. Ultimately our position held, but it
was a close run thing, the Krak getting to the door twice, three of ours
dying repulsing the second attack, a Krak holding a grenade in its hand
as it was shredded by our fire and its own explosive.
 
In between these mad fights we did manage to reorganise enough to
straighten out our lines and begin our consolidation even before the
light of day. The guys around me reinforced their positions as best they
could. By morning we were actually reasonably well secured. I had used
my old sifting skills to get the water flowing again and Private Hughes
had done a good job of seeing everyone had had some kind of meal. I do
not think I will ever get used to the dry mouth and knotted gut I feel
at times like this and all I could manage was a few gulps of water and a
couple of dry biscuits. 
 
Just before eleven a runner came in to let us know that the next wave of
troops, mostly Eurasians and Japanese were being ferried into the
agri-centre to our west by VTOL. In just under two hours we were to take
part in a concerted effort to clear the harbour for the main force. Make
the place a nice little tame port for us. Some joker remarked "we still
have time for a cuppa then".
 
Before the attack could be started, however, the Kra'Vak probed the UEC
forces in the tiered housing to our south. I sat and listened to the
continuous rattle of fire. I must have looked nervous as one of the
veteran troops leaned over and with a reassuring grin said "Notice
there's no bullets whistling and whacking about?"
 
"Ahuh" I replied with a dumb nod of my head.
 
"That means it's most likely by our guys".
 
"Oh. Thanks". That made me feel immeasurably better. It wasn't until
days later the "most likely" hit home and the advice lost all its
soothing meaning. At the moment though it was quite a salve.
 
Not long after the Krak began shelling the area again, pumping shells
into the blocks between us and the fire fight in the south; trying to
pulverise our troops no doubt. The wet-navy battleship HMNAS Queen Rose
lent its gun in our support, the roar of her shells flying overhead as
uplifting as any tonic. They screamed overhead like the sound of a hover
truck and moments later the ground would shake and the fittings around
us rattle, layering us with fine dust shaken from the walls. If you had
the right vantage point and could see out over the skyline you could see
huge yellow clouds burst from where the giant shells hit; kicking
miniature thunderclouds of dust, fine rubble and shrapnel up into the
air above its point of impact. 
 
While the planned attack never happened the fighting in the hills above
us continued on into the night. There was little or no rest for the
troops up there, the fighting heavy through the whole time. Just after
dawn we were rotated up there, to give the guys in place up there some
respite, letting them slip a few blocks back and get some shut eye. This
also gave HQ a chance to try and estimate the actual losses of men and
officers so far. Many had been killed or wounded to the point they'd
been evacuated, but there was also a good proportion that were MIA that
turned up safe from another of the forward buildings, having gotten
mixed in with the troops there in all the confusion. 
 
For our part, the squad I was with held their ground well enough they
pushed the Krak back across three more lanes and a boulevard and had a
much more defendable position by the end of it. The Krak tried pushing
back, but now the fairly open ground meant the enemy troops could be
brought down before they'd reached our position. The corpses of forty or
more dead Krak lying splayed across the middle to far edge of the road.
If it keeps on like this we may just stand a chance.

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