Roses and Manses
The Governor Attan vra Urolett paced back and forth along the hall. In his mouth was a cigar from Austras. Its end smoldered, sending forth wisps of smoke to the ornate chandelier above. He puffed on it as he looked over the latest reports from the front.
The enemy fleet had broken through the outer and inner defenses of the system. What few craft left in the Defense Fleet had taken up position in Archaios' orbit or had landed upon the surface. What use they would be in the coming battle for the world itself was yet to be seen, though the presence of the sailors themselves would perhaps make up for the lack of Regulars on the surface.
Only one Division had the Court granted the Governor for the defense of the colony, one Division of the Royal Army. What he had at his disposal were the forts, their guns, and the Territorial Army. Since the first breach of the outer defenses, nearly sixteen million men and women had come under arms. These soldiers were mostly drafted, having previously served a stint of a year or two before being discharged into the Guilds.
There were mercenaries, aye, but they would not be sufficient. The Marshal had limited their number, refusing to allow any one group to achieve supremacy on the surface. As such, a multitude of nations were represented on the surface to stand off against the legions from beyond.
In the distance, he could hear the sirens and announcements of a world at war. Archaios Major, where most of the urban centers were located, was more heavily defended than the continent which lay to the West. The bastions overlooking it had been constructed by the Royal Engineers to withstand a prolonged orbital bombardment. They had also forbidden foreign constructors from raising structures, and had ensured that even the sprawling metropolises were capable of serving as part-fort, part residence.
Archaios Minor was entirely different. Beyond the urban coast lay a vast rural hinterland that was sparsely populated. Some Jewels, floating citadels meant to withstand the depths of the waves, had been attributed to them in the Assembly. Such, however, had not stopped the East from surpassing the West in influence and power.
This was proven, for the world's capital lay in the West along the great river. Here, far from the urban jungle, were rolling green fields and hills. Here, life was truly Frankian, and the Governor's manse teemed with plant life. His wife had turned the garden into a paradise with much hard work and hard love. Now, their life here was at risk. No one would likely be alive to bring in the vegetables that had been planted in the last Kalend.
Still, the roses were in bloom, and even as the sky darkened there was still a dream of spring. Life had just begun to awaken, only to find itself imperiled upon a thousand upon thousand fronts. The Governor sighed, and did not move as he heard the roar of the batteries in the distance. They were firing live rounds, now, to be followed by a wave of ordinance that would be maintained throughout this prolonged fight.
Shells, quadfire, gridfire, and probes were hurled into orbit against the fleet that sought to blot out the Light. The shielding array had been extended and strengthened as soon as the invader had crossed the threshold. Some raiding parties had managed to land on the surface, to be dealt with by the massed artillery and massed assaults of the Territorial Army.
These actions had been minor, but disturbing. Even when surrounded and overwhelmed the invader had refused to surrender. Thousands had already perished, watering the plains of Archaios with blood. The first images of ground combat showed signs of a determined enemy, capable of improvisation.
There had been no transmission from the enemy, no reason as to why they were assailing a colony of the Sovereign of Sovereigns. From Beyond they had came, and into this Reality they had emerged. The Whole's aim was not always to the Part's liking.
One landing had particularly disturbed him. It had been near a baseball field, hosting an international tournament. The Royalists had tied the series, with the tiebreaker to be hosted today. He had seen the reports from the 9th Territorial Corps that had swept down from all sides to reclaim the field.
Bodies, bodies everywhere..
Who's on Second
Jannus vra Vahrak was covered in dirt. He had stolen two bases in the latter half of the 7th. So far, no one had scored or made a mistake until now. If the Royalists got a base hit, they might very well get the tiebreaker in the series.
Bitter rivals on the field, vra Vahrak had nothing but respect for one of the best teams in the league. He was aware of their record, and what it meant for the colony to clinch the series. There were many games to go, but to best the best of International Baseball would put the colony on the map.
He heard the sirens, but no one had expected the invaders to make it this far so soon. The roar of cannon was heard shortly afterwards, shaking the ground for leagues around. Tracerfire lit up the sky, and soon quadturrets he never would have suspected opened up.
They will never be able to land.. They will be shot down.
Still, several of the ballplayers were Territorials, and had their rifles in the dugout. They raced to ready themselves and joined League Security in securing the building. Some helped with the evacuation of the fans, as did Cadets of the Iron Youth. Others trained their rifles on the skies, still dressed as though they were about to finish the game as soon as the danger had passed.
Thousands were in the stands, and he could see them leaving in droves. Many had left, fortunately, when the enemy assault craft roared overhead. They were immediately engaged from all sides by quadcannon, flak, and pdl-fire. It shuddered under the weight of the ordinance hurled its way, before lurching towards rightfield afire.
Creatures from beyond age, beyond time, emerged from the wreckage. Their crimson armor bore strange markings, signs he recognized in certain works of the Occult. He had taken mythology and cosmology at the local college. Like all colleges that had no relationship to the military, it had focused on literature, art, history, language, philosophy, and theology.
He still remembered his college professor's shrill voice..
These are the marks of those that came before, that rebelled against the One after Creation. What they mean, we do not know as much as we think that we do. The sands of time has erased much of this ancient conflict, with few names coming down to us save the names of heroes. Whether the mark you see here means 'red sword' or 'pig swill' is a matter of prolonged and lengthy debates.
What the Scriptures make it clear that there was a cosmic struggle, in which the One overcame these beings of terror and scorn. For a thousand upon thousand upon thousand cycles did this war wage, leaving behind many heroes that fill the lore of our race.
Vra Jahvrak had reached the dughout when he heard the exchange of small arms fire. He saw a security guard ripped to shreds in a matter of seconds. Somehow, he had the strength in his lungs to cry something in a Talestrian dialect he could no understand.
The few that had survived were firing at everything that moved. Fans, players, it did not matter. Vra Jahvrak ducked just in time as railgun fire swept the dugout, killing the Royalist's pitcher that had been exchanging fire with the daemons.
The daemons, despite being heavily outnumbered, outgunned those still in the stadium. They also wore heavy armor, and only a trained marksman could score a killshot. The creatures came closer, unleashing a torrent of firepower upon everything living.
As soon he had reached the dugout, Vra Jahvrak crawled to the steps and towards the exit. There were bodies everywhere, in various states of dismemberment. Some, with limbs missing, still tried to fight on to buy time for the spectators. The creatures didn't distinguish between the nationalities or species when it came to choosing targets.
He crawled over the dead and the dying, ignoring their desperate cries for help. He grabbed a shard rifle off the ground and primed it. Its former owner had no use of them. He made it to the lockeroom and just started running.
They're killing everyone!
Holofeeds would show the horror on the field and in the stands. The invaders were sweeping the stands with high powered weaponry. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, with the feed capturing the final moments of those who had wanted to see the Royalists make it to the postseason. The team had been poorly managed by the cousin of the Governor, who was usually inebriated most of the time. His son had proven more able, and had gotten the Royalists back on the path to victory.
The feed would pan out to show thousands of these creatures swarming the nearby apartment complexes. The Territorial Army was seen making its presence felt. The initial surprise of the assault had been replaced by grim determination. Landcruisers, mechs, and mobile batteries would begin to make their presence felt as Territorial infantrymen prepared to dislodge the invader.
What followed was a bloody mess, for all involved. Those who had fled the stadium and made it to the holorail network were more likely to escape. For the Home Watch, in the apartment rises, there was a hellish and desperate fight. Some fathers off their shift had to don their arms and body armor and race out of their door to engage creatures from another epoch.
The Frankians were a tough folk, but they cared for one another. A threat to one household was a thread to all. They fought with a desperate tenacity, uttering wild prayers as their homes were obliterated. They fought the invader room by room, house by house, evacuating the children.
A greybeard, that had fought with pride at Septimania, donned armor he had not worn for thirty cycles. He walked out onto the terrace and unloaded on a squad of these beings he had heard of in the stories told by his gran.
His shardrifle boomed, sending shards hurling at several mach clean through the breastplate of one of the daemons to his right. He recalled the many names these creatures were called. Servants of the Darkness, the Terrors in the Night, the Enemies of Fire, the Eternals..
If they were eternal, the name was not meant to be taken literally. The first fell to his fire, and then another, and another. What few veterans there were seemed to relish the chance at being in the frontline once more. The cries of their grandchildren motivated them to take risk they would never have done on the battlefield.
For the Eternals, after brushing aside this stiff resistance, there was not much in the rooms to impress them. Spartan quarters, for the most part, but then these were beings which lived at work. Their dorms were meant for sleeping, eating, and cooking.
A few thousand had come aground here, and they had managed to secure a ward of this district upon the Eastern continent. They had been chosen to probe the outer defenses, and to do as much damage to the enemy's infrastructure. They had no orders to spare anyone, nor did the Eternals try to negotiate with those that had violated a treaty that was to them signed yesterday.
They were able to waltz over the bodies of civilians with leisure, as an exterminator might with vermin. They were efficient, not cruel, and dispatched those who could only hope for a merciful bullet. The Mark of the One upon some doors did give them pause, but so far the One or her Vani had not intervened here.
These beings upon the surface were the lesser Eternals, those of races in the prior Creation cycle that had chosen to rebel against the Light. Their annals had never been written without bias. Truth is the first casualty in war, especially when the gods are concerned. The Elder Lord, the Elder God, had been condemned since the One had established the Kirk, the Path, the Folly.
Even as the Eternals slaughtered her Children, they offered some approval for their Mother's word. She had kept out of the conflict as he had done so in past conflicts, and would do so so long as the Cosmic Order had not been upturned. The Elder Lord had left this conflict to his children, who so far had bested those of his greatest adversary.
Still, the battle was far from over, and the Territorial Army had entered the fray alongside mercenary contingents. Tens of thousands of troops and hundreds of war machines were on the march. From all sides, they would attempt to isolate the ward before moving in to clear the complexes out. Death reigned in the air, the skies, the street.
The Eternals fired on those that bore weapons, deeming them more of a threat now that they were coming up in some number. They felt nothing at the possibility of being overwhelmed, only their duty to the Elder Lord. They fought, they died, but they did damage. Territorial regiments were sustaining horrible casualty rates, with the Royal Army kept out of the action to prevent unnecessary casualties.
An officer calling for a truce and bearing a white flag to evacuate women and children was gunned down without a word. His blood turned the white into scarlet as the Frankians behind him opened up. Some rushed on, with bayonet and the loud warcry, only to be cut down as their officer had been. The remaining Frankians made their way over their limbs, fighting from cover and hurling a grenade into each room where they so much as expected the enemy could be.
It was a horrible decision, but the Territorial Army would have to clear these structures out one by one. Quads were trained on the rooftops and balconies, with anything moving subjected to fire. Most of the civilians had been evacuated, but anywhere where the enemy might take refuge had to be denied him.
Cadets from the Iron Youth watched the progress of the Territorial Army in horror. Their parents had been killed before their very eyes, and some now joined the fight to seek revenge. The Territorials allowed them to perform some tasks, like bringing up food or ammunition, but they would not let them join the shades of their parents.
What mercenaries at hand near the Stadium of Blood had been sent in as well. Their performance and experience would depend on their training, their tactics. For the Territorials, to see that they were not alone in this fight for survival brought some relief.
Casualties mounted with each hour, but the firepower concentrated was beginning to tell. The fight was going to the side of the Territorial Army, as was to be expected, but at a terrible cost. To think, this was just a few thousand raiders, what would an army do if it took an entire district?
The Marshal watched these results in grim silence, and ordered widescale evacuation of noncombatants. The wholesale slaughter had not been expected. This was not the manner in which nations waged war, this was murder. He ordered each urban district to be militarized, and all civilians to be evacuated beneath the mountains.
There had been too little time.. No one had expected this, here, of all places.
