Nick Thomas - Battle Earth II

The war had only just begun, but humanity lost more in just one week than in a year of any previous conflict. The Ares research base on Mars was the first target. The Lunar colony, the only other substantial human colony outside of Earth’s atmosphere, was the next. Survivors of the five hundred thousand Moon colonists had fled below ground to continue waging a guerrilla war.

The alien invaders deployed a base in the Atlantic that had expanded to the size of several countries. Spain and North Africa quickly fell. France then stood on the brink of falling as well. Human armies continued rallying to Paris to battle amongst the ruins and to hold on to the only ground where they had managed to stop the enemy’s advance. The enemy blitz was relentless, but there was still hope. At the front line, soldiers from all around the globe fought alongside one another to save their planet.

Taylor stood atop one of the few buildings that still had its roof intact. The Paris skyline was a jagged sight with smoke still belching from many ruined towers. He shook his head in astonishment as he’d never thought for a moment he would live to see such devastation. He lowered his head, no longer wanting to see the tragic ruins. He turned and made his way to back to the ground and into a temporary staging centre that had been established.

“Sir, these are the latest images from our drones.”

Major Mitch Taylor walked across the floor of the comms room and looked at the projected images and videos. Countless energy pulses surged from their artillery on the west coast of France towards the capital. It has been just one week since they made their stand in Paris. What remained of the western perimeter was a desolate waste ground, reminiscent of the great siege of Stalingrad, yet it had been a battle lasting only days.

He looked out of a side window at his bedraggled company. Despite his rank, it was all he had at his command. He turned back to the comms officer.

“Thanks.”

The Major looked at a few scans that suggested small numbers of unidentified forces had been detected to the north of the city. It had been an important step to bring the enemy to a halt at Paris, but he could not help but feel that they had yet to see the worst of it.

He lifted up his dusty helmet and threw it on his head. Brick dust puffed out, and his skin was coated in its residue. They were stationed at the same bridge they had been during the initial defence of the city. Holding ground was a welcome change, but it was far from a major victory. He stepped out of the temporary building. It was nothing more than a command trailer. The air was thick with the smell of burning buildings, the putrid and acidic burn of electrical wiring of the structures filling his nostrils.

Captain Friday and Lieutenant Suarez sat in chairs they had salvaged from nearby ruins. Their feet were on top of a mound of rubble. What was left of their company lay scattered, trying to get what rest and food they could. They were already exhausted from the almost constant fighting. Whenever they were not in combat, the threat of air strikes and assaults were always in their minds.

“We getting any re-enforcements, Sir?” asked Suarez.

Taylor grimaced. He knew that it would be the first question presented to him, but he had no good answer.

“Colonel Chandra is doing what she can, but since the attacks on Puerto Rico and Venezuela, the brass is looking to the defences back home.”

“They can’t expect us to go on with so few troops?”

“Lieutenant, get your shit together.”

Suarez looked down, partly in shame and partly in anger, at being shunned before others. Taylor never liked the man, for he was quick to anger and slow to learn. However, he was still alive and so one more soldier among them. Taylor sighed as he turned to look at his bedraggled unit and then back to the two officers.

“Fifty years ago I could have commanded six hundred marines. What do I have now? Less than sixty, including you Brits.”

He looked up to see Captain Jones leading his men back from a patrol.

“Major, any word from the Colonel?”

“She’s doing well and on her feet already. It won’t be long before she’ll be back with us. For now, she’s working to get us equipment and people. The stocks of weapons have quickly run out, and production is taking time to get moving.”

“Major, without those weapons, we are high and dry.”

“Well aware of that, Captain. I am sure everything that can be done to get us re-supplied is already being done.”

Jones turned to his troops and nodded for them to be relieved and so take rest. He propped his rifle down by the Major and perched himself on a large piece of concrete. It used to form the wall of a building that was well over a century old. Although rough and jagged, it was a welcome relief from being on his feet.

The Captain pulled out a ration pack from his webbing and ripped it open with a sigh. It was not a sigh for what they had experienced, but for what was to come. Both officers were well versed in military history and knew, that win or lose, the end of the war was only a distant dream. As Jones pulled out the fork from the MRE, a wave of energy pulses raced overhead. They were artillery shells pounding the city behind them, but he didn’t even flinch.

“The scans I saw this morning show a potentially small enemy scouting presence to the north, so I want to check it out,” said the Major.

Jones nodded.

“Give me a minute and I’ll join you.”

His voice was muffled as he tried to wolf the food down.

“No, you’ve done your share for the morning. Get some rest. I don’t think it’ll be anything more than scouting drones, and I won’t be far from friendly units.”

The Captain nodded. As much as he was keen to help, he appreciated the opportunity to lie down more than anything.

“Friday, you’re in charge while I’m gone,” Taylor ordered.

He nodded, rarely ever saying anything unless he had to.

“Sergeant Silva!”

The man leapt to his feet and rushed to the Major.

“Sir!”

“Get three men, we’re heading out.”

The Sergeant nodded and turned to find volunteers. Regulations would have him respond to the Major, but their long service together had made them more familiar than most NCOs would be with their officers.

Minutes later, the five men were trudging across the rubble. An open topped jeep awaited them, used for communications during blocking by the enemy. It had no fitted weapons, nor armour, but it was at least fast. Taylor climbed in behind the wheel, keen to be at the controls.

“What are we looking for, Sir? I thought the north was free and clear,” asked Silva.

“They’ve backed off, but don’t let that make you think they have stopped.”

“You think they’re regrouping for another attack?”

“Definitely, they underestimated our forces here. They thought they could roll over us and drive us out of Europe and beyond, so now they’ll be re-thinking their strategy. The next attack will be far worse, bigger and better co-ordinated.”

“That’s not much of a relief, Sir.”

“No point in me bullshitting you, Sergeant.”

Silva nodded. He didn’t want to face the Mechs again either, but at least he’d like to know what to expect. They rode through the ravaged streets, the jeep’s soft suspension taking the worst out of the debris-strewn roads. They passed soldiers and armour from several European countries, Russia and Yugoslavia. Although glad to see the amount of forces they had to defend the city, he was also concerned. If they could not hold off their invaders with what they had in the city, how could they ever be stopped?