Post by (the former) Deadly Warrior on Aug 3, 2007 22:38:18 GMT -5
I wrote this last year after getting back into StarCraft. I started working on it again last week, so I should have new a chapter up soon. By the way, this is the original copy; when I post the new chapter I'll also post a revised edition of this one. Any and all input/criticism is accepted, though I will say that my literary skills have improved since writing this.
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Contains strong language.
Synopsis: The Confederacy launches a massive assault on Hill 45, a towering hill that has been raining shell-based hell onto nearby positions and cities for the longest time. The attack is seen through the eyes of several soldiers, each doing their best to complete their mission. (3 part series)
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Hill 45
Wednesday
0600 Hours, Year 2500
Airspace above contested land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
The low hum of dropship engines sliced through eerie silence of the rugged countryside. Rocks, cliffs, and patches of grass all dotted the terrain of Antiga Prime. It seemed, even if for a tiny part of a war-torn planet, peace had arrived. Everything seemed to co-exist peacefully, so thought Daniel Reiter. From his seat inside the transport ship, he had a rather good view of the ground through the small and dirty window next to him. Flying alongside the dropship were a pair of Wraith fighters, simply escorting the transport to it’s destination. A short distance behind them was two more transport ships, along with their own proper fighter escorts.
A slight amount of turbulence rocked the Marines inside, and Daniel’s visor began to slip down over his face, but he quickly moved and stopped it. He exhaled slightly, and yearned for a cigarette.
He was close to asking a nearby Marine for one, but at the same time at the front of the dropship, one Marine stood up from the rusted metal bench. His strength was pulling his heavy battle-suit up with him with much ease, noted Daniel.
“Attention!”
His voice boomed throughout the craft as if he were the great Duke himself. Upon hearing their CO’s voice, the seven other Marines stood up. “We are going to be reaching the LZ within ten minutes. Check your weapons and equipment.”
Daniel turned to his left, where his Gauss rifle was resting uneasily against the dropship’s curved walls. He told hold of it rather quickly, and placed it onto his lap. The young Marine pulled a clip out from inside a compartment of his suit, and slid it into the underside of the rifle. With the clip in, Daniel pulled the bolt back, loading the gun.
He began to lean back, trying to get a little bit of rest, even if only for a couple moments. Unfortunately for Daniel, he heard the familiar sound of a Wraith initiating it’s afterburners. He blinked a couple times, and jolted his head around to the window. The left wingman had activated it’s blazingly hot afterburners. A puzzled look abound on his face, his comrades around him were noticing this as well.
“What the hell is happening?” asked the Marine to Daniel’s right.
New recruits…don’t know a damn thing…
The Marine’s question was left unanswered. The occupants of the ship were far more interested in finding out themselves why the Wraiths were speeding up than the Marine’s question. Daniel began to feel his blood go cold. His face slipped into a vacant expression, showing no signs of emotion.
Captain David Bodirkova, the large man who had informed the soldiers about the upcoming LZ, tried frantically to get a good view of what was happening in front of them. It began to dawn on him, though, when he could hear the screech of a Wraith’s Gemini missiles. Have they spotted us already? Or is it the Zerg? What are they firing on?
The Captain quickly maneuvered into position, even through the turbulence that they were experiencing.
“Stay calm! There is nothing to worry about, just keep hold of your equipment and prepare for the drop!”
Captain Bodirkova was far from right.
“Two Muties, 7 o’clock! Pilots of Delta Wing, do not engage!”
The Lieutenant shoved on the joystick, diving down and avoiding the oncoming Zerg attack. Mutalisk Glave Wurms ripped through the air, but to the Terran’s content, not ripping through his fighter.
“Diamondback, take the one on the right.”
Lieutenant Truman pulled back on the joystick, quickly moving into position behind the left Mutalisk. He quickly let loose a pair of missiles, and barreled off to the side.
“Fox One!”
One of the missiles narrowly avoided Truman’s Zerg adversary, but the other made contact. To his surprise, the airborne monstrosity did not burst into blood as it usually did, but rather it began to melt away. Must have hit it’s acid sack…
Truman quickly remember to call, “Splash One!”
The Mutalisk, burning away, fluttered and spun towards the ground. The pilot shifted his Wraith, trying desperately to reach his wingman.
Although a veteran pilot, Lieutenant Vormal was having trouble taking out his demon-like enemy. He bolted left and right time and time again, but to no avail. The Lieutenant could not shake the Mutalisk off of his tail. A pilot must keep a cool head and think quickly in action, as do all soldiers, but this one pilot took too much time. A Glave Wurm, tipped with acid, ripped through his left wing. Smoke automatically began to fume from his fighter as he began a fast descent to the ground.
The other two dropships, along with their unscathed escorts, rocketed by Truman. A shocked expression abound on his face, the Lieutenant peered over his shoulder to watch his comrade’s Wraith plummet into the unforgiving earth.
Everybody on board was now aware of the dogfight that was taking place around the ship. Daniel, keeping calm, was the first to see one of the Wraiths hit the ground, igniting in a myriad of vivid colours.
“There goes one of our escorts…” Someone said
The dropship rumbled violently, even knocking a Marine off of his feet. More terrible quaking shook the occupants of the ship thoroughly. Daniel grabbed sturdily on the handle behind him, not wanting to let go. But one more shaking of the ship forced his hand off, and sending him onto the ground. The moment this happened, the ship began to bank into a dive. Many onboard grabbed onto what they could to stop from being thrown against the back of the ship, but most of their grips failed.
The other two ships managed to keep steady, avoiding their fellow ship, and the pieces of metal debris being ripped off as it plummeted.
Dropship A24D56 of the Terran Dominion was in a terrible bind, and it seemed as though nothing could be done to save them.
“Come on, damn it!”
Truman swore continually as the Mutalisk maneuvered out of his crosshair time and time again. Hits rained down onto the transport steel exterior; acid eating away every so steadily at the Dropship’s armour. Little globs of acid, spurting off from the bulk on the Dropship, splattered onto both the Mutalisk’s fluttering wings and Truman’s fighter. Just as it was doing to the transport, it quickly put holes into both the Zerg and the Wraith.
The airborne Zerg, seeing it’s main objective destroyed, fluttered around and attempted to get behind the Terran’s fighter. Truman noticed this, and within a second, he jolted his joystick forward, going into a steep dive. The Mutalisk wasted no time in getting directly behind him, spitting glave-wurm after glave-wurm down towards the Wraith.
Sweat dripped off of Truman’s forehead as he cautiously glanced at his altimeter. 500 meters…400…200…
Each second was intense, until he finally knew the time was right. Truman’s hand instinctively grabbed the brake joystick to his left, and pulled it back as far as it was designed to go. A terrible screech pierced through his ears as the airbrakes on each wing opened wide. One last glance at the altimeter finally told the pilot to pull up. Only 40 feet off of the ground, Truman’s fighter managed to turn upwards once again.
The Mutalisk, fortunately for the Terran, did not have the advanced airbrakes as he did. It fluttered it’s wings pathetically in an attempt to stop from slamming into the ground, but it’s goal left unachieved. A parade of blood and innards splattered over the grassy plains below, even splattering upwards onto some of the hills. At the same time, Truman’s Wraith barreled upwards.
Reaching a safe altitude, the Lieutenant swerved his battle-weary fighter to the left, over to where the dropship had gone down. A grim expression was plastered over his face, as he adjusted his oxygen mask and scanned the ground for any signs of life. Not too far away was the wreck of the downed Dropship, but Truman knew he still had a mission to do. Again, he banked his ship around towards the other two transports, and quickly sped up.
Taking one last look at the burning ship, he cursed silently.
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Friday
0530 Hours, Year 2500
Barracks 7, Confederate HQ
Antiga Prime
The sweat poured over his bloodied face. Bullet after bullet was launched from his rifle, determined to make these demons pay. Not even trying to take cover, not giving a damn, the Marine stood tall upon the hill. His ammo dwindled, and eventually nothing remained for his rifle to spit. Unfortunately for the enemy, the Marine was not going down without a fight. He threw his empty gun to the ground, and ripped a grenade from a compartment in his suit. With a great throw, it sailed through the air towards the marauding beasts quickly advancing on him. It didn’t even faze the ravenous horde, though he knew it would have no effect. Now out of any type of weapon, he closed his eyes and began a mad dash into the enemy swarm…
“Reiter, get the fuck out of your bed!”
Frustrated, the Marine lifted his head from his pillow, and turned his head over to take a look. Beside the bed stood Captain Bodirkova, already dressed in his military uniform, stood over Reiter with a stern look.
Upon seeing it was his CO, he bolted out of his bed with a quick “Yes sir!”
Daniel had finally gotten used to the bright, early-morning sun of Antiga Prime, as he made his way towards the briefing room. The walk was a short one, reaching the rusted metal door of the room within a minute of leaving his barracks. On his right side, Bodirkova walked at nearly the same pace, though trying not to walk faster than his sub-ordinate.
With a creak, the door opened to reveal a panel of other soldiers, and a few officers, all sitting around a stainless steal table. Several resisted the urge to fidget, almost like children, in their uncomfortable uniforms. A silence seemed to creep over the room as the two soldiers moved inside, simply waiting for them to take a seat. Reiter noticed an empty seat on the left side of the table, with another only a couple spaces down.
As the two sat down, almost instinctively, a large man at the front of the room looked at the soldiers with an impatient glare.
“I’m glad you two could finally make it.”
“Sir, sorry sir!” Both of them spoke in unison.
Reiter and Bodirkova then quickly sat down. This large man, dressed in a distinguished military uniform, was a site to behold. He was a tall man, around 6’2, broad soldiers and graying hair. At least 15 medals were spread spectacularly along his left lapel, along with several symbols indicating him as a Confederate general.
“Back to business then,” the General spoke softly, almost to himself.
On the steel table in the center of the room, several small lights flickered to life, activating a scale model of the continent. Without anyone in plain view touching a thing, it zoomed in over an area complete with rolling green fields, some large hills dotting the landscape every couple kilometers or so. One in particular, a rather large, rocky hill located in the southern sector of the map, caught everyone’s eye. In addition to being naturally hazardous with it’s massive and what seemed like razor-sharp boulders, both Bodirkova and Reiter noticed a network of small slit trenches near the top.
“This,” the General said abruptly, whilst pointing to the large hill, “is Hill 45, AKA the Metzgerhaus. This is the single most fortified UED-controlled hill within Neu-Vaterland, as well as one of the most strategically important.”
Daniel Reiter took a quick look over at Bodirkova. The two exchanged glances for a moment, and returned to gazing upon the computerized map.
“Hill 45 was recently re-designated as an artillery ridge, and due to it’s position, can shell any target within 38 miles. I’m sure you are aware, but the city of Nilatsgrad is within this range, and has been shelled daily for the last couple days. Any future operations involving this area are in jeopardy, therefore this hill will be taken. No excuses.”
After taking a breath, the General continued, “The assault on Hill 45 will begin with a small airborne assault of Marines to disable the Anti-Air Turret system on the southern side of the hill, which is out of the range of the AA system. This assault team will be carried by six dropships, divided into two waves, plus two Wraith escorts per ship. The first wave will land at 0610, the second at 0620. Air-support once the Marines land is strictly forbidden, seeing as the Wraiths can easily fly into range of the turrets without even noticing. Following confirmation from this vanguard that the system has been deactivated, the main assault will begin.”
Several avatars of tanks and soldiers appeared on the map, away from the computerized Hill 45 and just outside the Confederate base avatar, as well as renditions of Battlecruisers and Wraith fighters.
“Close air support will then be available to the assault team, whilst Battlecruisers target and bombard the artillery positions on the top of the hill. Once the gun batteries are deactivated, the ground assault will begin to capture the hill, as well as surrounding strongholds.”
The map showed a sea of soldiers advancing on the hill, and then it flickered off rather un-climactically.
“Operation Schnittpunkt will begin on Wednesday, at 0610 hours. Gentlemen, you are dismissed.”
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Wednesday
0613 Hours, Year 2500
Bottom of Hill 45 (Southern side), Contested Land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Bullets pinged off of the curved sides of the dropships, each one’s attempt at damaging the craft was in vain. The interior of each of the ships became deafeningly loud.
Both dropships maneuvered around, trying desperately to regain stability. Corporal Christoph Schlachtmann’s mind was a bit clouded as he strapped his Gauss rifle securely to his shoulder, but he had to shake it off. He turned his head towards the back of the ship, where the large steel creaked open in the face of enemy fire. The dropship was still turning, albeit slowly, and Christoph knew this was not going to be easy.
Even though the morning light had sliced into the darkness inside the dropship, a faint green light on the ceiling caught every Marine’s attention. The first two near the door quickly leapt out, still connected to the dropship by zip-cords. Within a second, they were on the ground and disconnected, and the next two took the jump. Christoph was next in line, along with Private Jason Loffend. The Marine had practiced this maneuver many times before, but never under fire. Making sure his cord was attached, Christoph stepped up to the open door. The wind was quite strong as Loffend and he jumped, and during the couple seconds it took to reach the ground, he got his first view of Hill 45.
The fortified hill was quite a sight to behold; several bunkers and rows of barbed wire lay not too far away from the LZ. Christoph and Loffend both landed simultaneously, the heavy boots of their power suits landing with a thud. In an instant they were detached from the cords, and were darting for cover behind a small rock formation.
About twenty meters away, in a small, relatively flat area, stood a battle-hardened bunker. Some torn up sandbags lay uselessly around the structure, probably either torn to shreds by laser fire or heavy caliber rounds.
His back facing the rocks, Christoph took a breath and peeked around the corner. Only half of the bunker was visible to him from this makeshift position, but it was enough for him to unload a clip onto the enemy defensive position. As the bullets in the clip petered down, a voice cracked into his communication headset.
“Team Rotenengel, continue to suppress the bunker! Refrain from using grenades.”
Though the grenade command seemed a bit odd to them, Christoph and Loffend didn’t need anymore encouragement for suppressing with their rifles. They unleashed what seemed like absolute hell to them unto the beleaguered defenders of the UED bunker. In the corner of his eye, whilst reloading, Schlachtmann could see a flame-thrower-armed Marine, or designated “Firebat”, moving up along the left flank under close support from two other soldiers.
The standard Confederate “FB 450” series of flame-throwers had a rather short range of 10 meters, so the Firebat had to get close to unleash the fiery weapon upon the enemy.
A pair of smoke grenades sailed threw the air into the small opening in between the Confederate Marines and the bunker. Bullets still ripped everywhere as the smoke began to seep from their metal containers and contaminate the air. A couple seconds passed and the battlefield was a haze of smoke, blood and flying bullets. Christoph and Loffend both held their fire, waiting for the Firebat to commence his attack.
Once a stream of liquid fire appeared in the smoke-filled air, several screams erupted from the general direction of the bunker. They continued on for several seconds, then quickly followed by a few gunshots. Another stream of fire ignited, dousing the battle-scarred bunker in more liquid hell. This time though, the flames licked over the top as well, completely igniting the UED structure. The Firebat and his cover quickly moved back to safer ground, and within a couple seconds, several small explosions happened inside of the bunker.
All went quiet. Christoph, though still weary of enemy fire, leaned back against the rocks once again, and exhaled slowly. For a moment he was at peace, but then a voice crackled onto his helmet-mounted radio, “All Marines to regroup at LZ for briefing. We have only a few minutes before the You-E-Dees counter-attack, so we must hold this position until the second wave arrives.”
Thinking the transmission was over, Christoph grabbed his rifle and was half way to turning his radio off when the voice added, “Gentlemen, welcome to the Metzgerhaus.”
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Wednesday
0617 Hours, Year 2500
5 Miles from Hill 45, Contested land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Burning wreckage was strewn around in ever direction. Most of the screams of agony had stopped some time ago; those making them had either died or found a way to get up. Reiter, a large chunk of his Marine suit’s arm piece missing, had scrambled out of the main area of the crash site. His scarred up Gauss rifle in hand, he staggered among the chaos that had unfolded. His mind had entered a sort of shell shock, hearing everything in such a muted and distorted manner.
What is this...where are we? Where are the fuc-
“Reiter!”
Slowly, Daniel turned towards the source of the call.
“Reiter!” Bodirkova called again.
The young Marine stood there, an absent minded expression plastered along his face. He stared at his CO with icy eyes. Each second seemed to take an eternity. Daniel blinked a couple times, and then the Captain’s voice boomed once again.
“Reiter! Answer me, goddamn it!”
The loud thumping of his heart eased, and Daniel began to slip into reality again. He shook his head, and then raised to look into Bodirkova’s eyes.
“I’m here, sir…” he managed to stagger out.
A slight amount of pressure was relieved from his CO, as he moved slowly over to Reiter, avoiding some burning remains of the dropship as he walked.
“Come on. We have look for the others.”
Daniel Reiter nodded his head solemnly.
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Wednesday
0618 Hours, Year 2500
Bottom of Hill 45 (Southern side), Contested Land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Christoph raised his visor just above his mouth and spat rather violently. It splattered onto a nearby rock, whilst Loffend simply watched. The two soldiers were resting uneasily against a large, red rock formation. What remained of the first wave stood around as well, resting and eagerly awaiting the second wave so that the assault could carry on. Unfortunately for the Confederate assault team, the dead had to be left out in the battle-ravaged clearing and surrounding areas; it was too dangerous to retrieve their bullet-riddled corpses.
“This operation is complete bullshit.” Loffend finally made conversation.
Schlachtmann let out a faint sigh, and agreed.
“I mean,” Jason Loffend continued, “only two bloody platoons, and we have to disable the whole damned anti-air system…”
Neither of them spoke, and all seemed to be peaceful for a moment, though some distant engines and the rat-tat of a machine-gun were audible. The crunching of gravel suddenly broke the silence, and both soldiers turned their heads lazily towards the left. A Marine, standing at about 5’9, stopped in front of Loffend and Christoph. With his right arm out-stretched, he asked rather bluntly, “You guys have any cigarettes?”
“Yeah, I think I have a couple left,” Christoph quickly responded, fumbling through a compartment in his power-suit.
Upon finding the treasure he was seeking, a slight grin spread across the other soldier’s face. With a quick shake, a slender cigarette protruded from the tear that encompassed about half of the top of the package. The soldier went straight for it; a small metal lighter produced in his hand. Christoph looked back at Loffend for a moment.
That’s when a single, shrill crack of a rifle destroyed the silence.
Instinctively, both Christoph and Loffend grabbed their Gauss rifles and ducked their heads, but simultaneously, the former’s eye caught a view of a disturbing sight a couple feet away. The Marine who had only seconds ago been asking for a cigarette lay slumped over the rocks, a swirl of smoke and red mist floating where his head had once been.
“Sniper!” Several people called at once.
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Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter of the “Hill 45” story. I was initially going to stuff everything into one chapter, but I’ve decided to split it into three or four parts. Please comment on the story, all feedback is appreciated, especially constructive criticism.
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Contains strong language.
Synopsis: The Confederacy launches a massive assault on Hill 45, a towering hill that has been raining shell-based hell onto nearby positions and cities for the longest time. The attack is seen through the eyes of several soldiers, each doing their best to complete their mission. (3 part series)
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Hill 45
Wednesday
0600 Hours, Year 2500
Airspace above contested land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
The low hum of dropship engines sliced through eerie silence of the rugged countryside. Rocks, cliffs, and patches of grass all dotted the terrain of Antiga Prime. It seemed, even if for a tiny part of a war-torn planet, peace had arrived. Everything seemed to co-exist peacefully, so thought Daniel Reiter. From his seat inside the transport ship, he had a rather good view of the ground through the small and dirty window next to him. Flying alongside the dropship were a pair of Wraith fighters, simply escorting the transport to it’s destination. A short distance behind them was two more transport ships, along with their own proper fighter escorts.
A slight amount of turbulence rocked the Marines inside, and Daniel’s visor began to slip down over his face, but he quickly moved and stopped it. He exhaled slightly, and yearned for a cigarette.
He was close to asking a nearby Marine for one, but at the same time at the front of the dropship, one Marine stood up from the rusted metal bench. His strength was pulling his heavy battle-suit up with him with much ease, noted Daniel.
“Attention!”
His voice boomed throughout the craft as if he were the great Duke himself. Upon hearing their CO’s voice, the seven other Marines stood up. “We are going to be reaching the LZ within ten minutes. Check your weapons and equipment.”
Daniel turned to his left, where his Gauss rifle was resting uneasily against the dropship’s curved walls. He told hold of it rather quickly, and placed it onto his lap. The young Marine pulled a clip out from inside a compartment of his suit, and slid it into the underside of the rifle. With the clip in, Daniel pulled the bolt back, loading the gun.
He began to lean back, trying to get a little bit of rest, even if only for a couple moments. Unfortunately for Daniel, he heard the familiar sound of a Wraith initiating it’s afterburners. He blinked a couple times, and jolted his head around to the window. The left wingman had activated it’s blazingly hot afterburners. A puzzled look abound on his face, his comrades around him were noticing this as well.
“What the hell is happening?” asked the Marine to Daniel’s right.
New recruits…don’t know a damn thing…
The Marine’s question was left unanswered. The occupants of the ship were far more interested in finding out themselves why the Wraiths were speeding up than the Marine’s question. Daniel began to feel his blood go cold. His face slipped into a vacant expression, showing no signs of emotion.
Captain David Bodirkova, the large man who had informed the soldiers about the upcoming LZ, tried frantically to get a good view of what was happening in front of them. It began to dawn on him, though, when he could hear the screech of a Wraith’s Gemini missiles. Have they spotted us already? Or is it the Zerg? What are they firing on?
The Captain quickly maneuvered into position, even through the turbulence that they were experiencing.
“Stay calm! There is nothing to worry about, just keep hold of your equipment and prepare for the drop!”
Captain Bodirkova was far from right.
“Two Muties, 7 o’clock! Pilots of Delta Wing, do not engage!”
The Lieutenant shoved on the joystick, diving down and avoiding the oncoming Zerg attack. Mutalisk Glave Wurms ripped through the air, but to the Terran’s content, not ripping through his fighter.
“Diamondback, take the one on the right.”
Lieutenant Truman pulled back on the joystick, quickly moving into position behind the left Mutalisk. He quickly let loose a pair of missiles, and barreled off to the side.
“Fox One!”
One of the missiles narrowly avoided Truman’s Zerg adversary, but the other made contact. To his surprise, the airborne monstrosity did not burst into blood as it usually did, but rather it began to melt away. Must have hit it’s acid sack…
Truman quickly remember to call, “Splash One!”
The Mutalisk, burning away, fluttered and spun towards the ground. The pilot shifted his Wraith, trying desperately to reach his wingman.
Although a veteran pilot, Lieutenant Vormal was having trouble taking out his demon-like enemy. He bolted left and right time and time again, but to no avail. The Lieutenant could not shake the Mutalisk off of his tail. A pilot must keep a cool head and think quickly in action, as do all soldiers, but this one pilot took too much time. A Glave Wurm, tipped with acid, ripped through his left wing. Smoke automatically began to fume from his fighter as he began a fast descent to the ground.
The other two dropships, along with their unscathed escorts, rocketed by Truman. A shocked expression abound on his face, the Lieutenant peered over his shoulder to watch his comrade’s Wraith plummet into the unforgiving earth.
Everybody on board was now aware of the dogfight that was taking place around the ship. Daniel, keeping calm, was the first to see one of the Wraiths hit the ground, igniting in a myriad of vivid colours.
“There goes one of our escorts…” Someone said
The dropship rumbled violently, even knocking a Marine off of his feet. More terrible quaking shook the occupants of the ship thoroughly. Daniel grabbed sturdily on the handle behind him, not wanting to let go. But one more shaking of the ship forced his hand off, and sending him onto the ground. The moment this happened, the ship began to bank into a dive. Many onboard grabbed onto what they could to stop from being thrown against the back of the ship, but most of their grips failed.
The other two ships managed to keep steady, avoiding their fellow ship, and the pieces of metal debris being ripped off as it plummeted.
Dropship A24D56 of the Terran Dominion was in a terrible bind, and it seemed as though nothing could be done to save them.
“Come on, damn it!”
Truman swore continually as the Mutalisk maneuvered out of his crosshair time and time again. Hits rained down onto the transport steel exterior; acid eating away every so steadily at the Dropship’s armour. Little globs of acid, spurting off from the bulk on the Dropship, splattered onto both the Mutalisk’s fluttering wings and Truman’s fighter. Just as it was doing to the transport, it quickly put holes into both the Zerg and the Wraith.
The airborne Zerg, seeing it’s main objective destroyed, fluttered around and attempted to get behind the Terran’s fighter. Truman noticed this, and within a second, he jolted his joystick forward, going into a steep dive. The Mutalisk wasted no time in getting directly behind him, spitting glave-wurm after glave-wurm down towards the Wraith.
Sweat dripped off of Truman’s forehead as he cautiously glanced at his altimeter. 500 meters…400…200…
Each second was intense, until he finally knew the time was right. Truman’s hand instinctively grabbed the brake joystick to his left, and pulled it back as far as it was designed to go. A terrible screech pierced through his ears as the airbrakes on each wing opened wide. One last glance at the altimeter finally told the pilot to pull up. Only 40 feet off of the ground, Truman’s fighter managed to turn upwards once again.
The Mutalisk, fortunately for the Terran, did not have the advanced airbrakes as he did. It fluttered it’s wings pathetically in an attempt to stop from slamming into the ground, but it’s goal left unachieved. A parade of blood and innards splattered over the grassy plains below, even splattering upwards onto some of the hills. At the same time, Truman’s Wraith barreled upwards.
Reaching a safe altitude, the Lieutenant swerved his battle-weary fighter to the left, over to where the dropship had gone down. A grim expression was plastered over his face, as he adjusted his oxygen mask and scanned the ground for any signs of life. Not too far away was the wreck of the downed Dropship, but Truman knew he still had a mission to do. Again, he banked his ship around towards the other two transports, and quickly sped up.
Taking one last look at the burning ship, he cursed silently.
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Friday
0530 Hours, Year 2500
Barracks 7, Confederate HQ
Antiga Prime
The sweat poured over his bloodied face. Bullet after bullet was launched from his rifle, determined to make these demons pay. Not even trying to take cover, not giving a damn, the Marine stood tall upon the hill. His ammo dwindled, and eventually nothing remained for his rifle to spit. Unfortunately for the enemy, the Marine was not going down without a fight. He threw his empty gun to the ground, and ripped a grenade from a compartment in his suit. With a great throw, it sailed through the air towards the marauding beasts quickly advancing on him. It didn’t even faze the ravenous horde, though he knew it would have no effect. Now out of any type of weapon, he closed his eyes and began a mad dash into the enemy swarm…
“Reiter, get the fuck out of your bed!”
Frustrated, the Marine lifted his head from his pillow, and turned his head over to take a look. Beside the bed stood Captain Bodirkova, already dressed in his military uniform, stood over Reiter with a stern look.
Upon seeing it was his CO, he bolted out of his bed with a quick “Yes sir!”
Daniel had finally gotten used to the bright, early-morning sun of Antiga Prime, as he made his way towards the briefing room. The walk was a short one, reaching the rusted metal door of the room within a minute of leaving his barracks. On his right side, Bodirkova walked at nearly the same pace, though trying not to walk faster than his sub-ordinate.
With a creak, the door opened to reveal a panel of other soldiers, and a few officers, all sitting around a stainless steal table. Several resisted the urge to fidget, almost like children, in their uncomfortable uniforms. A silence seemed to creep over the room as the two soldiers moved inside, simply waiting for them to take a seat. Reiter noticed an empty seat on the left side of the table, with another only a couple spaces down.
As the two sat down, almost instinctively, a large man at the front of the room looked at the soldiers with an impatient glare.
“I’m glad you two could finally make it.”
“Sir, sorry sir!” Both of them spoke in unison.
Reiter and Bodirkova then quickly sat down. This large man, dressed in a distinguished military uniform, was a site to behold. He was a tall man, around 6’2, broad soldiers and graying hair. At least 15 medals were spread spectacularly along his left lapel, along with several symbols indicating him as a Confederate general.
“Back to business then,” the General spoke softly, almost to himself.
On the steel table in the center of the room, several small lights flickered to life, activating a scale model of the continent. Without anyone in plain view touching a thing, it zoomed in over an area complete with rolling green fields, some large hills dotting the landscape every couple kilometers or so. One in particular, a rather large, rocky hill located in the southern sector of the map, caught everyone’s eye. In addition to being naturally hazardous with it’s massive and what seemed like razor-sharp boulders, both Bodirkova and Reiter noticed a network of small slit trenches near the top.
“This,” the General said abruptly, whilst pointing to the large hill, “is Hill 45, AKA the Metzgerhaus. This is the single most fortified UED-controlled hill within Neu-Vaterland, as well as one of the most strategically important.”
Daniel Reiter took a quick look over at Bodirkova. The two exchanged glances for a moment, and returned to gazing upon the computerized map.
“Hill 45 was recently re-designated as an artillery ridge, and due to it’s position, can shell any target within 38 miles. I’m sure you are aware, but the city of Nilatsgrad is within this range, and has been shelled daily for the last couple days. Any future operations involving this area are in jeopardy, therefore this hill will be taken. No excuses.”
After taking a breath, the General continued, “The assault on Hill 45 will begin with a small airborne assault of Marines to disable the Anti-Air Turret system on the southern side of the hill, which is out of the range of the AA system. This assault team will be carried by six dropships, divided into two waves, plus two Wraith escorts per ship. The first wave will land at 0610, the second at 0620. Air-support once the Marines land is strictly forbidden, seeing as the Wraiths can easily fly into range of the turrets without even noticing. Following confirmation from this vanguard that the system has been deactivated, the main assault will begin.”
Several avatars of tanks and soldiers appeared on the map, away from the computerized Hill 45 and just outside the Confederate base avatar, as well as renditions of Battlecruisers and Wraith fighters.
“Close air support will then be available to the assault team, whilst Battlecruisers target and bombard the artillery positions on the top of the hill. Once the gun batteries are deactivated, the ground assault will begin to capture the hill, as well as surrounding strongholds.”
The map showed a sea of soldiers advancing on the hill, and then it flickered off rather un-climactically.
“Operation Schnittpunkt will begin on Wednesday, at 0610 hours. Gentlemen, you are dismissed.”
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Wednesday
0613 Hours, Year 2500
Bottom of Hill 45 (Southern side), Contested Land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Bullets pinged off of the curved sides of the dropships, each one’s attempt at damaging the craft was in vain. The interior of each of the ships became deafeningly loud.
Both dropships maneuvered around, trying desperately to regain stability. Corporal Christoph Schlachtmann’s mind was a bit clouded as he strapped his Gauss rifle securely to his shoulder, but he had to shake it off. He turned his head towards the back of the ship, where the large steel creaked open in the face of enemy fire. The dropship was still turning, albeit slowly, and Christoph knew this was not going to be easy.
Even though the morning light had sliced into the darkness inside the dropship, a faint green light on the ceiling caught every Marine’s attention. The first two near the door quickly leapt out, still connected to the dropship by zip-cords. Within a second, they were on the ground and disconnected, and the next two took the jump. Christoph was next in line, along with Private Jason Loffend. The Marine had practiced this maneuver many times before, but never under fire. Making sure his cord was attached, Christoph stepped up to the open door. The wind was quite strong as Loffend and he jumped, and during the couple seconds it took to reach the ground, he got his first view of Hill 45.
The fortified hill was quite a sight to behold; several bunkers and rows of barbed wire lay not too far away from the LZ. Christoph and Loffend both landed simultaneously, the heavy boots of their power suits landing with a thud. In an instant they were detached from the cords, and were darting for cover behind a small rock formation.
About twenty meters away, in a small, relatively flat area, stood a battle-hardened bunker. Some torn up sandbags lay uselessly around the structure, probably either torn to shreds by laser fire or heavy caliber rounds.
His back facing the rocks, Christoph took a breath and peeked around the corner. Only half of the bunker was visible to him from this makeshift position, but it was enough for him to unload a clip onto the enemy defensive position. As the bullets in the clip petered down, a voice cracked into his communication headset.
“Team Rotenengel, continue to suppress the bunker! Refrain from using grenades.”
Though the grenade command seemed a bit odd to them, Christoph and Loffend didn’t need anymore encouragement for suppressing with their rifles. They unleashed what seemed like absolute hell to them unto the beleaguered defenders of the UED bunker. In the corner of his eye, whilst reloading, Schlachtmann could see a flame-thrower-armed Marine, or designated “Firebat”, moving up along the left flank under close support from two other soldiers.
The standard Confederate “FB 450” series of flame-throwers had a rather short range of 10 meters, so the Firebat had to get close to unleash the fiery weapon upon the enemy.
A pair of smoke grenades sailed threw the air into the small opening in between the Confederate Marines and the bunker. Bullets still ripped everywhere as the smoke began to seep from their metal containers and contaminate the air. A couple seconds passed and the battlefield was a haze of smoke, blood and flying bullets. Christoph and Loffend both held their fire, waiting for the Firebat to commence his attack.
Once a stream of liquid fire appeared in the smoke-filled air, several screams erupted from the general direction of the bunker. They continued on for several seconds, then quickly followed by a few gunshots. Another stream of fire ignited, dousing the battle-scarred bunker in more liquid hell. This time though, the flames licked over the top as well, completely igniting the UED structure. The Firebat and his cover quickly moved back to safer ground, and within a couple seconds, several small explosions happened inside of the bunker.
All went quiet. Christoph, though still weary of enemy fire, leaned back against the rocks once again, and exhaled slowly. For a moment he was at peace, but then a voice crackled onto his helmet-mounted radio, “All Marines to regroup at LZ for briefing. We have only a few minutes before the You-E-Dees counter-attack, so we must hold this position until the second wave arrives.”
Thinking the transmission was over, Christoph grabbed his rifle and was half way to turning his radio off when the voice added, “Gentlemen, welcome to the Metzgerhaus.”
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Wednesday
0617 Hours, Year 2500
5 Miles from Hill 45, Contested land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Burning wreckage was strewn around in ever direction. Most of the screams of agony had stopped some time ago; those making them had either died or found a way to get up. Reiter, a large chunk of his Marine suit’s arm piece missing, had scrambled out of the main area of the crash site. His scarred up Gauss rifle in hand, he staggered among the chaos that had unfolded. His mind had entered a sort of shell shock, hearing everything in such a muted and distorted manner.
What is this...where are we? Where are the fuc-
“Reiter!”
Slowly, Daniel turned towards the source of the call.
“Reiter!” Bodirkova called again.
The young Marine stood there, an absent minded expression plastered along his face. He stared at his CO with icy eyes. Each second seemed to take an eternity. Daniel blinked a couple times, and then the Captain’s voice boomed once again.
“Reiter! Answer me, goddamn it!”
The loud thumping of his heart eased, and Daniel began to slip into reality again. He shook his head, and then raised to look into Bodirkova’s eyes.
“I’m here, sir…” he managed to stagger out.
A slight amount of pressure was relieved from his CO, as he moved slowly over to Reiter, avoiding some burning remains of the dropship as he walked.
“Come on. We have look for the others.”
Daniel Reiter nodded his head solemnly.
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Wednesday
0618 Hours, Year 2500
Bottom of Hill 45 (Southern side), Contested Land of Neu-Vaterland
Antiga Prime
Christoph raised his visor just above his mouth and spat rather violently. It splattered onto a nearby rock, whilst Loffend simply watched. The two soldiers were resting uneasily against a large, red rock formation. What remained of the first wave stood around as well, resting and eagerly awaiting the second wave so that the assault could carry on. Unfortunately for the Confederate assault team, the dead had to be left out in the battle-ravaged clearing and surrounding areas; it was too dangerous to retrieve their bullet-riddled corpses.
“This operation is complete bullshit.” Loffend finally made conversation.
Schlachtmann let out a faint sigh, and agreed.
“I mean,” Jason Loffend continued, “only two bloody platoons, and we have to disable the whole damned anti-air system…”
Neither of them spoke, and all seemed to be peaceful for a moment, though some distant engines and the rat-tat of a machine-gun were audible. The crunching of gravel suddenly broke the silence, and both soldiers turned their heads lazily towards the left. A Marine, standing at about 5’9, stopped in front of Loffend and Christoph. With his right arm out-stretched, he asked rather bluntly, “You guys have any cigarettes?”
“Yeah, I think I have a couple left,” Christoph quickly responded, fumbling through a compartment in his power-suit.
Upon finding the treasure he was seeking, a slight grin spread across the other soldier’s face. With a quick shake, a slender cigarette protruded from the tear that encompassed about half of the top of the package. The soldier went straight for it; a small metal lighter produced in his hand. Christoph looked back at Loffend for a moment.
That’s when a single, shrill crack of a rifle destroyed the silence.
Instinctively, both Christoph and Loffend grabbed their Gauss rifles and ducked their heads, but simultaneously, the former’s eye caught a view of a disturbing sight a couple feet away. The Marine who had only seconds ago been asking for a cigarette lay slumped over the rocks, a swirl of smoke and red mist floating where his head had once been.
“Sniper!” Several people called at once.
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Author’s Notes: This is the first chapter of the “Hill 45” story. I was initially going to stuff everything into one chapter, but I’ve decided to split it into three or four parts. Please comment on the story, all feedback is appreciated, especially constructive criticism.
