Flagship of the first combined fleet of the Hadian Empire, "Mandalore's Wrath"
The door slid up with a quiet hiss, opening the way to the bridge. A spacious, wide deck, created in a combination of Mandalorian and Terran style, like the entire ship. It gave the impression that I had entered not the bridge of a combat ship but a sort of temple, or at least an ancient hall that captured the greatness of its creators.
Silhouettes of warriors carved on the walls. Terrans and Mandalorians stood side by side, guarding this place. Under their feet grew bowing ears of some grain crop, and behind their backs, one could see a single picture—the city they stood guard over.
The bridge was four meters to the ceiling, and in some places, it reached five. Twelve seats for operators, two pilots, a separate chair for the ship's captain. Right behind this chair, separated by an open bulkhead, was a holographic table for the high command staff. Retractable seats were built into the floor, so it wasn't necessary to just stand over the hologram.
Instead of windows, there was a screen across the entire wall opposite the entrance. The bridge, unlike many types of ships, was set into the hull and located in the front part of the ship under a thick layer of armor. In general, all, or practically all, Mandalorian ships were distinguished by good armor. Before, because there were problems with shields, one had to wiggle out and make several layers. The first layer was reflective, what's needed against lasers and turbolasers. The second layer was thermal. If a penetration occurred, this layer dissipated the heat energy. The third was the thickest, primarily designed for kinetic strikes. Now the shields have become better, but they tried to maintain the armor's thickness.
In terms of armament, the "Mandalore's Wrath" could outrun probably many modern ships, right up to Kuat ones, though the latter is not a fact. Twelve towers with huge particle projector cannons on the port side, and as many on the starboard. Four towers each with railguns on the upper and lower hemispheres. Twelve torpedo tubes, eight of which face forward. Eighteen rocket launchers lurking on the sides, each with sixty rockets. With such a hail, not only can you pick off fighters, but you can also peck at large ships. The Virtual Intelligence, responsible for helping correct fire, could keep up to two thousand targets in its lock. This included everything: from scanning to fire lead.
Against small flying craft, the dreadnought had sixty anti-aircraft guns scattered across the entire hull, a third of which were laser cannons firing a continuous stream, another third fired in bursts, and another third were rail. And to make it more convenient for all this small-caliber kingdom to shoot at starfighters, there were twenty small gravity grapples on board that could catch any relatively small ship to a complete stop.
The dreadnought had no main caliber as such; I don't count PBCs as such. My subjective understanding of MC, through the Mandalorians' efforts, had been skewed toward something truly lethal, like the mass drivers on the Fangs. So despite all the wealth of armament, the "Mandalore's Wrath" had rather auxiliary functions. It had a particularly powerful scanning system, and the power of the central core cluster was such that the main Jedi Temple hadn't even dreamed of it.
The hold and hangar were relatively small; one could even say they were extremely small for such a ship, but that was the price for all the above. Two squadrons of piloted bombers, with twelve machines each, two squadrons of fighters, also twelve each, and drones. Many, many drones. These machines had special allocated spots for themselves and were launched not from the main hangar but from special "windows" in the ship's sides. Three windows each on the port and starboard sides. They could land both in them and in the hangar connected to the storage. The drones were placed just like sardines in a can—flush against each other. They were launched like torpedoes: load into the catapult—fire—next. Up to twenty machines could be fired in a minute when there were a hundred and twenty of them on board in total.
Such a system had a number of downsides. The main one was that technical repairs could only be carried out in the hangar, and space there was limited. Furthermore, the landing speed of all this wealth dropped manifold, but in my view, and the view of the engineers—this was the optimal price.
Because for full repairs, there are escort ships. In the rear, right behind the dreadnought, trailed a pair of good old Lucrehulks. Naturally, far from original; much had been refitted in them, but at the same time—they were still easily recognizable.
Four "Split" strike frigates and a pair of "Shards" accompanied the "Mandalore's Wrath." Shard—an abbreviation of the Mandalorian: Oro shukur kot or'di laki'r, or simply: face-breaker. And literally. Shards are the next generation of the proven "Fangs." Their main caliber occupied a third of the ship, while the ships themselves were four hundred meters. These were either railguns or giant particle projector cannons. Unfortunately, besides these guns, the ships couldn't boast of anything, because one ate better than the other. For a second, one Shard generated more energy than the "Mandalore's Wrath" dreadnought. For these bastards to fly far, maneuver quickly, see well, and be able to hide from the enemy's sensors—everything else had to be sacrificed. No hangar—only an external docking hatch. On the outside, practically right on the hull, two squadrons of droids were attached for cover. The shields were also crappy for such a ship. A small hold, no landing group, no torpedoes, and quite a low potential for auxiliary weapons. But! When this thing fires—it will be not just bad, but very, very bad, for absolutely any target. Even if it's a Kuat battleship—I could only pity it, because for its dimensions, the Shard maneuvers quite well, and can shoot, no less, through an entire star system.
And the pleasant thing was that there were already more than eighty Shards in service. Yes, there isn't a crew for all of them; only thirty ships will leave with us, but in a year or two, when other clones arrive—this will be corrected.
"Captain, report," I demand from the officer standing on the other side of the holoprojector.
"The fleet is seventy percent ready for the jump. We are waiting for eight more Splits, one Lucrehulk, thirteen machines of the 'Aden' model, and a batch of unmanned craft."
Casting a quick glance over the fleet hologram, I noted the ships of the "A'den" model, also known as "Wrath." This model, like any ship in our fleet, is a narrow-profile specialist and goes as an addition to the Split... or is the Split an addition to it? Because Wrath is the strike frigate's older brother. A heavy frigate that, by Republic classification, would easily pass as a cruiser, has everything the Split has, with a few "buts." It is larger, toothier, and thicker. If the Split relies on a jamming system, speed, and maneuverability—after all, the vessel is relatively small—then the Wrath is the opposite: thick and sluggish. Its name doesn't come from it being so fierce; no, rather it is the enemy who should be venting their wrath on it. We all but painted a target on the ships of this model. Breaking through after the Split, these ships were supposed to collect all the lumps on themselves. And so they wouldn't fall off quickly, "Ti'raa," or "Angels," flew right after them. Ships only two hundred meters long, a hundred wide and high.
The Angel is, in its essence, a unique machine in our fleet. A complex one to build but an extremely effective support ship. This ship, with the help of fields, is capable not just of restoring but of putting a shield over a target. The main thing is not to mess up the dimensions, or it might turn out awkwardly.
Or, conversely, mess up and put a shield not on an ally but on an enemy. There, either two shields will come into conflict and mutually collapse, or you can cut off something unnecessary. Also, the Angel has a laser unit that strikes with a continuous beam. On one hand—this is a weapon that can cut. On the other hand—all our ships have reception points into which, when this beam hits, a sudden system recharge occurs. Thus, even if the ship's reactor doesn't pull the load—and that's quite realistic, given our guns—the Angel will help. Too bad there are so few of them; besides an ordinary reactor, a Force reactor is also installed on them, and the crew of these ships is a separate headache.
Another ship in the fleet works exclusively on the Force. Before, I thought that a "Force Storm" was a planetary phenomenon. Well, I was wrong, for they proved and showed me the opposite. Now I have two ships in my hands that can unfold this storm right in space. Starfighters are categorically forbidden to fly in this storm, and large ships shouldn't fly into it either. Yes, we have protection, but it also works on the Force, and furthermore, it is only on large ships, starting from two hundred meters and up, for a powerful and trained adept is needed for its operation.
The weapon the Terrans created strikes not only physically but also mentally. Yes, against the Vong, the latter effect will be useless—the Force isn't in them—but they'll have plenty of physical problems. Absence of navigation, communication, system disruption, lightning, and spontaneous kinetic strikes comparable to asteroids. Horror, in a word.
And this is only the tip of the iceberg. The fleet consisted of dozens of types of ships, and each performed its own specific task. We didn't follow the path of the Galaxy's general mass, trying to mold a maximum universalist capable of carrying infantry, launching ships, and shooting... No. It's better to have a specialized professional.
"When will they arrive?"
"Within two hours."
"Prepare the fleet slowly for the start. And inform me as soon as everything is ready."
The man nodded and, turning around, went to the bridge.
"Ziro, launch the intelligence data. I need to know the location of the enemy ships."
"Accepted," the droid rotated the port, and the hologram changed.
For the first half-hour, I thought alone about how we were going to fight. Then Warren joined my thoughts. After him, Admiral Fett in the company of his very young seventeen-year-old son, Jango. He had shown himself very well in the campaigns; the man openly liked racking his brains over battles in space. Over ten years, this love had taken root and been passed on to his son. Following them, the Terrans, Loki, Radiy, and several other immortals knowledgeable in space battle tactics came onto the bridge. My children were the last to enter.
Before laying out my ideas or listening to the main command staff, I ordered the young ones to voice their thoughts to us. After all, this operation also carried a teaching factor. Jango decided to speak first:
"The enemy knows that something is brewing, however, they don't suspect how soon the strike will be. I believe we should use the element of surprise. Divide into two groups. First, one comes out—discharges, and immediately leaves. Right after it, the other comes out. The enemy is stunned twice. And is unable first to quickly organize resistance, and then to reorganize it in accordance with the new threat."
"We don't know exactly what they are capable of. What if we can't retreat? Or don't have time?" Phobos replied. "No, the idea itself is good, but what if something flies from the planet that we don't even have time to realize?"
"We could drop a landing force to suppress the planetary defense," Deimos suggested.
"We can't." Phobos shook his head. "First, they need time. Second, even if they do it, space will be in the enemy's hands. Our ships will leave, and the infantry won't be able to leave—and will find themselves between a rock and a hard place. Space fleet on one side, ground resistance on the other."
"Dragging out battles in space isn't an option either." Fett argued. "Even with the support of the Shards, the orbital defense is too strong. I'll remain silent about the fact that the numerical superiority is clearly not on our side."
"We could drop a couple of dozen bombs through the Infinity Gate... A hundred and twenty megatons each..." Rossash muttered thoughtfully under his nose, not addressing anyone specifically. "What?" the clone asked when everyone looked at him.
"Ros, we need to capture the planet, not sterilize it. We need prisoners, especially from the high caste."
"Hm..."
"No. Working head-on won't work here," said Fett the Elder. "Wherever you look, there's a wedge. The planet is like an impregnable fortress. And the system itself isn't very convenient. And the situation on other planets isn't any better."
"What if we lure them out?" Deimos suggested.
"And how do you imagine that?" Phobos snorted.
"They're already gathering for an attack anyway. Maybe just wait?"
"We don't know where they will jump." I intervened in the discussion. "And making an allied planet a battlefield is the last thing we need right now. Moreover, we don't have time to wait. The enemy hasn't yet raised all their ships from the planet, and if we wait longer—the fleet will only increase. We leave in an hour. Fett the Elder and I already have ideas, but I want to hear what you come up with in that time."
Only after the young ones had talked their fill did the elders step in. First, we explained to the kids the pros and cons of the ideas they had proposed, what could and should be done and for what reason, and what could not. Afterward, I passed the floor to the immortals; after all, they would have more experience.
Warren stood slightly to the side all this time and didn't draw attention. His business was the ground operation, and he would rack his brains with me only when the assault on the planets themselves began.
When the time came, I distributed the roles. The boys needed to learn, and learn seriously, for the hour was already near when I would step down from affairs. At least, I believe so. Thus, Ros would lead one of the fighter squadrons. Deimos and Phobos each received a small squadron of six ships each. An immortal would go with them to help as an advisor. Jango was sent to the rear on the Shards, and Fett the Elder remained beside me.
"Mandalore. The ships have taken battle order; we are ready," the ship's captain reported.
"Good. Jump. Fleet formation—one-five-ten."
"Accepted."
This formation provides for jumps with intervals between ships. First, one ship comes out in the system—the scouts. If no report comes from it—it means we have problems, and the following five will either fly past or be ready for battle. If these too vanish without a trace—the fleet makes tracks.
Leaving the holoprojector, I went to the bridge. The infinite space of the cosmos with distant stars was silently replaced by the haze of hyperspace.
The jump itself didn't take much time. Only half an hour of flight. First, as planned, the scout popped out. Having warned the others that the corridor was clear, the main forces of the fleet began to emerge from the hyper-transition and immediately jump further—to the other end of the system, away from the planets and enemy ships.
I stood silently on the bridge and looked at the huge screen. The fleet worked like clockwork; the plan was coming into execution. The Shards were deploying their guns, and Phobos and Deimos's raider groups were preparing to cause a stir. Loki immediately prepared for reconnaissance on the planet as soon as the main enemy forces moved away from it, and Radiy prepared to set up the curtain, also known as the Force Storm.
"Mandalore, the fleet is in position; awaiting the order to start the operation!" an operator reported.
"Open fire."
"Accepted."
The first shots went out. The distance was large, the time to overcome it significant, but the corrected projectiles relentlessly approached their targets. The monitor I was looking at was divided into two halves. On one side, the map and time with the trajectory of the shots, as well as the enemies. The other half showed an image of the enemy fleet with manifold zoom.
And there it was—the first hit. The slug, accelerated to extreme speeds, didn't just hit their main ship. It pierced it right through, literally tearing off a quarter of the ship. Another hit broke the remaining piece of the ship into two more parts.
Other projectiles quickly corrected onto other targets, of which there were more than enough. Some vessels exploded, others were simply blown off the map like dust, others flew into pieces.
PBCs, unfortunately, couldn't boast such effectiveness. The particles dissipated before reaching the targets. For this reason, the Shards, which have giant particle projector units in place of MC, were assigned to other ships for close and medium-range combat.
As soon as the enemy suffered the first losses, the raider groups popped out of hyperspace. In seconds, the twins fired everything they had loaded and, suppressing the excitement and the desire to fire once more within themselves—which I felt as my own—ordered a withdrawal. Well done, boys, working as they should, keeping themselves in hand and listening to what more experienced personalities say.
The combination of these two actions worked at the highest grade. The enemy took the bait and some of the ships jumped after the twins without distinction, right to where Ros was already waiting for them in the company of bombers. The Vong ships emerged from intra-system jumps one after another, and at first, the starfighters were quite successful in fighting them. The main fleet was at a distance and didn't interfere.
But soon the enemy reorganized and sent more serious forces at us, including from other planets. When things got hot for our starfighters, I gave the order:
"Ros, it's time. Withdraw!"
"Yes, sir! All ships, intra-system jump!" I heard my son's order, and the fighters immediately scattered in different directions. The task was to clear out as quickly as possible, and where to—didn't matter; they'd coordinate later.
"Radiy, act."
"Accepted."
In the place where the fighters had imposed a battle on the enemy, an anomaly formed in seconds. A dense multi-colored nebula, within which flashes of Force lightning sparked. We didn't see the enemy, didn't see what was happening inside, but we understood—they were having a veeeeery bad time.
Soon, battered enemy ships began to fly out of the nebula one after another. Not a single fighter or small vessel; all were at least frigate-sized. Well, essentially, what was to be proven—small ships cannot survive in a Force storm. Large vessels flew out right under our guns. Disoriented, without means of communication, battered...
"Open fire. Rub these bastards into powder!"
"Accepted."
Torpedoes went out, PBCs fired, a hail of rockets poured onto the enemy. It was a sheer beating. And while we were beating the new arrivals, Fett was letting loose on the Shards. The guns worked without stopping, spitting at those who remained in orbit. There were not only ships there, but stations too.
"Mandalore! The enemy has made a jump to the third formation!" an operator immediately reported to me.
"Phobos, Deimos, deal with them. Fett, change your point of deployment; they're coming for your soul. Ros—protect the Shards."
"Accepted!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Right away!" came in response.
"Dreadnought 'Mandalore's Wrath,' full ahead. Support the main formation with fire. Radiy, stabilize the Force Storm."
"Accepted."
"Reporting first spear! We have a breakthrough; the enemy is coming from the rear. Support required!"
"First spear, retreat to the third. Leave the retreating ones. Fifth spear, go to join the sixth. Seventh and eighth spear—exit the battle. Moving to the second stage of the plan!"
Looking at the ships of Fett the Younger, I smile. The Shards are steadily picking off the enemy's space defense, jumping, and shooting again. Phobos and Deimos are racing after them and cutting off the tails. The only one sitting idle now was Ros. His squadron was secured on the Shards' hull and just riding along, waiting for problems, but so far everything was going as it should.
We, meanwhile, were tying the main enemy forces in battle. The curtain perfectly neutralized the Vong's numerical superiority. While some ships were trying to get out of it, we were fighting others. You can't jump from the curtain; navigation instruments don't work in it, and visually you can only see a couple of meters in front of you. So ship collisions inside the curtain were a normal occurrence.
Separately, I praised the captains of the Angels. The support ships, being in the very thick of the battle, reliably protected their charges, providing help to whom needed and when needed, while trying not to expose themselves.
"Reporting, the enemy is withdrawing for reorganization."
"Radiy, can you open the curtain at the fleet's concentration point?"
"Too far."
"Mandalore, the twins are having problems. The enemy is too persistently chasing the third formation."
"Main strike group, set course for their planet. We'll try to lure them away."
"Accepted."
"Loki, any intelligence?"
"Yes, Ancient One. We have established if not all, then many strategic objects. Some of them are already hiding under a shield."
"Transfer the coordinates to Dathomir. I need to find the headquarters!"
"Headquarters discovered, Ancient One. Apparently, it's a ship that landed on the planet a long, long time ago, like the one we shot down first from orbit."
"Good. Then watch everything."
"Yes, sir."
"Operator, inform everyone of the start of the third phase."
The clone girl immediately sent the order to start the assault to Dathomir. An order also went to the Chiss to pull up to the party. Another order went to Warren, who was waiting in the hangar, to prepare for the ground landing. He has priority targets; let him work. The cargo ships that had popped out with us and gone beyond the system boundary on sublight engines were now flying back.
As soon as the main strike force appeared at the planet, Fett the Younger along with the Shards immediately became uninteresting to the Vong. The enemy threw all their forces into holding us back. Being in the minority, on battered ships, they tried to do something, but Phobos and Deimos, who led the operation, went forward like a steamroller, with the support of the Shards that had flown into our rear.
Occupation was also found for Ros. My clone went to cover the landing ships and provide aerial support in the planet's atmosphere.
"Ancient One, intelligence reports a concentration of enemy forces."
"Deliver precision strikes from orbit. I need chaos on the planet."
"Accepted."
Falling silent, I listen to new reports. Everything is going as it should.
"Ancient One, shield generators are falling. Planetary defense systems are shutting down. Sabotage groups are requesting reinforcements."
"Redirect the request to Warren and provide support from the air."
"Accepted."
Well... Aala is already on the spot and letting loose to the full. That's good. I think as soon as the landing force arrives, the planet will fall immediately.
Switching the image, I look at how thousands of landing capsules fly down, carrying droids. Hundreds of "Meteors" rushed toward the planet, and with them riders on Basilisks. Even a bit of a pity that I won't take part in this brawl.
***
Clone 33112
The alarm was ringing. Red flashing beacons sparkled in the corridor. The stomp of dozens of armored legs thundered. Staring at the back of the sister running ahead, I try not to fall behind.
Dashing into the hangar, we ran to our landing shuttle. From the look of it, utter chaos reigned here. Everyone was running somewhere, fighters were loading into ships, technicians were clearing everything extra and conducting pre-launch checks of the machines. Pilots were already starting their craft, and due to the sudden start, the "cough" of engines constantly swept through the hangar.
"Faster, faster, faster!" my commander waved his hand, standing at the lowered ramp of our Meteor.
Jumping inside, I take the rifle off my back on the move, pass by the brothers who have already sat down, and take an empty seat. Securing the rifle between my legs, I silently follow the boarding of the others.
"Eighty-first on board, ready for landing." reported my commander, taking a place near the entrance.
"Accepted, eighty-first. Stand by." the pilots replied on the air.
The ship's hatch closed, cutting off the sounds, and the cargo hold plunged into, if not complete, then silence. There were no nerves, only a desire to quickly test my strength and see what I was capable of. I wanted to justify the hopes placed on our shoulders; I wanted to burst in and show what we were worth. We looked at each other silently, when suddenly I was slightly nudged with an elbow. Turning, I look at Valerika.
"And here you are seated with me too?!" she whispered indignantly.
"Naturally. Someone has to cover your delicate face, don't they?" I huff demonstratively, but try to suppress a burst of laughter. It so happened that Valerika always ended up next to me. We were in the same generation, the same batch, were in the same nursery, then ended up in the same group and, as a result, were trained for infantry.
"Well, no thanks, I'll manage somehow myself," she patted the butt of the rifle between her legs. "You already covered me during training."
Those who heard us laughed. Yes, the case when I hit her in the face with a training paralyser is probably known by our whole academy. For a week, Valerika walked with a contorted face until the nerve endings and muscles returned to normal. Probably better than me, this case was remembered only by my kidneys, which Valerika beat in her anger.
Putting on a serious face, I shrugged with an imperturbability worthy of the Ancient One himself and replied:
"Pity. This time I'll be covering with live rounds. Maybe you won't suffer like last time."
"Shiarat. Go to..."
"Beep!" the signal from the pilots interrupted Valerika's expressive statement. Red lights came on; we immediately froze in our seats. A few seconds later, the holders descended, fixing us.
Most likely, we had already flown out of the hangar, but the Meteor's compensators worked so well that nothing was felt; you felt as if you were sitting still.
"Listen to the task!" the commander's voice sounded in the helmet. "We are going in the second wave. Landing on the outskirts of the city, near the warehouses and the communication center. Our task is to throw the enemy back and give the first group an opportunity to strengthen the bridgehead. Rigid resistance is not expected; the enemy is in confusion and cannot provide organized pushback, but that doesn't mean we can relax. Take the natives alive if possible, but only if possible. Exception—command staff. These must be taken alive. Remember, we are here not only to clear but also to capture. Is everything clear?!"
"Vore'ha!" the answer barked.
"Excellent. Remember what you were taught, brothers and sisters. Remember what the Ancient One said, and try to survive. We have only just come into this world, and it's too early for us to die."
The commander fell silent, and we heard the howl of overstrained engines. The hull creaked, something was tapping a small drum somewhere. Someone among the fighters laughed; his laughter was supported by the others.
"Now someone's going to find out they got the wrong address!" White was laughing, sitting opposite me.
"Yeah. Entered the wrong galaxy!" his neighbor supported him.
"Shiarat!" Valerika called to me. "Do me a favor, don't leave my side."
Nodding, I hold out my fist. She immediately bumps it with hers without hesitation.
"Readiness ten seconds!" the pilots reported.
The fighters quickly conducted a final check of systems and equipment, when suddenly my whole gut dropped down.
"Alright, stowaways, out!" the pilot shouted. The fixing rails rose, the ramps opened. Grabbing the assault rifle, I jump up and run after Valerika.
The view of the planet that opened up was as striking as it was horrifying. We landed right on the approaches to the city, essentially on the enemy's head. The city looked more like a hive. High, united, distorted houses covered with some kind of either skin or solidified slime, or something else, unclear. The streets were also made of some incomprehensible solid mass clearly of organic origin. Some houses stretched high into the sky, but there were few of those. Others had two, three, or even six floors.
Jumping out of the landing shuttle, we immediately burst into battle. Part of our people from the first wave were pressing the enemy between the city streets. While running toward the sounds of shots, I cast a quick glance at the bodies lying here and there. Among the natives were not only soldiers; everyone was getting hit.
Something thundered overhead. Before being distracted, I help my people with some lunatics running toward us with living spears. And before I could realize anything, I am jerked back, thereby being saved from under the debris. As it turned out, one of the capsules had pierced a building right through, because of which stone showered down. Quickly hiding in the buildings, we wait out the collapse.
"Thanks," I nod to Valerika.
Inside, the Vong house, like the outside, was more like a hive. Tables grew right out of the floor, as did other furniture. No living beings were observed. In general, it was strange, but the lifeform scanner was constantly glitching.
"Commander, shall we clear the building?"
"Negative. The third wave will handle that. Advancing further, to the warehouses."
"Accepted."
"Is it just me, or is the building alive?"
"Who the hell knows with these creatures..."
Listening to the fighters' conversations, I approach the sentry at the door and pat him on the shoulder to let him know I'm covering. The first one dashed outside, the others followed. Following our example, a group also dashed out on the other side of the street.
Along the whole path, the rifles didn't fall silent. We shot at anyone who didn't have the black-and-red armor coloring. There were no barricades or obstacles on the way, only individual small squads trying to do something. Once we fell into an ambush, but quickly let them know that it wasn't them who had cornered us, but we them.
Throughout the entire engagement, shuttles were constantly roaring in the sky. Fighters continued to fight someone; bombers made runs every now and then. At one point, a strike attacker zoomed over us, right between the houses, having worked over an enemy invisible to us, hiding somewhere at the end of the street.
Soon combat droids, which were sent to the hottest spots, came to join us. At one look at them, one could understand what the machines had been through. Dented, with singes, traces of acid—the Vong's favorite weapon—the machines continued to cover us.
However, at some point, we suddenly got stuck. The enemy was able to organize a barrier near some object important to them. This hadn't been our goal, but, apparently, intelligence had missed something. And the worst thing was that they clearly didn't intend to let us further. The storm of fire was such that we couldn't even poke our heads out, let alone fire back.
Taking cover around the corner of a house, I saw how right opposite me, behind some dead giant combat cockroach, three of our people were hiding. As soon as one tried to poke his head out, he got hit right in the head.
"And it all started so well," I mutter to myself, preparing the underslung launcher. There was absolutely no fear, just as there was no grief of loss. We were born to die, we were created to fight, and sooner or later we will all reunite with the Force. Only a pity that my brother left so early... and, possibly, I'm about to join him.
Just as I'm about to poke my head out, I am pulled back. Turning, I see Gortan.
"Wait. Look." he pointed back.
And exactly. A pair of Asps were rushing to our aid. The combat walkers burst into the battle and took all the enemy's attention. The droids immediately received the order to assault, and after them, we emerged from cover.
Under the cover of the vehicles, the line was taken. The attack turned out to be so swift that the defenders wavered and preferred to surrender. The object we captured contained a warehouse of some torture instruments, no less. Though... as it later turned out, these were the local religious attributes, so it wasn't a warehouse, but a temple. At that moment, even I got shivers. Horror, what masochists...
Setting charges, we sent the prisoners back and blew up the temple. The attack continued.
I don't know how much time passed; the attack turned into one big endless battle, when some nastiness could fly at you from the nearest window. Against us were not only the Vong but also their fauna. Snake-like creatures hid in corners; underfoot, dangerous insects were being fried every now and then. Even taking the weapons of killed Vong was forbidden, as they tended to bite!
Because of all this, the advancement had to be slowed down; the sweep squads couldn't keep up with us, and on the already captured territories, its own battle was going on. The flamethrower units had so much work that at times we had to stop just for them.
When I saw the Mandalorians, I was sincerely happy. Together with the Terrans, they were constantly dashing from one problem point to another. Collapsing like a whirlwind on the enemy right from the sky, they cleared the way and immediately left. I saw them twice more, but the way they fought, I remembered for a lifetime.
And then, it all ended. As if by the flip of a switch. The order to stop the offensive sounded on the air. Cities, factories, military facilities—all this was either captured or destroyed. The planet is under our control; we can calmly strengthen ourselves and engage in catching fugitives.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from my heart. Exhaling, I inspect my brothers. Only now do I notice that only half of my squad is left. Some are wounded—there's Valerika standing with a shot shoulder—some have gone into the Force. But be that as it may, we won. The task is done.
***
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