A Hymn Before Battle

22 Orbit, Diess IV 2233 GMT April 23rd, 2002 ad

Diess was a hot dry world, proof to Lieutenant O’Neal that the Galactics had an overpopulation problem. It had three extremely large continents; about sixty percent of its surface was land, with coastlines that received a limited amount of rain, about as much as the Sahara, and vast mountainous inlands drier than Death Valley.

Although the ecology of the seas was extremely complex, the dominant family was vaguely polychaetan with a complex structurally resilient polymer replacing chitin. There was virtually no terrestrial ecology. Instead the shores were packed with Indowy and Darhel megalopoli, their fingers jutting inland from the life-giving sea. Galactic technology easily extracted pure water and edible food from the plankton-rich seawater. It was obvious that a little food, a little water and raw materials were all the Indowy needed for life.

Worlds like this were the factories of the peaceful, loving Galactic Federation. Billions of Indowy slaving away day in and out with the fraction of Darhel skimming the cream. The peaceful worlds of the democratic Galactic Federation filled with peaceful little boggles whose only need was to serve. Dem dakkies a singin’ in the field and the Darhel masters they’s a lubbin’ evy one of ’em. Galactic politics made Mike want to puke; but not as hard as what the Posleen were doing.

Galactic technology, high reproductive rates and the minuscule wants of the Indowy had permitted a population of twelve billion and booming before the Posleen arrived. The population was now five billion and dropping. One continent was wholly lost; one continent was still unscathed. The third had been lost except for a pie-piece shaped wedge in the northwest corner; the Posleen were as uninterested in the interior as the Galactics.

Mike stood on a virtual ridge inland of that pie-piece watching the floor of the valley hump and ripple like wind-wracked canvas. The Posleen were coming and 2^nd Battalion 325^th Mobile Infantry Regiment was preparing to meet them.

The first unit to engage was the battalion scout platoon, popping up from a conveniently perpendicular gully and opening fire with grav rifles. As lines of silver lightning connected them with the Posleen mass the front ranks began to explode. The teardrops burned through the air followed by lines of silver plasma. When they impacted they began to impart their kinetic energy to the flesh and liquid of the Posleen. The impact caused the bodies of the Posleen front rank to become their own bombs as blood flashed to steam and hydrostatic shock flashed the surroundings to ions. The fractional c depleted-uranium rounds impacted like hypervelocity grenades.

The scouts were difficult for Mike to see. By order of the battalion commander the armor had been spray painted a mottled brown to match the landscape. However, when Mike dialed his sensors to wavelengths visible to the Posleen, the chemicals in the off-the-shelf paint caused it to fluoresce under the energetic output of Diess’ F-2 primary. He slugged this sensor adjustment to some of the other observers just as the Posleen returned fire.

Since the scouts had waited until the Posleen were under five hundred meters to engage, since they stood out like light bulbs in a dark room under UV-C, since they bounded completely into the open instead of firing from cover and since there were four thousand Posleen in the front rank firing at thirty targets it was a miracle of armor design that only nine scouts were killed in the first volley. The rest were thrown bodily backwards by the sheer mass of hypervelocity flechettes and flipped head over heels into the gully.

The fire thus suppressed, the Posleen rushed forward, as fast as lions for that short sprint, and were within two hundred meters before unconcerted fire resumed. At that range, despite full output from the few remaining functional scouts, the fire was beaten down and the position overrun in seconds.

Farther up the valley, Charlie company began long rifle and machine gun fire from over a thousand meters. Suit grenades and company 100mm mortars started to fall on the Posleen mass. The grenades and mortars would open wide holes like rainfall in a pond then the press of other Posleen would close over the fallen and the whole mass would press on. The lines of silver fire would drive two or three deep into the mass, but the pressure of the whole horde drove the horde forward against the fans of fire and spread it out to flank the extended company line. As the fire was redirected to engage the flankers it reduced the overall fire pressure and the horde drove forward at a swifter pace over windrows of its own dead. But the Posleen firmly believed in “waste not want not”; these bodies disappeared as the following ranks dismembered and processed them, rations for today and days to come.

Without a pause or waver the indefatigable enemy trotted towards the beleaguered company. Occasionally a mortar or grenade would, by chance, kill a God King. The mass around him would falter, momentarily, in its advance, then, as the individual normals of the fief shifted allegiance to other local God Kings, it would drive forward again.

Eventually the reduced mass, originally about three hundred thousand individuals, reached a range where their inaccurate fire began to affect the company. According to plan the company began to leapfrog back by platoon sections, two platoons maintaining cover fire as one withdrew. At this point another problem arose.

First, as a platoon stopped firing to withdraw, the retreat and reduced fire pressure caused the remaining mass to rush forward; the sight of the retreating platoon created a chase reaction in the normals and Posleen had apparently never heard of taking cover from fire. Second, the stop and bound nature of the maneuver was slow and difficult to coordinate. The combination caused 3^rd platoon to be overrun in the second withdrawal as it made an out of position halt trying to cover 1^st platoon.

At this point the original plan, a Cannae-like envelopment, went straight out the old air lock and Alpha and Bravo were ordered to leave their positions on the ridge, get down in the valley and prepare a defense for Charlie to pass through. Battalion weapons company was ordered to ascend the ridge and get plunging fire with their terawatt lasers.

A bright rear-rank God King, noticing the struggling troopers dragging the bulky lasers up the ridge slope, had his fief take the group under mass fire, destroying the battalion laser platoon. When Captain Wright of Alpha company was killed, the momentary confusion let a group of pursuing Posleen slip through with Charlie company. The flanking fire from this group, about two hundred and a God King, destroyed the Alpha second platoon and the whole Posleen mass poured through the breach, rolling up the battalion from its center. The centaurs poured over the troopers, stripping them out of their refractory suits and butchering them for a celebratory barbecue. Their hoots and cries of victory could be clearly heard on the ridge.

“Well,” said General Houseman, on the observer channel, “that was… words fail me.”

“A really quick way to lose a billion credits, sir?” Mike quipped.

“The worst defeat since Cumberland College versus Georgia Tech?” asked his chief of staff, General Bridges.

“Huh?” said two or three voices, General Houseman’s among them.

“222 to 0, Tech,” said the Rambling Wreck.

“Clear VR,” they heard Lieutenant Colonel Youngman say on the command channel.

The visions of drifting uranium residue, smoke, dust and feasting Posleen cleared to reveal a large cargo bay scattered with fully intact combat suits in various states of immobility.

“AID, cut Lieutenant Colonel Youngman and Major Norton into this channel,” ordered General Houseman. “Colonel Youngman, Major Norton, listen up. I want first reports on the G-3’s desk at 1200 hours tomorrow. Hot wash on the exercise will be at 1630. Okay, you got your asses kicked, but you’re improving. We’ll do it again day after tomorrow, urban scenario. Get to work. Clear circuit.

“Christ,” he continued on the local circuit, “I hope they’re doing better on Barwhon.”