The Gala had been a great success. All and sundry had witnessed Matuvista’s great cultural feats, and as the shuttles finished depositing guests back on the station, the crew of the
Santa De Angelo could let out a deep breath. The hard part of her service had been completed. Now, she would remain as a diplomatic vessel until Matuvista could add their own sections to the Meeting Place.
Isabella, for her part, had taken the next shuttle back to the wormhole. She was set to arrive in the New Hollywood system shortly before the troops arrived, and then she would rendevouz with the troop carrier and assume command of the ground forces. She was a little sad to see her holiday end so soon, but ahead of her was the potential for so much more than just a bit of relaxation. Regardless of if the government withstood the rebels or fell, she had to be seen as an effective commander that did all they could.
Standing in full uniform on the bridge of the small vessel that had carried her to New Hollywood, she watched as the troop transport carrying the Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Force arrived in the system. From the outside, Matuvistan troop carriers looked downright intimidating. Matuvistan tactical doctrine had given them a peculiar role as long-ranged support craft to the navy's much faster and more agile attack craft, and since they never actually entered the atmosphere, they had no need to be designed with aerodynamics in mind. Thus, the craft that entered New Hollywood was a wide and squat cuboid, bristling with an uncomfortably large amount of long-range firepower.
Isabella knew that this one would have been escorted by corvettes all the way to the gateway to ensure its safe arrival, and then the craft would have peeled away and returned to their home stations.
The shuttle approached the larger troop carrier, and after a brief confirmation, the docking doors of the troop carrier swung open. Isabella’s small craft entered and berthed itself, the patrician stepping out and offering a crisp salute to the ship’s captain.
“Report.” She disembarked fully.
“The entire force is in good order, commandanta. We were hailed by the Hollywoodites upon arrival, and they’ve been very forthcoming with all the information we need. Two cities have fallen to the rebels; Neo-London and New-Beijing. I recommend that we move to Neo-London, it was the former capital.” Although Isabella was formally in charge, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that made her the most knowledgeable aboard here. Capitão Alvarez was a veteran of over three decades and a capable naval commander, and more importantly, he knew this ship and the men on it better than she did.
“That seems sensible. Have we prepared an announcement?” As they spoke, the Capitão began to lead Isabella to her berth.
“No, commandanta.” Came the response.
“Get it done. I want it broadcasting as we begin the reclaiming. I assume my jetbike was brought aboard?”
“Of course commandanta. It’s secured in the vehicle garages.”
“
Excellente. You seem to have things well in hand Alvarez.”
“Thank you commandanta. With the saints as our witness, I am sure we will come out of this better than we entered.”
The Matuvistans had been given access to the oligarch’s media systems. Of course they had: they were on the side of the oligarchs, after all. At once, all of Neo-London’s broadcasting channels were flooded with a single message. It came unaccompanied by visuals, holo-suites merely showed a nondescript white humanoid reading off the lines. "Citizens of Neo-London. We are here because some of you have taken matters of government into your own hands. You have become rebels, violent insurrectionaries against the rightful order." There was a long pause. "You are not children. You are aware of your actions, and that they have consequences.
We are the consequences. Make no mistake, this is not a foreign invasion. This is peacekeeping, and you have broken the peace. To anyone who was not involved in this foolish and childish tantrum, you are now being placed under martial law, effective immediately. Obey the instructions of peacekeepers and protectors and no harm will come to you. For the rest, run. Hide. Fight back. It makes no difference. You have foolishly believed yourselves to be the arbitrators of the law. You are not.
We are the law." The message repeated.
As it did, the troop transport above began to deploy its atmospheric craft. The initial operation was simple. Matuvista needed a base on the planet where it could refuel its craft, quarter its soldiers and generally carry out day-to-day functioning. There was no all-in-one location down in Neo-London that would suffice, but there
was an area that could be turned over to such an operation; New Westminster.
New Westminster was an imitation of, funnily enough, Westminster back in the days of Earth. It had parks, financial institutions… And most importantly, government functions. It also had a recreation of Buckingham Palace, which was an obvious area to reclaim and use as a military headquarters, not just because it was convenient to do so, but also because, it had to be said, using a recreated palace as their military base struck a certain chord with the patricians in charge of the operation.
That was why the deployment ships were now whistling down directly towards New Westminster. They had dropped out of the bottom of the troop transport like missiles falling from bay doors, using only minimal thrust to aim them towards New London. They hit the atmosphere quickly, vibrating hard as they entered the atmosphere. Flames licked at the outside, but soon they were through, the roar of re-entry changing to the whistle of the winds beside them.
They burst through the sky like spears flung from the heavens, piercing the clouds. Engines roared as they prepared for landing, the soldiers inside going through last minute combat checks. Simultaneously they slowed down just before they would have smashed themselves apart against the ground, their deployment doors opening up as soon as they were close enough for safe deployment.
Inside, soldiers checked the green light, prepared themselves, and began to fast-rope down. From becoming visible to digorging troops the whole process had taken under three minutes, and now trained Matuvistan marines had touched down on New Hollywoodite soil. The first ones immediately drew up their carbines, any curious civilians kept back as the rest of their comrades also dropped down from the transport vehicles, all whilst the heaviest of the craft still made their descent.
The soldiers moved towards the palace quickly, preparing themselves for entry. As they approached, the vehicle deployment craft screeched down from the sky, their atmospheric entry shields lowering to reveal their payload of jetrikes. Each craft could carry two magnetically clamped underneath them, and once they had gotten low enough the clamps deactivated and the vehicles dropped down, thrusters and levitation systems roaring to life to keep them from smashing into the ground.
With the vehicles deployed, the crafts lowered themselves further and more soldiers deployed. The jettrikes revved up and shot ahead to form a cordon around the palace even as the doors of New Buckingham were kicked in and the Matuvistans began to sweep through the ornate halls of the building.
Less than an hour later, resistance had been pacified with minimal loss of life, rebels had been captured and the Matuvistans had formally gotten themselves situated down on the planet.
Isabella’s briefing was both promising and concerning. On the one hand, insertion into New Westminster had been a success with no casualties, and she could begin the next step of the operation, that of actually establishing a proper planetside operation rather than a mere temporary field command. On the other hand, news on the foreign front was less positive. The Columbian Senate had announced that the ‘401st Rapid Response’ were being deployed to safeguard the interests of their civilians against the civil violence. As of yet, they hadn’t come out backing either side, but more nations could only increase the level of complexity in the unfolding situation.
Still, it was in both the interests of the MVEF and the 401st to cooperate here. They were, after all, both working for the same purpose at the moment. Suppress the rebels, protect the uninvolved. When the first of the 401st ships entered ECU space, she had a message prepped and ready for them.
“Hail Columbians. This is Commandanta Isabella de Lobasla, of the Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Force. We have established a ground-based headquarters capable of being used to refuel and launch surface-to-orbit craft, and secured against rebel assaults. As a sign of good faith and cooperation, we would like to propose a joint military venture between our forces. We are more than happy to safeguard your citizens.” She paused for a moment.
“If such an agreement is satisfactory, I would also like to invite your commander aboard the vessel I am currently aboard. I’m afraid it’s hardly designed for dignitaries, but I’m sure you understand given the circumstances. Commandanta de Lobasla over and out.”
Inviting their higher-ups aboard was just good sense, and hopefully this way they would endear themselves to the Columbian government. Partially this was because as a patrician, she had a mind towards the diplomatic, but the fact that
she was doing all of this also reflected well upon herself when she eventually returned to Matuvista.
A win-win-win then.
“Contact! Eight o clock!” Miguel hunkered down beneath one of the anti-terrorist bollards, confident that the heavy concrete would serve well to protect him. Beside him, other men of the volunteer force got themselves situated again, the NCO’s radio requests filtering in through his earpiece.
“La Emperatriz, Serpiente-5.” Headquarters
would have been Emperador, until someone had pointed out that they were being lead by a Commandanta and that the feminine was probably more appropriate.
“La Emperatriz.” Came the response.
“Encountered resistance, small-arms fire. Requesting jettrike backup at operational area three-five-alfa-romeo-niner, repeat, requesting jettrike backup at operational area three-fiver-alfa-romeo-niner, do you copy, over?”
There was a pause in communications, broken by the rattle of a rebel assault rifle that snapped harmlessly above their heads.
“Copy Serpiente-5. Dispatching Recon Squad Fuego to your location now. Hold for two minutes, over.”
“Appreciate it, la Emperatriz, Serpiente-5 over and out.” The NCO nodded, knowing the squad had heard the request being met.
“You heard la Emperatriz, two minutes. Keep them pinned down then, but don’t take any stupid risks and get your head taken off. You don’t want to be the first casualty over here.” Miguel peeked up and over the barrier he was hiding behind, assessing the situation. The rebels were easy to see: although they’d clearly attempted to hide themselves, they had attacked opportunistically and without much planning, and the pops of their guns and flash from their muzzles pretty clearly revealed their position. Hefting his own rifle up, he rattled off a burst of suppressing fire, ducking back down as one of his squadmates did the same thing.
“Man, this is a lot easier than the rebels back home huh?” One of the female soldiers a single bollard away quipped, taking her opportunity to poke her head up and rattle off a few shots. “They’ve got their shit sorted out, these guys are revolutionary rookies. Just think, if we were on one of the sisters, we’d have been alerted to the ambush with snipers, and then they’d be rocking us with an MG before bailing.”
“Think they’ll even bail before the jetrikes turn up?” Came a response, shouted to get over the din of exchanged automatic fire.
“Shut it and focus, I know they’re disorganised, but those are still bullets flying over your head. Take it seriou-” The NCO’s voice was drowned out by the roar of jet engines, and a spearhead of three jetrikes soared clean over one of the nearby houses, their machineguns opening up in a hail of full-calibre danger. “Alright!” The NCO continued without missing a beat. “Push up whilst they’re suppressed! Take as many alive as you can!”
It really was no contest, Miguel reflected to himself. On the one hand, most of the soldiers in the MVEF were trained in anti-rebel activities, well armed and well drilled. They were facing a force that hadn’t figured out even the basics of guerilla warfare and severely under armed.
He supposed it was a good day to be a Matuvistan, the soldier lighting a cigarette over handcuffed and dead forms.
Tau-Curie knew that she was a small cog in a much bigger machine. Of course she did; she was connected to that machine in a way so intimate that it was difficult for others outside the collective to understand. Unlike others however, who might find such an affair to be demoralising or saddening, she found honour in such a thing. Every machine worked through the smooth functioning of all its cogs together, not because one cog happened to be extremely efficient.
She was also reminded that for every single Eta-Theta there was out there, there was countless
hers. Hands made of flesh and blood, working hard for the betterment of all of Zeta. No, no, they were leaving behind that name. She should stop thinking of herself as a ‘Zetan.’ Soon, they wouldn’t be on this wretched planet any more. The idea sent a shot of excitement up her spine.
Away She looked around on the surface of Tau-Asphodel, as blighted and benighted as it was, and just for a moment closed her eyes and imagined that the gloom and cracked earth covered in salts that mandated heavy protective gear were gone.
She could see it now. Wide rolling fields of green. Fields of crops underneath her feet, breathing in the fresh air, nurtured not by hydroponics but by water from the skies and nutrients from the soil. Then, she opened her eyes again. Back to dust. Back to gloom. Back to the rustling of her rubber gear, and the hissing sound of her respirator working. Really, she should have gotten herself better lungs years ago, but she was one of those Zetans who liked their fleshy forms. After all, she had so much time, centuries, millenia perhaps, to have a body of steel. Why hurry to replace the movement of the diaphragm, the pulse of blood through veins, the blinking of eyelids?
Then she turned back to the Ark in front of her. Tau-Asphodel’s population mandated that they build one particularly large ark; analysis had revealed it to be more efficient to increase the size rather than construct two. At the moment, they were assembling the various frames and panels they needed for the exoskeleton of the ark into place, swarms of automated and semi-automated drones hovering about. She was in charge of a group of the latter as they put in atmospheric shielding, welders screeching and sparking as they forced metal to bond.
Every panel that was slotted into place was another step closer to her dream.
Tortoise,
World Traveler,
TokyoPewPew,
Timemaster,
Sylvan,
Fading Memory,
X Fiendfyre X,
Khandov,
Andronicus23,
Lucid Dreaming
