The Rask Rebellion

Before the Sarge could even call out the new target, a mortar hit the hillside, sending one of the broken bodies of the gunners wheeling a good ten feet into the air before it was dashed on the rocks below.

From behind a rock formation came a bayonet charge, two dozen of the aliens leaping over obstacles on their long, spring-like legs as they raced down the incline towards a group of entrenched Marines. They were deceptively fast for their size, covering ground quickly, coming within a mere ten feet of their quarry before the defenders' guns turned on them. The Marines fired from behind their deployable cover, the thirty-millimeter gun on the IFV's remote blister above them chewing through the advancing aliens. The barrage of railgun slugs cut the Rask down, the thirty-mil severing limbs, and leaving fist-sized exit wounds.

"What the bloody hell are they thinking?" Cooper wondered aloud, turning his sights on another squad. He engaged the gun pod that was mounted on the side of the Kodiak's turret, a stream of caseless rounds harrying the aliens, tracers painting a glowing trail through the air. "Attacking armored vehicles with small arms, bayonet charges, it's like they don't know what they're doing!"

"Maybe they don't," the Sergeant replied, hunched over his console as he used a joystick to control the blister above them. "Just because they have access to UNN tech doesn't mean they've been trained to use it properly."

The Rask morale seemed to have been broken, they were retreating now, moving back up the hills towards the safety of the ridges. They weren't fleeing in panic, despite the chaos erupting around them. They were remarkably disciplined for a force so outmatched. They stopped to cover each other, taking refuge behind the rocks, but that was another tactic unsuited to their current predicament. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, their numbers thinning until only a handful were left, the survivors making it over the ridge and out of view.

"You'd better run, cunts," Cooper muttered as he flopped back into his chair. "Got no more targets on my scope, Sarge."

"Looks like we're clear," the commander replied.

"Barry!" Cooper yelled, stamping his boot. "You alive down there?"

"Stop fucking stamping!" a muffled voice replied.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He flipped down the visor on his helmet, patching into the Kodiak's hull cameras, taking a better look at the carnage that surrounded them. There were a lot of enemy casualties, but it was hard to give a ballpark estimate given that so many of them had been...forcibly disassembled. The hills were scattered with craters, the wind carrying away the smoke, making it drift slowly across the battlefield.

"Don't get too comfortable yet," the Sergeant warned, "they're calling in artillery strikes to mop up the stragglers. Brace for danger close."

After a moment of tense waiting, the ground began to shake, the artillery company pounding the terrain beyond the ridges with a salvo from miles away. Just like the airburst rounds, the shells exploded above the ground, creating rings of dark smoke as they sprayed the retreating Rask with shrapnel. It was over quickly, a dozen of the dark rings floating over the ridge as the wind caught them, more smoke rising up from out of view.

"That got 'em," Cooper muttered. "What are our casualties?"

"Lost a couple of Marines, some light damage to vehicles, but none reported disabled so far. They're flying in a dropship from Elysia to medivac the wounded, keeping it low altitude so that the MASTs don't tag it. I suppose that's the last one we're going to see for a while, no way they can fly in that sandstorm."

"What are we supposed to do when the storm hits?" Cooper complained. "Do we give the walking wounded a canteen and tell 'em happy fucking trails?"

"The Yagda has an onboard infirmary, that's all we're getting until we take out the Rask launch sites."

"Does it have a bloody hot tub, too?" Cooper grumbled. "Fucking Martians."

He watched through one of the camera feeds as the crew of the IFV ahead of them dismounted, inspecting the damage to the troop bay. Good job that round had gone through the bay, and not through the cab. Teams of Marines were fanning out, securing the hills, and checking for wounded. He was surprised to see some of them crouching over the bodies of fallen Rask, it looked like they were attempting triage.

"What the hell are they treating them for?" he grumbled. "Doubt those shitheads would do the same for us."

"Doesn't matter," the Sergeant replied, "we're required to provide care to the wounded if the circumstances permit it. Looks like we're gonna be stuck here for a while, that blockage will have to be cleared away."

The lead Kodiak had already deployed its bulldozer prow and was beginning to push aside the rocks and sand, a couple of squads climbing the inclines to its left and right to check the other side.

A sudden crack rang out, Cooper snapping his helmet around, the external cameras giving him a view of a Marine who was standing over a newly slain Rask. The man holstered his sidearm before continuing on, his companions trailing behind him.

"Fucking cats are still resisting," he marveled. "Can't even patch them up without them trying to claw your face off."

"That one looks like he's had enough," the Sergeant added. "Bearing one-twenty."

"Oh yeah," Cooper chuckled, watching as a wounded Rask who was leaning against a rock was treated by a Marine whose comrades still had their weapons trained on him. The alien's thigh was leaking dark arterial blood, the Marine sealing the wound with a canister of expanding foam from his medkit. Another gunshot rang out, it sounded like somebody else was being uncooperative.

"What do you reckon the other Borealans think of this?" Barry asked, Cooper turning his gaze to a pack of the armored aliens who were milling about near their IFV.

"The Elysians probably hate the Rask more than we do," the commander replied. "They wouldn't even share a table in the mess, and that was back when they weren't shooting at each other. This planet isn't unified, there's no United Nations equivalent here. This is a war of one territory against another, not Borealans against humans."

"Let's hope they all see it that way," Cooper muttered.

***

It took several hours for the blockage to be cleared away, the medivac dropship finally arriving, swooping low over the convoy on its stubby wings. The wind was picking up now, the sandstorm closing in, darkening the sky to the West. Cooper watched the craft touch down on a rocky plateau nearby, Marines ferrying the wounded up the hill and into its troop bay, the idling engines blowing clouds of dust. Next came the critically injured Rask, their stretchers carried by the Shock Troopers, as even four humans couldn't lift them. Last was a procession of only half a dozen PoWs who had survived the ambush, their clawed hands bound behind their backs with sturdy cable ties, their round ears flattened against their bowed heads. They looked suitably cowed. They would probably be handed over to the Elysians, and he had no idea what the aliens would do with them. Prison? Execution, maybe?

"Here's hoping the Rask have learned their lesson, and that was their last attempt to stop us," the Sergeant said as he watched the vessel lift off. "It's hard to take pride in a massacre."

"They only have themselves to blame," Cooper replied with a shrug. "This whole situation is entirely their own fault."

The Marines returned to their vehicles, the damaged IFV now patched up, the convoy finally starting to move again. The troop transport ahead of them jolted to life, the Kodiak's engine shaking the hull as Barry drove after it, leaving the scene of the battle behind them. They had recovered what few Marines had fallen, but there was no practical way for them to dispose of what must be a couple of hundred dead Rask. They had left them behind, mostly out of necessity, but partly as a warning.

***

The suns had set hours ago, but Ben couldn't see the stars. The looming sandstorm was finally upon them, blotting out the sky, a dark wall of swirling dust rising over the sand dunes in their path. Flashes of lightning arced through it, illuminating it for scant moments, creating dark shadows that picked out its details. It made him feel like he was slowly falling into the atmosphere of a roiling gas giant.

"Can't keep the drones out for more than a couple more hours," he said, scowling at his displays. "The winds up there are getting too crazy, we'll lose them."

"What's our plan when the storm hits?" Mizi asked with an uncertain flash of purple plumage. "We won't be able to see more than fifty or sixty meters in any direction."

"Our orders are to chart a route to the Rask territory, so that's what we're gonna do. We'll have to pay close attention to our instruments, rely on the mapping software and the digital compass to keep us heading straight. Don't worry about that, though, that's my job. Just concentrate on driving."

"It is already becoming difficult to see," Lozka complained, "the air is hazy with flying sand."

"Got a message coming through from Charlie," Ben said, Lozka turning to peer at him as she waited for him to elaborate. "It's about goddamned time, it's been almost a day. Report says...they encountered Rask, just like we suspected. Your instincts were spot on, Lozka."

She nodded her head, watching him with her green eyes.

"I knew that the Rask would not pass up such an opportunity. If the column is reporting in, then am I to assume that they prevailed?"

"More than prevailed," Ben chuckled, "it sounds like they wiped out a whole raiding party. Minimal casualties on their side, a couple of hundred dead Rask."

"That is...efficient," she added, struggling to contain her surprise.

"They gave the Matriarch a black eye, maybe she'll think twice about trying again."

"I would not be so certain," Lozka warned, her furry brow furrowing. "They are as stubborn as they are violent."
"Hold up," Ben added, tapping at one of his touch screens. "We got something coming up behind us, picking it up on the drone cam." He took manual control, zooming in on the object, struggling to make it out through the growing haze. "What the fuck..."
Lozka switched to his view, narrowing her eyes.

"Sandship," she spat, her ears flattening against her head. Ben could make out the massive sails now, the vessel coming into focus as it neared. It was surprisingly large, perhaps approaching the size of a Spanish Galleon. If he had to guess, it looked about fifty meters long and maybe half that wide. It was shaped like a catamaran, with two narrow hulls that were spread far apart for stability. They were bridged by a wooden deck, which was built up, probably housing cabins and cargo space. It was streamlined, despite the primitive construction materials, gaining ground on them as its long hulls carried it over the dunes. Its pair of tall masts were high enough that the camouflaged sails were always catching the wind, knotted ropes, and tangled rigging connecting them to the deck below. As it neared, Ben noted that it was flanked by a pair of skiffs, not unlike the one that they had encountered previously.

"They've gotta be doing seventy or eighty k," he said, "they're gaining. Where the hell did they come from?"

"The survivors of the battle in the massif," Lozka suggested. "They flee towards the Rask territory with the remnants of their raiding fleet. There should be more sandships, I have never seen them travel so lightly."

"Look at that!" Ben exclaimed, "beside the big one. Is that a fucking truck?"

There was a wheeled vehicle cresting the dune beside the mothership. It looked like a pickup with an enclosed bed, its chassis crudely painted over with desert camouflage. It was clearly of human origin, a civilian vehicle that the Rask had modified with large tires and shocks. The cab, too, looked strange. They had likely rebuilt it to accommodate the larger stature of the aliens.

"The Rask obtained those vehicles from your people," Lozka explained, "they have been using them to carry troops far deeper into our jungles than they could travel on foot. There are many such conveyances rusting in my territory, we let the trees reclaim them once their crews are slain."

"What's our course of action?" Mizi asked, interrupting them. "We need a new plan, the situation has changed."

"Lozka, are those ships armed?" Ben asked. "I'm not too worried about the skiffs and the truck, but I don't know anything about that big one. Might be time to keep our heads down."

"It is too late for that," she grumbled, swinging her turret to face behind them. "If they are in sight, then they will already have seen the tracks that we have left in the sand. Seeking out trade caravans to pillage in the desert is their livelihood."

"Think they're gonna attack us?" he asked. "You made it sound like they were limping home with their tails between their legs."

"Three support vessels and a sandship against an isolated target?" she scoffed, gripping her joystick in her furry hand. "They are predators, scavengers. Their Crewmaster will not pass up such an opportunity."

"Mizi," Ben snapped, "prepare for evasive maneuvers. We have no idea what their armament is like. Lozka, fire at will. We're throwing tungsten, and they've got wooden armor. I don't care how big that thing is, I want it reduced to driftwood."

"Yes, Commander," they replied in chorus. His stomach lurched as Mizi kicked the Timberwolf into gear, veering off-course.

"Their escort is breaking off," Ben warned, "they're matching our heading."

"Hold on!" Mizi grunted, the vehicle lurching as she let it slide down the side of a dune.

"They're gaining," Ben said. "They haven't seen my drone yet. Mizi, keep us between these dunes. Lozka, open fire when the first skiff comes over that crest."

A moment later, the vanguard shot into view, getting a few seconds of air before landing in the sand. It was identical to the one that they had faced prior, a small, canoe-like craft with two occupants, the pilot gripping the sail as he angled it into the wind.

Lozka wasted no time, opening up with the mounted gun as her target raced down the dune. The sand around them erupted in splashes as the slugs dug into it, Lozka narrowing her grouping, firing in full-auto at the little wooden skimmer. It stood no chance, its hull cracking and splintering, the mast snapping as it began to roll. Its crew were thrown clear, one of them already partially dismembered by the gunfire, the other skidding to a stop to lie limp in the sand.

"Fucking good shot, Lozka!" Ben exclaimed. "Another skiff coming around to our left."

The engine revved as Mizi spun the wheel, mounting another dune, their tires spraying sand behind them. As they rose higher, the second skiff's sail came into view, the vehicle speeding along the top of the adjacent dune a good fifty meters away. The enemy was ready this time, a shot ringing out as the gunner fired his XMR. The round penetrated one of their rear tires, Ben hearing it impact the hull with a clang.

"Keep me steady, Mizi'pal'otl!" Lozka demanded as she lined up the crosshair. She squeezed the trigger, her first burst impacting the slope just beneath the skiff, kicking up an obscuring wall of sand. The Rask scout veered away as the dust cleared, Lozka cursing in her native tongue, spitting like an angry alley cat.

"Any damage, Mizi?" Ben asked.

"Our tires are a polymer honeycomb, they can't be popped," she replied.

"Stay the course," he added hurriedly, bouncing in his chair as he manipulated the drone's camera. "They're coming around for another pass, bearing three-thirty, Lozka!"

"What!?" she demanded, not understanding the reference.

"Fucking...North West of you, coming up in front of us now!"

The Rask skiff sped into view, the wind filling its sail as it slid along the sand, another XMR round ringing their hull. It was coming straight at them, almost as though they were going to ram. The pilot leaned hard at the last second, dragging his skiff out of the way, his gunner tossing something off the side of the craft.

There was a thud as what sounded like a grenade exploded, rocking the Timberwolf, and showering it with sand.

"Motherfucker!" Ben yelled, adjusting his helmet as the vehicle settled on its suspension. "They've got explosives!"

"Patriarch, guide my arrows," Lozka muttered as she lined up another shot. She loosed a burst, this one tearing through the skiff's midsection, practically severing the flimsy vessel in two. It lost momentum as it tried to climb a dune, the two Rask leaping clear of the wreckage as it cratered into the sand, smashing itself apart like an unwanted dresser tossed from a window.

Lozka showed them no mercy, cutting down the gunner as he attempted to dive for cover, staining the sand red with his blood. The pilot lifted what looked like a bulky revolver, firing it one-handed, his shots straying wide. She returned fire, but missed, painting a trail of splashes a couple of feet in front of him. Mizi had turned them away, engaging the six-wheel drive as she mounted a slope.

"That pickup is pulling away," Ben warned, watching it through the drone's feed. "I don't think it's armed, it's running. Mizi, get after them, bearing two-eight-five."

She spun the wheel, the Wolf skidding in the sand as they drifted over the top of another dune, their foe coming into view. The truck was headed in the opposite direction, the large catamaran veering towards them as it moved to intercept.

"Don't let them escape!" Ben ordered, Lozka leaning closer to her monitor as she aimed carefully. Ben heard the crack of the railgun above them, watching as a salvo tore into the boxy rear of the truck, shredding it like paper. It turned sharply, flipping over and rolling, throwing up sand as pieces of its chassis were sent tumbling through the air. It came to rest on its four wheels again, crumpled and torn, smoke billowing from its engine.

"You're getting the hang of this, Lozka!" he marveled. "Mizi, maintain our distance from that sandship."

"Got it," she chirped, spinning the wheel and putting her foot to the floor. The engine roared, the massive sailing ship looming behind them. It traversed the dunes like the waves of an ocean, Lozka swinging her turret to face it, Ben watching through her feed. There were Rask on the deck, one of them descending the rigging, a few more milling about near a guard rail that ran the length of the structure that bridged the two hulls. They all had rifles, but XMRs posed little danger to the Timberwolf.

There was a sound like an explosion, echoing across the desert, Ben switching to the drone view as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Mizi's feathers flashed yellow in surprise as the dune to their right seemed to explode, almost as though it had been hit with a giant shotgun, sand spraying high into the air. She swerved out of the way, taking evasive action as another boom rang out.

"What the fuck are they shooting us with?" Ben yelled, scanning the feed for an answer.

Another shot narrowly missed them, sending up another torrent of sand.

Lozka began to return fire, the chatter of her railgun ringing out as Mizi weaved through the desert. She was putting her foot to the floor, the Timberwolf's six tires leaving the ground for brief moments as she crested dunes. The sandship was deceptively fast for its size, sliding along the fine sand as though it was the surface of an ocean.

Ben watched through Lozka's feed as her slugs struck the prow of the vessel, the target too large to miss. They splintered the hull, creating puffs of pulverized wood. They were overpenetrating, the rounds so small in comparison to the large ship that they stood little chance of damaging its superstructure. What the hell was she supposed to aim at? What critical systems did a sailing ship have? There were no wheels to destroy, no engines, no fuel tanks to rupture.