Night Raid: Breaching the Defenses
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The deafening roar shook heaven and earth, rattling my eardrums to the core. I led the way at the front of 1st Platoon, carving a path forward. We'd already wrecked most of their ambush points in a prior night op, so nothing much stood in our way. At worst, a few booby traps.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The Kyrria forces fired back with their own artillery barrage. Luckily, it was aimed at our garrison. We'd pulled out all troops committed to the frontal assault in anticipation of counter-battery fire. We closed to within 100 meters of the enemy garrison without interference.
WHOOOOSH! BOOM!
"Illumination rounds! Hit the dirt!"
The Kyrria troops launched flares to light up the night. Caught off guard by the surprise attack, the enemy garrisoned on Olba Island was all elite—battle-hardened veterans who'd seen action like this plenty of times. They snapped into combat readiness in seconds, countering our assault.
The airstrikes weren't all that precise, huh.
The bombing hadn't inflicted much damage. Under the flare light, I could see the Kyrria troops deploying to their positions in perfect order.
Come to think of it, their air raids hadn't done much to us either. Looked like they lacked the tech for precision strikes.
"Now!"
Sergeant Rostador nailed the timing as the flare faded. The old-timer's judgment was spot on. Before the next one lit up, we dove into the dense trees off the path in that split-second window. Using trees and rocks for cover, we pushed toward the Kyrria garrison.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Our supporting artillery hammered the area around the enemy garrison. I scanned with my Darkness Radar to pinpoint their positions.
Four defensive nests up front. Grenades'll clear 'em.
I yanked the pin on a grenade. From behind the tree, I wound up big for the throw. Roughly 80 meters to their defenses—not hard to lob one right in.
FWIP!
The grenade sailed straight into the enemy's mitt like a pitcher's dream.
(Grenade!)
BOOM!
The troops in the first nest didn't even have time to scatter before the blast shredded them. I spotted shrapnel flying with my enhanced vision.
"Coren, hand over the grenades."
"Yes, sir!"
I cleared all four nests in sequence. With the forward firepower suddenly silenced, we surged ahead. Faster than planned—our scenario hadn't factored in my performance.
"Seals from the rear are pushing up too!"
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
We hosed down the Kyrria garrison alongside the Marines. But they dug in from their trenches, denying us any closer.
Just like we'd done in our defense, their machine-gun nests pinned 1st Platoon with savage fire. Up close, you could see why machine guns were such bullshit asymmetric firepower for the defender.
WHOOOM! BOOM!
While we held their attention up front, 2nd and 3rd Companies from the Army looped around successfully. We'd encircled the Kyrria troops on three sides. Well, less a full surround and more splitting their forces. Numbers looked roughly even between Kacil and Kyrria forces.
Their resistance stayed fierce. And our air support had wrapped up. But the final strikes must've nailed the flare artillery—the garrison plunged into darkness for a moment.
"Charge! This is our shot!"
The Marines led the rush in the blackout. A hail of defensive fire erupted from the trenches, but they didn't stop, pressing forward. 1st Platoon moved with them.
I hurled myself ahead without fear. No way in hell those extra bullets could stop me, dead or alive. Had to cover max ground in their blind spot.
Flinging grenades as I ran, I beat the Marines to their lines. One Kyrria gunner spotted me, eyes wide in horror as he swung his rifle.
(N-no, stay back!)
"What're you yapping about?"
STAB!
I bayonet-thrusted the bastard dead. Close-quarters trench fighting beat spraying bullets from afar. Reach out and kill.
(Gaaah!)
(It's that guy from the last fight! Run! No hope!)
Guys who'd been trading fire earlier ditched the trench, bailing out.
(Damn it! Die!)
One charged me suddenly, grenade in his left hand. Suicide run.
"Aw, what a cute little fucker."
I slashed his left arm with my greatsword and ripped it clean off.
(GAAAAH!)
I chucked the grenade arm out of the trench. It flew apart midair in chunks. I jammed my blade into the now one-armed fucker's skull. Forehead punched through, he dropped dead on the spot.
"Nice! They're breaking! Secure the trench first!"
The late-arriving Marines and 1st Platoon piled onto the feast I'd set. The trench was ours.
Losing the key outer garrison trench flipped the momentum hard our way. They'd surrendered their prime defensive strongpoint; we'd grabbed a solid foothold to regroup.
But word came that 2nd and 3rd Companies, hitting simultaneously from the rear, had taken heavy losses and fallen back. Orders: Hold the captured trench, no advance.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
They'd lost the forward trench, but the Kyrria counter from fallback positions was brutal. Their garrison bristled with defenses everywhere. Over five confirmed machine-gun nests ahead, plus high-explosive shells stitching the sky from their artillery.
"Fuck. They've got ammo to burn. My ears are gonna bleed."
Sergeant Rostador grumbled, lighting a smoke. 1st Platoon ditched our packs for a breather. Most lit up. Being here showed you: Smokers were damn near every soldier. I puffed my purifying cigarette too.
Smoking at night was risky—gave away your position—but no one said shit. We were half in the grave already. Nicotine beat the fear.
Next to us, the Marine mortar crew set up. I watched them sweat bullets digging in. Then a Marine NCO with sergeant chevrons approached me.
"Sergeant Helman. Hell of a show, Private."
"Private First Class."
Coren, who'd come with me, was still a Private. I'd made PFC off my garrison defense heroics. Promotion was a big deal on paper, but it didn't hit home. Leave would've been better. Not that I'd take it if offered.
"Hm. Haven't gotten the insignia yet?"
"No, sir."
"Wear this then."
Sergeant Helman tossed me a PFC chevron. Marines' was a slightly different color from ours. As I took it, a notification popped up before my eyes.
◈ A chevron bearing the glory of PFC Kidman. Equipping it boosts firing accuracy by 10%.
◈ You feel the warmth of a soldier who gave his life for his country.
Not just decoration. An equippable item with effects.
"Belonged to one of my men. Bravest soldier I knew."
"You sure it's okay to give this away?"
"He'd want you to have it."
I pocketed the chevron. Overclock it later.
About three hours since we kicked off. Dawn was breaking.
The first light from the horizon bathed us, revealing the gruesome battlefield. Smell of rotting corpses had tipped me off already.
"Kyrria's gone quiet too."
Sergeant Helman gazed forward. A Marine radioman beside him was desperately calling HQ, urgency etched on his face.
"Platoon Sergeant. Next push at 0730. Second air support incoming."
"Hm. How's everywhere else?"
"Not good. Army 3rd Battalion's pulled back, looks like."
That's when it hit—a piercing engine scream tore through the sky. We all looked up.
"Shit! Kyrria bombers! Down! Air raid! Watch for shrapnel! Hit the deck!"
We hunkered in the trench. Lucky for us, the bombers weren't targeting our spot. 2nd Battalion's sector.
WHOOOM! BOOM!
Steel rain poured from the sky. Sergeant Rostador spat his smoke, muttering.
"Thought the skies were ours?"
"Fuckin' flyboys, man. This could get dicey!"
Bad feelings never miss. As the Kyrria troops reloaded under air cover, neutralizing 2nd Battalion, they started creeping out to retake our stolen trench.