Marre Nostrum by Murph (the red fox clan txt) 📕

The Revenant

A metallic click alerted Sergeant O'Donnell to the depletion of his last round.
"Aw, shit!" he yelled, recharging his weapon in desperation. He pulled the trigger. Another click was the weapon's only reply. He pressed his back against the concrete wall. Water ran down his neck. He threw his M81 Paladin rifle to the ground as he slid down into a seated position. This is it. He thought. Out of ammo, out of time. And it was only a matter of time before the approaching aliens would be upon him. He let the cool of the rain water running down his neck soothe him for a moment. He unclipped the sheath of his knife and grabbed its hilt. I'll at least give them something to remember. He thought to himself as he removed the knife. He stood and took a deep breath. The sound of crunching permacrete was getting steadily closer. Soon it would be upon him and when that moment struck, so would he. As the sound came to the edge of his position, an 8 foot tall section of wall surrounding the edge of the New Vostok mass driver yard, O'Donnell leapt from cover, knife ready. He slashed with all the force he could muster, tearing apart the very air his blade met, only to find nothing in its path to strike. He scanned the destroyed cityscape before him. Nothing. No movement and no sounds other than his breathing and the steady pounding of his heart in his ears. He stood, allowing a split second of relief to wash over him. As his weapon hand reached the relaxed position a deafening shriek erupted from just behind him. A solid blow sent him sprawling forward. He was just barely able to get his hands down in time to save his face from meeting concrete. He rolled onto his back to see a twelve foot tall, natural blade covered monstrosity barreling toward him. He watched in awe as the creature moved. Yellow, crusty blades protruded from the creature’s wrists, elbows, and head. Its mouth was split into four separate jaws, open, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth covered with saliva. Every muscle on its body rippled with raw power. Red, demonic eyes more terrifying than the deepest pits of hell bored through the Sergeant’s very soul. It would be on him soon. Soon it would all be over. He watched as the creatures legs coiled up for the pounce. He crossed his arms over his body, knife up, ready to fight to the death with a creature that could swallow his entire head in one chomp of its oversized maw. Just as the creature's lead foot left the ground in a leap, the thunderous CRACK! Of a sniper rifle filled the air. A streak of red lightning sliced through the creature’s head, taking half of the skull with it in a violent explosion of bone fragments and brain matter. The creature's body, still in mid leap, continued forward on inertia alone. It landed on O'Donnell in what would have been a face-to-face position. Left over drool dripped out of what was left of the creature's mouth, and a putrid grey fluid that must have been blood leaked onto the Sergeant's face. O'Donnell squirmed; trying to free himself from the weight of the creature atop him. As he struggled his comm unit crackled to life.
"Sergeant O'Donnell, is that you?"
The Sergeant grunted with the effort of pushing the creature off of him. "Yeah, it’s me," he growled, "What in the blue hell took you so long?"
"Oh you know, Sarge. Just the usual. Hordes of Imperials throwing themselves at you, a few mixed in Brotherhood mercs, and now we add on-"
"Okay, Okay! I get it. Just get your ass down here and help get this thing off me."
"On my way, Sarge. But seriously, how did you end up out here on your own?"
"I don't wanna talk about it right now. Ugh! This shit STINKS! Hurry up!"

1 hour earlier aboard UENS "Pandora"

“Sir, all weapon stations are fully engaged.”
“Fighters deployed, Captain.”
“Coming about to bearing zero- nine- seven by three hundred”
“Railguns are at forty percent charge, Captain.”
The calls came from the bridge crew. Captain Adam Jager let the flood of information pour over him as he quickly analyzed his situation. The Zealots had attacked with a sizeable force. Nothing the present fleet couldn’t handle, he was sure. “When we reach our bearing I want full burn for five seconds, then divert all power to charging the railguns. Target the largest threats to the fleet, first.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” came the simultaneous reply from the bridge crew. Captain Jager watched the holographic display of his ship. All of his point-defense guns were engaged with enemy fighters dancing about the hull. Friendly fighters mixed in with them. He frowned.
“Sir!” came the cry from the comm. Officer, “We’re getting damage reports from several of our gun stations.”
“And?”
“They report extensive damage to hull armor around the hangar and reactor housings.”
“Get some frigates out here! We need fire support!”
“Aye Sir!”
“Sir, bearing set, burn met, and railguns at full charge. I have the nearest Escort Carrier lined up.” The primary gunner reported.
“Give the all-call.” Jager nodded.
The comm officer picked up his hand set, “All hands brace for impact.” Several quiet seconds passed. Three monserous cracks of thunder rattled the ship in succession.
“Rounds on target!” The gunner called, “impact in three, two, one. HIT! All rounds on-target, Captain. Those fighters have no home to go back to.”
“Sir, I have the frigates Deep Six and Dublin inbound to support. They should be here in three minutes.”
“Very good all ‘round.” Capt. Jager replied.
“Sir, I have a report of a hull breach on deck two. Surrounding bulkheads are locked down and no casualties reported.”
Jager’s cocky smile turned into a scowl and a growl. Nobody put holes in his ship. Nobody. Several quiet moments passed. Suddenly, an explosion rattled the ship.
“What the hell was that?” Jager demanded.
“We just lost our stern dorsal defense battery!”
“God dammit!” Jager roared, “Bring us about to two-seven-zero, full burn!”
“Aye aye! Two-seven-zero, all full.” The ship’s lead pilot replied. Jager watched him duck in cover out of instinct as the white flash of an exploding Osprey fighter filled the view port.
“Captain Jager!” A voice came directly from the captain’s panel, “We heard you could use some help.”
“It’s about time, Sam!” Jager yelled, then with a cooler tone he said, “I thought I was gonna have to kill all those ospreys myself.”
“Well we wouldn’t want that. Don’t need your arthritis acting up, besides the Deep Six boys have itchy trigger fingers.”
“Perfect. Get to work then.”
“Already on it, Adam.”
Captain Jager watched his holographic display as scores of enemy fighter craft broke formation and ran, and others fell victim to the guns of the Deep Six and Dublin.

30 Minutes later

The Pandora, Deep Six, and Dublin loomed in orbit, the bulk of the fight had long since moved past them and other elements of the fleet were now engaged with the remnant of the ZOL ships.
“Is the breached deck completely depressurized yet?”
“Aye Sir. The report just came in.”
“Get the repair crews in there to seal that hole. I want us back at full operational status in no longer than five hours.” Jager ordered. He sank into his captain’s chair, hand on his forehead. He hated having holes in his ship.
“Captain!”
“What is it, Genovic?” Jager asked, trying to mask his irritation.
“Sir, we’re getting a request for MAC rounds on a target planet side.”
“What target?” Jager inquired. Ensign Genovic, a young man who had just left the naval academy of Olympia just the year prior, traded words with the other end of the comm.
“Apparently the Zealot’s managed to hijack a Megalith walker, sir. I have a Marine colonel MacTavish requesting MAC rounds to take it out.”
“Why can’t they use their own assets?”
“Sir, he’s telling me that the majority of dirt-side armor has been destroyed by this Megalith. Their assets are depleted.”
“Very well. Tell him we need a tracer dart or laser painted on his target. Lorraine, bring us about to face the rocks. Begin charging railguns two and three.”
“Aye Sir.”
“Aye Captain.”
Several minutes passed as the railguns reached full charge and the Pandora maneuvered to face the planet below.
“Sir, railguns full charge. Awaiting firing solution.” The gunner, Lieutenant Reed reported.
“No target yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
Jager sighed in frustration, “Get a hold of the Colonel. Remind him that we –“
“Target beacon located sir. We have a tracer dart on-target.” Reed interrupted.
Jager closed his eyes to regain his composure, “Fire when ready, lieutenant.” He said after several quiet seconds. As he finished his sentence Ensign Genovic came on the comm,
“All hands brace for impact. MAC firing in three, two, one.”
One shot rattled the ship, then another.

Meanwhile, in the city New Vostok, dirtside

Sergeant O’Donnell watched as a brilliant streak of white lightning pierced the clouds. Before he could even react, the flash of its impact nearly whited-out his vision. He ducked behind a destroyed section of wall belonging to what had previously been an apartment building.
“Hold onto your teeth people!” He barked as a sound worse than getting hit by 5 freight trains washed over his ears, and a gale-force wind blew chunks of debris in through the hole in the wall. He cringed at the sound, barely dampened by his helmet and other head gear, including additional hearing protection. Another flash broke the sky.
“One more time people!” He announced, and the sound and wind were back with all of their previous intensity. As the thunder faded O’Donnell’s squad came to their feet.
“Now we go secure that strike zone!”
“Even in this white lightning storm?”
“Quit asking questions and get movin’!”
The crack of thunder and automatic weapon fire sounded in the distance as the squad moved out to inspect the handy work of the Battleship Pandora.

Ten minutes and nearly a mile later, the squad came to an abrupt halt. The sound of gun fire was constant. Shouts of commands mixed in with shrieks of terror were almost completely drowned out by the thunderous downpour sweeping over the city. The point-man, Private First Class Pilla, signaled for the squad to take cover. He peeked out of their hide through a small hole in the wall no doubt created by a tank round. When he turned back to face O’Donnell, all of the color was lost from his face.
“Private,” O’Donnell whispered harshly, “Private! What did you see?”
“I… I don’t… I have no idea Sarge.” Pilla stammered. He took a deep, shaky breath, “There were Zealot foot soldiers running down the street that way,” he pointed to his right, “And they were being chased by… by…,” He fumbled for a way to describe it as O’Donnell moved up to look for himself. The Sergeant crouched to be eye level with the hole. Cautiously, he peeked out. Torrents of rain battered the ruined streets. Dead humans, Zealot soldiers, lay strewn about, and hordes of creatures he'd never seen before crawled about the streets. Some of the human bodies were still intact, while others had apparently been sliced limb from limb. O’Donnell noticed one that looked as if he’d been run-through by a pair of swords propped up on a lamp post, and another that looked as if he'd been pinned to the wall as if he were no more than a bug in