This was going to be a shitshow, Nate thought as he grabbed his rifle. A Firebird mech lancer, standard issue. He checked to make sure his dog tag was threaded through one of the rings on the side. Because if he was going to get shot by the bugs' laser blasters, he'd have a hole in him big enough to evaporate any dog tags around his neck. At least this way, some grunt might pick up his weapon to shoot some of the alien assholes, and maybe bring back his dog tag back to his family.
Not that he had much family to commemorate him. An aunt and uncle, somewhere, that he contacted too little. He still sent them some credits, now and again, as a thank you for raising him. There wasn't much room for sentiment in the Federation military and he'd been in it for twenty two years now, since he'd joined on his eighteenth birthday. It'd been the only way off his backwater planet.
Now, he looked around at the huge cruiser ship he was on, surveying his squad of fifty kids, standing a little apart from all of their other squads, in formation as they waited for the battle to begin on the planet below.
Another backwater planet. Duzuno, a planet he'd never heard of, just small settlements and dust — and yet this one had been attacked by two bug carriers, unloading whole platoons of infantry, way beyond enemy lines. Whatever this planet had, the bugs wanted it bad.
And they were willing to die to reach it.
Nate and his company waited impatiently on a ship much larger and more powerful than the bugs had brought; the Destiny was a cruiser more suited for titanic space battles than unloading run-and-gun grunts, but it had no weapons it could fire on the planet without killing a whole load of civilians. Instead, it would sit above the planet, reminding the bugs there was no way home.
Nate shook his head. That wasn't his concern. He just had to keep his people alive. Point and shoot, duck and cover. Keep it basic. They were far from a spec ops team — it'd be a good day if most of them got back into the ship unscathed.
They tapped their feet on the metallic grated floor of the massive hangar, like a warehouse of gray steel, a future born of necessity. Once, the Federation's military had been full of sleek vehicles, white and curved, designed to look like
justice
. But when the war came and ships had to be made as quickly as possible, had to carry every fool that was gifted a gun, design went out of the window.
His boys stood, shooting the shit, switching their balance from one foot to the other, spitting out wads of saliva, masses of nerves. Once, he'd been just like them - young, dumb and full of cum. He tracked their collective gazes. They were watching the hotshot pilots trickle out from their own private offices into the hangar. Mostly women, wearing skintight latex catsuits, every curve and mound of their body pronounced. Black and gold catsuits with the Federation logo, along with a whole host of sponsors from various Federation arms companies. Nate even spotted a coffee company - everyone knew that the meka pilots were good for business and great for recruitment.
You had to be relatively slight to fly a Mechanised Electronic Kinetic Assault suit, what everyone called a meka. Mechanised was a marketing term, from the Federation, desperate to hide that the frames were actually cyborgs, partly organic, partly biomechatronic. The pilot had to sync with them, to meld so their mind became one with the metal, and usually women had a better sync rate. Those pilots would climb into their humanoid suits, making them stand around twelve feet tall, and control their powerful weapons, their cannons and their swords, and fly around their battlefield. In Nate's experience, they'd be too busy shooting the bugs' equivalent meka's to make a difference to the grunts on the ground.
One of his boys let out a wolf whistle as they watched one particular pilot, a devastating black-haired girl, who must have been eighteen at most, fresh out of the academy. She bent over to pop open her meka cockpit. Nate watched her toss back her sleek black hair, admiring her curves and her porcelain pale skin, and then he clipped his subordinate around the head. "Hands on your guns, boys, not your dicks." He growled.
"You were watching too," The boy mumbled, rubbing his head.
Nate chose to ignore that, turning his head to avoid the sudden flash of bright white flame that emanated as the meka frames launched, the very sound of sizzling fuel booming through the hangar. From the sounds of pain from his boys, they weren't so smart.
They were B Company — Bad Company, but never on paper — often composed of the boys who hadn't swanned through academy, who didn't get the best grades. But they were good boys (and a few girls) and brave, all of them. And they were all he had.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, huddle up. The brass' favorite flying monkeys have gone out to shoot out their turrets, which will give us a safer drop. You know the drill. Five to a drop-pod, get your latches and your belts on, and get ready to open out into a clusterfuck. They know we're coming, we know they're hiding."
"Sir, what are they even doing this far into our territory, it makes no sense." One of his sprightly young boys answered. Jackson, was it? They all looked the same, after he'd seen so many of them come and go.
"No idea, son." The bugs were an insectoid-humanoid mix that gave Nate nightmares, but he didn't think too much on their motives. They were constantly looking to expand, to consume another of the Federation's colony planets. They would even launch their warships against the Lunari, which sat alongside the Federation, and it was rare that any civilization was stupid enough to attack them.
Nate spotted some pointed Lunari ears amongst his boys - the Federation and the Lunari didn't mix that often, their alliance cautious and fickle, but mix they had, over the centuries. Mostly, they mixed from being sandwiched in between the bugs on one side and the mysterious, unassailable Grave Wall on the other, that invisible line in galaxy space where people entered, never to return. Ships from all species across the alliance had long since marked it as a no-go zone.
Sometimes, ships would return, carrying corpses, just husks, their flesh long picked from their bones. Often, they didn't return at all. No messages, no communication, no clues. Just death. It was the wall that the bugs pressed them against. The Grave Wall meant there was no escape, just a constant loss of territory and the ever-expanding fear as the bug empire grew stronger, closer.
"Does it fuckin' matter?" Pelridge chimed in, never one to shy away from offering his two credits. "The bugs are here, they're blasting away our colony, they're fuckin'
eating
our people. So we're gonna eradicate 'em."
"That we will." Nate raised his voice, preventing an argument from breaking out. "Get into your pods, boys."
"Hoo-rah!" They chanted.
"Converge on my position, follow your armguard." Nate ordered. "Anyone falls, drag 'em down. Anyone explodes, leave 'em. Shoot to kill, double tap if they're still twitching. Got it?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" They swarmed into the mass of egg-shaped drop pods, strapping themselves to standing-cushions and lowering the harness over themselves, a myriad of latches waiting to be locked into position.
Nate jumped into his own pod, watching through the dirty tiny window as the stars awaited. A host of glimmering white sparkles against the black canvas, a galaxy waiting to be explored. To be fought for, over and on. The pod sparked, slamming him back against his cushion, his back jarring in agony as years old injuries flared up once more. The four kids in his pod closed their eyes, screamed, but Nate kept his eyes open, laughing as he gazed through the window.
The black canvas changed, a planet appearing, more blue than green, a blurry haze of colors coalescing into shapes. A landmass, a meka, bright blue swarms of lasers shooting across the landscape.
The roar deafened his ears, and he couldn't even hear himself think, all the blood rushing from his brain, the drop-pod squealing as it felt the strain. A white Federation meka shot down, rushing past the window in a ball of flames. Nate hoped it wasn't the black-haired hottie. Was the thought distasteful?
And then they smashed into the ground, burrowing metres deep with the sheer force of it. The inside of the pod lit up in a dozen shades of red, an AI voice stating ten different versions of 'you're fucked'. Nate unlatched his harness and helped his boys do the same, before kicking out the drop-pod door.
Mayhem.
They were out of the frying pan now and into a dozen burning flames. Nate swore as his feet sank into the sandy beach, blinking as he took into account the scorched forest. All around him, pods opened up and were instantly shot down by a barrage of laser fire coming from the forest.
It was a trap.
He realized. How had they known where they would land? They'd set up in the forest, picking off the pods as they landed, like fish in a barrel. Then, they'd set fire to some of the trees, ensuring the smoke covered up their positions.
Jackson cried out as he was felled, his head exploding as he was sniped down by a laser blast.
"Fuck you, bugs!" Kahn charged forward, lasting only a second before his legs evaporated into mulch.
"Get behind the pods!" Nate turned on his mic and roared, grabbing one of his kids and shoving them behind the pods.
"Everybody's dying!" One of his boys wailed. Nate slapped him.
"Pull it together, Rookson."
"I'm Bridges!"
"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Nate snarled. "Push the pods out of the sand."
They heaved the pod forward, again and again, with all their might.
"Push!" Nate yelled. If they couldn't get off this beach, they were all dead.
The pod finally fell, and from his peripherals, he could see that some of his boys had managed the same.
"Roll 'em." Nate ordered, hiding behind the egg and pushing it forward. Slowly, they proceeded, their eggpods giving them their barest protection against the laser fire. Nate propped his Lancer above the egg and fired a few rounds off, more out of hope than expectation.
"It's working!" Bridges cried out as they advanced, closer and closer to the forest, the enemy fire increasing out of desperation.
"World's worst egg and spoon race." Nate grumbled, smiling despite himself as he heard the familiar hit marker buzz of a bug grunt dying, his bullets landing.
Far above, the meka frames fought each other, a ballet dance in the sky. Nate saw the tell-tale sign of the black-haired girl, the large 01 painted on her frame. She pirouetted away from the sword lunge of her opponent and answered back with her hand-cannon, the barrage of rockets exploding through her opponent's shield and blasting into pieces. "Get 'em, girl." He muttered to himself, despite his resentment. They never got the air-support they actually needed, just on-lookers to a dog-fight that didn't matter.
Finally, they reached the tree line.
"Do
