[GZG] [GZG Fiction] A Royal Escort

New Guardian Times, Orduna, December 20th, 2196

This morning it was our time to go down and join the street fight, give a unit
in there a break. I know many other reporters have tried to describe this kind
of fighting, but I've decided to give it another go as I'm not convinced
previous attempts have been completely successful.

These actions are always in small groups. We were one squad in the platoon of
men detailed with clearing out to the lane's end, responsible for clearing the
buildings lining the block on along on side of the road. Another platoon
tasked with the buildings opposite. In reality this meant while you started
with a squad you devolved in the end to holding unit of a squad a house. And
after having already taken casualties, this meant as little as five men per
building.

When in building clearance actions you stay together and clear it as a unit
room by room. We even had buddies so we could cross check after
each engagement. Even though I was formerly a non-combatant I still
carried a SG58 and was paired with the Danish heir to the throne Prince
Christian. After the relocation of King Edmund to Earth, Prince Christian is
the highest ranking of the various royalty on Mars (including anther crown
princes, and three other more junior royals). Though in truth it is the sons
of the CEO's of the megacorps that probably have the greatest power at their
beck and call; and there are at least four of those in service on Mars. This
struggle crosses all the social divides.

The Kra'Vak have quite effectively used the buildings as barriers. In the
buildings that have seen the least modification from their human form, where
we fight with the least disorientation, there are typically snipers or walls
that have been loop holed to allow for machine guns to be sighted. In the more
alien constructs they tend to put heavy machine guns in the labyrinthine
passageways at either end and then line the diaphanous walls of the main hall
with hidden warriors. We have no idea what role these halls play, but they
have been dubbed the "pool room" as they each contain a long central and often
muddy pool. These can also
house submerged Kra'Vak waiting to pounce spider-like on the unwary.

The relic human buildings are relatively easy to tackle. Instead of trying to
clear via the door we blow straight through the walls for the length of the
row, never once needing to be exposed to those watching the street. Or
unfamiliarity with the Kra'Vak housing makes them a trickier proposition,
blasting their walls either has no effect (the blast washing back over those
on our side of the wall) or it brings the whole structure crumbling down,
creating a rubble mound that you can not be sure is 100% alien free.
Consequently, when it comes to clearing out these places you have to dig them
out, sometimes literally. While individual actions are lightning fast the
overall process is a cautious
business. Even in the midst of an assault there are no cinescope-like
dramatic charges, we know better than that. Instead you probe in your tiny
groups, moving along a few metres apart, sticking as close to walls and cover
on either side as is humanly possible. As one wise arse sergeant said to me
"you need to be one with the wall grasshopper". You run at a creep, as hard as
that is to manage. Springing forward maybe 3 metres then you squat, wait,
check around and begin again. We probably look like demented jerky monkeys or
territorial crabs or something equally ludicrous, but it works.

Even if it were possible to use live coverage there would be little to
actually see beyond walls and dust. Nearly everyone tries to remain hidden the
majority of the time. Only occasionally do they flit across openings, meaning
that at any point in time there are only a few people observable. On the other
hand, you can hear an awful lot. Scuttling and scraping (all the more
unnerving when it's on the other side of a wall from you). In places where the
walls are known to be penetrable such noises draw bursts of fire aimed
squarely at the scratching. This occasionally bears fruit, though equally
often it simply makes us the
target for the same kind of semi-blind fire.

When we get to the bigger alien dwellings the units come back together and act
in a more coordinated fashion. One squad making a stealthy approach up one
side or the other of the building, while the rest of the platoon hangs back
and draw the attention of the occupants by saturating the front walls and
openings with bullets, laser and plasma fire. They even toss in the odd
grenade, and if you're lucky you get support from a mortar squad sitting
farther back in the main area held by the human forces; lobbing the fire in
over our heads.

The squad tasked with initiating penetration of the building first secures the
closest end of the building. Taking, clearing and covering the first
passageway. They do this with explosive hand grenades and
machine guns - flash bangs are completely useless against the Kra'Vak
which are not dazzled by them in anyway.

If sufficiently fast this can be accomplished with little injury to our side
and before reinforcements can aid those in this outer room. In these cases it
seems the remaining inhabitants draw back deeper into the building and
construct barricades to help them defend the main hall. The odd warrior is
left along the way to slow down the human advance, but the bulk is drawn up
for a more coordinated defence and melee in the hall. After the first few
slaughters we now steer clear of direct engagement in the halls, preferring
instead to throw in grenades and roll in and out spraying the space with
concentrated fire. This form of fighting is still very close and frantic,
often happening in the space allowing for only a few metres separation, but it
is still seldom actual
hand-to-hand, which the Kra'Vak excel at.

In contrast, if the initial attack goes poorly for the humans the Kra'Vak come
back in force. Usually overwhelming and dispatching the bulk of the squad
before they can extricate themselves. This is a terrifying and stomach
churning event to witness even from a distance.

Thousands and thousands of these little skirmishes will be needed to clear
even one suburb this way let alone the entire city. No single one of these
actions is very large. But you can see that in only a matter of
days they can add to form a man-sized war; one with thousands dying on
both sides.

Finally we had reached the end of the street. While we were sure the
houses adjacent to the ones we had cleared - the buildings that sat
behind or beside those that were now ours, but opened out on to
different streets - still contained enemy troops our little remit was
done. Lt. Joachim Kirsch came over, his smart sheet already powered up and
with a map display. He called Prince Christian and I over to a
company-level briefing.

We dropped back to a small knot of people tucked in a little ways back between
some low walls. He began explaining what we were to do next. There was a
Kra'Vak strong point one block over, a solid looking building that may have
been some kind of factory. Whatever it was it now
sported four machine-gun nests and it had to be neutralised before we
could continue. There were friendly troops in wedges to either side of us, but
as yet nobody had been able to get close to the machine guns. Our platoon was
rejoining the company to see it destroyed.

"So this is how we'll play it," the lieutenant said flicking his gaze around
his platoon leaders. "We've reorged and drawn the heavy weapons together in
they're own platoon for now. It'll be clear why in a minute. Make sure you
inform your men ASAP so we can get this going fast. Right now for the assault
plan. Drescher, you take your rifle platoon in first. On their tail, and I
mean RIGHT behind them, will go half of the
heavy-weapons platoon under Bauer, you are tasked with covering the
first platoon. Right Lutz?"

"Yes Sir"

"Then comes Rothliburg's rifle platoon and a small section of mortars under
Gottlieb, in case things get heavy. Then Ziegler's rifle platoon.
Bringing up the rear, will be the rest of the heavy-weapons under
Pfeiffer, they can protect our collective arses."

Dismissing the small body the bulk dissolved, slipping back to their units.
Not us though, we'd been told to stay a moment. With a
micro-frown the Lt turned to me and said "We don't know what we'll run
into. So I really don't want to stick you right out in front. So I'm going to
split up your nice little partnership with the Crown Prince, you come along
with me instead. We'll be nicely cocooned in the middle of the company, keep
you as safe as possible. Okay?"

The hardcore reporter in me wanted to protest the decision, but discretion won
out. I'd rather go in a little way back than not at all, which was apt to
happen if I challenged the Lt. on this. So I simply said, "Okay." After the
last few hours I'd gotten over any fear that had been lingering, it's
remarkably hard to stay afraid once you're in the middle of something with a
dedicated all consuming goal. It's always anticipation that gets you, waiting
to be at the front, waiting for the faceted eyes and ceaselessly squirming
mandibles of the Kra'Vak you've surprised to sense and register you and for it
to send the message to its alien brain to pull the trigger. Fortunately this
particular foray was tossed on us so quickly there wasn't time for much
anticipation.

Right on cue the clouds opened and rain began to fall, giving the dusty street
a slippery veneer. It had obviously set in for a while. I was ok in my
borrowed Panzergrenadier combat suit, but I felt sorry for the bedraggled
Jagers, who were going to cover us from the human held streets leading up to
the Kra'Vak stronghold. They were all cursing their luck, as none of them had
spray vests and it was clear that in a very short time there wouldn't be a dry
thread between them. If I lived through this attack I knew I'd be allowed to
fall back to a tent and warm refreshments, but I had my suspicions that these
light infantry would have no such option and would have to sleep where they
were in what ever condition day's end found them.

Just as the Lt. was asking me if I was ready to go, rail-gun slugs
suddenly came whipping savagely right over our heads.

"Damn, they've seen us. Those damn slug throwers have all seeing eyes!" the
lieutenant said bitterly, crouching down and trying to peek over the wall we
were behind to get a better assessment of the situation. Signalling to the men
around him he called out "We'd better hold up here for a minute."

Along the entire length of the company, the soldiers all crouched down lower
behind whatever cover they were using, small walls, crates, vehicle hulks. The
vicious little projectiles whanged into the walls behind us. The Jagers also
having to duck for cover. Finally mortar fire called in by the Lt. silenced
the barrage and the order was given to start in. We began by crouch running
down the side of a small wall. At the end of that protection we had to sprint
across the street into a culvert right under the nose of the building. From
there we had to turn down a side street before we reached the breach in the
masonry we were to use to gain access to the body of the structure.

The troops went forward in single file. When they ran it was in that crouched,
bent over, apelike form that has become the classic stereotype of the posture
of an infantryman in a dangerous space. Once beyond the culvert they filtered
out a little, lining up on either side of the opening, backs to the wall, eyes
darting in all directions looking for threats. Those closer to the ends
squatting to wait, while those right on the breach were standing on their toes
ready to jump in.

The lieutenant and platoon leaders kept up a constant stream of commands. I
couldn't really hear anyone other than the Lt. clearly. He was imploring the
troops nearest to him, telling them they needed to "Spread it out! Do you want
to draw fire? Don't bunch up! Keep it spread! A nice five metres. No dammit,
further apart! Oh for... Spread it out for fucks sake!"

While I understood why the Lt. wanted space, I sympathised with the troops
too. There is this almost irresistible urge to close up on a friendly body
when you are in danger. Almost in spite of yourself you find yourself running
up close to the person ahead of you, feeling safer in their company, even
though you aren't really.

Now the Lt. started bellowing new directions. "Hey Metzger, watch for snipers,
down there on the left side of the street, and you, Ackermann, watch the right
side. Now you too", he yelled pointing at the next pair, "do likewise. I want
each pair to cover each other the same way."

Most of the troops about me were armed with the same big SG58 rifles I was
carrying. Some of them already had grenades ready in the underslung
barrel of the auto-grenade launcher. All of them seemed to be bristling
with hand grenades. One carried an IAVR. The soldiers carrying the MG-66
SAWs and SK-51 PPIGs had been brought together in two groups. One was
already in side the breach; I could hear its sharp reports from where I was
crouching. The other was behind us, just reaching the culvert. Interspersed
through this crazy line of soldiers was the odd medic, their specialty marked
by the subtle black cross or crescent marked on the front of their thigh
pouch.

Beyond the leaders' yelling there was little talk. The troops were bent to the
task, passing the odd signal by hand down the line. They weren't particularly
heroic figures as they moved ahead. There was none of the classically romantic
vision of bold and savage but chivalrously gallant knights of ancient Albion
about these troops. They were hesitant and cautious, like hunters, though most
looked more like the hunted. There was a palpable tension undercut by confused
excitement and a grim anxiety. The play of this ensemble of emotions clear on
some of the more inexperienced faces.

I had probably seen more war than at least half of these kids. I'd been
through more sideline skirmishes than most people had had hot dinners. I'd
been front and centre in the third solar war and many of the early
skirmishes with the Kra'Vak in the rim-worlds. And to my suddenly
ancient eye these children seemed terribly pathetic. They weren't warriors.
They weren't anything like the hardened men and women who had slugged it out
in the TSW. They were eons away from the monsters they were about to
encounter. They were just Swabian boys and girls who by the mere whim of fate
found themselves here with rifles or what not in
their hands sneaking down a death-laden alley to the side of an alien
infested architectural monstrosity in the shattered remains of a city on a
foreign planet. And what's worse all this in full kit and the driving rain.
Every single one of them was afraid, but there was nothing in their power that
would let them quit. There really was not any choice in the matter. In their
hearts they were good kids and there was no going back. They know and I know,
and I think you should know, that even though they aren't warriors born to the
kill, they win their battles the best way they can. They get the job done and
ultimately that's the real point.