[GZG] [GZG Fiction] The Door Is Open

New Guardian Times, Orduna, December 19th, 2196

With the latest tank battle on the steppe complete and action again inside the
confines of a city the media has been allowed to return to the sides of their
embed units. My beloved Swabians are leading the assault on Orduna, down over
the south western lip of the city. In
amongst the buildings - with their off kilter alignments, strangely
polyhedral and faceted facades - the smell of acrid smoke is thick.
Strange odours that have nothing at all to do with the destructive forces
deployed against the city's infrastructure can also be detected despite our
snout filters working at maximum capacity.

The closest fires are near enough you can hear the crackling flames. The yells
of men from other units bounce off the walls, and down the streets. The alien
constructions creating a new acoustic signature, one quite different to that
typical of human municipalities. It feels like flights of planes buzz overhead
about every ten minutes. The engines
grinding rather than roaring as they try to slow their fly-by to
increase accuracy.

The bombs from our flyers do not make the constant overwhelming din that the
Kra'Vak explosives had back in those terrible days through January 2194. I had
not been in Orduna at the time, but I can imagine the terror the inhabitants
felt, as I was certainly taken to the edge of paralysis by the fear that
enveloped me during the actions I witnessed in the south. By comparison this
current bombing is lighter and intermittent, with the explosions separated by
minutes in many cases.

The constrained visibility available to those caught down amongst the city
streets means they do not have a clear view of the target areas. Still the
sounds of the explosives can be used as reference. If the sound is sharp, then
the strike was sent in nearby; if soft and muffled, then it was far away at
the other end of the ravine.

I joined a detachment that had been sent to a rooftop to act as scouts and
observers. By accompanying them I had got a much better view of what was going
on beyond our tiny foothold on the city's edge. Looking down into the dark,
shadowed streets below we could see flashes of fire fights. Our view was
suddenly washed out by a string of incendiary bombs which fell in a cluster to
our northeast. A couple of dozen went off in a matter of seconds. The flash
was terrific, overwhelming the buffer on the low light goggles we were using.
After the initial ignition they quickly subsided, simmering on as pinpoints of
dazzling white that burned ferociously. Some of these were quickly snuffed
out. My guess was
this signified the action of Kra'Vak fire-fighters. Others would
transform into yellow licks of flame that took hold and consumed the building
they had been seeded in. The greatest conflagration took hold about 10
kilometres directly to our front. The flames seemed to whip a hundred metres
or more into the air. The night vision caught the heat of the fire and showed
the plume of smoke as a gradient of bright lime to
grey-white as the plume extended up into the clouds above. Switching
from low light false colour to actual image the sky flicked from
white-grey to an angry red, as the fires reflected off the bottom of the
clouds. As if the heavens had a demonically decorated ceiling. Through the
shroud you could see the hint of brilliant sparks, bursts from the dogfights
happening up there. After the flash you often heard a crack like distant
thunder. For one brief moment there was a rent in the cloud cover large enough
I even saw the rarest of treasures in this long cloudy, dusty war; the
incongruously permanent twinkle of a genuine star. It was not visible long
enough for me to determine the constellation, but it was a thrill to see it,
my spirits were immediately raised.

Coming back down to the ground, looking about us the fires were
beginning to throw a glow down the network of streets, semi-illuminating
them and picking out the intense fight occurring down there. As I scanned back
up again, trying to take in all our surrounds the shifting winds displaced the
smoke to our left. And as if it were some ship
looming through the fog a great multi-domed Kra'Vak building slowly
became clearer, taking shape the way objects do at dawn; metamorphosing from
an amorphorous blob to some recognisable structure. I had absolutely no idea
of its purpose but it was an edifice of amazing proportions. Its jarring
architecture unsettling to the human sense of aesthetics.

Not long after I was unceremoniously asked to "shove out of the way" so that
the squad members could set about sand bagging the lofty perch. They wanted
some nice handy cover to dive into should we start to draw more attention.
They wasted no time and the defensive wall was in place in under half an hour.
The new topic of conversation centred on sand bags, the best form, the best
size, the best shape to lay out, whether to just edge or create alcoves. For
those who are not in harm's way on the front line it is hard to understand how
the configuration of sandbags can be so transfixing. When it comes down to it
though, no matter their origin or final destination, when a bullet is
interacting with you it's always coming straight at you. Any one who has seen
life from that perspective can understand why sand bags can be such an all
consuming topic. From there they moved on to rations and bedrolls and "lucky
bastards in the south that get to patrol from camp". In my time among the
troops of all the different races it seems a universal characteristic that
your lot is always the worst, unless of course for those unlucky sods in the
really deep shit. Soldiers are always full of gruff cheer and wit when they
get started on that conversational arc.
The exact words change, but it's always a variation on the age-old
pastime of grousing. Doesn't matter the occupation or the circumstances,
having a good grouse lightens the soul and helps take the mind off things.

As dawn came and the sun rose, we watched on as the drama unfolded about us.
We were increasingly caught up in exchanges of fire over the rooftops. The
troops below us made no real gain in new ground, but they were holding the
ground they did own more and more firmly. As the day wore on we started to
sweat, but all knew this was an illusion of the
closeness of the buildings and the non-stop activity. No one suggested
we remove clothing or dial down suit temperatures. Just over the limb was a
landscape that competed with many Terran realms in full winter swing, despite
its almost equatorial latitude. Not for the first time it strikes home how
long and hard this fight will be.