[GZG] RE: [GZG Fiction] Landing At Cabot Beach

Landing At Cabot Beach

New Guardian Times, Ariza, September 10th, 2196

One of the interesting consequences of the Kra'Vak jamming comm channels has
been on reporting. At first there were many apologies as to the lack of live
feed, but eventually it became an accepted novelty of the conflict. Of
particular note is that the tone of reporting is vastly different to the
hyperbole riven reports of the three Solar Wars, where embeds tried to capture
the attention of viewers with the extreme
reporting that has dominated the tri-vid channels since the Realist
Faction lost in the Media Wars. The dominance of live conscious
streaming and digi-edits had seen an end to the reporter who hunted out
the story and filed a finished copy. The viewers were now privy to the search,
the more you paid the deeper you got to see. The biggest battles between the
braners creating the encryption on the streams and the corporate hackers
trying to see the secrets being sniffed out.

The current conflict has turned everything on its head. At least as far as the
topic of the war or cosmic news goes. It has again opened the door to a wider
range of reporting styles, from euphemistic to realist and has encouraged more
time spent on story construction. This is mainly as uploading spots are
limited, rationed and sporadic. This is all fine by me, its given me the
chance to end my patchy career as a Martian dust sifter and take on the role
as scout and embed reporter. For the last 5 weeks I've been with the OU. I got
to ride in with them during the landing on Cabot beach during the first few
days of September. The Australians and Papuans landed in one body with the
Maorilanders leading up the second group. They were tasked with following up
the NSL units that were the first to hit the beach, who were down as a
covering force to seize the ridges above the beach, which they did in about an
hour. The whole thing had been practiced in dry run for 5 weeks up in Candor
Gulf before it went live on Ariza.

The dawn was perfect; with the faint light of Phobos lost amongst the thick
cloud the ships carrying the troops, together with five supporting warships
(charged with protecting the landing from Krak grav tank attacks), stole in
without contest. Intel had shown that the coast was partly fortified, with a
battery on a promontory about 4 kilometres to the southwest.

The NSL had been taken across in drop ships and VTOLs, the IJN ground forces
paradropped in, but the OU came across in grav APCs on the back
of the wet-navy boats. Once they got within a few kilometres of Ariza
they flew in under their own steam, bouncing over the tops of the surf and up
on to the beach. Shallow water boats dropped the Swabian and Eurasian PA off
along the 5m depth contour, the suits expected to walk ashore from there. That
wasn't a completely successful exercise, with seven of the oldest ESU suits
failing and the troopers inside drowning before they could surface.

The first units landed without a hitch, but the following units were not so
lucky drawing fire before they even crossed the coast. Oberst Kaufman logged
his landing as five fourteen September 5th 2196. While the standing orders had
been to avoid firing until the first wave were completely ashore, trying to
use bayonet or gas were possible, this order was soon disregarded as
irrelevant as a Kra'Vak patrol came upon the landing and called in support
before they could be despatched. It was then a mad scramble to get ashore
before the transports were brought down. Men were leaping into the water,
stumbling ashore, almost falling over themselves to get up the beach.

Around three hundred years ago a wise man said "There is no retreat once you
start an invasion: you hit the beach and you go in." Ain't that the truth. We
had to run in water from up to about our knees through to waist deep and hope
and pray the intel guys had been right that there were no mines. Some of the
smaller less well equipped guys were all but worn out before they even cleared
the surf. They were waterlogged, with impregnated uniforms, full kit, extra
ammo pouches and then their rifles weighing them down.

Halfway up the beach I paused to check a young man lying in the sand.
Encourage him on. He looked all of 17 and when I touched his face to rouse him
he was ice cold. He must have drowned in the surf and rolled shore with the
waves the tanks were forming. I switched my wrist band to medscan, the only
bit of kit from my sift mining days that was of any real use in my new career.
It was no use however; he was flatline with no chance of resuscitation. If
there had been even a sniff of life in him I'd have hit him with a combo stim
and tried to save him.

The tanks too were in a made scramble to get clear of the beach and at least
four unfortunates were run over in the chaos. Just when I thought we were
clear of the worst of it for now, having reached our holding position beyond
the dunes at the head of the beach, fire ripped into us from the hills to the
southeast. Intel had noted the bunkers in the hills, which had a nice view of
anybody clearing the beach, but we hadn't appreciate they're position until
their fire hit us. The hills forming an ever rising series of perches. There
was no avoiding it though, the other approaches to Ariza being too step to
land the foot troops or to exposed to fire from the main body of the Isthmus
in the east and south. A company of Panzergrenadiers with a platoon of PA in
support were sent to clear the ridge. They approached via a series of steep
gullies cutting into the northern side of the ridge, trying to find cover
amongst the rubble and boulders lining the rough ground. It was not a complete
success, as the sheer slopes of gravel meant they had to work hard to gain any
height in the advance. The Krak fire creating sparks and flashes as it hit the
stones around the Swabian advance. In an effort not to make sitting targets
the Panzergrenadiers rushed straight up the steep slopes. Their boots sinking
into the lose ground and giving them a sliding, scrabbling gait. The OU, who
were now all ashore, watched all this from below, doing their best to provide
covering fire and force the Kra'Vak to draw back in where they couldn't target
the NSL advance.

The Swabians did eventually take the bunker, but not without significant
losses. Apparently few of the Krak waited to be tackled directly, engaging the
granadiers as soon as they penetrated the bunker. It is said that one huge
Bavarian took down nine enraged Krak all by himself, emptying all his clips he
then swung his rifle by the muzzle, snapping one's neck, catching another and
crushing his upper body and flinging another against a wall pulverising its
skull. I do not know if this story holds any veracity, but when I was allowed
access in the next few days I did find a dead Krak with its skulls smashed in.
There were also many other body parts, but the stench turned my stomach so,
even through my snout mask that I did not stay long to search for more
evidence of this Herculean feat.

It is impossible to say what happened next, except that it went quite for a
while, except for the commanders desperately trying to find out where the rest
of the supporting waves were. Apparently some mistake further up the chain had
seen a delay and we would have to hold on with what we had until they arrived.
With this clear the troops still on the beach and those in the immediate
surrounds were all given revised orders and told to head for Ariza. They did
this in fine cheer and with much determination, but it was a slow and
dangerous process as we kept encountering alien positions, who would sit quiet
until we had passed someway by, before opening up on our flank. Then it would
be the same routine over and over, clear the position, regroup and advance.
While bloody, this approach was still seeing us capture good ground for the
alien occupiers until we hit the final defile before reaching the outskirts of
Ariza proper.

The Krak had a machine gun in the valley to our left. The usual method was
failing badly due to the density of fire this gun was bringing down. In under
five minutes three squads of Papuans were isolated, lying on the bare earth or
along the culvert's edge trying desperately to scrape some kind of hole for
cover with their entrenching tools. Wounded were
screaming and the place was a mess. Two stretcher-bearers of the 2nd
Battalion tried to affect a rescue of those lying closest to the safe
positions the OU held on the western side of the cutting, but both were shot
by the Krak. Finally, Sergeant Mayer led a small party in a mad dash, rescuing
nine men.

Once clear of this we were into Ariza's agri-district. The open ground
had to be crossed quickly or there would be an enormous loss of life. The OU
set off at a dash, clearing the farmland within half an hour. The leadership
during this time was quite impressive. It is quite impossible to maintain even
a semblance of fine order under such conditions, but they were magnificently
prepared for just such events. The company and platoon commanders had been
trained at length in Palm Rock to act on their own responsibility and the
benefits were seen clearly during the farmland crossing. Platoon commanders
knew their intended rendezvous point and lead their clutch there by what ever
route seemed shortest, safest and most effective.

It was soon after we entered the main industrial district west of the main
harbour in Ariza that we felt our first experience shrapnel bursts. Given the
guns were hidden amongst the cities buildings it was extremely difficult to
uncover them. Those in the memorial parkland above the
harbour were soon placed and then silenced almost single-handedly by a
wet-navy cruiser, which saturated the emplacement with shells. The other
guns were harder to root out, and at least one was self propelled, making it
exceedingly hard to locate and destroy. It continued to fire sporadically most
of the morning, but was hit just before noon, which was a grand relief for all
of us. Unfortunately it was short lived and the battery began to fire almost
continuously, dropping a salvo of four shells about twice every minute for the
best part of the afternoon. It was only when a low flying squadron of VR
flyers bombed the entire line of warehouses lining the eastern rim of the
harbour that the shelling finally stopped. It had been carnage, watching hour
after hour as
shrapnel burst over head. Our wet-navy support could do practically
nothing to help. Despite their best efforts the OU spotters couldn't pin the
battery down, so it was impossible for the Navy to knock it out. The
Polynesian officer who eventually fixed the Krak gun's position well enough
for the VR fighters to knock it out came back all smiles, but with blood and
grime smeared across his face. He had taken a hit through the cheek, the
bullet taking away his front teeth on that side. He got
the medic to dress his wound, stim-pack him and then he winked at me
made some comment about having gapey teeth anyway and headed back to his unit.

During the entire time the OU held the eastern harbour and the NSL held the
west and cleared the edging industrial zone in preparation for the landing of
the main force the one thing that brought the most cheer was the steel of the
officers. Young Lt Douglas, who I had stuck by through much of the advance
thus far, sat in the scaffold amongst the shadows of the walkway and searched
the surrounds for Krak troops. An adjacent company made to cross between
streets to his east and seeing them in trouble he directed a runner to link up
with them and tell them of their position. The runner was felled by a Krak
slug after only 20 metres. Lt Douglas with no apparent thought to his own
safety swung down from his vantage point, sprinted to the other company's
position, and then began running back to us, stopping to pick up the wounded
man on the way. Within seconds of reaching the relative safety of our lines
the harsh bark of a Krak gauss SAW was heard and the Lt fell spilling his
cargo. Arm chair theorists of past wars would claim such acts were foolish, a
good officer lost, but it would be absurd to pretend that was true of a
life lost in this way in this war. In this desperate fight no-one knows
how long his example will live on. None who heard the men talking next day
could doubt its value. "We have the best damn officers" one Australian told me
amongst a string of profanity over his morning brew next day. He was not the
only one I heard express such statements over the course of the next few days.
What's more we had depth enough that
others equally tiger-like are able to step up into the shoes left behind
by such brave men. And as icing, as a direct result of knowing where we were
the other company was able to link up with us and root that knot of Krak out.

I do not think anyone got a real count of the number of Krak holding the
harbour, but it has to be over a few thousand. This meant as we pushed further
into the area we met increasingly stiff resistance. Every person was on the
firing line, the Krak counter attacking in force too great to allow for our
troops to consolidate their positions. The squad I was with basically said our
only choice was to hunker down and hold our block over night until we could
use the glare of the next noon to dig, or get enough air support to neutralise
the threat.

The night was tense and uncomfortable, we were tested a few times. The Krak
attempted several charges along the waterfront and into our extreme right. For
the most part you could follow the charge by listening to the
fire, a few blocks over, sweep by in a dopler-like wave. When the attack
came our way, the men waited until the enemy were within 50 metres, across the
street and square in front of the warehouse we were occupying. The Krak never
once waited, driving on relentlessly, flinging themselves flat to let our
machine gun fire fly over their heads before leaping up and pressing further
on. Ultimately our position held, but it was a close run thing, the Krak
getting to the door twice, three of ours dying repulsing the second attack, a
Krak holding a grenade in its hand as it was shredded by our fire and its own
explosive.

In between these mad fights we did manage to reorganise enough to straighten
out our lines and begin our consolidation even before the light of day. The
guys around me reinforced their positions as best they could. By morning we
were actually reasonably well secured. I had used my old sifting skills to get
the water flowing again and Private Hughes had done a good job of seeing
everyone had had some kind of meal. I do not think I will ever get used to the
dry mouth and knotted gut I feel at times like this and all I could manage was
a few gulps of water and a couple of dry biscuits.

Just before eleven a runner came in to let us know that the next wave of
troops, mostly Eurasians and Japanese were being ferried into the
agri-centre to our west by VTOL. In just under two hours we were to take
part in a concerted effort to clear the harbour for the main force. Make the
place a nice little tame port for us. Some joker remarked "we still have time
for a cuppa then".

Before the attack could be started, however, the Kra'Vak probed the UEC forces
in the tiered housing to our south. I sat and listened to the continuous
rattle of fire. I must have looked nervous as one of the veteran troops leaned
over and with a reassuring grin said "Notice there's no bullets whistling and
whacking about?"

"Ahuh" I replied with a dumb nod of my head.

"That means it's most likely by our guys".

"Oh. Thanks". That made me feel immeasurably better. It wasn't until days
later the "most likely" hit home and the advice lost all its soothing meaning.
At the moment though it was quite a salve.

Not long after the Krak began shelling the area again, pumping shells into the
blocks between us and the fire fight in the south; trying to
pulverise our troops no doubt. The wet-navy battleship HMNAS Queen Rose
lent its gun in our support, the roar of her shells flying overhead as
uplifting as any tonic. They screamed overhead like the sound of a hover truck
and moments later the ground would shake and the fittings around us rattle,
layering us with fine dust shaken from the walls. If you had the right vantage
point and could see out over the skyline you could see huge yellow clouds
burst from where the giant shells hit; kicking miniature thunderclouds of
dust, fine rubble and shrapnel up into the air above its point of impact.

While the planned attack never happened the fighting in the hills above us
continued on into the night. There was little or no rest for the troops up
there, the fighting heavy through the whole time. Just after dawn we were
rotated up there, to give the guys in place up there some respite, letting
them slip a few blocks back and get some shut eye. This also gave HQ a chance
to try and estimate the actual losses of men and officers so far. Many had
been killed or wounded to the point they'd been evacuated, but there was also
a good proportion that were MIA that turned up safe from another of the
forward buildings, having gotten mixed in with the troops there in all the
confusion.

For our part, the squad I was with held their ground well enough they pushed
the Krak back across three more lanes and a boulevard and had a much more
defendable position by the end of it. The Krak tried pushing back, but now the
fairly open ground meant the enemy troops could be brought down before they'd
reached our position. The corpses of forty or more dead Krak lying splayed
across the middle to far edge of the road. If it keeps on like this we may
just stand a chance.