Approaching the gates to the city, the first platoon of Fox Company brought their rifles up carefully. Terra Incognita never seemed so hostile in the flickering firelight, the top of the beachside wall dotted with orange flames. The gate itself wasn't much of a gate- just a collection of light timber fitted to a frame, and nailed in. It was disturbingly similar to a cattle gate, more to keep the beasts in than to keep attackers out. No matter- the Marines went through it as if it wasn't even there.
As they entered, the group got ready to split apart at the central square. Each one of the three rifle squads was covered by their assaultmen, and loosely in the center was Lieutenant Walker. Pushing through the unknown, one of the men started coughing. A few odd looks, and resulted in Pellas screwing up his face.
"Someone lit a pile of shit on fire." the Staff Sergeant said over the radio. "Nothing dangerous."
Moments after saying that, a massive blast echoed out over the city, prompting more than a few of the troops to hit the deck. Sticking his head up from the dirt road carefully, Walker squinted at Sergeant Crusoe.
"Sir, that was an Abrams." Crusoe said, grinning slightly. "Would you like a hand up, sir?"
"Sure." Walker muttered, getting up and checking his optic. It was still on solid, and his NVGs were clear. "Let's keep going."
It wasn't much longer before they hit the central square, along with the first real opposition. About two dozen soldier-ish people were lounging around, most carrying iron-tipped spears and wicker shields. As the Marines moved into the square, a sergeant of the enemy's group yelled, carrying a full bronze shield and gesturing towards the Marines with a lot of uniteligiable shouting. All Walker needed to hear, though, was "Ixslaz!"
Loot.
"First squad, drop 'em!" Walker yelled, waving his arm as he directed the troops. "Second, with me, Third, grab a Weapons and head for the Embassy! Move!"
As a dozen-odd riflemen opened up, Pellas ran to the fore, trying to focus their gunfire so they didn't hit any civilians. It didn't matter much, though- a wicker shield wasn't much against an iron spear, and versus bullets the only question was if it blurred the silhouette enough to provoke a miss. Soon, the only thing left in the square were bleeding bodies and spent brass. Half the troops were already gone by the time the firing stopped, trusting their leader to know how much firepower to bring to bear. Soon, the group was shortened, and shortened again until it was just Second Squad, a Weapons squad, and Walker's runner and guide.
Among the troops, it was Crusoe who spoke first. "So, we're going in there?"
Walker snorted quietly, looking at the palace and the thin wall that separated it from the rest of the city. "Yeah. Not sure how many are in there, though. Do we have flashbangs?"
"Some." the Platoon Guide said, rolling his shoulders. "A few frags too."
"Don't issue the frag grenades." Walker said, shaking his head. "They're going to be right on top of any civilians in there, remember? It's gonna be just like last time, only even more messy."
A round of nodds, before Crusoe grinned. "So then- kinda tight, lots of civvies, probably a goodly number of enemies. Is anyone thinking what I'm thinking?"
There was a round of confusion before one Lance Corporal looked over at Crusoe and started making angry gestures. "No. No. We are not doing that. That was a horrible idea in Afghanistan, and these aren't angry goatherders! C'mon, man!"
Crusoe's grin got the Lance Corporal made Walker slightly nervous for a minute, before he spoke up. "Squad, fix bayonets!"
Walker's hand slowly rose up to meet his face, clipping his NVGs on the way. "Just… Get ready. Put the machineguns on the fence or something... "
"Yessir."
***
Taking a drink and bringing his night vision off, Lieutenant Walker took a drink and pulled up his radio. The Abrams were still banging around outside the walls, and everyone had gotten themselves ready to go in.
"Ready?" he asked, looking at his handful of NCOs. After a barrage of nods, he stood up and yelled.
"GO GO GO!"
The rifle squad, before perched around on the ground, sprung into action. Moving up to the entrance of the palace, a flashbang went in, followed by it's signature detonation and screams of pain from the handful of door guards. Moving through, the Marines shot the downed guards before charging through the thin curtain that separated the entry from the hall up to the central room. Pushing through it, the leader went through gun blazing, only to be thrown back. Coming out from the curtain was a pair of warriors far more armored than the wicker-shield wielders from before- and unlike them, Walker swore he saw a bullet skate off their polished bronze shields.
As one of the pair advanced, one of the Marines dived sideways, trying to shoot around the enemy's apparently bulletproof shield. Turning, the raider moved to stab him, but a second and third Marine charged in, lunging with their bayonets to go for his neck. In the back, Walker could only hiss, keeping his ear open to the radio and hoping nothing went wrong. In front of him, though, the second soldier turned and broke for the door, one of the men putting a bullet in his back before he passed through. Weapons at the ready, the group waited on their leaders while one took care of the foolish Marine who'd dived around a shield.
"The fuck was that?" Crusoe asked, picking up one of the shields. "I know I hit it!"
Looking at the lead-smeared bronze, Walker groaned. "Magic. Fucking magic. It's always fucking magic."
"What do you mean, fucking magic?" Crusoe snapped.
"Alright, 'if shit doesn't make sense, fucking magic' is probably why." Walker explained, slinging his gun at the low ready. "Back when I was watching one of the notables get hitched to the weatherman, she kept using it."
"You're serious." Crusoe muttered.
"In his defense," the platoon guide said, smirking as he politely took the shield. "It's not like you were sober for much of it, or paying attention to anything except the catgirl waving the fan. Can't blame you- she had wonderful tits."
Crusoe sputtered, before some of the men chuckled. Grinning, the guide got ready to throw the shield in, waiting for the laughter to die down before he chucked it in and the group poured through. Moments later, they were firing like mad as they fanned out in the Great Hall. Even Walker brought his gun up when he saw the disaster they'd plunged headfirst into.
As a whole, they didn't have very good intel going into this. The expectation had been maybe a dozen, two dozen of the easy targets they'd blown through not ten minutes ago.
To be fair, the first wave was two dozen of the wicker-shield raiders. It was the second with a couple using bulletproof bronze shields that caused concern, as well as the two with iron-looking shields that stood by the throne room door carefully taking cover.
"Back up! Back up!" Walker yelled, funneling his men behind the curtain into the way they had come. As Crusoe chucked a flashbang, the last of them dived through, staying flat on their gut as the guide yelled at them to open fire. There was a burst of light that almost ignored the curtain, before bullets cut it down. Pushing forwards again, the squad re-emerged through the door, only for Crusoe to scream as a javelin caught him in the shoulder. As the squad's sergeant went down, the thrower caught a return bullet, as the few who'd come in from beyond the Great Hall got shot. As a few rifles went down, the squad relaxed- before the Iron Warriors charged. They had been guarding the throne room before, but now they had charged, leaping across the room in a bound and hacking wildly with their swords.
Ducking aside, Walker hissed as his arm caught the edge of one of their long spears, before bringing his rifle up and tapping bullets at the Iron Warrior as fast as he could. It was no use- the man's vest, covered with heavy brass scales, used the same magic as the shields to reject the bullets out of hand. Unlike the shields, though, Walker saw a grimace of pain and a cracking sound as a rib broke. In a moment of clarity, Walker saw the truth of the spell that the enemy had been throwing around like candy- it didn't stop bullets. It stopped penetration- the force of the shot was still there.
"Keep shooting!" Walker yelled, rolling as the spear jabbed towards him. The Iron Warrior was firmly dedicated to killing him, and chopped down with his spear in anger. Bringing his gun up to block, Walker hissed as the heavy blade bit deep in the gun's mechanism, bending the stock he'd gripped. Twisting to the side, he lunged in to grab the Iron Warrior's leg and pulled himself towards the man, frantically drawing his pistol at the same time. Three shots up under his armored kilt later, and the Iron Warrior went down with a slight cry of pain, as well as an exit wound near the edge of his jacket. Rolling out from under his now-dead enemy, Walker picked himself up and looked over at the other Iron Warrior, who was literally getting pushed into a wall by streams of bullets- until one deflected up into his head, putting him down for good.
"Sound off, who's hurt?" Walker yelled.
"Crusoe's downed, the guide, uh, Piccilio? Yeah, Piccilio's got a helluva slash in him, and we've got Thomas and Martinic doing first aid. Jimmy got cut up too, when he did that dive."
Shaking his head, Walker groaned. "Well shit. Corporal… ahh, can't think. Corporal Danube, grab three guys and keep an eye on the wounded. The corpseman's in the market, see if you can get them there. Rest of you, c'mon. We're going in."
