Commander Ne’Jun crawled through the dense underbrush. The garrisoned hill that lay before him was all that stood between him and the vital transmit that he needed to fully prosecute the war on Xilos. The time to launch the assault was at hand. The Commander had waited patiently for the regular patrols to leave. Victory and Glory awaited to be claimed. Commander Ne’Jun let his mind sink into the Shard. A single glowing thought sped out to his waiting troops. BEGIN.
A single shell arced out from an x launcher. It landed at the foot of the hill, the baleful energies of the Scoot shell forced one Strike squad to hit the deck their bodies unable to respond to the intense stimuli. Another Strike squad leapt over the barricade in a faint hope to put more distance between themselves and the scoot shell.
The cerulean energies of plasma carbines danced with the whip-crack of mag rounds. The third strike squad on the hill desperately traded fire with the advancing Freeborn. Round after round chipped and bit away at the defensive bulwarks. Skyraider squad Zephyr flew up and over the barricade their weapons spitting death. A strike trooper fell his torso blasted into ruin by hypervelocity mag shells. The dazed strike squad returned fire with a fury born of desperation. Zephyr 3 jinked back and forth protecting his squads tail as they flashed passed the defending concord troops. His Skyraider exploded, the expanding ball of fire consuming his body like a pyre to the valiantly slain.
In honor of the sacrifice made by their comrade squad Zephyr danced around the hill swooping past one squad then another, the weapons mounted to their steeds would not fall silent so long as one enemy drew breath.
All was not to go according to plan however. A faint but intact cry for aid was able to worm its way through the hash of jamming that blanketed the field. One squad of C3D1 drones would receive then respond to that cry. They glided from the surrounding forest. The blue plasma lanced out cutting down almost half of a Domari squad climing the steep flank of the hill. The defenders also turned their weapons on the suddenly depleted squad. Those poor souls hurled their battered bodies down to the ground. For the moment they would live.
The Feral Mhagris seeing the enemy turn up in greater numbers sped themselves into combat. First one squad charged and cut down a strike squad that had fled the safety of the hill. They were in turn ripped apart by the plasma light support mounted to the silently moving combat drones. Not even the soma grafts, so crudely installed, could halt their fierce desire to live. They fled as though Death itself had come calling.
The other squad of Ferals would not die so easily they charged up the hill hurling themselves at one of the remaining strike squads. They lost one brave warrior to the pointblank fire of their enemy, but it would not be enough to halt them. By the time the dust settled and the smoke cleared the Feral warriors were anointing their savage features with the blood of the Concord dead. The Concord Commander was enraged by the brutal massacre of his brave troopers. His command squad snapped shot after accurate shot into the celebrating savages, felling half of their number. The soma grafts did their work, the surviving Ferals barely even flinching at the death dealt to those around them.
Commander Ne’Jun smiled. Victory was there he had but to take it. The Domari squads supporting the assault on the hill concentrated the hail of of mag rounds onto the sole surviving Strike squad. The battered concord squad had enough. They could hold no longer. As they fled the field a great cry of triumph echoed among the trees. They had suffered, but they had won. The Vard would be pleased.