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The Day The War Was Won

By RiotFox44

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My sergeant barked orders at us as we desperately held the line. The six-legged swarm approached us. I held my plasma rifle in my hands, barely holding onto it as I was shaking too much. I carefully peered over the edge of the barricade we had set up and my heart started racing again as I saw the mountain of enemies approaching. Small insectoids, the 'biters' as we called them, by the thousands. Sure our artillery could kill swathes of them in one go, but there were always thousands more. They all scurried along the ground, plasma bolts impacting into groups of them.

For every ten we killed, fifty more would take their place. They moved as one group, scurrying across the ground in waves of scaly scuttering flesh. Plasma rifles discharged heated bolts toward scurrying groups, killing dozens with one detonation.

"KEEP AT IT BROTHERS! I GOT WORD WE GOT REINFORCEMENTS!!!" Our sergeant barked at us, followed by a mild cheer of enthusiasm from the men.

"PRAETORIAN!!" One guy screamed as one of the larger, blade-appendaged creatures suddenly appeared.

It charged at us, using the smaller scuttering creatures as a shield. The few plasma bolts we were able to get thrown in its direction did little more than kill a few hundred scurrying swarmers. This is how lines always fell. The swarms would force us to overheat our plasma pistols or laser rifles with a charge from the smaller ones. The bigger ones would use this to crawl closer to the line, then charge at us with the swarm. Plasma weapons wouldn't fire fast enough, so we would simply retreat, let the line fall, and hope.

I stood up, aimed my weapon, and fired. It did nothing to the beast as it charged our battle line. We heard that the position was failing. We had to evacuate. I was frozen in fear, I couldn't do anything except aim my weapon and shoot. Within minutes, we would all be dead either from the artillery strike needed to cleanse this position or from the Praetorian who would carve us up and feed us to the swarm. I looked dead into its eyes... Suddenly, a firestorm of explosions, loud cracks, and multiple shots.

I watched, almost as if the world was in slow motion as a thousand projectiles flew through the air, shredding through both the swarmlings and the Praetorian. A few of these projectiles simply cracked the creature's armor, others deflected off its chitin as they passed through the smaller swarmlings. The sheer volume of these projectiles ensured the Praetorian died quickly. The rest of the swarmlings died quickly as well, a few larger, bulkier projectiles thrown into the mass of chitin and legs exploding with enough force to render hundreds at a time into mulch.

We snapped back to our senses as an aircraft burst into view, hastily pulling up and barely coming fifty feet off the ground at high speed. It had insignias we had never seen before. Guns we never saw before. Engines we have never seen before. It flew less like a craft and more like a bird of prey. We watched in sheer amazement as ten more flew into view, diving to the ground, unleashing a storm of metal into a swarm, followed by a mass of dozens of chemical rockets.

Within minutes... MINUTES. A battle that had lasted nearly two months was over. We watched the craft overhead go beyond the battle line, and slaughter a legion of the Swarm. So busy watching the display of mass death, we failed to notice our reinforcements had arrived. A loud crack of thunder, in extremely close proximity, followed by a Praetorian's head exploding, directed us to the small form of the new creature. The Short Ones.

None of us had seen it before. The trench we were in was now covered in them. One, standing there with his long rifle, taking precise shots at distances too far to be real and scoring a kill on nearly every shot. Two more were near some kind of mounted weapon, one holding a belt of vicious-looking projectiles, the other manning the gun itself. Three more were standing atop a ruined wall, holding atop their shoulders some kind of big tube device.

They were half our size. Two legs, two arms, five fingers as opposed to our four. Their faces were flat and stubby, with two eyes with a variety of colors and skin tones. The uniforms are covered in segmented armor plating like a strange hardened ceramic. Some wore special goggles on their faces covering their eyes. I could see some kind of words and information displayed on it. We stood bewildered at the sudden appearance of a clearly military-focused, highly advanced species suddenly appearing and saving our lives.

One of them stood in front of me and snapped his fingers in front of my face to call my attention. He made some gestures with his tiny hands. He pointed to his rifle, a strange black metal machine that had a belt of some kind loaded with ammunition. He made a gesture that said something like 'small'. Then pointed to my plasma rifle and made a gesture that meant 'big'. I stood still considering what was going on. My keen eye then spotted the craft before retreating, followed by a massive dust cloud on the horizon.

The creature in front of me, a Short One, as we called them, repeated his series of motions. I suddenly got the idea. Our plasma weapons against the Praetorians and Centurions... The big ones. And their 'guns' against the swarmlings. I pointed at my plasma rifle, then pointed at the shattered corpse of the Praetorian nearby. Then I pointed at the gun in his hand, then pointed at the body of a swarmling nearby. He tilted his head down and up in a nod, his face contorting into what was a smile.

I whistled loudly, snapping my trenchline out of its dumbfounded stupor. "REFORM THE LINE!!!"

Within seconds my brethren had reformed their stations, weapons at the ready. "FOCUS FIRE ON LARGE TARGETS ONLY!!! LET THE SHORT ONES HANDLE THE SWARMS!!!" I bellowed loudly.

I readied my rifle. The Short ones in the trench line readied their weapons with a series of mechanical clicks. We readied our weapons, the sound of powering up power cells filling the air. The Short One in front of me made more gestures with his hands. He pointed at the craft flying overhead. Pointed at his timepiece on his arm, then made a gesture that indicated the numbers one and seven. He did it again, slower and clearer so I could properly register it. I looked at the ticking clock... the timescale he used was roughly the same as ours.

"THE AIRCRAFT WILL REARM!! TIME TO RESPONSE IS SEVENTEEN VINTUS!!! HOLD THE LINE!!!" I barked loudly at the trench line.

My Sergeants and Captains had finally regained their composure. Before long they had caught on to the strategy and began barking orders into our radios, spreading the news to the trench line. The swarm apparently got in range of the trench line, and a loud noise of cannon fire descended onto the valley. The Short Ones in front of me opened fire with prejudice and it appeared as though a river of metal suddenly appeared into the sky. I could see thousands of swarmlings, big and small, suddenly drop dead or falter their advance as a hail of ammunition tore off limbs.

The humans holding the tubes yelled something, looking behind them. They then fired a loud 'thud' noise signifying they had fired, followed by the projectiles they launched exploding directly into the face of a swarm. Hundreds of the swarm died instantly, pieces of chitinous monster scattered in every direction. Some pieces of chitin had shattered at speed, incapacitating more enemies in the sheer shrapnel. The Short Ones holding the larger guns occasionally fire, taking any opportunity to hit a Praetorian they can actually see. Some actually score decent hits.

The swarm charges us with force. Despite the unending storm of metal, there are still tens of thousands to consider. But here... we notice something. Clearly, the Short Ones did too. Every time one of them kills a Praetorian with a good shot, they yell out something. The others notice, and redirect their fire. A Praetorian is killed, and the swarm falls back. We hadn't noticed this behavior before. Normally they would be right on top of us so we couldn't really tell if it happened.

One Praetorian gets closer than the others and we get in range. Our plasma rifles fire a focused volley at it. It gets hit and disintegrates into a puddle of discombobulated goo. The swarm he was leading retreats. A new pattern emerges. The Sergeants know this, the Short Ones know this. The word travels quickly. And before long, we implemented a strategy we only now had the chance to do. For the first time in six hundred years of war. The tide was turning.

We were told to hold the line and hold the line we did. The swarm never stopped and neither did we. The aircraft swooped in and wiped out the Nest. The hive mind severed, and the Swarm began to disintegrate. The swarmlings stopped dead in their tracks as the connection severed. Either going insane, screeching with rage or pain, and either waiting around before dying, or slaughtering each other. The few Praetorians and Centurions left alive were dealt a fast death blow by the Short Ones.

The first Hive Mindlink killed in over four hundred and eighty years. The planet was saved. We rejoiced. The Short ones were somewhat surprised at our sudden victory vocalizations. War chants and jumps for joy startled them as the swarm died off. The Short Ones apparently weren't done, or they knew something we didn't. Most of them moved forward and walked into the mass of chitinous bodies, putting a few rounds into any remaining squirmers. The Short One from before plus a few others stayed behind, keeping guard as we celebrated our first victory in centuries.

The very same Short One approached me and pushed a button on his helmet. He spoke in Saranai, it was broken, somewhat childish, but it was at least coherent enough that we could speak.

"Understand me? Me talk. You hear?" He said, his translator very clearly only just starting to function.

"Yes, I do. Who are you?" I asked.

"Corporal Withers. Army. Human." He replied, pointing to himself. Well.. he said more than that but like I explained, the translation software wasn't all that good yet. Probably wasn't more than a few weeks old, to be honest.

He reached a hand out to me. Mine was twice as big as his. I took it and he shook it. Just like we did. Our celebration was cut short by the arrival of more war machines these 'humans' used. Pallets of supplies, both medical and martial, arrived in force. We had no time to celebrate. We had work to do.

It finally happened. Six months after that first battle... We were winning. A stalemate that lasted a thousand years, finally broken. The horde was being driven back at long last. All because of them. It's not to say that humans did not endure grievous casualties, just like us. But it was because of them, that we actually had victories. Real victories. Victories that allowed us to take lost planets back.

Before humanity arrived, the only victories we had, we would think them to be hollow. We could easily secure space, the Horde's ships were almost worthless against our weaponry. But when it came to ground combat, we would always be pushed back. Their numbers were superior to our tech. Plasma rifles and Gauss cannons can only go so far when you have three targets, and you can only kill one.

Human weaponry turned the tide. The sheer volume of fire coming from their primitive weapons culled the horde to its barest minimum. When we were finally able to communicate face to face via translator systems or by simply learning our languages... that was when it really turned. The humans would focus their firestorm of ballistic and kinetic weapons against the vast numbers of the horde. We would hold our fire and focus on the bigger targets.

It was a strategy that worked beautifully. And within a short time, we had taken back one of our Colony Worlds. The Horde had no other motivation than to feed and to breed. It was just a horde, nothing more. We had been fighting it for over a thousand years. Hollow victories of us destroying hive fleets in space with ease, only to realize we missed maybe one or two spore pods.

A desperate fight for survival, ending either in evacuation and retreat while we watched the world be consumed... or retreat to better pastures while we leave the colony to fight for itself. Hollow victories of evacuating an entire world while millions die on the frontlines to hold back the tide for just a few minutes longer. Families go onto transports watching their fathers and sons die in a battle they couldn't win. Or... watching the faces of the few on the ground sink to despair as the fleet disappeared in the skies.

The tide turned and we fought harder than ever before. Humans landed on a colony world about to be invaded. Six hundred men stood alone against the unending tide, just to guard a few stragglers that failed to evacuate in time. Their sacrifice inspired us to make our first real push into Horde territory. And within a year, with massive casualties, we managed to take back a colony world we lost decades prior. Humanity was somewhat dismayed at our staggering losses and from that point forward insisted we fight alongside them.

The Horde has millions of planets, infested countless worlds. But we will, with the help of our new friends...

WE WILL WIPE THEM OUT.

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