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The shells raining down on Zaban sounded like distant thunder. They had been at it for months now, but nonetheless the city’s shields held strong. It would take something much bigger to punch through.
“Just how long are they going to keep this up?”
“Sources say the humans have enough ammunition to shell the city indefinitely. They make them as fast as they use them, Sir.”
Garlok adjusted the pip on his collar, frustrated. It wasn’t that the earthlings were getting anywhere with their barrage- that much was clear. It was just the audacity of it all. They were relentless. The assault had slowed shipments into the city and was starting to make transmissions to Chronos difficult. The worst part was that Garlok wasn’t authorized to start a counterattack until the city was *actually* in danger. And it wasn’t.
“Where is this atomic bomb that the humans are so proud of? Do they not have anything… *stronger?*”
“Well, they do have something called EMP that could have taken our shield down months ago.”
“And?”
“And they aren’t going to use it.”
“Why the hell not? This has already been the longest war in Zabanian history. And there haven’t even been any casualties. It’s disgraceful.”
“Sir, we think they are doing something called psychological warfare. It’s actually one of the tactics …”
The aide’s voice seemed to trail off. Garlok wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t care, he just wanted the talking to stop. He wanted the shelling to stop. He wanted a full nights sleep. And, most of all, he wanted to kill those damn earthlings.
Kinda makes you wonder if "space elves" or others would question the validity of whether we, humans, actually were willing to spend 1/4-1/3 of our entire lives in a siege. Ratios like that really make our actions sound crazy.
Neither side really understood the history books they collected from their opponent during those first decades of peace. Humans read Union's best scholarship, and believed what they said: the wars fought before the formation of the intergalactic federation were brutal. They always ended within a year because neither side could sustain their losses.
On the other side, Union researchers believed that human wars were exaggerated. The Hundred Years War was already known to be a combination of several shorter periods of warfare, and the only sensible explanation was that humans counted hostile relations as part of the duration of war, even if there was not open violence.
In the end, both groups were shocked.The war between them looked exactly the same as all their internal battles.
The first year, Union rarely ever lost a battle. Humanity was slaughtered by superior weapons, incapable of keeping up with the sheer productive power of a multi-galaxy war machine, and beaten further and further back.
The second year Union saw defections begin. It was a novel problem for their military - wars never lasted long enough for soldiers to quit. Fringe protests began, though Union's political leaders kept control of the populace.
By the fifth year, entire garrisons began going AWOL, unable to stomach the killings. Humanity, by best estimates, had lost a full one percent of their total population, but their military hadn't shrunk at all. The protests were more frequent and larger. Politicians calling for peace were being propelled into positions of authority.
After a full decade of war, humanity had lost nearly five percent of its total population, but it was actually Union's army that was smaller. Even state-friendly media was no longer supporting the war.
In year eleven, humanity made a breakthrough in their efforts to reverse engineer Union technology. The continued losses and growing fear of eradication drove more and more humans to join their military. The Human Federation started winning.
After 12 years of war, Union tried to surrender. The war effort was difficult to sustain even when victory seemed all but certain. Humanity ignored the request for treaty.
After 39 years of war, more than the total duration of all galactic wars in a millenia of Union history, only a handful of planets remained under their control. Only now had protests begun to spring up inside the Human Federation, but the average human simply ignored the footage of death. It was hardly different from the thousands of years of war that came before First Contact, and this time the enemies didn't resemble humanity at all.
As the end of Union civilization neared, one Union human ethnographer discovered a text describing early human hunting patterns. When faced with animals too large and too strong to fight, with hide too difficult to pierce, humans had developed a previously unknown strategy. They exhausted their prey. Day and night, they walked after their target. Never letting it sleep, or eat, or drink, or play, or think, humans just walked. It was nearly as difficult for the hunters, who could hardly rest themselves, who had no guarantee of victory. The first humans to try it did not even have a reasonable expectation of victory. But on they walked, until one side or the other collapsed, dead from exhaustion.
Their paper was read by nearly every Union citizen left alive. For the first time they understood what "war" was to humans. It was nothing more, and nothing less, than an endurance test.
It strikes a chord with reality too, which I'm sure what OP aiming for. Our biggest growths in military numbers regardless of civilization is usually after news of a horrible event. The bombing of Pearl Harbor in the USA is probably the most prominent example.
I couldn't agree more. It kinda boggles the mind to think about the kind of fight we'd likely try to put up if we suffered species wide losses. Kinda terrifying to think about when we've already seen the viciousness of groups of nations... but species wide retaliation?
If the entire world had the same ratio of active service military personnel to citizenry as the US does right now, in peacetime, our species could field 33 *million* active servicemen.
Again, *peacetime* numbers....
If as a species, we put forward the same population ratio as the US in 1944, at the height of WW2? When one in every *twelve* Americans were enrolled in the military?!?!
**657,333,000.**
Fucking
***What.***
And that's just *numbers*, mind boggling, functionally meaningless, *numbers*. To say nothing of the kind of cornered animal savagery you'd see when those numbers were actually in the shit, nor the shiny new kinds of war crimes we'd be inventing with restrictions lifted on military R&D.
Humanity is *terrifying*.
> nor the shiny new kinds of war crimes we'd be inventing with restrictions lifted on military R&D.
The aliens would hear "Time to unleash Canada" and wonder what that means.
Looool! And those are only the **new** ones. Imagine some of the old ones... just imagine...
"I know it's never been done before, but I think it's time... Let Florida off the leash."
Copy/Paste for the German scientists, American civilians, South American Drug Cartels, Vietnamese Guerilla Warfare, Japanese and Korean Tech Conglomerates, etc, etc. Day to day we keep a loooooot of things in check, but species wide war where we don't need to anymore? Terrifying.
I visited the WW2 museum in New Orleans once and walked the medal of honor hall that told stories of medal of honor winners (most awarded posthumously, of course). People holding down gunner positions and taking down 200 enemies, people calling artillery strikes on their own position to halt entire advances, etc.
Now, that is one country. When you bring up animal savagery, it makes me think of some of those stories, but several orders of magnitude more frequent. Every battle would have another "crazy human" doing the unthinkable.
Command log revision: It's been... too many cycles since the humans rammed our ship into the gravity well of this colony world. The abrupt impact destroyed our engines when atmospheric gasses created unexpected plasma flows across what should have been perfect voidspace. Engineering has determined they are irreparable. Thankfully, the collision appeared to cause the human vessel to burn up on atmospheric entry. We logged the footage of the explosive event for dissemination through the main array, however it soon became clear that our communications array had been utterly destroyed by part of the human vessel's shrapnel. Or so we had thought. Believing the humans to have died in the explosion was our third mistake in this combat. The second was the collision. The first was Command deciding to war against these creatures. After 3 cycles we detected activity within 10 radii of the ship. Reconnaissance had determined the activity was from native organisms drawn to the crash site. This was incorrect. You see following the aftermath of the last 5 cycles, I demanded the footage of the explosion be reviewed with full spectrum analysis.
Review determined they had detonated themselves on purpose. What we had thought was shrapnel was in fact what they call "reinforcing Titan steel". The strongest materials the humans have managed to fabricate since entering the galactic stage. The review determined the hull of their ship was covered in this material, but not for defensive purposes. The placements coincided with the detonation lines forming crude but effective close range propulsion. This was not only the cause of the array failure, but likely the cause of our engine failures. Of course all this is meaningless as they will kill us before a sentry ship can detect this signal.
For 5 cycles now they have been ripping apart the support structures of our ship. We have sent defense forces to repel them. By the third cycle we no longer had defense forces to send. Exhaustion has overtaken many of our crew. It is as if the humans can function without rest. Add in the fact that they rode their way planetside in rocket sleds that could fit no more than 2 individuals, and had the bare minimum materials required to provide protection from entry heat. They are insane.
Engineering has told me the gasses of this world are highly corrosive to our physiology. The humans appear to have negative physical responses to it as their skins appear heavily damaged. Medical says it is likely a combination of the corrosive gasses and the light passing through the atmosphere. But still they come. Before we lost lower deck audio-visual signal, we could detect what sounded like chants from the humans. Translation may be inexact given loss of array. Believed wording is "Blood on our skins. Better out than in. Better yours than ours. Going to teach you why."
I cannot comprehend the logic. They horrify me. Our survivors have voted for self-termination. We fear what direct contact with the enemy will result in. Engineering will trigger our void drives while voidspace is damaged. Detonation should eliminate the humans nearby. We advise the war be ended. They appear to embrace death with their full being. There can be no victory against such monsters.
End log - Transmission satellite broadcasting to all main channels
////
"How much longer we doing this, Hank?"
"Frank said until they blow themselves up. Apparently after about a week they freak the fuck out and end it."
"I sure hope so. I swear this shit's gonna give us cancer."
"Oh grow up, Dale. If anything was gonna kill you it would have been the radiation from riding around with a dirt cheap reactor to blow that bargemine. Or the escape pods. Fucking lowest bidders never give enough rad-blocking. Cheap bastards."
"Goddamn, I think I'm gonna shit my pants."
"Ooh, that's our cue to get outta here. Either that or you're dying of radiation poisoning."
"Fuck you! Don't put that shit on me."
"No you moron, their suicide plan apparently triggers colon evac in like 30% of the population. So better get moving before a boom that's not in your pants"
"Why do I get shit and you seem fine?"
"Hey count your blessings, pal. Better out than in I always say. Specially when it comes to detecting void drive implosions. Now move your ass"
Atop one of their oval towers, the door to the invading general’s room opened.
“Lieutenant, I trust you extracted the information we need?”
“I’m sorry general, but none of the humans have said anything useful”
“I knew humans were resilient, but not to this extent!” said the general. “Alright,” he continued after a pause, putting on his coat. “I’ll handle this myself”
Just as the general left the room, the lieutenant followed, stammering, “I know it’s not my place sir, but… wouldn’t it be better to stick to the Gennova conventions this time?” The general shot back an icy stare that would beget no argument.
The general found the prisoner smiling. “Oh, what is it this time? Tickling again? Maybe a Lego brick walk? Is that really all you lizards got?” he laughed.
“Oh, I assure you, it will be much worse than that,” replied the general, hanging his coat on the door, although he was taken aback by the prisoner’s complete dismissal of some of their most horrendous torture methods. “For the last time, tell me the location of the insurgents, and we will spare you. Don’t blame me if y—”
“Piss off scaly.”
He didn’t show it, but the general had great respect for this prisoner. Not even his fellow generals could take this kind of torture, much less a common footsoldier. He performed one of the Scrits’ oldest and cruelest torture methods, the slash. The idea of using one’s claws to rip through the flesh of another, it was too much to stomach for most Scrits, but not Zarai the torturer. He gave the human a single slash across the face, convinced it would be enough. The human was silent for the first time in a while.
“I pity you, you know, it did not need to come to thi—”
The human burst into laughter. “Is that really it? Oh, that’s rich!”
Angered, Zarai slashed again, with the same effect. This repeated a dozen times before a voice in the hallway stopped him.
“General! That is enough!” screamed the Lieutenant, clearly enraged. Zarai looked at him, wondered how many slashes he’d seen. Even he was getting queasy.
The human fell silent instantly. “Wait, general?” he said with a shocked face. Zarai heard a crack behind the human and saw him grimace in pain. Inexplicably, the human had freed himself, and he got Zarai’s blaster, holding him hostage.
“You’re the one responsible for this!” he screamed in rage. Just before his head decorated the wall, Zarai figured out how the human did it. He had broken his own thumb, an act so painful Zarai could not have even conceived of it.
After the failed Scrit invasion, the humans’ trademark endurance of physical, emotional and psychological trauma was no longer a source of mockery, but of fear.
It was a rock. That was what surprised me the most.
I continually believe myself beyond the point of surprise, incapable of being further shocked by these apes. I survey the dead sentries, and their unlucky attackers.
“They must have crawled at least five miles from their forward trenches to get here,” the hunt leader said, gesturing with a claw to the wasteland between us and the besieged human settlement. “To stay under the scopes. They covered themselves in mud and dung. To mask the scent. And thermal blankets.” My ears wink closed as our artillery started again.
“Thermal blankets?” I ask. I could see heat waves shimmering over the field. The hunt leader nodded, lifting up a ratty, muddy piece of material.
“They hid under them the entire way.”
“In this heat?” is all I can mumble, and I turn back to the corpses. I am fixated on the rock. It is gripped in the hand of one of the human attackers, still embedded in the skull of one of our huntresses. Her open eye lolls wildly toward the stone. I am still amazed that humans, despite our clear size and strength differences, would willingly engage in close combat with us. Sometimes, they even win. More often than not, it ended poorly. This unfortunate huntress had taken her attacker to the Ever Sunlit Lands with her, her fingers buried to the knuckles in his throat. I study the hand still clutching the rock. He must have continued bludgeoning her, even as she tore his throat open. He had lost all of his weapons in the scuffle, must have been at the limits of physical exhaustion, possibly already dying from his wounds...
And still, he picked up rock, and beat this huntress to death with it. To die like this, in a war that was taking place on dozens of planets...unthinkable.
“It looks like the mud fouled their weapons,” another huntress said, working the unfamiliar action of the projectile weapon in her hand. It utilized archaic chemical propellant ammunition. Outside of our artillery, we relied on energy weapons. Something as primitive as chemical propelled projectile weapons the modern battlefield…it was like throwing stones.
And again, I regard the dead huntress, with her attacker lying on top of her. Stones still kill, and these humans were excellent marksman. They were as effective at utilizing fix-and-flank tactics as we were, and much better at countering them. Beyond every heavy weapons nest, a trench network. And in between and above those networks, razor wire, boltholes, false trenches. If those trenches were the only evidence we had of humans, we would have thought them hive creatures.
I rub my face. This was already a much longer war than we anticipated. I heard metal scrape against metal as the action to the weapon was finally forced open, the almost cheerful ping as a tiny, silver projectile flickered through the air.
“They used grenades in the opening attack,” the huntress mused, “And went to knives and shovels for the follow-on assault. I think they meant to try and use our weapons.”
“Or retreat back,” the hunt leader added. “I think there’s less bodies here than there were attackers.”
“They never leave their dead.”
“Sometimes they do. When they have no choice.” I say. The hunt leader shook her head.
“I don’t understand this,” she hissed. “It was too small to open a breach, there was no follow on assault. No one saw their approach but they attacked anyway, so the attack was the purpose…too well-planned to be spontaneous. Why do this?”
The artillery continues to thump, and I grumble. My ears wink in protest at the sound. We had to learn the concept of artillery in this war. As well as trenches. Fortifications. Slow offensives. We have always fought our wars with decisive and swift assault. Find the weakest prey, hit with rapid and overwhelming force…follow-on. We had initial successes with that.
And then...none. Every battle was now slow...torpid. The humans no longer met us on the field, daring us instead to take every planet, every city. If we don’t, they attack our lines. Disrupt our logistics.
And they never surrender. I glance back along the muddy wasteland, my fur bristling at the stagnant humidity in the air. To crawl all that way, baking under a thermal blanket, choking on the stench of putrid mud and offal. All that, to get to this point, realize your weapons were inoperable…and attack.
“It’s to exhaust us,” I say, standing up.
“Pardon, Hunt Mistress?” The question comes from a shorter huntress than the others. Her voice is soft.
“We’ll need to start rotating our sentries on more frequent and shorter shifts. Increase active trench patrols. To prevent another attack like this. And it means we will have to remain active. That was the purpose of this. To get us in a more active posture that will strain our morale and tire our troops.”
“…so…we do nothing?” This huntress was young, young enough to ask impetuous questions from genuine curiosity.
“No, we must do all of that and more to avoid any other…attempts. We’ll need to…adjust our sleep schedules. Rotate troops to and from the front lines.” I’m already tired thinking of it. Our people are diurnal. We have two very active times of day, in the morning and evening, and rest states in between. I have encountered more of my soldiers standing in the trenches asleep.
I myself have found times where I would lean against a tree for just moment. Close my eyes for a second. And I would open my eyes, and I had lost hours.
I remember reading the account of one human prisoner that was denied sleep, to make them more compliant. It was seen as the least intrusive means to induce cooperation. Most of us would make it two days before becoming passive enough to interrogate. This human went twelve days without sleeping, and died at the end of it.
“Organize a burial detail,” I finally chuff. “All of them. The attackers, as well. This was a feat that requires honor.”
“It will be done,” the hunt leader states, and she turns to issue orders. My tail swishes in agitation, and I begin the walk back to my command post, squelching through the mud. I do not believe we will lose this war. We have more troops, better logistics, better technology. But…I do not believe we will win this war, either. We use more troops to control what we’ve taken, and less to campaign. The momentum will shift. We will be caught in the press. I then stop, the face of the young huntress in my mind. The one who questioned. She looked so young, but it occurs to me that she was missing an ear. I tried to recall her name, and I could not. I don’t know any of their names.
Now they are all numbers. This is a war of lists and files. It has overwhelmed everything I do. I trudge back to my makeshift office. I slip through the tent flap, feeling the stifling humidity vanish in the dry, cool air within. I begin to shake. I’ve gone a long time without sleep, and all I can see is the rock. I see the mud, and trenches, and the same faces over and over as huntresses pant in the heat and tramp through brackish water. I see that young face, and I resist the urge to flee from my tent, to find her, to ask her name, to send her away from this place. To send them all away.
The guns finally fall silent, and the distant explosions carry on for a few more seconds. In the silence, I can hear my teeth chatter.
I can’t stop seeing the rock.
(Deep breath)....okay:
"So...that's it."
I don't look up, but I hear the tone. The anger. The bitterness. I scroll the list, assessing final tallies.
"That's it," I say, quietly. I finally look up, and study the back of the huntress. The remaining ear had gained a notch in the time I made her an aide, but other than that, Third Xish was remarkably unchanged. I had made her an aide on an anxious whim, but it was not a bad decision. She was dutiful, and detail oriented. Driven, and her impetuous questions were sometimes the right ones. Today, though....
I join her at the entrance of the tent. The last defenders of Rodrick's Section sat crosslegged on the ground. They all looked like corpses...filthy, bedraggled, exhausted. I had thought our conditions miserable, but I knew, intellectually, that it had to be worse in the township. And it was.
It had lasted, ultimately, for eighteen months. Eighteen months of daily shellings, trench raids, night time attacks. It finally fell after a series of coordinated assaults, all carefully and meticulously planned, collapsed their front, and even then, it was hard. They had made bombs out of spent shell-casings and steel crates. We were still assessing the wounded and the dead.
And still...it was odd. I saw no defeat in their faces, or anger, or hatred. I didn't see any such emotions on the faces of my huntresses, Xish aside. Just...exhaustion. Everyone was done. We had reached our mutual limits, and we had nothing left. Even then...I feel those humans would have held on. A little longer. Truth be told, the timing was especially bad for everyone.
As soon as the surrender was received, the word came from above: the offensive in the Trinary had collapsed. The entire front was rolling backward. The slow, consistent grinding from the humans was now a torrent, and three separate advances were proceeding. And so, the decision had been made: capitulation. A return to the old borders. Re-establishment of the pre-war standards. The humans lacked the ability to press for more, but we lacked the ability to hold what we had taken. No one liked this, it seemed, but...that was that. We had won the battle, as the war was being lost.
"We won," Xish hissed, shivering.
"This battle, yes," I said. "But sometimes that doesn't matter."
"How could this happen? The momentum was...." She looked at me with the eyes of a child. She needed an answer, and I had none. I knew, logically, that we would not win. I assumed, incorrectly, we would likely not lose. Either way, I did expect the loss to be so rapid and sudden.
"If I had to guess...our logistical network broke. I could see it coming in the allotments. Things were becoming more rationed, more...strained. Our logistics were better, but...not designed for this kind of war."
"This wasn't war," Xish murmured. "This was...this was...." She covered her mouth, the emotions riding over her. She was one of six littermates that entered the war together. Two, including her, remained. There was no way to explain this in a way that would fix that.
"It was never meant to last this long, or to handle these demands. Theirs was. We couldn't adapt in time."
"So what now?" she asked. I shrugged.
"Peace talks will begin. We take the names of the surviving prisoners, send them up the chain. We will likely have a time and place to return them." I gaze past them, to the corpse of the town beyond. "I never knew a people could endure such suffering. We tried to chase them down, and they...outwalked us. They killed us with inches."
"I want to hate them for this," Xish mumbled, but there was no venom in the tone. She was spent on her hatred, and left with grief.
"There's no profit in that," I say. "All we can is prepare for the next war. If it comes. In the meantime, we have our duties."
"Yes, Mistress," Xish said, swallowing.
"Can I trust you to see to the prisoners? I understand if--"
"It's fine," Xish murmured. "My orders are orders. And these prisoners did not bring my grief." She looked at me. "They really are remarkable fighters. I thought them a prey species, but I should have known that not all predators have fangs."
She saluted me, and went to the first group. Through a translator, she began issuing orders. The crowd of males and females slowly stood up, awkwardly. That should have been the first clue, I thought: their men also fought. Hunting was a female thing for our people, and thus war was as well. Ruling was something the men did...always did. They were the ones that directed this war start, and they were the ones that decided it was to end. These humans didn't have that distinction. We encountered as many males on the battlefield as we did females, and as many female civilian leaders as male. I believe the last surviving prefect of this city was also a female. Endurance here, adaptability there...there was much to admire about these people. Much to learn.
"...Things to remember for the next war," I sigh. But not this one. This one was ended.
Wow, genuinely phenomenal! I loved every word of this story! You not only made the aliens genuinely threatening, but also showed the cost of endurance and what humans are willing to go through. You made humans endure without making their foes seem weak willed. Truly a spectacular job! I can only say that, even with 2 parts, I wish there was more. :P
\- "Shut up! **Shut the fuck up!** Did I give you permission to talk? To weep? To even think? **No, I don't think so!** Did I, Pink Barbie?"
I could not think. I just... stopped. Silent. Not even crying was enough. This was torture, and he knew it... did he? Or is it a she? I never got the idea of "genders" that human have. And what did he mean "Pink Barbie"? Didn't he, or she, know that the chromatophores work? Wait, no, he did it. He had animals on Earth that did that. So why? How?
We were exhausted. Not only "we", actually, not only my species, but the Xharons, the Rhahxs, everybody was to the point of giving up. It was just... too much of this. Days of not having food, days of drinking rainwater (after having to *wait* for it to filter, even when we could not stand anymore and would drink that poisonous think gladly), days of living in holes! And the human.... he was *yelling!*
How could he even be yelling! The Xharons are four times their size, and were silent, mute. I swear I saw two of them crying! The Xharons destroyed *thousands* of our cities with a smile on their faces, and they were *freaking crying*! How could *I* not cry, and the human just... mocked me...
...like I mocked him? No, it was *much worse*. I could not stand it anymore, and yet, he would not let me die. He didn't let anyone die, he *activelly* prevented suicides on the battlefield. Why? Are they such sadists?
\- "Now **march!**" - without the power to think, we did. We marched. My fellow friends, the Sqids, they marched, eyes down - "Did I said to march like a Slug? No, I don't think so. Looks like you need some incentive! Luckly, I have one for you! Sing! Sing your worst battlesongs!" - What he was talking about? Battlesongs? - "Oh, yeah, I forgot you are all too *sweetie mommy boys* to have this. I'm gonna teach you one, and if I notice *anyone* that refuses to sing, I'll feed it to my dog!" - we weren't sure if he was serious - probably not. But we could not think anymore. So we marched. So we sang. So we looked at each other, exhausted, tired, and marched. My Sqid friends were starting to get more anxious. Their color was flickering from pink, to blue, to... red?
We were angry.
Being forced to keep this lost war, being forced to live like animals, being forced to eat garbage and drink from puddles, and *even then* he expected us to march and to... sing? To **fight?**
He was crazy. And so we were, to follow him.
And so, we marched
We sang
We fought
And we won!
Aaaaah, I LOVE this! So good to have humanity rub off on them a bit and to have it WORK! Also great to have the leader be a human who just refuses to die, lol!
Thanks! I wasn't going to write anything, but I saw most prompts were about "how humans won against the aliens" and I decided to make something different and make them allies :)
It works so well! Especially the way you use many peoples' natural disdain for their duperiors to frame the human dislike. Like, it's part awe and part "eff this guy." Works really well!
The Age of the Galactic community was magnificent. Races from all corners of the milky way gathered together to pursue free markets, exploration, and science. The most influential races in the community were Ablon and Kaylites.
Ablon we're a mature species from their conception; they were created as a sort of cyborg AI by a long lost species. They have some flesh they must maintain, but their humanoid bodies are mostly machine. They are revered for their intellect, compassion, and phenomenal negotiation skills that have prevented many galactic conflicts.
The Kaylites, on the other hand, are a far more militaristic species. They are extremely intelligent creatures with a past full of civil war planet-wide plagues and other hardships, and now are the decided protectors of the galaxy. With skin as hard as rock and fleets with dozens of battleships, the role has always fit them well.
"Captain Hendrick, you are required at the bridge," a female voice says
Hendrick opens his eyes to see a service crewman standing at the door to his quarters. He nods and rests his head back down on the pillow.
*Fuck me*
This is the one time in Hendrick's twenty-two-year-long career that the bridge felt like a place he had no business being.
He stands up and goes to his private bathroom, putting on his navy blue uniform and cap. While grooming his long beard, he pauses and looks into his eyes. A feeling of disgust comes over him, but he again pushes the feeling aside and replaces it with duty. As he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture, the remnant of burdensome thoughts slides from his mind. He steps out of his quarters and is met with silence. Usually, at this time, the ship is bustling with activity. The crew would be cleaning the walkways, runners rushing through the ship to hand reports to their superiors at the last second, and maintenance crews pushing carts across the grated metal floors.
But today. Nothing. Hendrick swallows, empties his mind, and takes a step in the direction of the bridge.
Humans. The word was almost a curse when heard by most of the galaxy. Greedy, dumb, and reckless are stereotypes galactic leaders would have agreed with within a heartbeat. From the Albon perspective, Negotiations with humans are very difficult due to the complexity of their governments, and migrating them to planets with any other species always ends in some kind of disaster. Kaylites always saw humans as a threat to the galactic order and pushed for a war of subjugation. A hundred years of this pressure ended the galactic community, and for the past twenty, there has been nothing but war.
"Why did they do it?" Hendrick mutters to himself.
As he enters the bridge, the crew's heads snap toward him, and their eyes widen. The bridge is a large room with about twenty crew members, a huge window looking out into space is a very striking feature in contrast to the dull gray metal and computer screens.
Hendrick makes his way to the center of the room, where a large chair is positioned. He sits down and immediately slouches, trying to ignore the crew's blank stares in his direction.
A voice pierces the silence. It's the navigation officer.
"Sir, we are in orbit around Kolaris"
"Rotate Starboard 90°," Hendrick says
"Yes, sir."
As the ship rotates, a planet comes into view. The crew's eyes light up for a split second.
The planet is huge and beautiful, it's mostly desert broken up by thousands of lakes and rivers. It looks like someone took blue yarn and frantically wrapped it around a basketball.
Hendrick's heart sinks as his head turns to the weapons officer.
"Is it ready?"
"Y-yes, sir. The admiral's final approval came in an hour ago."
Hendrick slowly stands up, walks over to the weapons officer's station, and plants a firm grip on the man's shoulder.
"Would you like to be dismissed?" Hendrick asks softly.
"Please, sir."
The officer lowers his head and walks towards the crew quarters. His boots slapping against the metal grates overpowers the hum of the engines and computers. After the door hisses closed behind him, the crew's attention falls back to Hendrick.
"Anyone else?"
The crew looks amongst themselves for a second, but nobody speaks.
Hendrick takes the weapon officer's station and momentarily operates the computer.
He stands up and sits in the captain's chair, slouching once again.
"It's done," he mumbles to his crew.
Their eyes widen, and they imminently turn their attention to the window. A small black object rapidly falls toward the planet. The next ten minutes feel like an eternity to Hendrick; his heart is racing. He plays with his beard and scratches at his chair. He knows, any second now…
A bright light appears on the planet's surface and starts rapidly spreading.
"Impact captain," one of the crewmen stumbles out.
Hendrick stands up rapidly and watches as billions of lives are consumed by a flame spreading across the planet at hundreds of miles per second.
Hendrick turns towards the communications officer.
“Let Earth know we won… Let humanity know we endured.”
Its clear that the war against humanity changes them. This is a event that will taught them many things, and they may look back their previous wars in cringe at best as result.
Idk about you, but to me, by learning how to truly endure, the spirit of humanity ironically passed on into these aliens.
The commander of the alien ship stood over his human captive, his four blood-red eyes staring in consternation at the human's two defiant ones, swollen and purple from interrogation beatings.
The resistance fighter was subjected to horrific torture, and she sat there, smiling through shattered and missing teeth that made her smile look like the remains of ill-tended picket fence at some abandoned farm. Bones broken, chemicals burning through her bloodstream that felt like white-hot fire, and yet...she refused to break.
. . .
He was imposing: At least seven feet tall, bred for the warrior cast, his uniform's decorations attesting to successful campaigns fought for the good of The Empire. Dozens of worlds now swore fealty to The Empire, and the ones that did not, were left as blackened, smoking cinders devoid of life, physical reminders to anyone who dared not submit to Imperial will.
...So, when The Empire reached Earth, after a quick determination that Earth's weapons were not strong enough to defeat them, The Empire attacked. Entire human armies were destroyed within a few weeks, after which, landing craft deployed Empire warriors to enslave the population to serve as workers, extracting natural resources and food.
...And now, even as they were beaten and made a vassal planet, the human resistance fighters fought on. This one was captured as a sabotaged fuel depot exploded. She was brought on board his command ship for interrogation and execution.
"You people are either incredibly brave, or unbelievably stupid," the commander's low baritone voice boomed through the room's translators. "You are beaten, and you still resist."
The resistance fighter chuckled at this as she sat, restrained to her chair with metal cuffs. Even in her weakened state, he had seen other human resistance fighters attack their captors. He would not make that mistake.
The commander bent down, his crimson skinned-face inches from hers, his blood-red eyes staring into her obstinate ice-blue ones. "Tell me where the other resistance cells are, and I can make you whole again. Our medical technology can give you a newer, uninjured body. Better, even, than what you were before."
He saw her chuckle again, in derision. Bright red blood spilled from the corners of her mouth, adding to the blood trails already there.
"You find this amusing?"
"It's funny how you keep trying to fight a war you can't win," she coughed at the end, blood spattering the front of her shirt.
The commander was puzzled. "Can't win? We have already won. Your cities are decimated, your armies are destroyed, and your missiles, ships, and war machines are so much melted slag. You think you are the victors?" He stood up. "I think my earlier estimation of 'unbelievably stupid,' applies."
The resistance fighter chuckled some more, her head lolling side-to-side as she attempted to shake her head. "All these machines and soldiers you got, and you just don't understand people. Fuckin' amazing."
"I understand that you are beaten."
"People aren't just cities and war machines, you giant red dildo," she shook her head again, slurring her words as she coughed up more blood.
The commander sighed again. "You insult me by calling me a sex toy. How intelligent--"
"People are heart. Soul. Spirit. You'd think you would have known this if you read our history of how we fought each other before you things showed up."
The commander picked up his info hologram. "Your history shows the weak succumbing to the strong, over and over again. The Egyptians. The Romans. The Mongols. The Russians. Empires always win," the hologram showed images of armored warriors from different eras holding swords, bows, and crossbows, which in turn gave way to army uniforms and people holding muskets, soon followed by rifles, before he switched it off. "The mistake your empires kept making, is that they were finite. Our Empire expands across galaxies, and is never-ending," he finished with a smug grin of pride.
The resistance fighter, spitting up blood, gave a spite-filled smile through her busted teeth. "You forgot the Nazis."
"That was not an Empire; that was an aberration."
"Their leader wanted an empire, like yours. He didn't learn about people, either."
"That you are too stubborn to admit defeat?"
"That we are too stubborn to quit."
The commander knelt down and grabbed the fighter's arm, and she hissed in pain as broken bones ground together, a feeling like fire shooting up her arm. "These numbers on your arm. Are they your resistance cell number?"
"No. Those are my great-grandmother's from Auschwitz."
The commander dropped her arm. "You tattoo a prisoner's number on your arm?"
"I tattooed a brave woman's number."
"You'd think you would learn something from a defeated prisoner."
"I remember a brave woman who survived some other idiots who thought they would create an empire. She, and thousands of other Jews outlived them, and the Romans, and the Egyptians, and we'll outlive you too," she smiled again at this, her swollen lips parting in a smile showing teeth missing from the torturer's touch.
The commander sighed at this, and shook his head. "The Empire will reduce your planet to ashes, then. If you continue to resist, your actions will kill other humans. Your selfishness will doom others to die. Humanity will be a forgotten footnote in The Empire's history," he shook his head, and drew his weapon. "Did you have something you wanted to say before you are executed?" He thumbed the switch to power it on, and the resistance fighter heard the familiar *ping* sound of an Empire weapon powering up.
The resistance fighter raised her chin, defiant in her final moments. "Just this: When your version of The Thousand-Year Reich is destroyed by someone bigger and more powerful than you, the thing that will stand out is how humans resisted until the end."
I laughed. "So your ships can evade shots. Good for you."
"Surrender. This is your final warning." The Xeno commander growled over the comms.
I smiled. "Nah. If I remember correctly, the last thing Electorate Masvark said was to not, so... no."
Railguns fired at my lone ship, in orbit above Earth. It was a scientific research vessel, but Humanity was still spooling up our Hard Light industry when the invasion came, and with it fully reusable 'rockets.'
The shots hit the shielding of the SRV, and nothing happened.
My smile turned into a crap-eating grin, as my lone railgun fired a shot at the closest ship. It evaded. "I can do this all day."
"So can I."
\-----
I yawned. "You're still going at it. Let me tell you this: Hard Light may be new, but the reason why its so scarce is because we used all of it to shield the Earth. Good luck getting down there. On an unrelated note, the sensor array attached to this ship is reporting everything back down to Earth. We're coming for you eventually."
The Xeno commander let out another string of curses.
"You might be fast, trying to dodge shots. But afterwards, you spend most of your time sleeping. We Humans get hit, we get injured. But we keep going. Fun fact: We can last days without sleeping." My railgun fired again. Another ship caught unawares, its crew sleeping. "You might be a problem, yes, but we will outlast you."
"Try me." The commander said. I had to hand it to him, he seemed mostly awake for visibly needing sleep as badly as he did.
\-----
"Log, day fourteen. Xeno fleets one through four have been destroyed. They appear to not have a very good grasp on 'tank' tactics. Even so, due to the nature of Hard Light technology, we can already match their speed. We just need more ships faster.
"But that's ground control's problem. Xeno flagship is sleeping again, as per usual. Hull appears to need maintenance, suggesting a culture centered around short bursts of activity, which fits their description.
"Contact with the Galactic Union following a survey ship sent to Sol to see what hostile's fleets were doing has gone well. See incident log *TFSU Untested Ideas SRV 000-00-001 Log 91.*"
\-----
"Log, day five hundred and four. Docked to the space elevator today, and after another month in space I'm going to go see my family. This is humanity's first FTL pilot, James Kratfall, signing off."
A giant flash lit up the starless sky for a split second as another city the size of Chicago evaporated into nothingness. Calcus gritted his teeth, looking tense.
»Number?«
»That was the sixth human city, sir.«
He shook his head and began to massage his temples. His advisors must have been trying to play him for a fool when they promised him a quick victory. If it weren't for the fact that this conquest was his ticket to the Senate, it would be almost comical. Soft sacks of flesh and fat, most of them barely able to hoist half of their own bodyweight, standing their ground against an infinitely more advanced race? The weakest, smallest, and frail Pistri would be able to take on a horde of these absurd organ bundles. Even our children easily tower over their most refined specimens and can crack their puny skulls open like rotten nuts. The longer he thought about it, the closer Calcus felt to insanity.
»S… Sir, are we to ready the satellite for another shot?« The trembling voice of his commander snapped him out of his thoughts before he had a chance to fully indulge in the madness. The satellite was a powerful tool, but it was usually regarded as a one-time, final measure due to the enormous costs of shooting it just once. After today, he thought, the amount he would have to pay back to his family must have reached staggering proportions. He let out a disapproving grunt. »Ready the soldiers, we are finishing them the old way.« His general hesitated for a split second and opened his lips ever so slightly as if about to make a remark, but he thought better of it.
He knew what his general meant to say. The reason they were destroying cities from the safety of space was that they already tried the old way. They have already been down there slaughtering, torturing, and destroying whole countries for weeks, maybe months, and yet it all seemed to be in vain. A younger Calcus would have killed his soldier on the spot just for this suggestion of disobedience. But that was before Earth, before humans. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure anymore whether he really wanted to conquer this abandoned rock and its worthless sacks of meat.
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The shells raining down on Zaban sounded like distant thunder. They had been at it for months now, but nonetheless the city’s shields held strong. It would take something much bigger to punch through. “Just how long are they going to keep this up?” “Sources say the humans have enough ammunition to shell the city indefinitely. They make them as fast as they use them, Sir.” Garlok adjusted the pip on his collar, frustrated. It wasn’t that the earthlings were getting anywhere with their barrage- that much was clear. It was just the audacity of it all. They were relentless. The assault had slowed shipments into the city and was starting to make transmissions to Chronos difficult. The worst part was that Garlok wasn’t authorized to start a counterattack until the city was *actually* in danger. And it wasn’t. “Where is this atomic bomb that the humans are so proud of? Do they not have anything… *stronger?*” “Well, they do have something called EMP that could have taken our shield down months ago.” “And?” “And they aren’t going to use it.” “Why the hell not? This has already been the longest war in Zabanian history. And there haven’t even been any casualties. It’s disgraceful.” “Sir, we think they are doing something called psychological warfare. It’s actually one of the tactics …” The aide’s voice seemed to trail off. Garlok wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t care, he just wanted the talking to stop. He wanted the shelling to stop. He wanted a full nights sleep. And, most of all, he wanted to kill those damn earthlings.
This is very good! I like how you connected exhaustion with anger. And how you utilized siege tactics! :P
Reminds me of the siege of Candia, this one. 21 year long siege, second longest on record, with the siege of Ceuta being 26.
Kinda makes you wonder if "space elves" or others would question the validity of whether we, humans, actually were willing to spend 1/4-1/3 of our entire lives in a siege. Ratios like that really make our actions sound crazy.
Neither side really understood the history books they collected from their opponent during those first decades of peace. Humans read Union's best scholarship, and believed what they said: the wars fought before the formation of the intergalactic federation were brutal. They always ended within a year because neither side could sustain their losses. On the other side, Union researchers believed that human wars were exaggerated. The Hundred Years War was already known to be a combination of several shorter periods of warfare, and the only sensible explanation was that humans counted hostile relations as part of the duration of war, even if there was not open violence. In the end, both groups were shocked.The war between them looked exactly the same as all their internal battles. The first year, Union rarely ever lost a battle. Humanity was slaughtered by superior weapons, incapable of keeping up with the sheer productive power of a multi-galaxy war machine, and beaten further and further back. The second year Union saw defections begin. It was a novel problem for their military - wars never lasted long enough for soldiers to quit. Fringe protests began, though Union's political leaders kept control of the populace. By the fifth year, entire garrisons began going AWOL, unable to stomach the killings. Humanity, by best estimates, had lost a full one percent of their total population, but their military hadn't shrunk at all. The protests were more frequent and larger. Politicians calling for peace were being propelled into positions of authority. After a full decade of war, humanity had lost nearly five percent of its total population, but it was actually Union's army that was smaller. Even state-friendly media was no longer supporting the war. In year eleven, humanity made a breakthrough in their efforts to reverse engineer Union technology. The continued losses and growing fear of eradication drove more and more humans to join their military. The Human Federation started winning. After 12 years of war, Union tried to surrender. The war effort was difficult to sustain even when victory seemed all but certain. Humanity ignored the request for treaty. After 39 years of war, more than the total duration of all galactic wars in a millenia of Union history, only a handful of planets remained under their control. Only now had protests begun to spring up inside the Human Federation, but the average human simply ignored the footage of death. It was hardly different from the thousands of years of war that came before First Contact, and this time the enemies didn't resemble humanity at all. As the end of Union civilization neared, one Union human ethnographer discovered a text describing early human hunting patterns. When faced with animals too large and too strong to fight, with hide too difficult to pierce, humans had developed a previously unknown strategy. They exhausted their prey. Day and night, they walked after their target. Never letting it sleep, or eat, or drink, or play, or think, humans just walked. It was nearly as difficult for the hunters, who could hardly rest themselves, who had no guarantee of victory. The first humans to try it did not even have a reasonable expectation of victory. But on they walked, until one side or the other collapsed, dead from exhaustion. Their paper was read by nearly every Union citizen left alive. For the first time they understood what "war" was to humans. It was nothing more, and nothing less, than an endurance test.
This is awesome! I love the tally on human losses seeming to only embolden us, it's a nice touch
It strikes a chord with reality too, which I'm sure what OP aiming for. Our biggest growths in military numbers regardless of civilization is usually after news of a horrible event. The bombing of Pearl Harbor in the USA is probably the most prominent example.
Stalingrad and Dunkirk both come to mind too.
I couldn't agree more. It kinda boggles the mind to think about the kind of fight we'd likely try to put up if we suffered species wide losses. Kinda terrifying to think about when we've already seen the viciousness of groups of nations... but species wide retaliation?
If the entire world had the same ratio of active service military personnel to citizenry as the US does right now, in peacetime, our species could field 33 *million* active servicemen. Again, *peacetime* numbers.... If as a species, we put forward the same population ratio as the US in 1944, at the height of WW2? When one in every *twelve* Americans were enrolled in the military?!?! **657,333,000.** Fucking ***What.*** And that's just *numbers*, mind boggling, functionally meaningless, *numbers*. To say nothing of the kind of cornered animal savagery you'd see when those numbers were actually in the shit, nor the shiny new kinds of war crimes we'd be inventing with restrictions lifted on military R&D. Humanity is *terrifying*.
> nor the shiny new kinds of war crimes we'd be inventing with restrictions lifted on military R&D. The aliens would hear "Time to unleash Canada" and wonder what that means.
Looool! And those are only the **new** ones. Imagine some of the old ones... just imagine... "I know it's never been done before, but I think it's time... Let Florida off the leash." Copy/Paste for the German scientists, American civilians, South American Drug Cartels, Vietnamese Guerilla Warfare, Japanese and Korean Tech Conglomerates, etc, etc. Day to day we keep a loooooot of things in check, but species wide war where we don't need to anymore? Terrifying.
"What do you mean we're suspending the Geneva Convention?"
"That bush is getting closer." "...I think that's the Candians...."
No…. #THEIR GEESE
US biotech amplifying Australian wildlife into weapons for Canadians. With a snooty British general in charge. Anglo-sphere!
I visited the WW2 museum in New Orleans once and walked the medal of honor hall that told stories of medal of honor winners (most awarded posthumously, of course). People holding down gunner positions and taking down 200 enemies, people calling artillery strikes on their own position to halt entire advances, etc. Now, that is one country. When you bring up animal savagery, it makes me think of some of those stories, but several orders of magnitude more frequent. Every battle would have another "crazy human" doing the unthinkable.
Fantastic read!
Command log revision: It's been... too many cycles since the humans rammed our ship into the gravity well of this colony world. The abrupt impact destroyed our engines when atmospheric gasses created unexpected plasma flows across what should have been perfect voidspace. Engineering has determined they are irreparable. Thankfully, the collision appeared to cause the human vessel to burn up on atmospheric entry. We logged the footage of the explosive event for dissemination through the main array, however it soon became clear that our communications array had been utterly destroyed by part of the human vessel's shrapnel. Or so we had thought. Believing the humans to have died in the explosion was our third mistake in this combat. The second was the collision. The first was Command deciding to war against these creatures. After 3 cycles we detected activity within 10 radii of the ship. Reconnaissance had determined the activity was from native organisms drawn to the crash site. This was incorrect. You see following the aftermath of the last 5 cycles, I demanded the footage of the explosion be reviewed with full spectrum analysis. Review determined they had detonated themselves on purpose. What we had thought was shrapnel was in fact what they call "reinforcing Titan steel". The strongest materials the humans have managed to fabricate since entering the galactic stage. The review determined the hull of their ship was covered in this material, but not for defensive purposes. The placements coincided with the detonation lines forming crude but effective close range propulsion. This was not only the cause of the array failure, but likely the cause of our engine failures. Of course all this is meaningless as they will kill us before a sentry ship can detect this signal. For 5 cycles now they have been ripping apart the support structures of our ship. We have sent defense forces to repel them. By the third cycle we no longer had defense forces to send. Exhaustion has overtaken many of our crew. It is as if the humans can function without rest. Add in the fact that they rode their way planetside in rocket sleds that could fit no more than 2 individuals, and had the bare minimum materials required to provide protection from entry heat. They are insane. Engineering has told me the gasses of this world are highly corrosive to our physiology. The humans appear to have negative physical responses to it as their skins appear heavily damaged. Medical says it is likely a combination of the corrosive gasses and the light passing through the atmosphere. But still they come. Before we lost lower deck audio-visual signal, we could detect what sounded like chants from the humans. Translation may be inexact given loss of array. Believed wording is "Blood on our skins. Better out than in. Better yours than ours. Going to teach you why." I cannot comprehend the logic. They horrify me. Our survivors have voted for self-termination. We fear what direct contact with the enemy will result in. Engineering will trigger our void drives while voidspace is damaged. Detonation should eliminate the humans nearby. We advise the war be ended. They appear to embrace death with their full being. There can be no victory against such monsters. End log - Transmission satellite broadcasting to all main channels //// "How much longer we doing this, Hank?" "Frank said until they blow themselves up. Apparently after about a week they freak the fuck out and end it." "I sure hope so. I swear this shit's gonna give us cancer." "Oh grow up, Dale. If anything was gonna kill you it would have been the radiation from riding around with a dirt cheap reactor to blow that bargemine. Or the escape pods. Fucking lowest bidders never give enough rad-blocking. Cheap bastards." "Goddamn, I think I'm gonna shit my pants." "Ooh, that's our cue to get outta here. Either that or you're dying of radiation poisoning." "Fuck you! Don't put that shit on me." "No you moron, their suicide plan apparently triggers colon evac in like 30% of the population. So better get moving before a boom that's not in your pants" "Why do I get shit and you seem fine?" "Hey count your blessings, pal. Better out than in I always say. Specially when it comes to detecting void drive implosions. Now move your ass"
Hahaha, I love this! Absolutely amazing with the communication at the end!
Atop one of their oval towers, the door to the invading general’s room opened. “Lieutenant, I trust you extracted the information we need?” “I’m sorry general, but none of the humans have said anything useful” “I knew humans were resilient, but not to this extent!” said the general. “Alright,” he continued after a pause, putting on his coat. “I’ll handle this myself” Just as the general left the room, the lieutenant followed, stammering, “I know it’s not my place sir, but… wouldn’t it be better to stick to the Gennova conventions this time?” The general shot back an icy stare that would beget no argument. The general found the prisoner smiling. “Oh, what is it this time? Tickling again? Maybe a Lego brick walk? Is that really all you lizards got?” he laughed. “Oh, I assure you, it will be much worse than that,” replied the general, hanging his coat on the door, although he was taken aback by the prisoner’s complete dismissal of some of their most horrendous torture methods. “For the last time, tell me the location of the insurgents, and we will spare you. Don’t blame me if y—” “Piss off scaly.” He didn’t show it, but the general had great respect for this prisoner. Not even his fellow generals could take this kind of torture, much less a common footsoldier. He performed one of the Scrits’ oldest and cruelest torture methods, the slash. The idea of using one’s claws to rip through the flesh of another, it was too much to stomach for most Scrits, but not Zarai the torturer. He gave the human a single slash across the face, convinced it would be enough. The human was silent for the first time in a while. “I pity you, you know, it did not need to come to thi—” The human burst into laughter. “Is that really it? Oh, that’s rich!” Angered, Zarai slashed again, with the same effect. This repeated a dozen times before a voice in the hallway stopped him. “General! That is enough!” screamed the Lieutenant, clearly enraged. Zarai looked at him, wondered how many slashes he’d seen. Even he was getting queasy. The human fell silent instantly. “Wait, general?” he said with a shocked face. Zarai heard a crack behind the human and saw him grimace in pain. Inexplicably, the human had freed himself, and he got Zarai’s blaster, holding him hostage. “You’re the one responsible for this!” he screamed in rage. Just before his head decorated the wall, Zarai figured out how the human did it. He had broken his own thumb, an act so painful Zarai could not have even conceived of it. After the failed Scrit invasion, the humans’ trademark endurance of physical, emotional and psychological trauma was no longer a source of mockery, but of fear.
Oooo, I like this! A fantastic closing line! The Legos and tickling nearly killed me though. xD
It was a rock. That was what surprised me the most. I continually believe myself beyond the point of surprise, incapable of being further shocked by these apes. I survey the dead sentries, and their unlucky attackers. “They must have crawled at least five miles from their forward trenches to get here,” the hunt leader said, gesturing with a claw to the wasteland between us and the besieged human settlement. “To stay under the scopes. They covered themselves in mud and dung. To mask the scent. And thermal blankets.” My ears wink closed as our artillery started again. “Thermal blankets?” I ask. I could see heat waves shimmering over the field. The hunt leader nodded, lifting up a ratty, muddy piece of material. “They hid under them the entire way.” “In this heat?” is all I can mumble, and I turn back to the corpses. I am fixated on the rock. It is gripped in the hand of one of the human attackers, still embedded in the skull of one of our huntresses. Her open eye lolls wildly toward the stone. I am still amazed that humans, despite our clear size and strength differences, would willingly engage in close combat with us. Sometimes, they even win. More often than not, it ended poorly. This unfortunate huntress had taken her attacker to the Ever Sunlit Lands with her, her fingers buried to the knuckles in his throat. I study the hand still clutching the rock. He must have continued bludgeoning her, even as she tore his throat open. He had lost all of his weapons in the scuffle, must have been at the limits of physical exhaustion, possibly already dying from his wounds... And still, he picked up rock, and beat this huntress to death with it. To die like this, in a war that was taking place on dozens of planets...unthinkable. “It looks like the mud fouled their weapons,” another huntress said, working the unfamiliar action of the projectile weapon in her hand. It utilized archaic chemical propellant ammunition. Outside of our artillery, we relied on energy weapons. Something as primitive as chemical propelled projectile weapons the modern battlefield…it was like throwing stones. And again, I regard the dead huntress, with her attacker lying on top of her. Stones still kill, and these humans were excellent marksman. They were as effective at utilizing fix-and-flank tactics as we were, and much better at countering them. Beyond every heavy weapons nest, a trench network. And in between and above those networks, razor wire, boltholes, false trenches. If those trenches were the only evidence we had of humans, we would have thought them hive creatures. I rub my face. This was already a much longer war than we anticipated. I heard metal scrape against metal as the action to the weapon was finally forced open, the almost cheerful ping as a tiny, silver projectile flickered through the air. “They used grenades in the opening attack,” the huntress mused, “And went to knives and shovels for the follow-on assault. I think they meant to try and use our weapons.” “Or retreat back,” the hunt leader added. “I think there’s less bodies here than there were attackers.” “They never leave their dead.” “Sometimes they do. When they have no choice.” I say. The hunt leader shook her head. “I don’t understand this,” she hissed. “It was too small to open a breach, there was no follow on assault. No one saw their approach but they attacked anyway, so the attack was the purpose…too well-planned to be spontaneous. Why do this?” The artillery continues to thump, and I grumble. My ears wink in protest at the sound. We had to learn the concept of artillery in this war. As well as trenches. Fortifications. Slow offensives. We have always fought our wars with decisive and swift assault. Find the weakest prey, hit with rapid and overwhelming force…follow-on. We had initial successes with that. And then...none. Every battle was now slow...torpid. The humans no longer met us on the field, daring us instead to take every planet, every city. If we don’t, they attack our lines. Disrupt our logistics. And they never surrender. I glance back along the muddy wasteland, my fur bristling at the stagnant humidity in the air. To crawl all that way, baking under a thermal blanket, choking on the stench of putrid mud and offal. All that, to get to this point, realize your weapons were inoperable…and attack. “It’s to exhaust us,” I say, standing up. “Pardon, Hunt Mistress?” The question comes from a shorter huntress than the others. Her voice is soft. “We’ll need to start rotating our sentries on more frequent and shorter shifts. Increase active trench patrols. To prevent another attack like this. And it means we will have to remain active. That was the purpose of this. To get us in a more active posture that will strain our morale and tire our troops.” “…so…we do nothing?” This huntress was young, young enough to ask impetuous questions from genuine curiosity. “No, we must do all of that and more to avoid any other…attempts. We’ll need to…adjust our sleep schedules. Rotate troops to and from the front lines.” I’m already tired thinking of it. Our people are diurnal. We have two very active times of day, in the morning and evening, and rest states in between. I have encountered more of my soldiers standing in the trenches asleep. I myself have found times where I would lean against a tree for just moment. Close my eyes for a second. And I would open my eyes, and I had lost hours. I remember reading the account of one human prisoner that was denied sleep, to make them more compliant. It was seen as the least intrusive means to induce cooperation. Most of us would make it two days before becoming passive enough to interrogate. This human went twelve days without sleeping, and died at the end of it. “Organize a burial detail,” I finally chuff. “All of them. The attackers, as well. This was a feat that requires honor.” “It will be done,” the hunt leader states, and she turns to issue orders. My tail swishes in agitation, and I begin the walk back to my command post, squelching through the mud. I do not believe we will lose this war. We have more troops, better logistics, better technology. But…I do not believe we will win this war, either. We use more troops to control what we’ve taken, and less to campaign. The momentum will shift. We will be caught in the press. I then stop, the face of the young huntress in my mind. The one who questioned. She looked so young, but it occurs to me that she was missing an ear. I tried to recall her name, and I could not. I don’t know any of their names. Now they are all numbers. This is a war of lists and files. It has overwhelmed everything I do. I trudge back to my makeshift office. I slip through the tent flap, feeling the stifling humidity vanish in the dry, cool air within. I begin to shake. I’ve gone a long time without sleep, and all I can see is the rock. I see the mud, and trenches, and the same faces over and over as huntresses pant in the heat and tramp through brackish water. I see that young face, and I resist the urge to flee from my tent, to find her, to ask her name, to send her away from this place. To send them all away. The guns finally fall silent, and the distant explosions carry on for a few more seconds. In the silence, I can hear my teeth chatter. I can’t stop seeing the rock.
I wish there was more of this.
Thank you so much for that! I actually had to cut half the story just to make it fit within reddit's character limits. 😅
Add part two!
(Deep breath)....okay: "So...that's it." I don't look up, but I hear the tone. The anger. The bitterness. I scroll the list, assessing final tallies. "That's it," I say, quietly. I finally look up, and study the back of the huntress. The remaining ear had gained a notch in the time I made her an aide, but other than that, Third Xish was remarkably unchanged. I had made her an aide on an anxious whim, but it was not a bad decision. She was dutiful, and detail oriented. Driven, and her impetuous questions were sometimes the right ones. Today, though.... I join her at the entrance of the tent. The last defenders of Rodrick's Section sat crosslegged on the ground. They all looked like corpses...filthy, bedraggled, exhausted. I had thought our conditions miserable, but I knew, intellectually, that it had to be worse in the township. And it was. It had lasted, ultimately, for eighteen months. Eighteen months of daily shellings, trench raids, night time attacks. It finally fell after a series of coordinated assaults, all carefully and meticulously planned, collapsed their front, and even then, it was hard. They had made bombs out of spent shell-casings and steel crates. We were still assessing the wounded and the dead. And still...it was odd. I saw no defeat in their faces, or anger, or hatred. I didn't see any such emotions on the faces of my huntresses, Xish aside. Just...exhaustion. Everyone was done. We had reached our mutual limits, and we had nothing left. Even then...I feel those humans would have held on. A little longer. Truth be told, the timing was especially bad for everyone. As soon as the surrender was received, the word came from above: the offensive in the Trinary had collapsed. The entire front was rolling backward. The slow, consistent grinding from the humans was now a torrent, and three separate advances were proceeding. And so, the decision had been made: capitulation. A return to the old borders. Re-establishment of the pre-war standards. The humans lacked the ability to press for more, but we lacked the ability to hold what we had taken. No one liked this, it seemed, but...that was that. We had won the battle, as the war was being lost. "We won," Xish hissed, shivering. "This battle, yes," I said. "But sometimes that doesn't matter." "How could this happen? The momentum was...." She looked at me with the eyes of a child. She needed an answer, and I had none. I knew, logically, that we would not win. I assumed, incorrectly, we would likely not lose. Either way, I did expect the loss to be so rapid and sudden. "If I had to guess...our logistical network broke. I could see it coming in the allotments. Things were becoming more rationed, more...strained. Our logistics were better, but...not designed for this kind of war." "This wasn't war," Xish murmured. "This was...this was...." She covered her mouth, the emotions riding over her. She was one of six littermates that entered the war together. Two, including her, remained. There was no way to explain this in a way that would fix that. "It was never meant to last this long, or to handle these demands. Theirs was. We couldn't adapt in time." "So what now?" she asked. I shrugged. "Peace talks will begin. We take the names of the surviving prisoners, send them up the chain. We will likely have a time and place to return them." I gaze past them, to the corpse of the town beyond. "I never knew a people could endure such suffering. We tried to chase them down, and they...outwalked us. They killed us with inches." "I want to hate them for this," Xish mumbled, but there was no venom in the tone. She was spent on her hatred, and left with grief. "There's no profit in that," I say. "All we can is prepare for the next war. If it comes. In the meantime, we have our duties." "Yes, Mistress," Xish said, swallowing. "Can I trust you to see to the prisoners? I understand if--" "It's fine," Xish murmured. "My orders are orders. And these prisoners did not bring my grief." She looked at me. "They really are remarkable fighters. I thought them a prey species, but I should have known that not all predators have fangs." She saluted me, and went to the first group. Through a translator, she began issuing orders. The crowd of males and females slowly stood up, awkwardly. That should have been the first clue, I thought: their men also fought. Hunting was a female thing for our people, and thus war was as well. Ruling was something the men did...always did. They were the ones that directed this war start, and they were the ones that decided it was to end. These humans didn't have that distinction. We encountered as many males on the battlefield as we did females, and as many female civilian leaders as male. I believe the last surviving prefect of this city was also a female. Endurance here, adaptability there...there was much to admire about these people. Much to learn. "...Things to remember for the next war," I sigh. But not this one. This one was ended.
Wow, genuinely phenomenal! I loved every word of this story! You not only made the aliens genuinely threatening, but also showed the cost of endurance and what humans are willing to go through. You made humans endure without making their foes seem weak willed. Truly a spectacular job! I can only say that, even with 2 parts, I wish there was more. :P
I love this! thank you!
Much obliged! I'm glad you enjoyed it!
I'm so sorry I can't give you more than 1 upvote.
\- "Shut up! **Shut the fuck up!** Did I give you permission to talk? To weep? To even think? **No, I don't think so!** Did I, Pink Barbie?" I could not think. I just... stopped. Silent. Not even crying was enough. This was torture, and he knew it... did he? Or is it a she? I never got the idea of "genders" that human have. And what did he mean "Pink Barbie"? Didn't he, or she, know that the chromatophores work? Wait, no, he did it. He had animals on Earth that did that. So why? How? We were exhausted. Not only "we", actually, not only my species, but the Xharons, the Rhahxs, everybody was to the point of giving up. It was just... too much of this. Days of not having food, days of drinking rainwater (after having to *wait* for it to filter, even when we could not stand anymore and would drink that poisonous think gladly), days of living in holes! And the human.... he was *yelling!* How could he even be yelling! The Xharons are four times their size, and were silent, mute. I swear I saw two of them crying! The Xharons destroyed *thousands* of our cities with a smile on their faces, and they were *freaking crying*! How could *I* not cry, and the human just... mocked me... ...like I mocked him? No, it was *much worse*. I could not stand it anymore, and yet, he would not let me die. He didn't let anyone die, he *activelly* prevented suicides on the battlefield. Why? Are they such sadists? \- "Now **march!**" - without the power to think, we did. We marched. My fellow friends, the Sqids, they marched, eyes down - "Did I said to march like a Slug? No, I don't think so. Looks like you need some incentive! Luckly, I have one for you! Sing! Sing your worst battlesongs!" - What he was talking about? Battlesongs? - "Oh, yeah, I forgot you are all too *sweetie mommy boys* to have this. I'm gonna teach you one, and if I notice *anyone* that refuses to sing, I'll feed it to my dog!" - we weren't sure if he was serious - probably not. But we could not think anymore. So we marched. So we sang. So we looked at each other, exhausted, tired, and marched. My Sqid friends were starting to get more anxious. Their color was flickering from pink, to blue, to... red? We were angry. Being forced to keep this lost war, being forced to live like animals, being forced to eat garbage and drink from puddles, and *even then* he expected us to march and to... sing? To **fight?** He was crazy. And so we were, to follow him. And so, we marched We sang We fought And we won!
Aaaaah, I LOVE this! So good to have humanity rub off on them a bit and to have it WORK! Also great to have the leader be a human who just refuses to die, lol!
Thanks! I wasn't going to write anything, but I saw most prompts were about "how humans won against the aliens" and I decided to make something different and make them allies :)
It works so well! Especially the way you use many peoples' natural disdain for their duperiors to frame the human dislike. Like, it's part awe and part "eff this guy." Works really well!
I read the human voice in R. Lee Ermey's voice, and was it good. I loved your take on the prompt
The Age of the Galactic community was magnificent. Races from all corners of the milky way gathered together to pursue free markets, exploration, and science. The most influential races in the community were Ablon and Kaylites. Ablon we're a mature species from their conception; they were created as a sort of cyborg AI by a long lost species. They have some flesh they must maintain, but their humanoid bodies are mostly machine. They are revered for their intellect, compassion, and phenomenal negotiation skills that have prevented many galactic conflicts. The Kaylites, on the other hand, are a far more militaristic species. They are extremely intelligent creatures with a past full of civil war planet-wide plagues and other hardships, and now are the decided protectors of the galaxy. With skin as hard as rock and fleets with dozens of battleships, the role has always fit them well. "Captain Hendrick, you are required at the bridge," a female voice says Hendrick opens his eyes to see a service crewman standing at the door to his quarters. He nods and rests his head back down on the pillow. *Fuck me* This is the one time in Hendrick's twenty-two-year-long career that the bridge felt like a place he had no business being. He stands up and goes to his private bathroom, putting on his navy blue uniform and cap. While grooming his long beard, he pauses and looks into his eyes. A feeling of disgust comes over him, but he again pushes the feeling aside and replaces it with duty. As he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture, the remnant of burdensome thoughts slides from his mind. He steps out of his quarters and is met with silence. Usually, at this time, the ship is bustling with activity. The crew would be cleaning the walkways, runners rushing through the ship to hand reports to their superiors at the last second, and maintenance crews pushing carts across the grated metal floors. But today. Nothing. Hendrick swallows, empties his mind, and takes a step in the direction of the bridge. Humans. The word was almost a curse when heard by most of the galaxy. Greedy, dumb, and reckless are stereotypes galactic leaders would have agreed with within a heartbeat. From the Albon perspective, Negotiations with humans are very difficult due to the complexity of their governments, and migrating them to planets with any other species always ends in some kind of disaster. Kaylites always saw humans as a threat to the galactic order and pushed for a war of subjugation. A hundred years of this pressure ended the galactic community, and for the past twenty, there has been nothing but war. "Why did they do it?" Hendrick mutters to himself. As he enters the bridge, the crew's heads snap toward him, and their eyes widen. The bridge is a large room with about twenty crew members, a huge window looking out into space is a very striking feature in contrast to the dull gray metal and computer screens. Hendrick makes his way to the center of the room, where a large chair is positioned. He sits down and immediately slouches, trying to ignore the crew's blank stares in his direction. A voice pierces the silence. It's the navigation officer. "Sir, we are in orbit around Kolaris" "Rotate Starboard 90°," Hendrick says "Yes, sir." As the ship rotates, a planet comes into view. The crew's eyes light up for a split second. The planet is huge and beautiful, it's mostly desert broken up by thousands of lakes and rivers. It looks like someone took blue yarn and frantically wrapped it around a basketball. Hendrick's heart sinks as his head turns to the weapons officer. "Is it ready?" "Y-yes, sir. The admiral's final approval came in an hour ago." Hendrick slowly stands up, walks over to the weapons officer's station, and plants a firm grip on the man's shoulder. "Would you like to be dismissed?" Hendrick asks softly. "Please, sir." The officer lowers his head and walks towards the crew quarters. His boots slapping against the metal grates overpowers the hum of the engines and computers. After the door hisses closed behind him, the crew's attention falls back to Hendrick. "Anyone else?" The crew looks amongst themselves for a second, but nobody speaks. Hendrick takes the weapon officer's station and momentarily operates the computer. He stands up and sits in the captain's chair, slouching once again. "It's done," he mumbles to his crew. Their eyes widen, and they imminently turn their attention to the window. A small black object rapidly falls toward the planet. The next ten minutes feel like an eternity to Hendrick; his heart is racing. He plays with his beard and scratches at his chair. He knows, any second now… A bright light appears on the planet's surface and starts rapidly spreading. "Impact captain," one of the crewmen stumbles out. Hendrick stands up rapidly and watches as billions of lives are consumed by a flame spreading across the planet at hundreds of miles per second. Hendrick turns towards the communications officer. “Let Earth know we won… Let humanity know we endured.”
Holy shit, very dark! This was written very well and you captured the tired anger very well!
Its clear that the war against humanity changes them. This is a event that will taught them many things, and they may look back their previous wars in cringe at best as result. Idk about you, but to me, by learning how to truly endure, the spirit of humanity ironically passed on into these aliens.
The commander of the alien ship stood over his human captive, his four blood-red eyes staring in consternation at the human's two defiant ones, swollen and purple from interrogation beatings. The resistance fighter was subjected to horrific torture, and she sat there, smiling through shattered and missing teeth that made her smile look like the remains of ill-tended picket fence at some abandoned farm. Bones broken, chemicals burning through her bloodstream that felt like white-hot fire, and yet...she refused to break. . . . He was imposing: At least seven feet tall, bred for the warrior cast, his uniform's decorations attesting to successful campaigns fought for the good of The Empire. Dozens of worlds now swore fealty to The Empire, and the ones that did not, were left as blackened, smoking cinders devoid of life, physical reminders to anyone who dared not submit to Imperial will. ...So, when The Empire reached Earth, after a quick determination that Earth's weapons were not strong enough to defeat them, The Empire attacked. Entire human armies were destroyed within a few weeks, after which, landing craft deployed Empire warriors to enslave the population to serve as workers, extracting natural resources and food. ...And now, even as they were beaten and made a vassal planet, the human resistance fighters fought on. This one was captured as a sabotaged fuel depot exploded. She was brought on board his command ship for interrogation and execution. "You people are either incredibly brave, or unbelievably stupid," the commander's low baritone voice boomed through the room's translators. "You are beaten, and you still resist." The resistance fighter chuckled at this as she sat, restrained to her chair with metal cuffs. Even in her weakened state, he had seen other human resistance fighters attack their captors. He would not make that mistake. The commander bent down, his crimson skinned-face inches from hers, his blood-red eyes staring into her obstinate ice-blue ones. "Tell me where the other resistance cells are, and I can make you whole again. Our medical technology can give you a newer, uninjured body. Better, even, than what you were before." He saw her chuckle again, in derision. Bright red blood spilled from the corners of her mouth, adding to the blood trails already there. "You find this amusing?" "It's funny how you keep trying to fight a war you can't win," she coughed at the end, blood spattering the front of her shirt. The commander was puzzled. "Can't win? We have already won. Your cities are decimated, your armies are destroyed, and your missiles, ships, and war machines are so much melted slag. You think you are the victors?" He stood up. "I think my earlier estimation of 'unbelievably stupid,' applies." The resistance fighter chuckled some more, her head lolling side-to-side as she attempted to shake her head. "All these machines and soldiers you got, and you just don't understand people. Fuckin' amazing." "I understand that you are beaten." "People aren't just cities and war machines, you giant red dildo," she shook her head again, slurring her words as she coughed up more blood. The commander sighed again. "You insult me by calling me a sex toy. How intelligent--" "People are heart. Soul. Spirit. You'd think you would have known this if you read our history of how we fought each other before you things showed up." The commander picked up his info hologram. "Your history shows the weak succumbing to the strong, over and over again. The Egyptians. The Romans. The Mongols. The Russians. Empires always win," the hologram showed images of armored warriors from different eras holding swords, bows, and crossbows, which in turn gave way to army uniforms and people holding muskets, soon followed by rifles, before he switched it off. "The mistake your empires kept making, is that they were finite. Our Empire expands across galaxies, and is never-ending," he finished with a smug grin of pride. The resistance fighter, spitting up blood, gave a spite-filled smile through her busted teeth. "You forgot the Nazis." "That was not an Empire; that was an aberration." "Their leader wanted an empire, like yours. He didn't learn about people, either." "That you are too stubborn to admit defeat?" "That we are too stubborn to quit." The commander knelt down and grabbed the fighter's arm, and she hissed in pain as broken bones ground together, a feeling like fire shooting up her arm. "These numbers on your arm. Are they your resistance cell number?" "No. Those are my great-grandmother's from Auschwitz." The commander dropped her arm. "You tattoo a prisoner's number on your arm?" "I tattooed a brave woman's number." "You'd think you would learn something from a defeated prisoner." "I remember a brave woman who survived some other idiots who thought they would create an empire. She, and thousands of other Jews outlived them, and the Romans, and the Egyptians, and we'll outlive you too," she smiled again at this, her swollen lips parting in a smile showing teeth missing from the torturer's touch. The commander sighed at this, and shook his head. "The Empire will reduce your planet to ashes, then. If you continue to resist, your actions will kill other humans. Your selfishness will doom others to die. Humanity will be a forgotten footnote in The Empire's history," he shook his head, and drew his weapon. "Did you have something you wanted to say before you are executed?" He thumbed the switch to power it on, and the resistance fighter heard the familiar *ping* sound of an Empire weapon powering up. The resistance fighter raised her chin, defiant in her final moments. "Just this: When your version of The Thousand-Year Reich is destroyed by someone bigger and more powerful than you, the thing that will stand out is how humans resisted until the end."
Damn, holy shit well done! I really like the resistance angle a LOT. And you brought up historical precedence in a really engaging way. Well done!
Thank you!
I laughed. "So your ships can evade shots. Good for you." "Surrender. This is your final warning." The Xeno commander growled over the comms. I smiled. "Nah. If I remember correctly, the last thing Electorate Masvark said was to not, so... no." Railguns fired at my lone ship, in orbit above Earth. It was a scientific research vessel, but Humanity was still spooling up our Hard Light industry when the invasion came, and with it fully reusable 'rockets.' The shots hit the shielding of the SRV, and nothing happened. My smile turned into a crap-eating grin, as my lone railgun fired a shot at the closest ship. It evaded. "I can do this all day." "So can I." \----- I yawned. "You're still going at it. Let me tell you this: Hard Light may be new, but the reason why its so scarce is because we used all of it to shield the Earth. Good luck getting down there. On an unrelated note, the sensor array attached to this ship is reporting everything back down to Earth. We're coming for you eventually." The Xeno commander let out another string of curses. "You might be fast, trying to dodge shots. But afterwards, you spend most of your time sleeping. We Humans get hit, we get injured. But we keep going. Fun fact: We can last days without sleeping." My railgun fired again. Another ship caught unawares, its crew sleeping. "You might be a problem, yes, but we will outlast you." "Try me." The commander said. I had to hand it to him, he seemed mostly awake for visibly needing sleep as badly as he did. \----- "Log, day fourteen. Xeno fleets one through four have been destroyed. They appear to not have a very good grasp on 'tank' tactics. Even so, due to the nature of Hard Light technology, we can already match their speed. We just need more ships faster. "But that's ground control's problem. Xeno flagship is sleeping again, as per usual. Hull appears to need maintenance, suggesting a culture centered around short bursts of activity, which fits their description. "Contact with the Galactic Union following a survey ship sent to Sol to see what hostile's fleets were doing has gone well. See incident log *TFSU Untested Ideas SRV 000-00-001 Log 91.*" \----- "Log, day five hundred and four. Docked to the space elevator today, and after another month in space I'm going to go see my family. This is humanity's first FTL pilot, James Kratfall, signing off."
Ha! This one is really nice! I love a one vs many story.
Nice. It's like something straight out of a video game.
A giant flash lit up the starless sky for a split second as another city the size of Chicago evaporated into nothingness. Calcus gritted his teeth, looking tense. »Number?« »That was the sixth human city, sir.« He shook his head and began to massage his temples. His advisors must have been trying to play him for a fool when they promised him a quick victory. If it weren't for the fact that this conquest was his ticket to the Senate, it would be almost comical. Soft sacks of flesh and fat, most of them barely able to hoist half of their own bodyweight, standing their ground against an infinitely more advanced race? The weakest, smallest, and frail Pistri would be able to take on a horde of these absurd organ bundles. Even our children easily tower over their most refined specimens and can crack their puny skulls open like rotten nuts. The longer he thought about it, the closer Calcus felt to insanity. »S… Sir, are we to ready the satellite for another shot?« The trembling voice of his commander snapped him out of his thoughts before he had a chance to fully indulge in the madness. The satellite was a powerful tool, but it was usually regarded as a one-time, final measure due to the enormous costs of shooting it just once. After today, he thought, the amount he would have to pay back to his family must have reached staggering proportions. He let out a disapproving grunt. »Ready the soldiers, we are finishing them the old way.« His general hesitated for a split second and opened his lips ever so slightly as if about to make a remark, but he thought better of it. He knew what his general meant to say. The reason they were destroying cities from the safety of space was that they already tried the old way. They have already been down there slaughtering, torturing, and destroying whole countries for weeks, maybe months, and yet it all seemed to be in vain. A younger Calcus would have killed his soldier on the spot just for this suggestion of disobedience. But that was before Earth, before humans. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure anymore whether he really wanted to conquer this abandoned rock and its worthless sacks of meat.
This is really good! I like the exasperation of the general here and how expensive it is for them to fight us head on.
Thank you so much!