The Incursion

Fiction by Evan Velasquez ’24

Two dreadnoughts, Sacrack “peace” vessels, loomed overhead, drifting through the smog; their underbellies bathed in ash, and a dull crimson glow poured from the fires raging on the alien surface below.

Occasionally a small barrage of explosive shells would fire up from the surface at the fourmile-long forts, only for the location directly afterward to be bombarded out of existence.

Inside the closer of the two skyscrapers, named The Faith, a train raced across the length of the ship, its steely cabin bare for all but Sergeant first class Brins Gluse.

Gluse sat on one of the farright square aluminum benches, his bulky plate armor emitting a soft wheeze as its systems filtered in oxygen, storing it in two small tanks on his lower back; all the while dispensing out carbon emissions mimicking the way that he would breathe normally.

Gluse is what the Sacrack of the task unit Schas would refer to as a “Luber.” A term used to describe those drop units that, seldom being called to the ground, were left to their devices on The Faith, where all they would do was lube and maintain their rifles day in and day out.

Being a Luber, Gluse should have been in his quarters right about now, ensuring, in Lieutenant Woan’s stead, that the infantry of the 3rd rifle squad Shim were staying true to their schedules and obligations and even more importantly, not trying to execute an ammunitions test on an unfortunate rat again.

But after three months of constant bargaining, complaining, and borderline harassment from his peers, Gluse had finally caved. The members of the 3rd rifle squad Shim along with many other Luber units had together decided that the rations distributed by the superiors of task unit Schas were no longer to be tolerated; thus, their commanding officers unreachable, every unit’s Sergeant first class transformed into a personal complaints box.

Two days prior, in an attempt to secure their sanity, all 45 Sergeant first classes aboard The Faith held a conference in which the solution to their dilemma would be solved. Establishing that one of them would have to request an audience with the vice-captain of The Faith had taken no less than ten minutes; deciding who among them would actually do so took another three hours. After the course of several brawls and five covert missions to the infirmary, their remedy had been found; they drew sticks. Gluse’s luck along with suspected foul play led to that honor befalling him.

The subtle vibration of the train under his armor devolved into a chaotic shudder as the pill-shaped cabin slowed into the station.

Already at the heavy sliding doors, Gluse stepped out onto the landing as soon as the crack between the doors was wide enough to accommodate him.

In the past Gluse had suffered at the hands of intense motion sickness, but ever since receiving his “Enhancements” from the Roidepes, an alien race that had aided the Sacrack in reclaiming their home planet, that had no longer been a problem. Yet Gluse, already knowing his luck, would not be one to try it.

With a clank muffled by the hiss of rushing air, the airlock doors closed behind him as the old train zipped away across the ship.

Gluse sighed as he sauntered across the landing, his heavy metal boots producing deep clunks that reverberated around the empty station only adding to its barren ambiance.

Turning to and beginning to climb a flight of stairs that served as the station’s only exit, Gluse cursed his luck.

The Vice-captain, Soot Dushtang, had unfortunately accepted his audience, but only if it were to take place in The Faith’s onboard gardens, gardens reserved for only the highest-ranking officers aboard. Gluse would normally be ecstatic to have had a chance to see the serpentine gardens, but for a reason such as this, he would rather spend another decade cooped up in his small quarters.

Reaching the top of the staircase Gluse was temporarily blinded by the brilliant auburn light shed from the rafters above. Adjusting to the harsh radiance Gluse looked below where he could see the snaking paths of the garden, weaving through and from shallow mercury ponds that fed many of the subterranean life native to his homeworld of Ishmara.

Gluse was shocked, the large branches clinging to the walls, and the vibrant cyan vines hanging from them dropping to the floor were so... different from what he had been told and what he imagined they would look like as a child.

Gluse was one of the few Sacrack soldiers aboard The Faith who had not had the privilege of taking part in the main invasion force that reclaimed their subterranean home from the Mutash. Thus, being raised on the harsh icy surface of Ishmara, he had rarely seen photos of the world below the surface.

After a few moments of awe observing the alien world around him, Gluse began to make his way down to the lake where he was told the audience would be held.

While he found the garden beautiful when observing it from above, Gluse quickly learned why conquering the mutash had been impossible until the arrival of the champion. Even though well kept and pruned, the garden’s features made traversing it a struggle, vines catching onto the edges of his armor; and foliage, before thought lush and beautiful, now making his sight almost useless.

Now almost stumbling along the garden paths cursing, Gluse violently ripped at the vines and foliage that clung to his armor, making their homes in its indentations and grooves.

By the time Gluse was able to make it to Vice-Captain Soot, he was dressed in a trail of cyan ropes and foliage weaved close and into his armor. Despite the vines restricting his movements, as soon as Gluse entered the clearing he stood at attention, the only reason being his inhuman strength allowed him to break many of the knots that held him in place.

Slouching on a carved stone bench overlooking the largest of the mercury ponds, sat Vice-Captain Soot, the two black stripes draped across her shoulders the only markers signifying her rank. Unlike Gluse’s armor, which was camouflaged a black orange, Vice-Captain Soot’s was a stark white, supposedly an imitation of the champions.

“At ease,” Soot called, rising from her bench slowly, the sounds of her metallic armor scraping along its stony face piercing.

Ambling across the lawn towards Gluse, Soot looked around aimlessly, watching small reptilian creatures climb and nest in the cyan vines above.

“I was told that many of your squads are displeased with the food allotted to them. Is this true?” Soot asked, stopping a few feet in front of Gluse.

“Yes Vice-Captain, for the past three months many of the rifle squads aboard The Faith have united to see a better meal. I have been sent to request such luxuries from you,” Gluse answered, his words quiet as the reptilian creatures rummaging through the vines above.

Hearing the creatures, Soot stopped, and raising her eyes skyward watched the ropes swing about as small gurgles could be heard from above.

“Gluse, tell me, did you take part in the invasion two years ago?”

“No Vice-Captain, I was stationed at the gates on the surface during the war.” The armor-clad Sacrack hesitated, slightly offput by the sudden switch of topic.

“Hmm. I see, well, of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you did.”

“I apologize Vice-Captain, I’m not following.”

“Those creatures above us are called Shims. The same as your squad, back in the war the Mutash of Guneol forest would use them as spies to uncover our location. Many fell to ambush in that forest.” Soot paused watching a particular shim lose its grip and fall; catching itself at the last second, “If you had taken part in the war you wouldn’t have even stepped foot in this garden.”

Gluse watched as, dangling from the tip of its vine, the shim lost hold and fell, Soot catching the small creature in her titanium glove.

“The champion saved me and my ship from annihilation in that forest. He remains the only reason we ever won that war, without him we would still be exiled to the surface by the mutash, outcasts for over seven millennia.”

The two stood there silently for a moment, watching the shim squirm in Soot’s gloved fist before her grip loosened, allowing the creature to fall to the floor, where it scampered away growling.

“Vice-Captain, about the rations. I believe that if--,” Gluse started, but before he could finish the room went dark as the whole ship shook, alarms wailing as dim red lights bathed the room in a deep red.

As quickly as the overhead lights went out, they came back on, the alarms ceased, and the red lights disappeared.

Kneeling on the ground in front of him, the Vice-Captain looked off into space, seemingly doing nothing, but Gluse knew better. In the beginning of the Sacrack expansion outside their homeworld, the desecration of ship bridges was common, often leading to vessels being without command. To adapt to this every Captain, Vice-Captain, and Commander had a chip inserted into their brain that would allow them to control areas of the said ship from anywhere.

“Bombing bays,” Soot spat contemptuously, “Damn.”

“Sergeant first class Brins Gluse, stand at attention for briefing.” Soot ordered as the overhead lights flickered.

“It appears an explosive charge successfully detonated in bombing bay three, which led to all twelve being rendered inoperable. You are to lead two platoons onto the Icaran surface and take primary objective Lara. If you are not to succeed, The Faith and her crew will be shot out of the sky before reaching her destination. You and your chosen team will be provided with a single Juggernaut class assault transport that will take you within three miles of your destination. Ready yourself for departure in 20 minutes.”

Gluse’s jaw went slack as he received his orders; for the first time in his service to the Sacrack Navy, the eleven-foot soldier was glad helmets were to be worn at all times.

“With all due respect ViceCaptain, I am honored but I am not of the rank to lead such a mission. Additionally-”

“Congratulations on your promotion then, Lieutenant Gluse, and good fortune on your assignment. You are dismissed.”