3 - Into Polyphemus 
Approaching Polyphemus, L4 Development Administration
Coalition of Congressional Nations
June 10, 0121 R.C.
Asya braced as the light show of missiles, c-beams and exploding kinetics filled the void, the deathly spectacle keeping her attention as their Bogatyrs drew nearer to the main formation of Coalition vessels, which were themselves locked in combat with the approaching flotilla of Union State ships.
She joined in the combat with relative ease, the company’s fire focused on the CFASFC Pescator. A fencer carrier, removing it from the battlespace would severely limit the Coalition’s ability to further deploy and maintain fencers in the battle. The impacts of 125mm rounds pockmarked the vessel’s hull, its defenses overwhelmed by the scale of the attack. The ensuing metamorphosis was violent and swift, as its hull came undone in the face of overwhelming force. The ship’s eruption culminated in a storm of debris and half-melted scrap. Veering aside to avoid the cascading metal, she hastily regrouped with the rest of her platoon.
“Try not to get turned into mush, Michman Malenko,” Attila cautioned.
“Got it, sir!”
Pushing past the scene of devastation, they bore witness to the formation’s epicenter—the Kamiyama-class battleships Stone Beach and Forderess at odds with the onslaught of the 2nd company’s approach. Cast into the crucible, the fencers found themselves chewed through by the integrated defenses of the twin battleships. For a moment, the company’s fate seemed sealed—then the barrage of the Union State fleet’s missiles careened into the vessels.
The Forderess was lost immediately, the subsequent deluge of debris tearing through nearby Coalition fencers. Despite its damages, the Stone Beach held on, firing off a solitary shot into the void with its sole remaining 9mm railgun before turning to attempt a retreat, at the very least to pull away from the harassing fencers.
“After them!” Jiancheng instructed. Now was the 1st company’s time to shine. Opening fire, Asya was not alone—impacts spread across the surface of the battleship as it sustained the full force of the Bogatyrs’ attack.
“Fencer forces, stand back!” The instruction came from the captain of the Admiral Jamshidi, the third and last heavy cruiser of the 36th. There was a mild lull as the pilots decelerated in response, only to observe as a c-beam pierced the engine block of the Coalition battleship, followed by a devastating barrage from the Admiral Jamshidi’s four 200mm guns.
Caught mid-maneuver, it drifted listlessly on its own inertia, effectively disabled by the devastating strike. It continued on, eventually impacting one of Polyphemus’ solar arrays in a storm of glimmering debris. Collateral damage thus far had been minimal—such exceptions, while not uncommon, were nonetheless unpleasant.
Around them, the space battle had concluded. The engagement left most of the Coalition fleet destroyed, or signaling their surrender due to critical damages. All in all, the 36th Battle Flotilla had sustained minimal casualties, with no ships lost.
The voice of their admiral filled the comms. “Union State forces, all Coalition vessels have been deemed a non-factor. Initiate colony boarding procedures.”
“We… we did it!” Irakly exclaimed with nervous excitement.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lvov. The battle’s just started,” Attila reminded him, leading the trio towards the spaceport.
As ships and fencers alike maneuvered in preparation for colony boarding procedures, Asya could glimpse some of the vessels among their number that’d incurred damages—in particular the Admiral Jamshidi, its bow left with a nasty graze by the 9mm railgun’s impact that left most of its frontal armaments destroyed.
The battalion’s three companies formed up before the spaceport. Aside from the airlocks designed to allow vessels to dock and offload personnel, the facility sported a large, cylindrical hollow space to permit vessels of the correct rating to enter and offload heavy cargo, from which specialized cargo trams could then deliver the equipment to one of the three habitable sections of the cylinder. In most colony invasion operations, the spaceport typically became a beachhead of sorts, being used to ferry fencers and troops en masse into the colony proper.
The spaceport was utterly devoid of life. A lone vessel remained in port—the CFASFC Catamaran of the Stars, a civilian starliner that had been hastily converted into a troop transport by the Coalition Forces Authority. Its combat non-viability had left it unscathed by the battle, bar the sporadic scars of collateral damage. The unsettling tranquility that hung over the spaceport served to remind Asya just how thoroughly civilian life had been halted by the ravages of the Solar War.
“Stand by.” Jiancheng, through his Bogatyr, gestured to the other fencer pilots to wait, standing idle before the entrance to the spaceport’s cargo entrance. The chatter between their units’ commanders over the comm served as a momentary intermission from the rush of combat, allowing the trio a short respite.
“We’ve got the enemy cornered inside the colony. This shouldn’t be too hard… right?” Irakly’s question warranted a sigh from Attila.
“Don’t let your guard down,” cautioned the platoon’s commander. “With the fleet gone, they’ll be expecting us, and likely they’ll have defenses planned accordingly.”
The insinuation left Asya anxious. Up to this point, they’d never been the first in during colony operations, relegated largely to serving as rear auxiliaries for far better-trained units. “W-well… what should we do, sir?”
“Up your stim dosage and pray to God,” was Attila’s simple response.
Doing as she was told, Asya raised the dosage of the combat stimulants coursing through her veins, and paused for a brief and silent prayer.
Please, God, keep us safe through this fight…
Though she wasn’t particularly religious, she hoped her simple prayer would suffice.
“We’re the first in. Come on!” Jiancheng’s voice shattered the tense silence hanging over the pilots of the 1st company. Asya followed Attila and Lvov in, entering the spaceport with the rest of the eleven fencers. It had been left as it were just before the battle, practically frozen in time. Some of the trams were still loaded with Coalition armaments and supplies. All was bathed in a dim crimson glow, as the alarms in the facility remained active.
Assessing the lines leading into Polyphemus, Jiancheng paused. “Shit.”
The tram lines had been bombed sometime before their arrival, severing the spaceport from the colony proper. Until it was repaired, the invasion would be running on strained logistics.
“Guess it’ll be some time before the Space Infantry backs us up, huh?” Rustam remarked.
“First in, last out, isn’t that our MO, sir?” Michman Lilia Yo, also of the 3rd platoon, inquired in her Sirimese-tinged accent.
“We’ll be out to dry for at least an hour ‘till engineers fix the tram line,” noted Obadiah. “Nothing we can’t handle, though.”
“Doesn’t this mean they’ll be expecting us?” Michman Grigory Kalontarov, of the 3rd platoon, questioned.
“They were expecting us the moment we crushed their fleet,” said Rustam.
“Myself and the company commissar will stay back to inform the admiral,” Jiancheng said. “Platoons, you may proceed.”
“On me!” Attila took the initiative, his fencer hovering just above the destroyed rail line as he proceeded towards the colony, Asya and Irakly in tow. “Might want to check your weapons. We’re gonna need everything we’ve got once we pass the airlock.”
“Got it, sir.” Asya inspected her assault cannon’s magazine, taking note that four rounds remained. Swapping with a quick reload, she braced for the confrontation to come. Beside them, the remaining contingent of the company steadfastly advanced, their armaments ready.
Just as they began to feel the effects of the colony’s gravity, they touched down short of the large, cylindrical airlock intended for inbound cargo. A blast door shut behind them, and air began being pumped into the room.
“Be at peace with your makers, gentlemen, and keep your thrusters hot. They’ll riddle this chamber with shots as soon as the doors open. Best we kick things off with a jump,” Obadiah suggested as he reloaded his fencer’s assault cannon. The sound being audible was the first telltale sign that the space was beginning to repressurize, to which Asya further poised herself for the coming fight.
“Good call,” Rustam concurred. “Michman Kalontarov’s fencer took some damage in the space battle, so I’d prefer if Kallio and his girls help cover us.”
Attila had gotten used to the sporadic jests made at the expense of his subordinates. “Will do,” He replied, not intent on feeding into it further.
“E-excuse me—”
Just as Irakly was about to object to the subtle jab, the chamber was bathed in a bright green light to indicate it had fully pressurized.
The large blast doors slid open, and just as quickly the nine fencers leapt forth with a surge of their thrusters. A number of Titans had assumed positions at the cargo processing facility, ready to intercept the Bogatyrs as they arrived. The exchange of cannon-fire was almost immediate, Asya firing away at one of the fencers whilst mid-air. The facility in question was fairly expansive, suited to the typical standards of a colony’s logistics. Rows of stacked containers would be their only cover here, as the interior of Polyphemus was far from urban in its design.
The sabots pierced the topside of the fighting machine, staggering it backwards as shrapnel was cast within. Flames erupted from within, presumably its fuel igniting, only to be doused by the swift activation of its fire-fighting systems. Still, the machine moved no longer, and one could presume the pilot within had been minced by the penetrating shrapnel.
Asya touched down between two rows of stacked containers, Irakly and Attila landing nearby. The 3rd platoon, headed by Rustam, was just ahead.
“We’ve got four Titans over here!” He said. “Lend us a hand, will you?”
Asya wasted no time rejoining the ranks, pushing ahead with the rest of her platoon and thrusting themselves into the fervor of the ongoing skirmish. The shipping containers served less as fortified refuge and more as a veiled shield, serving better as concealment rather than providing any substantial protection. This truth became evident as a series of 105mm sabots punctured through a line of containers, hurtling perilously close to her Bogatyr.
The brush with danger was enough for a startled cry to escape Asya, propelling her into a frenzied scramble for cover. Uprooting concrete and shredding through rows of crates, she engaged in a sharp maneuver of her thrusters that briefly granted respite from enemy guess-fire.
“B-be careful Miss!” Irakly uttered with an anxious quiver, hastening to her side.
“Watch yourself, Malenko!” Attila warned. “The Bogatyr’s armor leaves much to be desired.”
“That was too close for comfort…” she babbled, a tremor of anxiety permeating her voice.
Her superior pushed past her, assault cannon poised. With precision, Attila seized the opportunity as one of the Coalition Titans cautiously emerged from its hiding place. The 125mm sabot, propelled by his quick reaction time and steadfast marksmanship, found its mark. In a storm of smoke and sparks, it struck the head of the enemy fencer, before ricocheting downwards into the mech’s torso. The fearsome machine sank to its knees, its forward tumble obliterating several shipping containers arrayed before it. The pilot within had, undoubtedly, been utterly destroyed.
The loss of their squadmate seemed to sufficiently startle the rest of the Coalition fencer unit, as they conceded ground in a measured retreat further into the maze of containers. Rustam and his team took their shots, sending one of the machines toppling into a warehouse.
“Too easy!” Lilia boasted, finishing the downed Titan off with a 125mm coup de grâce.
“We’ve got the upper hand!” Rustam declared. “Move up!”
Despite their odds, the Titans fought on. A well-placed shot decapitated Grigory’s fencer, momentarily staggering the pilot and forcing him into cover to assess his damages.
“Shit, I’m down to my auxiliary optics!” Grigory lamented. At the very least, he could count himself lucky to still be alive. Still, such an abrupt blow elicited a momentary lull in the 3rd platoon’s forward advance, startled by the severe damage sustained by one of their own.
Despite the loss of momentum among their comrades, the 2nd pushed on undeterred.
“Move ahead, I’ll lay down suppressive fire!” Attila ordered.
A line of administrative edifices had been transformed into improvised bastions for the two remaining enemy fencers, their walls and fractured windows bearing the scars of previous barrages.
“Cover me, I’ll jump ahead!” Asya announced, thrusters warming up once more.
“G-got it miss!” Irakly poised himself, aligning his Bogatyr’s assault cannon with a mix of eager anticipation and apprehension.
Harnessing a surge of power from her fencer's thrusters, Asya gracefully vaulted behind enemy lines, unleashing a rapid volley upon her disoriented foes as she touched down. Her target staggered backwards momentarily before exploding, sending wreckage and molten scrap airborne in its final death throes. Rising to its feet as it turned around, the second fencer made itself vulnerable to cannon-fire from Irakly and Attila. A 125mm round pierced its head, shattering its sensor suite and leaving the machine’s pilot momentarily dazed by the sudden loss of sensory input.
With the split second’s grace offered to her, Asya took the initiative and put a round through the Coalition mech’s arm, stripping it of its most lethal weapon before taking out the shoulder-mounted CIWS units with her Bogatyr’s head-mounted autocannons. Crippled, the Titan fell to its knees and powered down, the pilot signaling their surrender.
Asya inspected their surroundings, only then recalling the 1st platoon having gone in the opposite direction. Diminishing gunfire echoed through the shipping facility, before a cold silence fell over them. For a moment, she worried.
“SITREP?” Attila questioned over the comm.
“Nothing too difficult,” Obadiah’s answer was nonchalant, the veteran clearly having had no trouble in disposing of his Coalition adversaries. “And what of the 2nd and 3rd?”
“One damaged—Michman Kalontarov’s Bogatyr is headless,” Rustam explained.
The 1st’s platoon commander suppressed a sigh. “Could be worse, I suppose… nevertheless, we’ve got the numbers to hold the facility until the Space Infantry arrive. We should be fine.”
Already, Asya quietly wondered to herself what the rest of this colony had in store for them.