Chapter 779: Reinforcements Arrive
"According to thermal scans, there are at least seventeen infected clusters moving toward the evacuation point, with an estimated total exceeding five thousand," a Raider scout reported. "Furthermore... we've spotted some new variants."
He brought up footage captured by a drone: a larger variant of the infected, crawling on all fours, with several bulbous sacs protruding from its back, seemingly storing something.
"A spitter variant," Dr. Hanson's voice came over the comms. She had remained in the relatively safe orbital command center, analyzing the data link. "Those sacs likely store infectious fluids or spores. They must be eliminated before they enter firing range."
Raynor was organizing the defenses down below. Automated turrets were mounted at key positions along the perimeter wall, flamethrower teams were on standby behind cover, and Marines were reinforcing windows with sandbags and scrap metal.
Tychus's blue power armor stood out starkly in the freezing wind. He was gruffly directing several Raiders to adjust the firing arcs of the sentry guns and checking the fuel pressure of the flamethrowers.
"Put these tin cans and fire pokers in the right damn spots! Once those freaks get close, we'll give 'em a warm welcome!"
Valerie calmly evaluated the defensive layout.
With their current manpower, holding off a night assault by thousands of infected would put them under immense pressure.
Crucially, there weren't enough transport ships. The number of refugees currently gathered at the evacuation point exceeded eight thousand, while the available transports could only move a maximum of one thousand five hundred at a time.
This meant at least six waves were required, with hours of loading, unloading, and flight time between each.
During this entire period, the defense forces had to withstand the continuous attacks of the infected.
She rapidly calculated in her mind the difference the newly approved reinforcements would make, while her gaze swept over several areas in the compound where damaged equipment was piled up—including the wreckage of several CMC powered armors and broken weapons.
The mission to acquire technical samples could start there.
She found Raynor, who was inspecting an automated turret.
"Commander Raynor, I just received confirmation from corporate headquarters," Valerie said in her usual professional tone. "In light of the current situation, headquarters is urgently dispatching a supplemental security team of about one hundred and ten personnel, expected to arrive in three hours. They will assist with the defense."
Raynor looked up, slightly surprised. "Over a hundred men? Your company moves fast."
"It's part of our crisis response protocol," Valerie explained. "Additionally, headquarters instructed us to assist in collecting and repairing damaged equipment as much as possible to maintain our defensive capabilities. Our people are bringing specialized tools and spare parts."
This sounded perfectly reasonable. During an evacuation operation, keeping equipment functional was vital.
"That's great." Raynor indeed needed more manpower. "Once they arrive, you'll have unified command over them. Take charge of reinforcing the eastern defensive line. It's relatively open over there; the pressure will likely be the highest."
"Understood," Valerie nodded. "I will make the arrangements."
As she walked away, she began planning how to organically integrate the tasks of defensive command, equipment recovery, and sample collection. They had three hours. Before the reinforcements arrived, they had to rely on their current strength to withstand the first wave. And the night was rapidly thickening.
During this time, the vanguard of the infected had already engaged in sporadic but fierce firefights with the outer perimeter pickets.
Although the low temperatures indeed sluggish their movements, stiffening their joints and causing them to shamble, their overwhelming numerical advantage was undiminished.
Even more troublesome were the spitter variants. They could spew highly corrosive, viscous fluids from two hundred meters away. This not only caused sustained damage to the concrete fortifications but posed a severe threat to exposed weapons and optics.
The brief, dismal "daylight" of the polar region was fading fast, the deep twilight falling like a curtain, soon to be replaced by total darkness. Everyone knew that once the last sliver of daylight vanished, the infected's activity would spike to its peak.
Just as the sky was on the cusp of true darkness, Valerie's encrypted communicator received the expected message: "Reinforcements have entered low orbit; requesting landing coordinates."
She quickly replied with pre-selected coordinates—an open ice field about two kilometers southeast of the evacuation point. The terrain was relatively flat and situated away from the primary direction the sensors indicated the infected were massing.
Soon after, two inconspicuous points of light pierced the thickening clouds, rapidly growing larger. Two transport ships, their exterior paint modified to obscure any distinguishing features, landed almost vertically on the ice field, their engines kicking up a spray of ice crystals in the twilight.
The ramps lowered, and the troops poured out silently and efficiently.
The first to finish forming up were the ten warriors of Security Team B. Their equipment was completely identical to that of Valerie's direct Team A: dark gray, streamlined, modified power armor, with the abstract emblem of "Far Star United" etched on the shoulders and chest.
Their assembly movements were precisely synchronized. They stood in silent vigil, exuding an almost inhuman, machine-like uniformity.
The one hundred Skitarii soldiers that followed presented a different, yet equally disciplined, demeanor.
They wore uniformly modified dark blue combat fatigues beneath redesigned gray flak armor; their helmet designs deliberately obscured their original Imperial characteristics. The lasguns in their hands, treated with a matte coating, gleamed dully in the dim light.
Upon landing, without needing any verbal commands, the troops automatically deployed by squads, rapidly forming a defensive circular perimeter. The entire process produced no sound other than the friction of armor and boots crunching on ice.
Valerie stepped forward with two members of Team A to inspect them.
"Commander of Team B reporting," the lead warrior emitted a flat, synthesized voice.
An officer wearing the insignia of a Centurion stepped forward simultaneously, his voice sounding somewhat muffled through his respirator: "Skitarii Century assembled and awaiting orders."
Valerie's gaze swept quickly over the ranks. Their equipment was in prime condition, their formation immaculate. A "morale" based on absolute obedience and efficient execution, rather than emotional arousal, permeated the air.
"Mission briefing." She brought up a holographic map of the evacuation point. "Our detachment will be responsible for reinforcing the eastern defensive line of the evacuation point, covering a frontal width of three hundred meters. The primary threat is nocturnal infected, estimated in the thousands, highly contagious."
"Core tactics: Maintain engagement distance. Prioritize eliminating variants with ranged attack capabilities. Avoid close-quarters contact at all costs. The Skitarii forces will be responsible for establishing a sustained field of suppressing fire. The security teams will serve as a mobile reserve and precision strike force."
"Understood," the Centurion replied in a low voice.
"Secondary objective: During lulls in combat, systematically collect damaged standard-issue human equipment from the battlefield, prioritizing powered armor. Conduct this under the guise of assisting with repairs or battlefield salvage. Team B will be primarily responsible for this task."
"By your command," the Team B commander responded instantly.