Barnabas, a Jaffa barely sixteen years old, was training to become a Spartan, enduring every rigorous test. This was before the god Szarekh destroyed Pelops. The victory of one deity over another resulted in Barnabas serving as a warrior of Szarekh. But Spartan training was child's play compared to what the lord of wisdom demanded of his fighters. Eighteen hours of grueling training a day turned him into a seasoned killing machine. His father and mother had trained to the same level; they had yet to earn honor, glory, and renown. To earn the right to be called Barnabas Szarekh in his first battle—that was the greatest honor, for which he was willing to lay down a hundred enemies. The name of the enemy didn't interest him; they were said to be Asuras, and Szarekh's first warriors had already crushed them. Now it was his turn.
He belonged to a platoon commanded by a hundred and fifty-year-old Jaffa. An old man for his people, but a highly experienced warrior. He gave no quarter, but he was also fair. When the platoon defeated its competitors, the commander would throw them small feasts at his own expense. A tough bastard, sure, but nothing the Spartans didn't see every day. You just had to get better. Barnabas, for example, was the best marksman in the entire cohort. And that's considering he was competing on par with the old Jaffa!
Barnabas hardly cared what planet he found himself on. Only the enemy mattered. He disembarked from the Rhino, and his helmet's system immediately pinpointed his location. His platoon was at the very forefront of the advance. Zooming in, the young Jaffa began sending signals to his staff to fire. They were trained to hold a shield in one hand and a staff in the other, quickly aiming at enemies. The Rhino's heavy plasma cannon ripped through enemy infantry with rare but devastating shots, while Barnabas picked off any who might threaten the machine.
To the right, a particularly powerful plasma salvo blew away a vehicle's track. "Plasma cannon!" their commander roared. A grenade launcher immediately leaped from their ranks and destroyed the enemy gun crew with a precise shot. It was a new weapon, bestowed upon them by God. The grenade launchers worked in pairs: one carried special cone-shaped projectiles in a backpack, the other fired, covering his partner. The crew clambered out of the crippled vehicle. Their uniforms were different from their own. Instead of armor, they had comfortable fabric. A hatch was under the floor. The platoon covered their retreat. These warriors had done their duty, and there was no point in losing valuable specialists. The vehicle could be evacuated or blown up later. The main thing was to save the lives of their brothers who had covered the attack.
"Alkeshi!" Barnabas paused for a moment to glance at the ship's enormous shadow looming over the attack line. The entire platoon realized they were about to be bombed. "Forward!" Casting aside their heavy shields, the soldiers charged straight at the enemy positions, dodging plasma blasts. When bombarding the Alkeshi, it was crucial to disperse and blend in with the enemy forces—that gave them a fighting chance. And pray the anti-aircraft gunners would do their job. As soon as they approached the enemy unit, the grenades were activated remotely.
Everyone dropped to the ground. Explosions rang out, tearing apart some opponents, while others remained standing and firing. Leaping to his feet, the Jaffa collided with the warrior aiming at him. Dodging the shot, Barnabas instantly delivered his own—a wrist shot. The silvery zeta charge paralyzed the enemy, allowing Barnabas to finish him off. Without thinking, he knocked the helmet off the Jaffa strangling his comrade with a well-aimed shot. But a moment's distraction cost him a wound. The shot sent him flying backward, revealing a smoking, falling alkesh. Then came a thump that shook the ground. The anti-aircraft gunners weren't so useless after all. Barely rising from the pain stabbing his chest, the young Jaffa looked around. His platoon was finishing off the surviving enemies, while those remaining retreated. After firing a couple of random shots, Barnabas fell. The second echelon gave the enemy no respite.
"You're alive," the commander said, a real bastard. "If you were wearing standard Ra gear, you'd be dead already. If you're alive, quickly remove the plasma cannon from the Rhino. We've been ordered to take up a defensive position—we've lost a vehicle, so we'll be the rear." Barnabas wanted to utter a few choice curses, but he bit his tongue and went to find his shield, as well as the plasma cannon from the downed Rhino. If the second echelon has to retreat, they'll have a strong rear. "Congratulations on your baptism of fire, rookie," the platoon commander's voice rang out over the comms. The urge to curse the old man grew even stronger.
The Jaffa returned to their home. They gunned down a hundred Nirrti Jaffa and left. It wasn't a battle, but a massacre. There was nothing of importance on that planet, and the skirmish itself lasted less than half an hour. All that remained was to gather the dead's gear and burn the corpses. Water washed over one of the returning units, when suddenly a yellow shield appeared, and a message appeared on the helmet display indicating an invisible enemy had been detected. The platoon immediately turned to destroy the ashrak. A shot killed one of the warriors. The boundaries of the invisibility field could be discerned through the water
. Dropping their shields, the platoon switched to the sharpened devices on their wrists. Shots rang out, but not a single one struck the ashrak. It moved with incredible speed and agility, exploiting the surroundings, hiding behind dead warriors. One blow was enough to slit the throat of the Jaffa Master. He then darted forward, hoping to breach the shield, but failed. The shots from the Zeta didn't hinder him in any way, not even hitting him. The number of warriors was steadily dwindling, despite the fire coming from beyond the shield.
The BMP posed a serious obstacle: its armor provided cover for the ashrak. Not to mention that he quickly killed the driver with a shot through the vision slit. With no survivors left, the commander decided to activate the flamethrowers. Fire engulfed the ashrak's body, but he managed to press something on his equipment, causing a blinding flash and explosion. It was a good thing the Jaffa's helmets had an automatic flash dimming feature, otherwise they would have been blinded. The gate fell, the gate controls destroyed. It was a catastrophe, once again reminding the Jaffa of their place: just one Goa'uld warrior proved stronger than an entire platoon of Jaffa, facing dozens of weapons.
You know what a tactical failure is? Attacking Jaffa breeding planets. Accidentally. I even wondered why there weren't any Huttaks above them. I don't think I'm giving away a secret if I say Chulak isn't the capital of Apophis. It's one of the Jaffa breeding worlds. Capital worlds are usually much larger, with a certain level of urbanization. So, I accidentally attacked a couple of planets home to hundreds of thousands of Jaffa because two idiots didn't station their ships above them. I suspect Indra had something to do with it, but that's irrelevant. Despite the counterattacks, I redirected ten thousand reserves to support the offensives there. My goal was to destroy as many Jaffa as possible.
The threaders struck the airfields with cluster munitions, but some of the gliders managed to take off, not to mention the Alkesh and endless waves of infantry. Vehicle losses reached forty percent. Jaffa losses were acceptable, and most of them would rise from the dead with the help of a sarcophagus. Despite technological superiority and training, attacking enemies ten times their number is a foolish undertaking. Therefore, my troops were ordered to dig in and form several lines of defense, keeping the gates constantly open (and reopening them when they closed) in case of retreat. To prevent attacks on the gates, shields were erected over them, and generators were transported on special infantry fighting vehicles. Therefore, retreat was always an option.
The remaining units fared quite well. Where there were small Jaffa garrisons (one hundred to ten thousand), the advance unfolded swiftly. If there was nothing of interest, a rapid retreat followed.
And I also lost an entire platoon to that damned Ashrak. Considering that Indra gave me this planet to attack, I can say with absolute certainty that she made a deal with Nirrti. Typical Goa'uld traitorous nature. The most interesting thing is that even Egeria, a great Goa'uld expert, doesn't know what the two sides are planning. Is there an Indra-Nirrti alliance, an Indra-Vritra alliance, or something else entirely, because things can change very quickly. Each Goa'uld follows their own interests and often pursues short-term gains. The Kali-Bastet alliance is an extraordinary anomaly, just like the Ra-Heruur alliance. The others betray each other every day.
But on the other hand, I can say that my opponents weren't expecting such a surge in my forces. Deploying on so many planets simultaneously clearly panicked my opponents, especially attacking their worlds to breed Jaffa. Each unit had a significant supply of bombs, of varying calibers and functions, so the threaders were the last straw that kept my small units of warriors from being driven from planets with a significant numerical advantage; napalm was especially helpful. And then there were the trenches. Trenches are good, trenches are right, and ultimately, they allow for defense. Four hours have passed since the invasion, the units that captured their planets still have six hours to plunder, and the units that were engaged in battle need to fulfill my contract and kill as many as possible.