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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2026-02-20 17:19:17+00:00.
James jumps comm channels to a direct line to Shalla as he hunkers down tighter behind his cover.
"Shalla, you out or in?"
"Out. Already looking for a nice door to breach. Or a chunk of wall to install a new door into."
"Exactly what I was thinking. I need the rest of my Marines in here and I don't want to blow the entire hangar bay open if we don't have to."
"Mhmm. Makes sense. We'll find another angle to hit 'em from. I think we've got a utility hangar bay over here with a personnel airlock we can force. If it comes to that, from inside we can get the small hangar's doors open to get the mech suits in if they can't get through the airlock. It's galactic standard, and a mech suit ain't bigger than a Lydris, so they should fit."
"Keep me posted."
James ducks as a laser blast gets a bit close to his head and scatters shards of the concrete-like pillar he’s using for shelter.
"I really want to know who the hell these girls are now. They fit a smuggler's profile, but I wasn't expecting resistance quite this stiff."
"Might be independence types. Full on little smuggler nation. Amazing how hard girls will fight for their perceived utter and total freedom."
"Ah, like sovereign citizens back home. Except the bark's usually a lot worse than the bite on Earth, and these girls have bite to spare."
"Just how it goes."
"Odds they're doing something nasty to men or children?"
"Fifty-fifty. They might just be separatists who want to be left alone and aren't afraid to fight about it. Makes sense in Wild Space. Not a lot of nice girls out here, you know?"
"Uh huh. Gonna have a word, then start pushing through this hangar."
"Best of luck, Thane. Warthog out."
James takes a breath and pulls another screen up, checking the map his company of Marines is making just by progressing through the football field-sized room. At the far back, around the ‘fifty yard line,’ is a large set of double doors that clearly lead deeper into the facility. Before it, however, are a half dozen docks for the loading and unloading of freighters, and another trio of slips with heavy equipment - probably for maintenance and repairs. The bay is well situated with equipment, and all the heavy duty cargo containers mean that, whoever these people are, they’re well supplied... both in the direct sense and in the sense of having plenty of cover for taking potshots at his Marines.
Potshots.
James watches as one woman clad in improvised armor pops up and around from her cover and lets loose with a couple laser shots. Cheap laser rifle. He can tell from here. Still plenty lethal, even in a hard suit with multiple hits, but far from military grade: the type of thing civilians or militias might use. Or down-on-their luck pirates and gangers, admittedly…
The fact that the weapon can be found on both sides of the law didn't mean much right now; he can practically hear the woman’s yelp as she's suppressed by a burst of automatic fire from one of his Marines and she dives back into cover.
Something’s off here. Very off indeed. They’re finishing a fight that someone else had started, but that doesn't mean they need to be fighting at all.
He sits there for a second, formulating his plan. They need to get to the command center of this base and find the head of the snake. If he could talk to the leader... maybe he could end this mess before too many people get hurt unnecessarily.
"Ard Six to all points. Secure lethal grenades. Flash bangs only. Repeat, flash bangs only. I think we're taking on a civilian militia. Return fire enthusiastically if fired upon, but shoot to wound if at all practical. Encourage surrender and drop stasis fields on neutralized hostiles so the corpsmen can get to them. Vulture. I'm taking my command team up the right side into one of the maintenance bays where we can use the heavy machinery for cover. We're going to try and cause a distraction. Then you roll up the left flank."
"Copy all, sir." Vulture Stroya's voice comes back crisp, clear and confident, the experienced Human Marine clearly fully in her element as she calls out, "First platoon, covering fire for the skipper!"
Gunfire rings out across the hangar bay, and James leaps out of cover like a spring powered gazelle, running hard for the comfort of the maintenance bay he'd picked out, quickly followed by his command team. Gunnery Sergeant Ragnar 'Burning Man' Benson, a Marine infamous for having now married two Cannidor warrior women based on axe-throwing contests, is looking every part the scifi viking, with a few axes on his person and his armor decked out in subdued runes; he’s also the leader of his team. With him is Sergeant Imronbek 'Kip' Uzoqov, and Corporal Calamity Jane 'Cali' Colbert, the junior Marine on the totem pole and only non-human in the team charged with keeping rude strangers from bothering their skipper when he’s leading the company in action.
"Burnin, how are we looking?"
Ragnar grunts in response. "I don't like being this far out, boss. But redhaired thunder will see to that! What's the plan for us?"
"Like I said, we make a hell of a lot of noise and let Vulture and the rest of the company steam roll them."
Sergeant Uzoqov, a taciturn Uzbek man, nods slowly. "I see the wisdom of it. Undisciplined militia troops will focus on the perceived greater threat, and will be easier to disorient. If we can avoid depriving children of their mothers... I would prefer this."
"Me too, Kip. Me too. Cali? Saved rounds?"
The perky Horchka woman is rummaging in a pouch on her belt that has a purple tag marking it as axiom expanded.
"I got just the party favors for this kind of thing, sir!"
James' jaw drops slightly as Calamity finds whatever she's looking for… and starts pulling out what turns out to be around two dozen flash bangs!
"...Corporal. Why in the hell do you have twenty plus flash bang grenades in your kit?"
Cali suddenly looks slightly sheepish. "Uh. Found'em?"
James gives her a look that suggests that's not going to work a second time before reaching over and grabbing a bunch sharing them out with Ragnar and Imronbek.
"Alright, gentlemen, lady, let's make some noise."
James starts throwing flashbangs, and is quickly mirrored by his subordinates before he turns on his PA. His message is loud and direct: "Marines! Attack! Drive right through them!" and a bunch of other bellowed orders meant to scare the hell out of inexperienced troops.
Sure enough, he gets a fusillade of laser blasts in return for his trouble, and the sound of someone panicking loudly as they call for mech suit support. That gets a lift of the eyebrow from him as he lets his rifle dangle on his sling and goes for his favorite new toy. The Field Pistol had cost him a small fortune, but its potent, high velocity armor-shredding rounds and stupid reach were well worth the price of admission. As had been the 'sweetheart grip' with a holograph of his Rose embedded in it.
The big double doors slide open and James lines his red dot up with the silhouette of a mech suit, opening fire around the center of mass on a Human... and where a lot of sensitive electronics are for most patterns of mech suit, if you can penetrate their light armor.
The field pistol can.
He's rewarded with a mech suit collapsing forward with the rest of the driver's squad stumbling around her... just in time for someone else to make a little noise.
A blast rocks the building, with a rumble he can feel in his bones, and suddenly Marines are exploding into the hangar from Lieutenant Stroya's side of the hangar with perfect defilade on the defenders. Shalla Savić is in the lead.
It’s basically an ambush from that point on. Not quite a pincer movement because of the lopsided distribution of his Marines, but they hit the three dozen remaining defenders like a tidal wave and simply never stop, with James leading the push into the inner facility. Down the hall he finds himself in a familiar looking 'core' room, commonplace for a lot of prefab architectural designs. Other rooms and hallways would be built off the core... and a quick glance shows that they’re even clearly and neatly labeled in galactic trade.
He points at one labeled 'Living Quarters' and shouts, "Secure that door! In fact, secure every door you can!"
"How, sir!?" one of the Marines calls back.
"Get creative! Burn the door panel, tack-weld it with a laser or plasma weapon… unless one of you jokers has an actual welder. Hell, wedge a chair against the door for all I care. I want this entire base locked down and isolated so we don't have to hurt them! I want this juncture guarded till I say otherwise! The rest of you! Move out!"
Sure enough, they reach another juncture and he repeats his orders, following the literal signs on the wall that lead to the base's old command center. It’s as good a bet as any for where the woman who ran this operation is.
He just has to be faster than his opponent could react. Faster than they could think or get themselves together mentally.
Armored boots pound on metal deck plates as they get closer.
It’s a risk, but as his father in law likes to say, who dares, wins… and James Puller fully intends to win today.
He rounds the corner rifle raised, and is met with a manned fighting position at the end of the hallway - or something like one, anyway. He doesn't have to say anything; he fires, Ragnar, Imronbek and Cali all fire, and the four defenders go down. Mar...
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