"Load starburst!"
The command rang out across the rear defense line, and the gunnery sergeant's voice leaped the seven-man mortar crew into action. One of the crew members quickly grabbed a shell with a white-painted nose and a crudely drawn star on its side and tossed it to the Assistant Gunner, who positioned himself at the mortar tube.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" the sergeant yelled, and every man in the crew instinctively covered their ears.
The Assistant Gunner dropped the shell into the tube, then quickly stepped back before placing his hands over his ears and opening his mouth pen to help absorb the shockwave.
Soon, a deafening thunderclap echoed through the night and the concussion squeezed their chests for a moment and left their heads ringing despite their precautions.
In the distant sky, a brilliant star burst into existence, suspended by a tiny parachute, flooding the battlefield with harsh glaring light like a miniature sun.
"Switch to high explosives!"
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Lieutenant Colonel Ciaphas Cahyono and Sergeant Major Dice stood by their jeep, watching as the Orcs got slaughtered on the beach, illuminated by the brilliant light of parachute flares dropped by the mortars.
"Better than I expected," Dice commented. "This batch of recruits is hitting their marks, even without tracers to guide their fire."
"Might be the AF-1 rifles," Cahyono replied, still peering through his binoculars, set to night vision mode. "I've heard reports that they have magical effects that enhance a human's hearing and eyesight. Seems like the Orcs landed in a two-kilometer stretch of beach. What do you think their numbers are?"
"Ten, maybe fifteen thousand," Dice guessed. "They took a serious beating when they beached in that mess."
Cahyono nodded thoughtfully. "I'm pulling in the other two recruit companies from the north and south. We'll box them in."
"The mortar batteries are performing well so far," Dice observed, tracking the explosions in the distance. "Most of their shells are landing right on target."
"They better be," Cahyono said with a dry smile. "This live-fire exercise is costing a fortune. We managed to pin them down with mortar fire for now, but once we run out of supplies, the Orcs will definitely make a breakthrough through the lines. They still outnumber us by the thousands."
Dice nodded grimly. "We just have to keep hitting them while they're still confused. Since they're packed so tightly among the beached ships, I took the liberty of calling for an airstrike."
Cahyono looked over at him and nodded in approval. "Good call. Now, we need to advance and push them back into the sea." He raised his binoculars, pointing toward the largest cluster of beached ships. "Prep Delta Company for an assault. We'll hit them there."
Dice acknowledged the order and reached for the radio mounted on the jeep. As he began relaying the Colonel's orders to Delta Company, he glanced back toward the beach, where the distant rumbles of war filled the night air.
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"Alright, Delta dogs! We're going over the hill and straight into those green skins!" The commanding officer roared over the dim of gunfire and explosions. "Attach bayonets!"
This detachment of Delta Company was packed with battle-hardened veterans, many who had fought in the bloody defense of New Guinea during the infamous New Year Tragedy. With a metallic clink, the soldiers drew their sword bayonets and secured them to their AF-1 rifles.
The light from the starburst parachute flares overhead cast a hungry glint in the soldiers' eyes as they stood in loose ranks among their platoons. The Platoon sergeants and corporals traveled up and down the ranks, checking weapons and ensuring their men's weapons were loaded and bayonets properly fixed.
"Company! Form up in line formation!" Barked a corporal. The individual platoons started to spread out and not long the whole company quickly formed a single long line following his order. "Advance!"
Like the ancient musketeers, the whole company marched forward in step in a single row, climbing over the gentle slope and three sharp whistles pierced the air, signaling the recruits inside the foxholes to cease fire.
The young soldiers watched as the veterans marched past them and cheered, shouting encouragement to them as they advanced towards the Orcs.
"Compaaaany... Halt!" The Commanding Officer bellowed, and the men nearby echoed his command, and the line came to a stop and crouched down.
Above them, the night sky suddenly exploded with light again as the Air Force's Phoenixs and Thunderwing squadrons arrived again. Using the burning wrecks as markers, the aircraft unleashed a volley of thermobaric warheads into the Orc fleet, setting the majority up in massive fireballs that cast the battlefield in a fiery glow.
When their ammunition was spent, the fighter jets and attack helicopters circled around, wagging their wings in a salute to the army on the beach before retreating back to base.
Then, as planned, a heavy barrage of mortar fire followed and transformed the beachhead into a hellscape of fire and shrapnel, making it into the largest firework show for the Liberation Army who had front row seats to watch.
As the last echoes of explosions slowly faded, one of the Corporals stood up, raised his whistle to his lips, and blew hard. The shrill sound cut through the night air, signaling the charge.
"OOORAAAAAH!"
Hundreds of soldiers of Delta Company let loose a bloodcurdling battle cry. They charged forward, covering the remaining hundred meters in seconds and rifles blazing as they opened fire on the dazed and disoriented Orcs.
The battlefield, illuminated by the still-glowing starburst shells and burning wreckage, was as bright as daylight. The soldiers fired at the Orcs, who, now fully exposed, shrieked and rushed forward with crude spears and swords.
The army line stopped as the surviving Orcs came out from craters, sand dunes, and even from burning shipwrecks. They rushed out in small groups of threes or fours, only to be mowed down by a hail of magic bullets.
Some Orcs played dead, lying motionless until the soldiers were nearly upon them, and they jumped up with savage war cries to cut down the unlucky. But their ambushes were short-lived when bayonets and rifle fire ended them just as quickly, leaving piles of bodies strewn across the sands.
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Jiak endured the earth-shattering explosions that engulfed him while his ears ringing from the thunderous noise following the explosion. He blocked out the screams of his dying kin as their bodies were torn apart by the barrage.
When the explosions finally ceased, he opened his eyes to a hellscape, and his heart pounded with fury.
Pushing himself up from the blood-soaked sand, he peered through the smoke and flames to see a dark line of figures had emerged from the haze, their rifles roaring with fire and thunder, and the Orcs fell around him, crumpling to the ground as the deadly hail of magic bullets tore through their ranks.
"Warmaster, our kin iz dy'n rapidly," the Elder Shaman muttered in an eerily calm voice, standing unscathed under a magical barrier. "We should escape 'n a hurry."
Jiak snarled, refusing to submit. "No! We must fight!!!"
Hearing their Warmaster's cry, the remaining Orcs rallied and roared in response, filling with desperation and rage. They charged forward, blinded by fury, rushing headlong into the firestorm that awaited them.
But the roar of gunfire only grew more intense as they advanced. Each step forward felt like wading deeper into death. The smoke thickened, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. Jiak's vision blurred, and in an instant, the world around him erupted into a blinding inferno. Flames engulfed everything, the sky, the ground, his kin, all swallowed by fire and ash.
And then, silence.
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It was not long before the majority of the Orcs were wiped out from the advancing line of the army. Desperate, some tried to break out from the center, attempting to flank the sides, only to run straight into the defensive line where the recruits awaited, who gleefully shot down any Orcs who dared approach.
The Corporal raised his hand, signaling the advancing lines of the soldiers to halt. The line dropped to the ground, either prone or crouched down, and continued to fire at the survivors. The Corporal pulled out his tablet and quickly navigated to a tactical map.
He keyed into his comms and spoke in his steady voice, "Magnum Zero Nine, this is Dog Pack Seven, fire mission. Request grid One Zero Niner Four dash Seven Six Two Niner. Immediate fire for effect on my mark, Dog Pack Seven, over."
[Dog Pack Seven, Zero Niner, roger that, fire mission received. Rounds on the way, Zero Niner out.]
A tense few seconds passed before the whistling of mortar bombs screamed over the army line, followed by a deafening explosion as they rained down on the remaining Orcs.
The battlefield was engulfed in fire and destruction once more, as hell itself visited upon the survivors.
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The thunder of artillery had finally ceased, leaving only the crackling of fires and the distant crash of the ocean. A Corporal led a platoon of soldiers of Delta Company down the ridge toward the beach, and his boots crunched through the churned-up sand. Smoke still hung in the air, but the enemy Orcs were nowhere to be seen.
"Looks like we gave 'em hell," one soldier muttered, his voice muffled through his helmet. "Can't imagine anything left after that satisfying bombardment."
The Corporal grunted in agreement but kept his eyes on the horizon. He wasn't so sure.
"Stay sharp," he ordered, scanning the devastation. "They're Orcs. You think they'll stay down that easy?"
Another soldier chimed in with a nervous chuckle. "Maybe they just swam off, eh? Took one look at us coming and bailed."
"Or they're lying in wait," the Corporal said sharply, silencing the murmurs. He motioned for the army to fan out as they approached the edge of the sand, where blackened craters scarred the ground.
"Wait," one of the soldiers said as he kneeled beside a hole. "These craters, they seem wrong. Mortar hits don't look like this."
Corporal stepped closer and furrowed his brows. The craters were shallow, perfectly round, and there was no shrapnel or debris scattered around them. No scorch marks, either.
"Not from our artillery," he muttered with suspicion creeped into his tone.
"You think... magic?" a soldier asked.
The Corporal stared at the strange shapes and answered. "Teleportation. They're not gone. They just moved somewhere with magic like last time."
The soldiers fell silent as they realized what that meant.
"Report to command!" The Corporal barked, "The Orcs had used their magic to escape and could be anywhere nearby, or worse, somewhere on this island!"
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Somewhere in New Guinea, a few thousand remaining Orcs stood in confusion within the ruins of a city. Steel and glass structures reached toward the sky, broken and twisted from months of neglect.
Jiak stomped forward with his heavy boots cracking the asphalt road beneath his feet as his red eyes filled with anger and frustration swept over the strange human architecture.
"Wot 'n Monolith's name happened?!" Jiak bellowed as his voice boomed across the ruined cityscape.
"I used high-tia teleportation magic, warmasta." The Elder Shaman stepped forward cautiously. "We were be'n overwhelmed an' would have been wiped out by 'da bombardment if we stayed."
Jiak growled and his massive fists clenched. "Jiak don't kare about 'da numbers! Jiak like a gud fight an elda took dat away! Dis isn't about survival, dis iz about honor and a good time!!" His voice rumbled with the disappointment of a warrior denied his bloodlust.
But as much as he hated retreating, he knew the Elder Shaman spoke the truth. The decision had been necessary, even if it tasted like ash in his mouth.
The Warmaster's gaze shifted to the massive structures around them. Tall, useless, fragile, he sneered at the way these soft skins built their cities.
"Fools. Dey waste dere strength on fings dat krumble. No sense 'n it. But..." Jiak suddenly grinned, "...dis will make a fine base for us. Whateva dis land iz, it's ours now."
He turned to his guards. "Find 'da rest uv our kin. Dey'll have scattered when we ported out. Round im up. I want every last wun back ere an ready ta fight again."
The guards nodded and barked orders to the others, sending groups out into the shattered streets.
Jiak then turned his attention to the Elder Shaman. "Elda. Get yer magic ready. Set up a cloak'n field wit' 'da remain'n shamans. Make sure da 'umiez don't sniff us out before we're ready. And… prepare for 'da Ritual on 'da next moon."
The Elder Shaman bowed slightly. "Yes, Warmasta."
Jiak nodded and furrowed his brow as he looked at the sun's position in the sky and his grin widened.
"Gud. Now we prepare... an' when 'da time komes, we'll make 'da 'umiez regret lett'n us live."