Chapter 391 The Consequences of Bragging

Chapter 391 The Consequences of Bragging

Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Members of the 82nd Airborne, one of the United States most elite infantry brigade, were rushing to set up defensive positions. Though Fort Bragg was where they trained and they had already-existing defensive positions set up for mock battles, those were nowhere near the things they actually needed to defend. That design philosophy was coming back to bite them in the ass at this very moment in time.

The EV Beowulf had already landed troops between Fayetteville and the storied fort and, having learned their lesson from the air assets in California that had survived for a staggering six seconds, the jets and hastily armed civilian aircraft at Simmons Army Airfield and Pope Field had been grounded until the enormous carrier had passed. Thus, pilots were still sitting in their aircraft in their hangars, awaiting a go order that would unleash what they thought was all nine levels of hell upon the Edenian invaders.

This was AMERICA! This was THEIR country! THEIR home!

And no red-blooded American would just lay down and surrender without a fight... or so they thought, anyway. Had they heard about how smoothly the ARES forces had been having it around the country so far, they might have thought differently. Or they might not; the US military brainwashing was highly effective, especially in Fort Bragg, home of the US Army Civil Affairs and Psychological Operations Command, better known as PsyOps Command. They had pioneered the military’s brainwashing techniques, and Fort Bragg was their test bed.

(Ed note: It’s not even a secret that all militaries brainwash their troops, both during training and during actual wars. The fancy word for it is “operant conditioning”, but it’s still basically brainwashing but with a more polite name and a much stronger effect. If you’re interested in learning more, google Ivan Pavlov.)

Thus, morale among the American defenders was high. They had even been watching alien invasion movies since getting the news that the Edenian carrier was on its way, subtly influencing and reinforcing the belief in their inevitable victory.

Essentially, they were fucking around, and they were soon to find out.

Fifteen minutes after the Beowulf had passed, air patrols via Predator drones began, in hopes of spotting the ARES troops in the wilderness between Fort Bragg and the nearby Fayetteville. It only took them three minutes to find the troops, as they weren’t even bothering to hide in their march up the main highway leading to the front gates.

A company of ARES troopers consisted of four platoons of forty troopers each, and Athena had designated a reinforced company to land for the assault on Fort Bragg. Thus, two hundred ARES troopers—five full platoons—were marching in unconscious lockstep straight along a road that provided them no cover or concealment. The drone, which was somehow rendered unable to get a clear picture of the incoming attackers, had resorted to using thermal imaging and completely missed the armor the troopers were wearing.

Aron’s design aesthetics tended toward the minimalistic and bland. For example, the Cube in Avalon Island, which was exactly what it said on the tin: one gigantic, cube-shaped building. Thus, the armor that ARES was currently wearing, or the troopers at least, was the mass-produced Mk. VIII Streamlined, Lightweight, Efficient and Ergonomic Kinetic Protection Suit, or SLEEK suit.

lightsnοvεl.cοm Ten miles out from the front gate of Fort Bragg, ARES came under its first assault. An entire battalion of M109 Paladin mobile howitzers launched a constant stream of 155mm high explosive artillery rounds, effectively landing amidst the invaders with every shot. But none of it had any effect. One trooper was even struck directly by an artillery round and all it did was knock him down. He stood back up and immediately rejoined the rest of his company on the march toward Bragg.

The operator of the predator drone circling overhead paled as he watched it happen in real time. ‘Are they even human!?’ he thought as he stammered, attempting to report what he had seen.

Next to face the ARES company were the pilots. They had been awaiting their go order for quite some time now, and were more than ready to go drop some good old fashioned American FreedomTM on the Edenian invaders, and they did exactly that. Pope Field may have only been home to logistics and transport planes, but with a little ingenuity, a C17 Globemaster could carry a lot of bombs and people to push them out the loading hatch.

Protected by the civilian volunteers and the few combat aircraft they had, the fleet of Globemasters took off from Pope Field and dropped dozens of 500- and 1000-pound bombs around the ARES company. Out of a total of 140,000 pounds of explosives, they killed exactly two ARES troopers. And both of those had only been killed when they were directly struck by thousand-pound bombs.

The tradeoff for those two kills was their entire civilian volunteer wing, their single A-10 Thunderbolt II “Warthog” ground attack aircraft, and all of the Army’s Cobra and Apache attack helicopters. All they had left now were three aging F-16 Fighting Falcons that were more display pieces than active service jets and the Globemasters themselves, which had remained outside the range of ARES weaponry.

It seemed that the Edenian assault was an inevitability, not an option.

......

“It seems like there’s a limit to the survivability of the SLEEK suit,” Aron commented, watching the unfolding battle from the control center in VR. He was in a terrible mood, having already seen the nuclear detonations in Pakistan and India. In his wrath, he had ordered their capitals wiped off the map; how dare they use weapons of mass destruction in their own cities!?

Thus, he had shown them what true mass destruction looked like. In Nagasaki, a traditional Japanese torii gate had survived the detonation of the Fat Man nuclear bomb. But in Delhi and Islamabad, no two bricks remained unbroken, much less decorative structures. And that wasn’t even mentioning Faisalabad and Bhapal, which had already suffered nuclear blasts in the megaton range. Those, he had leveled in compassion more than wrath; after all, being at ground zero of a ground-detonated nuclear blast, none would have survived regardless and their passing would have been much, much more painful than the quick deaths he had granted them.

“Indeed. We’ll need to keep that in mind,” Yoshiyuki Sankai, a copy of the head researcher of CYBERDYNE in reality and the leader of the virtual research team in Lab City, said. He brought up a screen and keyboard in front of him and started muttering to himself as he entered arcane equations into it, his fingers nearly a blur.

[They stood up rather well, though,] Athena remarked. [It took direct hits from thousand-pound bombs to take the two troopers out.]

“Indeed,” Aron agreed. He looked forward to beginning the resource harvest in the solar system; the research teams in Lab City had developed much more advanced hardware, but the most critical elements they required were only present on Earth in absolutely miniscule amounts. Thus, the truly advanced hardware at ARES’ disposal was currently limited to the Reaper teams and nyxian operatives. The Chinese had a saying: ‘use the best steel on the edge of the blade’, and Aron definitely agreed with that bit of wisdom.n--o/)V((e.-L)(b.(1)(n

......

“Man I’m looking forward to dinner. Gonna order ribs, prime ribs, beef ribs, short ribs, babyback ribs, pork ribs, spare ribs, lamb ribs...” Private First Class Sombat Phongchai announced over the internal ARES communication network. He was the dedicated sniper of first squad, bravo company, third battalion, first brigade, first division of ARES and had been highly decorated for his actions in the VR training simulations.

Athena had decided long ago that VR missions counted for bravery awards just like real life missions would. After all, the knowledge that they would respawn was kept from the troopers during training missions while they were in progress; thus, the stakes, to them, were absolutely real. And so, she thought, should the awards be.

“And some cornbread, and corn cobs, and popcorn, and....” The chatter from PFC “Chatterbox” Phongchai was neverending, but so was the fire he was sending downrange at the people defending Fort Bragg and the battalion of artillery they were deployed around.

“Maybe some baked potatoes, potato salad, potato slaw, potato chips...” he continued as he accurately placed his shots through the heads of the infantry and the vulnerable points in the mobile howitzers alike.

“And cole slaw and salad, and....” He raised his hand to scratch his head, temporarily at a loss as to other slaw-related foods, but his other arm continued its accurate fire, scything down soldier after soldier like a farmer harvesting a field of wheat. “Hey Malone, what other cabbage stuff would be good to eat? You’re Irish, you should know cabbage, right?”

“Shut up, chatterbox,” Corporal Malone snapped. “My ears are growing calluses!” He briefly took a knee and launched two of the eight indirect-fire fragmentation dumb rounds from his backpack-mounted missile launcher.

“Can’t help it, corporal. It’s kinda my thing, you know?” Another head exploded in the scope of PFC Phongchai’s pulse rifle.

“Zip it, you two,” Sergeant “Colonel” Sanders ordered. “They’re sending the Globemasters on another pass. System says to scatter and avoid taking direct hits, shit’s still deadly even though it’s just strapped-on junk.”

“Roger,” the corporal and private first class chorused.

Corporal Malone moved to cover on the side of the road and took a knee again. He dialed up the penetration warhead for the four missiles attached to his backpack launcher and waited for the jerry-rigged bombers to enter his range. He was joined by the other four troopers with backpack missile launchers as well. Sixteen AP missiles should easily put paid to the twelve cargo-planes-cum-bombers.

......

An hour and a half later, the assault on Fort Bragg was effectively over and the base commander, Colonel John Wilcox, ordered the survivors to lay down their weapons and surrender. They had killed a total of four of the two hundred ARES troopers and suffered over 40% casualties in return The reservists, veterans, and national guardsmen in Fayetteville hadn’t even had a chance to enter the fray before the surrender went out, leaving some distraught, and those who had been in combat relieved.

A mere two hundred ARES infantry had taken down the biggest known military base complete with artillery, air support, and all the trimmings. If they could do that, what was the point in fighting them?