It was a huge battle, they ended up having to ACTUALLY call for help in the form of human space marines. Why? Because these unknown creatures that had attacked the colonial world had been so powerful that the Vorax ships it'd passed had turned tail and fled as fast as it could, after seeing how easily it had overcome two of their biggest warships.
The humans actually were having a challenge with this battle, not just in space but on the ground. These monstrous beings were insect-like in form, very highly intelligent, and had a 'take no prisoners' philosophy. It wanted this world for its own, to strip it bare of resources as it had done other worlds this species had encountered, before it inevitably moved on to other worlds.
One human, to encourage his men, pulled out the one song that had become their battle-cry. And as it blasted over the loudspeakers, it reminded others again, just why so few wanted to face a Space Marine on the field.
(this is the song, along with the lyrics)
-- Anon Guest
The moral of the ocean is, there is always a bigger fish. The same can be plausible for space. There is always a bigger Deathworlder. Everyone knows of the Vorax. They were once the most deadly Deathworlders for centuries. Then there was the unnamed swarm that never had their own name.
Humans called them Those Bastards. They would get no other name. They were so voracious and aggressive that even the Vorax kept their distance, and the Vorax were famous for retreating only from one other species - the Humans.
Therefore, it was only logical for the colonists of Vrantamire colony to seek help from the most stubborn badasses in known space. The Terran Space Marine Corps. They may be terrifying Deathworlders for whom death is cheaper than usual[1], but they were reliable and terrifying Deathworlders et cetera, et cetera. They came to do the job and then didn't have to be paid to leave.
Those Bastards were in the process of stripping Vrantamire to bedrock, which gave the Space Marines the time to utterly destroy their space vessels. This did not appear to alarm Those Bastards. Neither did the all-languages greet-warning of, "This is the United Fellowship of Terran Planets' Marine Corp. You have ten minutes to surrender or we will meet you with extreme force."
Ten minutes after the last warning sounded, they found out why. Those Bastards were horrifyingly relentless, tough, and stubborn. The worst qualities of the Vorax and Humanity combined and then multiplied by nine. Evidence suggested they would laugh at a tactical nuke, even though such were forbidden for use on a Havenworlder colony. They did have a chuckle at armour-piercing rounds and frag bullets, but enough of them stopped being so funny.
Only Humans could think of such tactics as making bullets out of Those Bastards' carapaces and solid internal structures. After they killed one of Those Bastards, they then had the ammo to kill three more.
Humans learn fast, adapt fast, and strategise even faster.
Even so, it was a bloody and exhausting war of attrition. For each one of Those Bastards, it cost the Terran Marines at least two dead and five wounded.
Humans unite through music. One of them, Human Bob, had a battle playlist. During the Battle Of Burning Valley, it got stuck on one song. Unable to fix it, Human Bob put it on speaker and started singing along.
Later historians would claim he did it to rally his unit. Bob would insist he wasn't thinking that way. "I just wanted to put the wind up those bastards for a change," was all he would say about it.
The Marines around him caught on with the last line pretty quickly. If they didn't know the words, they at least hummed along. The air, already filled with gunfire and smoke, filled with the sound of bagpipes, drums, and the refrain, How many of them can we make die!
Humans are flakking terrifying. If any of Those Bastards learned that, they learned it too late. Though the Terran Marines paid dearly for their victory, every single one of Those Bastards died.
In a ruined crater, the Humans collapsed on a slope that was less on fire than its surroundings. Catching what there was of their breaths. Tending what they could of their wounds. The sound of bagpipes and drums still sounding from Bob's livesuit speakers.
"Axes flash and broadswords swing..."
"Hey. Bob."
"Shining armour's piercing ring..."
"Yeah?"
"Horses run with polished shield..."
"Can you shut that thing the flakk up?"
"Fight those bastards till they yield..."
"Been trying for fifteen flakkin' hours."
They bashed it into silence with a piece of one of Those Bastards, to the exhausted cheers of the survivors.
"Victory..."
"Thank flakk." Bob panted, watching the smoke dissipate into the night sky. "I want my ice cream, damnit..."
Of such anticlimaxes, true victories are made.
[1] Many would think life is cheap for these sorts, but living is expensive. You get death for free. These guys get paid to deliver.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Alens]
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