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SCL Chapter 32: Steel March Across Turaxis
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 21:01:38 +0000 UTCIn the early hours of July 1st, Augustus and his squad were already suited up in powered combat armor, fully geared and ready to go. Lacking enough transport vehicles, both the Fourth Brigade and its sister brigade had to proceed to the Yesha Town ferry on foot by forced march.
Augustus’s squad, clad in CMC power armor, advanced in four-column formation behind 3rd Platoon Leader Reagan, jogging along a dusty dirt road. Ahead of them was Squad 4 of 2nd Platoon; behind them, Squad 2 of 3rd Platoon. The squads maintained roughly 40 meters between each unit.
The thudding of powered boots striking the ground echoed like muffled war drums—like the heavy gallop of metallic giants across the earth.
Looking forward and backward, Augustus could see an endless tide of bobbing helmets and shoulder plates adorned with wolf-head insignias. A silver-gray torrent surged tirelessly across the deep green plains of Turaxis at an average pace of five kilometers per hour.
At that moment, Augustus couldn’t help but think—if an entire ground assault division of 20,000 to 30,000 troops were all outfitted with powered armor, the military expenditure for the Terran Federation would be astronomical. A cost beyond his imagination.
It also served as indirect proof of why, even for a regime as massive as the Terran Federation, waging war on such a scale—with countless worlds and tens of billions of citizens sharing the burden—was something that left the people utterly overwhelmed.
As Augustus and the others advanced, large transport vehicles carrying Arclite tanks and Goliath combat mechs occasionally rumbled by, accompanied by self-propelled artillery.
Each time one of these transports rolled past the soldiers, the tank crews and mech pilots riding on top would wave in greeting to the marching troops below.
At the same time, a squadron of approximately forty-five Avenger fighters constantly patrolled the skies overhead, escorting the moving army.
While keeping pace with the unit, Augustus continued to mull over what the rest of that attack order might contain. Based on the deployment of the 2nd and 4th Brigades, it was clear that High Command didn’t intend to launch a direct assault across the Paddick River.
Instead, they had chosen to strike from the flanks, targeting the side under Kel-Morian control.
But clearly, these two brigades weren’t the only forces executing this flanking maneuver. With such a grand mobilization, there was no way the Kel-Morians hadn’t noticed the movement of Federation forces.
If High Command’s goal had been to launch a surprise attack, that plan was unlikely to succeed.
Unless every Kel-Morian soldier was blind and deaf.
Just as Augustus was thinking this, a thunderous roar erupted overhead. Some of the troops instinctively halted and looked skyward—only to be met with a flurry of shouts and curses from their officers.
The squad’s communication channel lit up with expletives of astonishment. Overhead, a massive spindle-shaped orbital station was plummeting from the sky.
Even while still in the atmosphere, the station had begun to glow intensely. From Augustus’s vantage point, it looked like a gigantic fireball streaking downward.
Then, with an earth-shaking boom, the fireball crashed into the distant jungle, far from the marching column.
It seemed the battle in synchronous orbit above Turaxis had finally reached its conclusion.
By the time the vanguard of the Fourth Brigade and the Second Battalion at the center reached Yesha Town and crossed the Paddick River via the ferry to the opposite bank, the Kel-Morian reconnaissance aircraft had only just shown up. And by the time Augustus’s squad disembarked from an open-top steamboat—converted from a civilian vessel—and stepped onto the northern bank of the Paddick River, that reconnaissance plane had already been driven off by the Federation’s Avenger fighters.
This stretch of river at the Yesha ferry crossing was narrower than the one running through the center of Polk’s Pride. On the opposite bank lay undeveloped land, where the mugwort grass grew so tall it reached above Augustus’s knees—even with his powered armor on.
The waterlogged mugwort by the riverbank was slippery. Augustus had to activate the hook-like retractable spikes on his powered boots to anchor himself into the muddy ground just to avoid slipping and tumbling into the river.
Earlier that day, before the Fifth Battalion arrived, an unlucky soldier from the Third had already fallen into the Paddick River after slipping on the riverbank. Right now, over a dozen local fishermen were navigating boats trying to fish him out.
To make matters worse, the poor guy had been nailed to the figurative pillar of shame. Each time a new unit passed through the ferry, the sergeant stationed there would point to this incident as a cautionary tale, warning them to stay alert and tread carefully.
After crossing the Paddick River, the various battalions of the Fourth Brigade continued advancing north. Compared to the south bank, the northern vegetation was denser and more abundant. At times, the marines had to push forward through jungle underbrush as tall as a man. Thankfully, with their powered armor, they stood well above the average height, making it easier to keep track of the person ahead.
By then, the sun had only just climbed into the sky. Sporadic gunfire occasionally echoed in the distance—Augustus figured it was the vanguard clashing with Kel-Morian reconnaissance forces.
Augustus himself hadn’t yet encountered a single Kel-Morian. He remained vigilant, frequently checking the skies and the ground—watching for sudden bomber attacks or landmines. So far, everything had gone relatively smoothly.
It wasn’t until 2 p.m. that afternoon that the Fifth Battalion, where Augustus was stationed, finally emerged from the forest. Outside the jungle stretched rolling open ground, and in the far distance, vague outlines of buildings could be seen.
To the northeast of the jungle—in the two o’clock direction from Augustus’s position—several elevated points were connected by trenches. Near one of these high grounds stood a small village. A dozen or so wooden houses were engulfed in flames, burning fiercely.
Just as Augustus stepped out of the treeline, the forward troops ahead engaged a Kel-Morian force in a firefight. At ten o’clock, a Kel-Morian artillery position opened fire—shells screamed over the heads of Augustus and his squad.
One shell landed not far to Augustus’s right. A column of dirt, grass roots, and shrapnel shot skyward like a geyser. Clumps of earth rained down across a 100-meters radius, leaving behind a crater roughly 6 to 8 meters in diameter and about 3 meters deep.
The blast wave nearly knocked Augustus—despite his powered armor—off his feet. Shrapnel ricocheted off his chest and shoulder plates, gouging out finger-deep dents.
The squads near the impact point immediately scattered and dove to the ground. Augustus, without hesitation, jumped straight into the freshly-formed crater.
“What’s our mission?” Augustus asked over the squad-to-platoon comms channel.
“Our objective is the Z-103 high ground at two o’clock!” shouted Lieutenant Reagan over the channel.
“Move! Return fire!”
Augustus ordered his men to advance in their preassigned fireteams of four. Then, gripping his Gauss rifle tightly, he followed the Marines charging ahead of him.
In front of him, at least several hundred Marines from the Fourth Brigade, clad in silver-gray armor, were advancing at a brisk jog.
Overhead, several Avenger-class fighters from the Federal Air Force streaked by just a few hundred feet above them. Within seconds, the missiles mounted under their wings detached, trailing dense plumes of smoke as they struck the distant Kel-Morian positions, erupting into a chain of dazzling orange-red explosions.
Just ahead to Augustus’s left, an artillery emplacement continued firing. Several electromagnetic shells slammed into the middle of the platoon in front of him, ripping through flesh and armor—scattering bloody limbs, and even helmets still attached to skulls.
But as Augustus stepped over a fallen Marine, a deafening series of explosions erupted from the enemy’s direction. Under the concentrated bombardment of the Federation's bomber squadrons, that Kel-Morian artillery position fell silent.
Earlier, warnings from Terran Federation scouts and reconnaissance drones had failed to reach the Fourth Brigade’s commanding officers in time. Everyone had believed they were marching toward an undefended town.
Some had even naively imagined that upon arrival at their destination—Verino Town—the locals would have hot water ready, and they’d be treated to regional delicacies. They envisioned sleeping through the afternoon in cozy wooden houses, resting up for an early-morning offensive the next day.
What they hadn’t expected… was that Verino Town was occupied by a horde of crazed Kel-Morians.
At first, the Marine Corps' command system was thrown into slight disarray. But soon enough, each company and battalion understood which positions they were to capture—or where they were to provide cover for allied units.
