Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 34
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 34 - A disillusioned special forces group stages a violent insurrection, stealing experimental weapons from a Navy black site and using them to take over a remote colony. With help months away, the only person who is in a position to oppose them is Ruza – an old veteran of the Kerguela war. The planet is plunged into a brutal conflict, with local resistance groups hellbent on breaking the occupation.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Military War Science Fiction Aliens Space Oral Sex Petting Size Politics Slow Violence
DAY 56 – ALPHA SITE – RUZA
Like an insect scaling a wall, Harlequin scurried up the rock face ahead of Ruza, his chitinous fingers and toes easily finding purchase in the uneven stone. His gossamer wings buzzed occasionally, lifting him a few feet to the next handhold.
The going was not so easy for Ruza. He climbed the outcrop laden with heavy equipment, digging his claws into the little cracks and gaps in the rock, his muscles already burning with the effort. He was wearing his leathers, the backpack that housed the AMR battery, the large rifle itself, and his own XMR – not to mention all of the ammunition. Tungsten carbide was not a light material, even in this low gravity, especially when hauling AMR magazines.
Behind him, two of Brenner’s SWAR agents followed, their lighter weight and prosthetic limbs making them a little more agile than he was. Most of the team would be down on the ground below coordinating the assault, but Sandman and Kingfisher had been assigned to operate their SCPEL weapon. Kingfisher was currently carrying the bulky case on his back. Brenner must have been doubly glad of Petrova’s change of allegiance if it meant that one of those vacancies was filled. Losing two SWAR agents was costly, but it seemed that the weapon required some special training or acumen – Ruza was unsure. SCPELs had not existed during his time as an auxiliary.
“This way – and keep your heads down!” Harlequin hissed as he reached the top, crawling up on all-sixes. Ruza wasn’t far behind him, staying prone as he arrived on the relatively flat top of the outcrop, the featureless desert stretching out in all directions. Far in the distance, he could just about make out the tether, the thin strand fading into the blue haze.
He shuffled around on his belly and extended a long arm to Kingfisher, helping him up the rest of the way, then did the same for Sandman. The two agents kept low, crawling across the tangibly hot rock as they moved into an overwatch position.
Harlequin was already at work, perched atop the vertical cliff face that led down to the base some fifty feet below. He was using his helmet’s optics to scan the compound, marking targets and relaying them to the rest of the team. His high vantage point should give him a laser line to Brenner and the others, but he couldn’t risk flying – not with those CIWS guns operational. They might pick him up on radar and mistake him for a drone or a missile.
Ruza drew his XMR, leaving the heavier AMR on his back, and crept up beside the Jarilan. Pulling the scope to his eye, he zoomed in on the base, sweeping his rifle from left to right.
Brenner’s crude representation using stones and cutlery in the mess hall had been rather accurate. The compound hugged the base of the jagged rock face, its trio of ten-foot walls of reinforced carbcrete enclosing rows of buildings, both permanent and prefab. Walls made from low sandbags and tall gabions stacked one on top of the other like bricks were scattered about the area, helping to provide cover and diminish the effects of bombardment. They broke up the sight lines, forming a kind of maze that would funnel the attackers into close-quarters fights.
Running through the center of the base was a large, open courtyard of sand. The tire tracks from recent vehicle movement still remained, the walls shielding them from the wind, and he followed them to a row of parked PDF trucks. The MAST launcher was directly beneath him, its hundred-foot rocket sitting atop a bulky vehicle with far too many wheels. The Matriarch had fielded something very similar during the rebellion. It would be a simple matter to fire on it from above or to drop an explosive charge, but destroying it was a last resort. What a cruel fate it would be to win Hades back from Barbosa, only to have a wandering hive fleet make it their meal before reinforcements could arrive.
He counted at least two hundred enemy troops, ranging from the PDF he had fought on so many occasions to fresh SWAR recruits – their camouflaged sleeves rolled up to expose their augmentations. Based on what he knew about such prosthetics, having the recruits already deployed so soon after such traumatic surgeries was profoundly irresponsible. It would increase the likelihood of infections and rejections by orders of magnitude. The enemy soldiers were scattered throughout the base, many relaxing or standing watch, not expecting an attack.
There were the PCEs – Harlequin had already tagged four of them, but there were surely more. The hulking suits were milling about near the launcher, surrounded by a couple of squads of augmented troopers. Ruza hadn’t spotted any hardened SWAR units yet, and that bothered him. Like a sandspider creeping into a residence for shelter from the heat, knowing that it was present but being unable to see it made one most uneasy.
“Hard targets are painted,” Harlequin said, shouldering his rifle.
“Receiving your feed,” Brenner replied over the comms. “Remember – your priority targets are those PCEs. That’s the one threat we can’t deal with. If you see targets of opportunity – especially SWAR, take them out, but prioritize the Bullsharks.”
“Understood,” Ruza replied.
“We’d better strike hard and strike fast,” Kingfisher said, kneeling beside Ruza and popping open the clasps on the SCPEL’s long case.
“Mortar teams and marksmen are ready,” Rivera added. “Just give the word, Commander.”
Ruza could see the locations of friendly units through his HUD, marked in clusters of blue. Over a hundred fighters had surrounded the base on three sides, backed up by mortar teams who would soon begin their bombardment of the base to cover the advance. Crossing the open ground between the dunes and the walls would be the most dangerous part of the operation, and they needed all of the covering fire they could get. As much as Ruza would have liked to be down there with them, he was the most qualified to use the AMR.
He set down his XMR on the rocks beside him and drew the heavy rifle from his back, resting the forward grip that Rivera had added to the barrel on the edge of the outcrop, bracing the weapon against his shoulder. Getting into a comfortable position, he brought the scope to his eye, resting his free hand on top of the padded stock. This new optical rangefinder was indeed helpful, accurately zeroing his sights without emitting any kind of detectable lasers or signals.
Beside him, Kingfisher hefted the heavy SCPEL onto his shoulder, aiming its dome-shaped lens down at the base below. He had to present a taller profile, but it didn’t seem that the weapon could be fired prone. Sandman waited behind the agent, keeping the carrying case close.
“You’ve fought these things before,” Kingfisher began, reaching up to adjust the viewfinder that jutted from the side of the tubular device. “Any tips?”
“Aim for the canopy,” Ruza replied, flicking off his safety. “The armor seems thinnest there. The power plants on their backs may also present a weak spot.”
“We should hold fire until our people reach the wall,” Harlequin suggested. “Once we start shooting, it won’t take them long to zero in on our position. Taking advantage of the chaos and confusion could net us a few crucial extra shots.”
“Agreed,” Ruza replied.
After a few more minutes of tense waiting, Brenner gave the order, and the battle commenced. Ruza watched from his vantage point above the base as the mortar shells began to rain down, impacting inside the walls of the compound, the telltale thud of explosions echoing across the desert. The troopers on the ground began to scurry in alarm and confusion, heading for the cover of buildings and gabions as the explosives went off all around them, throwing up clouds of sand. The layout of the base was doing its job, helping to contain the blasts, but he watched a few less fortunate PDF fall victim to the shrapnel.
They were soon rallied by their superiors, Ruza seeing a small group of half a dozen SWAR agents in their black armor gesturing to the troopers and barking orders as they strode into view from the rear of the base. They reminded him of the Matriarch’s Royal Guard, driving their subordinates with threats as though they were disobedient Razorbacks.
“Got eyes on some of our VIPs,” Harlequin said, tracking their movements. “There’s at least one SWAR fireteam directing the PDF.”
“That’s not all of them,” Sandman muttered. “There’s at least another fireteam down there, maybe two or three squads. Barbosa wanted these sites locked down.”
The report of automatic fire soon joined the sound of the bombardment, molten slugs painting trails from the tall dunes that surrounded the walls. The PDF were already filtering out through the main gate, manning the dugouts and machinegun nests just as they had been trained. They fired back, the two sides engaging at distances of two or three hundred meters. Ruza knew the plan – suppress the defenders with marksman fire, grenades, and mortars, then move in and secure the perimeter.
“Watch the CIWS,” Harlequin muttered as the turrets began to rotate into position. The defenders were bringing them online. There were two of them positioned at the corners of the walls far below, and two more were raised higher, mounted much closer on the same rocky outcrop where Ruza and his team were perched. He felt an instinctual shudder of apprehension roll through him as he watched the nearest one swivel around – barely fifty meters away – its coil-lined barrel and large radome glinting in the sun. He reminded himself that the machine wasn’t interested in him, watching as it lifted its rotating barrels towards the sky, letting out a stream of glowing slugs with a loud buzzing that made Ruza flatten his ears against his head. They were intercepting the mortar shells before they landed, causing them to explode in the air.
“Seeing cupcakes used to make me feel so safe,” Sandman muttered.
“Watch for any sign of them depressing to target the ground,” Harlequin added. “We can take them out if someone starts getting clever.”
The fighters began to charge across open ground under the covering fire of their comrades, marksmen and machinegunners keeping the PDF pinned from elevated positions atop the dunes. Some teams paused to fire their rifles or shoot off grenades, more explosions hammering the defenses.
It was difficult to see what was happening on the other side of the wall from his vantage point, but Ruza could see the reactions from the teams inside the base. The SWAR agents were becoming increasingly agitated, directing more PDF to reinforce the gate, one of them waving the PCEs forward. The giant suits began to lumber away from the launcher, heading deeper into the base.
“This is our chance,” Ruza said, pulling his rifle tighter against his shoulder. “Take aim.”
He moved his sights over the back of his chosen suit – between where the shoulder blades would have been if PCEs had any, aiming where two of the large mechanical braces that made up the exo frame joined to the chassis. In there was nestled the power plant. The prototypes would have much more shielding to contain the fusion reaction, but these production models had banks of dense batteries based on the intelligence from Petrova. Piercing them should result in a violent explosion.
“I will take the second from the left,” Ruza said.
“I got the guy on the right,” Kingfisher replied. “On your mark.”
Ruza exhaled, tracking the lumbering suit, then squeezed the trigger. The recoil slammed the rifle into his shoulder, a tremor passing through his body, the slug displacing the air as it left the barrel with enough force to blast away the sand that had settled on the rock beneath the muzzle. There was no perceptible travel time – the round simply punched into the suit’s hull, the reactive shield flickering briefly as it failed to slag the heavy projectile. In an instant, it bored a molten hole through the armor plating and the machinery beneath, the batteries violently jetting a plume of flame that had no means of escape save for the entry hole. The suit continued to move, suggesting that the round had stopped somewhere inside, the PCE trying and failing to reach behind its back with its limited range of motion. It turned on the spot, dropping its XMR, its neural interface conveying some small part of the pilot’s panic.
The nearby suits and troopers scattered, getting some distance from the blazing jet of flames, not understanding what had happened. Perhaps they assumed it to be a malfunction of some kind. The flames petered out, leaving wisps of electrical smoke, the suit ceasing its struggling. Either it had lost power, or its pilot had finally succumbed – the massive PCE falling flat on its face with a thud that kicked up a little cloud of dust.
Kingfisher fired his SCPEL, a loud, ominous hum emanating from the tubular device. From the domed lens on the barrel, it emitted a strobe of light too bright to look at directly, flickering like a broken lamp. A series of impossibly rapid pulses formed a ghostly beam between Kingfisher and his target, lingering for only a moment, but it was enough. Like a spear of ephemeral light, it passed through the plasma shield of the PCE as though it wasn’t even there, the layered composite armor and dense machinery beneath succumbing just as quickly. It didn’t burn like a laser – rather, whatever was unlucky enough to be in its path simply vanished as though it had never existed at all. It left a perfectly round and clean hole the size of a human’s head that ran straight through the suit’s center of mass, along with a few feet of the ground in front of it, carving a perfectly cylindrical trench.
The pilot barely seemed to realize that he was dead, the suit taking a few faltering steps before collapsing not far from its fallen comrade, its rifle severed in two. This time, the cause of the damage was far less ambiguous, the beam drawing a fading line straight to their perch atop the outcrop. Ruza saw a few of the SWAR agents and nearby troopers turn to gesture, raising their weapons as they rushed for whatever cover was nearby. With any illusions of invulnerability dispelled, the PCEs acted in kind, rushing for nearby gabions and buildings that could conceal them.
“We’ve been spotted!” Harlequin warned.
“Reload!” Kingfisher barked, what looked like a bulky battery module dropping from the back of the SCPEL to clatter to the rock below. It must consume batteries like a rifle consumed ammunition. Sandman was quick to respond, pulling a fresh battery from the weapon’s carrying case and slamming it into place, securing a locking mechanism with a slap. He gave Kingfisher a tap on the helmet, and the weapon began to hum once more, its wielder swinging it towards a gabion where a PCE was taking refuge.
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