LaVoix (The Voice)

[datosprivados]

--LaVoix--
--A story by Monsieur Pseudonyme (datosprivados) RELEASED to the public domain as it is written--

As the sun rose on the Tennessee valley a sleepy little livestock based village filled with chickens and pigs was just entering the new day.

But on the western perimeter, nocturnal guards about to go to bed and switch shifts saw the blips on their localscan tropospheric Sonars. The targets, after being looked at for a few seconds, were guessed to have a speed of two hundred km/h and were moving in nearly perfect straight lines. It meant only one thing... The guards pulled the alarm and hastily fastened on their reactant based armor. There would be no egg collecting and bacon frying today.

This is the village of Sans Vie Rien, where sleepy inhabitants now wake up to the morning sun, reflected off the communal panel station and directly into the eyes of the eastern guards. And where a loud wail briefly fills the air.

As the militia became fully mobilized and designated women went with the local children into the villages few intact basements. A low hum that came only from ultra-efficient hydrogen engines permeated the air and caused even the most veteran of the village guards to tense. There was only a few minutes left until the hit. All of the defenders flipped the safeties off on their two century old automatic rifles, hunkered down, and just waited.

Vandals used snipers and the advantage of the position of the sun. It would be suicide to fire off a shot before the aggressors were inside the village.
Sans Vie Rien knew this most of all, they'd been attacked numerous times and somehow survived. Gaining a reputation as a source of both combat stories and the equipment salvaged from dead etou (and/or) executed vandals alongside the pork products and bacon they regularly shipped out via freight plane.


"Addition more speed Jarvo! The village of Sans Vie Rien has a cache of autos you know!".
That was the man in the leading compy. One of twenty small, fast, and light little all terrain vehicles running on rain water that now threaded their way through suddenly windy fields of yellow grass and bleached skeletons to their target on the hill.

"It's done", Jarvo tapped the pedal and felt the little ATV speed up twofold under him upon his touch. The day was beautiful already and there were almost two hundred kilometers of fuel left in the tank, the village already coming into sight. He was almost worryfree. Now the only thing Jarvo needed to fear was windburn on his unprotected face and roundfire (gunfire, but any type of ranged weapon attacks in general) once the battle began.

"I've got a visual, can I fire?".

Sarah Kelmink, a spunky sixteen year old girl who rode on the back of a compy in the middle. Her skill with the semi-auto snipers rifle was legendary, and she quickly got permission from the vandal leader to fire on the village that was now only three kilometers and a hill away. They'd arrive at its unfenced edges within a minute.

Lifting the sleek rifle with experienced hands and strong arms Sarah grinned fiendishly as she quickly sighted, found, and shot at the first of the villages perimeter guards from the unsteady 'saddle seat' she rode on the compy's back.

Wingzz!

In the easternmost guard station, made of woven bags filled with dirt as a barricade the two night-watchers scrambled for cover when the shot rang out.
But it was too late, the three bullets impacted the armor of one of the men. And while it could have taken one, or even two direct sniper velocity hits three was just too much. The third shot rattled through the chemically reactive armor and into the mans heart. As he fell dead to the ground a brief acid hiss signaled the armors failure to dissolve the third bullet in time.

Wingzz!.

The next guard, although he had taken cover exposed his elbow. Where with his particular armor, old fashioned InterPol full-body kevlar, the first shot bounced off and the next two caused successively larger amounts of damage. When the man sprang from cover in a spasm of pain Jarvo, already only four hundred meters away let loose with his own weapon. The man fell dead to the ground and as militia tossed grenades using hand-held launchers the compy vandals split up and the battle began.

Wingzz!
Buzzt!
Buzzt!
Cracks!

A dozen militia died within the first minute, Sarah Kelmink had been wise to join a vandal team comprised of experienced marksmyn (myn is dual or neuter gender for when no gender or both genders are present). They took out necks and heads and dislocated shoulder bones before the militia could even return fire. In the first five minutes of battle they avoided any casulties and hummed straight through the village on immortal engines before each sharply braking and beginning to circle around halfway up the hill. The militia were pinned, and the guards started to move into better positions.

Buzzt!
Buzzt!
Crackzz!

They all toted armor of some type, and all of them knew some basic close combat tactics and intermediate aiming. The vandals killed five out of sixteen, but lose six in return. As militia opened up with more grenades and their own over greased rifles the vandals fell six more so that their numbers were now only 18 against a village of a hundred.

"Jarvo go with another compy and infiltrate!" The vandal leader issued the command with a a shrill voice made possible by implant, he was clearly heard and his orders were quickly followed. Within a minute four of the vandals best would be in the village killing people from behind their own lines.

"Sarah, go out far with your driver and take potshots NOW!". Sarah also obeyed rapidly. In a vandal team the leader was in charge of general battlefield commands and logistics, while the individual members performed the detailed functions in their own best judgement.

The battle raged, the compy's picked up the pace of circling the hill to three hundred km/h so that the vandals were near untouchable yet the people riding 'saddle seat', on the compy's that still had surviving drivers. Could take blindfire automatic shots at the concrete buildings and guards on the villagers perimeter and thus pin the defenders down.

The vandal leader moved out to join Sarah and her driver, the Rocketman Isaac in their quest to exact longrange damage. Inside the village Jarvo parked his compy amongst the Eastern guard station, and proceeded to immediately render dozens dead with his three buddies and their four supercooled knives that shattered armor and froze organs.

The village of Sans Vie Rien had fallen. At the end of the day the survivors, mostly the designated women and the local children, terrified but accepting they'd lost. Were forced to dig the graves for those that had died. They were then knocked unconscious and kept as such while the surviving 16 vandals looted the villages few solar energy collecting panels, its radios, currency, and guns before taking off into the pitch black night...

To be continued...

NOTE: Please comment, criticism is appreciated. And YES I did write this story, I just chose the funky name because it was well... True. Datosprivados is a pseudonym, and what better way to state this then "Mr. Pseudonyme".