“To our North, the Terran 1st has finished with Mining Hub Eighteen and is now moving on to…”

Genetha mentally tuned out the rest of the Lieutenant’s report. The Colonel damn well knew where her peer was off to next. The infuriating insect-woman had been positively gleeful when she’d relayed her regiment’s next objective.

It had annoyed her to read it then - and it annoyed her to hear it summarized once more now.

“I believe the Colonel gets the picture, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.” Fortunately for Genetha, she had a conscientious and attentive soul in her second in command.

Surprised by the interruption by the Major, the young logistics Lieutenant nevertheless took her dismissal in stride. Gathering up her data-slate, the officer gave off one final salute before stepping out of the command vehicle and into the rain.

Genetha watched her go, waiting until the heavy-duty door shut behind her before leaning back in her seat with a sigh.

Normally she went out of her way to portray the image of the perfect Colonel to the women under her command. Poised. Steadfast. Attentive. Confident in her work.

…But with just her and her second present, she could afford to figuratively loosen her belt, so to speak.

“The Triki’s going to get them all killed at this pace.” Her second finally said, breaking the contemplative silence.

“Perhaps,” Genetha allowed. “But until she does, she’ll continue to rack up accolades. Making us and the 198th look like incompetents by comparison.”

In the month since the Terran 1st had made planetfall, they’d torn across the continent. Securing mining facilities left and right, the predominantly Human regiment tearing a bloody swathe through any Roach force they encountered.

By contrast, her own regiment had only recently secured the second of their designated targets. With a similar lack of progress being reported by the 198th.

We aren’t going slowly though! She thought, already developing arguments against the criticisms she knew would be coming her way when all this was over.

Yes, her regiment was moving painfully slowly for an Imperial combat unit - with a timidness unbecoming women of the Imperium! - but that was only to be expected.

Raknos-Three was an Imperial commander’s worst nightmare!

No way to call in orbital support. No way to utilize air support. Comms got twitchy even just a few kilometers from each other. Deeps, even my exos are too afraid to fly too high for fear of being blown off course or struck by damnable lightning.

Admittedly, the latter wasn’t terribly likely, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t crossed her own mind on more than one occasion.

The point was, the Imperial playbook didn’t really cover situations like that.

And why would it? A world where orbital support wasn’t available? How did that even happen? Planets, as a rule, didn’t have ceilings. And orbital defenses were just immobile targets to a properly equipped bombardier ship. Something that could delay, but not stop, the acquisition of orbital dominance by an attacking fleet.

And the Imperium never landed troops before establishing orbital dominance, so it was a moot point anyway, which was what made Raknos-Three so frustrating. The planet’s strange atmospheric conditions essentially gave the planet a ceiling that made communicating targeting data to a fleet in orbit impossible.

A situation that, to her knowledge, the Imperium had never encountered before. And while Imperial strategic doctrines certainly made provisions for situations lacking orbital support, those provisions encouraged the defensive actions,not offensive actions!

The only scenarios Genetha could recall from her academy days in which an attacking force might be expected to engage with an enemy without the use of pinpoint orbital fire, would be when engaging in close-in urban fighting where a heavy civilian populace was expected to be present.

Something that definitely doesn’t correlate to the relatively open canyons and mesas of Raknos-Three, she thought irritably. Given that, is it any wonder I’m approaching the situation cautiously?

No. Caution was the name of the game. To act otherwise would be an insult to the women under her command. They weren’t Roaches, after all. Her subordinates weren’t just drones whose deaths could be justified so long as it hurt the enemy sufficiently.

A steady advance might not have been particularly glorious - but it was safer.

…Of course, that didn’t make it any less galling that she was being totally outperformed by an alien who was barely a year older than the Lieutenant she’d just dismissed.

Especially after the way she and her fellow Colonel had treated the woman on their first meeting…

Not exactly a high point of my career, she thought as she recalled how she’d positively leered at the man who’d accompanied the Triki. Forget professionalism, dad would have smacked me over the head with a spoon if he’d been there to see it.

Though some small part of her couldn’t help but feel that her… skepticism had been warranted at the time.

She’d known from the very first briefing that two regiments weren’t sufficient to the task of retaking Raknos-Three. Backwater or not, two regiments couldn’t effectively screen an entire continent for pirates.

They could retake the mining facilities without too much difficulty, but all the enemy had to do was go to ground in the outlying countryside and wait until the military left before retaking the planet.

Accordingly, she’d put in a report to high command requesting at least one more regiment. With three regiments, they could seize all three ‘landing tunnels’ and simultaneously hold them. From there, the act of flushing out those pirates that remained on planet would be inordinately simpler, as the Roaches would have no way of bringing in supplies from off world.

Of course, high command, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that attempting to take all three landing zones simultaneously via hot drop would present too great a risk to landing forces.

A fear that, to be fair, wasn’t unfounded. The Roaches had contested the landing a month ago, by using a disparate collection of mobile ground-based weapon systems to try to interdict the landing craft.

As Genetha had predicted though, they hadn’t been able to summon enough force to actively drive off a landing force, even one without access to orbital support.

The Roaches just didn’t have the quality or quantity of weapons to present a viable threat to a landing attempt.

Of course, that initial success had quickly soured in the minds of her and her fellow Colonel, as they realized now that they were on the ground, they now had to deal with a prolonged ground campaign against a dug in enemy.

Which was why, the news that they’d be receiving reinforcements had been so well received. Sure, it had been ill-timed, and Genetha was still barred from attempting her initial three pronged attack plan, but the arrival of a third regiment turned what looked to be a near impossible task, into one that was merely difficult.

With that in mind, the pair of regiments had bunkered down and started making plans in preparation for their reinforcement’s arrival.

Then those reinforcements arrived… she thought.

And what were they? An elite frontline regiment? A cutting edge exo wing? Hell, she’d even have settled for a Composite Patrol Formation.

But no, it was none of those things.

It was a parade regiment; comprised of sexy males, a tank company and a Colonel that was so new to her rank that Genetha could practically still smell the resin drying on her insignia.

It had been a bitter blow after a month of idling in preparation. With that in mind, was it any wonder she’d been… slightly less than professional?

Yet, now we’re being outperformed by that Colonel, those men and that tank company, she thought, entirely aware of the bitter irony.

“They can’t maintain this kind of pace,” her second reiterated, looking over the map. “Forget general fatigue, she’s going to outrun her own supply lines if she continues.”

Genetha just nodded, staring at the ceiling as she listened to the ever-present drum of the rain.

“Probably,” she said slowly. “Though if running out of supplies doesn’t finally slow them down, I don’t know what else could…”

--------

“Stop having sex with the natives!”

Admittedly not the most tactful way Jason could have entered the room, but given that this was the third such coupling he’d had to break up in half as many hours, he figured he’d earned the right to some bluntness.

Fortunately for him, the two occupants of the repurposed mining prefab he’d just entered, were post-coitus rather than mid. He’d not been so fortunate the last two times.

“Whatever you say Champ,” Kincaid grunted offhandedly, not even glancing up as he finished zipping up his jumpsuit. Turning to leave, the man glanced back at his previous partner. “Thanks for the fun… uh.”

The occupant of the bed said nothing, amusement clear in her blue skinned features as she regarded the two men in the doorway.

“Yeah, well, uh…” Kincaid grunted, a little awkwardly. “Well… I’ll see you around.”

Then he was gone, dipping out of the room. Leaving Jason to deal with his mess. Not that Jason had been expecting anything different from the tanker.

The guy really was an asshole.

Not that Jason much cared. He only had eyes for the alien that was now tying up her bluish-black hair into a functional little ponytail.

“Mebia,” he said finally. “I thought we had a discussion about this.”

“Did we?” The woman said, utterly nonchalant about the fact that the sheets she’d had around her had fallen away, revealing too perky pale blue breasts, capped by dark blue areola. “I suppose we might, but it’s been so long since we last talked that I can’t quite remember what was said.”

“It was one hour ago,” Jason deadpanned. “When I last caught you having sex with one of our Marines.”

“Sex you interrupted,” Mebia pointed out, the first hint of irritation on her face as she clambered out of the bed, moving over to grab her breastplate from the wall. “Is it any wonder I came back to finish the job?”

Jason ignored the question in favor of taking in the strange sight before him. It still struck him as odd to see a heap of ancient bronze armor sat inside a very modern – if rundown – prefabbed room.

As much as the Imperial invasion of Earth had been a culture clash, it had nothing on the collision between the Ufrian’s and the Imperial mining group that had shown up on Raknos-Three. Which made sense, given that the Ufrians had been and mostly still were a bronze age society.

They just happened to be a bronze age society that now used radios in addition to spears whenever a clan conflict turned violent. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had some laser-rifles stashed away in a cave somewhere. Because as much as the troops – the male ones at least – had been overjoyed by the presence of a native clan so close to their latest forward base, the Ufrians had quickly developed a reputation for thievery in addition to promiscuity.

Which only made sense in Jason’s mind. While a stray omni-pad might have meant next to nothing for the average Marine, for an Ufrian it could be literally invaluable. For personal use or as an item for barter.

The Terran 1st was a figurative gold mine for an enterprising Ufrian. The possibility of sex was probably just a nice bonus.

“I’m spoken for.” Jason responded. “Speaking of which, Yaro, would you relieve our guest of Meritorious-Corporal Kincaid’s omni-pad.”

Mebia let out a hiss of irritation, but didn’t fight as Yaro stepped forward to pluck the omni-pad out from where the Ufrian had hidden it under the bed.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Mebia smiled.

“I can and I do.” Jason turned to Yaro. “Now, Nora, please could you escort Mebia out to where the rest of her colleagues are waiting.”

Nora nodded, gesturing with her rifle for the alien woman to step out of the room. Mebia did so, but not without a final wink in Jason’s direction. Something she’d probably picked up from one of the Marines she’d been sleeping with.

“Star Trek was right.” Jason grunted to himself the moment the two women were gone. “All aliens are just Humans with strange skin colors, color contacts and strange shit stuck to their face.”

His life would be significantly simpler if the Ufrians were a race of tentacled green creatures with as many warts as they had eyes, rather than a race of skimpily dressed blue skinned space babes who dressed like greek hoplites.

Of course, I’d still probably have to come and repeat this scenario at least once even if they were, he thought grimly.

If he’d learned nothing else over the last few weeks, it was that a horny Marine would have sex with just about anything. As evidenced by the fact that he was still catching Marines sneaking out to these old prefabs to have sex with the local tribes warriors, despite the fact that just about any given Shil on the base – and a good few of the Human girls – would likely happily partake in a little ‘stress relief’ with them.

“They’ll just come back.” Yaro pointed out.

“Yep,” Jason agreed.

Now, normally he could have cared less what his fellow Marines were doing in their off hours, but these frequent sojourns to the ‘neutral ground’ between the local clan and the regiment's current base of operations were a security issue.

Loose lips sink ships, and all that.

The Ufrian chief had admitted to interacting with the Roaches before the Terran 1st had driven off the local cell, and if they’d interacted with them once, it was possible they still had a means of communicating with them.

And Jason had little doubt that as much as the local braves enjoyed a ready supply of dick, they’d still happily pass info onto the Roaches if it gave them access to advanced technologies. Something the Roaches would have no issue with providing in return for intel.

So no, these secret little rendezvous couldn’t continue.

“We could burn these prefabs down?” he suggested. “I doubt our horny compatriots would be quite as willing to keep sneaking out to fuck if it meant having to do so out in the middle of a storm.”

The problem was that these prefab living facilities were just outside of the main mining facility. Jason had no idea why they’d been placed where they were, but they were present. And they made for an ideal getaway. If they were gone though, the local clan had camped just far enough away that a Marine wouldn’t be able to sneak out and come back without being noticed as missing.

“I doubt the Colonel would be pleased with that,” Yaro pointed out reasonably.

A sentiment Jason agreed with. One of the objectives of this campaign was to try and recover as much of the mining infrastructure in as intact a manner as possible. Certainly, burning down a few rundown prefabs wasn’t a huge loss, but it did run contrary to one of their primary goals.

Jason thought for a moment before an idea occurred to him. “Tell logistics to set this area as the new location for waste disposal.”

That should do it, he thought.

Because, while he’d discovered that the average active duty Marine was little more than a dick with legs and a gun, he sincerely doubted even they’d be willing to get down and dirty barely thirty yard from thirty odd barrels of burning Human waste.

Yaro’s nose wrinkled, but she obligingly noted down his command.

Satisfied that he’d resolved the issue that he’d been saddled with by an uncaring command element, Jason realized he still had something else he needed to address.

Stepping out of the prefab, it didn’t take him long to catch up to where Kincaid was gradually ambling back to base with the carefree gait of a man who was enjoying a bit of post-coital bliss.

Of course, the carefree gait turned distinctly more guarded when he noticed Jason and Yaro were jogging up behind him.

“What do you want, Champ?” the man grunted. “If it’s about what just happened, then I already got your spiel. I promise I’ll stay far away from those evil blue critters.”

Jason ignored the obvious lie, instead flinging the man’s omni-pad back to him. Originally he’d intended to keep it and let the man go through the awkwardness of admitting to logistics that he’d lost his, but given that he now had to talk to the guy, he figured it was simpler to just give it back to him.

The tanker grunted in surprise as he caught the device, before reaching for his hip pocket to find the empty sleeve where it was supposed to be.

“That damn dirty…” the man started to say, putting two and two together.

“Yes. Yes. Dirty blue thieves and all that.” Jason interrupted, having zero patience for it. He wanted to get this over and done with quickly. “Forget that. Did you use a condom?”

The other man looked momentarily flabbergasted, before straightening up. “No, I didn’t. Didn’t see much point, given that we’re a different species.”

The man’s tone was just a hint less belligerent than it usually was, which Jason could only put down to the fact that he’d just returned the man’s omni-pad, saving him a headache.

…Or he’s still feeling chipper because he just got laid.

“Assuming this happens again, which it won’t, you need to wear a rubber.”

Kincaid just laughed. “And I repeat, we’re a different fucking species. I’m more likely to get something from a dog than one of those blues.”

Jason shook his head. “People don’t often fuck dogs. Or just generally share bodily fluids with them. That’s how things like this cross the species barrier. So I ask you, do you want to be subject zero for a hypothetical Raknos-Three Crotch Rot?”

The man frowned. “Don’t have this issue when we’re buggering Shil. Or Rakiri. And I’m pretty sure what your talking about has a chance of happening somewhere between slim to none.”

Jason thought so too, but he’d been given this directive by medical once they’d discovered he was now in charge of resolving the ‘Blue’ problem.

Fortunately, Jason had already considered that argument. “When you have sex with a Shil’vati or a Rakiri they’re pretty much universally disease free.” The Imperium, for all its faults, did have some pretty amazing universal healthcare after all. “The Ufrians don’t have that protection.”

Jason shook his head. “Whatever, I’m not arguing about this. You need to get your dick wicked in future, use a fellow Human. Hell, use a Shil if you need. You’ve proven you clearly aren’t above fraternizing with them.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, before pausing as a pronounced frown came over his features.

“It’s unprofessional,” the man said finally.

Jason could only stare.

“…You’re shitting me.”

“It is!” the man insisted.

Jason could only stare. Was Kincaid of all people really going to complain about fraternizing being unprofessional. The guy was probably the single most ‘unprofessional’ member of the regiment he’d had the misfortune of encountering.

Sure, there’d been a few lovers tiffs from ‘involved’ Marines, but he hadn’t really thought anything of it. As far as he was concerned it would have just been something else with a same sex regiment.

Clearly Kincaid disagreed.

“Whatever,” the man grunted as he turned to walk off. “Either way, you don’t need to worry about me heading out to see those fucking blues again. If I wanted to get robbed for getting my dick wet, I’d remarry my ex-wife.”

Jason just watched the guy go, a strange smile on his face. Sure, he still hated the dude, but right now he felt more bemused than anything else.

Unprofessional…