Chapter 426 – Resolution
Lieutenant Colonel Logan Matthews was not having a good morning. That was obvious. Fighting tens of thousands of angry, sadistic green monsters that seemed to only think about fighting and fucking was not his idea of fun. If he wanted to deal with that, he would have picked a fight with the Marines. At least they were mostly a normal height, instead of only coming up to his waist. The goblins were stupid, but they were clever enough to know that nut shots gave a chance for easy kills, and they were just at the right height to give them. He did not want to go out like that!
He and his 3rd Battalion started from Pompano Beach, and were pushing up, to Boca Raton. The idea was to meet with 1st Battalion, coming down from Boynton Beach. Each side of that trek was between ten and fifteen miles, depending on how you drew the lines. If you asked the GPS, it would tell you that was a walk of four hours and change, with pre-System walking speeds. The GPS didn’t know shit about combat operations, however.
They’d started early yesterday, and spent eight hours pushing against the goblins, who were understandably hesitant to let themselves get shot without trying to kill him and his Rangers in return. Honestly, the fact that they got eight miles into the zone was impressive, under those conditions. But they’d still done a full day’s work, and not reached their objective. Pressing on once it started getting towards nightfall was not a good idea. The goblins were stupid, but they were clever, and they loved boobytraps and ambushes. That was bad enough during the day, but it would have been murder on his men at night.
Of course, it wasn’t like they could just camp out and get a good night’s sleep, either. But that much they were used to. Military training beat it into your head that you weren’t always going to get to head back to base for a nice nap in the barracks, safe (or at least reasonably safe) from enemy attacks. They knew how to set up defensive positions and set watches, sleeping in shifts to ensure that the goblins didn’t get a chance to form up and counter them.
Fortunately, stopping for the night meant that they could call up the vehicles that would have normally been too exposed in the street-to-street fighting. The vehicles were great at covering open terrain, and were fine on normal streets. But the streets here had been torn up by fighting and neglect, and there were several places where goblins had built shacks and barricades in the road, as makeshift fortifications, using pieces of other buildings for it. Clever bastards knew that restricting access meant they could slow the adventurers when they were doing a culling, which gave them a better chance at driving them off. Clearing the way had been part of what slowed their pace.
Now, though, their vehicles were with them at their camps. Which meant they had access to their full range of toys. The goblins had tried for one massed attack, just after nightfall, but the gun crews happily introduced them to the Mk 19 grenade launcher. The goblins quickly learned that a position defended by full-auto, belt-fed grenade launchers was not someplace you could use massed numbers to take on, and smaller groups were easily dealt with by the sentries with night-vision goggles.
That still left him and 3rd Battalion eating cold MREs and breaking camp, with just over three miles to go to reach their target: Saint Andrews School. That’s where the Goblin Nursery was. Where the goblin ‘broodmothers’ and their young would be. They all knew the score. The goblins had to be killed if they wanted to destroy the broken dungeon and reclaim Boca Raton. All of them, even the kids. Which meant they needed to visually confirm that the kids died.
Everyone in the battalion knew that. He made sure of it. He also made sure that they had all read the file on goblins. The only ‘safe’ goblins were ones that were bound to or spawned by a dungeon. Even then, their base instincts were full of rape and murder. It was literally part of their nature, through the System. And any unbound goblin that got his hands on a woman infected her with a magic STD that turned her into a goblin. They were universally agreed to be vile beasts. Supposedly, things changed if they managed to get into the Tier 2 version of the species, but very few of them lived that long.
Picking their way across the blasted remains of what had once been homes and goblin shacks, 3rd Battalion killed the goblins they came across. Most were in smaller groups. Ten to fifteen. Enough to be a threat, but not enough to be a danger. Matthews didn’t need a scout to tell him that the goblins were pulling back, that much was obvious. On the eastern side of the Zone, the goblins were making their way to two ‘strongholds’. The school, and the airport where the broken dungeon core was. 1st Battalion had the airport, and 3rd would take the school, since it was closer to their starting point. Last he heard, the goblins in the western part of the zone were falling back towards the swamp. Whether the gators ate them, or the Adventurers picked off any that wandered too far, the goblins would no longer be connected to the dungeon, so they weren’t his problem.
It was noon by the time they got within site of the school. They were coming from the south, cutting across the remains of residential neighborhoods. Storms, goblins, fighting, and fires meant that there was little left. The goblins kept engaging in small groups, as they passed the sports fields. Tennis, soccer, baseball, track, football, and a pool. Private school money at work, all of it now laid to waste.
They split up by companies, each company targeting a different building on the campus, including the church nearby. Sweep and clear. Simple. Almost boring, if it weren’t for three thousand goblins in their way. But that’s why they had guns, grenades, and a few spellcasters who had practiced in the SIF long enough that they could use their magic without the System’s automated assistance. Most of them were limited to basic spells, like [Magic Missile] and [Fireball], but when the job was ‘kill everything that isn’t us’, you didn’t need more than that.
Resistance built as they neared the main administration building. The goblins were weak, but there were a lot of them. Even the kids old enough to hold a weapon were getting into things. Of course, since a goblin grew to full maturity in three months, there being young goblins meant that the horde weren’t relying solely on the broken dungeon to replenish their numbers.
Rather than charge head on into a barrage of weapons and alchemical grenades, Matthews called in an artillery strike. He wasn’t feeling like playing fair with monsters that could barely thing about anything but killing and fucking. Plus, white phosphorous setting the building on fire meant that the goblins inside would try and escape the flames, leaving their defensive positions only to get blasted by his company.
Burning buildings chased goblins into courtyards and playing fields. Gunfire, grenades, and magic faced them in turn. After a while, the buildings collapsed from the fires. No more goblins emerged. And then, something happened.
There was a thrum that was more felt than heard. Like someone was plucking the fabric of reality as if it were a guitar string. Just that single note, coming from the east. Near where the airport was.
Mathews ignored the string of comments on the company frequency about the pulse. Everyone who had read the briefing (which was everyone) knew what they hoped that pulse was. He switched to the regimental command frequency, and called in, “Whiskey Six, Blade Six Actual. We just felt a pulse of energy to the east, in the direction of Primary Target. Please advise.”
It took a moment, but soon, he heard the Colonel’s voice on the comms. “Whiskey Six Actual to all points. Multiple confirmations of energy pulse from the Primary Target Site, consistent with Consultant’s intelligence on the likely result of total goblin elimination within the Zone. All groups hold position. System Interdiction Field will be going down in one-zero minutes from this mark. Mark.” There was a pause, and then, “All personnel involved in the operation will have mandatory sessions scheduled with base counselors when we return to base. Including myself and all command staff. Make sure your people know that the appointments are not a reflection on them, but on the nature of the operation.”
Matthews switched to the battalion frequency. He didn’t mention the counseling sessions, just yet. “Blade Six Actual to all Blade groups. Command believes that pulse of energy we all felt was the one we were all hoping for. Orders are to hold position. SIF coming down in one-zero minutes. Check ammunition and weapons, drink some water, take a leak, if you gotta, but make sure you have the right gun in your hand when the time goes up. I want the company ready to fight the moment the SIF goes down, just in case we missed some, and this wasn’t what we were hoping for.”
He followed his own orders, of course. Checking weapons and ammo, not to mention taking care of his body’s needs, meant he didn’t need to keep his eye on his watch, counting minutes and seconds. More importantly, it meant he didn’t need to think about the smell wafting over from the remains of the school building. Oh, there was smoke, and the smells associated with a burning building. But there was also something that smelled enough like roasted pork that he didn’t want to think too hard about it.
They hadn’t seen any of the broodmothers, and none of the kids who were still newborns, even though they knew there had to be some. Which meant they were still inside the buildings. The lucky ones would have died from smoke inhalation, or been crushed by collapsing buildings. Burning alive was not the ideal way to go out. Not even in the top twenty. And knowing that it was women and children, even monster women and children—No, he couldn’t think like that. Not now. Not yet.
“Blade Six Actual to all Blade groups. Spread the word, Command will be scheduling mandatory counseling sessions for everyone when we get back to base. From the lowest private to the Colonel himself. Even the intel weenies and the JSOC boys and gal. No reflection on any of us, just that the last couple days have been beyond fucked, and it is going to get worse.”
“Whiskey Six Actual to all points. SIF going down in three, two, one, now.”
System Notice
Broken Dungeon (System Registry: 821-AvUX-arp¥ظճ3-1ԕѠψ-341, Planet 2356-A [Earth]) has been cleansed, with no further creatures connected to the dungeon detected by the System. The Broken Dungeon has been destroyed permanently, and will no longer create new dungeon creatures of the type: Goblin. Monster spawn rates and variety in the area will return to baseline levels.
System Notice
Temporary Blessing of Kuronoth has expired, and been automatically removed. All unused benefits of the blessing are lost.
System Notice
For participating in the cleansing of a Broken Dungeon, you gain a new title: Dungeon Cleaner
Dungeon Cleaner
You have battled in Broken Dungeons, without the System’s direct help, to cleanse them. This has not gone unnoticed.
+25% damage dealt to creatures belonging to Broken Dungeons
-25% damage received from creatures belonging to Broken Dungeons
System Notice
You have cleansed a Broken Dungeon without the System’s direct aid. Calculating rewards based on residual echoes on soul fabric…
System Notice
[Command Presence] granted as free General Skill.
[Designate Target] granted as free General Skill.
For your actions: +10 DEX, +10 WIS, +10 CHA
For your actions: +2 Skill Points (unassigned)
You are granted XP sufficient to place you at the beginning of Level 25 (+5 Levels Gained, with normal benefits)
Matthews blinked as the parade of System Notices flashed in front of his eyes. He focused on the rewards. A title that was more like the temporary blessing they’d gotten, but without the ‘escape death’ boon. Two skills related to him commanding men in battle and calling in fire. Two extra skill points he could use on whatever he wanted. Ten points in three attributes for free. And five level-ups. He wanted to be excited, but he already knew what this meant.
We’re going to be the ones sent after every damn broken dungeon Uncle Sam can get us to, aren’t we?