Starship Trooper's Alien

I don't like track jumPS at all, not at all. The other troopers have no problem with it. After all, they just need to be as smart as gorillas,and they willing to die. If I could let it go, I shouldn't have any objections either. But this uneasiness feels like a hungry mouse trapped in a cheese cage, constantly gnawing at my heart. Because in my opinion, this kind of jump is nothing but suicide.
Before departure, we were like freshly caught crabs sealed in cans - wrapped up, alive, yet completely immobilized. If anything go wrong, we wouldn't even be able to crawl out on our own, let alone find a way to survive or continue fighting. What's worse, the situation after ejection was equally hopeless. During the entire free fall, except for the tumbling caused by AIr friction, we couldn't adjust our trajectory or posture before the parachute opened. Even a novice could predict our descent path and warmly welcome us with barrages.
Now it was my turn to be thrown out. My experimental new power armor was larger than others', so my launch method was to be directly thrown out of the cargo bay by the ship's armed police wearing power suits. My radar showed that the few people in front of me were still alive, not hit by anti-airCraft fire or intercepted by air force units - of course, because we were still outside the atMosphere, and strictly speaking, flight units within this range should be called 'navy'. Fortunately, we had already gained sea control, so we didn't need to worry about space threats for now, but things would be different once we entered the atmosphere.
The platoon leader was hit and killed by the ground-to-air fire of the bugs. He didn't even have time to scream. Their plasma is very light, like clouds, and can be blown into orbit with just a gentle breeze (of course, in fact, the force with which the plasma bugs blow is strong enough to send a fully armed mobile infantry soldier back into space). It's sticky and won't be dispersed even when flying tens of thousands of kilometers high. However, it's very slow, slow enough that even the clumsiest warship can dodge it using attitude control thrusters, but this requires skill because the bugs never spare their plasma, and each ball of plasma is as big as half a football field.
The security measures in the drop pod are useless against bugs. They don't use radar, but rely on visual and telepathic communication between individuals. They can see you from outside space, see your drop pod, see your starship. They watch you parachute down, watch you separate from each layer of the shell - let the brain bugs process this information, and use their soldiers to take us out. They don't even need to distinguish between the debris around us and shells. As I said, the plasma is as big as half a football field. Bugs don't scrimp on ammunition, and we're completely immobile during the drop with such predictable trajectories. Sergeant Wellington was vaporized along with the surrounding debris. For them, a few tons of plasma in exchange for a mobile infantry soldier is a very good deal. Well, apart from suffering 20% casualties and losing two-thirds of our officers including our commander, the good news is that at least our cook survived. If we make it back alive, we won't have to rely on the Navy for food or go hungry. The bad news is, I don't think his cooking will improve from barely edible to civilian standards, and at best, his meals are nutritionally inadequate. I know everyone here is tough and won't complain about the food, but I'm sure they'd fully agree that eating better would make them even tougher.

We've got 40 lively boys left now... I mean, the boys who'll still be lively after we land successfully. Among them is a sergeant, who's the highest-ranking officer we have now, except for me. Theoretically, I hold a permanent official rank of captain, and I have the right to command this unit, but I don't think I do. Most of the time, I'm excluded from the chain of command of this platoon, and I usually have to follow Lieutenant Wellington's orders. My personal orders don't carry much weight - the White Wild dog guys don't like me. They'd rather listen to the lieutenant than to me, this sudden impurity inserted into their ranks. The signs of my exclusion are obvious: I sleep with the soldiers rather than the officers, yet I have a spacious private room with a more comfortable bed and more luxury supplies than the officers - officers need the best rest, and soldiers need a clear-headed commander. This is knowledge gained through many lives lost. No one disturbs me in my room, including briefings and meetings, unless absolutely necessary. I don't even need to move for meals or personal care. Just press the communication button by my bed, order what I want, and the 'waitress' (usually a new female crew member, who says she's just a trainee communicator and has a nice voice - sorry, digressing) will deliver it within a minute. If I want, she can even help me shave, but I don't have a beard, and I don't like someone putting a knife to my neck.

This preferential treatment wasn't because I was highly respected and given special favors, nor was it because of my military rank - I was treated even better than a colonel. If they truly respected me, there would be poker players and foul language in my room, and they wouldn't deliberately look away when saluting, then scatter like insect workers encountering a Mobile Infantryman with a big gun. Their unspoken message was: 'Just stay inside, don't come out,' or, 'Please don't wander around like the Grim Reaper, taking soldiers' lives here instead of on the battlefield.' That was quite offensive, although I didn't care about the treatment or whether they respected me. However, it made it inconvenient for me to fulfill my duties, because what I needed to do was keep an eye on them and shoot some poor soldier before things got out of hand, or if lucky, send him to the hospital. Maybe he would come back intact, maybe not... Either dead or disabled, not always salvageable.
Anyway, I personally confirmed the officers' deaths in my own way, which may cause chaos in the command system but won't bring further trouble. The rule of prioritizing officer ejection may boost morale, but it also makes them 'VIP targets'. Worse still, the bugs know this rule. Believe me, if I were a cerebrate, I would prioritize targeting the first ejectee, especially those who release fragments continuously and slow down. I believe Sergeant Benjamin can lead the remaining troops, at least the size he was previously responsible for.
"Lieutenant down! Lieutenant down!"

A soldier was reporting within the team, they have the right to know, and perhaps this could ignite their fighting spirit, turning grief into strength. But honestly, I wished he had raised this later.
"Quiet down, soldier!"
I switched to the command channel, I remembered his name was Zeng.
"Sergeant Benjamin, with all the lieutenants and other sergeants fallen, you're now in charge, take command, otherwise you all have to address me as 'ir' until there's another lieutenant - and that's highly unlikely, that's all,"
I said briefly before cutting off the communication. They definitely wouldn't like this, including Benjamin, but it might motivate him. However, motivation alone isn't enough, I needed to do something to help them survive, there's no need for this unit to suffer excessive meaningless casualties.
"Three more of Team 2 have been taken out!"
"What should we do, sir!"

Their plea wasn't directed at me, but I knew the unit was in chaos. A mobile infantry soldier only needs to be slightly smarter than an ape. Their training makes them accustomed to giving up thinking, following orders from superiors, and adapting to situations during operations. However, this barely allows them to survive in their own area. They need a "brain," otherwise they're just monkeys jumping around and firing randomly, as foolish as bugs without control. And now, our brains are almost all dead.
"Banshee! This is White Wild Dog, we're encountering enemy anti-aircraft fire, requesting fire support!"
"Negative, you're in our line of fire!"
"Then move the ship out of our firing line!"
"Figure it out yourself, we're busy dealing with our own situation!"
Benjamin was requesting assistance from our ship, but it seems they're busy too.
"To the Banshee,"
I interrupted again.
"Launch all your drop pods, with the decoy eggs included."
"Are you crazy? We're in the middle of..."
"You can just twist and dodge in the sky, avoiding those damn plasma bolts while doing it."
"What do you want to do?"
"I need time!"

I checked our current altitude and propellant reserves. As we descended, the chances of being hit increased. We just lost two more people. It was time to act.
"Those plasma bugs are annoying. I'm going to take them out."
Then, I abandoned my drop pod thousands of meters above the ground. Now, all that accompanied me was my power armor. This was a suicide mission, and I knew it. Although my armor had been modified, the theoretical safety limit was still a few kilometers lower - and that included the parachute braking process. I gazed at the ground in a diving pose, even though it was beyond human visual range and the environment was unsuitable for my armor's sensors. But I knew where they were, right below me. A plasma bug had aimed its bloated rear end at me. This new variant targeted the naval fleet in orbit. It was the size of a football field, with its swollen rear end accounting for most of its volume. The rear end facing me was glowing blue, indicating the process of generating scorching plasma through abdominal reactions. It was ready to fire.

Just as humans develop technology and improve techniques, Arachnid also evolve. They are so similar to humans, like a pair of brothers who took different paths but reached the same destination. They cooperate, they cultivate crops, they build cities, they transform environments, and they even travel to space. However, while humans prefer to use tools rather than evolve their bodies, insects do the opposite. As for political structures, you might think that insects have no individuality and share a unified consciousness, unlike humans who are independent individuals. But humans also have classes: civilians are workers, mobile infantry are soldiers, officers are brain bugs, and politicians are queens. Perhaps insects have even higher-level entities that correspond to our heads of state. The ruled class is always used to giving up thinking, becoming like insects - without orders, their actions tend to follow instincts, leaving all thinking to the government. In this case, what is the difference between humans and insects?

I activated the thrusters and began accelerating downward. Relative to the surface, I was traveling at several hundred kilometers per hour, while the plasma was only moving at about ten kilometers per hour. However, we were approaching each other head-on, making the relative speed extremely alarming. I had only a few seconds, perhaps even less, to react. I activated all the nozzles on the right side of my body and maneuvered sharply to the left, dodging the first shot. Then I shut them off and activated the main thruster on my back, adjusting my angle to spin and roll through the air, avoiding the second and third shots. I could still handle it, but my armor was reaching its limit. I could see the intense friction of the atmosphere in front of me spitting flames, generating a trail of nitrogen dioxide or something similar. The temperature was approaching critical levels, and I knew without checking that the armor on my chest had already started melting - I hadn't installed neon lights or applied fluorescent dye on the front. I needed to decelerate.

Next, I need to face away from the ground, which requires some skill since I still need to perform evasive maneuvers. Bugs can share vision, so even facing their rear end won't stop them from sniping at me. And my other team members are currently unable to even scratch their own butts. I can only control my speed with the main thrusters on my back, but are they still functioning properly? Never mind, I'll figure something out. Maybe I can create a big explosion and dive into a pile of rotten flesh - that should at least help cool down my armor.
My main thrusters are working fine, but here comes the real trouble. With 2G acceleration and Mach 2 speed, theoretically I only need 68 seconds to come to a complete stop, but I need an altitude of over 20,000 meters - and I'm currently at just over 10,000 meters.
This is a problem. I need to make good use of the 30 seconds before landing. I don't think I need to save propellant anymore.

The acceleration suddenly jumped to 5G, and I feel my internal organs and blood being pulled downward. This would be enough to knock out an ordinary person and it's making me uncomfortable. But fortunately, I always like to bring something exciting with me to keep me alert: 40 small hydrogen bombs and 4 medium-sized hydrogen bombs!
My propellant is down to 5%, and my speed is still too fast, but I can let the thrusters take a break. There's an alien anti-aircraft position right below my butt, and I want to make an explosive entrance.
Taking the additional armor on my shoulders as an example, it tilts outward at a certain angle from the shoulders. When I raise my shoulders, it rises accordingly; when I swing my arms, it rotates around the shoulders as the center. The linkage design ensures that no matter how I move, it will automatically shift to a position that doesn't hinder. The same goes for other parts of the armor. Even more ingeniously, when I don't need them (such as when they're already broken or when I need high-speed maneuverability), I can immediately detach them, just like drop pod. The difference is that I can choose to remove only certain pieces, and I can also store energy blocks and ammunition behind the armor. As for the safety of this approach - if the armor is penetrated, the wearer is dead regardless of whether these things are worn or not.

Through guided locking, I fired several hydrogen bombs at each position. They may reach their targets later or earlier, but they will explode simultaneously. The following scene may not be suitable for viewing, so I covered my helmet with my hands and lowered the additional eye protection armor. I have cut off the armor's sound collector, but I can still faintly hear the explosion. The shock wave not only successfully slowed me down but even lifted me slightly. This process was too intense, and anyone else would have died. I don't know how many White Wild Dogs are left, but their job will definitely be much easier from now on.

I pulled my hand away from my eyes, drew out my heavy machine gun, and prepared for the upcoming battle. But all the anti-aircraft positions had been wiped out - not a single bug was alive. Moreover, the shockwaves from the explosions had collapsed the surface bug nests. They needed time to prepare for their next 'eat frying' attempt. Until then, we didn't need to worry about what was beneath our feet - until the 'eat patties' were cooked.
"This is Alpha 1."
The parachute was still functional, which was quite a surprise. I thought I'd have to use my last reserve propellant. Anyway, during this time hanging under the parachute was quite leisurely, so I activated the communicator and reported the situation.
"The ground welcoming committee has been dealt with, Sergeant. Can our team accomplish this mission?"
"They must..."

"Take it easy, Sergeant,"
I interrupted him and switched to the officer's channel.
"I've seen worse situations. Just treat every three of them as one person, like commanding your original squad."
"Yes, Sir..."
"Are you sure you want to call me that?"
"No, Commissar."
"Forget it, do I have any nicknames? Good or bad."
"Um... 'Executioner'?"
"Good name, call me that."
"Okay, if that's what you want..."
Soon, the remaining 31 individuals (apparently, four more were not so fortunate) safely landed. Using the drop pods randomly scattered by the Banshee during its evasion maneuver, we successfully attracted the bugs' attention, making them believe that our group was merely bait, while the subsequent debris was the real main force. As a result, the bugs concentrated most of their firepower on the bait, reducing their coverage on the warship and our drop pods, as they likely understood better than us what deploying a large group of mobile infantry meant. Meanwhile, naturally, we couldn't conduct any more air drops before the next resupply, but that was fine. After suffering a 20% personnel loss and the death of senior officers, I didn't think this unit could maintain any combat effectiveness, at least not to a level I was satisfied with.

As for the unit I'm currently assigned to, we were originally stationed in this star system on a temporary basis as a garrison force for the frontline supply base, while conducting maintenance and repair work here. This was just a routine patrol we were on. I was chatting with my 'attendant' when the radar operator informed us that he detected 'ome activity' on Gustar. It had become our routine - the Navy doesn't face the same manpower shortages as Mobile Infantry. At least when short-staffed, they can always delegate some tasks to civilians and focus on more important matters. I envy this, because finding purely talented technicians is much easier than finding soldiers who need both talent and combat willpower (this is not to belittle the Navy or civilians; we are fundamentally different and have different roles). However, similarly, they require far more personnel than Mobile Infantry.

She was clean and tight-lipped about external matters. For me, the latter's importance was only related to her safety. Our chats weren't limited to daily life, but I was very interested in the unit's gossip because you can read a lot from it, including morale and loyalty: If a unit only occasionally talks about trivial matters, they are too idle and ready for combat at any time; if they constantly discuss warfare, you need to be concerned - either they have accumulated too much pressure, or something is wrong. Especially for news about relationships that suddenly improve or become too close, or individuals becoming overly extroverted after spending time alone with someone, often inviting others to spend time alone.
Whenever this happens, it triggers my sensitive nerves. I hope it's just some people falling in love and getting married, or someone with autism becoming sociable after being guided by their superior. If not, then I should prepare my pistol.