I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.
They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.
Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).
By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.
You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.
The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.
“Hippopotamus.”
This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned
Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”
And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.
But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.
Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.
You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.
The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.
You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.
It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.
Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.
When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.
“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.
One word: Moose
“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”
BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!
“That’s called a moose.”
“We have determined that there is no life in the water that is larger than we are. Future assaults will spend as little time on land as possible.”
Two days later, you return missing your boat and half your team.
“So what was it this time? Multiple rows of sharp teeth? Or so big it just smashed the boat?” Your human asks. You’re starting to think that if they can survive on this planet they must be better fighters than their lack of claws or hide imply.
“One row of teeth. Black and white. Ate my buddy whole.”
“Ooh, killer whale!”
Deeper, you decide. Deeper under the water. Your submersibles can allow extended time periods in the depths, and you have determined that the sharp-toothed creatures your human identified do not travel below certain depths.
All goes well, for a time.
At first, it is only shadows you glimpse. Movement there, where the local star’s light will not reach and penetrate. By the time you illuminate the area around your ship, there is nothing but the tiny creatures you know to be harmless.
One day, a submersible nearby is crushed. Deep down, surrounded, crunched and left for the ocean floor. You consult the human.
A deep, harried laugh issues from the captive. Their head lolls, their eyes shut tight as saline leaks from the corners. Their entire body shakes, the laugh becomes something terrifying as they finally look at you and say, in a voice that concerns you far more than the news you’d received,
“Kraken.”
This is the best post to come upon in the morning, I don’t need my coffee now
The Carving Witch 