Ace Combat: Gladius IC

[Kassaran]

Credit for the banner goes to Ubaria.

13:00 HOURS; 23^RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
YVDENYY Paramilitary Temporary Operations Administration Center

Autumn. He always preferred it this way. Major of the Romnyan military up until the recent war, Artyom Avgust, now the grizzled man looked out upon the FOB below, from his quarters in the slightly higher section of the center of the base, he could see the transporters already coming in. The new guys. He looked over to his side, a soft wind blowing at the leathery face that was his. He wasn't much older than 32 now, but the scars across his face and the missing right pinky were indicators that this was no greenhorn. Rubbing the soft spot where the digit once had been, the man now looked back over his right shoulder towards a new face entering the room.

"Avgust."

The man nodded, looking out back towards the window, just now the tank transporters and the convoy of vehicles carrying the new tankers in were reaching the front gate. Clouds of dust billowing up in beige hues that muted the drab olive green of the trucks somehow even further. A lash of wind especially sharp dragged his attention across the camp, as to did some come in the transporters, the commanders had been flown in. Perhaps they'd have appreciated the expenses that Yvdenyy was going through to supply them with proper quarters among other things, but to the man in the window it was all nonsense.

"Alexi, tell the rest of the crew to stay with the tank once it's offloaded. It's coming in with the others, Transporter five."

Alexi, the only other soul in the building alongside the Major, nodded in silent agreement as he turned on his heel. Pausing at the door, he paused for a moment to look back at the Major, but the man had gone back to staring out the room's window blankly. He'd been there for a while, but Alexi knew that nothing he could say would budge his old commander. A minute later he was outside the Tanker Barracks and making his way down the motte that had been built within the almost citadel-like fortification that had become Yvdenyy's Forward Operating Base.

Dirt streets wound their way from the motte down to where the tankers were now being shoved out the side of the Mil Mi-8 Hip on the platform. Buffets of dust, somehow still under the wash of the propeller of the Hip slammed into Alexi's face, coating his lightly colored beard in a thin layer of dust that ended up muting its color as well. In fact, perhaps the most vibrant thing in this base to Alexi was the bright greens and beige hues of the Hip's main camouflage scheme.

Sidling up to the edge of the platform as the tank commanders present were now being handed their bags by the Flight Engineer before being ushered off, Alexi decided that now was the best time to begin introductions.

"Gladius! Form up on me! Off the platform! Now!"

[Ubaria]

13:00 - 23rd April - 1987
First Lieutenant Vernon McLeod
Yvdenyy Operations Center, Republic of Romny


The rolling Romnyan countryside drifted carelessly past through the tiny round window of the Mi-8, beaten twisted roads snaked with the contours of the terrain, over hills and through valleys, it was strikingly empty apart from the odd farmhouse or cottage scattered here and there, some perched so quaintly next to streams and brooks, others bordering large thicket forests. It was a stark contrast from the Soatoan geography which was arid, parched and sunbaked, but the population density seemed about right, nobody for miles and miles around, aside from the villages that were few and far between. It was a wonder what they were defending out here, nothing but trees and mud, but pay was pay.

Eventually the helicopter started to bleed altitude and speed, the ground grew considerably closer and moved faster and faster, the landing run. Vernon wiped his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he couldn't wait to get off this uncomfortable seat and into somewhere warm, the troop hold of the Hip was surprisingly bitter and cold, then again he was from a warmer climate. Pulling his wool coat tighter to his chest, Vernon took the time to observe some of the other passengers in the hold, Osean, North Pointers, Emmerian and even a Levantese, quite the variety they had managed to pick. Vernon fought off a yawn as the Co-pilot began to speak.

"Landing in two minutes. Prepare to disembark" The man stated bluntly in a heavy Romnyan accent.

A painstaking two minutes but eventually the Hip slumped on the ground and the cargo bay whirred open, letting a gust of air through. Vernon stumbled out of the craft, one hand trying to protect his eyes from the dust and the other towing a bag over his shoulder, through bleary eyes he picked out a figure already waiting for them, their commander no doubt.

"Gladius! Form up on me! Off the platform! Now!"

Vernon was correct. The order was barked over the beating of the blades, their commander obviously had no time for dawdling. Vernon unshouldered his kit bag and placed to to the floor before standing to attention.

[Independent States of Tula]

13:00 HOURS; 23RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
Captain Samuel Mason

The helicopter ride was uncomfortable to say the least, not only did Samuel feel like a sardine in a can but the ride itself had been bumpy beyond hell in his opinion, there was a reason he preferred tanks to aircraft...this flying stuff was for the birds in Mason's opinion. Thankfully it was coming to an end as the Hip neared the FOB that Mason and his crew would be stationed at for the time being as Yvdenyy paid for their time sitting about waiting for the fighting to start. As the helicopter landed Mason found himself the second one out as a Sotoan pushed himself out first, or at least Mason thought the guy was some type of Sotoan. As Mason pulled himself out alongside the duffel bag he threw over his shoulder he was amazed to hear someone yelling over the sound of the rotors of the Hip.

"Gladius! Form up on me! Off the platform! Now!"

'Oh great, a drill instructor, wonderful.' Mason thought to himself as he slowly walked over to the man and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his tanker's uniform in olive green color.

Samuel Mason popped a cigarette into his mouth and moved over to the right of the man who'd exited the helicopter before him, Mason refrained from trying to light the cigarette yet as the wash from the rotors behind him would make that impossible despite the decent distance away from the Hip itself, instead he merely shot the other mercenary a look as Mason stood lazily next to him rather than go to attention for the man who must of been their commander in front of them. Mason studied said commander with his eyes, saying nothing as we waited for the others to join the two up front, knowing they must've only been just moments behind the two as they offloaded from the Hip.

[Anowa]

Captain Allen Gray
1300, 4/23/1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
It wasn't the first time the mercenary tank commander flew in a helicopter, it was just the first without any of his crew. He would've preferred to stay on the ground where he could easily access his tank, and be with his team in case of attack. His distinct fear of being shot down was also a factor in his dislike of current arrangements. The man overheard the pilot of the glorified SPAM can inform the passengers of the upcoming landing, which Allen promptly prepared for by dropping a coloring book and box of crayons back into his duffel and zipping it up.

The soft (for a Mil helicopter landing) bump that shook the fuselage indicated that they were now firmly settled on the ground, the crew chief pulled the door open and the passengers all began to step out. Moments later a choppy sound reached his ears, it sounded like a voice, and judging from the fact that everyone else was headed towards a figure that was firmly at attention, the words must have been something along the lines of: "I've got a stick up my ass, get over here." Not even three seconds and Allen knew they wouldn't get along. Regardless he moved onwards, joining the others in front of the man who reminded him of an old Osean base Adjutant he met once.

[Beiarusia]

Lt. Morgan Culpepper "Witch"
13:00 April 23, 1987 // Forward Operating Base YOSYP, Romny

Morgan had watched her uncle waste away. A great and powerful bear of a man, highly decorated and having served through thick and thin and worse in the name of country, and yet, in a cruel twist, it was illness that had done him in. He so much rather would have died on his feet, but in the end death came to him on his back, tucked away in some VA hospice and forgotten by all save for his one and only niece. He had cursed his fate and she, too, had cursed it as well.

It simply wasn’t fair.

In his final hours he had confided in the girl. Had given her hope. When she was so far down her uncle had told her exactly what she had needed to hear. He had said…

"Landing in two minutes. Prepare to disembark"

Morgan snapped awake. Gone was the dark hospice room. Gone was her uncle. No longer was she in North Point, but instead halfway across the world in some helicopter on approach to the first day of her new life. She begrudgingly gave way to consciousness, stretching as best she could in the cramped compartment – not that she wasn’t used to such confined spaces – and moaning ever slightly as her joints loosened. Still exhausted, Morgan leaned back into her seat and tried not to drift back off into sleep. She very nearly failed in doing so when the helicopter landed, its hatch opening and a man, whom she could only assume was in charge, ordered them out. Grabbing her bag – packed light – she joined the others in stepping out and onto Romnyan soil.

She stepped into line, too far, and quickly stepped back so that she was even with the others, all the while yawning and wondering if her tank had arrived yet. Her friends and crew as well, but she had her priorities.

[Relikai]

Second Lieutenant Julius Silverheart "Silver"

13:00 HOURS; 23RD APRIL, 1987
Forward Operating Base "YOSYP", Romny

The 'whomp whomp' of the chopper blades slowed as Julius stretched his legs, getting the strain out of them. The passengers around the Northian were a collective of different nationalities, not that his own tank crew was any different. He has come a long way knowing his crew, but they were still not as cohesive as he'd like. A capable tanker he is, the 'Kid from North Point' has aced every tank competition he went to, earning that name from several units all around. One thing he has not done was fire a shot in anger, or destroyed another tank. Julius participated in minor skirmishes near East Clavis for a month as a rifleman, but that was all the combat experience that he had.

Reaching into his small pack, Julius withdrew a canteen filled with hot coffee, enjoying the bittersweet liquid of his own brew. More sugar and milk, and he'll either run or sweat off all the extra calories in that drink. Landing, Julius and his crew practically hopped out as they gathered near some authoritative figure. However, he nearly bumped into a figure who was barely reaching his chest. Slightly bemused, Julius looked at the lady with a hat, before asking in a whisper.

"Aye, you're here for the dirty work... as a mercenary?"

[Argentumurbem]

First Lieutenant Requis El Savara

Sleep did not come easily on the journey, the constant rise and fall in volume of the engines, the spiking conversation, the press of bodies and materials. However it did come, as with everything in his life, from the shadow, unexpected. He dreamed of nothing, of lakes taking flight, of mountains holding aloft stars and a tree falling, falling, falling, fal-

"Two minutes!"

He was brought back, a frown wedging itself deeply in to his forehead at the disrupted sleep. Stretching himself awake, the tank commander breathed a sigh of apparent relief: he was getting back to his girl. The M60A1 was his baby girl, the child he would never have. She would protect him as he protects her. On the other hand, she could end up being his wife: a broken down rust bucket whose only charm was that she was his.

As the helicopter set down, Requis got to his feet, dragging his bag behind him. The loud words of the officer on the assault ramp did little to cut through the clammy blanket of half-conscientiousness, so much so that a smile refused to leave his face.

Joining the extending line of tank commanders, Requis slung his bag over his back. Drinking in the sight of the camp, the man nodded softly to himself. Cute. He hoped that it would prove to be a temporary accommodation.

[Kassaran]

13:02 HOURS; 23^RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
YVDENYY Paramilitary Temporary Operations Administration Center

"Alright Commanders, with me, we're heading straight for the motor-pool where they should be off-loading your gear and coffins now, check in with your crew, clear the munitions registers and logs and sign off whatever you got to the base quartermasters and crew chiefs, they'll handle things from there. As of right now we're hoofing it, no need for double time but don't you dare fall behind. Fall out!"

Turning on his heel, Alexi began his march towards the compound. Moving at an average walking pace for a man of unimposing height, the Romnyan tanker veteran was well into his twenties. Not that his age mattered much, he'd followed Avgust into this line of work anyways, the man had saved his ass more times than he could count and as a result so to had all three of the other members of the crew of their tank also been saved. A short walk of no more than two hundred meters had the group of Tank Commanders turning into a large open area, crews of various lorries and the local militia were busy scurrying about under the watchful eye of the load masters and contracted supervisors of the Yvdenyy Private Military Company.

"Get on with unloading those tanks you bastards, drop your shit and work til your bones run cold then do it all again! Move it, move it, move it!" a man shouting out in the native Romnyan dialect could be heard screaming into the cold autumn air at the militiamen about him as they struggled to keep pace with his demands. Sure enough within a few seconds a sound could be heard as the tank transporters slowly began to pull into the open motorcade and in time with their arrival, so too did a bunch of quonset huts along the edges of the motorcade also open up to reveal the open maintenance pits within and the steel-titanium braces that would hold the tanks in place as they were rolled into position by their crews.

"Commanders, to your tanks, get your gear and get your papers. Rendezvous at the building at the top of the hill in five minutes. Dismissed!"

Walking away from where he left the commanders, the man made his way past the first four vehicles and pulled to a stop at the last. Sure enough, there was the tank that he'd be driving soon enough. The company had said they were going to provide training exercises for the first few commanders to fall into habit, but soon enough the shit was going to fly and it was only a matter of time. There on the transporter was a vehicle truly worth his time though, thought driver and Sergeant Alexi Garvolin, the Yuktobanian-made, but Romnyan modified T-72A. It's Composite Hull armor and externally mounted cage making it a suitably powerful fighting machine. According to the open market, roughly into 10,000 or more had been made with the unknown numbers still lying within the Yuke borders.

Guess we'll be seeing if it's true what they say about those damned Yukes to the north shortly. Without further a word, he looked to find the gunner and loader of the tank already crawling all over it, one Markus Bresnov and an Aurelian by the name of Slick respectively. They were a crew, one way or another and watching the two look over the tank in glee, they almost forgot to regard the man standing off the transporter and off to the side.

"You two better not break anything or the Commander'll have your heads."

Only the Aurelian bothered to respond, the carefree attitude of the man pairing well with the off-set cock of his service cap and the stained coverall he wore as he clambered across the top of the tank to move towards the commander's hatch. "Well if we break anything it's because he was too much of a cheapskate to buy the real thing, besides mate, it ain't going to hurt to just look at 'er."

The flawless Romnyan he spoke would have been nothing short of shocking if not surprising for anyone else had they not realized this was a man whom had served alongside the Romnyan military in this area for well into the five or six year mark. His language skills were able to hold up to some scrutiny, but to an outsider they stood out. Still, his participation in suppressing some local rebel militias had been invaluable with his time in the local military and so he'd been honorarily welcomed by Yvdenyy when the Commander had applied with his crew. They were a family, had been for quite some time.

Taking his time as he pulled himself up to the top of the tank, the driver gave her a once over and deciding that everything was fine, he looked towards the other two now settling themselves into their seats. Had they not been shrouded in grease, oil, and various scraps of cloth now adorning their face to keep the dust out as a gathering cloud of grit seemed to roll in from over the tops of the roofs of the camp, he'd might have seen the delighted and childlike expressions of joy on their faces. Not that he needed to see them to know they were there,"When you two are done acting like schoolboys peeping on a ladies bath, we got shit to do. Pull her into the hangar, slot 1, ground crews'll do the rest. Then haul your asses upstairs to the briefing room, catch anyone you see who looks lost and bring 'em to us too. They'll likely be needing to be where you're heading anyways."

"Wait, you're trusting us, with her?"

"Do I need to second-guess myself or can I assume you're not going to molest her too badly before I get my swing at her Slick?"

"Fair enough, see ya in five."

"That's bullshit and you know it. You got three, two if you say another word."

With that, the Romnyan tank driver hopped down off of the transporter and made his way into the depths of the base, winding his way up and into the main building at the top of the hill. Within a minute or two he'd seated himself in the tanker's lounge, waiting for the rest of the new bloods to show up as he wondered when the old man would turn back from his staring out the window to look at them. For now though, he just remained, unphased and looking out of the room rubbing the stump on his right hand almost without thought.

[Beiarusia]

Lt. Morgan Cullpepper "Witch"
04/23/1987 // Forward Operating Base YOSYP, Romny

Morgan stood in line, relaxed and adopting a rather casual posture unbefitting the situation. A hand absentmindedly adjusted her trapper hat, tugging on the rightmost earflap until both sides were more or less even, until another pull askewed it all once more. It was then that a reasonably tall man bumped into her from behind, not terribly hard but enough for a slight stumble on her part. Morgan gave him an annoyed pout to compliment the bemused expression he now wore. It was almost as if he was surprised to see her.

"Aye, you're here for the dirty work... as a mercenary?"

His voice had the familiar ring of home. A fellow countryman no doubt, and here Morgan thought she’d done away with North Point. She didn’t recognize him and, it would seem, he didn’t know who she was either.

Not that it mattered one way or another.

“I’m a tourist who got on the wrong plane,” she quipped.

If the man had a response he didn’t get the chance to make it known. Their greeting party was now yelling at them all in a firm but commanding tone, giving them a rundown before marching them off to where their tanks should be arriving. Against explicit orders Morgan fall behind. It wasn’t a difficult trek but she’d only just awoken, and as such was not too keen on exerting herself just this moment. Not that she missed anything. The transporters were only now pulling into the clearing. Morgan stood behind the small gathering, a poor choice as she could not see pass them and, after struggling to peer through, was forced to stalk over and around. Annoyance soon gave way to a grin as she spotted her own tank. Perhaps the smallest of them all – rather fitting – and painted a mottled blue-grey.

"Commanders, to your tanks, get your gear and get your papers. Rendezvous at the building at the top of the hill in five minutes. Dismissed!"

Morgan was the first to break away from the group, doing her best to not sprint but, ultimately, failing. Reaching the transporter, and ignoring the crew busy unloading everything, she attempted to clamber up and to her tank, but had some difficulty due to her modest height. Struggling, she was soon boosted from behind and, expecting to see the tall man from before, was instead greeted by Eliza Beaumont, longtime friend and gunner.

“Thanks,” Morgan grinned. “Enjoy the ride over?”

Eliza, face passive, offered a curt nod.

Morgan glanced around. “Where’s Dani?”

Eliza pointed pass the transported to where several vehicles could be seen. Danielle Loughty, former military and driver, was stammering in various apologies after having barreled into a group of engineers who, in turn, were speaking a language she did not understand. It was a rather comedic sight that Morgan couldn’t help but smile at.

But Dani was a big girl and didn’t need Morgan to pull her from every bad situation. Besides, the commander was too busy admiring her tank to offer up much assistance. A beautiful FV101 Scorpion. Not a heavy hitter like some of the others but that didn’t matter. It was hers, and that was why she loved it. Already she had climbed atop, draping herself over the short barrel and running a hand against the cool metal. She couldn’t wait to hop inside, but sadly there were official matters to take care of. With a sigh Morgan eventually climbed down.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Eliza said, her voice naturally quiet.

“I know, but I want in now,” Morgan complained, any sleepiness from earlier now expunged. “Hey, could you…”

Eliza nodded before trudging off the where Dani was still struggling. Soon enough the men had been shooed away and the exasperated woman dragged back to join the others. She offered a tired but happy grin upon seeing her former, and now current, tank commander.

The three soon made their way up to the designated building, some of the last to do so. Inside they found the tanker’s lounge and, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, took the first open seats they found in the front row. With any luck this wouldn’t take long and they all could blow something up before dinner.

[Ubaria]

"Alright Commanders, with me, we're heading straight for the motor-pool where they should be off-loading your gear and coffins now, check in with your crew, clear the munitions registers and logs and sign off whatever you got to the base quartermasters and crew chiefs, they'll handle things from there. As of right now we're hoofing it, no need for double time but don't you dare fall behind. Fall out!"

Vernon mumbled something akin to a 'yes sir' over the beating of the blades and quickly collected his belongings and made off down to the center of the compound where large transports were offloading all manners of armored vehicles, his AMX10p was clearly visible among the mess of crewmen and supplies being offloaded as well as two unmistakable figures, his crewmen. Well, one crewman and one crew-woman.

"Sweet home....shithole" Paul, his gunner was quick to quip on the state of their surroundings, obviously unimpressed.

Vernon shot him a stern but amused glance, he wasn't exactly wrong, this place was hardly the most appealing place in the world but they didn't have a choice in the matter. It would have to suffice. Vernon attempted to reply but was cut off by Sanayu, or just Sana for short.

"Hey don't be so harsh" She chuckled and pushed him on the arm. "This place has a certain...charm to it" She added, shaking her palms to emphasize her point.

"Yeh. Like a Yuktobanian Gulag or Prison camp" He added before Vernon was forced to shut them up.

"Knock it off. It's our home for the next goddamn however long so get used to it." Vernon glanced at the AMX which had seen better days, it was still in fighting condition however, even if its paint was chipped, metal was scuffed and its suspension was a bit stiff. It wasn't as much as an effective fighting machine like some of the others that had been unloaded, a couple of Pattons, a Starship and a Warrior, but it could hold its own in a fight against infantry and to some degree, some other light Armour. Vernon patted it down and hopped up the front glacis plate, throwing his duffel bag inside the drivers hatch.

"Listen i have to clear some things with the technicians. Contract stuff. Don't break anything and i'll be back in a second. Ok?" Vernon slid down the front and hopped back onto the dirt.

"Aye boss. Just don't be long. Its fucking cold".

Vernon rolled his eyes and made way over to a man who he could only assume was the base quartermaster"

[Anowa]

At the dismissal, Captain Gray was quick to go to his vehicle to check in on his crew. Upon his arrival he was witness to a rather common occurance: A drunk 'Stovie bumbling about around the main fuselage taking swigs from a clear bottle and singing Estovakian folk songs. Upon the turret was Graham, whom was more than likely watching out for his drunken friend to make sure he didn't die. No member exchanged a single word, their faces betrayed their emotions on the event.

Graham was bored, the event of watching his slavic friend was becoming less of a occasion and more of a routine seeing as Wright no longer left the tank except to use the can and to find a good book or two. Jesse was easy to deal with that was for sure.

Gray's mood was that of indifference, Ivan becoming drunk was no oddity, half the time he was drunk during battle; Yet Gray would argue that he was actually better in said state. Either way Ivan was having a good time....

"HUEURGH!"

...Or at least he was... Shaking his head, Gray tossed his rather light duffel up to Graham who caught it deftly. Gray left as he heard the complaints of the engineers and the continued singing of Ivan. A smile came to his face, his crew was less of a team and more of a family at this point. Despite the distraction Gray made it to the mess hall, in rather quick order as well seeing as there was only a small assembly of people.

[Argentumurbem]

Requis set off at a leisurely stroll, his eyes scanning the encampment they had been deposited in. It was nothing magnificent. There was little to it that screamed impressive, that demanded any real sense of awe. It was standard, common.

What wasn't common, however, was the tank sitting idle in between two empty lorries. Valentine. A good, strong name for his first true command. Speeding up, a father reunited with their daughter, Requis raced to the metal beast, his hands reaching out, grasping at the cold steel. Valentine was an ugly thing, nothing compared to the woman she was named after. Only one of them, however, was still in his life.

"We are just starting the checks," confirmed a voice from atop the turret, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves tucked up to the socket. "Yet I am thinking we have got away from getting the paint chipped."

"That is no laughing matter Sushi. That paint job was half your pension."

Sushi Banana. A distasteful nickname perhaps, its use restricted only to the crew. Anyone else uses it and they tended to end up finding that mercenaries were not ones to fight honourably.

"Yer gonna love this then," called a second voice, "I found Sushi's squid mags!" Jonas pulled himself out of one of the forward hatches, middle finger a searchlight spinning to face the two others. "A bet ya'd go red!"

Requis let out a soft whistle as Syl hurled some sort of projectile at the man. "Let's get moving. Get her in to the garage quickly, we have paid enough for their services." As he spoke, the commander noticed Carl approach. "Please tell me those are for me to sign?"

The man hesitated before handing them over. Logs and registers. He was about to ask how the man had been able to worm them out of the hands of the chiefs. However, the younger man's face told it all. You had better not ask, it warned. For a brief moment he considered asking anyway. I'll drop it. In any event, it was probably safer for the rest of the crew if Carl was left to do what he did best.

"Five minutes. We have a briefing to get to. Building at the top of the hill is what the big man said. I hope I will be seeing you all there."

He turned and swiftly made his exit from the motor-pool, giving his members enough trust to park his tank. Couldn't be that hard.

Upon arriving at the correct room, following an embarrassingly large number of directions from camp staff, the commander took a seat near the front. Settling in to wait, Requis closed his eyes to dream.

[Independent States of Tula]

13:02 HOURS; 23RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
Captain Samuel Mason

The group set off away from the helicopter and it was then that Mason took his lighter out of his olive-green jumpsuit's front pocket and lit the cigarette still hanging loosely in his mouth. After lighting the stick of tobacco and chemicals Mason took a drag of the lit cigarette before exhaling in a sigh, following the Commanding Officer with the others until they were ordered to find their tanks and crews. Mason didn't have to walk long before he found the M60A1 already undergoing its pre-combat checks by his crew.

Walking up to the side of the tank Mason called out "Leon, you in there?"

A few minutes later the man popped his head out of the commander's hatch and turned to look to his Captain as he replied "Yeah, whatcha need Sam?"

"How's she looking?" Mason asked before taking another drag of his cigarette.

"She'll do for now, she's no M1A2 but she'll get the job done. ...Hey, what load did you want to go out there with?" The Osean man asked.

Mason thought a few moments before replying "15 HESH, mark those with the blue marker, another 15 HEAT with the red marker, 15 APFSDS with the green marker, 5 HE with Purple, 5 Smoke rounds with white, and 5 Cannister shells with black. That'll be sixty rounds, more than enough to keep us flexible in any situation and just three under our limit for space. ...You think the new girl will be able to handle it?"

As if summoned another helmeted head exited the loader's hatch, this one a female, who turned to look at Mason and stated nervously "I can handle it...uh Sir."

Mason merely took another drag before saying "Outside of combat it's Mason, inside of combat it's Commander. I'm not some egotistical hardass who thinks this fake rank on my uniform means anything. We're mercenaries, not soldiers. Anyway, I'm going to go fill out the requisition form for all that, you guys make sure this thing wasn't shipped to us with any missing fuel lines or such."

With that Mason turned to walk away, once he was out of earshot the young Ziv turned to look at Leon and asked "Did that actually happen to you guys?"

Leon didn't reply, merely he chuckled before ducking back inside the tank to continue checking out the gunnery system.

[Kassaran]

13:03 HOURS; 23^RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
YVDENYY Paramilitary Temporary Operations Administration Center

From his place within the building, Alexi could see more and more members of the mercenary outfit coming together. He had taken a seat, slightly to the back, but still firmly within view of the rest of the room. The position he was in was a test in and of itself, but of what kind not even the commander knew. His constant judgements and weights on the personalities of those around him however were rarely wrong, and so the commander left him to his riddles and games. Meanwhile, Artyom would continue to look down upon the motorcade below. He'd been taking stock of those commanders who had left their crews to deal with their vehicles and those whom had not. There wasn't much to know about the various soldiers as of now, but just in seeing what he could of their interactions was enough.

Meanwhile, down in the main motor pool area, Senior Master Sergeant Vladimir Lokov and main quartermaster for the storage of the mercenary vehicles and their munitions suddenly found himself in the presence of one of the mercenary commanders. A life's worth of training kept him from responding out of the building frustration he was gaining as he had watched a group of hopeless militiamen flounder about one of the younger members of an all-female crew also present. Now there was some man who no doubt wanted to throw an additional series of wrenches into his own plans. Taking a breath as the man neared, he turned on heel, popped a prompt five-fingered open-handed salute before turning back to what he was doing before.

"Sorry to be unable to pay my full attention to you Commander, but as I'm certain you can see, I'm in a bind at the moment. Say what you need and I'll see what I can do about it."

Even as he spoke, a vein throbbing in his forehead seemed to only swell as he watched a group of local yokels suddenly begin attempting to swarm the T-72 present. It wasn't much of a significant tank, but the legacy behind it was. As the keystone vehicle of the Yuktobanian Union and its various communist allies, only up until recently did Romny begin modifying it to work better in the dustier climate. The main difference was the T-72's modified weapons systems to allow it to operate more smoothly in the desert-like environments of the Romnyan Steppe. However, the locals were busy fawning over the tank and letting his temper -admittedly short from the lack of proper coffee in the camp- show, he suddenly opened up in a flurry of curses and rebukes that sent the men scattering as the war machine rolled past the quarter master and swung loosely into the garage space that it had been allowed.

"As I was saying, I'm limited on time Commander..."

[Ubaria]

"Sorry to be unable to pay my full attention to you Commander, but as I'm certain you can see, I'm in a bind at the moment. Say what you need and I'll see what I can do about it."

Vernon produced a wrinkly sheet of paper with some almost indistinguishable scribbles packed into small form boxes, his stiff fingers made handwriting something of an issue and so, the characters looked wonky and crooked, almost childlike. As Vernon moved forward to hand him the sheet of paper, the quartermasters attention turned to a large T-72 rolling past, a cluster of men dawdled in its path which made the man quite irritated, a string of verbal abuse in Romnyan soon put them back in their place and the T-72 rolled on past, its engine roaring over the din of the garages.

"As I was saying, I'm limited on time Commander..."


"I've got a munitions register here. I've been told to hand it into the quartermaster...you." Vernon held out the paper.

"800 rounds 20mm. 400 High Explosive, 400 AP and 2000 round of 7.62mm"

[Beiarusia]

Lt. Morgan Cullpepper
04/23/1987 // Forward Operating Base YOSYP, Romny

Morgan was fidgeting in her seat. Minutes before and she had been blissfully asleep, but now an excitement had befallen her and the woman was eager to head out. Or more accurately to blow something up with her tank. She, and the others, had did as told and had filed into the building, but not much else had happened sense. They were simply allowed to wait. Patience was indeed a virtue, but not one that Morgan held in high esteem.

“Are you okay?” Dani asked from the right, her voice just loud enough to here.

“This is taking too long,” the tank commander answered rather plainly. “We came here to do a job, not sit on our asses all day.”

“It’s only been five minutes.”

“Five minutes is a bloody long time!” Her voice was a bit loud. Dani was quick in trying to hush her friend, more so to avoid the questioning glares of the others, but only succeeded on making Morgan’s fidgeting worse. “Are we supposed to wait all day? You don’t just drag us halfway across the world and then stick us in a room to twiddle our thumbs. At least give us some snacks or magazines or-”

Eliza wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulder from the left, holding the smaller woman still like one would a child or overexcited terrier. “Calm,” was all she said, her voice low and with no inflection whatsoever. It was a surprise that she had said anything at all.

Yet the display seemed to work. To some degree. Morgan allowed a sigh to escape her lips and, begrudgingly, deflated in her stiff seat, arms crossed as Eliza removed her own. Her foot nonetheless continued with its impatient tapping. Sulking, Morgan added, “They should still hurry up.”

[Independent States of Tula]

13:04 HOURS; 23RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
Captain Samuel Mason

Entering the building for the Quartermaster Captain Mason saw he was already beaten to the punch by another one of the mercenary commanders, as such he waited and took out a notepad and pen from his left leg pocket in his flight suit to write down the desired materials needed for the operation of his M60A1 Patton.

15x 105mm HESH Rounds
15x 105mm HEAT Rounds
15x 105mm APFSDS Rounds
5x 105mm HE Rounds
5x 105mm Smoke Rounds
5x 105mm Cannister Rounds
900x 12.7mm Osean-Standard Rounds
5950x 7.62mm Osean-Standard Rounds
1457x Liters of Diesel

Requested Ammunition and Fuel for 1-2 "Fury" of Yvdenyy 1st Armoured Battalion "Gladius",
Signed, Captain Samuel Mason

With this written down Samuel put away the pen and placed the notepad back into the left pants' leg pocket while keeping the page he'd just written on while he waited for his turn at the Quartermaster's station.

[Relikai]

Second Lieutenant Julius Silverheart "Silver"

Shrugging as he made his way to the quartermaster, Julius hopped up onto his Leopard 1A4, a vehicle which he and his crew were well acquainted with, both on the firing and the receiving end. Seeing Klaudius standing over the commander's hatch, Julius chuckled as the Yuktobanian clapped his hands, before sticking both his middle fingers to the north. Thoroughly satisfied, the tank sniper gave his commander a wink before leaping into the vehicle. Well, he has his quirks, but Klaudius was a gifted gunner who led his AT-gun crew against Leopards in the past, successfully knocking out two while trying to buy time for a stranded Type-64.

"Good show you gave there." Julius said as he pulled out a clipboard from the side of his cabin. A requisition order for the loadout of his vehicle, Julius had to make sure that he went into battle loaded with reliable ordinance. The Leopard does not survive on armour, but speed and firepower.

Requisition Order for Ammunition and Fuel.

105mm DM23A1 APDS (20)
105mm M456A1 HEAT (10)
105mm DM512 HEP (10)
105mm Canister (10)
105mm Smoke (5)
7.62 mm AP (5500 rounds)

1,600 litres of Grade 85 Diesel

Requested and Signed by Julius Silverheart "Silver", Gladius 1-6, Leopard 1A4.

Walking over to the Quartermaster, the Northian passed the signed form over to a spare clerk, awaiting the loadout. Looking around, he wondered if a lucky bomb would hit this supply base, potentially taking out half of the tankers before they even saw combat...

[Kassaran]

13:05 HOURS; 23^RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
YVDENYY Paramilitary Temporary Operations Administration Center

The inside of the briefing room was silent as the last tankers entered. The commanders primarily dominated the room, but some crew of the mercenary tanks were present leading for the room to seem slightly more crowded. It didn't matter to the man in the corner though as he turned around and faced the room before him. They were a motley assortment of people and the variation seemed to be great. Everywhere he looked, his cold eyes drifting across each one of the members in the room, he saw faces that in two weeks time they'd likely never see again. This was his group though and he intended to stave off that inevitability for as long as possible.

"My name is Artyom Avgus, I am the commanding officer of this tanking company and as such I personally expect each and everyone of you in this room to pay close attention to what I have to say whenever I say it. Looking around I can see there are a lot of younger faces here so let me lay it out for you the reality of the situation you are in. You are not your own person anymore, you aren't even human anymore. You are a tool for this company and as such you will work as one until such a time where you are not needed or until you break. I don't think I need to get across how so such an event might come about."

The old man proceeded to move to the center of the front of the room, near a blank board that appeared to be somewhat faded. There were a few pens in front of it, but besides that, nothing. A click, hum and a whir later and suddenly a projector towards the center of the room was displaying images of the Romnyan north and it's borders. Manning the projector was the Aurelian named Slick, dark hair also slicked back in a greasy, oily, fashion. The old Romnyan Commander continued," You have been brought here to deal with the rising tensions between the Romnyan State and its larger neighbor, Yuktobania. It is no small news that as of last year, a large skirmish in this area of the world happened due to a power grab by the now defunct Valgan government."

The slide changed over to show now a picture of Romny proper, with several red lines crossing through it, arrows showing directionality from north towards the south. The old man continued," With the possibility of attack on Yuktobania, or moreover under the premise of this, the government of Yuktobania released several military regiments into Romny to move towards Valga. Moving under the guise of attempting to strengthen the assault force to the south, the war ended abruptly with a final few raids on the Valgan strongholds and as such Yuktobania halted all of it's troops within Romny's borders. Given that, under normal circumstances, this would be acceptable for an ally of Romny, it's become clear they do not intent to leave soon. Various members of the Romnyan media have begun to declare this as a violation of the non-aggression pact between the Romnyan and Yuktobanian governments. words such as, 'annexation' and 'invasion' are becoming commonplace alongside the ideas that the Romnyan government is indeed, not capable of defending its populace."

The slide changed again to show several different pictures of Romnyan protesters gathered around, either government buildings, or Yuktobanian army regiment camps. Standing at the forefront of the crowds could be seen many men in similar camouflage uniforms and armed heavily seeming to square off against the Yuktobanian guards of the latter pictures.

"As you can imagine, the premise of being annexed or invaded has not settled well with the populace and several thousand have partaken in massed demonstrations against the Romnyan government and the Yuktobanian military forces in the area. Militia groups claiming to be for the defense of Romny have begun to crop up under the banner of a single organization called the Romnyan Defense Front, or ZPR in local dialects. They appear to be somewhat organized and have already been claimed to be responsible for several muggings and domestic violence actions on Yuktobanian ethnics in the southern regions. You can imagine this has made the Yuktobanians to the north very upset. Calls for the Romnyan government to act either, in the defense of its natives or its allies has brought about a rapid mobilization of the armed forces of the Romnyan government and as such was somewhat depleted from last year and several other previous conflicts, Private Military Companies such as Yvdenyy have been contracted to serve as paramilitary operators. In order to compliment our contract requirements better, each of you were contacted and recruited into our ranks and as such you are hereby given ranks equivalent to your time not only in service of Romny but also in the service of other armed forces groups around the world."

The slide changed once more to show the local area map. A red "X" in the center, marked with some runic text indicated to anyone observant that that was the FOB they were now in. To the indicated north was a long red, semi-jagged line following a river but going straight when the river broke north. More red runic text indicated that the river had a degree of importance, yet none would likely know why until the commander again spoke up," This here signifies our district of operations. Given the massive surge in numbers the Romnyan military has obtained from its widespread contracting, they have had to divide the various groups into different military patrol and engagement sectors. Our sector, as is our company, are among the largest and most crucial to security in the region. To the north is the Yuktobanian-Romny border, it is our direct imperative to ensure the security of that border in the event of conflict or attempted reinforcements. As of right now the Romnyan military has issued an ultimatum that the Yuktobanian government appears to be heeding to, though no real signs of action have been taken by the forces within Romny."

A final slide came up, showing a fuzzy image of a massive dust cloud on a barren plain. Red circles seemed to be everywhere in the sky and on the ground leading to more text, but unlike the previous slides and text, these were obvious. TAHK was written all across with varying numbers indicating that there was something impressive about this picture.

"This is a picture taken by Romnyan immigrants in southern Yuktobania just two days ago. We, and by we I mean all intelligence personnel of the Romnyan military, collectively believe this shows a Yuktobanian Armored Regiment en route to reinforce the besieged groups within the area, and while no shooting has begun, it appears they are intent upon starting something by the ultimatum. Whether it be forcibly taking and establishing an annex within Southern Romny or to relieve current forces with newer weapons and tanks to better intimidate the local populace. If this occurs, no doubt will the ZPR attack and if they do indeed attack the Yuktobanian government will be forced to take action on Romnyan soil. This cannot be allowed and as such we are under strict orders to prevent the successful reinforcement of the south in the event of non-hostilities proceeding up to that day. Until then we are assigned to border patrol responsibilities and will be practicing maneuvers until such a time where we are either required to act or are dismissed due to diffusal of the situation in the south."

The projector finally went dark as the man turned to look squarely on at the rest of the room," I'm certain you all have plenty of questions, and as such you are more than welcome to ask them now. I will do what I can to answer, whether it be within my knowledge or your paygrade."

[Independent States of Tula]

13:05 HOURS; 23RD APRIL, 1987
Romnyan Forward Operating Base YOSYP
Captain Samuel Mason

By the time Captain Mason had made it to the meeting he had finished his cigarette and so only the smell of it left any sign that he'd been smoking moments before as he took a seat in the briefing room. He watched as others piled into the room and took their seats too before the speech began. By the end of the briefing by Mason's CO he had two questions.

"Sir, two questions. One, what are our ROE during these patrols? And second, are the ZPR hostile to us? In other words are they a threat to us during patrols?" Mason asked in his south Osean accent.

[Beiarusia]

Lt. Morgan Cullpepper
04/23/1987 // Forward Operating Base YOSYP, Romny

Morgan was only half listening to what the commander had to say. In truth she could care less about the political climate of Romny or their exact reasons for being here, though she did take some offense to the whole expendable spiel. Not that it mattered much in the long run. Give her a direction and something to blow up and she would be happy. Fortunately her comrades had been paying attention and would fill any gaps that Morgan no doubt would miss once out in the field.

“You should be paying attention,” Dani whispered in a somewhat stern tone.

The tank commander shrugged. She was ready to head out and was practically shaking from anticipation, and though she was ready to voice her eagerness it wasn’t exactly a question and so said nothing. With luck this would be over soon.

[Argentumurbem]

Requis, more concerned with the manner in which his crewmembers sat than what their new commander had to say, heard only snippets of the opening talk. From what he gathered, it was the simple filling in of a few blanks some of the mercs would have had. There wasn't much politics within it, which eased his mind. Politics were always nasty.

What did interest him, however, was the mention of the reinforcing column. A regiment? And that might only be the first in a long list of units being deployed in such an operation. Hissing to his crew to silence themselves, Requis raised his hand to be noticed.

"Sir, in respect to the armed forces already deployed within Romny, what will our ROE be?" He paused, licking his lips. "And how different will they be to those regarding the reinforcing columns?"

[Ubaria]

Vernon's heavy utility boots were caked with mud as he made his way up the beaten pathway towards the building containing the briefing room, he grimaced whilst scraping his foot against a nearby pole in a vain attempt to loosen some of the dirt, his compatriots were equally displeased, one vocally so.

"Fucking Romny. Heard of tarmac?" Buckley complained rather loudly, enough so anybody nearby could hear.

Vernon pushed him on the arm and made a silent gesture with his hands along the lines of 'shut the hell up'. The last thing they wanted to be doing was pissing off the locals.

Eventually however, they arrived at the designated building and slinked inside, the group took seats at the rear of the room, a rather aggressive looking officer stood centrally to the group, surveying each member with an almost inhuman stare, it was rather jarring when his authoritative, Romnyan voice filled the room.

"My name is Artyom Avgus, I am the commanding officer of this tanking company and as such I personally expect each and everyone of you in this room to pay close attention to what I have to say whenever I say it. Looking around I can see there are a lot of younger faces here so let me lay it out for you the reality of the situation you are in. You are not your own person anymore, you aren't even human anymore. You are a tool for this company and as such you will work as one until such a time where you are not needed or until you break. I don't think I need to get across how so such an event might come about."

Paul lent over subtly and whispered something in Vernons ear. "I don't know about you. But i know who the only tool in here is"

Vernon only shook his head and rolled his eyes in response and tried not to break into a grin, as appreciating of his humor he was, Vernon couldn't let his, or his crews tongue slip here, this wasn't home anymore, the commander was sure to cement that with his callous words. Despite that, Vernon tried his best to listen in, the other two were less than interested, you couldn't have paid them to be interested and the irony of it was, they were being paid.

The briefing was soon to come to a close and the request went out for any questions. Vernon awaited his turn to speak.

"Sir. Do we have specifics on the composition of the Yuktobanian Regiment? And what's the current strength of the ZPR? "

[Kassaran]

Within a few minutes, the commanders of the various mercenary crews had begun asking their questions. Standing silently as the queries queued up, Avgust squared himself and prepared to answer them as he remembered. To the first commander, an Osean questioning the Rules of Engagement he figured, he'd heard others echo such sentiments as well and thus responded likewise," To answer, the basic ROE while on patrol is to hold your fire unless otherwise fired upon first. We are here as a reactionary force only. In regards to the ZPR, they are of no consequence to us given that they are primarily based in the occupied south. Most around these parts are either Yuktobanian settlers or native Romnyans with no interests in the conflicts to the south. As for their own intentions, the ZPR are an unknown belligerent which is to otherwise be considered such until further notice."

Casting a look towards yet another of the commanders, he again reiterated his point," again, it does not matter as to the direction which the forces are headed, rules of engagement are as follows: Do not allow Yuktobanian forces to cross southbound through Romny. Encourage no hostility between Yuktobanian forces leaving the area. Keep your cannon loaded and prepare to return fire if fired upon first. Expect to die holding the line if a red flag is pulled."

Death wasn't something he would talk about lightly or without reason. It was something that had to be considered on all of their behalfs and the simple fact that they figured they had the privilege of serving with Yvdenyy did not mean they were without order, structure, or discipline. To their benefits, many of their tanks had come in based on similar design specifications. To that extent, there would be no need to worry about overperformance in terms of speed or firepower. The only issue would be getting them all to work together, something that the maneuvers soon to be engaged upon would deal with.

Finally, to the commander who requested the number of tanks potentially en route to support the besieged Yuktobanian regiments in the south and the strength of the local militias, he smiled. A man who wanted numbers in spite of odds, or perhaps he wanted odds from the numbers. Nodding, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and closed his eyes in momentary thought," From my time working alongside them, a typical Regiment is approximately 40 tanks strong with significant support personnel and various other vehicles present. As to the composition of the regiment exactly, we cannot be sure although speculation puts the total vehicles present to be numbering well into one hundred if not more and the troops present to be well into three-thousand five-hundred. As you can imagine, we aren't here to pick fights, we're here to hold the border while domestic forces deal with the threat of internal fracturing."

Looking around the room, he decided that plenty had been said these were his tankers now, his company to be short. They were a rough shod lot and the coming days would be difficult. As for now though, they'd be in need of their next orders and deciding on dismissing them, he moved to attention," As of now you all are formally inducted into the ranks of Yvdenyy Private Military Company's First Armored Company, Gladius. Orders are as follows, fall out upon dismissal and settle into your bunks within the structures provided. Mess is set every four hours from Midnight onwards and proceeds for thirty minutes before being shutdown for alternative purposes. It is your own responsibility to obtain your grub as provided. On the notes of bunk supplies, the quartermaster for the barracks has what you will need in the way of toiletries, sundries, bedding, and clothing. all other luxuries will have to be ordered via the depot. Muster is tomorrow at 0900 hours. We will be conducting training exercises on the border and beginning patrol maneuvers lasting until sundown. Prepare yourselves for the heat, the temperature will be well within 30 degrees. Gladius Dismissed."

With that said, Artyom Avgust turned on his heels and strode out of the room, leaving the other commanders to their devices.

[Beiarusia]

Lt. Morgan Cullpepper
04/23/1987 // Forward Operating Base YOSYP, Romny

They were finally free. A small benefit after a day’s worth of travel, but despite herself Morgan couldn’t help but to feel disappointment, she having wanted to head out right then and there if only to finally put her tank through its paces. A cruel twist to make her wait one more night after so much effort had already been expended in simply getting to this point. The woman had been close to saying as much to the commander but cooler heads had prevailed, though now they were forced to endure the rant for themselves.

“That meeting was bloody pointless,” Morgan said with some acidity to her voice all the while readjusting her trapper hat with little thought. She and her two friends had already left the CHC and, for now, were loitering on the grounds without much else to do.

Dani, always the stickler for rules and regulations, was quick to defend the briefing. “It was very informative. Maybe if you had paid attention-”

“I drive a tank. You point me in the right direction and I blow shit up.”

Eliza made a small motion with her hands imitating an explosion while mouthing the word boom.

“I drive the tank, actually,” Dani corrected.

Morgan waved her off. “Same difference.”

“No, not really.” The bespectacled woman sighed, no doubt remembering just how exhausting Morgan could be. “Look, we have the entire day to ourselves. Why not relax while we still can?” Come on, it will be fun.”

The term relax was actually a misnomer in this situation as there was little to no relaxation to be had. Aside from unpacking what little each had brought along the trio was busy rushing about and taking care of all the various other tasks that needed completed, such as finding the quartermaster, getting all they would need from said quartermaster, making their bunks, and finishing any paperwork that Morgan may have put off. It was perhaps against regulations – much to the annoyance to Dani – but the three women had claimed a room for themselves near the rear of the barracks, Morgan opting to stay with her tankmates instead of bunking in a private room. No one had complained yet, and even if they did Morgan didn’t really care.

Dani was organizing a few of her things while Eliza read a book. Morgan, tired from essentially doing a list of chores, fell onto her surprisingly soft cot. “Are we relaxing yet?”

Eliza nodded. Dani spoke. “I think we’re done, yes.”

“Good.” Morgan lay on her back and stretched. “It’s like I’m back in the army. I thought merc work was, like, the opposite of that.”

“Life isn’t an action moving,” Dani said rather sternly.

Morgan wasn’t listening, instead having rolled into a sitting position with some new enthusiasm. “Hey, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.” In truth not one of them had eaten all day, having been too busy with other things, so the prospect of food was appealing.

So the three left for the mess hall.