From the Ashes [Earth: Two]

[Estainia]

Brazil
May 15th, 1996

It was a long time in coming, in oversight of things it was perhaps overdue, the Empire had come and was gobbling up their neighbors, for most of 1994 and 1995 they had sat silent doing nothing; the people of Brazil becoming more worried with the passing days as the Layartebians devoured South America with the voraciousness of starving dogs. It was the middle of 1995 however that they lost their patience and they demanded change; the Neuvo Ricans were gone; there was no one left to look after South America but Brazil, and Brazil had instead decided to sit quietly while nothing occurred; this did not sit well with people; Neuvo Rico was not so gone that they had forgotten it either. Little lawlessness had occurred and the transitional governments were eager to get things moving again but now it would just be another string of annexations, another string of occupations as the people of South America were brought to their knees, forced into servitude to foreigners; which no one appreciated.

Old Ultra-Nationalists took to the streets spouting how the Republic had failed, they hefted high into the air the old discarded flags of the Empire of Neuvo Rica, they shouted its name and called for it back in the streets to send the Layartebians back into the north where they belonged, away from their sacred land and away from Brazil; even as they annexed Peru and were devouring Colombia. They demanded the Republic do something about it all, they shouted it in the cities, the towns and the villages that Brazil was to defend South America in Neuvo Rica's place, as the Empire was no longer around to defend the Latin peoples of the continent.

When the government refused and dispatched police to quell what they looked at as 'Riots' which were peaceful demonstrations the people become legitimately outraged, the utilization of force against them for calling harken to better days was by any civilized measure, ridiculous. Even under the presence of police forces the demonstrations by the people of Brazil continued, their yells getting louder and attracting more and more Brazilians to their cause as their views started making more and more sense.

A single particularly charismatic individual in the crowds was rising to prominence as the strife carried even as the police had moved on from riot shields and batons to high pressure water cannons and bean-bag loaded shotguns. Lucas do Silveira called in a much louder voice than others and he had the presence that demanded people listen, a tall and powerful looking man before all this he was a peaceful bookkeeper, though he wouldn't be remembered for that. A small sort of fellow when things started taking a turn he started reading, heavily; and learning just as heavily. Lucas studied everything from Simon Bolivar to Julius Caesar; even the people he hated so; he voraciously devoured book after book on strategy, tactics, battle planning, supplies and logistics; the man was not even hiding the fact he was going to start a war.

People followed Lucas during his marches and his demonstrations, thinly veiled events that ignited fires of supranationalism in his fellow Brazilians, and not without suffering and pain of his own; during a particularly hard clash with police in Salvador the man was shot by 'less lethal' rounds and in the aftermath of three cracked ribs and two broken ones found himself wishing he had indeed died. Silveira soon found himself at the top of the Republic's most wanted lists; desired for seditious thought and plans to commit treason against the republic; no one ever turned Silveira in however; whether through fear of him, or his rebel supporters even the most staunch republican supporters never attempted to cross the man.

In late 1995, Lucas do Silveira united the scattered and divided demonstrations in Brazil's various cities into a single concentrated force which started its war of independence with sticks and rocks; literally. In November, down in Salvador, where it all started they marched like columns of Roman troops in the Classical Era. In formation abreast barely 'armed' but with no intention of turning away from the wall of policemen who met them half-way in a full-on slug-fest; many broken bones and a few dozen fatalities later Silveira's little revolution was squashed but the man himself was no where to be found. Several hundred of the survivors were as expected; detained; it had proven a point however, if the Republicans were too weak to stop them from mobilizing, even if they beat them; what was it to say they would stop the Layartebians when they came into Brazil?

The very next day, nationalist riots broke out in every city but Brasilia; the Army was called in to restore order and break up demonstrations. The constitution was suspended as the government declared martial law; groups consisting of more than two people excluding churches were detained for 'threatening to undermine the state'.

Lucas do Silveira got exactly what he wanted from the government; a war; a war which he would fuel the flames of for some time. Throughout November and into December "Silveira's Rebels" as christened by the government clashed with police and military forces throughout Brazil; mostly experiencing loss but almost always somewhere else hitting with the same force every time while the armed forces and police simply got smaller. On January 1st of 1996; the people seized a government armory in Rio de Janeiro and everything changed...

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Brazil - Brasilia
January 2nd - 1996

"They are far too young to die in such a way." Lucas do Silveira for all his grandiose had thought for the safety of his "troops" especially the younger ones, he did not enjoy playing to the Army's strengths and meeting them in open fields where they would win. He was especially aware of the Military Police; a 400,000 strong force who excelled at doing the exact same thing he was doing; irregular warfare in the cities was their forte outside of 'maintaining public order'. The people he was referring to with his smooth charismatic speech was a collection of young men with stolen FN-FALs that had never before practiced with or even fired a weapon, as such he was as their commander, concerned for them. As ragtag as they were he had no desire to see them thrown into position and having them prefer death to flight.

"Certainly we have someone else? What about the deserters, where are they?" The ex-bookie turned revolutionary asked his tiny council of inner advisers and like minded leadership capable individuals, of which one was a former soldier and another an ex-policeman; they knew how the other side thought and he used that to his advantage. Brasilia was the heart of the Republic; if it fell the war would be over before it began, and he wanted that; he wanted that a lot, the fewer Brazilians who died; the better. "We're going to have to make due then...That's depressing." He wasn't talking to himself, he simply had come to a point he knew his lieutenants well enough they didn't have to speak verbally; subtle body-language was enough to get their point across.

"Men." He turned to the collection of young men, boys really; clean shaven and looking barely old enough to have shaved much less been to war; there were twenty of them; some whites, some blacks, all different races united for a common good; as it should've been in the modern world. "I'm not going to lie to you, what you're going to do in a few moments is going to kill many, many of you will die; but you will give us access to more weaponry for your brothers and your sisters so that we may liberate our country from this pitiful and weak government so content with waiting until we are annexed by the foreigners." Lucas didn't have to put weight behind his words, he was the sort that one wanted to follow by their own will; a leader of men without training or schooling. "I wish you luck, and all of Brasil wishes you luck in this task; I will see you again in precisely ten minutes time; beginning now!" He clicked a stop-watch and as though he'd done something magical gunfire erupted from another point outside the small concrete and steel building that was a Federal Armory; small explosions from their few precious grenades took out the sentries as the young men rushed the courtyard behind the low-rising walls alongside other similarly armed people.

The fighting lasted only a few minutes on the inside of the building, with Lucas himself leading the charge inside proving he wasn't just the brains of the operation; putting down two soldiers himself. When the fighting was done, or rather it was just started; this was Brasilia after all, the heart of his great enemy and the beginning of a hard struggle for control; only a few of his people had died, the element of surprise and the pre-dawn had been on their side but they would not have that advantage anymore for the day or likely anymore for the rest of the battle; they would have to fight like soldiers now...A prospect which frightened Lucas's bite for warfare; as he knew now, the Army had the clear advantage.

But; for the sake of Brasil, and South America; they could not fail.

[Layarteb]

It was mid-May, the weather was beautiful, and the Empire was in the height of its Conquests. The situation in Kaliningrad remained tenuous, strained, and less than ideal, to put it lightly. Only a month earlier, the nations of Honduras, Nicaragua, and Colombia all fell in a three-week time span and most of the world was suddenly looking at the Empire and forgetting about the debacle in Kaliningrad. It was good that their attention was elsewhere, the Empire wasn't leaving the country gracefully. West of the Wall, the states of the former Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc were at one another's throats and the future of the City-State Pact was shaky. Little did anyone know that in just three months, the document would be shredded and all-out war would erupt between the city-states of the North American Midwest.

The world had its eyes on the Empire and the Empire had its eyes on the world. War was raging in Ecuador and though the Ecuadorians were putting up a good, valiant fight against the Empire, they were losing ground too quickly. The Empire's military, which was a staggering 5% of the populace, was unstoppable. The Emperor, the man at the head of it all, was constantly apprised to the situation in Brazil, especially given how close it was to the Empire's new borders. It had been long known that since the 1960s, rebels in Venezuela skirted across the border in the Amazon, primarily into Amazonas, Roraima, and Mato Grosso to avoid military action against them. One day, the Emperor surmised, it would be time to deal with them on a massive scale. There had been limited action in 1988 during the Venezuelan Insurrection, as it was called, and that action had put the Empire of Neuvo Rica into a state of social, political, and economic turmoil.

Nineteen eighty-eight had been a bad year for the Empire of Neuvo Rica and it had been the beginning of their decline. When the President was assassinated on July 8, it had marked the bloodiest time for the Neuvo Ricans. Since 1989, Brazil had existed as a weak and otherwise ineffectual state, a fraction of what the Empire of Neuvo Rica had once been. By mid-1995, it was no secret how the Brazilians felt about the Empire's expansion; but whether they wanted to believe it or not, they weren't a part of the Emperor's future vision.

The Emperor had big visions for the Province of Worros as it was called and none of them included Brazil, except maybe Amapa, which had a surprisingly pro-Layartebian stance. Still, their self-rule was valuable to the Empire and though they were just as weak as the rest of Brazil, it was a different kind of weakness. They were too small to do anything of consequence and there was opportunity. Brazil could be strong, they could be powerful, and they could be horrendously stubborn and, not that the Empire wasn't stubborn but to have two stubborn powers created a problem.

There were protests and there was plenty of unrest in the Brazilian capital but also in its major cities. Ever apprised of the situation, the Emperor had a now trite but effective response whenever the topic came up, "Let them kill each other for all I care; Brazil isn't a problem unless it spills past Brazil and then, if it does, it'll be a big problem… for Brazil that is." Indeed, the threat was real. The Empire's military was second-to-none in the Americas now that the Armed Republic of Neuvo Rica had fallen to bits and pieces and the Caribbean confederations were becoming shaky. If B-52s and B-1s had to carpet bomb the city of Brasilia to keep their troubles inside of their borders, the Emperor could very well sign the order and commit the forces. Luckily though, 1995 ended without incident.

On August 18, the City-State Pact fell to pieces and Layartebian forces shored up the western border. Autumn brought uncertainty to another October Alliance nation, the Commonwealth of Hirgizstan. December brought terrorism from Quebec and another Layartebian campaign of conquest, which ended on January 1, when Quebec City fell unceremoniously after a two-week joint campaign with the Romans. Quebec wouldn't fall into Roman hands though; they would fall into Layartebian hands.

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January 2, 1996 - 14:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York
Fortress of Comhghall
(40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W)

January 1996 was going to be a big month for the Empire. Layartebian forces were on the outskirts of Quito and a major push was coming. When news came to the Emperor on January 2 of impressive trouble in Brasilia, the Emperor was seated in his office, attending a briefing of his national security council. "Ah nonsense!" He said, reacting to the message.

The Minister of Defense eyed him curiously but before he could ask the question, the Emperor answered it, "Apparently, a federal armory in Brasilia was hit earlier today by rebel forces."

"Sir, Brazil is about as stable as a Jenga tower." The Minister of Defense said, alluding to the popular children's game. "Are we going to become involved sir?"

"We can't Minister, we're less than twenty-four hours away from launching a major offensive to put us outside of Quito. Ecuador is the priority, these malignant vermin have outlasted their neighbors, and this is not the impression we wish to convey to the world. Before the month is over, Quito has to be ours," the Emperor declared and he was telling the truth. Ecuador would fall on January 17, two weeks after Layartebian forces laid siege to the capital. "On top of that, we're working with the Caribbean islands for a peaceful resolution. The last thing we need is to get involved in Brazil. No! I see no reason for us to go into their borders unless they bring it upon themselves. There is a bigger picture here, first Ecuador and Colombia, the Caribbean, then Peru. The Peruvians know that their future is finite and they're going to fight and they're going to fight hard. We've got to deal with the cartels in Colombia and we have to deal with integrating all of them into Worros. Brazil isn't our concern."

"Sir, if we should be contacted by either the government or the rebels for help?" The Minister of Foreign Affairs asked.

"Simple, we cannot help. We're overextended as it is and we just lost Kaliningrad. There's the sting there, we're not going to move on until we finish up with what we have. This is a fight for the Brazilians, not us. They hate us so much anyway, the government, the rebels, to the sty with them!"

"Yes sir, I understand." The Emperor was feverish in his feelings for Brazil. They feared the Empire and that fear bred irrationality. They worried that the Empire's borders would cross the magical lines of a map and dig for them. It wouldn't happen.

[Estainia]

Republica do Brasil
Brasilia - January 3rd - 1996

Armed rebellions were complex organs, a multisided front with shifting loyalties and interests that was under constant threat of collapse from within as well as from with out. Across Brasil the various fronts were not doing well, it was Brasilia that was the necessary lynch pin of things; but even here there were problems within the rebellion. The varying ideologies, the differing desires and the commanders of varied backgrounds and capabilities; as well as thoughts and ways they wished things to be done. In the middle of it all the young and the idealists; the ones to be abused by those who desired power and majesty; who wished to see things undone and yet redone all at once. These were the ones who went over the top, who fought in the streets and died for their unclear cause, of a stronger more assertive Brasil, one to stand to the menace from the North.

Among the young was Rogério Souza, one of the many idealistic commanders who led the movement, he was not self-made like Lucas do Silveria was; he was trained and made ready by the Brasilian Army; he and his squadron had defected in the fact of the riots less out of disloyalty and more out of actual loyalty; they were loyal to Brasil, not its government, but the people that made up the nation. He and seven other ex-soldiers led a group of impromptu militiamen; comprised mostly of young men who were until recently civilians; through the winding streets of the contested city, the very real possibility of running into opposition around any corner, in any building or then some running through his mind as they walked. The city being consumed by violence left this far too quiet for his liking and for all good reason; in the night that had seamlessly bled into the current day the rebels had been stifled and largely crushed with the arrival of the army's armored divisions; which broke through the militias with the expected ease of a scalding knife cutting through iced butter; with troops crawling over every part of the city, this silence was unsettling at best.

The silence did not come to a sudden end; there was no sudden eruption of fire on all sides, there was a rather instantaneous moment of "You lose" without ever being spoken. Rogério was an attentive soldier and even he didn't see it coming when the army troops came out from their hiding places; surrounding his detachment with a skill and grace the rebels lacked. He knew from their uniforms they weren't special forces; but members of the elite Presidential Guard; who may as well have been special forces as they just proved. Between the shouts of disarmament and the few seconds that followed gunfire started to ring out, the ex-soldiers immediately hit the ground in instinct, returning fire on every direction they possibly could while the militiamen were more or less cut down in varying fashions.

What seemed like senseless violence from the outside had well warranted reasons; they were well passed arrests and talking it out; it was warfare, and in war; people died. Of the twenty odd militia and eight soldiers a good twelve of them went down while another four were rendered wounded. The soldiers fared better with their body armor and accurate return fire, sustaining only light wounds. The Guard had fared better thanks to surprise but was not without its own wounds to lick; of their number of sixteen, a perfect section, four were wounded and two killed. Though in retrospect they had taken out close to triple their number; albeit it was no contest, at least not really.

It disturbed Rogério more that they simply gathered their wounded and fled immediately; leaving the rebels in their blood to die; it wasn't proper on a human scale, even in the midst of the shit that had become Brasil. As he and his small group stood they noted indeed the enemy had outright fled; though obviously not from them; for whatever reason he was at least thankful...

OOC: This is both short and late, but this scene is actually more instrumental than it looks; it's opening up a subplot that's going to shadow through the entire thread.

[Layarteb]

OOC: No worries, hopefully this will give you some ammunition.

January 3, 1996

There were grumblings throughout the world of the Empire's anti-cartel campaign in Colombia. Over the past three months, cartel targets such as hidden airstrips and underground factories had been mysteriously blowing up without any announcements from the Ministry of Defense. The Empire was effectively waging a covert war against the cartels but not through overt military force, as had been used to conquer the country but rather through special operations and black operations groups operating under looser rules of engagement. Resources available to them were disproportionately large, in comparison if the campaign was conventional but, the cartels being an unconventional enemy, warranted an unconventional approach.

At the same time, the conventional military, which had ballooned since January 1995 to 5% of the Empire's population was extremely active. In the past twelve months, though they lost Kaliningrad, they had successfully captured Honduras, Nicaragua, Colombia, Ireland, and Quebec. The latter had come with Roman assistance since Canada was their turf but the Empire had done the bulk of the fighting. Now, the Imperial Layartebian Military, with all of its size and might, could focus all of its attention on Ecuador. Layartebian forces had been in the country for a year already and that was one strange campaign, so to speak.

Layartebian forces first crossed the border on January 2, 1995 with a pummeling assortment from fighters and cruise missiles launched from both land and from the sea. Naval sorties concentrated on the western half of the country while the air force concentrated on the eastern half. In the first seventy-two hours of the conflict, Layartebian forces flew in excess of three thousand sorties. Initial attacks were made against surface-to-air radars and missile sites, command, control, and communications or C3 targets, and airfields. Follow-up strikes were conducted afterwards for those targets that eluded the initial salvos. Cruise missiles, which had opened the war, were playing a big role in this conflict. Because of Ecuador's terrain, cruise missiles could use their sophisticated guidance and autopilot systems to fly in the canyons and valleys, avoiding radar detection. While highly effective, this tactic was not without error. One quarter of the missiles that had been launched had slammed into the terrain, mostly due to inaccurate or out-of-date information. While there were few, if any, casualties from these misses, it was a bad waste of a good warhead. Their fuzing systems largely kept those warheads from detonating.

Now, a year later, Layartebian forces were at a sort of stalemate. Marines from the navy had captured Ecuador's major cities and highways west of Santo Domingo and south of Ambato but that was as far as they got. Army forces invading from Colombia had been stopped at Ibarra and they were still fighting a tremendously capable enemy there, despite the readily available close air support from the Imperial Layartebian Air Force. Several flanking maneuvers had worked but the Empire was no closer to Quito than it had been last June. Simply put, this was unacceptable. Colombia had fallen in less than five months, as had both Nicaragua and Honduras. Those campaigns, while decisively swift, were not without tremendous bloodshed. Casualties to the Empire were higher than they had ever been, except for Kaliningrad. Ecuador had been something of the opposite. Casualties were in line with what the Empire had experienced thus far but the gaining of territory had been glacially slow.

That was all about to change. At 01:00, local time, Layartebian forces initiated a new, breakout offensive. Supported by a surge of troops, which meant two extra Marine divisions and two divisions of paratroopers, the Imperial Layartebian Military was striking hard against Ecuador's rear flanks, concentrating the firepower where the Ecuadorians couldn't defend against it. The plan was to cut off the units in Ibarra, Santo Domingo, and Ambato. The new units would literally sidestep them and make a hard push for the capital. Initially, there was mild resistance but by dawn, it appeared that the plan was going to work. An entire Marine brigade had already closed to Tanicuchi, well behind the lines of Ambato. The plan would need at least a day to determine just how effective it was but initial reports were promising, the Ecuadorians were caught completely off guard.

[Estainia]

Republica do Brasil
January 14th - 1996

This was it, end of the road, game over. All causes and ideologies had an end just as they had a beginning; all great things came to an end. Rome was built; and Rome fell, this was no different. The Rebellion was dead, or it was dying; they couldn't figure out which as they kept the steady hostile fighting retreat, attrition wearing on their weary heads which had no where to rest. Here was their last stand, in a school and its surrounding yard, surrounded; outgunned, outnumbered and doomed.

Within the cracked walls of the school; the rundown building which was in need of repairs even before this conflict had come there was the last of the rebellion in Brasilia, and soon it like all the others would be put down. The commanding general of the Brazilian Army led the final push to extinguish this little uprising personally and was scant hundreds of yards from the crumbling brick structure which was now surrounded by troops and vehicles with all their weapons trained on it. Alas, here ended the struggle; here ended the great fight.

Inside the crumbling building were all that remained, scared and rightly so but not lacking in their convictions, if death was to come, they would at least go out fighting. At least that was the idea but it was easy to see it in their eyes, alongside the fear there was hopelessness and defeat before the battle had begun; they had died for nothing because nothing would change with their deaths, this was truly the end of all things for them. Among them the last of the zealots, the true believers, ran between them trying to console them, to get them into a fighting condition for the inevitable storm. Within the cafe, Lucas do Silveira stared at the hard and yet breaking and broken eyes of his lieutenants, the men and women who had without question followed him anywhere, even unto death just as Sun Tzu predicted people would do when treated as one's own family.

He sighed as he weighed their lives in his hands before he spoke, he spoke with the same strong voice he always did, not showing the fear of death that coursed through his veins; though he was willing and ready to die, he had been preferable to approach the One True God on his own terms, and not the Republic's.

"I will not lie." His words were heavy as they came out; floating over the crackling intercom of the school through a microphone hooked to the system. "We are outnumbered and outgunned. They have standing orders to shoot to kill and will not hesitate to do so. These men out there were once your sons, brothers, fathers, cousins, uncles and friends; but now they stand against us with the single purpose of our extermination. They wish unto us nothing more than harm; to put down our cause and see our goals trampled unto dust. We cannot allow this to happen without a fight, we will not go silently; let them know that, all of you I ask of you one final stand, let it be decided here and now, today, we live or die together, united in one singular motion of action against our inapt government. Let us see Brasil reborn; let us see her reunited!"

(Short and overdue, the next one will be longer and more detailed; I needed to get this cliffhanger out for purposes mostly relating to me not getting kicked out. ;P)

[Estainia]

Republica do Brasil
January 14th - 1996

So this was it then, this was the end of their crusade and their vaunted cause which so many hundreds had died for and thousands more injured; they would die, alone and outnumbered in a motley old school building at the whims of the republic too indecisive to defend itself against expansionism. The inspiring words of their leader did little to raise the spirits of the revolutionaries, they accepted their fate as they griped their assorted weaponry from assault rifles to shovels tightly in their hands; ammunition was low, help was sparse outside of the walls with much of the rebel force scattered to the winds. The leader of this final crushing blow was the general of the republican army; no one else was available quite frankly; and he was overseeing the "battle" personally. Lucas do Silveira sent a final gleaning eye over his lieutenants as outside the tense air, coiled together tightly like a spring; waited to snap forward in a barrage of bullets and artillery on ever waiting orders.

They would at least die a good death; one which while it would not bring honor or glory; would plant the seeds necessary for more of these movements, more incessant rebellions calling for the Republic to either do something; or be gone from this world. As one, the men and women within the building held their breath and waited for their impending doom; yet it never came. The minutes slipped into hours; and after three agonizing ones had passed it was wondered; why were they still alive? The answer came from outside, the rebel forces remaining the city had somehow found the courage and the ability to regroup, they were assaulting the entrenched soldiers from the rear. The rebels being spearheaded by those soldiers who had defected to their cause.

The ex-soldiers and rebels were coordinated and assaulted with bestial fury as well as intelligence that was leaving men much in advance of their number dead in exchange for few if any casualties. They made target for the officers and those who jumped up to command, as though they were under orders to cut the head from the snake. The tactic, if it was tactic or just pure luck, had rather amazing effect on the soldiers. While not incapable fighters on their own right most bodies larger than a fireteam could not make it in field without a chain of command whether or not it was competent. The break in this organization was all that was needed really to shift focus of momentum to the rebels favor. It helped severely as well that a rebel patrol literally accidently stumbled into the republican general's camp, taking much of his command staff down and the man himself prisoner; albeit at heavy losses.

That blow was all that it took for the facade to crumble; the officer-less soldiers broke under the harassment, with those rebels trapped in the derelict school coming out to meet them in combat as well; it turned into a hacking melee of bullets and bayonets with men dying in heavy numbers in both sides before the fields fell to an eerie silence in lieu of gun-smoked streets. It was a victory, a pyrrhic victory, but a victory none the less for the rebels who did not stick to the streets but melded away into the city once more, dragging their wounded with them and scavenging many more proper arms from the soldiers they'd slain.

[Layarteb]

January 17, 1996

It was a bloodbath, the Minister of Defense thought as he reviewed the first of what would be many after action reports concerning Ecuador. The Palacio de Carondelet had fallen less than two hours earlier after a joint task force consisting of a Green Beret A-Team and a SEAL platoon fought room-to-room, hallway-to-hallway, against Ecuador's toughest men, the Grupo Especial de Operaciones (GEO). The GEO, a counter-terror unit, had once been trained by forces from the Republic of Layarteb and now they were failures to their nation, their people, and their President. Fifty-two of them lay dead or dying around the palace, another four dozen were wounded or captured. For the Layartebian joint task force, they suffered numerous casualties but only six fatalities, two SEALS, one Green Beret, and three Marines who died holding the perimeter outside. It was a rout and though the building favored the defenders, the Green Berets and SEALS exercised tactics that not even the GEO could counter. This wasn't their mission, after all. "What a senseless bloodbath," the Minister of Defense commented, this time inaudibly and only to himself.

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January 17, 1996 - 04:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Quito, Ecuador
Carcel Municipal Prison
(0° 13' 31" S, 78° 31' 0" W)

Bear was a big motherfucker, at six-three and over two hundred and something pounds. The leader of a Green Beret A-Team, Bear had once been the guy who carried the sledgehammer and the light machine gun for certain missions. He was the guy who carried the collapsible ladder and he was the guy who huffed the heavy equipment. But bravery in combat and a sharp mind, especially for tactical instinct, earned him a commission and a slot as team leader. He excelled in the role and now he stood, an imposing figure, in a basement jail cell in Quito's Carcel Municipal Prison. Handcuffed to a chair and naked in front of him, glowing yellow underneath the incandescent light, was Victor Reyes, an aide to Ecuador's President.

Captured overnight, Reyes was dragged from his home and thrown into the back of a military vehicle and transport to the prison. He'd already endured six hours of interrogation and the red sheen his body emanated from exposed blood was proof of it. "?Digame!" [Tell me!] Bear barked as he leveled his fist into Reyes' gut yet again. All of the air evaporated from Reyes' lungs yet again and he coughed and choked, trying to breathe.

"?La perra, le jode!" [Bitch, fuck you!] He defiantly proclaimed.

Bear looked at his watch, impressed not only that the aide had endured this long but that he was quite resistant. Bear expected him to fold within minutes but he had hung in there, enduring no small measure of pain. Torture, it was obvious, was going to take too long. "We don't have time for this!" Bear yelled as he turned around to another Green Beret standing watch in the door. "?Introduzca a su hija!" [Bring in his daughter!] Bear ordered. Instantly, whatever color was left in Reyes' face drained.

"?Usted no hace; usted tipos son animales!" [You wouldn't; you guys are animals!]

"Hago y hago. ?Reloj!" [I would and I will. Watch!] Bear barked as the shrill cries of an eight year old filled the concrete basement of the municipal jail. The girl, still in her pajamas, was thrown into the cell, where she saw her beaten and savaged father. She burst into tears and instantly ran towards him, only to be stopped midstride by Bear, who grabbed a chunk of her long, jet-black hair. "?Ningun llanto!" [No crying!] He yelled, as if it would mean anything. Her entire head fit neatly into Bear's hand. He could break her neck with a sneeze.

"?Parada!" [Stop!] Reyes protested as he broke down himself, sobbing.

"?Preguntare otra vez, cuantos protegen al Presidente?" [I'll ask again, how many are guarding the President?]

"Cien," [A hundred,] Reyes admitted, shamefully. He could withstand any measure of physical pain, or so he thought, but this was too much. He couldn't see anything terrible happen to his daughter.

"?Quien lo protege?" [Who is guarding him?]

"GEO." [GEO.]

"?Bueno, que defensas han establecido ellos?" [Good, what defenses have they set up?]

"No comprendo," [I don't understand,] Reyes said and he was truthful. He didn't understand the nature of the question, he wasn't a military man who could think along military lines.

"?El blindaje? ?Los tanques?" [Armor? Tanks?]

"Nada, solo hombres. Rifles y ametralladoras." [Nothing, just men. Rifles and machine guns.]

"?Kay y han levantado barricadas a si mismo ellos en?" [Okay and have they barricaded themselves in?]

"Si." [Yes.] Reyes' daughter was on the floor now, her hands trying to pull Bear's meaty palms away. It was no use; they were just too large.

"?Ahora una mas pregunta, que es la clave para amistoso?" [Now one more question, what is the codeword for friendlies?]

Reyes thought for a minute. He could give them the distress code, which would identify them as invaders. At the same time, he didn't know if they would come back and shoot him and his daughter if they found out he had lied. He thought long and hard while looking into his daughter's eyes. He owed her a life of happiness and he knew that if he lied, he could jeopardize that. It was evident that Quito would fall, probably before the weekend. He had returned home, hoping to flee into the countryside with his family, like the rest of the government had done. Bad luck had delayed his departure and a turncoat traitor had given away his plans to the Layartebians. He didn't know that yet.

"La clave." [The codeword.] Bear repeated in a quiet, subtle, yet straight-to-the-point voice.

"Ellos no me dijeron. Los dije que salia. Ellos no me dijeron. Por favor. No la duela. Por favor. Vayamos." [They didn't tell me. I told them I was leaving. They didn't tell me. Please. Don't hurt her. Please. Let us go.]

"Si esta, le matare ambos yo mismo." [If you're lying, I'm going to kill you both myself.] Bear barked. "Let's go!" He let go of the girl, who ran to her wounded but living father. The cell door was shut behind them and the Green Berets departed, leaving the jail in the hands of the Ministry of Intelligence personnel who had been instrumental in its capture.

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ | ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

January 17, 1996 - 10:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Quito, Ecuador
Palacio de Carondelet
(0° 13' 11" S, 78° 30' 45" W)

Three M113A3 APCs and a pair of EE-9 Cascavel armored vehicles moved quickly from the jail towards the palace. It was daring and risky considering the amount of air power over the city but they had countered this with some semblance of safety. Placed atop each vehicle was an infrared strobe light, which would be visible through FLIR. This told pilots not to attack. The biggest gamble though was whether the pilots were using their FLIR, even though they had been instructed to identify all vehicles through FLIR before engaging. This operation was top secret, being conducted by Joint Task Force (JTF) Machete, an impromptu combination of Green Berets and SEALS. JTF-Machete included over two hundred men, Green Berets, SEALS, and Marines who would act in a support role. Inside of the three M113s were the twelve Green Berets and sixteen SEALS. The three M113s and two EE-9s were being driven by twelve Marines.

All of the vehicles were freshly liberated (i.e. captured) from the Ecuadorian Army and they retained the army markings. The forty Layartebians in them were all wearing the uniform of Ecuadorian soldiers, also freshly liberated. The equipment had been made available to JTF-Machete rather hastily on January 10, when a major Ecuadorian army base had been captured. The equipment and uniforms inside were quickly gobbled up by the ten-man intelligence section of the joint task force and the soldiers tried on a dozen sets of clothes before any of them found ones that fit. Bear, who was the operational commander for this particular sortie due to his rank, was dressed in the uniform of a colonel. It was authentic and it was what he hoped would work. He didn't know that Reyes had sold them short. There was a safe word and his lack of its possession would alert the GEO the moment he tried to get into the palace doors.

Thundering up to the palace courtyard, the vehicles stopped in front of the building. Layartebian troops were still over four hundred meters away and most of the Ecuadorian forces who still held this area were keeping their heads down. Those who saw the convoy didn't shoot, obviously because of the markings. "?Consiga al Presidente! ?Es tiempo de mover!" [Get the President! It is time to move!] Bear yelled as he jumped out of the back of the M113. He gave orders to the troops, making them hold the perimeter while he and two Green Berets walked up to the front door of the palace. GEO guards inside had their weapons drawn and were looking upon this suspiciously. Nobody told them a thing.

"?PARE ALLI!" [STOP THERE!] The lead GEO soldier ordered just as Bear put his feet on the first step. He obligingly stopped. "?Que demonios es esto?" [What the hell is this?]

"?Las ordenes, el Layartebians es cuatrocientos metros lejos! Tenemos que conseguir al Presidente a la seguridad." [Orders, the Layartebians are four hundred meters away! We have to get the President to safety.]

"Nosotros no oimos nada de esto, lo identifica." [We heard nothing of this, identify yourself.] The GEO soldier responded.

"Coronel Rodriguez," [Colonel Rodriguez,] Bear answered, remembering the nametag on his uniform. "Nosotros no podemos fiarnos de las ondas hertzianas, el Layartebians se atasca demasiado totalmente. El helicoptero es demasiado arriesgado. Tienen dominacion aerea. Esto es la unica manera. El apuro, nosotros no tenemos mucho tiempo." [We cannot trust the airwaves, the Layartebians are jamming too strongly. Helicopter is too risky. They have air dominance. This is the only way. Hurry, we do not have much time.]

The GEO soldier looked at his suspiciously. "?Que es su unidad?" [What is your unit?]

"?El ejercito regular, escucha nosotros no tenemos tiempo para esto! Somos las unicas unidades capaces de este porque somos los unicos hombres que no son entrados a luchar. ?CONSIGA a EL PRESIDENTE AHORA!" [Regular army, listen we don't have time for this! We're the only unit capable of this because we're the only men who aren't engaged in fighting. GET THE PRESIDENT NOW!] Bear barked.

The GEO soldier turned and said something to the two guards near him. Bear couldn't hear them. "Deme la clave." [Give me the codeword.] Instantly, Bear cursed underneath his tongue. If he survived, he swore to himself that he would break Reyes' daughter's neck right in front of him.

"No nos dijo," [Didn't tell us,] was all he answered before two 9-millimeter rounds hit his Kevlar vest. The two Green Berets returned fire, peppering the front door and the GEO guard with 5.56-millimeter rounds. The main GEO man was down and the two others injured while Bear was dragged away. Gasping for air, he tore open his uniform and felt underneath his vest for blood.

"One lucky son of a bitch!" One of the SEALS yelled as he picked out the hot, deformed bullets from the vest's front. "No penetration, how does it feel?"

"Fucking hurts man! I think I cracked a rib," Bear answered.

"Medevac can't get us," the SEAL said.

"No medevac, help me up," Bear said as he put his shirt back together and stood up with help. He took a few deep breaths, winced from the pain, and turned back to his men. "Blow that fucking door down!" He yelled. The door had been shut in the chaos and it was barricaded and thick enough that not much was going through it, except an AT4.

With a massive, thunderous explosion, the door deformed and bent inward. The right one fell clear and the left one bore the damage of the anti-tank missile, which had struck near center, right above where the lock would be. The Green Beret outside dropped the empty launcher and watched as a pair of 40-millimeter high-explosive rounds entered the doorframe and exploded upon contact with the walls. The three GEO guards who had come to hold the door were writhing in pain, one dying, one dead, one in bad shape but not mortally wounded. "Let's go!" Bear yelled as they filled into the wide hallway in double-filed row, firing towards anyone inside who they saw.

Thirty-five minutes later, JTF-Machete was stacked up outside of the President's office. Three Flashbang grenades later, the first four men entered, Bear, two SEALS, and a Green Beret. They shot down the GEO soldiers and quickly pounced on the President. "All clear!" Bear yelled. No less than six M4s were pointed at the President who, when he came too, remained on the floor, looking up at Bear. "El Presidente del senor, yo soy Oso, el representante del Emperador de Layarteb. Estoy de aqui aceptar verbalmente su rendicion incondicional." [Mister President, I am Bear, representative of the Emperor of Layarteb. I am here to verbally accept your unconditional surrender.]

The President, mortified by the violence and death that the Empire had levied upon his country, took one look around the room at the dead GEO soldiers. He shook his head in affirmation and Bear smiled. "Eleccion sabia." [Wise choice.]

Two hours later, while the Minister of Defense was reading through his after action report, which briefly summarized the fall of the palace, Bear walked into the jail cell where Reyes and his daughter were. Without emotion, feeling, or delay, he walked over, seized the little girl, and with his bare hands, snapped her neck, leaving her lifeless body in Reyes' lap. Completely distraught with pain, Reyes went numb and limp but just before he did, Bear drew his mouth close to Reyes' ear and whispered, "Usted me debe haber dicho la palabra en imbecil de clave." [You should have told me the codeword asshole.] The incident would go unreported too. Reyes would eventually be executed by the MOI and the entire incident would just become a forgotten memory.