Uncivil War (Closed, Regional RP)

[New Edom]

New Edomite Embassy, Lowell City

“Alright, wash your hands over there and there are gloves, smocks and masks. Hurry it up,” said Dr. Hanni. He decided to set up a ketamine drip for anesthesia, and to do a careful cleaning of the wound, examine for foreign fragments or bone fragments. “Get me some light, please,” he said tersely.

Chest would have priority; the others had stopped bleeding. “I want this cleaned and a vaselined bandage pack.” He decided. “Then I’ll have a look at the leg. We’re going to intubate and check for lung collapse.” Hanni knew how to triage and prioritie—the inbubation would at least keep the man going while they then checked that risky leg wound. He’d seen men and women suddenly die in minutes after such a wound. The bullet would have to be probed and then removed, but for now that could wait.

The young woman irritated him; not her fault really but he put his compassion on a shelf in his mind; no time for how anyone felt about this—he just had to keep the man alive, stabilize his condition, give his body a chance to do the healing work. God would guide his hands, they were healing hands. He lost some and he won some. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

“Alright,” he told the medic, “I’m going to get you to open the wound, while I put the clamp on. I’m a surgeon by training.” His manner was grave—he had a cool way with him, as though this terribly traumatized body was merely routine for him.

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

As the Shalumites looked on, there was a series of hisses and grimaces as the Lieutenant's body met ground; rather violently at that. They all knew how good the Lieutenant was in a fight, being the top CQC fighter in Bull company, but by that opening move alone; it didn't look good. It appeared as if the Azzie in the ring was out for blood, or had the intent of ending the Lieutenant's life. Off to the side, two SDF medics shifted uncomfortably, one actually gripping a med-kit rather tightly; his knuckles white. He had the feeling that he should jump in and intervene, but he knew better. For all intensive purposes, he could be next if he jumped in. With a deep sigh, he watched the fight intensely, hoping that nothing too damaging would happen to the LT; he was a good solider, and an even better leader. Loosing him because of some stupid sparring injury would be a shame, especially for the Shalumites; who would be relied on heavily in the weeks to come.

Near the medic, Staff Sergeant Alan Wesley, a SDF MP, watched the fight; gaze burning into Astrid. He was an MP, and his job required him to break up fights. This wasn't a sparring match, this was a bloody brawl. Looking down, he unclipped his stun baton. He looked at Astrid, then his baton. Back to Astrid, and then back to his baton. A hand came down solidly on his shoulder. Looking up, he met the gaze of Private First Class Nelson, who had the look that told him to -not- intervene. After a moment of silent deliberation, Alan nodded, returning the baton to its place on his hip. He would stay away for now, but if the LT got knocked out, he was jumping in and putting her down with a solid jolt of electricity; assuming he got close enough to strike her. He had the bad feeling that he wouldn't.

In the ring, Thomas grunted in a mix of pain and surprise. He had barely registered Astrid's movements before he had been slammed into the ground; headfirst, leaving him to crumple to the ground. At this point, most men would have quit by the blow alone; it was strong enough to be debilitating. Thomas however, didn't even let the idea of quitting enter his mind; the attack only fueling his drive. He had, during his training at the Shalumite SIA farm, been subjected to torture and pain that was by all means, illegal according to most courts of law. Pain came with being an agent, so it was drilled into recruits heads; usually through physical means. Thomas had been subjected to ninety hours of torture himself, and had broken three ribs in the process; breaking a farm record.

Instead of simply trying to stand, Thomas rolled over on his back; twisting to face Astrid as he did so. Using his long legs, he swept from the ground, an attack from mantis form; one that he didn't use often due to the amount of flexibility required to do so. Even if she managed to dodge the first leg sweep, it was unlikely that she would manage to dodge the second leg. He grinned as he caught her at the ankle. With a jerk of the legs, her feet had been taken out; causing her to tumble backward. As she did so, Thomas was up to a sitting position in a flash. Instead of going in for a possible kill, by straddling her and engaging directly; he pushed himself back in to a standing position, bringing up his hands to defend himself. If she attacked this time, he would be ready.

"Ist das das Beste, was Sie haben?" he asked a bit cockily, bouncing on his toes as he watched her. Already, he was planning his attack. He knew that playing the defensive than aggressive role wasn't going to work with her. He had to attack, and attack fast.

"Is that the best you've got?"

=================

Major Hugo Panzer and Captain Katrina Wolf sat quietly, listening to he briefing with attention rapt. This was the first 'real' operation that either of them had conducted with Azzie commanders, actually working together toward the same goal; instead of around each other like they did quite often. Occasionally, Major Panzer would chime in with questions, remaining silent for the most part however. Wolf on the other hand stayed quiet, not uttering a single question; letting Panzer take the lead, he was the commanding officer after all.

As he looked over the map and current forces deployed, Panzer grimaced; they lacked almost any advantage. In fact, one of the few advantages he saw was the aerial power he had at his disposal. The Aircav never went without at least two detachments of IHA-12 Rangers, enough to take on an armored unit rather easily; assuming they lacked ground based weapons to fire back. As Panzer opened his mouth to ask a question, the door was flung open; several Azurlavain officers bursting in, shouting about a fight eagerly. Trading amused looks, Panzer and Wolf grinned; not even hiding their eagerness.

"Ich glaube, ich sollte gehen, check this out, große Panzer" Captain Wolf said to her superior officer quietly; practically ready to leap from her seat.

"I think I should go check this out, Major Panzer"

With a curt nod and a small smile, Panzer replied "Go ahead Leutnant." In a flash, Wolf was out the door; following the Azzie officers eagerly to see the fight. Titling his head to look at General Berger, Panzer spoke up. "Tut mir leid, dass mein Herr, hast du gesagt?"

"Sorry about that sir, you were saying?"

[Jedoria]

Just outside of Lowell City,
Azurlavai

Cozma had seen his fair share of blood and gore, but seeing the giant man lose his head in a shower of red mist and brain matter made Cozma pause and stare for a few moments. He shook his head to clear it, trying to get the mental picture out of his head. When he finally cleared it, the Azzies were hollering over the radio. Cozma didn't understand a word of their gibberish, but soon his units translators were relaying the info back to the Jedorians. More contacts inbound, prepare to engage. Cozma wasn't supposed to be in combat, damn it. But now he had no choice. Reloading his handgun, Cozma fired off a few shots against what remained of the original hostiles, then redeployed 20 meters to the south, taking up position next to a wrecked vehicle.

The rest of the Jedorians set themselves into position, creating firing lanes and laying down suppressing fire. 9 mms and 5.56 rounds raced through the air, seeking out whatever enemy combatants were foolish enough to stick their heads up. Roaring down to the right of the road way the Engineers had been repairing was one of three Humvee, equipped with a .50 cal M2 Browning MG let loose, targeting the lead Wilde vehicles, rounds tearing towards the technicals. A TOW missile somewhere behind them opened fire, roaring at one of the buses.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse, Rheinmetall State
Azurlavai

In some ways, it would not be unfair to say that the central tenant of Shrailleeni religious belief revolved around suffering.

Suffering was the unavoidable evil of existence. Throughout history, both within the islands and foreign, it had plagued humankind in a variety of ways. War, starvation, disease, misery and pain. And so suffering was the chief problem which needed to be addressed by the island religions, particularly Leenism. If the Mother Goddess loved all of Her Children, then why did suffering exist in the world that She created? The answer that the great Shrailleeni spiritualists of the ages had concluded was that suffering was caused by humanity itself. It was the byproduct of free will, and by choosing to follow paths that differed from the goodness of Creation humanity brought evil into itself.

Fighting against that evil, and bringing people to the correct path, was a moral obligation for all Shrailleeni, no matter what the cost. That was why a nation that treasured peaceful resolution above all was always prepared for war. That was why Shrailleeni people volunteered to risk their lives on dangerous foreign shores. And that was why Priestess Tenya Saretha found herself in the smog-choked streets of Schmeidesse, in southern Azurlavai.

This land, as was typical for foreign nations, was caught in the grip of heinous violence. In English, the tongue of foreigners, they called it a Civil War. This, Tenya had learned, referred to its legality rather than its nature. In truth such a conflict was the least civil of any that she had studied or known. Even the unification of the Empire, done through warfare, had been fought with very strict rules, for the good of all people. In Azurlavai blood ran for little reason that she could see, or perhaps for reasons that had been lost to all but the most scholarly women of this nation. Even here, far to the south, the effects of war were strongly felt by those who always suffered most: the innocent noncombatants.

Tenya wiped the soot from the young girls eyes and forehead, crooning in Railtic. The girl could not have yet passed her seventh year, her pale skin nearly completely hidden behind grime. She was perilously thin from living on the streets where the Shrailleeni had found her, but she would live. Others were not so lucky. There was the young soldier, without legs or family, the survivor of a battle turned victim upon his return. There were the vagrants, mostly young men, who in this time of trouble could find no comfort in their native systems. And there were the people who had homes, but for whom simply living in the conditions of Schmeidesse caused a menagerie of health problems exacerbated by a system strained by the needs of battle.

Schmeidesse was a filthy city. Tenya had seen its like before in her own homeland. Muldera, Tahlmatora, Cyreia. All of them shared the same ills. Industry might make a nation's leaders wealthy, or aid in perpetuating conflict, but these things came at a cost in human life. The people who kept the mills and factories running were beaten and bruised, not necessarily by their managers but by the work itself. The air with thick with poison, a poison which not even a modern appliance could fully remove from the drinking water. These would be problem enough for any city. But Schmeidesse was a city in wartime, and that only made everything worse.

Tenya finished cleaning the girl's face, while one of the young men volunteering for her brought some warm rations and clean water. Tenya offered a short prayer to the Mother Goddess, and then gifted the food to the girl, who was too eager for nourishment to do more than consume it at once. Caressing her shoulder lovingly, Tenya stood gracefully and moved on to her next charge.

It had taken no small effort to get a Shrailleeni volunteer effort for this land. Many were still occupied in various other nations, not the least of which were Dengali and New Edom. But Tenya had heard of the plight here, and felt the Mother Goddess calling her to respond. And so she had taken it upon herself to organize the effort, gathering a few hundred interested persons from across the islands and gaining the funding and blessing of the Mother Empress herself. They had their own supply chain, although they unfortunately could not extend far beyond the port for the time being. The efforts of the Ossorians to combat piracy in the Southern Aldaran had aided matters, but the Black Wing Navy still insisted on an escort frigate for all volunteer missions, which strained supplies somewhat. But with the cooperation of the Azurlavain government, a small but substantial effort had been accomplished.

Shrailleeni volunteer stations were the same here as they were elsewhere in the world. They were mostly tent operations, set up in any available public lot, unless a suitable building could be found. They contained places to wash, eat, and receive medical treatment, as well as long-term stay options for the homeless, and were staffed by Priestesses and volunteers who passed the required medical and psychological evaluation checks. There was a few dozen of them at each station, of which Schmeidesse now had four. There were officially no soldiers guarding these stations either, but Tenya had seen to it that her Sisters and Brothers were capable of defending their charges if need be.

She checked the medication levels of her next patient, who was suffering from a lung disease. The Shrailleeni had treatment for it for now, but the sickness was so prevalent that they would soon need to request more from the homeland. She had already put in such a request a few days ago. She prayed that they would not run out.

The volunteer stations were relief centers first and foremost, but prayer was a part of their day-to-day operations. The Temple of the Mother Goddess did not believe in proselytization, but rather chose to bring people to faith through example. Tenya and the other Priestesses did their duty to those who needed it, and then one a day would gather in a session of prayer to the Mother Goddess. If the curious or grateful chose to take part in these sessions, they were warmly accepted. If they wished to learn more, they were lovingly tutored. Every Friday, the Leenic day of worship, more advanced sessions were held. The point was not to attempt convert a large number of inexperienced followers, but rather to entice those with sincere belief to participate and learn of the Goddess's will. If some came to Enlightenment along the way, that was good. If Tenya's work eased the suffering of all, including those who did not believe, then this was also good.

The Shrailleeni Priestess turned her eyes to the smokey sky. The Mother Goddess was looking down upon this city. She would not abandon Her Children, even if they did not believe in Her. That was why She had sent Tenya to this place of war and misery. And Tenya would do Her will, regardless of the cost.

[Azurlavai]

North of Lowell City
Though this battle had been thousands versus thousands topped by a suicidal charge up a hill into heavy weapons fire, the final death count of the 501st leveled out at 86, though hundreds had been wounded and needed to be recovered from the field, though it was certain more would die tonight. Already, medics from the infanterie were rushing to men brought down across the hillside, crippled tank crews, torn up Jedorians. Fortunate news was that the downed gunship had a single survivor, and she was swiftly extracted by two panzergrenadiers with the help of several nearby Jedorians.

At the top of the hill, single shots still rang out occasionally as Weiderganger survivors were tracked down and executed. Neither side took the other prisoner if they could help it, and now was no time to state otherwise. The majority of the militia had scattered, and the few fascists left were either digging in or regroup to withdraw. These former remnants of the Republican Heer were the last shreds of the former government, and those who hadn’t defected represented the largest threat to the Allies across Azurlavai. It wasn’t the outlaws preying on settlers or the slavers taking entire towns under chain, but these military men who were organized and knew exactly what they needed to do in order to bring the entire system crashing on itself.

Oberst Karlheinz glanced around, squinting at the radio station around his panzer. Holes had been punched in the structures, windows shattered and walls collapsed. The dead husks of Amboss tanks still bearing the gear emblem of the Republic lay scattered around, and stone-grey uniforms covering corpses could be found here and there where the bodies lay interspersed with the camouflage fatigue-wearing modern Bundeswehr soldiers. The day was won, though dozens of Azurlavaians and Jedorians lay dead on the hillside, and the violence between Azzies was only escalating. But the Weiderganger couldn’t keep this up. Eventually, they’d run out of tanks, planes and helicopters, as well as fanatics to man them.

And one day, Azurlavai might finally know peace. But, unfortunately, it was not to be this day.

Karlheinz glanced around the hilltop, hearing gunfire in the distance and knowing that his men were engaging stragglers back down the hill. These militia were often gun-for-hire cannon fodder, fighters who swore themselves to a new cause every other week. The survivors would melt into the forests and cities and probably find new warlords in the next few days, giving their guns over to their service.

The Jedorians had done well to hold the flank. If they hadn’t been there at all, those panzers would have swept the 501st’s sides, and then the assault might even have failed. True, the Confederates had taken casualties as well, but they had still done better than Karlheinz had expected of such a green force, managing to keep pushing with only minor support diverted (read here as a small group of panzers).

The senior officer grunted, settling back inside of his Mammut as he keyed his commander’s panel, opening a channel to the Jedorians.

“This is Blitz Actual to any surviving Jedorian commanders, reply on this channel.”

---

Kastell Isolation
Being brought to the ground, needless to say, was a bit of a surprise for Astrid, crashing down unexpectedly. The bastard was harder to pin down that she thought, and while it only took her an instant to get back to her feet, she had to get a second to get her thoughts caught up to the situation. How the hell was he still standing, that blow should have knocked him out cold. Still, she had to keep herself composed, and she rose up again, feeling a slight buzz in her legs from his counterattack. Fortunately, whether it was too light or her dead nerves were helping her again, the damage didn’t register, and she moved to strike again-

“Stehen Sie auf! Dieser Kampf ist vorbei!“

“Stand to! This fight is over!“

Swiftly, the training room was swarmed with over a dozen armed figures, carrying MP61s, KSJ shotguns and Kalt pistols. The Hüter were the only group in the Heer that wore their dress uniforms in garrison, and sometimes in the field as well. This could be seen as an occupational need, however, given the fact that the high-peaked caps, black jackets and fearsome attitudes were essential to their jobs as military police. As the other soldier quickly took up positions around the training ring, the officer in charge came to stand in the middle, his handgun held at the ready.

“Im Auftrag von Oberst Mannheim, Sie sind beide um nicht mehr und sofort zu melden, um Besprechungsraum sechs! Sie gehorchen!“

” By order of Colonel Mannheim, you are both order to cease and immediately report to briefing room six! You will obey!”

Reluctantly, Astrid backed down, her eyes narrowed, feeling the adrenaline burning in her veins. She turned her gaze over to the Shalumite, grunting as she said “Mehr Glück beim nächsten Mal.“

“ Better luck next time.“

With that, she turned away, ducking under the ropes as she hopped down.
##################################
Five minutes later, after a quick wash and a change of clothes, Astrid Deinhardt was striding down the hallway in fresh fatigues, her forest camouflage and red beret fixed perfectly. Kastell isolation’s stone passageways, true to form, rang with the clap of bootheels from several other soldiers. Cadets, trainees, full-time soldiers, officers. Next to her was Oberfeldwebel Anya Wodzynski, Kilo-6’s attached medic, as well as the only other female in the squad. Feldwebel Zofen, the radioman, was travelling behind them, a cigarette between his lips as he silently listened to the two women chat.

[“So we’re working with Shalumites? I don’t understand, I thought they were all to the east.”

“Evidently they got bored with the Liamites,” Astrid grunted as the trio turned a corner, coming into a larger hallway leading past the castle’s central courtyard, in which several trainees were conducting calisthenics in the rain, under the fierce supervision and guidance of their drill instructors, who walked them through the exercises and howled at those whom they felt were not doing a good enough job. Here, other soldiers went about their day, conscripts who had already graduated moving through the motions and professional grenadiers making their rounds.

“Look, I don’t trust these weekend warriors any further than I can throw them,” Astrid continued as the trio made the final turn, spotting a few Shalumite uniforms at the end of the hallway. Hopefully, they’ll just stay out of our way and let us get to work.”

But she shut up as the three of them moved into the briefing room…only to spot several Shalumite uniforms in the seats, right next to the rest of Kilo-6, with Oberst Mannheim and two officer she didn’t recognize at the very front.

---

Lowell City, Girard Brighton National Airport
Koenigfeller squinted at the man, unsure of who exactly he was, but disliking him almost immediately. So, he addressed the female colonel, extending a hand as he said “Major Koenigfeller, ma’am. Our schedule got pushed up, so we have to rush these things.”

He glanced back, watching his men loading up into the trucks. These supplies were needed at the distribution centers, and a recent skirmish between the 501st and Wiederganger elements outside of Lowell City hadn’t stopped a fresh flood of casualties, meaning more supplies were needed immediately in the city, meaning the entire shipment had to be moved up as soon as possible.

“I’m assuming you both will want transport ASAP into the city? I can spare a few Pitbulls and drivers to get you anywhere in Lowell City.”

---

Schrott Insel (Scrap Island)
821 km South of Rheinmetall Stadt, Azurlavai
Off the southern coastline of the Belisarius region, near the Ri’en island chain, was a series of islands claimed some time ago by the fascist Republic. Though never fully developed, during the War they had been used as a hideout for those who wanted to escape. The Allied States had never claimed the islands themselves, never got around to it and lacked the naval power to enforce such a claim. Which made this place perfect for its current purpose. Previously unnamed, Schrott Island was now the center of pirate activity in the South Belisarian Sea, united under the Eisreisen Krew, the largest group of raiders and fiends in the Belisarius area. The core of the gang were Azzies, thanks to proximity, though they had a large number of Ri’en natives, Hostillians and even a few Thesumites and Ossorians. These refugees, deserters and criminals had left their feuding homeland behind to instead live off of scrapped vessels, picking up wrecked and abandoned ships. These days, they had more vessels than the Kriegsmarine, and they took advantage of that, raiding shipping and stealing weapon shipments. Guns, ships, captives, cargo, all of it had been seized to make some kind of profit for the Krew.

Schrott Island itself was well-named. The only permanent residence, a Republican radio base, had been overwhelmed by the pirates, with bolted on additions and a sprawling town around it until as many pieces of land that could be used were covered in shanties, huts and workshops. The shore played host to as close to a shipyard/harbor as the Krew could make, an assembly of docks and wrecked ships that serviced the working pirate flotilla. These ships were hardly better than the wreckage, composed mostly of stolen and salvaged vessels from civilian merchants, the Kriegsmarine and various others. The cornerstone were a small fleet of old, modified and stolen corvettes and cutters, each backed by dozens of speedboats and inflatable rafts. But aside from these, the Eisreisen Krew also sported a group of vicious Eisenkrad-class battlecruisers, hulking warships from the last generation wiped out by the War Between the States which resulted in the Kriegsmarine’s destruction. These four had to be the last operational vessels, and one of them was shored up, a piece of wreck along the reef side of the island only valuable for the gun turrets that made it into a floating fortress. The other three vessels were covered in scrap as well, with extra weapons bolted on and pieces of armor and logos to proclaim their ownership.

But the arsenal didn’t stop there. Trekking up past the patchwork docks, the shore-built batteries ensured that any vessels or aircraft that came near would either be hit by a pair of 9cm shells or brought down by a barrage of missiles respectively. 8.8cm gun nests were also dug into the tops of several buildings, and MG64s were available from several munitions dumps scattered around the pirate settlement. Technicals and assault buggies were the most common vehicles, easy to load up for shore assaults, but among their number were several clusters of amphibious armored cars, sporting a variety of weapons and just as scrap-encrusted as the ships in port, the most intact being a collection of Panhard recon tanks. Tanks were too impractical, but that didn’t mean that several workshops weren’t trying to restore a few Amboss and even older Tiger tanks, though with not as much priority on usable weapons.

The Eisreisen even possessed a fledgling force of helicopters, older Spatz gunships still in use by the Allied States but more favored by the Republic, and hence where the Krew had acquired them, as well as several large Kingfishers, allowing for swift assaults on target vessels and shore installations. Most pirates sported either an StG-44, some kind of shotgun or one of the dozens of handguns available to them, and there was over a hundred pirates settled in just here on this island, not to mention the crews and numerous hideouts scattered throughout the frigid sea, waiting to pounce.

And at the head of this criminal army, one of the largest in Belisarius, was the Pirate Queen herself. Shacked up in the fortress at the center (built out of the fortified concrete of the old radio station), she ruled over the South seas with an iron fist and a loaded gun. And currently, she was not happy.

Kommandant Mitzi Gaschultz, formerly Fanrich Zur See Gaschultz, sat on her ‘throne’, which was the command chair off of a wrecked Kaiser-class aircraft carrier. It was welded to several other scraps of iron to make it seem like a far more menacing, authoritative seat of power, such as an iron wrought fence behind her. Though the smoking Reichsrevolver in her hand might have also done that for her, as was the corpse of the pirate at her feet, the man who had failed her.

The Pirate Queen was definitely not happy. One of her favorite kapitans, Lee Jin Sung, a Hostillian who had drifted east to escape the oppressive empire, had been tasked with leading the attack on the RON convoy pulling into Tritonsberg. The only problem, of course, was that the Ossorians had struck back, hard. Dozens of men torn to pieces and two cutters lost, Sung had only just escaped with his life to come back to Schrott Island and report that he had failed epically. For his trouble, Gaschultz had put a bullet in his brain.

Now she sat there, contemplating this development. With such a defeat handed to them, many might see the Eisreisen as weak, and look for other holes to exploit. She needed to immediately find a way to cement the Krew’s power, before other gangs or even the Bundeswehr came after her.

And so, the Pirate Queen concocted a plan. The Eisreisen was going to war.

---

Schmeidesse, Rheinmetall
Schmeidesse was often called the Industrial Heart of Azurlavai. For a state that was all about manufacturing power, Rheinmetall concentrated their power on the capital city, where it all began here on the coast. Barges, trucks and trains came in with iron, coal and oil, and finished products came out the other side, sometimes on the same vehicles. Even after seven years of brutal war and a dozen sieges, Shmeidesse had never stopped production, and the factories burned on into the night like some fiendish scene from the underworld. Gallagher may have been the war front of the Allies, but Rheinmetall was what made the bullets, tanks and planes for them to fight with. And Schmeidesse these days –was- Rheinmetall.

During the war, the civilian resistance tried to help keep the workers out of the fighting, and for the most part the Rheinmetall state military let them do their jobs. Even now, the Menschen Frieden Korps (Human Peace Corps) was trying their hardest to undo what the devastation had done. Fortunately, they were helped by the Stahl Legion, Rheinmetall’s state army. Logistics groups and soldiers were often seen trying to clear up roads and move rubble, but it was down to the MFK to get relief supplies where the military could not. But it was a never ending fight. Schmeidesse had been hit hard during the seven years of fighting, a constant target in the combat, and gang violence as well as pirate raids were still a reality. The two groups were in over their heads.

Which was why, when the Shrailleeni had come forward with their offer of aide, it didn’t take long for the Allied government to bounce it over to Rheinmetall, and it took even less time for the industrial state to accept. Religious they might be, but any and all hands willing to even try to venture into the factory capital were welcome. Things had gotten so bad that many Legionnaires had handed their standard-issue gas masks to the suffering masses, writing these up as losses in combat. Though expensive and officially disapproved, the officers simply replaced the masks, looking the other way. It had reached this point. That was why these women were let in, to help and hold up what the MFK and Legion couldn’t.

Schütze Hans Wezler was of a bit of a mixed opinion about the priestesses. Having a foreign warship in the harbor and preachers walking the streets for the first time in more than a century felt like rubbing away at what made Azurlavai its own country. After fighting so hard to reestablish their identity, they were just going to open the borders to foreign intervention?

But as he stood over the priestess who called herself Tenya, he looked down into the face of his daughter Katya as she began eating. The priestess moved on, and Wezler knelt in front of Katya, his hand going to her cheek as he bit his lip, trying to bite back tears as she smiled at him. He’d give her his gas mask if it would fit, but she was only seven. Her mother had been killed in the last skirmish of the war, a pointless battle that saw Weiderganger forces shell Schmeidesse without want or reason. Thus was the tyranny of the fascist. Wezler glanced over at Tenya, thanking her wordlessly even as she slipped out of his sight.

Nearby, several exhausted and overworked factory workers hobbled in, a few of them sporting injuries that were days old. These days, it was far easier to get a job than to find a place to live, and these relief stations scattered across the city were the closest they’d get to finding help. While the Legion were often a bit more blunt about who they would give treatment to, the MFK were a bit more forgiving, if shorter on the supplies than the military. Between these two camps, there was always someone missing out on something.

But now, at the far end of the relief tent, one of the factory workers approached Tenya, his Railtic finicky and poor as he said “Priestess, please. Randolph, he need help. Bones broken, bad lungs.”

It was true, as the other workers parted to reveal Randolph Bouchemp, who was obviously the victim of some accident. In truth, Randolph was a coal miner, and though two of his companions had been allowed by their shift manager to help him over here, the other factory workers had been at the overwhelmed hospital they had been dragged to. Overloaded with people sick, hungry and suffering, the hospital was in no condition to take on another injured man, and so they had been pointed to this station.

Three years of reconstruction had at least established a framework for the basics in the city, but it would take even longer before the citizens of Schmeidesse would finally go back to living like they had before. Before the war, before the fascist oppressions of the ‘90s. And, in truth, people were desperate to find answers and direction. Desperate enough to even turn to faith. As a matter of fact, the factory worker who had come to Tenya was a man who had tried to approach the idea of religion, though he was having difficulty grasping some of the concepts. Six years in the Kriegsmarine and then ten as a factory man left little to his education, but through it he had brought in a small group of other workers to the prayer sessions, watching and wishing they understood the message trying to be impressed on them from a distance.

It didn’t help that, just outside the relief station, there was a massive blue hammer painted on the wall nearby, with lightning bolts spreading off in several directions. The symbol of Thor, the traces of the Norse cults in the city trying to assert themselves now that religious persecution was gone. And unfortunately, unlike most religions, these followers approved of violence to make their mark. Luckily, this graffiti was all the cultists were willing to try so close to Legion troops.

[Jedoria]

North of Lowell City,
Azurlavai

Collecting the dead was the most depressing job in existence, of this Cpl. Goga was sure of. No other line of work could compare. It wasn't just the unsanitary conditions of the deceased that made this job so difficult, it was stomaching the ravaged bodies that lay strewn across the Azurlavain hills. Goga had been in the Army for 7 years now, and yet he still found it difficult to overcome the mutilated corpses that he was tasked with retrieving.

Gore was an obvious factor. The Human body in it's natural form was a connected, well supported structure that looked both clean and normal. But in war, that changed. Bullets tore skin and tissue, explosives burned and raddled bones. What was once normal humans had been transformed into broken and burnt piles of flesh and calcium. The vehicles were always a mix, sometimes it was just shrapnel, although if it was lodged into the cranium, it wasn't a pretty sight. If it was in the chest, it wasn't so bad. Additionally unpleasant were the bodies that hadn't been shredded by bits and pieces of metal but burned and melted by the fires that burned on the leaking fuel and ammunition. Then the tissue beneath the skin would be revealed, and an unpleasant sight that was.

Goga paused as he came to another body. Away from the rest of his unit, he carried with him a pack full of tarps that he was to drop over the body, using a marker to write upon a small white attached paper the bodies former name and any significant information about it. This one made Goga pause. Facial injuries were often the worse. Seeing the human face torn open, ripped, cut or otherwise injured was always uncomfortable, but in this case, it wasn't the wound itself, but rather the extent of it.

The head was just...gone. Completely torn off. The neck was still there, but anything above, the jaw to the scalp, was just missing. It had been practically punched off by a shell, leaving this otherwise undamaged corpse behind. Goga found himself staring at the gaping neck for a few moments before he snapped out of his trance and looked for the body's name patch. That was still there, and combining it with the insignia on his shoulders that identified his rank summarized this was Sgt. Lucescu, of 3rd Battalion, D Company. Goga tried to ignore the possibility that somewhere back in Jedoria, a family would be receiving a visitor at the door, courtesy of the Jedorian military, informing them their father, brother, son, whatever, was dead.

Goga momentarily glanced up as he withdrew another tarp. About 15 meters in the direction he was facing, two other Jedorian soldiers were attempting to retrieve a body from a wrecked Ratel IFV. The young privates were pulled the deceased by the arms out of the wreckage, and were making headway until something on the dead troopers torso caught onto bit of the torn open vehicle. Instead of adjusting their position and body like standard procedure called for, they simple pulled. The corpse lurched forward with them, well, only half of it. The upper body came loose from the rest, as the bottom, already damaged from several bullet wounds, gave way. Realizing he was dragging half a human body, one of the privates immediately staggered back, until he turned around, fell to his knees and vomited his breakfast up. The other private was close enough to Goga that he could see him let go of the body, rest his hands on his knees and drop his head in exhaustion and sadness.

Goga returned his focus to the body before him. He laid down the tarp over the body, covering up the soldier so only his boots were visible. The lack of a head gave Goga noticeably more leftover tarp than he needed, although he could find little solace in that. Having covered the deceased Sergeant, Goga leaned down with his marker and wrote down on the small patch the details: "SGT. LUCESCU, CADAVRUL ASTA N-ARE CAP"


Behind all the wreckage and death lay the Command IFV, designated Ratel Prime. A Ratel Command variant, most of the ammunition had been displaced to make room for communication equipment. Most of the men operating it were part of the Signals unit attached to the Brigade. Lt. Colonel Torje was the CO in charge of the attack, answering directly to Brigadier General Lahobary back at HQ. For now though, he was compiling an official casualty report. It wasn't pretty, the inexperience the Jedorians had showed was embarrassing but also to be expected from such a green force. He was about to send his report when is radio barked with static and a voice broke through. Once he had hear it, Torje picked up his own and replied. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Torje, commander of this Jedorian force. We''re recovering our dead now and treating the wounded. To whom I am speaking to?"

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

Thomas grimaced slightly as he eyed Astrid, waiting for her to strike. While he wasn't willing to admit it, his back hurt a little bit more than he would have preferred. He hoped the medics wouldn't press him too hard about it, missing combat over some stupid sparing injury was -not- how he wanted to kick off the campaign in the east against the rebels. Shrugging the pain off, and keeping his composure, Thomas growled lowly; as he moved to deflect Astrid's attack. Already, a counterattack had been decided in Thomas' mind. Deflect. pull in, neck strike; possibly knee to the back if possible. Now all he needed was an ope-

As the crisp 'stand to' order resonated through the air, Thomas froze before begrudgingly following the order, backing down and falling into parade rest; many of the Shalumites following suit. Tilting his head, Thomas' eyes widened as the Azzie MPs swarmed the training; ready for combat. Even the Shalumite soldiers, people who hadn't been involved in the slightest look a bit pensive as the new arrivals entered the room, in true violent Azzie style. The only people who didn't look worried were the Shalumite MPs and medics, who actually looked relieved that the fight was over.

"Und für Sie, Oberleutnant" Thomas grunted equally in reply, allowing her to exit the ring first; not wanting to have the woman behind him. After he had traipsed through the ropes, exiting the ring; Thomas was met by medics who were concerned about the hit. In response, Thomas waved the men off; the pain that he had suffered earlier replaced by a dull throb, one that he was a bit more used too. With a sigh, Thomas and Captain Wolf retreated to the barracks to retrieve some items; Thomas quickly grabbing his woodland camo, headed for the showers.

"And to you, first lieutenant"

----

Quickly, Thomas washed and donned his fatigues; the woodland camo similar to the Azzie coma, but not completely alike. At this point, woodland felt like a second skin to him after serving so long in Azurlavai; the winter camo a close second. It was a quick trek to the briefing room, Captain Wolf leading the way; silent as usual. While she was a good soldier, her personality was lacking to a degree, making her not much of a conversationalist.

A conversation could be heard as they stepped in. At the front of the room was Major Hugo Panzer and an Azzie officer Thomas recognized from when they had first arrived at Kastell. The gruff Shalumite Major paused as they stepped in, a small grin on his face as he continued his conversation. "Oberst Mannheim, these will be the two officers leading Bull Company once the operation commences. You already know Captain Wolf, but he is 1st Thomas Hewbert" Hugo said, jerking his head toward Thomas.

"Sir" Thomas nodded curtly, looking at Mannheim as he did so. Eyeing an open seat next to the SDF unit commanders, Thomas sat down; Captain Wolf moving to join Hugo at the front of the room. For the most part, Thomas was silent as the officers around him talked; taking in what he heard, as a mix of spy training and social awkwardness took over. Glancing over as the door, Thomas' eyes widened as the female officer he had fought stepped in, two other Azzies behind her. Shifting uncomforatbly, Thomas glanced at Major Hugo.

"Is there anyone else we can expect, Oberst Mannheim, or can we begin?" Hugo asked the Azzie commander.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse, Rheinmetall

Priestess Tenya recognized the man Randolph instantly. She was one of those people who was good with names and faces, and who tried always to see the best in everyone. This worker she knew better than most, as he was one of those who had become a regular during Friday spiritual sessions. While the Mother Goddess forbid her to become attached to one person over another, there was an extra layer to her concern as she looked upon him. He had truly been in an accident of some kind, and even if the other man's Railti wasn't completely correct he almost certainly had broken bones. His lung disease had been undergoing treatment for a while, the smog of the city made the process a fight rather than a cure, but she knew that he would need oxygen immediately so that his injuries would not worsen his condition.

"Of course," she responded in her mediocre German, concern apparent in her tone. This man had gone through great effort to learn her native tongue, and she had gone out of her way to learn their own as well. For all else, there was English, which everyone in the world seemed to be familiar with to some degree.

Even as she moved toward him, a young Fromathrine man rushed over busily, speaking calmly in English as he examined the patient. Many of those who volunteered with her were former Imperial Battle-Medics, the elite medical corps of the Shrailleeni Army. They were highly skilled at stabilizing their patients in below-average conditions, and many chose to continue their medical studies after leaving the service. They were also famous for their code, which called for the equal treatment of both allied and enemy soldiers, as well as a legendarily fierce defense of all under their care. The Hippocratic Oath to do no harm to anyone had never been heard of on the Shrailleeni islands.

Their relief camp was no hospital, but they could still help the injured. She had been a former Battle-Medic as well, before donning the robes of the Mother Goddess, but in this case she deferred to the young man's great experience. She gathered the necessary supplies as he worked, gave Randolph oxygen to ease his breathing and a mild pain reliever to ease his discomfort as the medic went about setting his ribs, and held his hand as she recited Leenic prayers in English for Randolph's benefit.

"Mother of All, smile down on this man Your Son, who lives by Your Blessing. Let him know Your Love, which is eternal, and which shall always be with him. Hear him by Freyja and Frigg, the names through which You are remembered in this land. Fill him with Your Love and Light, and give him the strength to heal and be well, and to uplift his sacred honor."

The hammer of Thor graffitied not far from the relief station did not bother the Shrailleeni Priestesses as much as it might have. Leenism was and always been a heterodox faith, adapting and changing to suit every land and culture that it came into contact with. Tenya strongly believed that the Mother Goddess had revealed Herself to Her Children all across the world, they had merely forgotten Her truth. The Fromathrine, who had worshiped fire, found Her in their flaming alters. The Railtic Christians had found her in the story of the Virgin Mary, which Tenya had approved of. Among these people, she had found while the worship of the gods Thor and Loki were at this time more popular, the ancient stories of Azurlavai included tales of the goddesses Freyja and Frigg, who were at heart intertwined. She had recognized these tales for what they were, the memories of the Mother Goddess, and had seized upon them as metaphor when teaching Her faith in this land. The idea of them as a monotheistic representation was at times difficult to convey, and many of the stories required a certain twist to fit correctly. But fortunately Freyja was known for her compassion and aid to others, and for opposing the chaos-minion Loki. It was not a perfect fit, but a good one.

It helped to that the cultists of Thor and Loki approved strongly of violence, and that they were among a people wearied by too much violence already. The people were ready for the message of the Mother Goddess, a message of peace and honor, where violence was only used when absolutely necessary and those with her blessing gained the ability to make peace even in the most tenuous situations. Her love was unconditional, and did not need to be prayed for, only to be understood through the chaos of one's own heart. Her afterlife was beautiful, but She wanted life on earth to be beautiful as well. While the cultists sought to restore pride, Tenya sought to restore hope.

Soon his bones had been set, to the best of the medic's ability, and bandaged carefully to prevent re-breaking. Randolph could not work in this condition without risking further injury to himself, however, and Tenya told him as much in a German patched with English.

"You will need a few days to recover, or the bones will break again," she said sadly. "What happened to you, My Child?"

[Azurlavai]

Kastell Isolation
To say that Astrid was surprised to see the Shalumite lieutenant sitting right in front of her was indeed an understatement. But before she could utter a word, however, Mannheim swiftly leveled his gaze at her, narrowing his eyes as he asked “Noe du ønsker å si, Løytnant Deinhardt?”

“Something you wish to say, Lieutenant Deinhardt?”

Immediately, Astrid snapped back to reality, shaking her head as she replied “Selvfølgelig ikke, Oberst.”

”Of course not, Colonel.”

Quickly, she cast her eyes away from the man, moving with Wodzynski and Zofen to sit with the other two members of Kilo-6, her gaze noting the Kaptein Jaeger had appeared at the front as if like a spirit. He did this quite a lot, using the time when people were looking elsewhere to drift in without calling attention to himself, and he reveled in his abilities. Meantime, she rejoined the other four members of her team, seating themselves and preparing for the briefing.

“Alright listen up, all of you!” Mannheim called out, gesturing to the old-fashioned blackboard mounted to the stone wall behind him. “Earlier today, we send two companies of the 12th Panser brigade down southwards, to clear the way down to the Dhurian border. With the amount of successes we’ve had lately, the thought was to clear the roads and make sure civilian traffic would be safe. Sadly, we appear to have been mistaken. A large group of Revenant have taken shelter in Gallows Springs, a large town to the south. They number in the hundreds and possess tanks, helicopters and light artillery. When the 12th approached, the fascists lured them in, destroyed the bridges over the Ogdon River and wiped out a full third of the tanks. Reinforcements are already on their way, but there’s no way to push through conventionally without bridgelayers, and we’d still take heavy casualties. Kaptein.”

Jaeger stepped forward, pointing at several diagrams on the blackboard.

“The town of Gallows Spring straddles the river Ogdon. Our forces took the northern part of it on this bank here, while the rest is in enemy hands. We’ve confirmed they have large amounts of light armor backed by several Ambolt tanks and heavy mortars. A single squadron of Spatz helicopters is providing air support, so our troops can’t even fall back without coming under fire. The plan is simple; Kilo squad and Bull company will infiltrate the town over the river, neutralize the gunships and mortars and move in to eliminate the fascist commander, who we’ve confirmed has fortified the town hall as a command post. By that time, the reinforcements will arrive with the bridgelayers, and the 12th can move in to secure the rest of the town with infantry support. How you take out the targets is up to you, but you’ll only have eight hours after touchdown to get it done, after which we don’t know how long before you are extracted with the 12th. You’ll all be provided with extra ammunition, but use it wisely and control your fire. Any questions?”

********************************************
Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai
When the dam had ruptured, it had understandably caused an enormous wave of panic and knee-jerk reactions. The flooding itself, still pouring out after two days of attempting to control it, had already wiped out two towns, though the people had been evacuated. At least for now, deaths were low in the civilian realm, though many soldiers had been killed. The engineers promised to have the dam back under control in a week’s time, though most knew that they would have to wait until the flooding wasn’t so pressing before they got in and attempted to shore up the damaged portions.

But that wasn’t what concerned the 115th. In less than a day, two whole companies had rolled in and turned the power station into a fortress, sandbags and barbed wire holding the chain-link perimeter, hastily erected strongpoints and roughly-made bunkers holding heavy weapons. Most of the ‘Panserbjorne’ were heavy infantry, dressed in full body armor and carrying a wide variety of weapons, relying on their IFVs to get them where they needed to go. But the excessive amount of rocket launchers and machine guns they held meant that there would be very few enemies that dared to challenge them here on their own turf, at least keeping the compound safe from typical raiders.

Too bad that everyone knew the enemy coming after them were just as well armed.

********************************************
Schmeidesse
The man who had brought them in, Erik, hovered near his friend and the priestess, ready to step in should Randolph be unable to take care of himself. But, fortunately, the battered miner sucked down a few lungfuls of oxygen before he replied “Tenya? That you?” Fortunately, his Railti was much better than Erik’s, since he wasn’t able to say much at all. “Shaft collapse. Damn beams. My rebreather, damaged. Stuck for hours…they got me out.”

Randolph’s head tilted back and he coughed, viciously, before he came back to them, squinting up at the priestess. Unable to wipe his eyes with his broken arms, they still had coal dust in them, forcing his vision to water as he attempted to wipe his face on his shoulder.

“Don’t think I can make it to the next service,” he said with a chuckle and a weak smile. While a follower in the faith and a growing believer in the Holy Mother, it would be wrong to say that Randolph didn’t come to the services for another reason.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse

Tenya wiped Randolph's face with a moist, sterile cloth, her brown furrowed with concern and her eyes wide.

"Speak softly My Child," she admonished lightly. "The Mother is always with you, do not concern yourself with lessons now. Now you must recover, that is Her will. And mine," she added quietly.

The Fromathrine medic worked quickly, but she wished that they had more supplies. They weren't a hospital, and could never be. She wondered fleetingly if the Imperial Navy could spare a hospital ship to Azurlavai, but she doubted it. The Empire had its own problems. They would have to make do in the mean time.

The casting technique that the young medic used to set Randolph's arm was ancient, but effective. After setting the bone, a process dulled by the pain-killers administered but still sharp, a bandage-based cast was wrapped and set around it. It would harden to prevent movement, through it would have to be carefully broken off later. The ribs were the more difficult question. Tenya did not wish to ask the medic about the possibility of internal bleeding.

"You will be alright now," she continued, eyes flickering to the work being done on his body for only a moment. "Your work will wait too. It is not as if your employers can afford to lose your employ, with this war on."

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

Thomas felt slightly uncomfortable as multiple sets of eyes fixed on him as the female Azzie officer passed, his comrades' gazes first on her for a brief moment, before they shifted downward; choosing to lock onto him instead. The Shalumite lieutenant didn't as much as squirm in his seat as she passed, though a dull throb went down his back as a silent reminder of what she was more than capable of. Surprising as it was, the woman had earned some respect in Thomas' eyes, as few had ever taken him down so quickly as far as he could remember; even counting his instructors at the farm, who had taken him down, but not as quickly and easily as many of them wanted to admit openly. While he was most definitely not the best fighter to walk the grounds of the SIA's farm, he was one of the better ones, as much of it had come naturally to him; much like breathing did. Not to mention his natural athleticism, especially his speed and strength; the latter earned from hard work throughout his childhood, and only added to during the long weeks of his failed stint of 'advanced training' as they called it formally.

As the Shalumite Lieutenant's eyes wandered around the room, surveying the occupants besides the Shalumites, they widened in surprise as he counted one more Azzie then he originally remembered being present, Kaptein Jaeger as he was known, appearing like a thief in the night. It was a bit more than spooky to Thomas, as he had been trained to be extremely observant at all times, as you never knew when an enemy agent would appear. Maybe there was more than one reason that he shouldn't have been an SIA agent...

At the order to listen up, both Thomas and Wolf straightened immedialty, their heads snapping to look at Mannheim; their expression's subdued and ready to listen, which was expected of both veteran soldiers, Thomas more combat and planning experience than Wolf. The SDF commanders of the other hand were much slower, and much more lax, as they simply leaned forward a bit, their postures relaxed as they propped themselves up by against the table with their elbows, their minds not completely focused on the task at hand. Major Panzer was thankful, especially at this moment, that the fate of Shalum didn't rest of the SDF's shoulders. While he knew that they weren't all like this, and that some of the SDF who worked alongside Bull company belonged in better units, it was hard to stick up for them when their commanders acted as they did. The only SDF units that were worth mentioning were stationed around Aragon and Frankfurt, far away from the battlefields of Azurlavai. The locals were right, they weren't much more than weekend warriors, at least the majority of them present at Kastell.

Thomas' face didn't change much as he listened, his eyes sharp as he followed Mannheim and Jaeger point-by-point as they laid out the situation at hand, and plan of attack. The situation wasn't ideal by any means, no combat operation of this caliber was, but he had seen worse over the years, especially in western Shalum; where extremists insurgents were present in small numbers, many of them pro-Revenant, something the DOD wasn't happy about. On more than one occasion, Bull Company had been sent in to clear out these rebels, most of whom hunkered down in the most isolated regions of Maldoria, Shalum's most southeastern province. This mission was right up the alley of Bull Company and their hardened warriors, who attacked by air more often than not, and left few to tell the tales of their conquests.

Captain Wolf nodded at Jaeger, resting her elbows on the table as she clasped her scarred hands together. Under her rough exterior, there was, in fact, a woman there; but she had been sent somewhere away until her service over, and Azurlavai restored to some sense of civility. Katrina Wolf had been offered many chances to return home to Shalum, and live somewhat of a normal life, but she had reclined. Between the friends she had lost, and the state of the average Azzie, she couldn't tear herself away from service just yet. "The plan is sold, Kaptein Jaeger, my men can handle it. I'm just curious, what is the method of infiltration that we will be using, sir?" she asked curiously.

Once the reply had come, or not, Major Panzer spoke up, clearing his throat; a ruff, guttural noise. "If it is needed, there is a unit of Shalumite attack helicopters nearby at my disposal that we can use to support the mission. There is only squadron of them as well, but its better than nothing. They're IHA-12 Ranger Attack helicopters, the best in the Shalumite fleet" he said to the Azzie commanders; offering them his best squadron he had, in terms of confirmed kills. "Other than that, there isn't anything I see as an issue. We're ready to go when you are, Kaptein." Secretly, Hugo was pleased that the SDF had been left out of this mission, as it was far too risky to bring them along.

[Shalum]

L3A6 Snowman

Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai

Anna 'Valkyrie' Nerdal stifled a yawn as she watched the Azzie heavy infantry from afar, taking a moment to fix her light brown regulation length hair, before she clipped her helmet back on, resting the butt of her L3A6 Snowman sniper rifle against her shoulder in anticipation. The 'Snowman' sniper rifle was one of the bigger rifles in the Shalumite arsenal, spitting out a .338 Lapua Magnum instead of the normal 7.62×51mm round that most Shalumite sniper rifles used. It usually only seen in use by special forces, especially when they wanted to engage at a distance, while still making sure they went down, and more importantly, wouldn't get back up.

Beside her, leaning against a tree, concealed mostly by the shadows cast and foliage, was her spotter and battle-brother, Tobias, appearing a bit more relaxed than she was; his ACX-L resting in his hands, grip firm, but not white knuckled as if he was ready to repel an attack at a moments notice. His eyes were watching the dam as well as the Azzies set up, preparing for another attack; which was guaranteed to come. He pitied the men in truth, as they were exposed, out in the open, while the Shalumites were concealed in a number of ways. Surrounding the power station, positioned strategically, were the ten Black Knights of Nord Team, the unseen protectors of the men below; though they had just arrived. They had been sent in to cover for the 115th, just in case the baddies sent something bigger or stronger than what they were expecting.

There hadn't been any moment since they had arrived, but that could change at a moments notice. If they enemy rolled out the big guns, whether it be tanks, helicopters, or spec-ops, Nord Team was ready; outfitted with the best gear, heavy weapons included for the mission. Hopefully, it would be enough...

[Azurlavai]

Kastell Isolation
"Good," Jaeger said in reply to the word that Shalumite gunships were available. "They'll be useful for screening the helos in and providing CAS when the anti-air is down. Tell your pilots to get their rotors ready and patch into the TACNET, I want to make sure we have this all running by the numbers. Remember, this is a mission more about speed than stealth. Going loud is a viable option here, as the more attention you pull off the front, the more pansers survive. I'm afraid you Shalumites aren't going to like this, but we'll be issuing you our own arms in order to share ammunition. The Revenant use the same calibers that we do, so if an extended fight is the way this is going to be you can scavenge for rounds off the dead. You have one hour to visit your equipment and check out arms from the castle armory. If there are no further questions, you are dismissed."

Astrid stood with the rest of Kilo-6, not entirely happy with this outcome. One hour before they would have to step off in a helicopter, and they were doing it with Shalumites? This had bad news written all over it. She, like many Gallagherians, was as xenophobic as sin, and saw Shalum as the eternal enemy to the north. By all rights, that country should be Azzie territory, but it had been ripped back in the '60s.

"What do we do about this, ma'am?" asked Sersjant Adolphus, the team's heavy weapons expert. A rather upfront and straightforward man, Adolphus was as brawny as his job suggested, hauling the supporting MG4 and RDM-9 into combat when called for. This mission would let him exercise his destructive talents for the first time in quite a while. While not Gallagher, he was a Liamite, and common logic stated that he and Astrid should be at each other's throats. Instead, however, the two had worked out a professional relationship (some would even say rivalry) and the fact that an enormous segment of former Liamite territory sat north of the current DMZ had put Bull Company and the SDF on his shit list.

"We do what we always do," Astrid replied as she led Kilo-6 back outside, looking out at the upper courtyard as recruits trained in the pouring rain. "We get the job done, we do it well and we come back for some well-deserved sleep."

Several grunts and a single "Hooah" answered her, and the team knew that this mission would be like any other. They would kill the enemy and have to hold up the Shalumites in order to carry through to the other side. Same as always.

Kastell Isolation's armory was located in a chamber in the center of the stronghold itself, where there was little chance of it being knocked out early. While barracks held arms lockers for soldiers who were constantly on watch, the arsenal itself was used to store ammunition, replacement weapons, parts and racks for soldiers who either had their weapons taken from them or were going on leave or staying in the castle for an extended period. The troopers guarding the doorway nodded Kilo-6 through, and inside the armory staff worked tirelessly to keep the vast array of weapons used by the thousands of soldiers stationed here in tip-top shape. Astrid stepped up to the counter, where she was immediately greeted by Gunnery Sersjant Vallen, a grizzled, aging man who was a brilliant career man and a master of weapons and knowledge of tactics. Astrid had learned that Vallen demanded respect, and so far as she saw, his experience in three different wars meant he earned it.

"Out for another stroll, ma'am?"

"Wrecker op, Gunney. We'll need heavy arsenal, so its going to be a bit more custom," she replied, leaning forward on the counter. Vallen nodded, stepping to the side and swinging open a door, waving Kilo-6 through.

"Ready Room 4. You'll have to fill out the papers, but I can get the numbers sorted out quickly enough."

As they stepped in, however, Wodzynski peered over her shoulder, grunting as she called out "Shalumites, ma'am."

Astrid groaned, stepped to the side and tilting her head. "Kilo, Ready Room. I'll go handle this." With that, she strode back to the main room of the armory, arms crossed over her chest as she watched their counterparts from the north step in. "Alright. Ready Room 4. You're going to get a crash course in our guns, Nordlandurs. Try not to shoot yourselves with them."

---

Schmeidesse
Randolph chuckled, but by then sleep had overtaken him, and he simply dozed off, finally able to rest instead of being knocked unconcious.

Unfortunately, Randolph's case was not new. Work related injuries had been getting worse and worse the entire day, and while factories, mines and dockyards were doing their best to keep things up to snuff, damage from the war that had gone unnoticed was falling in on itself all the time. Cranes came undone, shafts collapsed and machinery detonated, all because of the battle damage that was beyond the visible spectrum. And it didn't help that many of these men and women here had bullets in them. Gang violence was at an all time high as the Syndikat sunk its teeth into the city's vices and battled the street gang for control, and the cultists of Loki and Hel were not helping matters at all. To be honest, things were beyond the scope of the Stål Legion to keep order beyond shooting those who were uncooperative, and the police were overburdened as well.

At some point late in the afternoon, however, Tenya received a surprise visitor. A blonde woman, tall like the much of her people and whipcord thin, she strolled into the Shraileeni relief tent with quite a bit of intent on her face. The soldiers outside hadn't taken her rifle, as there were many inside who were armed. If anyone tried to cause a problem, they would be gunned down in seconds. She strolled through the crowd of sick, injured and visitors, as if scanning for someone. As it turned out, she was simply looking for the first priestess she could reach, who happened to be Tenya.

The woman strode up, and the first thing Tenya would notice was the green outline over her right eye. It laced around in a distorted circle, with two bands soaring away across her face. It was an eyepatch tattoo, a symbol of a follower of Odin.

"Priestess of the Goddess," the woman started, coming before Tenya. Though she held herself tall and sternly, she shifted under her thick jacket, as if uneasy. "I have come to ask your ear. We live in a dark time, and there are many who try to make it even darker. I approach you from our collective to ask for your help."

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

Major Panzer nodded in acknowledgement at Jaeger's reply, making the necessary mental notes so that he could pass the information down to the pilots under his command, all of whom had already arrived at Kastell; and were fueling for the mission as the meeting was held, though they hadn't been informed of the specifics just yet. The unit that was under his direct command, was the 215th Combat Aviation Regiment, which had a total of forty attack helicopters in its pool; along with a variety of different support units and specialized equipment. At the moment however, there were only six of the forty present at the Azzie fortress, the company under his command officially known as Bravo flight, though they had earned the nickname 'Reapers' over the years. It was a name well earned, as they had seen more battles than the rest of the 215th combined, and had a kill count that was no longer accurate. In fact...the badge that the unit wore was an image of the grim reaper, who was raising his scythe to cut someone down as lighting flared behind him.

The most Captain Wolf could do was simply nod at information that they were going in with Azzie guns. It made a lot of sense to do so, as the ability to trade ammo with the Azzies they were going in with, or simply strip it off the dead; was a lot easier than having to resupply via a chopper. Even if it made sense, Wolf wasn't completely thrilled with the idea. She was more than proficient enough with her SCR-53, an older, but rugged piece of Shalumite weaponry that could go through hell and come back in working order. "There are no questions at this time, sir. I'll inform my men that we'll be using your weapons as soon as we're done here" she nodded.

She shot a wry glance Kilo's way as she stood up with the rest of the group, not much happier about the situation than they were. It was common knowledge that Azzies, especially ones from Gallagher, and Shalumites were more prone to be being at each other's throats then sharing a foxhole and splitting ammunition. This was going to be an interesting operation, that was for sure. "Come on" she said as she glanced up at Thomas, her second-in-command. "Lets go round us up the boys" she said as she lead him out into the hall; the two SDF commanders trailing behind them like lost puppies.

Ten minutes later, Wolf and Hew, accompanied by eighteen others from Bull Company, were making the trek to Kastell's center; following the directions of an Enforcer, who hadn't been to keen on the idea of pointing the Nordlandurs in the direction of the base's armory. The platoon sized group was quiet for the most part, as they mulled over the mission, which they had just been briefed on my Hew and Wolf. They were all dressed in their woodland BDUs, which they wore more often than not during missions in this part of the world, their body armor over top. The Shalumite Calvary, like the majority of its fellow Shalumite military branches, used easily replaceable steel plates; overlapping ceramic only used by the marines. While it was a bit heavier than what the ceramic plating, the armor could take one hell of a beating before it needed to be replaced. One of the few downsides was, that during long battles, it could wear down a man's strength; even if he was use to the weight, and had trained with it.

"So we're really going in with the Azzies, eh?" a rugged cavalry sergeant, by the name of Christoph Adler asked Thomas as they walked; grunting as he adjusted his body armor, which didn't seem to weigh him down in the least as it dug into his shoulder. Sergeant Adler, compared to Hew, was obviously a couple inches shorter, but stockier; his muscles thick like ropes, compared to Thomas' leaner build. He was from Dresden, the largest city in northern Shalum, known for being a large lumber producer, though modern industry was catching up with the city at a rapid pace. Christoph and Thomas had entered the cavalry at the same time, Adler replacing a man who had been too injured to ever serve again, and Hew a man that had fallen to his death when he had been knocked out of his helicopter as it had tried to flee an area that the Revenant controlled.

"It appears that way, Chris," Hew replied simply with a nod as he fumbled with his helmets chin strap of his Advanced Combat Helmet, which had the same woodland pattern that his BDUs were. As he did so, another dull throb of pain went down his neck, a reminder of the vents earlier in the day. His face portrayed little discomfort, but enough for Wolf to notice from where she stood. He opened his mouth to say he was fine, knowing around the lines of what she was going to say, but she cut him off before he could do so.

"You gonna be alright to fight today, Tommy?" Wolf asked with genuine concern as they rounded the last corner, entering the hallway that would take them to the armory. "I don't want to see you get killed over some damn training injury. I know they build you farm boys tough, but you're not invincible."

The Shalumite First Lieutenant cracked a small grin. "I'll be fine, little pain has never hurt anyone" he replied as they stepped into the main room of the armory. His eyes narrowed a bit for a brief moment as they landed on the Azzie lieutenant who had kicked his ass. He wasn't sure whether to respect her or loathe her, an issue that he was very much on the fence about. At the 'try not to shoot yourselves with them' comment, Thomas couldn't help but roll his eyes, as fought back a scoff. Damn Gallagherians.

Captain Wolf stepped up from beside Thomas, her eyes a bit steely. "You won't have to worry about that ma'am. Most of my men here, in this platoon, have fired Azzie weapons at one point or another; mostly out of necessity. I'm sure we can handle it. Lead the way."

---

Up top, the flight crews of Delta Company, a support sub-unit of the 215th Combat Aviation Unit, worked diligently to fuel and arm the Shalumite attack helicopters, which numbered six as promised. Their orders had just come in from Major Panzer to prepare for combat, which had spurred the men into action. They had more than enough time to load the helos up with ammo and fuel, though they wasted none of it. While the ground crews worked on the helicopters, a small group of Shalumite technicians were tasked with patching the flight into TACNET, something they had done before; though only once or twice at most.

Under a nearby alcove, the pilots who would be flying the sortie were gathered, trying to stay out of the rain while they could. They were going off what little information they could get there hands on, most of which was about the air defenses in the area; which would make it rather hard on them, almost suicidal if not done right. While the IHA-12s could take a beating, what the Revenant had to throw at them was too much. Among these pilots, was Chief Warrant Officer Sarah Hewbert, dressed in her flight suit, helmet at her side, hair barely shorter than regulation length.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse

Tenya was beginning to tire as the afternoon wore on, but she simply paced herself. The problems of this city were so great that to consider fixing them permanently was a feat beyond her abilities. She could only treat the symptoms that these people suffered from, the cause was out of reach even for the Mother Goddess, who merely showed Her Children the courses of action which would save them, if they listened. Only a true and lasting peace could save this land now. Until then, it was Tenya's sacred duty to minimize suffering as much as possible.

Azzies were a common sight throughout the Shrailleeni humanitarian camps. Although Tenya knew that a few of the volunteers were secretly Imperial Guards out of uniform, the Allied States provided the bulk of their safety, and natives outnumbered their volunteers by a healthy margin. However, Tenya could see that there was something different about the woman walking up to her even before she spoke. Her stride was confident, purposeful, and her expression revealed no stress or suffering. The tattoo above her eye marked her a disciple of Odin, the Patriarchal deity who led the pantheon of gods native to this land. Tenya had studied their religion at length during her stay, in order to divine the best method to help guide these people back to the Mother Goddess's path. The disciples of Odin she had found were problematic spiritually, but pragmatically were the one of the most stable influences upon spirituality in this land. At any rate, she certainly had no quarrel with them.

"Welcome My Child," she said warmly, spreading her arms. "If you wish my ear, then you have it. Always upon the Earth there walk those who would stray from the Enlightened Path, and spread discord, deceit, and lies instead of the virtues that the Goddess teaches. When I took this calling, I swore to do all in my power to counter these people, and to bring them back to the Light."

She noticed the woman's discomfort, and guessed it uncharacteristic for what seemed to be a strong individual. She supposed that the discomfort came from acknowledging the existence of a faith different from her own, or perhaps from the act of asking for help at all. Pride was a difficult trait to overcome for some, particularly those accustomed to relying on their traditional sources of strength. Whatever the cause, Tenya surmised that the woman would not be here if her request was simple.

"I do not know how I can help you, but if your words are true that I will do all that I can."

[Azurlavai]

Kastell Isolation
Astrid led the soldiers from Bull company into Ready Room 4, where Gunnery Sersjant Vallen was already pulling several samples of southern firepower from the shelves. Kilo-6 knew exactly what kind of equipment they wanted, and were slipping into their loadouts when the Shalumites walked in, watching the six elite soldiers load a variety of weapons and tossing explosives, aid packets and ammunition magazines to each other. As Astrid stepped over, Wodzynski passed her a Kalt 10mm, which Astrid pulled the slide back to check before placing the weapon on the table in front of her, moving to the Kralle knife next.

“Alright, over here!” called Vallen, waving to Bull as he gestured for them to group around him, gesturing to the weapons before him. “I’ve studied your mission parameters and have a few choice selections for you lads! Those who can understand me, get the outta your ears and make sure you fucking pay attention, I’m not saying this twice!”

He leaned over, picking up the first of the weapons on the table and holding it over his head. “The MP61 is a preferred close-range rapid fire assault weapon designed to spit rounds all over your opponent. It uses the same 10mm round as the Kalt, so you’ll find plenty of bullets for these, but beware its short range and high rate of fire. You can spit a lot of shots at some fucker at thirty paces before you even touch him if you’re not careful!”

In his hands was the time-honoured sub-machine gun, its old wooden furniture replaced by black modern polymer grips and material, the metal polished and treated to a dull gunmetal grey, carefully administered so it did not shine and give away position. It’s snub nosed barrel was familiar, and lacked the Cutts compensator of the earlier model.

“Has a thirty round magazine, and can mount a silencer, sight and foregrip! We’ve got plenty of these, so eat ‘em up!”

Vallen placed the MP61 off to the side, gesturing as Wodzynski picked up her own, giving it a once over before fitting a foregrip and reflex sight to the weapon. The medic’s experienced fingers slid over the weapon, pulling back on the slide several times to test the action before she left it open, slapping a magazine in and closing the chamber to rack a round.

“Next!” called Vallen, his beefy hands picking up a large-barreled shotgun further down. “The Grummon-8! This beast has some kick to it, don’t you forget. Eight round magazine, kicks like a fucking mule, but she’ll blow a man out of his boots at close range.”

“And if you feel like getting hefty,” said Vallen, setting the shotgun aside to slide a skeleton machine gun over, he lifted the door. “The MG79 can put a staggering 1,200 high-powered rounds downrange before the enemy can even blink. There’s a reason we call this son of a bitch the Buzzsaw. She’ll dislocate your shoulder, but she can tear the other guy a new asshole.”

“And any cars that are stupid enough to get in the way,” piped up Adolphus as he hefted his own MG79, feeding a belt into the weapon and slamming the door shut, a muscular hand pulling the charging handle back like it had no resistance at all. The man was also bedecked in extra belts of ammunition over his shoulders and around his neck, while several ammunition canisters were hooked onto his tactical vest. All in all, the man was probably carrying a thousand rounds.

“Are you seriously going to take them down the line with everything we’re taking, Gunney?” asked Sersjant Brock Dahl, glaring at Vallen with his one good eye. As the squad’s designated sniper, the G89 in his hands was a timeless classic, and the bolt gave a familiar clacking as he racked it back, adjusting the scope with his other hand. Though an enemy sniper had taken his eye after shooting his scope (which was why the round hadn’t killed him when it penetrated the other side) his aim was still as good as ever, and his bald head was quickly covered by a beanie cap, his sullen expression by a balaclava and black facepaint.

“The more he talks, the less we have to teach,” answered Visekorporal Nilsson, tucking another hand grenade into his bandolier. This man stuck out the most with a bleach blond Mohawk and facial hair, his grin reflecting his love to get stuck in with his explosives. Indeed, instead of rifle magazines he carried demo charges, and the Grummond-8 in his hands was swiftly being loaded with incendiary rounds.

“Enough, all of you,” snapped Astrid as she picked up her own MP61, glancing at Zofen as he quietly took one as well, thumbing 10mm rounds into a stick magazine. The Løytnant moved her eyes over the Shalumite she had fought, still not remembering his name. He was an officer, probably equivalent to her own rank, which meant he was one of the leaders of Bull Company. His tan skin was something that hadn’t been seen much down here, and his eyes reminded her of Lars Olsen, her ex-husband. Except where Lars had shown off his physical strength, the Shalumites’ were more about emotional strength and a cunning mind.

She was observing him, she told herself. Nothing more.

“Look,” she began, setting her weapon down. “This fight is about bringing the enemy down hard and fast. Don’t worry about whether or not you have to sneak past. Stealth is not a priority here. Getting the 12th out of the shit is.” She leaned over, pulling an RDM-9 recoilless rifle over to her and hefting it up. “You don’t need to know what this is called. All you need to know is what it does. Over the next few months, we’ll have plenty of time to get you familiarized with the technical aspects of our weapons…for some reason. But gear up. We’re leaving in an hour.”

With that, Kilo-6, now dressed in black fatigues and having tugged on their flak jackets and grabbed weapons and ammo, began to stride out, Nilsson shoving one last shell into his Vierling before he glanced at Bull Company over his shoulder, grinning ferally as he said “Get ready, kiddos. And welcome to the jungle.”

With that, he stepped out to leave the Shalumites to the tender mercies of Gunnery Sersjant Vallen. However Bull Company chose, it was time for them to feel the fire and fury of a purely Azurlavaian war.

---------------------------------------

Tritonsberg, Kellam State, Southern Azurlavai
A cold wind whipped through the streets of Tritonsberg, clutched in eternal winter. Even in summertime, this close to the south pole and victim to the vicious winds from the south, Tritonsberg was always covered in snow. Autumn had come and gone for the port city, and it was now approaching early winter. Cars had never really been in much use as of late, but now with all the difficult conditions associated with getting them moving, there were so few working automobiles on the road these days. The police officer huffed as he shoved his fingers into his regulation cold weather coat, watching his visor ice up. On nights like this, he almost wished for a chase, a shootout a robbery. At least it would warm him up.

His hand reached down to the Kingsrevolver on his hip, flexing around the grip and sliding it around to make sure it didn’t get frosted to the revolver. Ever since the Ossorians had shown up, criminal activity in the city had settled down a bit, and now at least that meant less chance of getting shot. But at the same time, he was dying for a little bit of activity to get him moving.

He glanced over at the harbor, and even from here he could see the difference. Krigsmarine craft were smaller, more boxy in shape. The larger warships were definitely RON. His country didn’t have any cruisers left, after all. He sighed again, rubbing his sleeves. Most of the homeless had moved further into the city, where street traffic wasn’t so heavy. Out there, the gangs were just as much protection as a threat, and the police couldn’t go in for the chance of getting citizens caught in the crossfire. Any day now, the Syndikat, Savages and street gangs would turn out in droves, knowing they had safe haven to go back to.

He just prayed that this year, with the Ossorians’ help, they finally prove the scum wrong.

[Azurlavai]

Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai

The 105th had dug in as well as they could. But for all their veterancy, the main reason they were known as Panserbjorne was their specialization in mechanized warfare. Swift, fast-moving transports could drop these expert heavy troops to battle their way through the objective, but here on the defense they may as well just be sitting turrets. Most of the soldiers grumbled quietly as they locked down the power station, knowing they had little choice in the matter. The complex couldn't hold that many soldiers without getting in the way of normal operations, so it was a matter of quality, and the Thracian State Army couldn't spare enough soldiers to defend both the dam and the station.

But there was no limit on how many could patrol the forests. Even with the Shalumites deployed here, this would be a difficult place to defend, built for efficiency instead of for defensive ability. The civilian workers had been armed as well with shotguns and pistols broken out from the facility's arms locker (in Azurlavai, especially in the countryside, -everywhere- had an arms locker) and the security guards had taken up their positions as well, though no one in the 115th expected them to be very effective.

But what no one realized, not even Nord Team, was that they were already being scouted. From several kilometers away, the sunlight gleamed off a scope, the eyes behind it covered by goggles under a black helmet, a red stripe running across the middle like a Mohawk. He'd take position on a hill between two trees, a natural rest that he could use as a pivot but still slip out of if called for. He kept completely still, the camouflage cloak draped over his shoulders keeping him blended in with the forest around him, and his left hand slowly moved up to his ear, pressing the squelch button twice on his headset.

"This is Langtøyet (Fareye). I can see the facility now. Heavy security. Count at least two companies of motor rifle. I'm seeing machine gun nests at vital points, Stag IFVs, Neshorn tanks, heavy weapon troopers, infantry fireteams everywhere. Spotted no marksman support or artillery."

Not far away from where Nord team was encamped, thinking themselves undiscovered and invisible, a shadow crept through the trees, her hands sliding over her hips as silent as the grave. Though dressed similarly to her sniper teammate, her black outfit was sleek, built more for seamless movement than stealth, despite the shinguards and flak vest that seemed not to weigh her down at all. A pair of pistols sat on her thighs, with a pair of long fighting knives under her arms and more throwing knives than most circus acts used. "This is Jentye (Girlie). That's alright, I found the Nordlandur team." Just ahead of where she had halted, she could spot them, practically smell them. This was what she did, after all, for many years. Take out black ops teams and infiltrators who thought themselves undetectable, hunting the hunters with impunity.

Further back, three of the team sat in a grove, listening to the radio and watching, waiting for their time. All were heavily armed and ready to go, though their weaponry meant that they would be used in the offense, rather than recon like the dozen or so scouts circling through the woods and watching the heavily fortified facility. They were readying up for the attack, which constituted a joint force of Militia to make the charge, a few dozen mercenaries to target pinpoint weaknesses and a company of Revenant Soldiers to come in when the Militia were bogged down and strike decisively. While they only outnumbered the UCA forces by a small degree, they had the element of surprise, and their target was sheer destruction. They only had a few vehicles, but it seemed to be about the same size as the Panserbjorne had.

The man with no sleeves on his uniform was, cleverly, codenamed Ermene (Sleeves). Unlike a lot of his compatriots, his arms were free of tattoos, and his hands were scarred from the hard labor of working the prison quarries during his time as a convict. There was nothing too special about his weaponry, just a G89/II cradled between his knees with a reflex sight attached. But he didn't rely on equipment to get his way through life.

The next one over was probably the most heavily armored among them, and was also the most terrifying. His helmet included a visor like the rest of Zeta squad, but he had painted a sharkmouth motif around the edges, and all those who looked upon his covered face might have though him a demon, and he even went by the codename Brannballtre (Firebat). Flamethrowers weren't in use much in this day and age, but the hulk hefted the one before him like it weighed a tenth of its weight, and could work it like and artist. He'd set alight to several soldiers in Kalakuri and simply strode through the blaze of the jungle as if the heat didn't even touch him. He leaned over, holding out a Zippo to the last man and flicking open the top.

"Need a light?" he asked in a raspy voice that suggested at least a few incidents with fire along his throat, and the final soldier leaned in to ignite his cigarette, nodding as he settled back before going back to his modifications. Thanks to a little bit of tinkering, the KSJ-21 combat shotgun he held had one last modification; strapped to a rail underneath it was a standard grenade launcher, mounted on a rail and integrated into the weapon itself so he, Demoman, could unleash a hail of punishment without needing to switch weapons.

"Fuck, are we gonna get moving?" the youngest member of Zeta squad asked, slapping a shell into the breach of the semi-automatic shotgun he held and closing it.

On the other side of the clearing, the last of their number was speaking with several other members before he nodded and turned back, gesturing to Zeta squad. Known only as Zeta-1, the leader of this attack was going to make sure that the Commies (as the rebels referred to the current government, as incorrect as that might have been) were well and truly pinned down before he went after the Shalumites.

"Get ready. We're moving in now."

Seconds later, an MLRS hidden in the forest lit up without warning, using the Revenant's favorite form of opening attack; rocket salvo. After the first one, a second battery lit up, then a third, all of them spaced out through the forest. The abrupt and overwhelming barrage began slamming into the facility, wrecking vehicles, splattering soldiers and detonating munitions with impunity. Though the buildings held for the time being, the soldiers posted outside weren't so lucky, and with that first shot, an entire quarter of the posted force had been wiped out, several defensive positions taken out.

Then, with a shot echoing from the treeline, several formations of loosely organized infantry began the charge. They wore no uniforms, and their weapons were astoundingly varied. The Militia were not very good fighters, but most of them were still Azzies, and as a result they knew something of what they were doing, putting them above most rabble automatically. Without warning, many perimeter patrols were set alight by rockets and massed fire, and those that weren't held up trying to dig out the survivors rushed at the perimeter, even as machine guns from the UCA positions began strafing the charge, forcing many Militia to drop and return fire ineffectively, though they were still making some progress.

Zeta squad had disappeared from their former positions. It was time to hunt for Shalumite blood.

The attack had begun in full fury.

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

None of the soldiers of Bull Company, including its two officers, hesitated to follow the female Azzie commander from Gallagher into ready room four; though a few did send each other a few wary glances each others way as they filed in quietly behind Captain Wolf, who headed their double file formation. As they entered the room, the group's eyes fell of Kilo-6, who were already preparing for battle; moving with a deftness that could only cause the Shalumites to whistle quietly with a certain amount of jealously, before they were quickly shut up by a level stare from their Captain. They weren't supposed to show too much emotion in a situation like this, especially admiration.

From where he stood in a parade rest, Thomas took a moment to look over the Azzie commandos, his intelligent eyes taking in both the large, and the small details. They were an imposing group of men and women, looking more precise and clean like Shalumite Knights, compared to the more brutal look that belong to the Stormtrooper Korps; though they still held onto the rugged look that most Azzie combat veterans seemed to have. It was nice to know that they were on his side...at least for now. They were in Gallagher after all, and with the Revenant lurking around, one could never truly know where allegiances stood, or at least that was his personal belief; one which he kept to himself.

Wolf glanced at Thomas, a silent message conveyed between the two of them. They were the two best Gothic speaks of the present Shalumites, as they both came from Azzie parents who had been persistent that they know their mother tongue, Thomas only being half; while Wolf was full Azzie, though she had picked up a bit of a sun kissed look during her youth in Shalum, which didn't make her look that far off from a native Shalumite. Thomas' father had come from occupied Liam, and had moved up northeast to Fontera; whereas both of Wolf's parents came from Thracia. How they had found themselves in Shalum, they had never told her, oddly enough.

At one point during the presentation, Thomas glanced over at the Azzie lieutenant, who appeared to be of similar rank; and studied her for a moment. His eyes were intelligent, and were filled with the same amount of curiosity that had killed the cat; or in his case, almost killed. She, like the rest of her men, had the scarred appearance of a veteran, her knuckles a good example of that. The thing that got him was...that she had a certain air of mystery around her; of which Thomas could not properly explain in his head. Something seemed different about her, but he couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing. She carried herself like...no he was just reading into things too much, it was a bad habit of his.

He blinked in surprise as he noticed that -she- was looking at him, returning the inquisitive look that he sent her with one of her own, at least for a moment. He doubted that anyone else, from either group of soldiers, noticed but him and her. Ever since an early age, he had taken to watching people and how they acted as subtly as he could; which gave him a leg up during his botched training. He had always been oddly good at birth spying people, and at counter espionage; if that's what you wanted to call what he was doing.

He mentally shook his head, telling himself to focus on the matter at hand; the local weaponry. He had seen all of the weapons that were being present before, and had even used the MP61 of when things had gotten desperate during a mission in eastern Shalum; against a rebel faction who wanted Shalum to be under Azzie rule, and had aligned themselves with the Revenant. Unsurprisingly, these 61's looked to be in far better condition than the last one that he used; appearing to be much newer models than what the rebel Shalumites had used.

Not long after that, they had gone through all of the weaponry. The Shalumites, like Kilo-6, had already dressed for battle; coming to the ready room in their tactical uniforms with their vests on. While they weren't in black fatigues like Kilo, they were in a dark green woodland print which would work just as well, though the coloring wasn't a big deal for this mission. It wasn't going to be anything near quiet, assuming it went as expected.

As Kilo made its way out, leaving the platoon of Shalumites ample room to work, Thomas donned his Mk 7 helmet; which had the same type of camouflage covering that matched his uniform. He slipped on his half-fingered, Berkeley HEATRAY FR assault gloves next, flexing his fingers a few times as he readjusted to the feeling of them. The gloves were originally meant to be used in desert areas, where heat could be a problem, but it turned out that they worked just as well in the southern nation. He was wearing a steel plate, which was cheap and easily replaceable, along with more than enough to stop a bullet; but was a bit heavier than he would like, and wore on him during long battles. But alas, proper overlapping scales were too expensive and hard to create properly, at least for now.

Captain Wolf turned to the men under her command, all of whom straightened on instinct as they waited for orders. "How many of you have used to local weapons?" she asked in crisp Gothic, wanting to Azzies still present to know what she was saying. All of the Shalumites in-front of her knew enough to answer the question, which was rather basic. A few glanced at each other, before the majority raised their hands; Thomas included. Wolf sighed a bit. "All right, lets get to work then. Like the woman said, we've only got an hour" she told them sternly, glancing at of Gunnery Sersjant Vallen. "My First Lieutenant and I speak Gothic pretty well, we're both Azzie, or at least some. We can help pass out the weapons appropriately, sir" she continued demurely.

Forty-five minutes later, the platoon had received their new weapons, and had gotten something of a crash course on how to properly use them. Wolf and Thomas, and the majority of the men, had chosen the MP61, as there were more than enough to go around; and they were easy to operate, Thomas handling the gun with deft precision after less than five minutes, Wolf and the rest not far behind. Lance Corporal Adler and Seargent Newman had been given Buzzsaws, as they were the squad two machine gun specialists; and the weapons were needed for the mission, since heavy resistance was guaranteed. A few of the younger, greener cavalrymen were given shotguns, because no matter what nation, the principle of how to operate one of the long guns didn't change. The soldiers felt odd, carrying foreign weapons into battle, but they had little choice on the matter.

"Thomas, we're finishing up here, go find that Kilo leader and tell her we're ready to go" Wolf said absently, thumbing rounds into her spare magazines. Her brown eyes were intent as each round went in, not wanting to mess anything up, though the process was simple. Until coming to Azurlavai, she had never seen a 10mm round. They were effective rounds, but some part of Wolf's mind told her to remain loyal to the 6.8 and forty-five.

Thomas nodded, adjusting his helmet as he gripped his MP61. He had already finished preparing for battle, and had been helping his squad mates with their gear till this point. He had prepared plenty of spare mags for himself, knowing they would go quick. "Yes ma'am, right away" he replied, setting a now full magazine down. He slung his MP61 over his shoulder, and left the ready room without much word. As he walked the halls, he realized that he would have fit in perfectly among the local soldiers; assuming he wasn't tan. Not that he would ever want to. He was a Liamite by identity, even if he had been born in Fontera.

After walking the halls, and asking for direction, he managed to find the woman who had kicked his ass hours earlier. His expression was a calm one, though he felt a tinge of fear go down his spine. He had to admit, she was a bit scary in a fight, and he wasn't sure he could take her; no matter the circumstance. He coughed awkwardly and saluted her, coming to a half in-front of her. "Excuse me ma'am, I'm First Lieutenant Thomas Hewbert from Bull Company. Captain Wolf sent me. We're ready for battle ma'am, just say the word and we're ready to deploy" he said formally. He met her eyes the whole time, not deterred by her presence .

[Shalum]

Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai

A bit away from Valkyrie and Magni, was another group of Nord Team members, this time numbering three instead of two. These men, like the rest of their comrades, were well concealed with the help of local foliage and camouflage; or so they thought, ignorant of the danger that they were in. If one was to get close to this group, they would have noticed a lack of sniper rifles present; instead replaced by two assault rifles and a battle rifle, not to mention a Javelin capable of deploying anti-vehicle munitions in case things really hit the fan. This particular group of men had been assigned the 'heavy hitter' role for this mission, and therefore had been loaded with stouter gear, meant to take on heavier enemy units while the rest of Nord Team covered their backs.

The first of the men, who was kneeling against a tree, still hidden by his shadows and camouflage; was lankier than the other two, with long arms and legs, however not as muscular as his battle brothers. His brown eyes were covered by military goggles, which filled in for the role of glasses, which he wore off duty. There was nothing particularly special about his appearance, except for the two maroon stripes that ran down the left and right side of his helmet. In his hands, was an ACX-M battle rifle, which was loaded with with twenty 7.62×51mm NATO rounds. He went by the call sign Loki, though his real name was Joseph Watts.

To Joseph's right stood the next member of the three man team. He was shorter than Loki was, but much more muscular, filling out his tactical gear rather well. Even with this well maintained appearance, he had something of a lazy streak when he was off the clock, often preferring the mess hall to the base's gym; something that caused Nord leader, Klara, to get onto him from time to time. He had green eyes and short blonde hair, the later of which could be mistaken for a shade of red when he was in the sunlight. Cradled in his arms was a ACX-L assault rifle, the standard Shalumite service weapon. He was Magus Einerson, but was better known as Forseti.

Standing away from these two, was the third and final commando, he was known for being a bit more reserved when it came to day-to-day life; or missions for that matter. He was lean built, taller than Magnus, but not as tall as Joseph. He originally had blonde hair much like Magnus did, however age and stress had turned the color to something more akin to gray. His eyes were blue-gray, and experience shown in them, along with weariness. He was the oldest on the team, with the most combat experience, but not the one in-charge. He was named Issac Washburne, 'Blue Tooth' officially, or 'Wash' when he was speaking with close friends; which there were few of anymore it seemed.

For a long time, there wasn't much more than silence, as the trio watched Azzie soldiers mill about; patrolling the area, waiting for something to happen. Occasionally, one of the men would shift quietly, or yawn into his hand. Finally, Joseph sighed in annoyance, sitting up from his prone position. "Hey Forseti" he began, getting the other man's attention. There was a brief pause before he continued. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

The muscular commando's face held a surprised look as he mulled over the question for a moment. He finally cleared his throat and replied. "It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it? I mean, why are we really here here? Are we the product of some big cosmic mishap, or is there really a God out there watching over us; our entire existences plotted out?" he replied. "Its a scary question man, keeps me up at times."

Joseph blinked in surprise, not expect -that- kind of answer. "What? I meant why the hell do you think we're out here in the middle of nowhere, watching a bunch of Azzie soldiers do absolutely nothing?" he replied with a question of his own.

Even in the darkness of foliage cover, it wasn't hard to tell that Forseti had turned sheepish. "Umm yeah, right."

"Do...do you want to talk about it?" Joseph asked after a moment, shifting away from the scene in-front of him to face Magnus. His rifle was in hand, and was pointed toward the ground.

"Nope" Magus replied quickly, looking up at Joseph.

"You sure? I like hearing what people have to say" Joseph shrugged back.

"Positive."

While the two traded words, Wash stood, taking his rifle with him. "I've gotta take a leak guys, be right back" he called; though he doubted that they had heard him, much less payed attention. He ventured a bit back into the trees, rifle in his hands, but with an overall relaxed stance as he moved; not overly concerned with coming under attack. As he found a tree to do his business, the sounds of rocket fire filled the air, drowning the rest of the noise out. He cursed aloud and finished up quickly, intent on moving back to his group as quickly as possible. The station was under attack, and he was away from his post. What he didn't know, was that fate had released the hounds upon his group, meaning that he may not make it back to his group before the dogs of war were upon him.

---

Anna jerked in surprise as the sounds of heavy weapons fire filled the air, her eyes wide with horror as Azzie positions were wiped out in the blink of an eye. She quickly grabbed her rifle and shouldered it. The weapon was suppressed, and at this range, she was capable of hitting her target with little difficulty, assuming she lead them properly. She couldn't tell if the enemies in her scope were wearing vests, but she doubted that her .338 Magnum much cared either. She lined up her sights on a militiamen, who appeared to be semi-important, as he called out orders to other; or so it appeared. She pulled the trigger, the gun bucking in her hands, the sound muffled by her suppressor and the local foliage; drowned out by the heavy gunfire ahead of her.

Beside her, her spotter Tobias perked up a bit, glancing around. He wasn't close enough to engage properly, without wasting ammunition, so he decided to hold back and let the sniper he was protecting handle things. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but why he didn't know; and simply equated it to the battle at hand before them. Little did he know, not far away, there was an assassin lurking.

From other positions, the remaining Shalumite commando snipers began to hit the militia, confident that they wouldn't be seen or heard. There were three designated snipers total, along with two men carrying battle rifles that put them just within range of the enemy. They were spaced out into three groups total, numbering: two men, three men, five men, the last group including Nord Team Leader Freya. The Shalumites were calm, as they weren't under attack...

[Azurlavai]

Kastell Isolation

The rain splashed down on her head, but she did not feel it. This far north, it only snowed in the winter time, a welcome change from the frigid environs further south. Still, with the frosts just around the corner, it would only be a matter of time before the entirety of the country was covered in frost.

In front of her, the helicopters and gunships were spinning up their rotors, having gone through their checks and fuelled up. Shalumite Rangers sat next to UCA Phantoms, and the airfield was crammed with both Storks and the larger Kingfishers. But she stood before a squadron of different craft, and her head turned as the Shalumite lieutenant she’d fought came over and saluted, in her sight but not obstructing her view, just as subordinates did.

"Excuse me ma'am, I'm First Lieutenant Thomas Hewbert from Bull Company. Captain Wolf sent me. We're ready for battle ma'am, just say the word and we're ready to deploy.”

Technically, they were the same rank, but if he wanted to acknowledge her as his superior, who was she to deny it? Astrid returned his salute smartly, extending her hand as he put his own down. “Løytnant Astrid Deinhardt, 22nd SLT Regiment, Kilo Company, 6th Squad.” She tilted her head, allowed for a moment to take a closer look at her opposite number. The Shalumite was impressive out of his armor back in the ring, but here in his equipment, bedecked in ammunition, weapons and camouflage, she was starting to believe Bull Company might have a shred of truth to what she had been briefed on their capabilities from Kaptein Jaeger. If the man himself had said it, she should have believed it, but the fact was that these Nordlandurs were foreigners, and no foreigner was to be completely trusted until you saw them in combat. So said the Warrior Creed.

Interestingly, Hew’s hand seemed a bit warm in her own firm grasp, even though she wasn’t trying to crush his fingers at all, and when it slipped out she felt a bit like she had been disarmed. She shook off the phantom sensation before looking him dead in the eye and saying “Inform your men to get up here, Lieutenant. We’re riding out on that.”

She pointed to the helicopters in front of her, and the Ravn VTOL aircraft (pictured above) suddenly seemed far more relevant to the conversation. With their rotating wings, they would be much faster than both the standard Stork or the heavier Kingfisher. But time was of the essence, and they had no vehicles to bring with them, and as such the advanced helicopter/planes were their ride out.

“Are we all clear, Løytnant?” said a deep, quiet voice behind both officers, and looking back would reveal that, as usual, Kaptein Jaeger had materialized out of nowhere, still wearing his customary beret and confident smirk. He was wearing largely the same outfit as earlier, but over it he had fitted a standard issue Brynje flak vest, painted black like the rest of Kilo-6, and his fighting knife hung from his belt, a customized, modified Kingsrevolver holstered under one arm and a bandolier of various grenades across his chest. He chewed on the end of a lit cigar, taking a pull and lighting the end up red as he inspected the helicopters himself.

Astrid turned on her heels, saluting to her commander, who returned it casually. Though she still pertained by every regulation in terms of formality, most Special Forces operators (regular Fallschirmjeger included) spent so much time in the field or enemy territory that often such niceties weren’t taken too seriously. But that’s what set Løytnant Dienhardt apart here.

“Yes sir. Bull Company’s set to fly and Kilo-6 is already squared away. All Ravns and our Ranger escorts are fuelled up, pre-flight checks completed. We’re ready to go, Kaptein.”

“Good,” said Jaeger, shooting but a light glance down at Hew before his smirk turned into a full-fledged grin…which oddly made him look a bit wolfish. “Ready to do some killing, Lieutenant?”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai

Even as the chaos unfolded below, Jentye tuned it out, whirling around a tree. The Revenant had a nickname for the Shalumites, reflected in light of what they used to be; Provincials, also known as Provies. For almost twenty years, south Shalum had been under the eagle and cross, and those ungrateful peasants had risen up when the Republic had been at its most vulnerable during the Thesumite War. So it was with a particular pleasure that she drew one of her throwing knives and tossed it with deadly accuracy. The blade spun through the air, making the impossible shot and hitting the sniper in the little space between helmet and armored vest. Unfortunately for the girl, the blade only stuck in the side of her neck, squirting out arterial blood. But, Jentye had a remedy, and drew her twin Spitefires, planting a boot in the Shalumite’s back before firing a pair of rounds into her head.

With the other pistol, however, Jentye aimed at the spotter, squeezing the trigger and letting off a chatter of five rounds. The almost casual gestures with which she did it suggested not a single ounce of remorse for her victims or a thought of hesitation, and while she was stretching the showboating a bit, none of it was to ‘look good’…it was just what occurred to her at the time. With the enormous battle down the hill, who would notice some gunfire in the woods?

Even as the other team began moving, Langtøyet grunted, his finger twitching slightly on the hair-trigger of his rifle, sending a .338 Lapua Magnum round across the vast distance to destroy the rifle held by the standing man, his hand a blur as he worked the bolt, the action so smooth and so polished it barely whispered as it shucked the empty casing and pushed the next round into the chamber, and then his hand was back at the trigger to send another bullet towards the other man’s weapon. Fuck killing them, it was time to make this fun. He smirked as he aligned on the man who had just come back from taking a piss and sent his next shot over the Provie’s shoulder. Let them think they were dealing with some rookie who couldn’t place his shots. Time to play hide and go seek…

The rest of Zeta squad were already boiling through the forest, split up into two teams. Zeta Leader, as he was known, was heading for the sniper nest with Demoman. As much as he trusted Jentye, Provies were slippery bastards, and he had no doubt that at least one of those members would be wriggling away. Which was why he had split off Brannballtre and Ermine to go in after the other team of Provies. Between them and their sniper, Zeta squad would crush those weaklings. At the juncture, Ermine turned to Brannballtre and gave him a quick hand signal, splitting off and taking a longer way around through the trees.

But the fire soldier chuckled behind his visor, striding forward and adjusting the valves on the hefty projector in his armored grasp. The ignitor lit, and he could hear the hiss of gas seeping out from the nozzle, hear the liquid splashing in the tanks on his back, feel the adrenaline racing through his veins as his other hand reached up and flicked open the visor on his mask, revealing his scarred, smiling face beneath the jaws of the shark mouth motif as the scent of napalm came to his nose.

“Hmm…Scorched earth. Smells like…victory!”

And with that, the flamethrower in his hands lit up, coating the foliage in front of him with incendiary gel that swiftly turned the forest into a flaming hellscape that would only take second to reach the Shalumite trio.

Out on the field, the militia’s flanks were suddenly covered by several men in green, moving forward quickly with tactical trucks and heading in to exploit the sudden gaps in the Panserbjorne defense line. While a few of the Stags’ guns swiveled to track and engage, the majority close and threw their doors open, the soldiers inside charging out. While these men at least looked military, it was clear they were no longer with any army but the one that fought for coin. Mercenaries from Extra Order were experienced war junkies, vicious ex-cons and steroid abusers from all over the world looking for that extra edge, all of them willing to do what armies and even other PMCs were unable to, and the EO company made sure to offer their services to the Revenant…and business was booming.

Even as the mercenaries fell on the Azzies, further drawing their fire apart, more figures emerged from the sides of the complex. Dressed in chalk blue armor and carrying a variety of weapons, -these- men were actual soldiers, warriors of the Revenant and held in the highest regard, attacking the now exposed rear of the mechanized soldiers. Several light tanks joined them, their guns booming as they smashed through the gates of the perimeter, more soldiers jumping off and charging into the complex, their weapons barking and chattering. Under all this pressure, the 115th was sure to collapse, outnumbered and outmaneuvered as they were.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Schmeidesse, Rheinmetall

The Nordic worshipper glanced around, gesturing to the wounded and suffering they stood in the middle of.

“Tenya…I am sure you see these crowds of suffering people, the wounded, the dying, the sick. You worship one Goddess, I worship another deity. These days, faith is sometimes all we have left. But then you look at this suffering and realize that there are those who wish to make things worse. The Thorians love their fighting rings and puffing out their chests or-“ she gestured behind her at the Mjolnir graffiti, still visible outside. “Make sure the world knows who they are. But mostly, worshippors of Thor are harmless to the innocent, the bystander. Niflheim knows that they’ll usually help the person. But the Lokists…not so much. Those cultists are terrorizing people who cannot protect themselves for the simple reason that they do not worship the Trickster God. While I choose not to enact their violence, this cult –must- be stopped.”

The woman glared down at Tenya with fierce eyes, steel in her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest once more.

“I am Raghnild. And I am leader of a group of followers dedicated to worship of the Great Allfather Odin. For now, we must set aside our faiths and look at the facts. The Steel Legion cannot devote manpower to this task. The police are unwilling to broach religious violence in any way against a religion. So it falls to us, the ones who are willing to find and put down these evildoers. Without you, it will be a slaughter, and the Allfather may call me and my brothers and sisters to his sides early. But with your assistance, we may yet succeed. So, Tenya, do you wish to undertake this grand venture?”

[Shalum]

Kastell Isolation

Thomas could feel the cold rain buffeting against his helmet and neck, running down the sides of his helmet, soaking into his uniform; though he didn't seem concerned with the weather, his expression not betraying any form of discomfort if he felt it. Growing up in southern Shalum, as a bison rancher, he had grown accustom to weather similar to what he was experiencing now. He, and his men, knew what was just around the bend however; winter, one which was practically guaranteed to be harsh, at least compared to anything that they had experienced in Shalum. Up until now, Bull Company had experienced the luxury of operating far enough north that they didn't have to worry about ghastly winters; but it appeared that they would be working out of Kastell for a while, and needed to prepare in kind. An absent part of Thomas told him to speak to Major Panzer about gear that they would need if they planned to be stationed in the area long term.

While people from other militaries may have found it odd that he spoke to the Azzie as if she was a superior officer, it was like second nature to him, to the point that he no longer thought about it. His parents, especially his father, had drilled the use of proper honorifics into his head. According to his raising, women were always 'ma'am' regardless of rank. "An honor to serve with you, ma'am" he replied demurely with a nod; meeting her eye without any sense of fear betraying him as he gripped her hand and shook. He had observed her on approach, and decked out in battle gear, she was definitely more intimidating than she was in the ring; meaning that he couldn't show fear, at least in his mind. He was a warrior through and through, with a good batch of men at his back, and a dangerous mission ahead; fearful was something he simply couldn't be.

Much to his surprise...there was something off about the handshake, but not in a bad way. His hand felt a bit funny, a tad warmer than it had been moments earlier. In a way, he could have almost compared it to electricity. As he hand left his, he continued to feel odd, but shook it off. The woman in-front of him hadn't messed up his neck that much, right? At the female Azzie's words, he straightened a bit more, as much as he could; and gave her a nod in confirmation. "On it ma'am" he replied, his hand going to his radio. Why he wasn't really fond of taking orders from anyone outside his command chain, she was the commander of Kilo-6, who they were working alongside; which gave her some sense of seniority in his mind.

"Captain Wolf, this is Lieutenant Hewbert. We're being requested up top, ma'am, the birds are ready to fly and the mission is go" he spoke into his radio, voice deeper than he remembered it usually being.

There was a brief pause before Wolf radioed back. "Solid copy LT, we're coming up now. We had to get some things finished up down here. Wolf, out."

Thomas killed the radio and tilted his head back to his left to look at Astrid, practically jumping as a specter materialized behind him without so much as a sounds. Christo, he wasn't going to die of a bullet or shrapnel, he was going to have a damn heart attack before the Revenant got their shot at him. Hew, realizing that the man was of considerably higher rank, spun around and saluted like Astrid did; not missing a beat. He looked back levelly at the Kaptein, not perturbed by the wolfish look. He was a tad surprised that he was actually having to look up though. Normally, Thomas was the tallest of those around him, even in Azurlavai where his genetics hailed from.

"Sir, yes sir" Thomas replied quickly, with not much more than a blink. For being the veteran that he was, Thomas had never taken a particular amount of 'joy' when it came to slaying his enemies like the Azzies seemed to do. He tugged on his camouflaged, armored vest a bit, making sure the vest was snug, but not too snug. His MP61 was slung over his shoulder, ready to go at a moments notice. He had brought plenty of ammo, on the off chance that looting ammo from the dead wouldn't be possible for one reason or another. They had been rather liberal with the grenade dispersion as well, meaning that he had plenty to throw. This was as armed as he had felt in a long time. Normally, he had to operate on limited gear and ammo, as Shalumite supply lines were never completely guaranteed.

Glancing to the side, he saw Bull Company emerge, ready to go much like he was. Heading the formation was a rather intent looking Captain Wolf, who was leading her group with a certain swagger--head held high. He titled his head back to look at Astrid and Jaeger. "We're ready when you are, sir, ma'am."

-----

Back in action. Why did the movies always make it sound like such a good thing? That was something that Thomas had never understood. It meant that people were going back into fray, and that some wouldn't make it back, they rarely all did; at least unscathed.

After Bull Company had emerged from Kastell's depths, they had been split up into two group, half of Bull in one helo under Wolf; and the other half in another, under his command. They were riding into battle in Ravn helicopters, escorted by both Phantoms and Rangers. Thomas was glad to see the later of the two among the ranks of the attack group. The Ranger was a lean, mean killing machine; that had replaced a rather inefficient to begin with Raider attack helicopter that Shalum had fielded for over thirty years without fail.

Along with the nine men from Bull Company, there were members from Kilo-6 as well; the female Azzie Løytnant being one of them. In fact...she was sitting across from him. If he was to glance up and straight, he would have a hard time not looking at her. He only glanced at her a few times, instead opting to check over his weapons and gear; mumbling a prayer to God under his breath as he did so. Surprising as it was, Thomas was a relatively religious man, something that his father hadn't been able to take from him. Even after all he had seen, he believed.

Sitting a bit closer to the door of the Ravn, was a new addition to Bull Company, a man who had replaced a veteran who had been shipped back with a leg injury that would never properly heal. He was a full blooded Azzie, large and blonde, an Azzie shotgun between his feet while he sat there. He was one of the Shalumites praying, but not to the Christian God that his comrades believed in. He was just loud enough to be heard, though he wasn't trying to be. "Odin all-father and wise High-King of Asgard. Accept those who fall by the end of this day, to you side as Einharjar to the end of times. Thor, god of thunder. Protect those who will go into battle soon will your servants and allies carry your strength through the day's battle. Let our weapons be as Mljonir and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies" he recited. He wished that he could get a last smoke in, but he doubted it would be allowed.

"Tyr, god of war and warfare, mentor of the warrior and the judge of fallen man. Grant us victory this day, and the will to send our enemies to Hell or Asgard, dependent on your will. Let our war cries be your own, and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies" he continued, shifting in his seat a bit. A few of his comrades eyes were on him, watching him curiously. They had seen this before, but they had always found it odd...and a bit unsettling; depending on what the religious views were of the Shalumite soldiers, most of whom were Catholic.

"Njord, god of the ships and seas. Grant that our helicopter be preserved from harm long enough that we reach the field of battle. Grant that my battle-brothers and sisters on my left and right be brave this day, their feet swift, and their weapons deadly" he grinned to himself; still not aware that he had earned the attention of his Shalumite comrades, and possibly some Azzies as well.

"Freya, god of love and compassion...grant that we live this day. Should we perish, allow us to rejoin those we love that have passed into the next world. Grant that we may see our loved ones one final time before we move on, whether they be dead or alive" he continued. He wished that he had more to come back to at home other than his aging mother. The rest of his family hadn't survived the journey north. "Grant that those who live find the blessing of love themselves" he added. His love life had never been the best since he had left Azurlavai, so he always added this in, though he held little stock in it.

"Loki...god of deceit and subterfuge. Grant that our plan works and that our enemies be no wiser until it is too late for them. Grant that we strike them down before they know it, and that we keep our honor as warriors as we do so. Until Ragnarok" he finished with a sigh, idly thumbing his the amulet under his vest. It was one of the few things that he had left of his younger sister, a simple amulet that a follower of Freya had given his family. He wasn't quite sure how 'real' any of this was, but his sister had always put stock in it, so he did this before battle in her memory.

Thomas glanced at the man for a long while, before shaking his head, not quite sure what to make of it. As he looked around the helicopter, he met the eyes of the Azzie Lieutenant for a moment, before he looked away; his hand going for his chin strap, why he didn't know. The strap was fine, but he couldn't bring himself to meet the eyes of the Azzie woman.

In a nearby helicopter, Wolf and her men were quiet, preparing for battle in silence. They checked and doubled checked their weapons, looking for even the smallest thing off, though it was too late to do anything if something was wrong. Already, the Shalumite captain could feel the adrenaline that came with battle begin to flow through her, keeping her wide awake. Hopefully, like with every battle, she would live to see victory.

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse, Rheinmetall

Tenya met the fierceness of Raghnild's gaze with unwavering will, folding her hands in front of her and bowing. Eye contact was highly significant in Shrailleeni culture, proper eye signals were used to indicate dominance and submission within higher circles. Spiritually, they believed that the eyes were literally windows into the soul, and a source of great power. As a Priestess, Tenya held the unique privilege of eye contact with all members of society. Her own green eyes were filled with compassion, but also a strength of will that came from following the Goddess's path. Raghnild was not the first fierce woman that she had encountered, and she knew that such women respected strength in turn.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Raghnild," she said as she bowed. She looked around the camp, considering for a few seconds. Her absence would not be missed if she were away only briefly, her companions were all capable and devoted. And she was intrigued by this messenger from the cult of Odin, who carried with her the unmistakable aura of one guided by the Mother-of-All.

"You have the light of the Mother Goddess around you My Child, the spirit of Freyja, who is the Goddess. I see that your words are true, and your purpose filled with compassion. The Goddess will not stand idle while the lives of Her Children are threatened in the streets. By Her will, I will walk the path of peace with you as best as I can."

She did not want to make Raghnild uncomfortable, but she was compelled to speak truly of her feelings. She felt that honesty was best, and hoped that the woman would pick up on her sincerity.

"I have read that gods of chaos have more often been the subject of curse and blame than worship," she mused, her eyes questioning. "The stories that I have read of Loki paint a picture of a god with little interest in improving the lives of humans. That people choose to worship such a being now is, I think, more a symptom of these dark times that we live in than an earnest expression of faith. The desperate search for meaning, and grasp at chaos as they try to know the chaos of their daily lives..."

She trailed off, then met Raghnild's eyes once more.

"I will help you, but I must know: why have you come to me? You have said that the authorities cannot aid you, but I sense that there are layers of meaning yet hidden. What assistance might I provide, that another could not?"

[Novitera]

Heselory, Novitera
West Heselory District Court

The deliberation did not take long given the weight of the evidence that the Bureau of Investigation and Enforcement turned over to his office. Archie Raynard, one of the Department of Justice's top prosecutors had stuffed the case into a drawer for a rainy day. The case would have been brought once there was something key they could wring out of Gaspar Daley in exchange for a better plea deal. Now was the time as the proliferation of illegal firearms and drugs took a sharp increase in the streets of Novitera. It was coming from somewhere. The FIS suspected Azurlavai. But why spend all that money gathering intelligence abroad when the UF government could wring out information from the Guristas right here.

Archie was sitting in behind the prosecutor's table. The courtroom was quite empty as this was a confidential ruling. His partner was in the corner on a phone call sounding frustrated with whoever was on the other end. The Federation Prosecutor's Office wanted the indictment to be issued secretly so that Gaspar, the Guristas lieutenant, could be arrested with as little of a show as possible. They would offer him a good plea deal in exchange for information on how all these blackmarket goods were getting into Novitera. Archie spent the time inspecting the courtroom decorations.

The audience seating, defendant and prosecutor tables, chairs, jury box, witness box and judge podium were made of coconut timber which was typical for courtrooms in Novitera. As this was a Federal court, the Noviteran flag stood alone by the judges podium without the flag of the state of Calirma. Above the podium on the wall was the seal of the UFN engraved in a plaque. This was Archie's arena. Where he fought the great battles of his life in the name of Noviteran justice.

A sound interrupted the silence as the door to the back of the courtroom opened. His Honor Riley Kaoru entered with an overweight bailiff. "All rise. The Honorable Judge Riley Kaoru presiding." The bailiff called out lethargically. Archie stood up and his partner quickly hung up and rushed over to the front. As Judge Kaoru took his seat, so did they.

"Quite a case you boys got here. It's a slam dunk." The bald Judge Kaoru mused in a deep voice. "Surprised your Office sat on it for so long."

"Was saving it for the right moment your honor." Archie answered back.

Judge Kaoru shuffled about some papers for a few moments and scribbled something down quickly. He looked up at the two prosecutors. "Given the weight of the evidence, I hereby grant the indictment of all charges brought forth against Mister Gaspar Daley and issue a warrant for his arrest." Judge Kaoru said ceremoniously before slamming down his gavel. "Approach the bench Mister Raynard." He said then held out a piece of paper for Archie to take. The warrant.

[Shalum]

Lysbinger Power Complex
Thracia State, Northeastern Azurlavai

"Fucking hell" Klara cursed under her breath as she over saw the battlefield ahead of her, by peering through the scope of her Vyrsarian made XM8 assault rifle; which she had only acquired recently. From where she laid, she could tell that things were not going in the 115th's favor, and were only getting worse by the minute; as more and more hostiles seemed to appear out of thin air. She growled and lined up a shot on a stray militiamen, sending a burst shot of three 6.8 rounds his way. While her rifle wasn't 'optimal' for this kind of long range engagement, she was close enough that her bullets had a chance of hitting something. On either side of her, the commandos under her command followed suit, depressing their triggers; some armed with assault rifle, and others with much more suited higher powered sniper rifles.

Klara grinned behind her balaclava as she saw her bullets hit home. Due to bullet drop, she hadn't hit the chest like she had originally desired, but had instead hit the man in what appeared to be the thigh. He tumbled awkwardly to the side, dropping his rifle on the way down, his instinctively moving to clutch his right leg. Klara prepared to pull the trigger again, as one of his comrades rushed to his side, with the intent of ending the two at once; however she was a second too slow, as Kraken the commando beside her, ended the two militiamen with a multi-round burst. They weren't worried about getting detected by this point, as too much was happening for someone to notice the occasional soldier drop in the wrong direction.

Nearby, the best sniper of the group, Heimdahl snarled as he saw enemy tanks and trucks roll in to overwhelm the 115th by exploiting the now present gaps in the defenses. "Enemy vehicles coming in!" he barked, reloading his Snowman rifle, which fired a .338 Lupua Magnum round. "Freya, can we deploy anti-vehicle weapons? If we don't, the 115th isn't going to last long!" he continued grimly; before popping off another round, which was destined for a Revenant warrior in blue. He was looking for officers, but in the chaos of battle, and with their discipline; it was hard to tell whom was in charge. Even if he didn't take down officers, every man in blue he eliminated was one less threat.

Klara, who went by Freya, growled as she pondered the situation for the briefest of moments. The sniper had a point, if they didn't intervene now with their anti-vehicle weaponry, the 115th was doomed even more than they already were. As it was, they didn't have a chance, and if this station fell, Thracia went dark; which would cause even more problems than there already were. The downside to intervening, was that they would have to give away their (so they thought) well hidden position. There was no way they could conceal their rocket fire. At that moment, she made three decisions.

"Kraken, grab that the Javelin and take out an enemy tank if you can, then get ready to move" she ordered gruffly. The Knight in question, who resembled a bulwark in appearance, grunted an affirmative in reply; as he dashed to retrieve the Javelin missile launcher which the team had lugged with them just in case they came across enemy armor. It had slowed them down, but not by enough to warrant ditching it.

As he did this, Klara turned to face Lofn, who was burning through a magazine at a rapid pace, brass casing pooling at her feet. "Lofn! Get on the goram radio and request for support--what kind I don't give a damn, just something" she rumbled. She then turned to the rest of the commando. "Get ready. Once that missile deploys, we're splitting up!" she informed them gruffly. She wanted to reach for her canteen and gulp half of its contents down, as he throat burned from the yelling.

Knelt down beside a tree, Lauren 'Lofn' Davis fumbled with her radio, her hands shaking for a number of reasons. She grinned in part triumph, part relief as she got the thing to crackle to life. "This is Nord team broadcasting on all Shalumite channels! The Lysbinger Power Complex is under attack. We are requesting support from any units that can provide it, over" she broadcasted. She knew that there was a Shalumite unit close, based on the border, but what she didn't know.

She then switched to a broader Azzie channel. "This is Nord Team broadcasting on UCA channels. Be advised, the Lysbinger Power Complex under attack by Revenant forces! Requesting immediate assistance, we're going to be overrun!" she broadcasted grimly, hoping some local forces not involved heard the message.

Nearby, the sound of a missile firing could be heard, as Kraken fired his Javelin, aiming for one of the Revenant tanks, which had infantry surrounding it. The missile jumped from the tube, the rocket motor putting some distance between he and the missile, before the main engine kicked on; the anti-tank missile shooting up and forward to hit the enemy tank. Hopefully, assuming the missile scored a kill, the shrapnel and explosion would take down some hostile foot mobiles with it. He moved to reload his the launcher, hoping to get one more shot out before they moved on.

As she glanced around the woods, Klara had the sinking feeling that the fight was about to come to her and her men. And she was right...it was, in the form of Zeta squad. The only advantage that she had, that her now fallen brother and sister didn't, was that she and her men were expecting something.
----

Washburne had covered half the distance between he and Loki and Forseti when the first shot of two quick shots had rung out ahead of him. He heard one of his men cry in surprise, an rather descriptive string of curses following in quick succession. As Wash began to push himself forward, a third shot rang out to his right, so close that he could practically feel it; his ears ringing as it was. He stumbled, catching himself with his hands, before he continued to run forward. An enemy sniper had a bead on him, meaning that he couldn't stop now; he had to keep moving, he had to link up with his men.

It took all of six seconds to close that distance, Wash pushing himself faster than he thought possible. He found Loki and Forseti where they had been last, though the former of the two was now down to just his pistol, his battle rifle now not much more than scrap metal; ruing beyond repair. The lanky soldier's eyes were wide as he looked down at the ruined weapon. "I--did that just happen?" he asked stunned; seeming to forget that he was the target of an enemy only moments earlier.

"We've got to move, the ene--get down!" Wash barked, throwing a standing Forseti to the ground; before diving himself. A half-second later a tongue of hot fire rushed toward them, burning up the foliage around them. The spare gear that they had brought along was covered in fire as well, consumed to the heat. "We've got to move! Now!" Wash barked to the two men; who were laying on their stomachs. They nodded numbly and began to crawl forward, away from the fire, at the order. In their wake, they left a SMAW which was probably ruined like everything else.

Once they had gotten out of the flamethrower's range, or so they hoped, they scrambled to their feet. Wash and Forseti, who still had their assault rifles, turned and fired in the general direction of where the flames had come. While they doubted they hit anything, it was better than simply running. The group began to retreat from where they had been, the main battle forgotten as they tried to preserve themselves and each other. They knew they weren't alone now...

---

Just north of the Shalumite/Azzie-Thracian border, two YG-71 Hummingbirds rumbled through the sky, on patrol. The Hummingbird was a ground attack fighter, the air force's own variant of the A-10 Thunderbolt II. It was a newer model, though not much had been changed on it, the specifications not that different from the original A-10 other than upgraded aeronautics and weaponry. This particular group was laoded up with four hundred rounds each for their Gatling-guns, along with two AGM-65 Maverick missiles each, in case they came across hostiles; which they thought was unlikely.

The leader of the group, who went by Bronco, was the veteran of the two pilots, the other new to the southern border. He had been flying the border for close to three years now, and had even flown combat missions in the past two years. His last wing man had been transferred to the Gallagher border in preparation for a new air campaign, leaving him to train a group of newbies. It was a boring task, but necessary one. Thankfully, the other pilot halfway knew what she was doing.

Halfway toward through the patrol, a radio request came in asking for support. Bronco knew the patrol was in range, and he couldn't just ignore it. If worse came to worse, he could land in Thracia and deal with the problems later. Whoever this was, they needed help soon, and they were on his side. After a brief radio conversation, he and the other pilot turned their planes southwest, pushing their planes to higher speeds. They had a chance of arriving on time, if they pushed themselves.

[New Edom]

To: Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab, President of the Council of Ministers
From: James Quadratus, Ambassador for the Allied States to Azurvalai, Lowell City
Subject: Aid protection
Encryption: Moderate

To Your Gracious Excellency,

All loyalty, love and prayers for your continued success from this embassy to you. Great were the blessings of God upon our nation when it found in you a man loyal not merely to his regiment or faction but to the nation itself under the LORD. I continue to be honoured by your trust in me.

It appears entirely likely that there will be a resurgence of the civil war here now. Reports come to me constantly of small scale fighting which indicate larger movements being imminent, and of course it will be the humble folk who suffer the most.

Your Excellency asked me to be wary of this and to advise as to whether I feel it likely that the proposed CPO mission will be required. As Your Excellency is aware certain leaders claiming recognition as the government of Azurvalai have condoned the mission, while others have not.

I must advise that the situation on the ground here is far more complicated than the situation on paper. Journalists, aid workers and others regularly report to me here. What may be imminent will add to the more than nine million casualties taking place here. If there was ever a time that Your Excellency wished to demonstrate your benevolence and inspired leadership for this region, that time is now.

I have the honour to be Your Excellency's humble and obedient servant,
James Quadratus,
Ambassador

Fineberg, New Edom

"Of course we also have information from the Cultural Attache's office," wheezed General Sidney Harcourt, the Minister of Police, coughing, inhaling soothing aromatic smoke into his lungs via a cigarette. "But yes, I would agree. I'd say it's worse in fact than he reports. We have reports of cannibalism in some areas."

"Good God," muttered Levi Dathan, the Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs, turning pale, putting his drink down.

"It's not to be unexpected," said Harcourt with a twisted smile. "Infrastructure broken down. And the Belisarian League seems to feel that winning the civil war is the priority."

"Are they wrong?" asked Levi Dathan.

"No, but it is not the only solution that can be implemented," said Harcourt. "But I am warning that it is a messy ugly situation without really simple solutions. Whoever wants to restore order down there will have to break heads hard."

"How they leaped to support a mission in Peregrino, as though we were the aggressors and the ones perpetuating war crimes," said Perrin, staring out the window at the bright streets of Fineberg below. "And how wary they are now. Doctor Nicanor, do I have a mandate to send in more forces without a quorum in the CPO?"

The round faced Attorney-General swept a hand over his balding head and licked his lips thoughtfully. "That's something I've been pondering, General. While some CPO nations have provided direct assistance in the form of aid--the Shrailleeni Empire, Jedoria and Laudine for instance--there is no declared CPO mandate for the area. The military elements have merely been helping provide security for direct aid distribution. The proposed agreement worked out between the UCA and the Directorate of Peacekeeping only provides the framework, not actual legal action."

Perrin nodded. "Then we'll have to act outside the mandate. It won't become a CPO mission officially. We'll make it our own. We'll pick a zone and provide security for aid workers and refugees there, and go in with some real teeth. Use Peregrino as the leapfrog for deployment, get at least 25,000 boots on the ground. That will do it."

"Without the CPO?" exclaimed Levi Dathan. "But what if the mission doesn't work out?"

Perrin smiled at him. "Defeat is always a possibility, but I do not let it worry me once I have decided."

To: The United Commonwealth Authority Supreme Chairman Frieda Trotsbeck
From: Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab
Subject: Humanitarian Security Operations
Encryption: Most Secret

---

I have received your letter regarding rules of engagement, and find that I am entirely in agreement with them. I regard the letter as being issued by sovereign authority for which I have the utmost respect.

I wish to advise you of my intention of accepting a proposed peace agreement regarding Peregrino. This would divide the nation into two parts--one part would become the New Edomite Overseas Dependency of Peregrino, the other will become the Republic of Peregrino. There will be after this no need for the peacekeeping soldiers generously sent by your country.

In turn, having discovered that the CPO vote regarding providing security for humanitarian aid and refugees in your country has been delayed, the Allied States of New Edom will entirely provide the army corps along with light contingents of some other nations should they choose to send them on its own recognizance. I hope that this will be acceptable. The forces in question will provide security only to refugee camps and convoys and humanitarian aid distribution in agreed upon zones.

I look forward to hearing from you.
I have the honour to be,

Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab
President of the Council of Ministers