Paths of Aggression (Closed to all but TLIN & UFA)

[Canini]

To the south, and beyond the thick forests and lush jungle terrain lay the Karthian capitol, and encroached upon by the mortal enemy of the moment and it's motley assortment of peoples, The League of Imperial Nations.

It'd been a quick thing, but they to had found allies, in the form of the Rhydinians and by extension the Unified Front Alliance. The upgrading of the Canini military forces had begun not to long afterwards. While at a lesser pace then then that of the OA, the Canini Imperial Troops were not going to be as haphazard as before. Foreign military advisors and instructors were training the new forces and those of the old how to truly function as soldiers for the greater cause of The Empire.

Much to the chagrin of their neighbors, the bulky and unwieldy tanks of the Empire had been scrapped in favor of more modern and able designs. Haruspex designs, how would that be taken? S-94 main battle tanks were the chosen platform for their agility and reliability. Though a bit cramped, they could be maintained in the most basic of machine shops should repairs need doing, or on the road without requiring an extensive convoy. While admittedly working on a tight budget, The Empire had been able to purchase vast quantities of vehicles of older make, while still being newer then those they were replacing.

It wasn't any secret that The Empire wanted another stab at an enemy, a rich one hopefully. Being landlocked themselves, at least they didn't have to worry to much about the naval forces that were managed by their enemy. That could prove disastrous, though such had become a problem in this campaign. The closer to the sea would and had proven a thorn in their plans before. Hopefully the new anti-aircraft and missile technology they were fielding, would be effective thought General Hokum.

His tail wagged a bit as he stood there, wearing the somber grey officers uniform that lead into ebony hued jackboots and colour coordinated with the field officers cap, and leather strap across chest in a diagonal fashion. Holster held a TAC-4 mini sub-machine gun styled in the fashion of a pistol, and before him arrayed in parade were Q38 armored cars and S-94 main battle tanks. AAT-3 anti-aircraft missile vehicles were in key positions about the area, more then enough he thought to deter any would be hostile intentions.

A slight sigh did come forth from between muzzle though, a slide of eyes about the field, and then headed back towards the officers building to finish his reports concerning League forces pushing from the western beach heads.

[Oryctolagus cuniculus]

Within the Commonwealth

So it had come to pass. The dawn of a new age and the world had thus been more or less opened for those that dwelled within the near mythos of The Commonwealth of Oryctolagus cuniculus. Not as in some sort of fantasy way, well maybe it really was.

The Commonwealth existed or rather had existed within the same world but not. It was a trying time to come out into the open and declare your people, when the rest of the world at large would react poorly. Walking, talking, veritable images of Militant Easter Bunnies.

There were humans in the Commonwealth, but they're numbers were so few, that when a few embassies had been established, the wide eyed stares from the citizenry had already begun. A bit of a nose twitch, and then a sigh as Snag glanced at a few reports here and there. His fellow members of the ruling military junta were set to gather in a few minutes. A military parade had been planned for some months now, the military able to show off it's new procurements to the common people and others alike.

It was aggravating, their decade long war with the CA had been fought apparently in secrecy, then again however, it was only recent that they and the human nations began to interact. A grumble or two, brought that wife of his into the room. A pleasant doe who tended after her aging buck, and managed a small legion of children, grand children and so on.

A bit of a smile to the old gal, the royal queen of the warren before rising up. He stood there for a moment as she fussed over him, adjusting the tunic, and dusting his cap off. She did look quite charming tonight, always looking good in red. Tail twitched a bit as examined and then chuckled as holding out paw and arm to his beloved. Once secured, they both strolled towards and up the stairs into the ground level of their home, out the front door and to the waiting armored Swiftkick sedan.

Once comfortable inside, a junior lieutenant at the wheel and the vehicle moving with escorts towards the city center, did he pause to look out the tinted window some. Off hand commenting. I still cannot believe that we have not known of the greater human regions until now. Is our land like some sort of Bermuda Triangle, there but not there? Acornia, wife of said Grand General merely fussed with a few wiskery nose twitches before speaking. " It is odd dear, and if we were so shrouded, why does it not shroud us now? Why do they see us now? It doesn't make much sense, but we shall be fine. The people trust in your lead along with the other two". Righteous nod of head, ears perked.

Swerve of the vehicle, four wheels to the front, two in the back as the extended Swiftkick rolled to a stop soon enough. The Temple of El-ahrairah wasnt really a temple, though it had a massive statue in the center, a podium before it and thousands of seating areas in a half moon like arrangement. Joined at the podium beside and with their own wives, were that of Vice Generals Topf Hopalong, and Twitcher Cottontail. Before them, marching into the arena as the people hoorayed and cheered to the flashing of cameras and strobe lights, several regiments of the Oryctolagus National Defense Force (ONDF), and that of the Oryctolagus Army (OA, pronouced Oh Ah) began to arrive.

As the her husband-mate saluted, so to did the wives follow. Though not military, which is not to say that Doe's did not serve, infact many did, they were still respected because of their aid to the people. Many of the wives were caretakers of training or some such that was especially important. Acornia's for example was that of history. She made sure all the libraries, schools and so forth received ample education money. As the brave buck and doe alike paraded past, she felt such a surge of national pride, even in this conflict with the League's forces at Karthay. The sound of the boot heels hitting pavement reverberating throughout the temple grounds, and eventually would head down the city of Othus's main road.

Topf had a bit of a grin in place, the recent acquisitions via an alliance had granted immense discounts and hardware packages. The rows of the S-80U MBT's were proof of that. Followed by the older but still useful S-64b MBT, APC's, SPG's, SPA's, mobile SAM vehicles, and so on. Fireworks in the air as members of the aircorps hurtled by above in Lyran Sparrowhawk fighters, and Mil-24 Superhind E's. The Commonwealth had received the boost it needed, time would only tell where and what became of them.

[Machina Haruspex]

Inside Port City of Kabor
1117th Mzil Velven Artillery Regiment
0300

Yeyinde Nive stood beside his superior, Khan Valen. The two men were outfitted for urban combat, the grey, black, and white camouflage that shown about the combat harness worn. A square helmet and mask with tubing adorned their heads, leading towards the backs of either. Rifles at the ready, the bullpup styled GAR-01T's prepped for wear and tear. The 1117th were not here for infantry action, not yet anyways. Ahead of them, less then twenty kilometers away, was a bypassed UFA defensive line. From this area, UFA artillery and soldiers had been directing fire into the occupied port of Kabor.

The goal now, was to make that stop. The 1117th had recently been offloaded from their home base, the 1st Kaldana Colonial Legionary Fleet, of which was holding anchor just off of the coast and the port, with it's LCAC's making steady arrivals to offload legionnaires and equipment. The fire base had grown in the ruins of a light industrial area, and supplemented with the 78th, and 93rd mechanized infantry regiments of the Mzil Velven. Said fire base had been arranged with an overwhelming artillery support however, when the Imperium set out to wrong those who had wronged it, it did so in a massive way.

Arranged in a pattern of twenty barrels long and twelve deep, firing arcs of each line slightly higher then those before each position, crew served Taytmo Vmufan (Deadly Flower) self propelled guns (SPG) were in place. Supporting this was another line of artillery, Muhk Cdnega (Long Strike) self propelled guns were also arranged. Twenty deep in a half circle arrangement, two rows. In defensive roles were the light emplacements of anti-tank cannonry and machinegun nests that were being manned by members of the 1117th, the 78th, and 93rd regiments.

As time slowly ticked by, second after second, minute after minute, regulated air cycles of breath could be heard over the stillness of the night's air. Far to the northeast, the bright lights and booms associated with cannon fire could be somewhat seen and heard. The war was raging across this vast tract of land upon the ocean's back. Nive awaited it all, ready to issue forth the order into the mic within his helm, and as the final tick resonated an ominous sound of finality, the order was given in the form of a nod from his superior. Vena! (Fire), the order was so given.

There was a pause, and then a rippling display in the air itself. Plumes of smoke danced across the lines, in near perfect harmony the cannons vollied as one. Each row followed the one before it and so on. After the main body came the lighter self propelled guns and the defensive line retorting as well. Pulses of light filled the air, and then mere seconds passed until the crumping sounds in the far distance. Through field optics one could see the immense wall of orange, and the flames, the flames were everywhere. There was a passage of air above and as Nive made a tilt of head, he could see dozens of metal birds above as the 23rd Aero Assault Legionnary committed to a night attack with helicopter gunships.

He needn't wait long, one only had to watch the sky to see the bright orange and yellow bursts of rockets leaving their homes. The streaming yellow like trails they left up until they struck the darkened earth so far away. Pricks of light stained the heavens, and he realized that was the chattering of those nose turret cannon. The buzzsaw was carrying over the wind, and some of it was much closer then he would have liked. Movement from his left and he realized Valen apparently had also been concerned. Since he heard no words, he assumed his superior was in contact with either the Aero's or the defensive line. It wasnt until he spoke that he truly knew.Seems we both played our hands, the UFA have sent a force to us, and we have shelled where they have come from. The Aero's are decimating their forward line, and our defensive line is engaging their forward elements.

Nive, be a sport and contact allies in the area between us. Tagmatine and Batory alike, to be on the lookout for UFA armored elements attempting to push forth. Nive nodded and immediately set to contacting the legionary communication regiment and they in turn would spread the word. Apparently the UFA had not gotten the memo that they were supposed to be retreating and or losing.

[Oryctolagus cuniculus]

Wullian and the Raiders

The rabbit Colonel Wullian stood on the roughly made airstrip, essentially just a road that had been co-opted into the military effort to repel the League's aerial forces, namely the godforsaken Takhisian airships that were sailing the heavens above raining down death from above onto the poor bastards defending the terrain. He snapped the riding crop against his left leg, before glancing at the rest of the aircraft resting so serenely.

The Tagmatine he'd gone up against had sent a few of his pilots to the next stage of battle, their fighters impacting into the earth or exploding mid-air. Even shot him down no less, but that was as it was. Knights of the air must often duel to the death, so Wullian paid him no ill will. He would have tried to do the same to him or her if the chance had been his, cant hold a grudge when one is guilty of the same actions. A row of thirty pilots were arranged before said aircraft, helmets in paws, salutes sharp and crisp. They were pulled from all over the Commonwealth, rabbits, hares, stoats, even a few minks. All bore the combat uniform however, all were brothers and sisters of the Air Service. They were his raiders.

" Well Raiders, it is that time again. We are going to be put to our mettle. Our target, is that of the Takhisian beasts in the sky." He snapped about from his forward facing position to look upon them, with a slight shrug of that nose of his sending whiskers back and forth to the right and left. " The air cover is thin, the League believes in the air cover provided by the Takhisians, and limited helicopter support by the Haru."

He placed a paw upon the nose of the HAD 22 that led the pack of the line and then patted it. " We are outfitted for ground assault, because the armor is thick. But imagine the hope you will give to your brothers and sisters upon the ground, if even one of these beasts is downed. They fight even now, dying by the dozens perhaps more. Contact is limited with the frontline. However.." He turned and pointed towards the low mountains. " One merely has to listen to the thunder that no natural storm provides."

" Wings one and two shall take an easterly approach. Wings three and four shall skirt the western range and pincer attack. Wings five and six shall join me in the frontal assault. May your wings be light, may you soar like a leaf upon the wind, may you die honorably if you must." Wullian saluted those pilots and then spoke the classic line. " Pilots to your aircraft." Said pilots dispersed and with the aid of ground crews, began to board their respective fighters. Wullian was the last to do so, taking stock of the field as it was arrayed.

The howl of jet engines roaring to life swept down the makeshift airstrip dotted with anti-aircraft positions and troops. One by one aircraft taxied forth and then shot down the road turned runway, aircraft drifting upwards as the tricycle landing gear folded up and in. Wullian and his support wings followed soon enough and once within the air, assumed the classic phalanx position. Their targets would be in range soon, as they skirted from the north over the low mountain range. The radar signature massive, and not alone, it seemingly covered the scope in all directions. Tone was not hard, and wings five and six as one deployed their two anti-aircraft missiles of the the R2-1A variety, a smaller version of the larger surface to air R4 missile employed on the ground. Smoke contrails zipped behind the missiles as they streaked towards their targets.

As distance closed and the size of their enemy greeted them, as did it's fire, Wullian was already through the center of them and past. The amount of fire was insanity, rounds tore across the sky, as did the chattering of probably dedicated anti-aircraft fire. A silver glint in the eye from above and he spun his fighter like a corkscrew, narrowly avoiding a fate a wingman did not. A silver hued push prop dove past, cannon firing and the left most HAD 22b fighter was torn apart into as many fragments as if hit by an explosive device.

Intel hadnt told him about support fighters! He cursed and radioed towards the other wings. " Watch your tails, the enemy has support fighters. Keep to long range engagements as much as possible and do not go low to the deck. The enemy is a push prop type, it will excel at lower ranges." He cursed again as he sought the ceiling that would be much higher then the enemy aircraft, and he was right as the 22b surged upwards and the enemy withdrew. He however was not beyond the range of flak as the black puffs of smoke began to fill his vision.

Damn these Takhisians!

[Holstria]

The bombardment had slightly halted the Schwarze Garde but their advance now was unwavering. They again reached the outskirts passing by houses, swerving slightly to the right they were now on the main road. There was nothing ahead of them now but countryside and the enemy positions guarding the way to the main city. From the small town it turned into lush open fields lined with trees and bushes. The enemy knew the Holstrians were coming, it would only be a matter of time before a fight started. But perhaps the Schawrze Garde could throw them off for a moment. As Captain Van Dorn got onto the radio to bring word his force was moving forward the infantry began to deploy themselves into the fields, laying low they eagerly waited for their new orders.

With word relayed, Van Dorn quickly turned his blackened face towards the rear of the force, the D-30 Howitzer's had arrived just moments before and had made their way to the front. The battery quickly wheeled into place and it's crew set it up properly for battle. From there they began to fire towards the front in unison. The shells smashed trees and shrub that could provide a concealed defensive position. The Holstrians would pound and shell their way across Karthay. In addition the Infantry were supported by their mortar teams, all this would do nicely. Meanwhile, the lead teams who were tasked with making sure the road was clear of IED's or any explosives made their way up the road again. They had survived one bombardment so they were no doubt a bit stressed on their second attempt.

Heavy plumes of smoke drifted into the air as they bombarded everything ahead. Van Dorn finally recieved word from a static filled voice over the radio, the assualt would continue as planned. Van Dorn and the Infantry would advance on both flanks of the tanks as they moved into the countryside, the challengers of course would spearhead the assualt as they moved down the road. Any attempt to hit them would be called in and the battery would blast it with direct fire if it wasn't destroyed by the main force.

The tanks lurched forward with life and the Infantry began to rush forward for the next bit of cover. The battery continued with it's indirect fire support, if the Holstrians could make a quick and damaging push for the next few miles they would be within reach of their allies.

[Siltrin Calussai]

Drop It Like It's Hot

The Sariya (Cloud) LCH-07A skimmed along the treetops like a nearly silent ghost, it's all black body only illuminated by the random explosions and so forth as it hurtled along at nearly maximum air speed towards its destination. While other League members were about to assault a bridge, the specialist forces requested by the Xukuthites, and accepted rather grudgingly. It would not do to deny it because the other nations forces would then risk further casualties, and so the military command of external security had deemed the request approved.

This was how Israd found herself aboard a helicopter and above the war torn nightmare that had become the jungle landscape of Karthay. The sleek suits worn by the External Branch were composed to look like ninja outfits. Black pull over mask and hood, tabi boots and socks. Of course it was also layered with a kevlar covering that conformed to the user of said attire. From under the hood came goggles of soft green, and they were traversing the ground as it sped by at just over a two hundred fifty kilometers or so.

She and her three person team were to be deployed just above the bridge via a still standing middle-rise building. A radio tower held a crooked stance atop it's roof, blown mostly to pieces by an airstrike earlier in the day most likely. As the whirly bird came up above the trees, and towards the building, hovering a bit above it. A hand gesture, and then she and her team one by one rappelled down the two rope lines extended towards the glass and wreckage adorned rooftop under the swaying remains of the tower.

Israd and her team carried weapons of suppression, rather large in that, but nevertheless, that was their intended role for this operation as their transport began to slip away into the night once more. The HIA HCLRR-03 Anti-Material Rifles were set upon their bi-pods, with 14.5mm high velocity, armor-piercing cartridges being clicked into place. One more thing was done as they set up, keying in the IFF code so that the other League members would not target the building out of habit and practice.

Once set up, she took stock of the scene at hand. The bridge was a vibrant glow of lights, body signatures, and hardware. Israd checked her timepiece, and motioned to the others. It's almost time. Let us begin. Order was given and the first spotter checked the targets at hand, relayed them to the sniper near her and there was a loud booming sound. Someone was about to have a bad day, and Israd's spotter Uhman watched as a man was torn in half in the cupola of the nearest armored vehicle at the right most bridge berm. Through Israd's scope she had a target, and Uhman's field glasses seconded the target.

An enemy sniper had lifted his head, probably trying to track movement across the river. As Israd squeezed the trigger, the long rifle barked and sent a grooved 14.5mm round into the hostiles ribs. It more then likely continued on at an unabated pace through the spotter beside, and onwards at that. There was body lifting up by the wave force of the round hitting and then the enemy sniper was left dangling from the ropes and straps that had secured and now acted as support.

They would continue to do their work as ordered, handing out death towards the bridge defenders as the other League forces had begun to mobilize and push towards the ultimate goal of taking and securing it. Yutani, the other sniper spotted an enemy uniform attempting to rappel down and under the bridge. Probably a sapper. She put a round right into the back, probably lower spinal region, and watched as the body nearly split apart, washing the rope and the paint of the bridge with a chunky red paste.

Concentrate on the bridge personnel attempting to get underneath A murmur of acknowledgements and the sniper team switched from taking out stationary targets to those actively attempting to make their way under the bridge or assuming positions of defense. Twin barrels thus began a reign of terror upon the UFA forces so far below and away, rounds tearing into infantry forces that attempted to bolster positions. Bodies were twitching and tossed aside with efficiency that could only come from aim that did not see the enemy as anything but points of obstruction to be removed.

[The Order of Takhisis]

Death From On High

Wullian's " Raiders " with their HAD 22b's outfitted for anti-tank duty flew at the enemy airships, using extreme range they formed a line astern on the starboard bow of the nearest vessel and went into a shallow dive on a course at right angles to the ship and crossed from starboard to port. When on the port bow they turned to port losing height the whole time, and flew on the port beam reciprocal to that of the ship.

This movement was repeated many times as they did a series of 'blue turns' and waves of two or three came toward the ship at a time in line abreast. The deflection at all times was great up to the final moment when they turned toward the ship...due to the high speed of the machines, the time between their turn to firing course and the missile release was very small.

Lord of Host, Amon Ka'et stood at the ready upon the command deck of the Arwen, flagship of the 1st Vanguard. A destroyer had been well, destroyed. The smaller airship had been struck by several missiles from the dozen or so jet fighters that had come from the northern mountainous range. It wouldn't take any sort of smarts to realize that an UFA airbase was over there.

He dearly hoped none of the League forces were near where the destroyer was currently sinking to, the smaller vessel was a shadow of it's former self, ablaze and smoking heavily as it 'sunk', Amon Ka'et watched it's demise as it impacted into a suburban area, followed by the flash of a large explosion that sent debris every which way and up. The magnite reactor had gone critical and the impact into the ground and the concrete only served to enhance it's release. A bluish-white mushroom cloud roiled up towards the heavens, while a wall of white blew through the area of impact for hundreds of meters in all directions. A concussive force that would toss people and vehicles about like ragdolls near the epicenter of such.

He struck the crew with orders, and the Vanguard came alive with anti-fighter weaponry. Tracers from the emplacments began to stitch the sky itself. Green and reds dancing upon the wind as if so much a holiday greeting. Tara Ohinian had already issued orders to the pilots and in time silver hued push props had darted out to greet their enemies so. A jet howled past the command bridge tower, heavy rounds from an anti-tank cannon barking and impacting into the armored coverings. It was not without it's own dangers as two fighters of Takhisisan make were right on it's tail.

Night Warrior Deskin of the 1st Wing, throttled back just a bit, and the UFA jet overshot him, streaking past. Not as fast as it might have liked, it was outfitted for ground assault after all. All those bombs and ammunition made it heavier, and thus as Deskin pushed forward once more, his sights upon the tail of the jet, he depressed the trigger on his flight stick. All four thirty millimeter guns responded at once and in short order did the jet become a fireball, drifting downwards to explode soon after. The UFA had made a serious blunder, their jets were to heavy to use their speed, and to ponderous now to fight off the lighter Dhac strike fighters. As the skies filled with the burnt silver wings of his comrades, one by one the jets were being struck down. Oh sure they had lost a few though, the UFA pilots were quite excellent. They knew the flaws of their aircraft, especially geared as they were. However it only took a single shot from that massive fifty millimeter anti-tank gun to shred a Dhac apart as it were composed tissue paper.

Many of the newer pilots had died in this fashion, and one of his friends had been caught in a pincer attack, shredded from either side by the HAD 22b's deadly twenty millimeter cannonry. He himself was hoping to spot the ace of this group, and had done so, seeing a single jet avoid a downward strike by another fighter and angle itself for a more appropriate attack run. As the jet hurtled past the flagship, Deskin could see the rounds of impact from the heavy gun against the command bridges armored plates. Another pass like that and it might get through. Teeth clenching he pushed himself to chase, joined by another comrade. Night Warrior Lehm of the 2nd Wing.

Apparently both had witnessed such and decided that a second pass would need to be avoided. He informed his wing mates of his plan and they shrouded his pursuit, keeping the other UFA pilots busy so that he could pursue. As he lined up a shot, he tested the enemy pilot with a burst from the guns and watched as the HAD 22b flew a corkscrew before a high banking turn. An area that Deskin could not hope to match, so he turned upwards and chased at an angle, the nose cannon stitching a trail after the faster jet.

This is where Lehm came in, flying at a higher ceiling then that of Deskin, as the enemy fighter came about to level out, Lehm was there to fill the canopy with high velocity rounds. Punching through the glass, metal and the body within, the enemy jet crumpled and then broke apart into many fiery pieces. The enemy pilot had been good, but wasn't the only ace. As Deskin and Lehm came back around, both caught sight of a jet stitching another of their comrades to pieces before darting low and to the ground. His pace suggested he was leaving the combat area, and through voices over the communique sets, it was universal. The UFA raiders were high tailing it from the combat area, having lost ten of their own to the six of the Vanguard.

In retaliation for the attack, the Vanguard repositioned itself and began to thunder artillery strikes towards the Karthian city once more. This time near the central districts and the main thoroughfares that had been mostly untouched from before. As the bombardment got under way, it was clear that the targeting was done to form an area about the base of the airships main presence. Smaller vessels, and lightly armed at that were coming in low, hanging maybe twenty meters from the ground. Rappel lines weighted down with iron struck the torn earth and upon them, came the Ariakan Naval Legionnaires. The ANL forces once upon the earth were quickly setting up forward firebases and gathering points as the next cargo would be parachuted armor and so on.

The goal of the ANL was to push towards the UFA occupied bridge sector and aid the growing League presence. If nothing less then to serve as a distraction to through UFA forces into a conniption. An officer in charge of this chaos for the moment was that of Major Thamli, who had served for many years within the Huukach Taalogekhec Taagelaan, and then had been offered service within the ANL. He stood just over six feet tall, grey hair matted close to his head and bearing a mark of the mercenary service behind right ear and down a bit of his throat. His skin was tanned, and he wore glasses of a generic make, familiar to any within an armed service. Black plastic square spectacles that served a singular purpose and nothing else. His uniform was of a khaki hue, sectionalized a bit with a combat harness and webbing about the waist. A helmet worn, also adorned with webbing of the same hue and an ace of spaces placed gingerly within it.

His M22 Battle Rifle held comfortably as he issued orders and briskly walked about the controlled nightmare of landing troops and parachuting in vehicles. The first of many had already arrived, one of which he would use alongst with his personal Turmae, and the rest would be utilized by the 23rd Ariakan Legion which comprised three thousand legionnaires of the mechanized infantry variety. Several other officers had already disembarked and were pulling their forces out of the muck for the ready march and push. There were light infantry, mechanized infantry, armored corps, and others being deployed under the watchful guns of the Vanguard up above.

Fighters streaked by overhead much to the hollaring and whooping of the legionnaires below who would begin assaulting the positions those very same fighters were bombing and teasing with cannon fire. Volleys from the destroyers were now joining in, angered by the loss of a sister ship, those rounds were being delivered towards the coastal line of the river. Apparently the UFA had small river deterrent craft out, and those were being targeted with murderous efficiency.

[The Batorys]

OOC: Bolded section written by Machina Haruspex

So dirty and battered as to appear a column risen from the Earth itself, the Euxine Vipers proceeded down the road, following their Haru allies. They did not charge, they did not rush headlong, yet their pace was deceptively quick. Bits of foliage from the bombardment clung, in addition to the dirt, to their gear. More gruesome were the occasional red splotches... some wounds, and many trophies. Fingers, ears, in some cases tails, and hanging from the belts of some light infantrywomen, more unsettling keepsakes, still, with the most being worn by a waifish corporal. At the sight of a barrier to their path, an order to halt came down through the ranks.

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

"Figures there'd be a fucking bridge," Scamper cursed.

The other sapper he was engaged in conversation with nodded. Alhazred was not a man of many words. "No alternative?"

A sigh escaped the older veteran's lips. "No, what info we've received from the other League forces says it's the only one for miles, and some lights just went and confirmed it."

"They know we need it." Originally an immigrant, despite his younger age, Alhazred was considered now one of the old guard of the 27th, having joined, like Giggles, when still below the minimum legal age for recruits. They'd both been hanging around a garrison when the Southern Foray had occurred and suddenly they were an army. He was, however, new to sapping. "They'll make this difficult."

Now it was Scamper's turn to nod. "Yep. If only we should be so lucky to have stupid enemies. They're no fools, in the UFA, from what I've seen so far. They'll make taking this very difficult. If I was them, I'd dig in, make taking the bridge a blood bath. And then I'd blow it up once I had to fall back from it, while the other guys were still all on it."

"And so, we halt."

"So we do."

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

On a hill overlooking the arrayed Batory 27th Army, Tagmatine paratroopers in tow, and the Haru 177th Vlos Zun, several figures converged. In the distance, sounds of shellfire, martial fury, could be heard. Such were echoes, still earth-rattling, of the cataclysmic breakdown of diplomacy, of politics devolving back to its most primal and essential state. Yet here, for the time being, the whisper of the wind in the trees and grasses could be heard above the din, if only barely. A further dichotomy between the tranquil island paradise and the strife of nations, the intermingling of such sounds.

The figures were a study in contrast. A tall moroii, wearing the helm of a berserking raider from the Empire's past, and various accoutrements that reinforced the look, crossed his arms as he reached place where the meeting convened. His sleeve markings, barely visible amidst the other odd add-ons, identified his rank as that of Fist. His eyes glinted golden, and though his expression here was severe, they were the eyes of one who laughed easily. The woman next to him was short, thin, and looked as if she hadn't washed in weeks, her brown hair hanging in greasy braids under her helmet, itself not of standard issue, with a bullet hole making it obvious it had been taken from the fallen. Finger bones hung from various parts of her uniform, most weathered, but some apparently fresh. Obviously to any familiar with the Batory military, a light infantrywoman. Under the dirt and grime covering her tattered fatigues, the Fist's rank markings were almost unidentifiable. A wry half-smile, under layers of dirt, softened her angular face somewhat, and it seemed that if she smiled fully, her visage would be transformed.

A third hyperborean, a Sub-Fist, wore something much closer to the standard issue uniform, albeit very well-worn, and clearly many times repaired in the field, the dark grey much faded and stained. Unlike the first two, he had the look of one who never laughed, or even smiled. Another Sub-Fist followed him, in what was barely recognizable as a uniform. In fact, it really wasn't. The ranking officer of the Engineers, followed in turn by another Fist.

Rounding out the group were a Tagmatine, apparently the highest ranking of the paratroopers that could be rounded up, and one of the Haru, attired in the ominous face-concealing accoutrements typical of the Sovereign Imperium's soldiery.

Arriving last to the impromptu-appearing meeting were three women. A fairly tall woman with red hair and a vaguely military look, though it was impossible to tell her rank, if she had on, was the first of the trio, but the second was the one with an aura of command. She also had no rank markings, wearing a well-worn, plain, standard issue uniform of a lowly soldier, her dark hair cropped short like a recruit's. Behind her, a very confused looking Tagmatine pilot was the last up the hill.

For a few minutes, none spoke. The red-haired woman unfolded a map, laying it on the ground, unceremoniously weighting its corners with rocks. The map depicted the same bridge that was visible far in the distance, illuminated by the setting sun. It would be a lovely scene, in fact, except for the knowledge that the bridge was held by dug-in UFA soldiers.

Quietly, the woman with the recruit's uniform, queried the Sapper, who nodded in the affirmative. Satisfied, she began gesturing at the map, first addressing one of the Fists and the Haru, indicating a frontal assault upon the enemy positions, before moving onto the unwashed light infantrywoman, indicating a spot on the river some distance away from the bridge, and around a bend. The light infantrywoman responded, and gestured to the Tagmatine paratrooper, to which the commander nodded her assent. Last, she turned to the tall Fist in the archaic helm.

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

Siet Khan (Captain, roughly) Nakem had been amongst the meeting of the officers on the hill. His second, Ji (Lieutenant) Vers had also been there while the rest of the light company awaited the order to move out. As an officer, Nekam wore the respirator without the faceplate, though he still had the customary blue tinged goggles covering his eyes. His uniform was a type of hazmat like suit with combat rigging atop of it.

Thus as he grinned a bit at the plan, such could be seen. It was almost a wry look. The plan cooked up by the Batorys was bold, and it offered the chance of a beautiful death, the kind that could only come in this sort of war.

In the rough hewn Europan (English) around these allies, he spoke up.We will take the right flank and curve about, heading for the supports and walkways of the bridge, clearing out enemy infantry in the way ahead of the sappers. Provided we reach the opposite of the bank, we will link up with others and begin pushing against the Harukians and assorted UFA others.

Vers spoke then, after his commander had done so, and added a bit to the map as well. He used rocks to symbolize the armor he was speaking of. Siet Khan Dolva, and the Vlos Zun, Mechanized 68th are reinforcing our rear lines. Her forces comprise infantry fighting vehicles and medium infantry forces, and she has agreed to be the main thrust across the bridge from our end, aiding our allied forces doing the same.

Nekam grinned a bit again, even as he cast a half look to the bridge below and in the distance.May we die well friends. He stepped back, saluted the Batory and Tagmatine sorts present and then he and Vers headed down the mountain and to their company to prepare them for war, glorious war.

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

"Come on, let's hear it, what are you looking at? Who's up there?" Bright Eyes was tired of waiting for Kazinsky and Giggles to expound on what they were observing through their binoculars.

"Some kind of meeting," the sniper replied, as if he'd barely heard the question.

Katerina Katerindat, one of the few infantrywomen to have kept her real name (at boot camp, her superiors had decided that it was cruel enough on its own), grunted in curiosity. "Meeting of who? You didn't answer that part."

"Looks like our and the light's Fist Sprite, Fists Farkas and Kas, some sapper, a couple purples, a mask," started Kazinsky before Giggles cut him off.

Looking back to the rest of the squad, the tiny woman interjected "And Siras, Eresa's with her."

The sniper looked at her with annoyance. "I was going to say that."

"Whatever, too slow," she dismissed him. "As usual."

The rest of the squad groaned, knowing that another round of bickering was just beginning.

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

As the sun neared the horizon, the hyperboreans made no apparent attempt on the bridge. Every so often, there would be more intense exchanges of gunfire with the Harukians dug in there. For the most part, however, engagement remained intermittent, the Euxine Vipers, in rotating groups, making probes towards the bridge just often enough to be a nuisance, perhaps even a nerve-rattling one. Beneath the sound of gunfire could be heard the movement of heavy machinery.

Gumdrop stood with Fist Sprite as they watched the engineers bringing up a host of contraptions, many of them for bridge laying, others assault gear. "Bridges?" she said, her inflection rising to form a question.

Sprite nodded, her earlier half-smile gone. "In case the operation fails."

The previously wounded light infantrywoman nodded. For whatever reason, Fist Sprite had made the casualty an attache of sorts. Taller than the commander of the 27th's, Gumdrop had in common with her superior a home city, Istengrad. However, she was from the temple quarter, whereas Sprite hailed from the slums.

They stood in silence for a while as twilight encroached on the scene. "You know your responsibilities after those of us who are going cross the river?"

Obviously, in her wounded state, Gumdrop was among those who would stay on this side. She nodded, and went to help finish organizing the light infantry, with the Tagmatine paratroopers, for the upcoming river crossing.

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

Alhazred coughed as the other man's hand impacted his back.

"Well, looks like you get to do some more real sapping," Scamper said, enthusiastically.

The younger soldier did not seem nearly so happy about it.

"It'll be quite a time, lad." Noticing the more recent sapper's concerned face, Scamper added "What? Are you afraid of heights."

"Maybe a bit." Until relatively recently, Alhazred had been a machine gunner. He did not relish the prospect of crawling around on the underside of a bridge.

A bit more sympathetic than he'd appeared, Scamper nodded. "You'll get used to it. It can take a while, though. You know the signal, best get to your squad."

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

As the sounds, sights, and smells of distant battle, the gunfire, flashes of explosions, the scent of burning, sporadically made themselves evident, Potshards looked to the night sky. Not eternal, he knew, but perhaps closer to it than anything decided here, or in any human battle would be. Most of the same stars had shone down upon the First Empire, after all, and on those who lived even before it. Just as most of the same stars would still shine on whoever lived in the world thousands of years hence. A horn interrupted his contemplation, and he looked back to his squad.

"Go time," he spoke simply.

They followed the other mixed and medium infantry, rushing from cover to cover towards the bridge. Screams filled the night, intensifying after the crack and flash of munitions. This time, his squad was in the rear. Ahead, he could see more intense battle, hyperboreans and Harukians killing and dying.

As ordered, his squad did not actually proceed to the bridge, but to the embankment to one side of it. Giggles and Kazinsky, at his hand gesture, separated from the rest to find a position offering a good angle from which to snipe. The rest of the squad would be positioned closer, but still to the side.

There was little, if any talking, in such maneuvers. With the exception of Bright Eyes, they'd fought and trained together for years, and he knew the various signals used well enough. One place of cover to the next. Despite their appearance when not in action, like most of the rest of the Vipers, Potshards knew his squad was quite capable of professionalism and efficiency when in combat.

At their assigned point, he could see the Haru and the Medium Infantry also approaching the bridge, their progress slow. A counterattack was attempted, but its moment faltered somewhat when Bright Eyes and the other machine gunners, who had been holding back, lay into the Harukians. That familiar rhythmic barking, then blood, gore, more sounds of dying, the tableau of war.

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

One would never guess that the silent pair of soldiers that made their way to an outcropping overlooking the river and bridge was the same that provided a constant soundtrack of argument for Potshards. Signalling each other with rapid hand movements, they crept silently along the bank.

The sniper's eyes widened as the small light infantrywoman signaled that the outcropping was not unoccupied. More slowly, the crept forward. It seemed that the Harukians had anticipated the assault, and hadn't intended to leave this bank entirely uncontested, even this far away.... it also seemed that the enemy had similar thoughts about the use of this outcropping.

All the spotter saw before blood was pouring out his throat and a knife was buried in his gut was a figure whirling toward him. As the enemy sniper himself made to use his sidearm, a rifle butt slammed into his head from the other side.

Having checked around the area for more hidden playmates, Giggles looked down at the stunned enemy soldier. Younger even than herself, with an innocent, boyish look. As he groggily looked up, she crouched over him, flicking out a knife. "Don't scream," she cooed. "I can make this much worse."

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

Sprite was not averse to water, despite the light infantrywomen's tradition of not bathing when in the field. On the contrary, she quite liked swimming. However, doing so with the requirement of remaining as close to silent as possible, with the risk of dying, in the middle of the night, in the midst of a battle, was not her idea of a relaxing swim.

The sounds of battle from further along the river, around the bend, were clearly distinct. Men and women were dying, enemy and friend alike. And the latter were dying for a feint. For a distraction to cover her task. The weight of human lives was one she'd carried before, but it was never comfortable. Occasionally, she looked towards the Tagmatines, but they seemed to be comfortable enough following light infantry. Most of the force had only their heads above water, their rifles having been wrapped prior.

Following the men and women, mostly the latter, of her command, Sprite crouched upon reaching the opposite bank. The noise of battle at the bridge was still deafening.

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

Munitions flew. Seconds later, the eggs of death hatched, sending fire and shrapnel flying, rending and burning flesh, screams sounding immediately as the explosives detonated. In the seconds after, groans and and more cries added to the cacophony of battle.

All was chaos, or so it might seem to the casual observer. Behind the lines, Alhazred scrambled to his next assigned position. Being a sapper seemed to involve quite a bit more running than he'd realized. After each volley, he'd had to shift position, partly to mask the steady exodus of his fellow engineers from the lines.

"Let's go lad, time for us to go under," came the oddly cheerful announcement of Scamper, who was leading the contingent of sappers to which Alhazred was assigned. Time to go under. Under the bridge. Crouching behind the lines, rushing from cover to cover, flinging the occasional munition towards the defenders, spreading yet more carnage. In a way, the scene, with the Harukians holding to the bridge, with hyperboreans, Haru, and further away, Tagmatines, attempting to wrest control of this crucial point, could be emblematic of the history of humanity. One side controlled a resource, or mobility past a natural barrier, as after all, the river could be viewed as both, and the other side wanted it. So both sides bled, the junction of their contact a raw, bleeding wound.

They were among the last. Those who had arrived earlier were already making an awfully provocative dare to the forces of gravity. He stood with several sappers, or rather crouched, in the lee of the bridge, right where its underside met the bank. While still deafening, the tumult of battle seemed oddly distant with the bridge above them, though the rumble as some munitions detonated was a bit unsettling. Following the others, he got his gear ready and strapped himself in, inwardly wondering why anyone ever actually volunteered, as he'd heard many did, for placement in the corps of engineers. Leaving the safety of the solid ground, his stomach turned when he made the mistake of looking at the river below. Scamper's good-natured chuckling mocked him.

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

Kazinsky didn't dare look to his fellow Euxine Viper's belt. After they'd initially entered this area, Giggles had fended off several attacks from Harukians stationed on this side of the bridge specifically to interdict efforts like their own. Thus, she'd added several more "worms" to her belt. Briefly glancing at her face, Kazinsky did not look long, not wishing to observe the woman's crazed grin longer than he had to. The brief look was enough to note that there was what looked like blood on the light infantrywoman's unwashed face, whether splattered there or from other activities, the sniper didn't want to think about.

"How's our prisoner doing?"

Giggles' grin evaporated. "Fine," she said coldly. "Unconscious," she sighed. "Katerindat and Potshards came and picked him up." The small woman was silent for a bit. "I still don't see why I couldn't have worked on him at least a little."

It was now Kazinsky's turn to sigh. "Because that's not how we do it. First Sergeant's kindly face with his stupid mustache, and then your knives if that doesn't work."

"But since we've done it that way, I usually don't get to use my knives on them!," Giggles hissed.

"Yes," the sniper said, clearly annoyed. "I'm pretty sure that's the point." He fired off another shot.

Peering into the darkness, the other Euxine Viper murmured "Nice shot," seeing a body go limp, dangling from the bridge, after hearing Kazinsky's shot.

"That one wasn't mine," the sniper whispered back. "Did you see the angle on the impact?" He seemed to be talking more to himself now. "Shot came from the other side of the bridge... we're getting help from someone..." Head popping up for a second, he looked back at Giggles. "Anyway, why are you still here? You're supposed to be guarding my ass."

At this, the other Viper scurried back to lie in wait.

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

Almost done. Even as the night breeze carried with it a slight chill, sweat poured from Alhazred's face as he finished neutralizing an explosive device. His fingers ached. His stomach, on the other hand, seemed to be better now that he had evacuated its contents into the river below, at which the older sapper behind him had expressed her amusement with a wry grin. Likewise, Scamper, ahead of him, seemed completely comfortable with hanging upside down, and were it not for the need for silence, the green sapper imagined that the veteran would likely be humming a jaunty tune to himself.

Done. Slow exhale of relief, and the arduous process of moving forward. It seemed as though they'd been under the bridge, oriented opposite to that which was natural for humans, for days. Of course, it had only been a couple hours, but it was still quite a long time. At first, things had gone smoothly, and their enemies on top of the bridge had seemed blissfully unaware... well, not quite blissfully with the medium infantry, mixed infantry, and Haru attacking, but in any case, unaware of the sappers' presence. In the last twenty minutes, that had changed. Where before, once he had gotten a bit more used to being upside down it had been reasonable and almost relaxing work, now the enemy had noticed them and so Alhazred found himself practically hugging the underside of the bridge and its support girders, positioning himself for cover rather than comfort. Quite a few of the engineers now had been hit. Some dangled where they'd been hit, others had been in the process of moving and so had plummeted to the water below. It had become essentially a three sided battle, or would have, if the 27th's sappers could defend themselves. As they worked, the Harukian snipers and sappers targeted them, and in turn, were fired upon by the Vipers' own snipers.

The bearded Scamper looked back, grinning, having apparently finished his assigned portion of the bridge. Up ahead, some of the sappers who had gotten onto the underside of the bridge before them had reached the other side, and were clambering down. A shot rang out, and suddenly Alhazred's superior was dangling by his cables. The former machine-gunner realized that Scamper had been hit, and looked around in alarm. Silently, he watched, helpless, as, with typical yet chilling acceptance, the older sapper managed a shrug, and a pained smile, before detaching his cables and letting himself fall, vanishing into the dark water below.

Another shot rang out, causing Alhazred to jump, and in an instant, he realized he had not finished moving, and therefore, his cabling wasn't attached to anything. At the last instant, his hands, extended above him as he fell, caught on the lip of a support girder. A scream sounded from somewhere, and he could see a Harukian sapper rappelling down to finish the job. Another shot, and Alhazred found himself spattered with blood. The Harukian hung nearly in two pieces, entrails spilling out, blood leaking to join the already sullied river far below, a look of surprise on the enemy's face. In a way, through the horror, it was oddly amusing. Though, his fingers weakening, the hyperborean sapper expected this to be among the last of things he saw in this lifetime, a hand reached out, and he instinctively grasped it.

The older sapper behind him had caught up, and they pulled close enough for him to hook onto her gear while he rigged his own up. Quickly, they proceeded with the rest of the operation, managing to avoid enemy bullets long enough to reach the other side. As his feet touched the ground, he let himself sink against the welcoming earth, eyes closing in relief. After a moment, the same saving hand hauled him to his feet, and then pointed down the river, some distance away. Alhazred squinted, and could barely make out figures slinking along the bank, towards the bridge.

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

The breeze was enough to chill the bones, at least when still quite damp. The march, or rather, the skulk, down the riverbank had been uncomfortable, but now as she neared her objective, the warmth of movement had alleviated the cold, somewhat... at least when the wind wasn't blowing. So many gripes, and sadly, silence was imperative. Not that Sprite actually minded. This was the life of a career light infantrywoman. Discomfort was part of the job. Light Infantry was the traditional role of the Batory clan's own female scions specifically because it was uncomfortable and difficult. It was not only something that appealed to their wilder natures, but a gesture of how seriously they took the military, that Empresses were almost always veterans of one of its tougher assignments.

With the bridge just around a bend, forward progress had been halted, scouts sent ahead. One returned now. Of a height with the diminutive Fist, the woman had a sort of nervous, mousy look about her. Still, the finger bones tied to her uniform revealed she'd seen action. "Report?" Sprite whispered.

As if startled, the scout's eyes widened. "Oh, yes. Right. Sappers just reaching the opposite bank now, seems to be a bit of a firefight starting."

Nodding, the Fist dismissed the scout, and motioned the column forward again. The purples, the Tagmatines, seemed to wrinkle their noses as the scout passed by on her way back to the front line. Apparently her... odor was still about her. Sprite hadn't noticed it, but then, she wouldn't, being used to the vapors of the light infantry. How that particular tradition started, no one seemed to know. As long as anyone could remember, the light infantry, the only infantry role to be filled mostly by women, had followed a tradition of not bathing when in the field. No one knew why. It had even been mentioned in various historical records, dating back to the time of the Dragoness.

The bridge was within sight now. The sounds of battle had become muffled as they'd earlier traveled farther from it, but now they returned, traveling clearly and loudly across the water. Gunfire, detonations, and of course, the ever present screams. In her time, Sprite had been able to develop an ear even for identifying a likely cause of death from a scream. Some she heard sounded like the last discharge of air and fury from those who had been shot, or hit with shrapnel. Others, the wounded. The sound of a soldier falling to inevitable death from a height. And, of course, the agonized shriek of someone on fire, burning to death, the nerves responsible for detecting pain nearly overwhelmed. She saw a figure rappelling from the bridge, only to be cut nearly in half by a sniper's bullet. No sound came from this one.

But there were the sappers, under the bridge, and now it came time to reveal their presence at last. A call of a bird native to the Plains of Sorrow, and she gave the response. She could see the sappers emerge from under the bridge, and seconds later explosions upon the bridge, the hurled munitions fulfilling their purpose amid the sappers' quarry.

And then followed, immediately, her light infantry's furious assault upon the rear positions of those holding the bridge, the Tagmatines mixed among them. Shrieks filled the air, both of death and of wordless aggression as her soldiers fell upon the Harukian defenders.

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

The sounds of cataclysm from the far side of the bridge reached across the river. Even as familiar as it was, the banshee wail of the light infantry at the moment of impact with the enemy still raised the hairs on the back of Potshards' neck. His squad, as part of the initial attack of medium and mixed infantry, had been pulled back after a couple hours, harrying the enemy, but no longer pushing forward.

"Do they always do that?" he heard a slightly shaking voice say quietly. It had come, of course, from Bright Eyes, who looked visibly chilled.

Before the sergeant could answer, Katerindat did, with a shrug. "Not always. Sometimes they want to maintain secrecy and shit longer. But they do it pretty often." Apparently not bothered by the sound, she kept her eyes on the end of the bridge nearest them, occasionally firing off a shot of suppressive fire.

Potshards only nodded. "Looks like the heavies are making a move," he said, pointing. "

And so they were. Conspicuously absent the previous attack had been the heavy infantry, especially odd considering that frontal assault was their specialty. Now it seemed rather that they'd been held in reserve until this moment.

"Fully kitted out, too," Katerindat noted.

What she referred to were their heavy ballistic shields. Thick enough to stop or at least slow rifle rounds, and wheeled, in most situations these were too unwieldy to use and so stayed behind. The bridge, however, was a significant choke point, and there was only one way to dislodge those defending it.

Providing more mobile cover were bizarre vehicles driven by some of the engineers who remained on this side of the river. With a front much like a bulldozer, the vehicles were yet much lower, smaller, and narrower, the dozer-like front serving as a sort of moving shield behind which infantry could take cover as they advanced. Accompanying them as well were some of the 27th's tanks, referred to in typical archaic fashion as "cavalry." Sappers among the heavy infantry hurled munitions ahead of their advance, again mostly shrapnel and incendiaries.

Slowly, they pushed forward onto the bridge. Enemy heavy machine guns and what sounded like anti-aircraft batteries turned towards targets on the ground inflicted ruinous casualties upon the first wave, but were met in turn with equal ferocity as the advance accelerated.

"Mailed fist?" Bright Eyes asked. It was an ancient term, yet still in use in the army.

"Yep," Katerindat responded. Apparently, this was precisely the type of thing that the term now described.

"What are we supposed to do with the prisoner?" the young machine gunner asked, gesturing to the unconscious figure lying bound and prone nearby.

Potshards shrugged, stroking his mustache with one hand. "Question him, eventually, but mostly keep him away from Giggles, I guess."

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

Kazinsky reloaded. The attack on the far side of the bridge indicated that the sappers had completed their assignment, as did the renewed assault on the near side by the heavy infantry. And so, his role shifted somewhat. For the last few hours, he had targeted mostly enemy snipers, when he could see them, and enemy sappers attempting to prevent the 27th's engineers from succeeding. Now, his list of priority targets expanded, with the new inclusion of those inside those damned pillboxes the Harukians had managed to rig up, gun crews of artillery pieces, and anyone holding a grenade or brandishing an RPG. Of course, now he needn't attempt to be especially subtle about it either, and the sniper found his rate of fire increasing considerably.

His odorous squadmate had returned to his side, there being few enemies left on this side of the river to ambush and eviscerate. Why she wasn't a Dragon's Claw already, with her skills, Kazinsky didn't know. Perhaps Giggles secretly was, but was still assigned to the Euxine Vipers. In any case, now she was acting more as spotter. He could hear the dozens of other sniper teams along this side of the river bank also firing much more often, so much so that the sound seemed almost constant.

"So, Kazinsky," the strange little woman from the far north of the Empire piped up.

"Yeah?" The sniper responded only as he fired another round.

"Potshards has had me tagging along with you on these things for a while now," she paused. "When I spot hostiles for you, and then you shoot 'em... does that add to my count or yours, or both?"

For a brief second, Kazinsky looked over at her, his face a picture of disbelief. "You keep count?" He could see she seemed genuinely concerned by this issue.

Giggles looked at him as if his question, rather than hers, was the crazy one. "Of course! Don't you?"

For a second, the sniper considered noting that not only did he not keep track, but that he thought it was bizarre and disturbing that she did. Only for a second though, before recalling who he was talking to. "You know what.... just count the ones you spot as yours."

He didn't look over to see the look of unfeigned happiness on her face as he squeezed off another round, hearing as she cheerfully pointed out another target.

[Holstria]

The challengers made their way down the road, they had entered some tricky terrain but were managing, they hadn't taken any enemy fire as they had expected. They could hear distant fighting, it was faint but obviously someone was fighting and Van Dorn wanted a piece if it. Only a small amount of time had passed but it had taken its time on the Captain. They should have been passed this already, but they had hit a dangerous spot in the line. But that was behind them, they needed to get into Karthay, word on the radio had been coming in more frequent, and each time it was stressed that they needed to break in.The tops of buildings, some with smoke billowing out had appeared it, it must be Karthay, the only question now was what was waiting for them?

Lt. Gen. Westhus had come ashore the bloody beach, it was still covered with destruction from the days fighting. A base of operations had been erected. Tents, vehicles, artillery and anti-air guns pocketing the area. Various staff were running around the area, especially the hospital, off to the side were the dead lined up in body bags. There were many...

He sighed as he got into a jeep, his staff piling in. Their allies were for the most that he knew of, concentrated in the city just to the front of his forces. Apparently the UFA had stopped them at a bridge. This naturally created a choke point, the challengers could take it though. Westhus wanted this bridge, and quite frankly didn't know any other way across. For now everything was concentrated here and now. If the Corps was lucky, the other league members would have secured it already, but with today's luck that probably wasn't the case. As long they held on to a portion, then everything could continue as planned. But for now, he needed to get up to the front, things could change quickly in war.

The lonely road began to shake as challengers appeared in the distance. Van Dorn and his infantry lined the side of the road, in doing so the Captain passed a broken sign, it welcomed the soldiers into the city, but there wasn't much it could offer. Karthay had been blown to pieces, and if the fighting had been this bad what was left of the League and UFA? The Schwarze Garde could only wonder as they entered this new hell.

[Tagmatium]

Bridge assaults were always difficult, especially since there was always the chance that the enemy would blow it before the attack was pushed home. And the Hekatontarkhes was glad that it wasn’t the 3rd Parachute Peltastoi Tourmarkhon that would be mounting the assault. They would be part of the diversionary force that was flanking the bridge’s fortifications, to provide some distraction so that more of the assaulting units would get there in one piece. Forcing a river-head was still going to be nasty. He rolled his cigarette from one side of his mouth whilst he was mulling over that problem. The poor Bats would be doing so, assaulting what was probably going to amount to a hideous kill-zone.

He hoped that his unit would be one of the last across the river, therefore not actually having to do much. The armour ace had forced a couple of river crossings before, but that experience wasn’t exactly applicable right now, considering the light infantry forces would be making a diversionary attack. Instead, he and his officers was hunkered down behind the remnants of some sort of storage building or shed. Like most of the structures in the local area, it had been virtually shattered by artillery fire from both sides. It still provided cover from any UFA snipers that might be lurking in the area. They were sat in a small semi-circle, perched on bits of rubble or the remains of crates. All of them were filthy from the night’s march and there were scrapes and dings on their kit. Only Isaakios, the Hekatontarkhes noted, actually had an injury of any sort. It would be too good to be true for that to remain the case throughout the rest of the day.

He gave Isaakios a nod as he, youngest of his officers, passed the Hekatontarkhes a mug of tea, made over a flameless heater that had been set up between the kentarkhon’s officers. The Vandoforos sat back down and tried to drink from his own mug, but his swollen mouth and shattered tooth meant that he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“This is going to be a real bitch of an attack,” said the mortar section’s commander, one of the senior NCOs present. Everyone else nodded glumly.

“Been looking over the numbers,” said the Hekatontarkhes. “Our droungos’s in the best nick, so in all likelihood we’ll be amongst the first over, out of the Tagmatine units. The kometes has kindly volunteered us.”

“Glory-seeking fuck,” said the Molaghos bitterly. “Still, he’ll probably be in the front. If I’m hit, he’ll be going as well…” she gestured with her hands and mimed taking a shot.

“I think we’re all going to forget we saw that, Molaghos,” said the armour ace, after a moment of shocked silence because of the junior officer’s outburst. He said it with a slight grin, diffusing the moment of tension and what amounted to an admittance of a plot of mutiny. He took a swig of tea and looked up at the sky overhead. The rays of the setting sun illuminated the palls of smoke that were choking the sky in places. Stars were beginning to shine. They looked so different… so foreign to the ones that were in the sky over the greater Holy Empire. The Hekatontarkhes realised he didn’t want to die under these foreign stars. He gave a slight shake of his head to try to clear that thought.

“I don’t need to remind you people, standard shit applies. If I go, it’s Mike, then it’s Kat, then little Isaakios who’ll be in charge. Then down the change of command further, if necessary. Rob, your dudes’ll be on me. I doubt you’ll get much opportunity to lob bombs at people until we’re over the other side of the bridge.”

The glum faces continued looking at the Hekatontarkhes, who could help but laugh at the long faces. “Cheer up, people. It’s not like you had anything else planned for today.”

---

After being picked up by the Batorys, Hemikentarkhos Symbatios’ life had been strange. She was on her own, without much in the way of contact with her own people. Her allies scared her. They weren’t like good Tagmatine people, they were barbaroi. But they had never treated her badly, although the pilot had felt consistently superfluous to the affairs going on around her. She had had a first had look at a lot of the plans and schemes that had been laid down by the Adjunct’s forces, as the League forces pushed deeper into Karthay. A lot of it hinged on taking this bridge successfully, but it was heartening to see that there were at least some contingency plans in motion as she watched engineering units haul up assault bridges.

Symbatios followed the Adjunct Siras Vuun up the hill, towards where the senior officers of this attack had gathered. The pilot wondered if that were a particularly good idea. If one keen-eyed enemy forward observer took notice of it and sent a barrage their way, this League attack would be beheaded and probably stumble and fail. And she would be dead, never to see the rest of her mates or Kamelaukios again. As they got to the top, the pilot noticed the view. It was, in its own way, breath-taking. It was a shame that so many would soon be dying over it.

She looked around at the group of officers. A Haru was there, dressed in the mask their people were famous for. It was still very strange to be fighting alongside them. Another Batorys soldier looked like an extra from some medieval film and the Tagmatine officer, a tourmarkhes of the Parachute Peltastoi from his rank tabs and insignia, looked like he’d stepped out from a film on the Long War, were in not for the modern aspects of his uniform. He was in his sixties and had an immaculate waxed moustache, a neatly trimmed beard, a monocle and a swagger stick under one arm. The officer winked at her and gave her a kindly smile.

---

The monocle and the facial hair were an affectation, Tourmarkhes Barsymes would have been amongst the first to admit. He believed in creating an image for oneself, especially in the Parachute Peltastoi. He was also a disciplinarian, although not a martinet. The soldiers of the Parachute Peltastoi got regarded as scum by the rest of the Tagmatine military, but Kristoforos Barsymes treated them as the soldiers they were. This was his last command, after a long career of going nowhere. A habit of telling people exactly what he thought of them had seen to that. As light infantry officers went, he guessed he was no good. Being a depot commander for the last fifteen years would do that. But here he was, standing amongst other League commanding officers and about to undertake one of the more dangerous actions of the ground campaign on Karthay so far. The Batorys seemed to be the oddest-dressed out of the clutch on the hill, but Barysmes knew that he couldn’t exactly lay claim to being the most sensibly-dressed either.

A new arrival, another Batorys, turned up, speaking laconically to the rest of them. Oddly enough, she had a pilot in tow. A Tagmatine pilot. A junior officer from the fleet air arm, if Barsymes was any judge, although her flight suit was looking a bit ragged and torn. She looked incredibly out of place and looked around at the officers with something close to apprehension, even fear. He caught her eye and gave her a wink and a smile. The Tagmatine pilot smiled back and seemed to be a bit happier now a friendly uniform could be seen. The new Batorys woman laid out a map on the floor and weighted it down with rocks. A frontal assault by the heavier forces and a flanking manoeuvre by the light infantry forces. The Tagmatine air-dropped light howitzers would be set up on the reverse of the ridge overlooking the river and bridge, to provide some covering fire for the fording of the river and the march towards the UFA-held end of the bridge.

The plan looked good, but plans had a nasty habit of going awry, often at the first moment possible. The bridge itself looked like it would be one of the main points and Barsymes doubted that the UFA forces would be so kind as to have neglected to rig charges on it. His lads and ladies were going to have to pay an awful toll to cross the river in support of the attacking forces, and it saddened him. They were treated like dirt by the rest of the armed forces and now they were being expected to do this - something that most nations would charge the élite of their armed forces with. Not the worst.

The 3rd Tourmarkhon had already suffered not insignificant casualties in the landing, especially the 12th Droungos – that unit had basically been ripped to shreds and he’d been forced to group the remains up together to form a single Kometon. That was now is reserve, ready to move in on the heels of the 9th, 10th and 11th Droungoi, who hadn’t come off particularly lightly in the landing and subsequent movement across the island. However, near to eighteen thousand Tagmatine soldiers would be pressing the attack home, with a further one thousand, five hundred in reserve.

As the rest of the commanders walked back to their units, Barysmes moved towards the Tagmatine pilot.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone like you amongst the barbaroi,” the Tourmarkhes said bluntly.

The pilot gave a slight shrug and pushed her helmet back on her head. “I got shot down making sure that the delegation got away. One of the ones who got shot down, at least. I had the luck of making it out alive and being picked up.”

Barsymes nodded. “Is there anyone you want me to try to get a message to?”

The pilot looked appalled. “You mean you’re not going to take me with you?”

“How could I?” asked the paratrooper officer, spreading his hands. “You’re not a soldier. I imagine you’ve fired your pistol on the range, at targets. That’s not good enough, I’m afraid.” Barsymes shrugged apologetically. “If I were to send you towards combat, it’d end quicker than you would have liked. It’s better that you stay with the high ups than anything else.”

The pilot frowned at Barysmes for a moment, before shrugging her shoulders.

“OK, then,” the pilot said. “Make sure you tell them that Hemikentarkhos Symbatios is raring to get back into an Aetos Thassalion.”

The Tourmarkhes gave a big grin and touched the brim of his bowl-helmet with the tip of his swagger stick. “I’ll tell them that, Hemikentarkhos. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more than that.”

Both of the exchanged nods before the Tourmarkhes walked back towards his unit, swagger stick under his arm.

---

The bottle was empty now and Vandopoulos swung it over-arm towards the UFA positions. He heard it shatter and a Tagmatine voice yelled out a curse in reply. The paratrooper ducked low and pretended that he’d never thrown anything. The nice little fox-hole he’d dug for himself was now occupied by himself and the machine-gunner, who sat crouched low, trying not to draw attention to himself. Vandopoulos was trying to get his flameless heater burning, but it wasn’t working. Hitting it with the flat of his hand, his fist and the butt of his rifle hadn’t seemed to convince it otherwise, either. He could really do with a cup of tea now, as well.

“The Molaghos has said over the comms that we’re not going to be trying to do the bridge, Vando,” said the machine-gunner.

“I know, I heard it myself.” And wasn’t he relieved about that? Let the barbaroi try to force the bridge. The warm glow that the bottle of rum had imparted was long gone. Now there was just the cold, hard realities of sitting in a crude fox-hole and facing the probably-imminent bullets of an enemy that neither the machine-gunner or Vandopoulos would even see. “They said we’d be making an attack somewhere else, drawing their attention away.”

A suicidal mission, from the sounds of it. Probably better odds than attempting to force dug-in enemies from their positions across a bridge, though, Vandopoulos had to realise. Neither one sounds particularly brilliant odds, and he would rather keep himself alive than die on some random foreign island for a bunch of barbaroi he’d never give a shit about. He fished through his webbing and found a small pouch of tobacco and a sheaf of papers. The paratrooper made a small cigarette and gestured towards the machine-gunner who shook his head, and then relented and took it. Vandopoulos made another and lit it with a lighter, before passing it towards the machine-gunner, who lit his own cigarette from it before passing it back.

“The whole thing has waves of horse-shit coming from it. None of us were trained for forcing a beach… river-head like this,” Vandopoulos said after taking a short drag from his smoke. “Even the Hekatontarkhes was a tanker in the Adapton War. Doesn’t give you much of a hope, does it?”

The machine-gunner sat thoughtfully for a moment. Vandopoulos could see the coal of the man’s cigarette grow brighter and dimmer as he worked at it, before the machine-gunner gave a cough and threw it out of the fox-hole.

“No, not really. But Grandpa Barysmes seems to know what he is doing.” ‘Grandpa’ was an affectionate nickname, given to by the ordinary soldiers of the 3rd Parachute Peltastoi Tourmarkhon to their commander – the only one who seemed to actually care about them.

A signal came through both soldiers’ headphones – it was time to move up and head towards the start-lines. Vandopoulos dropped his own smoke to the earth and ground it beneath his boot.

“Well, time to get this shit over and done with, then.”

---

The river looked inky black, even though the overcast sky reflected fires burning in Karthay City and beyond. It looked like it was going to be freezing cold and Isaakios hesitated before wading into it deeper than when the water was lapping at the tops of his boots. A hand in the back of his body armour forced him in further. It was probably one of his own soldiers, but he didn’t turn around to question it. The PDA at his waist was in a waterproof pouch, as was the rest of the gear that he was taking with him and his assault rifle was held over his head. The Tagmatine paratroopers had dumped their non-essential equipment on the League-controlled side of the river. Undoubtedly, the few guards that had been left behind were riffling through packs as their comrades waded towards probable death.

The Tagmatine paratroopers had slogged through darkness for several kilometres before they had reached the fording point. Non-coms amongst the units had made sure that the paratroopers were as silent as they could be whilst walking through the darkness, night-vision equipment on. It had struck Isaakios as eerie, as silence – radio and verbal – was being enforced. Occasionally a paratrooper stumbled, only to be hauled up by those nearest. The atmosphere was tense.

As Isaakios waded into the river, it became deeper and deeper. Soon, he was swimming through it, no longer able to keep his assault rifle from being wet. He hoped that it would function properly when he was across the other side and he really didn’t envy those attempting the crossing with machine guns or mortars. Nonetheless, the heavier equipment would be vital once they’d hit the other bank and were attempting to assault the other side of the bridge. The swimming was awkward and he felt his body armour begin to drag him down. The young officer began to panic and his strokes started to resemble thrashing before he felt the tips of his boots hit the river bed. He was across to the other side and the Tagmatine let out a sigh of relief. Pausing for a moment to get his breath back, Isaakios looked in the direction of the bridge. Fighting seemed to have erupted as the Batorys and Haru units began to assault it, although he couldn't see anything directly - just the flashes and echoes of explosions. He didn’t want to be in their boots.

Now there was the brief march towards the bridge itself. The Vandoforos quickly rounded up his platoon, noting that at least one had drowned in the crossing, one of the machine-gunners. He cursed quietly.

---

At thirty-three years of age, of which sixteen of that had been in the armed forces of the Greater Holy Empire, Rob thought he had been through most things. A tendency not pull his weight as much as he should have had meant that he had got himself deeper and deeper in his commanders’ bad books over the years. The last straw had come when he had told his platoon sergeant that he didn’t feel like getting up for a parade. Sure enough, the man’s threats had borne out and he had found himself in the Parachute Peltastoi. Crossing a river, even whilst not under enemy fire, was probably the worst moment of all, however.

It was a miracle that his entire mortar unit had got across. He had personally swum back out and rescued three of them as they struggled across the river, before dragging five more from other units who had been foundering back to short, one at a time. It was a nightmare, one that they were not trained for. This sort of operation called for an élite force, not the dregs. With the night vision gear, he could see those who hadn’t been so lucky floating down stream. A toll would have been paid just to have crossed the river, let alone taking the bridge.

The Hekatontarkhes and Rob had studied the maps they had been given earlier that evening and had decided that a small ditch and adjoining low wall would be a perfect place to set up the mortar section once they’d got across the river. Doing so was a bit slower than Rob would have liked, as all of his men were tired. He was dog-tired himself, but he got them into position with hissed curses and threats. Other units’ mortars were being put into place. Whilst it wouldn’t be the heaviest barrage, it certainly had the potential to take people by surprise.

Rob coughed quietly, clearing his throat.

“Ok, boss. Me and my lads are in position,” he whispered into his mike. “When you give the word, we’ll open up.”

[Gratislavia]

Europa Region, Tsardom of Gratislavia
Artyomsk Oblast, Artyomsk
Palace of the Iron Tsar

There was an air in the palace, a mix of tension and impatience coupled with the gravity of enveloping situations across the board. The foremost of which involved the League's operation in Karthay, or more specifically the lack of Gratislav participation in the League's operation in Karthay. While official League outlets had been politely apathetic about the situation, it was not hard for the Tsar to gaze across the Ranke Sea and see the possible tensions in Haruspex and Tagmatium should the continued absence of Gratislavians in Karthay be observed. In saying such, the Tsar set about with his councilmen and ministers to divulge some sort of plan to deploy in Karthay.

"Gentlemen I think we can all agree that the time for inaction has passed us, and so to will the League if we are not quick in our deployment to Karthay." The Tsar himself spoke now, towering over the assembled upon his Iron throne bearing down as a wolf wood upon a herd of lambs. "In saying such I would call for our maritime forces to lead another push towards Karthay, though according to my information the naval scene has slowed down the additional ships can only bolster what forces we have in the area." The Tsar moved to stand, descending from the throne and down to where a table rested between the the councilors.

"Once we're solidified in the area, we shall conduct joint landings with the majority of our forces conducting operations in the League-controlled city of Kabor." The Tsar pointed out the city on the map that was sprawled before them, moving several markers denoting Gratislav units to that area before continuing. "The secondary force shall move to assist the Takhisian beachhead via rapid amphibious deployment, presumably in the form of BTR-94s and their associated infantry." He again moved several markers to where the Takhisian beachhead was denoted on the map before gesturing to one of the ministers. "Marshal Luhenzik will be commanding our forces in the theater."

There was the expected murmur that always followed postings of younger officers to theaters of command, but this was quickly silenced as the Marshal himself rose to speak. "I am exalted by your gracious gift Tsar Kulikov, I hope to bring glory to the Gratislav people." He turned away from the Tsar before speaking again, "And to my counterparts I am gracious for your undoubted support in this appointment. Be sure that I may call upon your advice before the deployment of my force to the shores of Karthay." This drew another murmur, but this one of approval from the ministers, pleased to see that the younger officer was embracing of his inferiority before their age.

"Well then," the Tsar cut back in, "The Plan of Battle shall be dispatched to the Haruspex, the Tagmatities and the Takhisisians respectively. With that I believe our business here is nearly concluded." As he finished, the Tsar ascended yet again to this throne. Waiting with some displeasure as the councilmen made their rounds before him, bowing and then exiting the room one by one until only the Tsar and Luhenzik remained. "Well Luhenzik, this is it, your first major command. Tell me Marshal, how do you feel about the responsibility placed before you?"

"It was, unexpected your Lordship. Not to say I wasn't grateful but I will say your decision was not at all anticipated." The Marhsal gazed up at the Tsar, who only gave a quizzical look as if prodding him to continue. "I am simply a young officer, and according to the esteemed council a rash and uncontrollable officer." Both men laughed at this, each breaking into large boisterous smiles as they looked on at each other before Luhenzik spoke again. "That being said sire they might be right as I have taken provisions to add something to your general battle plan."

"Oh really now?" The Tsar gave a questioning look again.

"Yes my lord, tell me, are you familiar with the Black Dogs?" And with that Luhenzik could not contain his smile.

Karthay
Retribution FoB

The 6th Aerial Cavalry, for the entirety of its time in Karthay, had done nothing but sit on its ass behind the main battle lines. This really wasn't expected to change either, the higher ups had made it pretty clear to the Colonel that they were being deployed with the Tagmatines as a show of support from Gratislavia. Not fight a war far from home, this however, was about to change as the communications center of the Unit blared to life with an incoming transmission. "Colonel, incoming message from Central, give me a minute to decode!" The Communications hub itself, was nothing but a ramshackle trench covered in camouflage netting and containing a few long range transmitters.

But it got the job done, and nothing else was really needed considering the slow pace of activity concerned with the "Black Dogs" deployment to this God forsaken island. Again though, this changed in an instant as the Comm officer finished decoding the encrypted message that had came in from Central. "Comrade Colonel Dimitrivich, orders from Marshal Luhenzik, you are to put the unit on standby for immediate deployment and hot landing!" There was a sort of silenced shock in the room, broken only by the collective call of "Hurrah" from the Command post.

In an instant the Colonel began blowing on his whistle, a cadence that was soon mimicked by lower officers around the area where the Black Dogs had made themselves at home. A horde of Gratislavs began sprinting from their barracks, carrying the iconic rifle of their homeland and assembling before their Colonel in a great mass. "Comrades of the 6th, today the Iron Lord has seen fit to call upon us to do our duty to the Glorious Motherland and her Eternal Tsardom!" There was a general cheer from the men, silenced by a raised fist from the Colonel. "All officers are to report to the Command Post in five minutes, men, back to your quarters, prepare for hot landing!"

In an instant the various grunts of the Regiment dispersed, as well as the pilots and flight crews who ran directly to their helicopters and began making checks and preparing their vehicles for action. The officers of the unit, on the other hand, followed the Colonel down into the Command Post where the Communications team was still receiving reports and orders from Central at a frantic pace. "Gentlemen, as you all know the Tsardom has for the most part kept its nose down in regards to the battles here on Karthay, this changes today Comrades." The Colonel moved to where a map had been placed on the table in the center of the post. "Since the beginning of this conflict Xukuthite forces have been pinned down at this airport."

The Colonel pointed to where the airport was marked on the map, also denoting the crucial bridge that was being fought over at the moment. "Central wants us to beat the other League forces trying to relieve the airport, this means a flight over hostile territory crawling with AA and other nasties, followed by a hot drop into a zone under fire. This is why we joined up boys, this is why we're Air Cav and not Imperial Army or Marines, we're going to go into hell, and I'll guarantee you that not everyone will come back." The Colonel broke into a smile, clasping the nearest officer to him by the shoulders. "But to those that die here in Karthay, a thousand suns to greet you in heaven, the cheers of a generation to send you home, you will be heroes. Immortalized in stone and song for as long as the Tsardom may live!"

Again the men broke in cheers, screaming praises to their Tsardom as the Colonel again silenced them with a raised fist. "Gentlemen, to your men, deployment at 0300 ETA!"

Karthay
Retribution FoB

"To your horses men to your horses!" Colonel Dimitrivich stood like a God of Old, towering over the men he shouted to as he clasped his AEK-973 close to his body. In full battle armor he directed his men, ferrying them to helicopters before he himself jumped onto one of the Mil Mi 17s. "Forward gentlemen, onto your mighty beasts of war, let us ride to the devil's door!" The Colonel gazed with content as the last of his men ran to their helicopters, than took a long moment to gaze at the Kamov Ka-52 "Alligator" Gunships that sat rotating towards the front of the column of helicopters.

He smiled as he watched the lead gunship lift off, hovering for a moment until joined by the rest of the Gunships. Inside the lead helicopter, a young pilot by the name of Adam Vobolei jostled with the control stick, moving the gunship in a way that it circled the still grounded transport helicopters. "This is Wolf 1-1 to Wolf 1-Actual, all birds reading green, request approach vector bearing 339 , repeat approach vector bearing 339" Vobolei spoke into the headset that was attached to his flight helmet, nudging his navigator with his elbow as he talked. "Let's see if we can get em to let us put some fire on that bridge."

"Reading Wolf 1-1, approach vector 339 is cleared, permission to devote Wolf 1-4 granted. As a note though Wolf 1-1, remember your objective is to see the helicopters safely to the airport and provide close air support there, not shoot down a bunch of UFA grunts on a bridge." Back at the command post, the operators in charge of commanding the mission opened up a channel to the League forces assaulting the bridge. "All League forces, All League forces this is Wolf 1-Actual position FoB Retribution. Gunships bearing an approach vector over your position will be available for minimal fire-support during a ten minute window. Mark the targets and they'll light em up."

In an instant the whole helicopter formation lifted, turning towards the airport and in a great display of rotating metal cast off, heading directly over the bridge and into the heart of the city.

[Delmonte]

OOC: Parts of this dialogue involve characters from nations that are not my own, such as the Syndicate representative and the Castillian ambassador. The dialogue for these characters was arduously written cooperatively in google docs.

The warm air blowing to the sea from the land carried the shouted words over the salty water. "Nautae vere beatus. Tu interim naves ire beati. Hostis exire et damno rei publicae!" Cardinal-Archbishop Raccio read from a book held by one of his adjutant bishops while he waved his arms in blessing. The whipping wind clutched and swiped at the embroidered hems of his robes like the souls of the damned begging him for redemption. While he continued with the Sailor's Benediction, Cesare looked over the Cardinal's shoulder, down at the ships in the bay. Ships crowded with Delmontese sailors, in Delmontese water, on Delmontese mission, but not of Delmontese make. The last six months had been spent training their men to operate them at a very high proficiency.

Cesare's thoughts were interrupted by Cardinal Raccio suddenly throwing his arms wide open and, having finished the blessing, shouting "In sicut erat, in principio, et nunc, et semper, in saecula, in saecularum! In nomine Patri! Et Filii! Et Spiritu Sancti!" All present shouted "Amen!" The adjutant bishop closed the Scriptum Benedictorum and Cardinal Raccio kissed its cover before it was veiled and returned to its vessel. Here Cardinal Raccio lost formality and took on his air of pontification. The man, with his black hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion, was remarkably young for a Cardinal. He couldn't have been over twenty five. Most likely his family's alliance to the Di Canossa's via marriage was responsible for his accelerated promotion. Presently he stepped forward to the edge of the platform and raised his hands, not over those he blessed, but towards the horizon.

"You go forth now to fight a host of heathens, traitors, and barbarians!" After shouting this, he paused, his hands still upraised, before continuing; "I hereby place all of Rhydin, Ser Di Haruk, and Canini under interdict! As they were in life, so shall they be once they are dead. Dying under interdict denies them access to heaven. For their crimes do not merely warrant death in this life, but death for an eternity! And remember, to kill them is not evil. It is not murder. It is God's will! Indeed, you fight in defense of God. And the prayers of the faithful here in Delmonte shall fight for you and guide you in your righteous struggle against evil. Now go forth! For God and Doge!"

At this, all the sailors shouted in unison: "For God and Doge we would gladly die!" and the ships began their voyage towards uncertainty. The bulk of the crew remained on the decks, watching their homeland shrink before them. Cardinal Raccio, Cesare, and the rest remained to wave them off until the ships were far enough away that their exit would not be missed. Once they were back inside the Cupola, Cesare ordered wine for his companions. Cardinal Raccio had his mitre removed and handed his crosier to an attendant wearing the proper bearing-sash to handle it. "Fucking Hell." He muttered as he toussled his sweat-drenched hair and peeled out of his over-gown. As he did so it became clear what a shame it was that the Cloth had to take him. The man was very attractive. Cesare chuckled and motioned for the wine. "Ice in mine, please.", the Cardinal sighed as he pulled off his skullcap and sank down into one of the cool chairs.

Cesare sat opposite Raccio and Ludovico sat to his right. The guests of honor (the Ambassador of the Castillian Empire and the Foreign Representative of the Security Syndicate of the Black Plains) were still standing. The Castillian ambassador sat next to Raccio when he received his wine, but the representative of the Syndicate merely leaned against the marble wall behind Cesare.

"I still think that it would have been diplomatically advantageous to not involve ourselves." Ludovico said, perfunctorily. Cesare rolled his eyes as if to say "This again" but when he spoke, it was with a level voice. "Uncle, Rhydin pledged to destroy all League nations. Merely for being in the League. We were forced to fight. And, besides, I believe it diplomatically advantageous to demonstrate that Delmonte assists its allies. This way we may expect assistance in return."

"And it's not as though it costs you anything." Jonathan said, from his position behind Cesare. Jonathan Cantrell, whose position was "Miscellaneous", was used to these sorts of engagements. The cold feet, the waffling. And he was used to dispelling it. "All of the ships and equipment was donated for your use by the Syndicate. And we'll pay to replace the personnel you lose. Of course, we get something out of the arrangement as well. We want these prototypes to be tested in actual combat before we try to sell them."

Cardinal Raccio nodded. "Indeed. Mutually beneficial. Don't forget that you have also promised to make a substantial donation to, ehm... the Church."

Ludovico and Jonathan smirked as the latter nodded in response. The Castillian ambassador merely sipped his wine in silence. This was not why he was here. Jonathan downed his white wine and let out a satisfied sigh before handing the glass off to an attendant.

"Well, my friends. I must be going." He said. "Things to see, people to do. Good day to you." And he was off. Cesare nodded and the remaing group waited as the door was shut. Raccio looked around at his relatives (by marriage, of course), and said "Well... are we going to do it now?" Cesare nodded once more as Ludovico pulled out a paper and Raccio helped Ludovico by moving a sitting table in between the four men. Ludovico grunted his thanks and placed the document on the table, using a lead weight to hold it down (as wind often drifted through the Cupola). Cesare snapped his fingers and a servant came forth bearing a rose perched on a silver stand covered by a glass case. This was also placed on the table and the servant was dismissed.

Cesare lifted the case gingerly and set it down above the document. He sighed at the beauty of the rose (it was picked by him from his own garden) and removed it from its stand. He inhaled its fragrance and spoke to his co-conspirators.

"If this war is lost, we had no voluntary involvement. The Most Serene Republic of Delmonte was forced into its role by the Security Syndicate, who was anxious to test its products. They wanted to use our sailors and not theirs in case the war was lost and they threatened to overthrow the Republic with their armies here if we did not comply. We are in agreement?" The three other men nodded solemnly. Each placed their signature on the document (Cesare's was already present) and it was promptly cast into a brazier. Cesare twirled the rose in his hand.

"And we make this agreement sub rosa. We shall discuss it with no-one outside ourselves. Now each of us will take the rose, whisper our concerns and fears of failure into it and kiss it." Cesare did so now. He whispered not a thing to the rose and merely kissed it in its center. He handed it to Ludovico who whispered something brusque into it with a glance at Cesare and then kissed it just as brusquely. The Castillian Ambassador nodded, whispered something, paused, whispered something more, and then sealed his concerns with a kiss. Raccio whispered into it at length before finally kissing it gingerly on the edge of itse petals. Cesare reclaimed his rose and began tearing the petals out of it in handfuls, giving a handful to each conspirator. They made their way out onto the balcony once more and, as one, cast the petals into the wind that their concerns and fears may be carried to sea with them.

Cardinal Raccio pocketed one while no-one was looking.

---

OOC: The following was NOT written collaboratively. It does, however, have the seal of approval from BP as Canon.


Admiral Di Laurento, commander of the Delmontese task force and Captain of the flagship, Il Icarus, stared silently at the navigational charts on the table behind him. Further on the Bridge, his First Mate directed operations in his stead. Behind him, the Security Syndicate joint forces commander stood and stared forward impassively, his uniform making him stand out like a jet black statue with gold trim amidst a sea of brown and red. He was in command of all the armed mercenaries in the fleet as well as the attack subs, which were operated by Syndicate pilots. They did, however, defer to the Delmontese.

The admiral pressed a button for an intercom and ordered all attack submarine attendants to report to their submarines and stand by. Afterwards, he called one of his aides over and instructed him, "Maior Adolfo, please attend the matter of the submarine hangars personally. Ensure that everything is in order." He received a curt nod in response as the officer stalked away hurriedly. Adolfo exited the Bridge and walked down the main companionway towards the heart of the ship. He descended a flight of stairs leading to a lower hallway when a pilot in Syndicate gear rushed by him. The pilot was unbelievably small. "A bit small for your age, eh?" He said jokingly. The pilot stopped and Adolfo was shocked to see that it was, in fact, a boy. Practically a child. The young pilot saluted, with perhaps a bit too much certainty, and responded "I'm... fifteen, sir."

"At ease, at ease. What are you doing aboard this ship in uniform, my boy?" Adolfo was quite fluent in English.

The boy looked down at his feet. Adolfo could see a few strands of black hair sticking out from under the child's cap. "I... they wanted a very fast submarine to function as an interceptor. So they made it faster by making its structure smaller, sacrificing room in the cockpit. It's too small for a grown man to pilot. So they... they recruit us when we're twelve and..." The boy looked up at Adolfo, who was expecting tears and was surprised to see none, and continued "They artificially stunt our growth so that we can pilot until we're seventeen, usually."

This revelation sent Adolfo reeling. "Why would you ever volunteer for such a position? I thought they didn't forcibly enlist?"

The boy shook his head. "They don't. We all volunteer for different reasons. Some do it to have friends and family released from Syndicate prisons. I'm doing it because they promised me they would erase my family's water debts after three years of service." Adolfo was almost too scared to continue. It was as if that nightmare where you know something horrible is on the other side of a door but you are incapable of stopping yourself from opening it had come true. He licked his dry lips and asked "Water debts?"

"My family... we were Mire Pearlers. The Mire is this enormous expanse of polluted area that is neither water nor land, but something in between. It's a horrible place to exist, but it forms lovely pearls that sell for exorbitant sums. The trick is finding them. All the water for miles is unsafe to drink without very expensive purification machinery. You have to have water shipped to you and the Syndicate has a monopoly on water shipments. Anyone else caught selling water or buying it from anyone but them is killed. But my family's dead now. They died just a week before I fulfilled my contract. They were killed by raiders. I'm still here because-"

"You have no place else to go." Adolfo finished, simply. The boy nodded in silence and absentmindedly touched a whistle dangling from his neck. Adolfo took note of this. "Why the whistle?" He asked. At this the boy gave a brief, wry smile. "The Syndicate won't give us sidearms. They claim that it's because they don't want us to hurt ourselves, but they just don't trust us. Because we have no firearms we have no way to defend ourselves against the older soldiers. The whistles are to call for help when we are raped..."

Every muscle in Adolfo's body went numb as the boy continued, speaking faster and louder. "The whistles have never done any good, though. I can't tell you how many times I've blown that whistle until my throat was sore and I was seeing spots and nobody has ever come to help me. Sometimes they make me stop, but most of the time they don't even bother because they know that nobody cares. I think some of them even like it. But I've never stopped blowing that whistle, always, always blowing the whistle. Because the whistle is all I have. Even if the whistle never works, I can't stop. Not even once. No, I have to keep blowing the whistle. Always and as loud as I can."

While Adolfo was still working to comprehend this, a Syndicate soldier approached them from around a corner. He gave a smile to the child that made Adolfo shiver. "There you are." He said, "I have some urgent Syndicate business to conduct with you." Adolfo's eyes went wide and he placed himself, protectively, between the child and the man. "He has to report to the submarine hangar. To stand by for deployment."

"His submarine will still be there in five minutes. Out of the way." The man shoved Adolfo to one side and propelled the child the way he had come. The young pilot looked over his shoulder at Adolfo, now crouched on the ground, with desperation in his eyes. Adolfo sighed, and returned a look of pity, sorrow, and resignation. The boy was familiar with this expression as he quickly turned around after seeing it. And then things happened quickly. First Adolfo noticed the pipe wrench that a lazy inspector had clearly left out on a work ledge. Then he noticed the child slowly toying with his whistle. And, in what seemed to Adolfo like a short blur of time, the wrench was buried in the soldier's skull. Slowly, the child realized what had happened. Adolfo knelt down and held him close to his face. "Listen to me, I'm never going to let anyone touch you like that ever again. Once we're out of this, and we will get out of this, I'll save you from this hell. I'll take you with me back to Delmonte, adopt you or find you a home. Anything but this Hell. Understand? Good. Now get to your submarine."

Adolfo and the boy went their separate ways, with the boy going to the loading area and Adolfo going to the observation area of the hangar. Just as Adolfo turned the corner, he heard a shrill whistle and doubled back to see what was wrong. And there was the boy, at the other end of the corridor, holding his whistle. The child smiled, not the angry smile from before, but a smile of true happiness. "I was just checking." He said before speeding away.

[Ser Di Haruk]

Captain Udan and the 8th Mechanized Infantry half-regiment had done reasonably well to both control the choke point and defend against superior numbered forces. However, the amount of equipment and those he had was not enough to contain the League threat for long. Even now the League forces had crossed under the bridge and were running into his established picket lines. While the murderous fire would lick at them like a hungry beast now, it was only a matter of time before he was surrounded as the enemy forces pushed continuously.

Then had come the suppressive sniper fire from somewhere in the city. Whomever it was, they were damn good and the 7th lost nearly a dozen non-commissioned officers in the space of maybe five minutes or less. One of the ZSU-23's however had seen fit to hose down the nearest collection of buildings and the fire had dampened off a bit. There was still the random pot shot now and then, and or a body would go flying but his bridge mounted troops had sought cover after a moment or two of that nightmare.

As the first of the heavy infantry of the League began to appear, he received a radio command from headquarters. To the surviving infantry officers and his vehicle leads, the word was passed to all forces on the bridge. Retreat. Udan boarded the command AT-90 and took stock of the communications officer yelling out the order into a microphone as troops began to pull back. It was mostly futile for the bridge forces hunkered down, they would have to fend for themselves as what could be gathered was.

The first of the armored personnel carriers was already heading deeper into the city, four had left and twelve more were waiting to be filled up. Troop trucks rumbled from the makeshift motorpool. While the armored personnel carriers and transports were loaded down, the anti-aircraft mobiles were pouring on deadly fire across the bridge as everywhere, Harukian soldiers from the forward spots began to pull back where they could. Others dug in, determined to hold the line as their comrades made a safe retreat.

The buzzsaw roar of the mobiles of course was quite apparent as his infantry command seconds and juniors began to board his transport. Overhead enemy helicopters had been spied and affirmed that they were indeed heading towards the airport. The anti-aircraft positions belonging to the Canini and other Harukian elements had been radio'd ahead. Even now tracer fire was zipping through the skies above, flak cannons creating black puffs and the heavy whirring of multiple barrels adding to the mix. A lone infantryman had aimed a missile launcher upwards, though even as the weapon fired, most of his skull ended up on the nearest transport flank as those damnable snipers kept up their work.

He carefully leaned out to see the chaos of the retreat in action, throat mic cupped as he yelled his orders. " Move, move or you will be left behind! Our brothers die so you may survive to another battle!" The hatch slowly slid upwards, deflecting a heavy round as it did so. As Udan settled against the side bench, the engine rumbled and his command vehicle surged forward upon six wheels. Followed by another and another, each one heading into the light industrial district that made up the exterior area of the Karthian capitol.

"Radio command, tell them the bridge is lost and they should blow it up as soon as they can." A nod from the communications officer as the message was sent. " Sir, the transmission was sent, but the bridge did not blow." Udan cursed, fucking enemy sappers had to be at work. " Blow it up, blow it up, use those bloody fighters..dont let them cross! " The communications officer paled some and hastily got to work trying to figure something out.

[Holstria]

As tanks of the 1st Corp drove deeper into the city the sounds of battle got close, real close. They could see a bridge in the distance, with thick clouds of smoke nearby. Van Dorn and the infantry disembarked and as time passed gathered over to the left flank of the colomn as to not take stray or intentional fire from the right, thus the tanks were the perfect shield. With a clear fight in process the infantry began a dash forward though not quick enough to abandon the tanks still traversing through the streets and wreckage. Van Dorn was in the lead with about five soldiers providing security as he moved. The first challenger crossed into the open passed a burned out building, stray rounds bounced off the side, the crew taking little notice.

The majority of the coloumn halted, while a small force went forward. Captain Van Dorn and 25 men rushed forward to find allied officers and finally announce their arrival. To cover, two tanks lurched forward and trained their sights to the situation on the bridge. For all that had occured the Holstrians weren't doing so bad on their timing anymore. Van Dorn passed by several groups of various League soldiers who kept pointing him further down the line, it wasn't clear what nations some of these men served, their faces and uniforms becoming unidentifiable long ago. He kept moving as rounds occasionally passed by, finally pausing to see a round land in the water off to the side, sending up a huge tower of water. The whole situation was hectic, but it was damn good to see the League was still breathing.

[Osea-Yuktobania]

Of Song and Fire
They clad us in the colors of the skies,
and armed us with the weapons made for war.
Then taught to us the ancient trade of killing,
and lead us to the sound of battles roar.

So give us comfort as we lay down bleeding,
and pray upon our cold and stiffened dead.
But mark our place that we might be accounted,
this foreign heaven becomes our graven bed.

Now children place a wish upon this winter's wind,
and learn of us each Day at dawn.
We are the Republic's dead from distant conflict,
our sacrifice remembered ever more.

2nd Aero-Fleet
Commanded by Admiral Tyana Avari
Karthay, Western Reaches, Takhisian Beachhead.

Much like the Takhisians before them, the Osea-Yuktobanian's played a form of martial music to announce their arrival. Larger then the afore mentioned Takhisian airships, those of the OYFRN (pronounced Oie Fren) they bore a hellacious armament meant for the total destruction of land based targets, or those in the air depending on the situation. The flagship Mysteria hung within the center of five heavy ships of the line, eight assault cruisers, and four fighter carriers. Even now the burgundy hued push props were joining those of the Takhisian's over Karthay, raining down death and destruction. A precursor for what was about to happen.

A racheting sound drifted downwards from above, the only warning. Thunderous reports sounded across the battle torn skies of Karthay as those great floating monstrosities unleashed salvo after vicious salvo on reported UFA positions and or advancements. Eight triplet style Ansaldo style turrets, bearing 203 mm/L53 (8 in) guns of 25 tonnes each, aimed towards the scarred earth below and then began to rain down upon the land beneath them.

For a long few seconds there was nothing and then a great whistling sound could be heard moments before a plume of fire, earth, and dark smoke was the result. The concussive force would flatten jungle trees, throw bodies for kilometers and or their pieces and spread a swath of destruction only mirrored further to the east. The airships were moving slowly, sowing their seeds of death and carnage across a great piece of territory. It became clear that the airships bearing the Osea-Yuktobanian markings were headed for the capitol at a somewhat leisurely pace.

Now and then the discernable sound of anti-aircraft cannon could be heard, though no UFA fighter was in the sky. The forty millimeter pom-pom's were being directed towards the ground as well, stitching puffs of black smoke and shrapnel at just about head level for someone in the six foot range. While the Canini and the Orycto might be taller, that would only be a further death sentence if caught by such weapons.

While there were no troopships with the 2nd Fleet, Admiral Avari could if need be, dispatch sailors to the ground as support elements, though that was unlikely as the League forces were all apparently converging on the capitol. Her own route was going to be towards the hills and what not before the airport itself where another member nations forces were holding out. The goal was to eliminate further resistance and or UFA artillery forces in the area that had been keeping the Xukuthite commando forces pinned down.

Her orders from the council were very clear. Support, suppress, destroy any threat to League forces at Karthay. At current there wasnt much opposition, seeing as she was carpet bombing them into oblivion, but every now and then a report would come in of artillery fire being re-directed at them. It would only increase as soon as it became apparent as to their destination.

[The City State Rhydin]

To The Fires of War
To The Dogs of Battle
To The Undying Blade
To The Burning Flesh
To The Dead Unnamed

Tylylaer (Colonel) Telemachus the IV sat within the cupola of his main battle tank. A behemoth of technology and engineering brilliance, there were few of it's equal, and even less of said equals on Karthay. The model was the Black Jack Mk II. The tank boasted a dual-axis fully-stabilised 125 mm/50-calibre O-Type 2 ETC gun. Capable of multiple ammunition types, such as APFSDS, HEAT, HE-FRAG, ATGM, and AECM(Anti-Electrical Cluster Munitions). With thirty two rounds at it's disposal, it was certainly a deadly addition to the battle scene. Coupled with a remote turret that removed the need to expose a gunner, the 12.7x108 mm heavy machine gun more then assuredly creates a bad day or night for most.

On the back of the gunner's hatch is an active laser suppression system, it's designed to directly attack the various guidance systems on the opponent's weapon system. it can be operated by either the commander or the gunner, the laser ray could interfere or permanently damage IR sensor's components (laser ranger; night-vision equipment; TV camera head; telescopic sight; etc.) and has obvious effect against naked eyes. In addition, as protection against this very same offensive weapon by enemies, the tank's crew, foremost the driver, is equipped with anti-laser glass.

Currently amidst a section of rubble, his field optics were however given a good range on the approaching vectors that would more then likely be the paths of the League's joint forces. Wherever they pushed from, this area would be the resulting emptying out point, and if they succeeded, would allow them unfettered access to rescue those forsaken Xukuthite commandos who even now resisted the UFA's attempts to contain and or crush them outright. It was quite maddening really, why couldnt enemies just die as they were supposed to?

A ginger pressing of the right hand against the throat mic so worn. " Do be quite nice Sayrn and torment our would be guests for a bit would you? " An affirmative reply came forth from the other end. The initial line of the RIRA (Rhydin Imperial Republican Army), wasnt composed of flesh and blood troops, no battle calls would greet the converging forces from the bridge as Harukian defenders that could, had already left to reinforce other areas of the capitol city. Locked in combat against the Takhisians.

No, the first line was a quiet place. It consisted of mines, both pressure, vibration and proximity triggered. Some were of plastic designed to defeat wands, others were metal, and still others were a bit of both. These mines consisted of the standard high explosive designed to cripple and or otherwise mar an able bodied soldier. Others consisted of psychological effects, such as napalm flame thrower spigots, and or the ever popular chemical deployment system that spit out a form of heavy gas designed to blind or choke an unprepared enemy.

Beyond this would be the makeshift bunkers composed of rubble and so forth, within these were auto-turrets paired to a thermal tracking device. They were either singular barreled and or multi-barreled heavy machine guns designed for the sole purpose of shredding infantry and soft armor alike. Between the gaps of the mines and those of the sentries, were small devices that matched the terrain in likeness. These were chameleon mines, designed to produce a sonic shriek that affected the central nervous system of humans when in range. The effects upon depending the range of the unfortunates in the area; dizziness, blindness, muscle disorientation, nervous system failure, and eventual death as the body stopped all functions necessary for life, such as breathing.

This was all foreplay however, as past the barbed wire, and the little techno-babble goodies lying in wait, six thousand of the Hegemony's best legionnaires awaited the League. The majority of those were mechanized infantry, armor regiments, and or heavy assault forces. Reinforcing RIRA's troops was that of the Canini. Twelve-thousand Canini irregulars were superimposed uponst the area. Every building, ever rubble pile, was considered to be a defensive position and had been outfitted as such. As enemy helio's attempted to overflight the industrial area, barrels crackled, the sky alight with tracers of blues, oranges, and reds.

The mainstay of the UFA anti-aircraft mobiles consisted of ZSU-23 clones. There were hundreds of them on Karthay, operating independently and or in proper companies. The path to the airport would have dozens of them in the area, coming together as one and well one can only imagine the kind of reception an air-cav helio surprise party would receive from those many, many cannon waiting for nice, fat targets to come into range. As it were, one can only wonder what the outcome might be, surprises all around.

On the ground, however, Telemachus held a supreme advantage. Before, the League had been able to deal savage blows against the mostly light armor of the UFA. Orcytolagus and Canini after all had been pressing the attack with armored personnel carriers and light tanks or infantry fighting vehicles. They were light, and easily transportable, thus that is the reason there were so many of them on the island mass. It had taken longer to get heavier vehicles into the area, but there they were. The fifty ton vehicles numbered just over one-hundred twenty. Assisting them were a variety of Lyran made vehicles, mostly LY6 Werewolf Assault Gun/Tank Destroyer's, LY219 ATMG's, Iron Heart ATMG's, Iron Heart APC's, LY219 APC's, LY224 Sorcha HIFV's, and a support contingent of LY4A1 Wolfhound Main Battle Tanks.

Let the League come, they had quite the surprise waiting for them, he would enjoy this moment, this beautiful dance upon the field of death. It was time to exterminate the rabble of the League once and for all.

[Delmonte]

After the Castillian ambassador had left, the three Di Canossa plotters, Cesare, Ludovico, and Cardinal Raccio, descended from the Cupola perched over the calm waves into the depths of the Piazzo Del Toro for a glass of cool, watered down white wine and some games of Brundizzi. The weather was characteristic of Delmontese summer. Cool, briny wind whipped at light silk hangings as is made its way into the Piazzo's opened windows from over the ocean. With marble colonnades, a babbling fountain, and a large amount of outdoor exposure, the room the men played in was something between a sitting room and a patio with five hundred thousand ducats thrown in for good measure.

They each feigned varying degrees of interest in the game. Cesare reclined in a plush sofa and gazed lazily at his cards, offering the playing board an occasional glance while Ludovico made a very convincing act of having his eyes closed. Raccio, for his part, gazed so fixedly outside that one had to wonder if he was not concentrating more on his peripheral vision. At last Cesare spoke (Ludovico made a point of stifling a yawn before opening his eyes). "Raccio. You shouldn't always open with the Iena gambit." He shook his head as he leaned forward and moved his Condottiere pawn from Orso to Diorso. "It is strong once it reaches maturity, but has a way of being cut off in its infancy." Raccio wasn't intimidated.

"Well, if you're so sure. Let's fight. Diorso supports my company currently so it sends one unit of halberdiers and one unit of arquebusiers to assist me. And I'm going to spend three chests of ducats to hire... Cesare, don't try that trick on me. You're not going to make me look outside so you can see my cards again, I- Cesare?"

Cesare was not listening. His attention was caught by the man walking up the steps of his Piazzo do enter in the side door. "That bastard!" Cesare shouted as he leapt from his seat. He paused before leaving the room just long enough to say "It's Salvastro!"

This took Ludovico a moment to register. "Salvastro? The Salvastro? Dead to us and all who fear us Salvastro?"

Cesare's angered shout of confirmation echoed among the colonnades as Ludovico placed his cards down and hurried after him. Raccio hurried as well: first to Cesare's face-down cards and second in pursuit of Ludovico. The trio made its way to the small side entrance hall, but stopped in the adjoining study as the man they sought was sitting, quite blissfully, in a leather chair and smoking a cigar. Cesare, rarely blindsided, cleverly disguised his loss for words as being out of breath. Raccio crossed himself as he had learned that that was an appropriate reaction of a Cardinal to almost any situation. He had also invented more than a few completely bogus gestures of blessing to buy him even more time in situations such as this.

Ludovico's reaction was most immediate and most petty. "I believe that cigar you are smoking is one of mine that I keep here for my use." He quickly realized how out of place this comment was. It was akin to charging a burglar in your home with tracking mud. The man in the arm-chair frowned quizzically and looked at the cigar as though he had just noticed it for the first time. He then shrugged and held it in his mouth to accept a glass from a serving girl. "Yes, and soon I'll be drinking your brandy too, I suppose."

The serving girl, who was clearly not privy to what was going on, noticed the tension in the room and made her escape. As Salvastro prepared to take a sip, Cesare recovered himself in full force: trumpets, banners, and all. In a positively Doge-like manner, he quickly strode forward and knocked the glass out of Salvastro's grip with his right hand. He used the backswing to rid his estranged relative's mouth of the cigar before stomping the tobacco into the carpet that was, while priceless, still worth less than a good demonstration. Ludovico even had the sense not to object.

Salvastro rebounded, smiled, and began to speak. "Cousin, I-" but Cesare had two hands and a back apiece. He utilized his left this time. "Shut up!" Cesare did not shout this, but there was quite a bit of emphasis nonetheless. "I don't know who let you in, but very soon they will be unemployed. What cheek you have! Strolling in here like you own the place. Even entering Delmonte must have required a great deal of audacity on your part. Was it worth it, you disowned thieving shit? Was this display worth your life?"

Salvastro pretended to be hurt. "What? Cesare, you wouldn't kill me, would you? We're family."

By now Ludovico was ready for the fray. "Dearest nephew, it is true that we almost universally refrain from killing our kin. But, then again, you did flee from Delmonte without our being informed..." Here he gritted his teeth "And with some seven hundred thousand of the family's ducats. As if the money stolen weren't enough-"

"You humiliated us!" Cesare finished for him, now looming directly over Salvastro with both arms on the chair for support. "You made the family look foolish! You off and running with our money. You made us look weak! How could we let you live and shame us further with your continued existence?!"

Salvastro took heart in the fact that he was still alive and Cesare had not yet even reached for one of the places he kept a knife. This meant that Cesare was genuinely interested in his reply. "You'll not want to kill me when you find out who my lady wife is. Even anger strong enough to permeate two generations is not that powerful. Cesare, you were only four years old when I left. Do not act like I did this to spite you personally. In any event, there is a reason that I've returned to such a... welcoming home now after almost... twenty years. And it has everything to do with whom I eloped with."

The following day, Cesare and Ludovico waited in the largest sitting room the Piazzo had to offer with their favorite consulieri on hand. They were seated in front of a small table that had two chairs opposite it. At length, Salvastro entered (propelled by one of Cesare's companieri) followed by a lithe woman with skin as pale as milk. Where Salvastro looked his age, mid-forties, she did not look a day over twenty-five even though all sources confirmed that she and her husband were roughly contemporary. She gave the room a glance that said "I've seen better." The couple took their seats opposite Ludovico and Cesare. There followed a brief pause before four more figures, clearly their children, shuffled in. Salvastro had, accurately, informed them that their eldest and youngest were both male, eighteen and eight respectively, while their two girls were sixteen-year old twins. They kept their distance.

Ludovico was first to speak. He had clearly rehearsed. "Now. The two of you eloped from your respective families before Delmonte and the Batorys had amicable diplomatic postures. It is because you, rightly, assumed that we would rather not risk angering them by killing a Batory-"

At this the woman, named Tunde, interjected "Or her mate." Her black-within-black eyes had a satisfied glow about them. Ludovico, upset over being interrupted, returned her stare. After thirty years in diplomacy, there was very little you couldn't force yourself to look at. He continued. "Indeed... And it is because of this that you and your... creations are allowed to exist in Delmonte unmolested. However, there are some... considerations that we must insist upon." Ludovico gestured behind him and one of his consulieri produced a very official-looking document.

"This is a legal document that does a couple of things. It states that, first, you will agree to a Catholic wedding. Second that you will be considered retro-actively married from the start and that in this marriage all female children would be of the mother's dynasty while all male children would be of the father's. What have you decided until this point?"

Salvastro lifted his left leg atop his right knee and explained, somewhat awkwardly. "Well, neither, really. We've been living rather low-key in The Black Plains til now. We agreed to take a false surname to avoid detection. We, including the children, have simply been going by 'Smith'".

"Smith..." Cesare said simply, as though the revelation astounded him.

"In any event." Ludovico continued, "This document verifies that you, Tunde Batory, relinquish the dynastic rights of your male offspring because we know that Batory succession works differently. You will sign it." Ludovico proffered a fountain pen. The white lady turned her nose up at it.

"Batory blood runs in their veins. I would not have them called Di Canossa for the same reason I would not have a swan called a goose."

Cesare and Ludovico looked at her blankly. How un-Delmontese. "My lady..." Cesare began, "It is quite un-gentlemanly of us to say this, we hoped we would not have to, but do you realize how stupid it was of you to come here? And to bring your children, even?"

Black within black eyes narrowed and then widened. "I was told that when the Delmontese offered safe passage they-"

Now it was Ludovico's turn to interrupt. "We offered no such thing. And if your husband told you anything else about us, he might have mentioned that we rarely leave anything to implication. It does not matter what you heard..."

"It is what was said." Salvastro finished for him, his head buried in his hands. Ludovico nodded. But the black-eyed matron was not cowed. In fact, she laughed a cold sort of chortle. "You think you can threaten me? My family knows I'm-"

"They don't." Ludovico said in a manner that strongly implied: "I checked."

Seeing that this avenue had failed, the black eyes took on a more human feature. "You have not killed us yet." the woman stated, simply.

"We have not." Cesare replied.

"It follows, then, that you do not want to kill us."

"That is correct. No matter how proficient we are, there is always a chance that someone would find out. And our diplomatic posture is worth more than saving a bit of face."

Tunde nodded. That made sense. "And the benefits of our union, once legitimized?"

"Have been weighed." Ludovico responded, "And play a great part in our decision. Now, what were we talking about?"

The imperious nature returned to Tunde's voice. "I was just explaining to you..." she said, managing condescension, "That I couldn't sign your paper without a pen." As she scrawled her signature, seemingly unperturbed, Cesare rubbed his hands together. "Very good." He said, "Szabolcz, now known as... Zaccari, I think, will remain here. In the Piazzo Del Toro. And he'll be trained in diplomacy. Little Kazmer, Cosimo, that was an easy one, will stay with the Di Toscanis until he reaches an age."

"The Di Toscanis?" Salvastro scoffed, "Those asswipes? You couldn't be so cruel."

Cesare stood and glared at his cousin. "The Di Toscanis are a good, upstanding Delmontese family! And they've been citizens of the Grand City for well over fifty generations. And they are traditional."

"Yes. Very traditional." Salvastro hurried to Kazmer. "Listen, I'll still see you. Be a good boy, make us proud." He gave Scabolcz a slap on the back and a hug. By now Tunde was approaching them. She bid her sons a sincere goodbye before leading Salvastro out. She looked at him with a gaze that combined sorrow, outrage, and, most of all, blame. The twin girls, Amalia and Harmat, followed them out, but Kazmer had to be stopped by a guard when he tried to follow suit. Scabolcz knelt down and the eight year old held him tight. Suddenly, the doors at the other end of the room (where Cesare and Ludovico now stood) opened and a man and his wife, arms linked, entered. The man was dressed in proper businessware, with suit and tie, while his wife was dressed in proper eveningware for an upstanding Delmontese lady. They were in their early fifties.

Cesare greeted them. "Signore and Signorina Toscani. We are so thankful for this favor."

As if by rote, the man and wife unlinked arms, splayed their hands in front of them, bowed their heads slightly and said, in unison, "We live to serve the Doge."

Cesare nodded. "Your charge, little Cosimo, is over there."

The Lady Toscani smiled and glided to where the two brothers were huddled. "Carlo..." she hissed, "Do you think he speaks Delmontese?"

"He does." the elder brother replied warily, without making a hint of movement. The Lady seemed taken aback that she had been spoken to by someone she did not address. She paused while her husband rejoined her.

"Ah, you're his brother then. Very well, you'll have to go now. He's in good hands with us." He even managed a smile, however brief. Scabolcz still did not move. At a gesture, two companieri began pulling the young man towards the door with his little brother clutching to his leg. Lucrezia Toscani, emboldened by the guards, pursed her lips and strode forward towards them.

"Delmontese gentlemen do not need coddling." She reached for the young boy's arm to pry him loose, but he batted her away. She gasped and bolted upright with a look of sheer horror plastered across her face. "Carlo... he hit me! Do something!"

Carlo cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Now, is this all really necessary. It's hardly becoming. Please, do be reasonable..." A third guard was far more successful than the Lady Toscani in removing the child from his brother's ankles. For all the commotion in the last few seconds, all parties were oddly silent as Scabolcz was removed and the doors closed.

"There... now it's not so bad that it's over, is it?"

The exhausted eight year old sank to the ground near the doors, gave Carlo one look, and allowed a teary expletive fly at him. The Di Toscanis stood there, flabbergasted, for nearly two whole seconds before Lucrezia wheeled around and apologized profusely to Cesare. "My Doge, I am sorry that we dishonor you so! Please forgive us!"

Cesare merely waved her off and exited the room. The Di Toscanis then propelled little Kazmer out the door, down the various corridors, and outside to their waiting car. Their chaufeur assisted in getting the unwilling child in the cabin. The formal and polite demeanor that had been maintained so well in public quickly melted once the expensive automobile began to move. The Di Toscanis sat together on the one side with Kazmer opposite them, sitting quite alone. Lucrezia was first to let her anger show.

"How selfish of you to embarrass us like that! We offer to take you into our home and treat you as our own and you mortify me- us, in front of the Doge!" In a maneuver executed so well that it betrayed frequent use, she struck the child on his right cheek. He didn't seem to notice.

"Can't you see this means a great deal to us?" Carlo said, almost pleadingly.

Lucrezia removed the jeweled band that held up her hair and, looking out the window, muttered "This is the sort of misbehavior I'd expect from those... monster-spawn."

"Indeed." Carlo nodded before saying, absentmindedly, "Do you think he'll appreciate Delmontese cuisine?"

Lucrezia huffed and replied, "Doubtless he will after he's gone two days with nothing."

"Oh, don't be needlessly harsh, my dear. One day is plenty."

OOC: I'll be adding to this at a later date for war... stuff.

[The Order of Takhisis]

When Giants Clash
A Proper Battle
Co-Posting by Takhisis, Osea-Yuktobania, and Muroidea

Lord of Host, Amon Ka'et stood upon the bridge of the Arwen, having successfully driven off the many attempts of the UFA's airforce strikes against his command, the First Vanguard. His bridge commander, Tara Ohinian stood nearby as the latest battle order came through. The martial music began to blare once more upon the heavens, perhaps the first signal that the fight of the UFA had not gone out at all, and or not as much as they might have thought. As the aero-carriers remained where they were, the responsibility of defending the lightly armored and armed (by Takhisian standards) would come to be their duty. They would have remained there regardless however as carriers always served from the rear, while launching fighters and bombers towards the front.

Not the slow ponderous ways they had before when fighting against jet fighters, but as smooth sailing fish upon the ocean of the sky, and arranging themselves in an order that represented a combat all but unseen by their allies of the League. Ship to ship. At Lord of Host Ka'et's command, communique officers had made contact with League forces on the ground of the city as well as those about Kabor, the Port City of Karthay. The action mentioned, their had been a force detected in the northwestern grid, proceeding at rapid pace, and outfitted much like the Takhisians. It was not Osea-Yuktobanian forces either, which meant the UFA had a force capable of standing against the airships of both nations.

Should it come to be that the vanguard lost, it would mean disarray and destruction for the League. Thus the First Vanguard, and the 2nd aero flotilla of the OYFRN (Osea-Yuktobanians) would come together in a pincer attack against the hostile incoming fleet. Even now, the communique centre had received acknowledgements from the friendly flagship Mysteria. Even now the OYFRN flotilla was making it's way towards the capitol city, despite the directed artillery and anti-aircraft fire, would make it there in reasonable time. The defenders of the UFA forces were more and appropriately worried over the League ground forces. Figuring if they could delay or destroy them here, their comrades in the air could focus on the Ships of the Line bearing the banners of Ariakan and the OYFRN 2nd Fleet.

The First Vanguard included a total of seventy airships, including ten dreadnoughts of the Arwen's class itself, fifteen heavy cruisers, and twenty-four destroyers made up a series of diamond formations interlinking with each other. The martial music was quite loud, booming from all of the vessels in the fleet above, and it was to the tune of war. It was not the artillery music of the mountain passes, but rather a broad stroke of brass and horn. Of drums and strings and a choir, a choir! composed together to make one feel the adrenaline, the very hum of the magnite reactors, the sense of the ships themselves coming together.

OFRYN
Admiral Tyana Avari stood at the helm of the great warship Mysteria, unlike her Takhisian counter-parts, the bridge of the Mysteria was not overlorded by a throne sitting on high. The bridge of the Mysteria instead had three approaches of stairs leading to a stage like area. In it were three chairs at the back built into the frame itself and a series of command stations in front of them. Below that stage were two trench like areas with an observatory area where one could look down and see what non-commissioned officers and enlisted were doing, and make sure they were doing it right!

Where ground forces could not, the 2nd Aero-Fleet had gone, passing the beachhead at last moments notice, catching up to and passing by the Holsterian advancing forces while providing a bit of relief in the form of artillery into the city so as to make their advance that less hazardous. Over flying the defenders of the city had been troublesome. A light cruiser had been sunk, the vessel impacting into the outskirts of the capitol, none to far from advancing League forces and the explosion was quite powerful, even for such a small ship. Makes one wonder perhaps what a heavy cruiser or a dreadnought might do if it were brought down no? And the UFA was trying quite a bit to do so.

Even so, her forces were able to link up to that old charmer, Amon Ka'et. She gave the order to have her forces arrange themselves in a set of rows, which was atypical OYFRN battle stylings. She had twenty heavy cruisers, and fourteen light cruisers now, and they were arranged in rows of five, intermixing light with heavy ships in and about the Takhisian diamond formation, which she happened to like more. Something to discuss with command at some date. It was more effective then the much older arrangement that her forces were trained with.

Commandant Ven, do allow the music of our comrades to spread throughout the fleet and encourage our gunners to be accurate. Our enemy does so arrive. A nod followed by a response as Ven turned about. My Lady, we are ready, the fleet at your fingertips, there is but your order and we shall commence. He stood straight as an arrow and saluted as did the rest of the bridge crew. It brought a smile to her lips and then she spoke. Very well my loyal hounds, let us into the war ahead, brace for the battle, and may our gods find themselves giving us their favor!

This music was shrouding those upon the ground as the enemy fleet began to become visible. It was an unusual design to Avari. It held two sections spaced by a span. The vessel had been sighted by the superior technologies of the League, and accurate assessments could then be made. The warships bore the banner of a nation unknown to her, another animal race though she had heard. The airships were armored and armed well, they were also of a white hue, as if made of snow with a trim line of black.

Avari had read the dossier when she'd been contacted. The technology gap was real though, the enemy fleet had made no acknowledgement that it had been seen or perhaps they didnt care? Still the types of communique gear that could be seen and identified put it as late and re-modified Soviet gearing. This was probably some sort of cloned GLONASS or some such that were using. Even so, they had to be commended, they to were warriors of the sky, and as the enemy arrived, Avari was probably aware of the Ka'et's thoughts on the matter. Despite the gap in some areas, the enemy had brought quite the fleet. Together they equaled the enemy force..

And then as the music filled the air, the firing began..

Of the Skies
Muroidean Airship Fleet, 1st, 3rd, and 4th Regiments
Commanded by, Air Marshal Leek.

The sleek and smooth for the most part, that wasnt outfitted with cannon anyways, Ardent class battle cruisers slid upon the waves of the wind with majestic glory. The banners of the Fleet were unfurled, to strike the fierce wind from their positions. Emblems of the regiments served upon the hulls of the airships, each carried the hopes and dreams of the tiny nation of Muroidea, and the determination to prove to their newfound allies, that they to be of use, that they to could answer the call of war as it came.

That they had arrived at long last, proved this point. Now it was the time of honor, now was the time of bravery and courage to be had. Leek had thousands of souls at his command, and he would spend them to achieve victory. As he stood behind the navigational command and control center, his right arm raised as his whiskers fidgeted a moment. The mice were the newest addition to the animal nations, and he pointed at the targeting array. " To valiant deaths my comrades, arrange us in an order befitting of our worthy enemy. Let them see how many we are, let them see our courage. This is our day comrades, let us announce ourselves, let us strike a blow against oppression, let us relieve our comrades below upon the ground." He took stock of the bridge crew and was aware he voice was being spread to the other regiments and their commanders and so on.

" I stand with you, together on this field, our field is the sky, the heavens, and we shall be as warriors. Let us be warriors!!" There were yells and fist pumping responses as the enlisted and officer alike sprang into action. The ships of the regiments began to disperse at this time, arranging themselves in a fashion of similar nature to that of the enemy. It was not a diamond, but rather a squared look, with vessels interlocking based on class. The Muroidean Airship Fleet was composed of one-hundred-forty vessels total. Of these, eighty were heavy cruisers, with twenty battle cruisers, and the rest were of the light vanguard class, a sort of destroyer-light cruiser mixup.

Then came the the silence, as two enemies stared at each other, much like the ships of the sea did once long ago before hurtling death towards one another. It was the time of the sword now, who would swing first. Who would catapult the forces against each other. Who indeed? The enemy, dossiers had labled them as Takhisians, some race he was not familiar with, but having much the same sense as them, begun to fire. The rippling effect could be seen, the waves of smoke, and fire plumes. It danced alongs the barrels of a fleet the size of his own and he knew he would find the battle he'd waited for.

Muroidea's response to this gracious invitation came as soon as the other had given. Let the battle commence honored enemies!

[Gratislavia]

Karthay
Over UFA-Occupied Territory
6th Aerial Cavalry "Black Dogs"

As much as Gratislavs disregarded triple A as obsolete and outdated, it sure did the job against low flying formations of aircraft. Still though it wouldn't have been so bad if the UFA-Forces hadn't thrown around their SAMs in such away that every sector seemed to be covered by the damn things. This was not the reality however, everywhere the lead Black Dogs went a trail of missiles seemed to follow them. The first to go down was one of the Alligator gunships, a shoulder fired rocket had arched up from the ground while the Alligator was ducking SAMs, taking the missile in the rear rotor.

"This is Scorpion 1-2, rear rotor is out, rear rotor is out, going down, repeat going down!" The Alligator spiraled downwards, smoke trailing from the tail and flames beginning to shoot up the cockpit. "The canopy is jammed, repeat canopy is jammed, cannot eject, prepare for hard landi-" The pilot's words were cut off, the gunship slamming into one of the buildings where AA fire was pouring out of. Dimitrivich watched the scene unfold, and then was torn from the spectacle as another one of his helicopters burst into flames, a missile taking it right in the fuselage. Things were going to hell, and there was nothing Dimitrivich could do about it way up here in the air.

"Dammit Sergei we're getting slaughtered up here, we won't even make it to the airport at this rate!" Dimitrivich shouted over the rotors to the Lieutenant that stood near him, his face wrought with distress. "Enough of this, take everyone down, we'll have a better chance of getting to the airport on foot than in this mess; and even if we don't we'll have the boys mark targets for the coming charge." Dimitrivich relayed the order to the pilot, sighing as he felt the helicopter drop down into the city. "Here we go, prepare to jump boys!" The helicopter came to a hovering stop a few feet from the ground.

Dimitrivich was the first out of the helicopter, then the Lieutenant Sergei, who screamed "Our lives for the Motherland," as he came down. The rest came in twos and threes out both sides of the helicopter, all screaming the cadence that Sergei had called. The action was repeated throughout the Gratislav helicopter formation, with those helicopters still able to make landings coming down as close to the Colonel as they could manage. The pilots who let their troops drop still weren't out of the clear however, they would have to fly out of the hell-storm of UFA anti-aircraft fire back to their FOB.

Likewise the gunships weren't exactly in an ideal position either, caught in between UFA fire and with direct orders to stay and support the ground forces the remaining six gunships dodged and weaved as best they could. It was not enough however, as was shown by another one of the Alligators coming down in a fiery display. "This is Wolf 1-1, requesting withdraw orders, UFA fire has made us combat ineffective, repeat combat ineffective!" Adam Volobei screamed into the speaking headset, even as he threw his gunship into a hard right jig that sent a well aimed missile whizzing by, if just barely so.

Static was all he got in reply, Dimitrivich was fighting on the ground, he didn't have time for relaying orders to the gunship pilot. "Goddammit, fuck it then, all Wolves all Wolves we are returning to base, repeat we are returning to base. Take whatever targets you can and get your bloody piece back to base, if anything the targeting computers will have some valuable intell." Volobei threw his gunship into another sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a flak round from one of the UFA triple As, as soon as he leveled out he gunned it. If he couldn't do anything for the men on the ground now, at the very least he'd get his bird home in one piece.

Karthay
League Held Territory, Port City of Kabor
2nd Grand Army of Gratislavia

The Gratislavs, like their Takhisian counterparts came with music, though of a different variety. Where the Takhisians used their loudspeakers the Gratislavs were content to greet Karthay with simply their voices. As the first of the transport ships struck down in Kabor a ramshackle choir of "God Save the Tsar" began filling the air. The performance would have made the Vamilagrad Symphony cry, though not necessarily in joy. Still though it helped the Gratislavs look past what might be their impending doom in the fields and cities of this accursed land.

Marshal Luhenzik was at their lead of course, striding down the off-loading ramp with the rest of his field headquarters in tow. Behind him came the infantry units of the 2nd Grand Army, followed at last by the APCs and tanks that thudded onto the docks in a somewhat magnificent display, their armor gleaming in the bright Karthay sun. "Well boys, it seems we have reached Karthay, nasty little piece of rotting fruit isn't it?" Luhenzik's men laughed at the joke, glancing around at the decimation left by the war that lay ahead of them now.

"Certainly ain't Artyomsk I'll say that much Marshal." One of the staff officers from rural Gratislavia shot back, laughing at his own joke quietly. "Farther we go inland the worse it'll get though, they've probably had some time to patch this place up a bit." The staff office gestured off towards the interior of the island, "Once we get where we're going though, well let's just say God and Tsar protect those poor Mud-sloggers." That didn't get a laugh from anyone, the staff officers knew they were fortunate, and they weren't about to insult the bravest of all Gratislavs. "Suppose we should find out whose in charge here and get in the fight then, I haven't got a clue where to start looking though."

Just then the guns the Haruspex had at the edge of the city started up, "Follow the sound of cannon boys, always worked before, don't see why it shouldn't now." Luhenzik couldn't help but break into a smile.

Approaching Karthay
Nearing Takhisian Beachhead
Gratislav Marine Detachment

"Marines never die, they just go to hell to regroup."

The Marines made music as well, though it wasn't near as pretty as the Takhisian or even infantry force in Kabor. Their music was the sounds of seasick men, of waves crashing against the BTRs as they trudged towards the beachhead. Theirs was the song of fear, of sweat and soon to be drawn blood. Silently the men of the Marine force offered up their prayers to the God that they held above all else. Many would not return home, but such was the cost of serving in the best of the best. The Marines were just that in Gratislavia, and they knew it.

"Thirty seconds!"

While most of the marines showed some sense or fear or hesitation, though concealed and put at the back of their minds. One unit showed no emotion at all. The 181st "Bone Brigade" had distinguished themselves at the last stand at Artyomsk against the Red Revolutionary Army some years earlier. A unit native to the city they had been totally unprepared for the horrors wreaked by the Red army, who literally flung the bodies of people from around the city over the walls of the Imperial Palace where the 181st had sat up their final defenses. Faced with desperation and no supplies the 181st had used the bodies of their friends and family as impromptu sandbags.

When the ammunition had run out the 181st had fought with their bayonets, shovels and knives. When these broke they had fought with their teeth. By the time the White Army reached the Imperial Palace and relieved the 181st they had become covered with the blood of their enemies, many of their teeth stained red from the countless bites into arteries of the Reds. They were the second unit to ever receive a personal battle banner from the Tsar, and remained the only since. However very few got to enjoy the honors this provided however, with the survivors of the battle mostly going mad. Unable to integrate them back into civilian life the 181st had become the infamous "Bone Brigade" fighting as the Tsardom's Shock Marines.

And here they were again, on the brink of the new world. Many of the marines still thought they were fighting the reds, in fact all of them outside a handful did. This mattered little of course, these men were killing machines, and they would do what they were best at. Each of their faces had been covered in one continuous tattoo, a solid and unbroken skull, only adding to their unsettling appearance. And they went forth again, even as the landing ramps slammed down they screaming their typical. "All for the Tsar, Death to the Red Rebellion." Streaming forth with the regular Marines towards whatever foothold the Takhisians had set up.

[New Azura]

High Command of the Conservator Corps of New Azura, Kajarin-Meghri, Europa
Office of the Adjutant General of the Unilateral Azuran Expeditionary Force Administration

Thomas DeWitt had longed for a return to normalcy, as strange as it sounded under the circumstances. Surrounded by contemporaries that would soon become comrades in a new world, the Consul General of the Federal Republic of East Azura could feel the growing sense of anticipation over the first combined action that was being discussed. In a perfect world, all focus would continue to help rebuild in his native land; but while Reconstruction was proceeding as quickly as was possible under the circumstances, unification meant accepting the treaty commitments that bound a sovereign state. The Europan Azur owed so much to the League of Imperial Nations for all their assistance in putting the bastards, the Midnight network out of business; considering all that Midnight had wrought upon his countrymen, Thomas was more than prepared to enter in league with the Imperials. He could only hope that the unity would hold in this first, grave trial.

As he stood in the open air of the small courtyard, he marveled at the scenic choice for location in what was essentially a council of war. Commandant Vache Ardzuni had insisted on an open-air meeting for a hitherto undisclosed purpose, though it certainly lent an unusual and not-altogether-unwelcome aesthetic to the proceedings. Huddled around a large wrought-iron table with a map of the Karthay lands emblazoned thereupon, DeWitt and his contemporaries had been hard at work trying to determine which avenue would be best to support the League of Imperial Nations in their ongoing campaign against the United Front Alliance. Despite all that remained to be done, Calixte Vardanyan had begun the process of lending active support to the Imperials' campaign in Karthay, and as a project of unity, the Confederates of Astyria had thought it wise to assist. Though he admired their resolve, he remained skeptical of their less-than-blatant 'ulterior motives'.

So what if they're desirous of battle? As long as they fight for the unity of New Azura, it should not matter.

Thomas sighed, at once content and surprised by his musings. To move so quickly into the thought processes of a New Azuran versus a Federal Azuran was disconcerting in one sense, though he had long made peace with the realization that the Federal Republic had practically ceased to exist after the storms of Pandæmonium. What forces the East possessed that were battle-ready were infinitesimal to the Europan Azur, to say nothing of the larger Confederates of Astyria. Still, progress was needed to shape the mettle of his men, and there was no more trying fire than the embers of war. The Confederates and the Europan Azur had been gracious in their deference of military obligations at the onset due to the aura of redevelopment, or in essence the essential rebuilding of the basic framework needed for a country. Yet when the chips were down, DeWitt was certain that his Federal Guard would perform fiercely, gaining its small measure of retribution for all that the United Front Alliance had helped to mastermind.

Blood will be repaid with blood. And for once, I hold no qualms over the issue.

The Confederate Grand Duke of Brixton-on-Lewes, Major General Sir Kieran an Poinsettia was motioning with his hand towards a strategic chokepoint on the map. "We need to consider whether or not we wish to reinforce the Imperials' position here, or launch our own initiative to split the main defense of the island. Ideally, there is much to be gained from opening a second front."

Vache Ardzuni shook his head, looking as cautious as his words gave away. "I'm not sure that we are in the best of positions to be taking those kinds of losses. Of our battle strength right now, only the Confederacy is at full strength—we have yet to fully resupply our external components holding court in the Antari and Ellorean dependencies."

"And most of our forces are concentrating on working with the Azur contractors in stabilizing our infrastructure," DeWitt added briefly. "We have a small contingency waiting to be deployed on the order of this council, but I would prefer not to put them into a position of grievous action were it avoidable."

Poinsettia's response wasn't exactly condescending, but it wasn't overtly friendly either. "The Confederacy acknowledges the inherent technological disposition of our neighbors and soon-to-be fellow countrymen, but my staff has reached the same conclusion as I—as a unity-building exercise, allowing the Azuran contingency in Karthay to act independent of the Imperials' Forces is of vital strategic importance."

"Madam Shroudlure has explicitly forbade us from jeopardizing the integrity of our unity," Ardzuni responded bluntly. "Allowing one member-state to assume the brunt of the assault levied against any Expeditionary Force could breed undue resentment amongst the general population. We must work in concert, lest this undesirable tract become our burden to bear."

The Grand Duke scoffed, rising up from the table with a hand rubbing at his brow. The momentary silence was uncomfortable, but did not last to long. A new voice piped in, approaching from behind: "Yes, but who's to say that we cannot explore the Confederate plan?"

Thomas turned, watching as John Cailean approached from the foyer of the main command, carrying an ornate-looking scroll in a firm, clutched grasp. Commandant Ardzuni rose from his perch over the table, greeting the former Nera Strega operative with great respect. "Mr. Cailean, sir. It's a pleasure to see you here; I'm glad you made it."

"Ah, the leader of the famed Order of the Nera Strega," Kieran an Poinsettia remarked glibly. "Your reputation precedes you, good sir. And I must say, your receptiveness to our plan speaks volumes about your eye for detail."

Cailean, ever the skilled speaker, did not fall into the hidden trap, earning DeWitt's growing respect. "Make no mistake, General, I believe wholeheartedly that a unified campaign would be quite apropos under the circumstances. Yet the Shroudlure has authorized me to bring you all this missive, denoting her blessing for war."

"Blessing for war?" Thomas asked with a surprised inflection.

"Indeed, sir. Calixte has ordained the use of military force in Karthay to the benefit of wiping out the military presence of the United Front Alliance there, pertinent to the various strategic goals encapsulated therein. Or, in layman's terms, she's putting the ball in your court. You have release authority to mobilize and execute any and all strategic military initiatives pertinent to the removal of the United Front Alliance from Karthay."

Commandant Ardzuni shook his head, shrugging. "Why are we being given the authority?"

"Because Madam Shroudlure is wiser than we thought," Kieran responded with begrudging respect. "She knows my concern, but she also knows the language of vengeance. If you want to see your enemies brought before the Gates of Hell, you assure yourself the best chance to see the plan through. And that means trusting those who have made it their lives' work to understanding the concept of battle."

"Her Council of War," Thomas added, catching on.

"Precisely," Cailean interjected. "Her strategic knowledge of battle tactics, in her own words, fails to approach the combined knowledge of this Council of War, and our independent staffers waiting respectively for their orders. And in listening to the Confederate plan, I see a possible strategic opportunity that we should consider exploiting."

"What would you suggest, Mr. Cailean?" Kieran asked, devoting his full attention to him.

"The remnants of the Ashta Virana and the Nera Strega have been reconstituted into a paramilitary division of the Selective Reconnaissance Service, the Nocturnas Vigilesque at the bequest of Madam Shroudlure."

"Night Watchmen?" Ardzuni inquired.

"As it were. While our full operational capacity wont be realized for some time, Calixte has authorized the immediate requisition of all available Ashta Virana and Nera Strega personnel and equipment into operational status for any and all punitive incursions into Karthay. And I believe that gives us a great strategic opportunity to take advantage of the situation at hand."

The three men looked at one another, in a sort-of subconscious measuring of Cailean's intellectual capacity for the strategics of developing a war plan. All three made the decision to trust him implicitly as a result, as noted by the Commandant: "Alright, John. What are you thinking?"

Cailean nodded, holding his palm over a small corner of the map. "The Europan Azur have a vested interest in stringing up every last member of the United Front Alliance, make no mistake. But we have just as much of a commitment to aiding our allies in the League of Imperial Nations. In truth, were it not for the great domestic strife which plagued the land recently, our delayed entry into the conflict was nigh-shameful. And if we mean to cultivate an honorable visage amongst our competitors in the international community, waging a war of retribution in cold blood would not necessarily dispel the uneasiness that some may have of our new unity."

"And how does that contribute to the Confederate plan?" Poinsettia asked intently.

Cailean replied: "The Europan Azur are obligated to assist the League of Imperial Nations, in repayment for their service to helping preserve their nation. But the Confederates and the Federals are under no such obligation, and that affords us an incredible opportunity."

The smile that slowly spread across the Grand Duke's face was almost disconcerting to Thomas. He spoke quickly, catching on with expediency: "You want to open two initiatives with New Azura, don't you?"

John nodded, opening his palms upward. "And there we are. While the Europan Azur aid their League allies, the Expeditionary Force could make good use of our assets in other areas to deal the United Front Alliance a crippling below. Thus, I propose a two-pronged assault utilizing the strength of the Confederacy, the iron resolve of the Federal Republic, and the experience of the newly-constituted Nocturnas Vigilesque."

DeWitt looked at Kieran, then turned towards Cailean. "We're listening, John."

[Canini]

The Karthaian Front

As the jungle was set upon by fire and black, oily smoke, Colonel Savren observed it all. The 77th regiment had already been reinforced by the 3rd, 6th and 199th regiments so as to bolster the number of troopers so far lost in the campaign against the Takhisian and other League forces at the western beachhead. A majority of his forces were however sucked into a meat grinder about an ancient Karthaian temple ruin. The surrounding area was thick jungle, and even armored vehicles with dozer blades were having a tough time of it.

His primary officers, Majors Thurfin and Toren who were at the front more or less, were sending back field reports of enemy movement, strengths, and above all else, the unfolding debacle of the offensive undertaken. The brief presence of League airships in the vicinity of the beachhead had caused a problem for the short time they were present. The Muriodean air fleet however had drawn them away soon enough. He could see and swore he could feel the concussive shock waves of that battle above the capitol, even though he was nearly forty kilometers from the epicenter of it all.

In response to a growing and mounting League ground force push, of which they had already crossed a main bridge into the city, was to shell the exterior areas just before the joint line of defense partaken by Rhydin, his own governments forces, and those of the Harukian's. Every artillery piece he could scrounge up and or had recently been delivered was arranged in a series of columns about ten long or so. Infantry forces had been dispersed with anti-tank and anti-infantry weaponry and positioned in nests and or trenches nearby. The most common anti-aircraft vehicle on Karthay, the HIA made " Back Stab " dotted the area as well as the urbanscape of the capitol.

Thirty cannon thus barked as one. The TAC-12 155m howitzers rained anti-personnel canister shell death upon the formerly occupied bridge and areas surrounding it as best they could. The goal was to thin the League forces considerably. They were far enough away, and protected enough that his crews could continue to fire and fire, and fire some more while his irregulars began to encounter lead elements of the League, specifically the Gratislav's in the capitol. Aware of this same people reinforcing the beachhead, in due time he calculated his forces would meet with them.

Karthaian Capitol, Labor District 4

Captain Graer of the 188th Canini Irregulars, and several squads were waiting in ambush within the fourth Labor District. A place where formerly immigrant workers had been living until the time of conflict had started, and to be fair, a bit of them had stayed behind, to die. As the Gratislav airborne forces begin to land, they engaged. From inside buildings, or behind cover, the rifles of the UFA rattled to life. The deafening crump sound of forty millimeter grenade undermount launchers impacting into concrete, mortar, and brick. Smoke and ash filled the streets while bullets stitched across walls and more.

The preferred rifle of the Canini military? The LY21 Advanced High Lethality Assault Rifle, of Lyran Armaments. As it was a modular design, incorporating a multitude of styles that could serve a proper force, it had been one of the weapons adopted by the Canini not to long after Rhydin had intervened in their own civil war and saved their people. It was an elegant rifle and easy to use and maintain. Another favorite, and often included in Canini squads by design, was the MGJ-21 'Mary Jane' Light Machine Gun. Several of them infact could be heard offering death to League forces.

The sound of diesel engines however was far more worrisome sound was that a pair of Back Stab anti-aircraft vehicles were tooling about the district as well. Screech of tires, and then that electric whirring sound of turrets being swung about. A pause, ever so long and then the buzzsaw of sound and terror. The main weapon of the Back Stab is a 30mm Rotary Cannon. Let your imagination take hold as to what that might do to buildings and close in urban combat. It's secondary is that of a Type 3 25mm auto-cannon and the Mk 2 machine gun mount of which is the HIA manufactured K1-B 12.7mm.

The tinkling sound of brass hitting the broken pavement added to the chorus as the irregulars pitted themselves against the Gratislav forces that had entered into their sector of defense. The whistling of mortars being added to the din of war, eighty-three millimeter poppers amidst all of this carnage. A proper welcome from the canine forces in the area. Hi, how do you do..Die!!! And so on.

[New Edom]

The Beachhead

On the shore, a small fife and drum detachment were playing the Iron March as more LCACs were sweeping up onto the beach. A flight of UAVs (with their coordinating tower control on the LPD sending signals to coordinate with the Taks, so they wouldn't be shot down) moved high overhead, while attack and transport helicopters escorted two companies forward to a designated LZ. The UAVs were to act as reconaissance units and as an early warning system for the arriving New Edomites.

General Romain and three of her staff had gone to meet with their Order opposite numbers, to be briefed on the current situation and fit into the current plans, but they could tell that action was possibly up, and so the arriving 104th Regiment and the heavier 9th Infantry Division were to be prepared for full deployment, with Anti-Air and artillery ready to give them some range for a response. The units were fully familiar with amphibious operations, and so it was more or less a matter of routine, getting them off the ships and onto the shore, merely a matter of timing. That was how it would seem to an observer, unaware of the hard work done planning and organizing, dealing with last minute problems...

While General Romain headed off to the staff meeting, her second in command, General Dadian moved ashore in one of the LCACs with his command vehicle, a signals vehicle and a Skyguard Battery of 9 vehicles. He was a bald man with one eye, false teeth from having lost them to a rifle butt in Dengali, and an artificial hand that looked like a bunch of steel pincers, but he was confident and glad to be in active service; he probably would not have been had he been of lower rank, but he would mostly be giving orders, not leading platoons or companies into action. He whistled along with the march as he stood up in the hatch of his Javelin command vehicle when it rolled down the ramp. Overhead a flight of Terrier VTOL fighters drowned everything out for a moment as they soared inland.

[New Azura]

Aboard the NAV Andreyushkin CVX-3268, Sector 015 Western Europan Waters
Operational Alert, General Quarters: 0100 Hours Azur Standard Time

The whitecaps churning far below in the wake of the fleet carrier's graceful stride through the warming waters of Western Europa were barely visible in the dim moonlight; the strength of the full moon having long since waxed weaker. The tidings of spring had yet to bring true warmth in the early morning on the sea lanes beyond the continental shelf, leaving the long nights uncomfortably cool and breezy. Captain Maksim Kazakov of the Andreyushkin had never quite developed the tolerance for the gales that whipped headlong into the sleek-but-mammoth warship, and his fellow fleet officers made sure to remind him every time they made port together. He tolerated the teasing in good faith, but had always had something of a chip on his shoulder over it. In any event, now of all times certainly wasn't the season to be bringing up old memories. Events were transpiring back east that were redefining the paradigm of their operations in Western Europa.

The fires in the homeland have yet to die out, and already the dogs of war are loosened from their leashes...

Maksim's line of thinking was far more old school than his contemporaries, despite being one of the younger fleet officers. He knew full well that the Azur Declaration of War on the Unified Front Alliance represented a major challenge to the unity of the newly-minted Conservator Guard of New Azura. He had no way of knowing how the Confederates, the Federals and the Guardians would work with one another in the long haul, but one thing was for certain: the War in Karthay was quite likely the first proving ground for the new arrangement. And any conflict involving the Azur in Karthay would likely begin with the deployment of Azura's carrier battle groups on patrol in the territorial waters of Western Europa. There were two active groups in position for redeployment, among them the task force centered around the Andreyushkin. With updated orders expected at any time, there was no doubt that his group would be among the first to deploy for Karthay.

The bridge was relatively quiet, despite being staffed with a full complement during the operational alert that they'd been running on for forty-eight hours. Kazakov had slipped away to the observation deck for a moment of solitude, braving the blustery conditions for some time to focus himself. Chances were, very little sleep would be had while the crew continued to shakedown in preparation for a deployment to Karthay. Truthfully, the Andreyushkin and her convoy were far better off than most, having been deployed west prior to the Civil Insurrection and the loss of Tsyion. Moving on Karthay had been in the works for some time, with the carrier heading up the first of a proposed three carrier groups that would deploy to the conflict zone. Considering the urgent news coming out of the war with regards to the trapped Gratislavs and Xukuthites in the north, Maksim had been banking on getting the green light to go sooner rather than later.

I wonder if that smarmy bastard Berezin is working his connections right now...

No sooner than the thought had crossed his mind, Maksim caught movement out of the corner of his eye, emanating from the control room exit. Major Taras Berezin was moving along near the railing of the deck, looking as tired as Kazakov felt. He'd never held any great interest in the man personally; though a fine intelligence officer and a quick-thinking strategist, Berezin was a tremendous pain in the ass with his holier than thou, prickish demeanor. Had he not had his mettle tested before in the Antari Campaigns, the Captain would have no use for him at all. Even with his expertise in naval warfare however, Maksim preferred to allow him a wide berth when possible. Apparently, this wasn't going to be one of those evenings.The intelligence officer came to a stop beside him, pulling out a carton of Volgan-brand cigarettes. His uniform was neatly pressed, causing him to look more distinct than he otherwise would have in the darkness.

"I didn't fancy you for a night person, Major," Captain Kazakov remarked pointedly. "What brings you up to the observation deck in the wee hours of the morning—I would've thought that you'd be preparing for the reception of your orders later this morning."

"Under operational alert? Captain, sir, I wouldn't get my orders until you got yours. Nope, I figured I would come up here and lend you some company, seeing as how you were all alone, and I was bored in my quarters."

"I bet you were," the Captain said with mild humor saturating his words. "In any case, you're certainly welcome to share the view with me if you so desire. I warn you though, I may not be the best of company right now."

"Working out some personal issues, sir?"

Maksim sighed, shaking his head. "Not really; I'm just looking out towards Karthay."

Berezin nodded succinctly, taking a long drag on his lit cigarette before speaking: "Yeah, I thought about taking a look out at her myself. I mean we're what, three days out from the island proper? Given the order to commence operations, I mean, sir."

"Something like that," the Captain confirmed, crossing his arms whilst leaning forward a tad on the railing. "Our first sorties would be ready for launch before that, of course. Long-range sentries would be up in the air fairly shortly, thanks to our relative proximity to the conflict area."

The intelligence offer smiled coyly. "Yes, sir. It is a blessing in disguise, isn't it? We have it much easier than the rest of our main body will. If it weren't for the recent events back in the homeland, there'd be no way that we could mobilize quickly enough to make an immediate difference. As it is, the Confederates and the Federals will need at least a few weeks before they're in a position to do anything."

Maksim absorbed the information, but suddenly felt his curiosity piqued. He turned towards Berezin expectantly, inquiring: "Major, tell me honestly. How deep into this mess are we about to be?"

Berezin chuckled, adopting that smarmy attitude that the Captain hated so much. "Now, now, sir. You know that if I told you, I'd have to kill you immediately afterwards. We can't very well lose you at the helm here, can we?"

"Damn it, Taras. Cut me some slack here and humor me. Off the record."

The intelligence officer exhaled slowly, studying the Captain momentarily. He took another drag on his cigarette before letting it fall to the deck, crushing it with his heel. "Very deep, sir. There's no ambiguity from General Consensus: Azura is going to war, and it wont be a limited engagement either."

"How big are we talking?" the Captain asked.

Berezin's brow arched, and his countenance grew deadly serious. "Five hundred thousand to start, with contingencies in place to draw from all three states. Beyond that, more than two million are being called up in the conscript draft; there's no telling where they'll end up going. It could be Karthay, or it could be a wholly new theater; no one knows right now."

"Two million?" Maksim asked incredulously. "My God, Berezin, Ardzuni must have crap dribbling down his leg right now in Kajarin-Meghri trying to pull off that coup of a deployment. It'd take weeks just to get the materiel into position, to say nothing of the troop movements."

"General Consensus estimates that it'll take us several days to send our standing regiments to Karthay, but almost a month before we could even begin to sniff full operational strength through our draftees. All told, we'll probably see about half of our force projection on the ground in Karthay within a couple of weeks, but I'm sure some of our forces will be moving in sooner rather than later."

The Captain nodded: "I agree, especially with the carrier groups operating out here in the west. We could land a contingency of Marines fairly quickly, provided we could get close enough without running into Rhydin's naval forces."

Berezin nodded, preparing to speak when the door to the control room came open in a huff. Maksim's first officer, Commander Seyvastyan Levin exited shortly thereafter, carrying what looked to be a military missive in his right hand. From the flushed look of his features, Kazakov banked on something important having come to pass. "Captain, sir. Major Berezin. We have received a properly formatted Emergency Action Notification from General Consensus. Comm. Officer Krikorian recommends priority one."

Maksim nodded, taking a deep breath before removing the missive from the XO's hand. He quickly withdrew a small placard from his chest pocket, scanning for the authentication code on the card—Alpha, Tango, Foxtrot, Zulu, Zulu, Bravo, Charlie—as it appeared on the missive. "I agree, the message is authentic."

Major Berezin quickly moved beside Commander Levin, watching focused as the Captain read aloud. "To the control crew of the NAV Andreyushkin CVX-3268, Captain Maksim Nadyr Kazakov commanding. You are hereby ordered to make haste to Combat Zone K-1 in Sector 5101. Designated release authority has been issued to the Andreyushkin to assist in the liberation of Karthay, pertinent to objectives hitherto extrapolated. Ivy Mike has a bountiful tag showing. The tag is golden and squared."

Taras flinched at the mention of the last two sentences, drawing the Captain's attention. "What is it, Major?"

"Could you read those last two sentences again, sir?"

Maksim nodded: "Ivy Mike has a bountiful tag showing. The tag is golden and squared."

The Major shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. The Executive Officer turned to him expectantly: "Major Berezin, you seem to resent that remark quite a bit. What does it mean?"

Taras looked over his shoulder to ensure that they were alone before speaking. "It's not that I resent it; I just wasn't expecting it. I'd been briefed on the possibility a week ago, but I hadn't given it much consideration. It didn't seem very likely at the time."

The Captain nodded, figuring that Taras wanted some privacy. "Commander Levin, sound general quarters. Set course for the conflict zone with haste, understood? And contact our nearest escorts to make sure that they got their orders."

"Contact our perimeter ships, sound general quarters, set course for Karthay immediately, aye sir."

Maksim nodded, allowing the Executive Officer to take his leave. He gave him a full thirty seconds alone with Taras before he asked the Major the million dollar question: "What does the code mean?"

"It's a deployment order, basically, effecting us inasmuch as our forces will be deploying in Karthay. We're putting a large Expeditionary Force under the command of the Tagmatines, and will be assisting them with their operations in Karthay."

The Captain gulped audibly, steeling himself. "How large, Major?"

"One hundred thousand, sir."

[Canini]

Regrouping

Major Toren's forces were pushing, pushing forth into the jungle's meat grinder. The 177th Irregulars Regiment and the 8th Army Regiment had come together and were reinforcing their fellows at the ruins as well as spreading out and pressing into the Takhisian defensive line that had sprung up in short order. Settled in the hollow of an overturned tree, he peered through a pair of field optics towards the ruins from the southwestern side of things. Now and then a cocky bastard would potshot the area, and one or two of his soldiers had been caught by raking fire from on high.

He was just about to order his reserves to the fight when high command came up on the line. The League was pushing across the main bridge into the city. The route was apparently towards the airport. His new orders were to pull back and secure the mountains and the crossroads into the city from the sea. He grumbled a bit, as he would have liked to crush those bastard Takhisians, but orders were orders. He turned immediately to his second, or rather the recently promoted second as the other had died a few hours ago. " Kafre, signal the unit commanders. We have new orders. Back to the mountains. " A nod of head from the dirty grey fox, and then scampered out of the hollow bellowing orders in a voice that didnt quite fit the body.

Rifles cracked and machineguns barked, but it became obvious, or at least it would that the Canini forces were pulling back. The receding forces didnt quit their force of arms however. Toren wanted it made clear that any pursuit would be costly towards the League. Under cover of artillery towards the beachhead and the ruins themselves, the combined taskforce began it's withdrawal with the the Irregulars moving first. Scattered and pitched battles became the normal, as the army regiment which had arrived some hours earlier, also then pulled back.

Though Toren was retreating from the fight, he was not out of it entirely. In order to get to the northern port, League forces would come within range of the mountains and possibly into their grasp. It was their he would punish them for it. Using the cover of the hollow momentarily until reaching his command vehicle, a Lyran made armored transport, he glanced backwards a moment before the hatch lid closed behind him.

Urban Push

Major Thurfin, unlike his counter-part Toren, had no illusions about his fate if he authorized a retreat in the face of the Rhydin Imperial Republic Army forces. He would most likely be given a beheading for making the Empire look weak to it's strongest supporter. As the League forces pushed into the industrial area and it's surroundings, he gave the order to engage as the first line of offensive. Best they clash as warriors, before the allied enemy nations could come up with a plan to go at them. It's what he would have done.

Therefore the combined forces under his command, of which included two companies of the 8th Broken Fang Regiment, three companies of the 9th Bone-Breakers, of whom were irregular urban combat specialists, and the entire 3rd Scar Regiment of medium armor support for a push at the start of the industrial district and barely a kilometer in front of the bridge itself. The first hint would be the light artillery coming down as the heavies at the edge of the city fell. This was a covering feint as the medium armor of the 3rd moved into position with it's infantry support following behind or at the sides. As the soldats found their positions, the tanks of the 3rd, announced themselves.

The LY7 Rottweiler's were chief amongst the exported tank type to Canini from the Rhydin Imperial Republic Army. It is a stout and well made medium tank boasting a 120mm dual-breech high-pressure electrothermal chemically fired smoothbore cannon. Popular amongst the Canini armored regiments, the tank has been acquired in copious amounts and almost always has a presence in Canini military arrangements when concerning engagements. As was the case present. Supporting these medium tanks were the ever deadly Sorcha HIFV's, not to mention the urban specialists that was the 8th and 9th respectively.

Many of these were of the more atypical Canini, gene-seeds could be traced back to wolf and or other breeds of canine that were larger then the many seen fox and or other genus. These breeds were usually from the more tribal and nomadic of the clans, and as such were more then welcome to the ways of war. Seeking that beautiful death was something that appealed to many of them and they were going to actively hunt the most dangerous of prey.

Major Thurfin, the diminutive and grumpy speckled fox gave a harsh order to his troops as the RIRA's commanders looked on. " Push them to the river, death to the enemy! Kill them all! " A welcome roar of approval from the troops as they scampered through the ruins towards the enemy while assault rifles mingled with machineguns, the now and then crack of a large bore rifle would intersect, the game was afoot!

[The Batorys]

OOC: Bold sections (besides titles) written by Ser Di Haruk. This post and that of Tak/Osea/Mur take place at roughly the same time.

Before we entered battle that day, she spoke to us, some in person, the rest over our squad radios. I won't repeat what she said in detail... no one ever will, as her words were only for us... but in short, she told us that our enemy viewed us as innately hopelessly inferior to themselves, in every conceivable way, even perhaps genetically. Obviously, she knew that with the 27th, nothing could possibly fill us with cold fury more than that would. Adjunct Siras always did know how to properly motivate her Euxine Vipers.

-Ignac Zizka, Imperial Historian, and veteran of the Batory 27th Army

Karthay City, shore of the river

A body lay in the mud, washed ashore by the current. It was one of several, as many had been carried downriver for a time, having fallen from the bridge, the edifice still just visible to the northeast from this bend. This body was different than the others near it, though. This one was alive.

For a while, it had, to any but the most careful observer, appeared no different from the corpses around it, motionless in the shallow water, the only movement caused by the current where limbs lay in water deep enough to pull at them. The rise and fall of this body's chest was barely perceptible. The shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, yet that was no outward sign, as many corpses bled out eventually. That was not the case here, of course. Not carried particularly far by the river, the blood loss had eventually abated as the wound was exposed to open air, and thus, life continued.

Eyes flicked open. No movement for a few minutes, and then throat emitted a pained grown that ended in a hacking cough. Then the body's owner turned over, coughing up water and phlegm. He remained in this position a while, staring down at the muddy bank below him, before lifting his head and surveying the area around him, discovering the others whom the current had carried to this bend.

Slowly, he checked each of the nearby bodies for signs of life; the hyperboreans first, for he was one himself, and if those who by their attire were his comrades also lived, the discovery of such would be a priority. Alas, none did. The other bodies were Harukian, and these he checked for signs of life, also. In this case, though, had he discovered any of them alive, they quickly would have ceased being so. The soldier knew he was wounded and separated from his comrades, and so attempting to take prisoners was inadvisable. Thankfully, further action against the Harukians here was unnecessary, as they had passed from life to death.

A quick check told him that some his gear had been lost in the river, most notably his rifle, though he still had his munitions. Though most movements made him wince with pain, he smiled at the presence of the explosives. Most of these, he knew, would be still serviceable, even after having been through the river. Missing gear he looted from the corpses. "Sorry friend," he said, picking up a rifle from one of the dead soldiers and slinging it over his shoulder. "Pretty sure I need this more than you do, now."

The sapper set off towards the bridge, carefully, and quietly. Scamper grimaced with every step.
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At sea, off the coast of the northwest provinces of the Batory Empire

Footsteps announced that the tall, lithe woman had company at the stern gunwale now had company. Looking up, briefly, before peering again at the water behind the ship, she greeted her companion. "Hey Socks."

Corporal Socks smiled, joining her in peering towards the ship's wake. Socks was, of course, not his real name, but then, many in the Batory Army did not use their real names. Nicknames, often derisive, or in reference to a joke they'd either played or been the butt of, usually earned in training, often even became the official way of referring to various soldiers. He looked over at the woman he'd joined. Known now as Sergeant Pixie, after their drill sergeant had made fun of her for arriving at training having already cropped her hair short in the manner usually done to recruits on their first day of basic, her pale face carried a pensive expression, as if turning something over in her mind with concentrated effort. Socks had been surprised when she seemed to have decided to befriend him in training, as her promotion to sergeant at the newly formed 28th Army's first muster had been no surprise to anyone. The young woman had, after all, seemingly already been through training, already knowing everything they were being taught, whereas Socks had bumbled a bit at first. In any case, he had eventually learned, as she confided in him, why training only seemed to be extra practice for her. While "Pixie" was not her real name, neither was the one the drill sergeant had originally called her. Her true name was Mierin Batory. While, given that she was moroii and had black eyes, Socks had suspected that she might be some relation, the revelation that she was, in fact, the Empress' granddaughter and eventual heir to the Throne of Bones had stunned him.

"You looked lost in thought... uh... sir," the young man spoke. "Pondering something?"

She nodded, giving a half smile. "Many things." While she did not look upset or worried, her expression had been relatively serious.

Socks now was the one to nod. He didn't bother asking if she was nervous about their destination; everyone was. Perhaps Pixie less than most, as the Corporal knew she had likely killed before, likely even killed and eaten people. The thought made him shudder slightly. "Being stuck aboard a ship does encourage a crowded mind, I guess."

Pixie nodded again. "Right before we left I received a call from Sarkanotthon with some news concerning myself that I'd never expected to hear."

"You being disinherited or something?" Socks asked, voicing the first outlandish thing that came to mind.

His sergeant shook her head. While normally things were a bit more formal between officers who hadn't worked together in the field, Pixie had picked Socks as her corporal partly due to the trust she'd already placed in him. "No, nothing like that." A pause. "It has been centuries and centuries since the last time the Batory clan's throne line made an arranged, dynastic marriage. Yet my first husband," she said, in reference to the Batory practice of taking multiple husbands, "has been chosen for me."

They were both silent for a few moments. "Heh," Socks chuckled, glancing over to the moroii. It seemed she had already begun modifying her uniform. "At least, even if we're headed to battle, it's away from all that business."

Pixie laughed darkly. "No it's not," the Batory said with a sigh. "That's where he is."
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Temporary command center of the 27th Army, called the Euxine Vipers, Karthay City

When Gumdrop reached the Adjunct, the 27th's commander appeared to be engaged in conversation over a map with Fist Istvan Farkas, the cavalry commander, both making sweeping movements in what appeared to be the general vicinity of the warehouse district, where it had been previously thought the next confrontation would come. Before the wounded Light Infantrywoman, who had been pressed into service as an extra courier, could speak, Siras noticed her. "Ah, Gumdrop. More news from the Light's scouts?"
Even though in none of her reports had she ever been kept waiting, it still surprised the infantrywoman that the Adjunct did not make people wait when avoidable. "Aye, news about the enemy forces advancing on us. They're the doggies... I mean the Canini, as we thought. What looks like a whole tank regiment with several companies supporting them, some of these irregulars."
Siras' expression tightened in thought.

Fist Farkas gave voice to what were probably some of the Adjunct's suspicions. "That's all? They have to know it won't be enough to push us back... I wonder what larger game these canine pawns and rooks are part of..."
The Adjunct nodded. "What larger game, indeed. Farkas," she said, "I believe the plans we've made for the deployment of the cavalry will be sufficient, you may return to your troops."
The moroii man nodded, and left. No one saluted in the field, after all.

Turning to two aides, the 27th's diminutive commander gave further orders. "Contact Svatens and tell him we'll need whatever air support he can give us. Yes, I know the aircraft his fleet has aren't really suited to ground attack, but we'll have to make do. Contact the Takhisians, the Osea-Yuktobanians, the Gratislavians, and anyone else, and tell them the same, and that at least we'd like to know the exact positions of the enemy artillery." To the other aide, she added. "Relay my orders to the 27th's artillery to deploy. We've been getting pummeled without giving them a reply for quite long enough."
She then gave her attention to Gumdrop once more. "The Light's scouts are to harry the Canini forces in a fighting withdrawal. Good thing the sappers thought to pack extra incendiaries. I want them to bring up some of the flamethrowers as well."
The courier looked perplexed. "Why the flamethrowers?"

Siras shrugged. "Hair is highly flammable."
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Mountains at the outskirts of the city of Caelistrin

The house offered quite a view... a panorama of the city, its tall buildings, in the northwestern province style, intricate and ornate, soaring above the treetops of the city's streets. Their lights were already shining as beacons in the gathering darkness. The lights of the capitol building of this particular province, an ancient castle on an island in the middle of the river that led to the fjord that formed the city's port, shone also, illuminating the archaic edifice, even from this distance.

In addition to the breathtaking view of the city, the rustic hillside home's location also gave it a view of the very road leading to it. Though night came early this part of the year, four people had been working in the yard, though the small children, of course, played more than they actually worked. This caused no irritation from their grandparents, however. They were young yet, and the little help they were able and attentive enough to give was appreciated. None worked now, though, as all family members present watched a lone car make its way up the switchbacks of the two-lane road, to the house. While, true, the car could possibly be going deeper into the mountains beyond, this was unlikely, especially at this hour. The parks were open even in this time of year, but most visitors would have come earlier, and besides, the entrance beyond the elderly couple's house was mostly used by the park's own service personnel, to which this automobile most certainly did not belong.

It was a small, two-seater sports car, painted what seemed in the fading light to be black. As it parked outside the gate, it could be seen that the paint was not actually quite black, but a very, very deep red.

The elderly woman spoke as the car's door opened. "Sven, take the kids to the den and put on a movie for them." As her husband looked to her, and then to their grandchildren, she snapped, urgently, "Now, please." A look of slight frustration on her husband's face as he ushered the children inside asking them which movie they wanted to watch. Whatever confusion the boy and girl had at being taken away from a likely interesting visitor was quickly forgotten as they suggested ideas for what to watch in their grandparents' comfy TV-watching room, at a lower level than most of the house. They did so love visiting their grandparents, who sometimes spoiled them rotten.

Meanwhile, their grandmother, a tall, thin woman, stern looking at present, though her grandchildren were more used to the smile that lit up her face, had not taken her gaze off the parked car. The woman who climbed out of it was not particularly tall, but conveyed a deadly presence. Dressed in dark grey, the visitor's jet black hair blew slightly in the wind. Even in the dim light of dusk, she wore sunglasses, aviators.

She approached, a smile on her pale lips, revealing a set of teeth that included long, dagger like fangs. Her elderly host knew already that the inward facing side of these was barbed. "Freydis Anhdat... professionally known as Patch, how go things for you? Oh, don't look at me like that, if I were here to kill you, I wouldn't have picked a day when your grandchildren were visiting," at the deepening of the elderly woman's scowl, she laughed, "Oh yes, of course I know they're here. As I was saying, I wouldn't kill you with them here, that's sloppy, let alone just walking up to your front door." By now, the moroii was in the yard, having hopped the gate.

Still scowling, a look made fierce by the fact that she had but one eye, the socket of the right one covered with the article of clothing that gave her nickname, Freydis--Patch, crossed her arms below her breasts. "Roka Darvul... or Left Fang, though few know that you're the same person... what do you want?"

Darvul, mistress of the Dragon's Claw, and thus one of the most powerful people in the Empire, feigned surprise at the question. "Why, just to talk! What else?" She removed the sunglasses and smiled. "Preferably over a drink, if you have any." There was an awkward moment of silence as the older woman considered Left Fang's likely understated words, during which time the assassin looked around the yard, before back at her likely hostess. "May I come in?"

The old soldier, Freydis, or Patch, as she'd been called, sighed turning around and motioning the unwanted visitor to follow her into the house. Inside, it was much like a cabin, though not especially primitive. The furniture was old and minimalist, usually bare or varnished wood, though of high quality workmanship. Freydis motioned to a well-worn oaken table with a few similar chairs around it, and Roka sat. Meanwhile, the hostess rummaged around for cups, settling on two wooden mugs. Hers was a people who believed in preservation and repair, not replacement. From a closet specifically designed to keep alcoholic beverages cool, jutting, as it did, out of the rest of the walls of the house, the grandmother grabbed a clay jug of mead. She sat down opposite the Dragon's Claw and poured for both of them, not waiting for her unexpected guest to speak before taking a hearty swig, in fact, nearly draining the cup, then immediately refilling it. Apparently, whatever she expected Darvul to say, she didn't think she wanted to hear it sober. The visitor merely sipped her own drink. Taking a smaller swig of her newly refilled cup, Freydis finally spoke. "So, what is it that you want to talk about?"

Sipping her drink, the head of the Dragon's Claw said simply "The war, of course." Even sitting casually at the table, partaking of fermented beverage, she cast a dark pall, having an intimidating air about her.

"What about it? I don't hear much about it, being a civilian these days," Freydis said, her lone eye narrowing on the younger woman.

Darvul smiled. "Your upcoming part in it," she said, sipping her mead. "The Army and the Empress have decided that you are to be given another command."

Anger deepened Patch's scowl. "Go hang!" she exclaimed, slamming her cup down. Some drink spilled over, creating a tiny puddle on the tabletop. "I'm retired! No. I'm not giving that all up. I get to see my grandchildren all the time now, and my husband and I haven't had this much fun with each other since we were young lovers. I'm not giving that up. The Army and the Empress can go fuck themselves. You can't convince me to... to... to un-retire."

Her guest was silent for a time, regarding her with the predatory dark grey eyes characteristic of the Darvul clan. "Of course I can, " she said slowly. Looking Patch in the eye, she added. "You said the words."

Momentarily confused at the seeming change of subject, the old soldier drank. "What does that have to do with anythi... oh..." she trailed off as her mind recalled the odd, specific wording of the soldier's vow, with sudden clarity. "Fuck," she exclaimed, tiredly, deflating, realizing.

A tiny, barely perceptible upturning of the corners of her lips the only indication of satisfaction at her victory, Roka spoke again. "You will be given command of an army group..."

"An army group?" Patch interrupted, her tone quizzical, suspicious.

Smiling, the Dragon's Claw continued. "Yes, an army group. As you might recall, you were promoted to High Fist upon the announcement of your retirement. Thus, you will command an army group."

Patch shrugged. "I thought the Adjunct was just being nice..."

"She recognizes and rewards talent..." Another of Roka's disturbing grins followed. Patch knew those teeth had torn out throats, ending lives, and devoured human flesh. "And has an eye for future usefulness, of course." She raised her pint in a wordless toast to that particular Adjunct, and took a swig. "But yes, in your army group, will be the 17th and 22nd Armies."

"How do you know I won't still refuse?" Patch asked, raising an eyebrow above her lone functional eye.

The Dragon's Claw smiled smugly. "Because the core of this army group will be the 4th."

Patch's eye widened, and then she sighed, slumping in her chair. After a few minutes, she spoke. "To go fight in some horrible jungle in Karthay? That's a significant drawback, and I don't think the 4th would really be ideal for that particular battlefield."

Darvul chuckled. "I see you've studied the current conflict more than you let on... however, I never said you were going to Karthay."

"Oh."

"You accept the assignment, then?" Looking directly at the older woman, the assassin let the question hang in the air.

After a long moment, Patch sat up, pouring herself yet another pint of mead. "All right, fine, only blood can be enough."
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Karthay City, at the time of the crossing

As the prisoner, a Harukian sniper, came to, three faces peered down at him. In the background, intermittent arguing could be heard above the sound of gunfire and shells, a few feet away. Of the three that were close, one appeared nervous and likely younger than he was, while another, a woman, had a hardened but bored appearance. The third, and the oldest, included a ridiculous mustache. This one was speaking, attempting to communicate in various languages. All appeared to be soldiers, though none of their attire or kit matched, many of their various accoutrements looking like they came even from different nations.

"I'll try English," said the mustachioed soldier, in the language he'd just referred to. "Looks like you're awake. I'm Sergeant... I think it's Potsherds, in English. Sorry about the strip search, we tried to put your clothes back on as best we could. Standard procedure, we have to do it, I'm afraid." His tone was casual, though polite.

He heard a babbling of many tongues, and as he came more awake to his surroundings, his uniform felt out of place and yet all proper just the same. He of course had none of his weapons, nor any of his other gear, but that was to be expected.

The language of the savages turned into one that he somewhat knew. It was a rough third or maybe fourth tongue to the sniper. His rank tabs listed him as a Maesael Thos Tar (Sergeant First Class) under the Harukian Army. There was a patch with a fox, a spear, and a rifle crossed below it symbolizing his placement in the 7th Company of Specialist Rifle Forces, of the 7th Regiment Republican Army. A further emblem was that of the UFA banner just beneath such.

" I understand. " And he said no more as of the moment.

"Ah, good," The hyperborean sergeant sat, staying silent for a minute. "How are you feeling?" he asked the prisoner. The words on the Harukian's uniform were alien enough that the Euxine Vipers could not discern which part was the surname, or whether all of it, or any of it was. "You took a bit of a blow to the head, after all."

Silent for a moment, contemplating something in the distance, perhaps the sky itself, filled with the smoke of battle, the mustachioed man spoke again. "If you're not concussed or anything, care for a drink? I'm having one."

The soldier's name would be at the left side of chest, on a small strip. In this case it was a last name, a habit carried by many armies to be honest. In this case it read "Afran'Ma ", of which 'Afran' was a popular last-middle name within the Republic. 'Ma' was the actual family name of the individual.

A glance towards the three closest enemy figures before over to the individual attempting to make him at ease and or whatever. He slid up somewhat, pushing against his palms before draping his hands across his slightly bent knees.

" You will get nothing from me, it is fair you understand this now."

His gaze settled on the man with the fine mustache and then flickered towards the others. Sizing them up, and his location as well in a very quick order.

A chorus of laughter erupted from the soldiers, those who hadn't understood the Harukian's words joining in upon hearing Potsherds' translation. In contrast to the prisoner's attire, the only one of the hyperboreans whose actual name, a surname in this case, was present on her uniform was the bored looking woman, Katarindat. The rest had only the names they'd picked up in the army itself marked. For some reason, they found his statement hilarious.

Potsherds looked back to the source of the arguing, moving slightly, such became visible to Afran'Ma. A relatively tall man, whose uniform was one of the more relatively... 'uniform'-looking, was seated with a woman, herself small of stature and his opposite, black haired, with at least a score of gruesome trophies from dead male enemies tied to her belt. There was dried blood on her face. The two soldiers bickered incessantly.

"Kazinsky," their ridiculous looking sergeant clipped. "Pass me your canteen. No, not the one with water in it, nice try." The taller man, whose name was, of course, not his real name, threw a small, battered bottle over to the sergeant.

The sergeant, likely the best at languages, unstoppered the canteen and took a sip, before again regarding the prisoner. "All I asked was if you wanted a drink," he noted, absently. "As I recall, I didn't ask you to give me anything, in particular."

He shrugged. "If our intent was interrogation, we'd have just given you to the Dragon's Claw, or maybe the Haru, or just saved you for the Xukuthites. Giggles, over there" he gestured to the tiny woman with the ghastly collection, who was once again arguing with Kazinsky, "was chomping at the bit to be let loose on you, herself, which probably would have been the worst, actually."

Potsherds gave an odd smile. "But then, the rest of us would prefer to keep our breakfast down, and by Ithtyr's cunt, what could you possibly know that's useful, anyway? You're just a sniper. It'd be a wasted effort." He shook his head. "No, you have the good luck not to be Rhydinian, so it's probably off to the Empire with you, until the war is over." He took another drink from the canteen. "Whenever that is."

Afran'Mas simply gazed back with nary a sound at the antics of this... motley army. That they had pushed his brethren back was almost an affront to everything he knew.

His words were as solemn as ever. " I will not go anywhere with your..." He let the last word hang before it slid forth. " Army." His elbows rested upon his bent knees and then he glanced towards the smoke and ash rising up like great pillars.

" May you die without honor."

Afran'Ma did not hesitate to curse his enemies, nor shirk in the face of their decadence or depravity as it was so shown. In truth his body was quite relaxed, as if he did not care for the reactions that might come from such words.

This was probably due to the sudden head movement, the loud cracking sound that was more then audible and then glazed look in his once sharp eyes. A right rear molar had been bit down with force, and the cyanide capsule within shattered.

It burned going down his throat, sweeping into his heart and nervous cluster like a fell wave. His body began to shake and quiver, and then white foam dribbled from between tightly pressing lips. The last he saw was the ashen pillar from the cityscape and then the earth and grass of this cursed earth of Karthay...

For once looking something other than bored, Katarindat looked down at the twitching corpse. An expression somewhere between shock and annoyance crossed her face. "Said the man who uselessly killed himself," she said, referencing the man's last words. "Right..."

Potshards, meanwhile, wrinkled his face, looking disparagingly at Kazinsky's canteen. "What the fuck do you have in here?" the sergeant asked the sniper.

"Vodka," the man shrugged. "Nothing more."

His superior scowled at the receptacle a minute longer before grunting, capping it, and tossing it back. "Tasted more like something you'd use to clean wounds rather than drink, to me," he said. "No wonder Afran'Ma killed himself. The thought of downing a swig of that must have been too much to bear."

Giggles, who had been oddly silent, but glaring, after the Harukian Sniper's unfortunate demise, snapped "I wish he'd waited to do so a little longer," before snorting in disgust. She got up and withdrew a knife. "Fucking shit, Potshards," she swore at the sergeant, walking up to the corpse. "You said the Adjunct wanted you to find out one thing if we managed to take a prisoner. One thing, that's all you had to ask about." She stooped down. "One simple fucking question. 'Why are you fighting us?' That's it." She prepared to collect another trophy.

Potshards sighed. "Yeah, well, the suicide by... I guess that's a cyanide implant... was a surprise. We just would have found out about that sooner if we'd done it your way, since you would have immediately done what you're about to do now, and by the way, stop it. The man was a prisoner." He shook his head. "Cyanide tooth implant in a sniper? If that's standard practice for the Harukians, that has to get expensive."

At this, his own squad's sniper chimed in. "Yeah, we don't get anything like that..." His eyes widened. "Not sure I'd want it, either. Might be nice if you're getting tortured, but I wouldn't want poison riding around in my mouth. Not like we were torturing him anyway."

The fresh-faced looking Bright Eyes spoke up for the first time. "That's debatable. We were trying to get him to drink your booze, and I've tried what you call vodka. I think the next day was the worst I ever had until I got here."

"Oh come on, you just have no taste for it!" Kazinsky gave the recruit a look suggesting that he'd been deeply insulted.

Having at first looked disappointed that she'd not get to add another trophy to her collection, Giggles shook her head. "No, I gotta agree with the kid. I've had your vodka many times, and sure, it calms the nerves all right, but really, it does taste pretty terrible."

"You all are just a bunch of philistines," the sniper laughed, taking a sip of the much-debated vodka.

"Philwhat?" Bright Eyes asked, not understanding the reference. Like most of the squad, and unlike Kazinsky, he wasn't from an area of the Empire that was majority Christian.

"Philistines. A biblical people that supposedly warred with the ancient Israelites, the implication is that you're uncultured, barbaric." Potshards chuckled. "Not that the Philistines actually were any more uncultured and barbaric than the Israelites, but that's always how one thinks of one's enemies." With of a shake of his head, he added "Hence our deceased acquaintance's general demeanor, and parting words." The ranks of hyperboreans on this side of the bridge were thinning, with the mixed infantry among the last to cross. "In any case, we'd best move along. There's more work to do, and the Adjunct will be saying a few words before we do whatever it is we're going to be doing, or so I hear." The sergeant sighed again as he looked towards the bridge at the sound of an impact. It was now apparently being hit with artillery.
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The Front, Karthay City, Warehouse District

Alhazred finished his preparations as Adjunct Siras Vuun concluded her speech. He and his fellow sappers had worked throughout the speech, though silently. Now the brief talk had concluded, the radio falling silent once again.

A voice shattered the silence. "How are things, fuckers?" The man from whom the voice had come stood near the doorway of the building, flanked by two scouts, leaning on the wall. He looked exhausted and in pain, but was smiling nonetheless. Back, apparently, from the dead.

Before the relatively new sapper could say anything, the older one he'd been paired with looked askance at Scamper. "The fuck are you doing here, old man? You should be getting medical attention. And there won't be much of that here for a while, the doggies are coming out to play, in tanks."

"And so you're preparing this place for them?" the oldest sapper said, looking around at their work.

"No, this building is being prepared for what we're going to do after they come," Alhazred said, joining the conversation.

Scamper smiled. "I'm sure we could use it for both."
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Waterfront District, Drun, Northwest Provinces of the Batory Empire

The great shipyards of Drun sprawled along the shores on several of the islands that formed the city, a mass of cranes looming above slipways, dry-docks, and straits between the islands that had become canals. Though in fact the complex was a highly organized and famed establishment in the Empire for the construction and repair of nautical vessels, in appearance it seemed a haphazard affair, with some sections quite modern and others of various elder ages, the entire complex squatting in the mud of the islands, despite the frequently updated technology of the shipyards themselves, likely looking much as it had a thousand years ago, when it built longships that terrorized the coastal populations of lands across the sea.

Open to the sea via a deep fjord, the city itself was a bit of a geological anomaly. A wide river delta opening into an area where the mountains around the fjord had collapsed in some prehistoric cataclysm gave Drun its odd, canal city layout even while some of the landward areas of the city, including the enormous castle complex from which it was governed, climbed steep mountains, appearing to cling to the slopes.

"How go repairs?"

Erzsebet Sorvik, admiral in the Batory Imperial Navy, turned to see the source of the familiar voice, knowing, of course, that it would belong to her once teacher, Admiral Andersen. The man was small and wizened. Before the war, it had been widely known that he intended to retire soon. Obviously, the war had postponed that, considerably.

The moroii woman, even smaller, herself, smiled and turned back to what she had been regarding. She stood along the side of a dry-dock, where a ship was being worked on by members of the Drun Guild of Shipwrights. The vessel that both admirals now observed was enormous, though calling her a behemoth would do a disservice to the elegant appearance of this vessel and her class. Termed a Drakker by the Empire's navy, in foreign parlance, her type was that of a battlecruiser, though verging on being a fast battleship. Long and gracile, she had the look of being built for speed. The fact that she appeared, this close, to be painted black, designated her as the flagship of 1st Cruiser Squadron, Sorvik's own Ithtyr, as the others were painted, mostly, a dark grey. She had been completed not long before the war with the United Front Alliance broke out.

The moroii smiled. "She'll be ready to sail by nightfall, or so the guildmistress told me."

Andersen nodded, with a wry smile, as if amused at the persisting odd relationship between the Guild and the Sorvik moroii clan. Erzsebet's clan had started the organization, originally just hired help for building the longships with which they pillaged other coasts. Later, when Drun had been formally organized into a kingdom, the bulk of its navy had been the Sorvik fleet, even up to the point when Drun had finally been conquered by the Batory Empire, at which time the Sorvik fleet came to comprise much of the Batory Imperial Navy. While things were different now, the Sorvik clan, with many of their members being naval architects, still designed many of the navy's vessels, and had an exclusive arrangement with the Drun Shipwrights' Guild. Vessels designed by the Sorviks could only be built in Drun.

"I'm sure you know what's in the next dry-dock over?" Andersen asked, breaking the silence.

Sorvik shrugged. "I've seen them. Strange vessels."

The older admiral laughed. "Well, I haven't, except on paper. Shall we take a look?

His former pupil laughed in turn. "Let's. I'm surprised you haven't already."

The next dry-docks over were a bit different. While the dry-dock the Ithtyr now occupied had a canopy overhead to keep the rain off while working, the Guild had built temporary walls completely enclosing these, and both admirals had to provide security clearance to pass through one of the doors in these walls.

Inside, waited the future.

Two vessels were visible, both submarines, though clearly of completely different classes. They were enormous, for submarines. Most Batory navy submarines had been relatively small compared to these. While strikingly different in appearance, both had a menacing air about them, like sleeping sea monsters of legend.

A third voice caught their attention. "Greetings."

They turned, to see the one who had so hailed them, none other than Roka Darvul. "Suddenly taking an interest in naval matters, clawmistress?" Sorvik asked.

"I am always interested in naval matters, though admittedly more so when one of our strongest enemies is almost wholly a maritime power." She gestured to one of the two submarines. "That's one of theirs, as you probably know, Chiana class... the other is the first of the Xukuthite Orion class that the Batory clan bought... a few of them will be joining 1st Cruiser, Admiral Sorvik."

Her face grim, Erzsebet nodded. "Aye, so I'm told, our debauched, sibling-fucking overlords finally seeing fit to spend money on the navy." Neither of the other two responded to this. Sorvik clan was loyal, but known for looking disapprovingly on some of the Batory clan's habits, though they were not quite as different as they liked to present themselves as. She paused for a moment. Like many in her fleet, she took liberties with the uniform, opting for an overcoat too big for her tiny frame over a work undershirt and pants, for which she was constantly reprimanded. "I was skeptical that they'd keep up until I saw the spec sheets... they'll make over forty knots, and my mother's already taken quite a thorough look at them with the idea of making some modifications to get even a bit more out of them, though I'm not sure that's possible."

The Dragon's Claw laughed. "Will Madar and her assistants be employing the usual space saving measures, then?"

At Sorvik's nod, Andersen shook his head. "Gods help their crews," he said. "I've served on Sorvik ships and ships with Sorvik modifications... it isn't pleasant..."

The green-eyed moroii's expression turned to that of mock indignance. "It's not our fault the rest of you lot didn't grow up bathing in saltwater. There's just no reason to use precious freshwater for anything but drinking on board a ship."
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Karthay City, behind the front lines

As the oncoming Canini counter-assault could be heard, just starting to hit the hyperborean lines, a cataclysmic cacophony rising in the afternoon air, other soldiers stood looking down at the hole they'd been ordered to go into. It was completely dark, of course, power to this sector had been out for some time, most likely, all the lights that had once lit the underground passage ominously absent. The effect was that of a yawning maw that would swallow them whole.

"We're supposed to go down there, aren't we?" said the voice of a young man who'd just arrived.

"Glad you got back from the warehouse district, Alhazred," Potshards said to the young sapper.

The sapper nodded. "Didn't want you all to get sent into whatever shit you're going into without a lot of munitions. Saw the quartermasters on my way back."

"You tell 'em you were all out?" said Gimp, one of the squad's heavies, and a moroii.

Alhazred smiled. "Aye, that I did."

"And they believed you?!" Giggles exclaimed, in disbelief, herself.

The sapper shrugged. "Obviously I wasn't out, but there's a specific way Scamper taught me to ask for munitions that they give you the benefit of the doubt. Damn quartermasters."

"Well, good man," Potshards added. "Because yes, we are going down into that hole."

All except Gimp and Twopints, the squad's pair of moroii, visibly viewed this prospect with distaste.

"And worse," the sergeant added. "We and the rest of Sunshine's bunch are in the vanguard." A collective groan was heard amongst the squad.
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The Front, Karthay City, Warehouse District

It had been a haze of carnage and pathos, the moments after initial contact. True to their orders, the Light Infantry had harried the Canini irregulars as they made their advance, leading them on a wild goose chase, thankfully away from the sapper positions. A ruse that had worked, of course, until the sappers had shown their hand.

Lying in wait, in hastily constructed rubble camouflage, the forward most sapper positions had waited until most of the tank regiment passed by to make their move. Detonations sounded as buildings collapsed onto the rear of the Canini columns, and then the anti-tank munitions were flying through the air, to land on and stick to the backs and tops and sides of the enemy armor, and cross-firing flamethrowers erupting from the sides of buildings, incendiaries following to attack the supporting infantry in turn. Such were horrible weapons, one of the dark triumphs of Batory military engineering, far more potential for life-ending flames packed into the hand held devices than many would think possible. The manufacturing process of Batory munitions remained, even to this day, a closely guarded secret, the keeping of which was among the great successes of the Dragon's Claw. Standard shrapnel grenados now flew through the air to join the rest of the sappers' cruel weapons. Yet, some varieties of munitions were held back. Absent were the chemical ones, the corrosive spouting eggs whose mist ate through protective gear and sometimes flesh as well, the choking and blinding poisons, and what some called the worst of all, the munitions that had resulted from weaponizing a popular hallucinogen, said to lead to madness. While the Euxine Vipers had such weapons with them, none wanted to be the first to use them without explicit orders to do so.

Similar events would have taken place at the rear sapper positions, when the heads of the Canini columns arrived. The enemy vanguard allowed to pass, and then the noose tightening around those behind them, as the Vipers' cavalry swept in from the open area near the bridgehead to counter the Canini vanguard.

Things had gone mostly according to plan, but, like all plans, casualties were expected. Scamper groaned, as his wound had reopened and he was now bleeding again. The initial shock delivered to the doggies had been quite satisfying. That couldn't last forever, of course, and so other preparations had been made. Often they would allow the doggies to storm a room and take it, only for a flamethrower from a nearby door to vomit up its terrible contents into the enemy-filled room. Other times, they would deliberately not use this tactic, but foul the Canini's sense of smell with "stinkers," grenados that before now had been derided as more a way to pester than anything else. Their use here, however, seemed to sometimes disorient the canine enemy, and more importantly, disguise the tell-tale odor of fuel, as entire buildings had been doused, and then set alight once yielded to the enemy. There hadn't been enough time to rig up all the traps that the sappers would have liked to, but they made do.

At times none of these tactics were employed, just the standard munitions, and the support of the light infantry, who despite the difference in size and strength, were fast and agile enough to make hand-to-hand combat inside the buildings a costly endeavor for the Canini. Few troops had reservations any longer about shooting the wolves, despite their status as holy animals in the religion of some of the hyperboreans, notably those from the northwestern and imperial provinces.

Yet, things had gotten so mixed up, as they always did. Lines of communication suffered as teams of sappers became isolated from each other. Sometimes their position was such that the enemy didn't have to trip their traps to get to them. And in moving to their designated areas of withdrawal, which often did not actually mean getting closer to hyperborean lines, the sappers often tripped the traps that the UFA had lain for them, in turn. A myriad assortment of mines that the hyperboreans hadn't realized were possible had greeted them as they moved from building to building. Standard explosives, chemicals, and even maddening sonic weapons had taken their toll, as the UFA had prepared their positions well. Casualties from such were high, especially among those transporting flamethrowers, as they made their way away from the avenues originally used by the Canini columns.

So now, Scamper sat, bleeding, against a wall, by a doorway, cradling his weapons. Frog, one of the other sappers, possibly the next oldest to himself, crouched nearby. She was loading up her launcher with a grenado, the sounds and screams of battle filtering through in the background. So far they'd completed most of their objectives. One might notice an odd pattern to the warehouses brought down, as opposed to those burnt, brought down with careful precision, rigged to pancake neatly, as if not simply to slaughter the enemy who had gotten inside them. "How you doing, old man?"

"Don't call me old man, old woman," Scamper hacked a laugh. "I've been better, I have to say." He looked up. "Does that sound like aircraft to you?"

Remaining silent for a time so as to hear what he referred to, Frog wrinkled her brows. "I hear it. Wonder if it's ours or theirs?"

Even as they heard the sound of jet engines and machine gun fire, detonations shook the building around them, colossal from the sound, amid it the sound of wrenching and screaming metal as it was torn, not that far away, along the line of warehouses that were their targets. Then, much closer, still, the impact of artillery. The two sappers eyed each other with surprise, as the sounds of battle outside let up for moment, and prepared to move on.
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Skies over Karthay

Zebra wheeled the Shrike fighter down towards the city, which seemed a scene from some apocalyptic description of hell in the mythology of the Christians. Buildings were in flames in a whole district of the city, in a pattern that didn't look the least bit accidental. Rubble strewn lots where warehouses had been formed a wobbly line through the city. No matter who won this war, the horrific damage to this place would be a monumental task to repair.

The orders for Zebra's squadron were odd and quite unexpected. Provide air support to the Euxine Vipers. Perhaps a normal order, on the face of it, but this squadron, like so many, perhaps even most, of those that came with the carriers, was composed solely of Shrikes. Deadly against anything that flew, the little fighters were ill suited for close in air support, being too fast for one thing. The usual armament was all wrong for the role as well, and the pilot mused on the fact that likely the most useful thing against the UFA tanks, fielded by the Canini, it was said, would be the diminutive fighter's gun.

Navigating the skies had not been easy. They were a bit more crowded than the navy pilot liked or was used to, the bizarre airships of both the Empire's allies, Takhisis and Osea-Yuktobania trading blows with the sky dreadnoughts of the UFA above the picturesque (at least in peace time) isle. Several fighters had been lost among Zebra's squadron and the two others that had accompanied it.

She dived, but even as she did so, slowed her Shrike as much as possible. At a speed restrained enough to get a long enough pass to be useful over the city, the small aircraft was nearly stalling. The fighters behind her followed suit. The Vipers had done their work well, the rubble at the tails of the columns forming obstacles that weren't impassible, but still quite a nuisance, while ahead there seemed to be some delay. In a moment it became clear that similar tactics had been employed just at the end of the city streets before they opened to the broad area afore the bridge.

Trigger depressed, and gun erupted, aircraft gradually brought out of the dive to rake the entire boulevard with automatic fire. the other Shrikes did the same both on this avenue and those adjacent, seeking to bestow punishment upon the UFA forces. Explosions rocked her fighter towards the end of her pass, and behind her, some were less lucky, their aircraft catching fire, hit by AA. The next pass would be more dangerous, Zebra knew. Up ahead, where the Canini vanguard had merged, she saw the maneuvers of the 27th's cavalry, the tanks and tank destroyers. She could see the tanks sweeping towards the enemy vanguard, rubble between the enemy vanguard and the rest of their columns, while behind the force of hyperborean tanks sped the tank destroyers, occasionally exposed to fire down the Canini columns. The hyperborean tanks looked small in front of their UFA opponents, apparently mostly light tanks with some medium tanks thrown in. Beyond this, she could see infantry and attendant vehicles massing, and still beyond them, artillery being deployed, and the forces of several other nations.

And then her pass was completed, and Zebra climbed to make another. Just at that moment, however, artillery from above pummeled the very same column she'd just strafed. Looking up, it appeared that an Osea-Yuktobanian vessel, in the rear of their fleet, had reinforced the hyperborean fighter squadrons. Before her next pass, Zebra led her squadron on a flyby of the airship's bridge, dipping her wing momentarily in salute.
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Temporary command center of the 27th Army, called the Euxine Vipers, Karthay City

Tired and haggard, her wound aching, Gumdrop finally reached the command center. They'd switched buildings, of course, when UFA artillery strikes drew too close for comfort. She found the Adjunct with Eresa, the tall red-haired woman, poring over a map, as they'd been before. Both looked up, expecting the wounded infantrywoman to say something.

"I was instructed to tell you that the river may flow, though at great cost."

Siras gave a tight smile, before turning to Eresa. "Have the medium infantry and heavy infantry, and cavalry execute their assigned maneuvers." The Adjunct's companion made her way over to the radio room, while the Adjunct turned back to Gumdrop and tossed her a canteen. "Rest for a while, soldier."

Nodding, the infantrywoman left the building, taking a swig from the canteen. It was not water, pleasantly enough. She'd been curious why the Adjunct would give her more water when she had her own, and so the discovery that it was liquor suddenly made sense of the gesture. Outside, she arrived just as massive detonations shook the earth. Looking across to see their source, it was apparent that a couple airships had crashed to the surface, with more to follow. The scale of the destruction nearly brought her to her knees. She hadn't been at Sofia like some of her comrades had, but wondered if the horror of that battle had been comparable. There had been nothing like this on the Southern Foray. As another airship fell from the sky, oddly slow, it struck her as a more tragic image than she could have expected, a triumph of all that was admirable in humankind brought low and destroyed by all that wasn't.

Below the mushroom clouds, she could see the wheeling of the 27th's cavalry, the tanks and tank destroyers. The Canini vanguard had entered a pit of hellfire, the Empire's armor performing a landward version of the old "crossing the T" naval maneuver. Certainly, the UFA tanks were most heavily armored in front, but the sheer volume of fire directed at them would hopefully have some effect, especially as some of Farkas' tanks flanked. Further to her right, much of the medium infantry now massed, heading for the pancaked warehouses that the sappers had destroyed. Some of the tracked vehicles of the heavy infantry followed them, as well as some of the tanks and tank destroyers, across the remaining concrete foundations of the buildings that had housed goods, imports and exports awaiting shipment, of the Karthaian people.
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Karthay City, Underground

"I hate this."

"You say that all the time, and about everything."

"Well, it's usually true."

"It could be way worse. These could be sewers."

Potshards listened to Giggles and Kazinsky argue for a time, until the pair's voices grew slightly too raised for his liking. "Quiet, you two. You want every dog and bunny in Karthay to hear us... or for Sunshine to rip your throats out?" He gestured to the famously taciturn captain, who was a couple squads back, the scowl on her tattooed face visible and savage even in the darkness.

A little grumbling followed, but otherwise it was silent. They'd made good time. Naturally, Karthay's public transportation systems weren't currently running. While some parts of the tunnels had been collapsed, otherwise they were relatively wide, for tunnels, and fairly flat, allowing a grueling pace, the stretches between stations taken mostly at a jog. Soldiers of a lesser army than the 27th would not have been able to keep up such a "march," but then, the Euxine Vipers had been born in such harsh conditions. The fact that Giggles and Kazinsky could keep up an argument while at a brisk jog attested to this. It was the curse of being the best of the Empire's armies that they always got the worst of assignments.

At stations and other entrances, their pace slowed to a creep, until they were past, virtually silent. Gimp and Twopints had been joined at point by moroii from other squads. Their race didn't need extra equipment to see quite well in the darkness of the tunnels, and so the squads at both the vanguard and rearguard had been bolstered with moroii soldiers transferred temporarily from squads that would be in the middle, except for a strong presence in the very center of the mixed and light infantry column.

Around them, suddenly, the walls seemed to shudder, giant reverberations rolling in waves through the soil and concrete. In a moment it was gone, but then another followed. Alhazred's eyes went wide. "Something really big just detonated..." he whispered.

"Probably some of those airships," Katarindat responded in hushed tones. "Whatever powers those will probably be pretty powerful, and volatile."

Bright Eyes looked concerned. "Do you think they blew up the city, then? What if everyone else is dead and we just don't know it yet?"

"I very much doubt that," Gimp said with a restrained laugh. "Listen, you can still hear the artillery."

The others had to fall completely silent and strain to hear what to the moroii was clearly audible with his kind's hearing, but the occasional boom and rattle could be just barely picked out.

"Still hate that we're down here instead of up there with airships falling on us?" Kazinsky whispered to the tiny woman he'd been arguing with earlier.

"Not as much, no..." came Giggles' barely audible reply.
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Merging of the fleets

The tropical waters of Karthay roiled with the chaos of the naval battle. After the first few salvos of almost the entire twenty-five battlewagon strong Batory fleet punishing the two forward-most Harukian Cbayns, a more proportionate distribution of firepower had been employed, the remaining hyperborean battleships choosing targets of opportunity, shell splashes occasionally rising from the debris and corpse filled seas. At this close range, while it was easy to hit the enemy, as close as they were, the enemy's shots mostly landed as well. Given this, Admiral was thankful that hyperborean battleships were so heavily armored rather than akin to the faster but less durable Haru design, the Cbayn.

His flagship, the command battleship Sarkany, had taken quite a few hits. Her decks were as an apocalyptic scene, bodies, whole and in pieces, strewn about the decks, parts of which were awash with blood, and other parts of which were in flames. Damage control teams made makeshift repairs to keep the vessel's systems operational. Other ships were worse off, some listing badly. Two more carriers had been sunk, one slipping beneath the waves to Svatens' flagship's stern. "League forces better keep that airport. Some of our squadrons will need it," the old man said laconically to Novikas.

The remnants of the Harukian vanguard were now no longer distinguishable as a separate fleet as the hyperborean vessels surrounded them, at ranges likely not seen since the age of sail. Secondary armaments normally reserved for use against aerial targets were turned horizontally and added to the pummeling fire leveled against the UFA opponents. A stricken battleship of the Batory fleet, sinking fast as its lifeboats launched and men and women jumped into the water, was apparently still piloted by a skeleton crew as it suddenly rose to flank speed, surging towards a Harukian Cbayn.

"What the jaurten is the Muroskmark doing?" the old admiral asked, disbelief in his voice at the logical conclusion that still seemed too fantastical to be real.

Her calm voice again strained by pathos, Novikas responded simply. "Ramming, it would seem, sir."

Her response was confirmed as the dying battleship reached the Cbayn that was its target, bow crunching with a screech of metal before the clang and boom of the armored belt hitting sounded. The Batory vessel then fired, her forwards turrets erupting for the last time.

"Incoming volley, sir," Novikas said after a few moments, breaking the silence with which the bridge crew had watched the Muroskmark die. "An additional Harukian force is heading towards us."

The deafening sounds of impacts precluded further conversation. Four cruisers immediately appeared to be sinking, one of which had exploded. More were left limping. The flagship itself had been hit yet again. Another carrier went down, and two more were transformed into nightmarish infernos as aviation fuel for the next launch of fighters combusted.

Yet, the fleet was not yet broken. At least half the ore haulers had sunk or grounded themselves, though the trawlers hadn't fared quite so poorly, being smaller targets. Of the actual combat ships, nearly all had taken damage, the destroyers the worst off, small, and almost unarmored. And now, acting unknowing as a metaphor, the enormous Batory fleet, or, what was left of it, turned abruptly, as one, sailing parallel to their Xukuthite allies.

Following was a maneuver most curious in both its complexity, and its lack of that chaos that previously had so dominated the naval aspect of the battle for Karthay. Rather than shelter behind the allied fleet, the hyperboreans gradually entered it, one ship at a time, wherever an opening presented itself, seamlessly combining and augmenting the Xukuthite naval strength with their own, while at the same time finding relief within the underwater cordon of Xukuthite subfighters. The battered Sarkany took up a position slightly astern of the Barra Ellemmiire, adding her own thunder to the chorus of naval artillery and missile fire now directed against the second group of Harukian vessels.