The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Gratislavia]

OOC:Yes it has Vietnam undertones, get over it

I ain't no fortunate son

PT, MATURE

"How much should we give?"

"More!"

The ominous reply was heard throughout Gratislavia, the war to stir a generation has started, now only time would tell the outcome. Pielnam, a hellish country that stood on the other side of the world oceans away from Gratislavia had experienced a coup in the east and a monarch had arose to challenge the west. Twas a shame Gratislavia would not know the fate of their endeavor into the hellish jungles and hills of Pielnam, but that is not what this record is about, oh no, this is to document the golden era of the Gratislavian equality in class movement.

[The Fanboyists]

Good Luck

[Some language may be iffy, but nothing should be too objectionable, MT]

Kohlenburg. In a lot of other countries, a city this size and this temperment would be a sleepy, backwater, provincial town. Up in heavily industrialized Northwatch, it's an anamoly; a city that doesn't have to have soot scrubbed off the walls of its buildings daily. Weekly usually suffices. There's not an orange glow on the horizon reminding someone of a scene of hell at night; the forges are farther west, in the state's namesake city, and south, in Meuse, the nation's automaking capital, which is also coming into its own after some urban renewal and an upturn in the industry. Farther south still are Dunnmaar and Thomasburg, heavy industrial cities personified, the latter the biggest city in the western Federation, and tied for biggest overall with Old Bastion.

By all accounts, Kohlenburg, situated as it is in an industrial state as the lone example of a non-industrial city, far in the north where it's rather chilly for two thirds of the year and pleasantly breezy but warm for the other third, should be a little, insignificant blip on the radar, marked because cartographers get embarassed about empty space.

Instead, it's one of the top contenders for 'cultural capital of the Allamunnic States.' Art, poetry, and music have all found a home in Kohlenburg. There's a museum of some kind on almost every corner. Most crime is white-collar. Eleven of the nation's major record companies are based here, even though it's not exactly on major road routes. At least six different notable, contemporary artists call the city home. At least four modern day poets do the same. There's at least a small music venue on every block. It was the "Old Federation's" film-industry's heart

Which is why she had found her way there. By all accounts, the poor St.Theodore-born girl knew, it was the place to go if you wanted to make it big and you weren't up to playing a sport or didn't want to join the military. Which, given her vocal talents, she had been told by most of her friends, and all of her family, that to do either of those would be a waste.

Of course, for a sixteen year-old recent-high-school graduate, alone in a new city, things were somewhat frightening, and more than a little confusing, at times. But then, her family had scraped for a week just to afford a train ticket for her. They couldn't take off work to go with her or anything, Maybe follow later, if things went alright for her, since St.Theodore was alternately a beloved, endeared home, or a dirty prison for it's generally dirt-poor inhabitants. The one good side of that was there wasn't much in the way of crime: there wasn't a whole lot to steal, or fight over, and the community cooperated quite happily for the simple purpose of daily survival.

She had found the new city to be the opposite; where St.Theodore was sooty and run-down in most places (except the churches; they spent the little extra money they had on keeping their churches, which doubled as community centers, meeting halls or, often enough, shelters, well-kept. Kohlenburg, on the other hand, looked like a cleaned-up mid-19th century European capital city that time had forgotten, in many ways. The icy, black waters of the Kohl River that gave the city its name wound lazily throughout the city, eventually meeting the Northwatch River a hundred-twelve miles west at the state's eponymous capital. Gothic cathedral spires, Romanesque halls, and brick-and-masonry buildings lining the streets gave the city a refined, artsy air. Statues dotted roundabouts, and arches spanned the gaps between buildings.

And so now it would now have to be home. Home had always been where family was. No longer, though. It would have to be here.

And, for the first time since she had boarded that train at Haaldenhulm Station, the weight of her step came crashing down on her. It was beautiful, and it was too much. Too much for a sixteen-year old girl, now alone for the first time.

She slumped against a building wall, and began to cry, wondering why the hell she had left her family for this.

[Volga Rodina]

[ PT ]
[ Mature ]

Beauty

One by one. Two by two. Three by three. Crunch, Crunch, Crunch. They crossed a once vibrant place. A place where humanity thrived, a place where children played. It was now a skeleton of its former self. The place was wrecked, swing-sets smashed, statues broken and children killed. Strung from monkey-bars and slides. The wire sliced through their skin, their lives cut short in one amazing display of cruelty. Each soldier wept as he crept through the rubble and debris.

The playground would not end, inch by inch, each soldier discovered something new, something grisly, something they could not bear. More children. Dead. Some lay where they fell, other were lifted towards the heavens, only to be snagged forever onto a pole, a pole they would die a horrible and pro-longed death on. Shoes, little ones, were strewn across the street, they hung from electrical wires and from windows, taunting the soldiers as they moved slowly through the wide street.

Craaack. Each man hit the dirty street cobblestones with a lazy thud. They no longer cared, even as the sound echoed through the empty streets. They returned to their feet. Not a single man cared about the noise anymore. Each man was entranced by the children around them. A bend in the street snapped the men out of their trance.

A single tree, dead and decaying, leaf-less stood nearby. A songbird landed on a branch and its head darted back and forth, chirping. The soldier in front began to weep once more. Even in all the this mess around the men, there is still beauty to be found.

[Xiscapia]

[FT]

Heartattack In A Layby

Link

The suspension creaked and squeaked as the vehicle rolled and splashed over the poorly paved, badly cratered road. It might have been dawn, or it might have been dusk, it was hard to tell on this war-torn moon in the midst of another rainstorm. J-218 was one of hundreds of nearly identical satellites around the jovian planet Jomstar that formed the battleground between Xiscapia, and the Kitsune Empire, and Korrillia and the Supremacy. Like most territory in the War it had changed hands multiple times in the past few centuries, but only a few dozen, not the hundreds of even thousands of times that the worlds closer to the contested line had.
It was just a sign of the times that it was being fought over again.

Corporal Shin was the lone occupant of the Fast Attack Reconnaissance car, bouncing in tandem with the scout's springs, hands tightly on the steering wheel as he stared into the driving rain. Like all of the moons J-218 was a lonely, barren rock, the sort of place where a kitsune could drive to the end of his world in ten minutes, or the end of his life in a fraction of that time if he didn't keep his attention on the road, thanks to the swerves and steep ravines that cut into the landscape. His job was that of a courier and messenger, Korr jamming had completely severed all communications except that which traveled by visible signal, or word of mouth. He was carrying reports from the front back to the rear echelon, hastily typed or even scrawled assessments of enemy strength and positioning, requests for reinforcement and resupply, casualty lists and all the other things which the officers at the back wanted to know from the troops in combat. Under the steel sky, the FAR drove on.

Pain in his chest. He exhaled, teeth clenching, hand on his breast, trying to feel through his uniform and fur, as though he could seek out the infliction by feel alone. It wasn't all that strong, but it was constant and he couldn't drive distracted. The bundle of reports needed to get back to headquarters as soon as possible, but they'd never get anywhere if he drove off a cliff. He found a clear area and bumped down onto a layby, water flinging off the armored front of the car.

I pull off the road
East of Baldock and Ashford
Feeling for my cell
In the light from the dashboard

Hands fumbled for his vox, finally pulled it out of the forward compartment. Hit switch, depress it. "One, two, one, two, this is Foxtrot Alpha Romeo Twelve, requesting any available units respond for comm check..." Nothing but the squelch of static. Jamming field was still up. Sighing, he tossed the set back into its hole.

Hissing from the road
The smell of rain in the air con
Maybe check the news
Or just put a tape on

He could tough it out. His brothers and sisters at the front had it far worse than him, what with the pounding of the artillery becoming worse than ever, ramping up to an intensity he'd never before seen. The Korr had really been working to blast the entrenched kitsune out of their line, but even Shin knew it wouldn't work, they'd use up all their munitions and only dent the Xiscapian line, allowing the Imperial infantry to approach under the cover of their own artillery without fearing a counter barrage. Even then, a surprising number of the shells he'd seen impact seemed to be duds, driving into the dirt without exploding or unleashing a cloud of gas or torrent of fire, just making a single deep hole in the ground. They'd all split open as if to deploy payloads, but nothing would happen -he snorted softly at the thought, taking comfort in it. Superior engineering would win the day here.

Lighting up a smoke
I've got this feeling inside me
Don't feel too good

It was getting worse. Shakily, he dug into his breast pocket, feeling the fur start to dust his collar and shoulders, and drew out a packet of cigarettes. He hadn't smoked before being conscripted, but it was a habit you picked up fast, it was becalming, it helped one fit in and, perhaps most of all, it gave you something to do, both in lighting the thing and smoking it. The lighter flicked on briefly, the tip glowed, and he inhaled, rolled the intake around in his mouth, let it leak out his snout, and exhaled, expelling the smoke into the cabin. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, perceptibly moving his chest when it beat.

If I close my eyes
And fell asleep in this layby
Would it all subside?
The fever pushing the day by

The temptation was there. He had a rotational shift, six hours on, six hours off, but it seemed like his working times were getting longer and his breaks were getting shorter. The threats of artillery strikes, air raids, orbital bombardments and Korr sappers didn't help either, what with a siren going off almost every night over something or other, breaking him out of much-needed sleep to jump into a bunker or foxhole and hope that a bomb didn't land on it. He took his cigarette out of his mouth, clamping it between two fingers, blew out smoke, and yawned, trying hard to ignore the growing twist that seemed to be spreading. Fur was on the seat now, on the floor and all over his clothes, little silver hairs littering everything in sight, reminders of his body's internal workings. What was it?

Motor window wind
I could do with some fresh air
Can't breathe too well

He wanted to roll down his window, but that was impossible in the FAR; there was no reason for an armored scout to have retractable panes of transparent alloy. Instead, Shin opened the door, pulling the latch and kicking it open, not even noticing the scuffed dark marks on the well where he'd shoved the door open with his boot many times before. Still strapped in, though, he didn't get out, but just tried to breath, feeling the cool, damp air wash across him, a few raindrops wetting his fur and dampening his uniform. It didn't seem to help, it was almost like the water was vaporizing just before it touched him because of his body heat, providing no respite for his futile efforts. His breathing was shallower now; it hurt to draw too deeply from his lungs.

She waits for me. Home waits for me.

Struggling now, he dipped his hand into his pocket again, feeling the miniature pad there, and wrapped his fingers around it like a lifeline. Making it down onto his lap, he activated it, watched the preset hologram spring to life. It was poor quality, bought at the last minute before deployment, blue, a little snowy, lined as though he was looking at the image from behind a set of vertical blinds, but it was enough. He gazed at the female kitsune standing there, a vixen, his mate, with her tawny fur, her vibrant blue hair, her animated vulpine eyes.
Her name was Isamu.

She'd been sent to a different front, a different moon, a different battlefield. He was Army; she'd been chosen for the Imperial Navy, an engineer-technician on one of the warships. They'd had a row right before he'd left, he couldn't even remember what it had been about now, or why he had felt it was so important, but his kiss to her had been stilted, and her words to him cool and marring. He'd communicated with her since, nothing substantial since the comm lines couldn't take much of a capacity of a non-military nature, but enough to know that all was right again -absence made the heart grow fonder. She was waiting for him now, and he had to go to her once he got leave...once he left...

I guess I should go now
She's waiting to make up
To tell me she's sorry
And how much she missed me

He cried out, clutched his chest, his cigarette falling forgotten to bounce off the seat and onto the ground, hissing as the rain extinguished it. For a moment he thought he'd been shot, but there was no blood, no trauma, just an incredible, seizing pain that gripped and twisted and made him groan and snarl to release. The kitsune panted, leaning forward against the wheel, eyes closing tightly, tail twisting behind him as he fought something he could not see. As he squeezed his eyelids tears began to leak out, involuntary tears of pain and pressure, leaking onto the floor, dropping onto his boots. His breath came in tiny gasps now, sounding pathetic even to his ears.

She waits for me. Home waits for me.

I guess I'm just burnt out
I really should slow down
I'm perfectly fine but
I just need to lie down

Slumping, Shin pulled himself back, teeth gritting, then coughed. He blinked, wheezed, tasted something strange, and coughed again, this time into his arm. When he looked down he saw his dark sleeve was now speckled with deep maroon spots -blood. He stared for a long moment, not comprehending, feeling it rise up in his throat, starting to clog his nose, his very life force starting to treacherously strangle him. He choked, spat up more blood, moaned and whimpered, no longer making any effort to control his spasms. His fingers clenched, unclenched, cramping his toes, and he fell to the side, across both seats, curling up in a ball, feeling it ooze out of the side of his mouth.

We'll grow old together
We'll grow old together
We'll grow old together...

Everything was dark; he could no longer see. His hearing was going too; the rain faded, as did his smell likewise shutting down, making him a creature of sensation only, of the water on his fur, the blood on his palate, the gear shift jabbing into his side and the knowledge of what was coming. Now and again he got flickers from his other senses, flashes of light when his eyes rolled and widened, bursts of noise when his ears perked and flicked; he realized he'd fallen next to his vox, and he could hear his fellows, hear their groans and cries and pleas for assistance, someone saying "10-2, 10-2, 10-2," over and over again, calling urgently for an ambulance. They'd been struck down too, hit as swiftly as though cut by a sword, and the Korr had lifted their jamming field because there was no point in stopping a dying man from screaming. The rumbles that he thought were thunder were their armored vehicles moving across the road beside him, ignoring the stopped FAR and its quickly fading operator.

As he felt his self shrink, and reality faded to nothing, Shin managed the strength for one last utterance.

"Isamu! Oh Isamu..."

[New Federation China]

[ MT ]

The Law of Life

"Change is the Law of Life; All those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future." John F. Kennedy

The bustingly streets of Beijing in the People's Republic of China did not get that memo. The Red Flag flew high; and the Crimson Dragon knew but one power on Earth that could challenge it; and they made no attempt to challenge one another. Both the Crimson Dragon; and the Western Dragon knew, they knew the consequences of a Sino-American War.

The world would crumble; and nothing would be won but the destruction of all mankind. So there was no war; and there was change. The President-General wrote so many papers and forms, filled out so many things that much ink was used in the process and many pens were broken.

The Thunder Storm would never come; because the Red Dragon; the mightiest force on Earth; had turned to the Western Dragon; and they nodded with respect, and the Dragons acknowledged something insanely changing. Alliance.

The Crimson Dragon offered it's hand, and the Western Barbarians shook it; neither liked the idea, but both agreed that life was far more important than something so foolish as pride. Because Mister Kennedy got it wrong in one instance. Pride was not forever, it existed only so long as there was something to be proud of.

But one thing he was right about; Change is the Law of Life; and even Dragons change.

[Xiscapia]

[FT]

[Very Mature]

Of The Baser Instincts

Music link and picture link.

Nothing moved. It was not of a starship to be overtly made of mechanical parts, and the Thoughts On Paying Rent was no exception, despite her age. The slight hum of the old gunship hurtling through hyperspace corresponded with the vibrations moving through the deckplates and bulkheads, rumbling from the exertion of the hyperdrive combined with the thrust of the engines. Outside was only a great blue-white storm of stars flying past at incomprehensible speeds, a void that would surely kill anyone who stepped into it unshielded.
The person in this compartment saw none of this, however.

In the same way that no moving parts existed, neither did any portholes, except in the cockpit, where there was a transparent alloy plate made for assisting the pilot in delicate maneuvers like docking. That meant that she couldn't see out, and if, somehow, there had been anyone out there, they couldn't see in. Normally she wouldn't have cared, her room was a mess but that's how she liked it so she could find everything; this gun was wedged on that rack with all the others, that boot was lying on the floor in the closet, those papers were pinned down by the other boot, and so on. But tonight -shipboard time, night being a relative concept like so many things were- she did not want anyone looking in on her. Tonight she needed to be alone.

After kicking off her combat boots and removing her socks, the first thing Sei removed was her belt. A long string of items were attached where her right and left sides would be when worn, respectively. On her left was a vibroblade in a sheath, an ammunition pouch, a half dozen slots for grenades, a penknife, and three more pouches containing unknown objects. On her right sat a hardened, water-proof, fire-retardant cell phone case with said device inside, an electrobinocular case also with the piece of equipment inside it, a small handheld scanning device, a ration packet and what looked like a miniature medical field kit. Out of her jacket came a battered wallet, her blaster and her magnum "handcannon", and a small chrono was slipped off her wrist. The heavy belt she dropped next to her boots didn't contain anything of particularly high quality or state-of-the-art technology, indeed many of them showed signs of age and wear and tear; clearly she'd been using most of what was there for some time.

This done, the bounty hunter lifted off her hat, her hair the same blue color as her fur and tinged with white at the tips, as were her triangular ears. Off came the trenchcoat, which made her seem much smaller, somehow, despite her already relatively small stature. Underneath she wore a thin forest green T-shirt and rumpled fatigues, the latter with a small hole in the seat for her tail, the two pieces of clothing quickly became a crumpled pile on the floor, Sei stepping out of them as she focused on stripping off her final layer. The last bit of clothing was a black, form fitting body glove, glimpsed here and there as she progressively worked towards nudity, that extended from the base of her neck down to the tops of her ankles, allowing her freedom of movement while protecting her somewhat from physical damage, though it did nothing to hide her figure. A zipper down the back allowed her out of this, and to complete the operation she unwound what looked to be a half dozen or so white bandages from where they wrapped around her chest and back, a female's more masculine alternative to a bra.

The bandages wadded into a ball to be thrown away, Sei stood nude, a slight flush creeping over her cheeks; she never had managed to grasp the same casual indifference towards nakedness as her kitsune fellows. The fur across her forehead, on the sides of her head and on her snout was alabaster, as was the tip of her long, ropey tail, between her feet and knees, on her stomach, between her legs, under her arms and on her throat, while the rest was a deep marine blue. The only other spots of color was her dull pink nose and dark orange eyes, which were alternatively ruby when the light hit them right -she had different eye colors listed on different forms of identification purely based on the quality of the light when the picture or scans were taken of her. Taking a breath, she sat down on her bed, tail curling out behind her, hands on the edge. Staring intently at the hatch, half hopeful, half afraid, she put one hand between her legs, spreading two fingers, and the other followed quickly.

Now she thought about him, of course -who else could have held her attention? She reflected that he'd made this possible in more ways than one, she'd offered to let him sleep here but he took the cockpit instead, to keep an eye on the controls, despite the expectation that they wouldn't be dropping out of hyperspace for days yet. With a smile she supposed he wouldn't want to sleep in Enishi's old room, not with lewd centerfolds of nude vixens and off-putting electronica band posters plastered over every bulkhead, though her smile quickly turned into a gasp as she pictured him again, and dug in deeper. If only he would walk into the room and fall upon her. If only he would-

But no. She swallowed, whimpered and finally groaned, stretching luxuriously, then sighing as she felt that sticky warmth run down her legs. Her eyes, crimson now, went half-lidded as she took her fingers up to her mouth, and slowly sucked the fluid off of them, imagining him. Tail lazily swishing back and forth behind her, she laid back, horizontal across the bed, and watched her chest and stomach rise and fall as she burned off the exertion. Not now. But one day, she promised herself.
One day...

[The Scrin Collective]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

Chapter One of:

Your Nightmares; Made Reality

Logging: Tiberium World A-73 Former Designation: Earth
Stuttgart - Germany 3006 - Terran Time

Like a hive of bees they were active. A stringent heiharchy that dominated their every movement from the most basic Buzzer to the most advanced Annihilator. A beauteous symphony of destruction disembarked from the craft designed to harvest worlds of every inch of life; natural resource and even molten slag. In the billions they came; humanoid and insectoid a fine mixture. They were not merciful to anything; and over top of this glittering primitive sociodome(City).

"Commence primary operations. Obliterate them all; harvest at will." The voice was guttral and deep, etheral and inhuman. Charging beacons and ionic clouds gathered as the skies above Stuttgart darkened to a deep abysmal black. "Die; Inferiors." The beam that converged down the length of the oblong oval mothership touched the ground with such concussive force the mightily built human 'Mammoth Tank' that it contacted with imploded along with the ground beneath it, sinking into the Earth as the ionic cloud concentrated at the focal point of the contact before it ringed out.

Exploding with a fury unlike any weapon in the human arsenal the cloud of pure energy ravaged the once proud of city of Stuttgart; incerinating buildings of concrete, tanks of steel and bipedal flesh sacks alike. This process; this massive cloud of world warping energy lasted for seven minutes; seven minutes of Hell for every homosapien on the ground and even in the air as it spread upward; knocking their primitive 'Firehawk' squadrons from the air.

Humanity was weak as they expected. They did not come here to annihilate originally, but to harvest. The Humans called them, so foolishly as one of them believed he could control them when he could not even understand what he had in his possession. The Ichor explosion had drawn their harvesting fleet into a battle zone, but the Scrin were not daunted by this. If Humanity wanted to be Harvested; so be it; who were they to deny the request of glorious death?

As the cloud of iconic matter subsided then came the fleet. Planetary Assault Carriers and Ion-Pulse Cruisers plowed into their atomsphere and destroyed all that dared to survive the molten cloud. Storm Rider Planetary Fighters dove into the skies and lanced their pathetic primitive technology from the skies; and their ground troops devoured all who dared to stand; regardless of who or what they were.

Humanity; you are not alone. The Universe is not silent; and we desire your blood. The message blasted across the communications of Earth as the Supervisor spoke the words of the Elders. These feeble primtive creatures knew fear; and they would be gripped by it's paralyzing ensarement. Die; Humanity; Die.

[Communist Estainia]

[MT]

[Mature]

Darkest Roses - A Love Story

[In an insanely alternate history; if you want to understand this I advise Memoirs of the Empress]

Chapter Two - Music

The days slipped into weeks; and then months came. Reprimanded for such simple tasks; but not out of cruelty as was expected. The Empress was every bit as regal and beautiful as she was when the Communists had so declared her sentenced with their false justice. "Do you think I saved you from a gulag so that you could do such meaningless thing?"

The embrace came from behind and the Empress tensed for but a moment. 'I can never know what you are thinking, Elizaveta.' "You should learn to try and understand me; Natasha, I have no desire to see you doing such menial things. You're letting my mentor win; every thing you do that degrades your eternal majesty; it lets him win a little more."

The Empress sighed softly and let her resistance drop as she leaned into the other woman. "Why do you care?" The displaced Czarina tilted her head back to the left to stare from blue into green. "You should know, my princess." A gentle hand brushed dark locks from the Czarina's eyes before the Premier leaned in. It was perhaps an awkward time but that moment the Czarina's song came on; so to speak. "Do you like music?" Natasha mused as she breathed heavily, basking in Elizaveta's scent as the other woman nodded.

You fled from medication cause it only causes pain
You won't go to the doctor, he keeps callin you insane
You're lost even when you're goin the right way
You mean the world to me even though you might be crazy

[Chorus]
And you said we wouldn't make it, but look how far we've come
For so long my heart was breakin, but now we're standing strong
The things you say made me fall harder each day
You're a trainwreck, but I wouldn't love you if you changed
No yeah

I shook your hand and you pulled it right away, yeah
You asked me to dance, instead I said no way
Inside I was dyin to give it a try and you begged me so I stayed
I knew you were different from the way I caved

[Chorus]
And you said we wouldn't make it, but look how far we've come
For so long my heart was breakin, but now we're standing strong
The things you say, you made me fall harder each day
You're a trainwreck, but I wouldn't love you if you changed
Yeah woo no yeah

We were so different, but opposites attract
So my hope kept growing, and I never looked back
You're one of a kind
No one can change this heart of mine, oh

[Chorus]
You said we wouldn't make it, but look how far we've come
For so long my heart was breakin and now we're standing strong
The things you say, you made me fall harder each day
You're a trainwreck, but I wouldn't love you if you changed
Oh ooo yeah

One more thing I thought I'd share with someone special
I'm falling like I've never fell before
It's funny you said we'd never make it and look how far we've come
You're a trainwreck, but with you I'm in love

Some time while it was playing the two ended up dancing across the floor of the rather wide room; happy for a change.

---

I do not own that song. My brother would say "The Second Most Amazing Artist On The Planet Earth".
Song: Trainwreck
Artist: Demi Lovato

[Jenrak]

Updated: Let me know if anyone has issues or problems with their links, of if I've missed anyone.

[Kostemetsia]

Er Wan [ FT ]

[ Mature ]

CNN archive footage: Interview between Vanessa Koelner and [name redacted] on [date redacted]. Subject – the Er Wan. As of [date redacted], this file is sealed under a Level-5 security warning. Accessing the contents of this document without legitimate clearance is a Class A felony punishable by imprisonment or execution under Commonwealth law.

---

Subjects:

KV: Vanessa Koelner, reporter, Commonwealth News Network.

TP: Dr. [name redacted], former child psychologist, UEA Social Affairs.

[transcript begins]

KV: This interview will never be broadcast.

TP: Understood.

KV: Please state your name and occupation.

TP: My name is [redacted]. From February 14, 2247 until recently, I was employed by the United Earth Authority's Saint Matthias Orphanage in Stockholm.

[Momentary flange effect on file.]

KV: I understand you've called about the Er Wan.

TP: This is true.

KV: Can you give me some background, please?

[Pause.]

TP: Er wan is a Chinese phrase meaning 'twenty thousand'. It refers to a group of children who arrived at Authority orphanages throughout the Twenty Worlds from January 2247 through January 2252. There were exactly twenty thousand of them, hence the name.

KV: What distinguished these children?

TP: They were unusual.

KV: In what way?

[Scratch sound indicating edit.]

TP: We had trouble of the same nature with Subject 14882, Claire.

KV: What happened?

TP: Martina was apparently another girl at Saint Matthias. As far as I can determine, she was not one of the Er Wan, and given the nature of the incident I'm inclined to believe that.

KV: What was the incident?

TP: A member of staff found the body of a three-year-old girl head-down in a toilet adjacent to Claire's habitation unit. That member of staff took trauma leave and never returned. The rest of us, to be honest, were at a loss.

KV: Why?

TP: Have you been to Stockholm?

KV: Yes. I reported on the Third Insurgency.

TP: It's worse now. The architecture is very byzantine.

KV: How does this relate? Sorry.

TP: Bear with me. Normally we would write it off as a tragic accident. Kids drowning themselves in toilets totally by accident has happened.

KV: But she couldn't have just wandered in unsupervised.

TP: Well, exactly. We would have known if she had gone through the centre.

KV: Which I assume she didn't. Is this Martina?

TP: I'm getting to that.

KV: Sorry.

TP: No problem. As I was saying, she couldn't have gone through the centre. We have systems in place specifically to prevent unauthorised access. A three-year-old couldn't have just gone through.

KV: I see.

TP: We questioned the staff to see if any of them had let her in.

KV: A wise measure.

TP: Mhm. At any rate, no dice. Confirmed that on the security records. The problem is that Saint Matthias Centre is part of Stockholm Children's Hospital. It's on the third floor of a building which I don't believe that even the finest mutant spawn of Claire Delaney could climb.

KV: Actually, I don't believe Ryana Taylor has ever attempted to climb the Saint Matthias building.

TP: She's Claire Delaney's daughter?

KV: Very much so.

TP: How very odd. I'm a little behind the times.

KV: Anyway, as you were saying? … Coffee? I'm sorry this interview is taking so long.

[Sounds of decanting coffee from a thermos. Click of mug against steel table.]

TP: Thanks … Entirely all right. I need to get this off my chest. As I was saying, there was absolutely no way she could have got in. So we went to Claire and asked if she had let her in.

KV: Were you aware, at this point–

TP: No. We didn't become aware of the actual Er Wan phenomenon until later.

KV: Alright, go on.

TP: And Claire looked very angry at this and said Martina had to go. Of course none of us knew who Martina was, I'll explain why 'of course' in a moment. So we took a photograph of the girl, after we took her out of the toilet obviously, and showed it to Claire out of curiosity.

KV: And?

TP: She said it was Martina.

KV: I see, go on.

TP: We assumed at this point we had a barely post-natal psychopath on our hands. Which is not good child care practice, I know, but everybody makes mistakes.

KV: Of course.

TP: Then she pulled Martina's folder out of her ass. None of us had ever seen this folder before.

KV:So what was your eventual resolution?

TP: [laughter] We still haven't resolved it! We checked the print reference number and it was horse shit. Pointed to a source directory that didn't exist. But how is three-year-old Claire going to forge a folder?

KV: Maybe someone else did.

TP: No motive. Why would you forge a document folder for a nonexistent patient?

KV: Someone from outside?

TP: No unauthorised access, remember?

KV: Take me through this again.

TP: We have a three-year-old upside down in our toilet. There's no way she could have got in, and none of our staff could have arranged for her getting in around our systems. There's no reason they would have let her in. And we have another three-year-old with a Saint Matthias document folder in her room, clear as day, naming her as a patient we've never had, and that three-year-old seems to have a grudge against her.

KV: Okay.

TP: At that point we thought something weird was going on.

[Scratch sound indicating edit.]

KV: What of 13283?

TP: 13283 … You know, I did like him.

KV: He's a likable guy, from what you've said.

TP: I believe his current employer is the Kostemetsian Commonwealth.

KV: That's a good thing, surely.

TP: Not really. Not any more than it would be if he was still working for us.

KV: But your views–

TP: I think the Commonwealth is nicer than Earth, as in I would prefer to live here. That doesn't mean that I would prefer for the Er Wan to live here.

KV: Even 13283?

TP: Especially 13283.

KV: I don't understand.

TP: 13283 as I remember him was quite a sensitive young fellow. Withdrawn and artistic. Mature at any age. I could hold lengthy conversations with him on politics. He'd get quite heated up on the injustices of the world. I think he had his heart screwed on right.

[Pause.]

KV: I still don't understand.

TP: Take the following scenario. You have a murderer. He's also a key component in a drug ring. Bust him and the whole ring comes tumbling down. On the other hand, he's holding someone at gunpoint. He can shoot her dead before you can shoot him dead. Do you spare her or bust him?

[Pause.]

KV: Bust him and you bring his criminal colleagues to justice as well. Bust him, I'd say.

TP: That's a difference between you and 13283. He spares the girl.

KV: I don't understand. I thought you said he had his heart screwed on right.

TP: He does. Maybe I wasn't clear. How about this: a politician is assassinated. If he'd been allowed to live, he would have started an empire, gone to war, and killed millions. You and 13283 both have foreknowledge of this.

KV: Let him die.

TP: 13283 lets him live.

KV: Why?

TP: Because 13283 believes that all people can be changed. Even in the face of absolute, undeniable proof, he refuses to accept that some people will follow only one path.

KV: Then 13283 has more laudable moral principles than I do.

TP: That's the problem. 13283's moral principles are fixed and unchanging. What we have in our midst is a rampant idealist with a hero complex.

KV: Why is this a problem for me? If he wants to be a hero, then he'll save people.

TP: But then there comes the time when he's wrong. And then 13283 finds out he can't save all the people all of the time. And he will become angry. And given his nature … Ultimately, the consequences of enraging 13283 could shatter states. Or destroy worlds.

KV: Oh. [Long pause.] Oh.

[Scratch sound indicating edit.]

TP: What I'm getting at is that the Er Wan are weapons of unimaginable power. Smart bombs.

KV: Not how I would describe them.

TP: You're right. The Er Wan are dumbfire. Nuclear chaff.

[Long pause.]

KV: It's a lot to take in.

TP: You bet your ass.

KV: How do you cope?

TP: [Laughter] You mean how did I learn to stop worrying and love the bomb? The smart bomb? [More laughter]

KV: Essentially.

TP: Sister, I kissed my ass goodbye many years ago. The most you can do is the same.

[Estainia]

[PT]

[Mature]

OOC: Think Malta vs Ottoman; written from flashback perspective

The Last Stand of the Order of Santa Rosa

The Greater Russo-Spanish Empire
San Rosa Island
Rostil - 1567

The small island over looked the great sea in miles for every direction. The land was visible in the distance only on the clearest days. From this island rose up once tall; strong walls that repelled those who had ill will. Once. The great walls that stood from the island rose no longer; the smoke thick in the air the only reminder of what had happened here. The bodies numbering into the upper thousands, and the mere hundreds. Blood covered everything, and cold steel lay covered in it, pried from cold hands, dead eyes that stared out; armored corpses.

The bodies of knights, they lay thick in the sands and the plains, dead to the last man. The Cowards had come; with their rising power; through the utilization of fire, trickery and cowardice, purest cowardice. Those flaming staves that spat iron; cowards! The cowards had died the same though; arrow and blade finding their flesh while their cowardice slammed into steel armor and penetrated more than once; massive volleys of iron...

The armor was not thick enough in the end, in this modern world; this world of cowardice and dishonor what place was there for those who so staunchly had held their own ground; against wave after wave of cowards and their weapons of cowards. Though this place told a tale of slaughter and battle; the inhabitants could not have been more different from that. The Knights of Santa Rosa; men of peace and mercy, men who believed in the inherently good of all life resided here; they were capable warriors; but they were kind and merciful and just.

Was that a crime though? To know what Mercy was; or Compassion? No, they were just...The Misfortunes of War. The Invaders who came meant to use their island, their fortresses as a beachhead into the Empire itself; to destroy and burn what they protected, and they would not allow it. Because they were Knights; and it was their duty, their sworn duty to defend what they had sworn to defend. They took up their arms, blade and bow; the weapons of an era past, and dying. But they never changed; no Russo-Spaniard changed, because here Time did not move on.

So; when their volleys of iron came, and it bashed against their armor the resounding of that battle echoed across the oceans of the world; and they charged forward, their warhorses flaring their nostrils as they fell upon the invaders, swords flashing as the bows twanged. But it was not enough; their bravery and their strength. So they paid for it; with their lives and their souls they rested now as an army, an army of the dead; to be undisturbed forever.

The years would pass, to become eons and people would return, only to vanish from that place; or never be seen again to the point it was abandoned, a capsule in time it beheld the men and the places as they fell; there in the dirt, unburied, in the ruins, unburied. Then the rumors started; rumors that could not possibly be true but so many said they were. At last a man of science dared to dread there, he took his expedition; but did not make it far...

"We landed on the north shore of the island to the sounds of cannon fire. Yet there was nothing. The further inland we went the worse the sounds of battle became; when the sun fell we saw them then, the Knights of Santa Rosa fighting against their invisible, immortal enemy.

The ghostly armies of the Knights of Santa Rosa still fight; in the moonlight and the darkness they continue their eternal siege against an enemy they can never defeat; against a horde of cowards they can never overcome. That is their fate; for not adjusting to being cowards, for not moving on when the rest of the world did; for being merciful, and for being kind. Heaven itself looks down and denies them entrance; and uses their immortal souls as a chronicle and a grand play; every day, every night, forever...

[St Augusta]

[ PMT ] They're Coming

He went to the window, its dusty old blinds shuttered closed, hiding the bright lights from escaping outside the house and attracting the evil abominations that lurked outside, staggering about. The old, greasy haired man stumbled towards the window, he poked an ancient finger into them, pushing them aside and looked out into the ghoulish darkness. He turned around slowly, and uttered in a frightened tone to the others huddled around behind him, "They're coming."

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part One - Preparation of the Black Rock

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima
1945

The island was unimpressive, small and miserable; made up of black sand and volcanic ash it was nothing to be looked upon, but it was theirs; it was truly theirs. It was not stolen like the rest of the Pacific; it was not Australian, it was not Mayaslian, it was Japanese. This was their sovereign soil, their own sacred ground. They would fight to keep it as well, these outnumbered half-starved men who looked like they were from Mars.

"We stand alone, honored sons of the Empire." Kuribayashi Tadamichi spoke to the assembled; the few, the sickly, the dwindling. They had just finished fortifying an island that should have been made ready for this months in advance; but he understood why it was not. No one those months ago had believed that the barbarians would be here so soon, breathing on the Empire's neck as they advanced by the day, beating back divisions and obliterating armies enmasse.

"There are no reinforcements, no supplies; we are the final barrier." The Generals words were not calming, they were not encouraging; they were the truth. "Each of us shall die here; this is our grave, this island of rock and stone." He paused then watching their faces; they were terrified, afraid and in truth, so was he. But they had a duty to defend the Empire to the last man, and they would do so without fear or hesitation. So he bellowed it then. "However! We shall defend this island with all our strength to the end. We shall fling ourselves against the enemy tanks clutching explosives to destroy them!"

"We shall slaughter the enemy, dashing in among them to kill them! Every one of our shots shall be on target and kill the enemy! We shall not die until we have killed ten of the enemy! We shall continue to harass the enemy with guerrilla tactics even if only one of us remains alive! Is that understood!? These Barbarians shall not have victory here until a mountain of their corpses surrounds ours! They will know fear, they will know defeat! Even if we die; we shall make it clear to them, the Japanese Empire will never surrender! Tenno Heika Dai Nippon Teikoku!" *

"Tenna Heika Dai Nippon Teikoku!" They responded en masse, neither afraid anymore, nor unresolved. Steeled against the coming waves of the coming days; they knew their fate now, and they accepted it. Even as their Chinese and Korean brothers beat back the Soviets in Manchuria for the moment, the Americans and Australians advanced, and they would have victory; but it will be paid for, deeply. "Prepare for the coming storm my honored brothers and sons, the American Empire will be broken here on the sands of Iwo Jima!"

---

* In this instance, it means "Ten Thousand Years to the Great Japanese Empire!"

[Post War America]

Intercepted!

[ Mature ]

[MT]

Co-Written by Phonencia

Note: Out of Character

This story is written from an RP we are having, when an arms bust goes nasty. All parts written by Phonencia will have the starting section marked with a P, and all written by myself will have an a

Intercepted

POmaha Below decks
The Agents quickly ducked lower into a side corridor, two of them were killed as the grenade went off however, leaving only Sickle and his four men.
They quickly hurled a pair of flashbangs at the Marines.
there was a bright flash, followed by another only moments apart from the thundering bangs.
The Agents quickly withdrew their Ka-Bars and charged towards the hopefully stunned marines, engaging in hand to hand combat.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
F-35C

The young pilot of the aircraft silently observed his surroundings.
Lt. Young, eased his Aircraft's throttle forward, getting closer to the Omaha.
FLIR showed explosions and fire dotting the deck.
He quickly radioed the P.S. Taylor Swift.
"Taylor Swift, this is F-35C, callsign Jaguar. The Cargo Ship's guns seem to be knocked out, permission to engage?"
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
P.S. Taylor Swift

"Negative Jaguar, we still have men aboard, we can't sink that boat with them still in it!"
Admiral Wallace replied.
The Comm Officer looked up, "Sir, for all we know they could be dead by now, we should sink that boat right here, right now."
Admiral Wallace shook his head, an idea came to him.
"Jaguar, take two and do a low flyover of their gun deck, if any of our men are still on deck, we'll be able to warn them to get below decks, after the flyover, strafe the deck, hit anywhere their Vulcans might be, afterwards, pull back and wait for orders."
the radio crackled as Jaguar confirmed the orders.
Wallace turned to the Nav Officer.
"I want 2 Sea Knights loaded down with Marines on that ship NOW!"
the Nav Officer nodded and quickly radioed the nearby ships and military bases etc.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
CH-46 Sea Knight Chalk, Callsign Falchion

"GO GO GO!!! GET ABOARD NOW!!!"
Lt. Vasquez screamed.
"Huxley, Guzzo, take the Grenade Launchers! Griffin, you're in charge of the rear rope, Stacker, Reynolds, get the side ropes, the rest of you maggots, GET YOUR GEAR AND GET ABOARD!!!"
Vasquez turned toward a Lance Corporal who was still shrugging into his vest and helmet.
"MOVE IT MARINE!!!! ACT LIKE YOU HAVE REASON TO EXIST!!!! GO GO GO!!!! FASTER MARINE!!!! OUR MEN ARE DYING OUT THERE!!!"
the marine finally pulled on his gear and grabbed his rifle leaping aboard the CH-46, Lt. Vasquez the man's helmet on his way past.
"THERE'S JUST NO URGENCY ABOUT YOU IS THERE MAGGOT?!! OR THE REST OF YOU!!!"
he barked first at the Corporal then the other men.
"GET THIS FUCKIN' RAMP CLOSED!!!"
he shouted, climbing aboard. A marine hastily punched a button, closing the ramp.
The CH-46 Sea Knight lifted off slowly before going at full speed toward the Omaha.
"This is Falchion Chalk, we're in the air, Epee Chalk what's your status?"
Vasquez said quickly into his radio, his shortened AY-144L at his side.
"This is Epee Chalk, coming up behind you now."
Gunnery Seargent Walker replied.
The two Sea Knight grouped together as they closed in on the cargo ship.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
F-35C

Jaguar nosed his plane downward slightly, his two wingmen close behind him.
"guns guns guns!"
his Vulcan Cannon roared and spat shells down towards the deck....

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
AThe Sub Pen, Omaha

Captain Stern watched carefully as the sub was loaded with supplies, this was the special surprise waiting for the Phonencians, the problem was that at best only 40% of the arms would be on board and most of the Omaha's crew would have to be scapegoats. His crew confirmed that there was a JSF in the air around the boat and that the VULCANs were gone, of course there was one last defense aboard for aircraft.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Combat Zone

Robards recovered from his shock to find that many of his marines lay dead. In fact those that survived were gone off in the direction of the sub pen. Of course, this didn't concern him, there were four very much alive Phonencians in front of him, of course he was a Praetorian, a hero of the USSA, and he was expected to fight to the very end. He ran into their midst pulling the "martyr string" which was soldier talk for a Praetorian suicide vest. The grenades went off at once.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________
On the bridge

Smith sat patiently on the bridge, waiting for the orders from Stern. The VULCANs were down, the crew was evacuating and The Omaha was falling apart, as more Phonencians poured onto the deck of the proud ship. The radio opened up, >Smith, you know what to do<.

Smith pulled the final defense of the ship, a silent alarm went off to all crew still aboard the Omaha that one minute remained until the ship blew. Of course, this would not be known by the Phonencians until ten seconds remained, when the klaxons went off.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
On board ISS 101

Stern sat on the familiar seat of a submarine. It had been three minutes since the sub dropped into the water, with only ten of the existing marines on board. The 101 was designed to be nearly silent, even then, it took only one mistake then a large Phonencian force would be on them. The sub sank further into the dark depths, and Stern issued an order.

"Don't start the engines or engage the active SONAR, until we're sure they're gone. We can't risk it all."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
PThe deck

The CH-46s slammed to a halt over the deck.
"GO!!! ROPES OUT!"
Lt. Vasquez shouted.
the ropes quickly flopped out and dangled from the two side doors and the back ramp.
Vasquez grabbed hold of the rope, sliding down to the deck as the other 24 men followed him.
the other Chalk arrived seconds later and the fifty men quickly scurried about the ship to arrest or kill any of crew they ran into.


Sickle was alone now, his men were all dead, killed in the suicide bombing, but he was very much alive.
He slammed a fresh magazine into the MP-5 and proceeded to where what was left of the weapons were stored. It was unusual they had so few weapons aboard, they could've carried many more. Regardless, he needed to destroy them. He took as many photos as he could before placing all the C-4 he had on the weapons shipment, or what was left of it. He began to head back topside but crashed into a Marine, Lt. Vasquez, on his way up.
"Watch it dipshit!"
Vasquez shouted.
"Fuck off Mongrel! My entire team just got wiped out for a fuckin' cargo ship!"
Vasquez continued down and clicked his radio.
"Admiral Wallace, this is Lt. Vasquez, only one of the agents are still alive,"
Sickle mouthed his callsign. "callsign Sickle."
Vasquez reported.
His radio crackled.
"good Vasquez, get that boat swept, but first, get that 3E Agent off that boat."
Vasquez hung up his Radio and turned to Sickle.
"you heard him, chopper's this wa-"
he was cut off by the radio.
"Ell-Tee, we're about to take out the ship's Bridge, mind givin' us a hand?"
Vasquez sighed.
"on my way. c'mon Sick, let's go."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Entrance to Bridge

Five marines, Vasquez, and Sickle huddled next to the door.
"3....2...1!"
Vasquez kicked in the door and the men burst in.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________
AThe Bridge of the Omaha

Smith heard the Phonencians screaming to kick down the door. His captain, Stern, had a plan for that too. When the Phonencian soldiers kicked down the door, he had an AK-74 ready, to delude the Marines. The moment discernible figures appeared he blasted away on full auto, 30 seconds remaining. He smiled as a Phonencian bullet ripped into his throat, 15 seconds. He fell to the floor, 10 seconds the klaxons went off indicating to any crew to get the hell off now, 5 seconds. 4 seconds remained, 3 seconds, 2 seconds, 1 second a ticking noise sounded and the charge, carefully placed amongst a hidden ammunition stache and the fuel tanks, this would destroy the whole ship, and it would be incredibly lucky if anyone on board survived, zero.

The Omaha
The once proud Omaha blew apart in a tremendous 100 foot fireball. Some remaining crew we blasted apart as the shrapnel ripped through their falling bodies. Crew on life boats watched in horror as the Omaha completely disappeared.

On board ISS 101

The ISS 101 shook as the ship above blew apart. A crew member by the name of Bernard, also a navy vet said, "Explosion confirmed, she's gone sir."

Stern thought, for a moment at the immensity of the situation, the Omaha was one of the most respected ship in the USSA, almost as much so than the SAS Hideki Kondo. Stern ordered, "HATS OFF!"

All aboard the ISS 101 took off their hats, the religious said a prayer for the legendary Omaha.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
POmaha Bridge

One of the marines crumpled to the floor as the AK rounds struck him, the bridge was clear but the klaxons began blaring. An explosion ripped through the ship below decks, rocking it violently, Vasquez braced himself against the wall, The Lance Corporal he'd yelled at earlier flopped onto the floor.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!??"
Sickle screamed.
"ON YOUR FEET MARINE!!! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW!!!!"
Vasquez roared, hoisting the marine to his feet.
"Get to the Sea Knights!"
he hit his radio, "EVERYONE GET ON THE SEA KNIGHTS!!! NOW NOW NOW!!!"
the four Marines, Vasquez, and Sickle sprinted out to the Sea Knights that were hovering near the ship, their Ramps barely touching the decks. Several marines were already aboard.
Vasquez sprinted forward and leapt into the chopper, helping the other marines aboard as well.
A pair of marines burst up from below decks, one of them had been shot in the leg.
Sickle hurried over to help them get aboard, "DAMMIT! CMON SICKLE GET ABOARD!!!"
Vasquez screamed as another explosion rocked the ship. The two marines climbed into the Sea Knight, and sickle sprinted for the ramp just as the ship began to tilt steeply.
"GO!"
Vasquez shouted again.
Sickle grunted with effort as he leapt through the air and grabbed onto the ramp, fire ripped apart the ship as more explosions went off. Sickle pulled himself onto the ramp as the CH-46 gunned it away from the ship.
Vasquez punched the button that closed the ramp.
Sickle rolled down the ramp and into the floor, pulling himself into a seat and slumping back against the Chopper Wall.

Vasquez quickly gave a report to Admiral Wallace.

Crash Sites of ST-1 Katanas

The UH-60 Blackhawk CSARs slowly flew over the water, a trio of LCACs far below, aiding in the search for the missing crews and passengers of the ST-1 Katanas.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
AISS 101

Captain Stern watched as the last of the wreckage sank to the bottom. He wept for the lost ship and all who died defending it. Of course, he remembered his mission, that was to deliver arms to the Oil Rig. He commanded,

"Foulke, start the engines, slow as possible, we still can't afford to be detected."

"Aye sir, starting turbines."

The turbines of the submarine began to move at the slowest and quietest rate possible. It moved towards the oil rig that was only 200 miles away.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
APresidential Manor, Veluna City, Velunia, USSA

Nataliya Valinova was reading reports that the various ministries had made. All were reasonable and status quo except for the War Ministry's report. Apparently they had committed an act of war without consultation of the other ministries, the legislature, herself, and especially not the people. She called Thomas Howell to the office. When Howell arrived he asked,

"What is this about, I'm very busy."

"Would that be running an illegal war?", she answered dryly.

"How, how did you find that out?", he asked clearly surprised.

"Lets just say one of your orderlies isn't a lying bastard."

"Well, you can't stop me!", he yelled defiantly.

"You didn't even tell the people you fuck!", she shouted back, jumping out of her desk. She quickly traversed the distance and gave Howell a very powerful right uppercut, sending him sprawling.

"What the fuck was that for?", he asked. She punched again, and again, and again until his brow was covered in his own blood. She got up, calmer. He asked quietly,

"How are we going to solve this problem?"

"You mean, how are YOU going to solve the problem".
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
PImmediately after Katana-5 was shot down....

Lt. Warner blinked rapidly. They'd hit the water...hard.
"We're sinking!"
A voice cried from the rear.
Warner pulled the massive knife from its shieth on his leg and slashed his safety restraints, his Co-Pilot was unconscious, he quickly slashed him out of the chair and picked him up.
"Let's get outta here! now!" he shouted, climbing rearward, the nose was going down.
two of the Agents were dead, three were severely hurt and the rest had minor injuries.
Warner turned to the agents, "Get that door open now,"
two of them nodded and quickly wrenched the door open.
"Out out out!"
Warner shouted, he handed his Co-Pilot, Lt. Mansfield, off to the Crew Chiefs who were the first to leap out into the water.
The Chopper sank lower, the cockpit completely swalled by water.
"OUT! NOW!"
the agents scrambled out, leaping from the chopper rapidly.
Warner and an Agent Codenamed Waves were the only ones left inside.
Warner climbed out the door and leapt into the water swimming over to the others, Waves began to climb up and out but found soon with horror that his foot was hung on something.
"JUMP WAVES!!! NOW!"
one of the agents yelled. Warner gripped his knife and swam over to the chopper, climbing back in just as the helicopter sunk completely, plunging towards the bottom of the ocean.
Warner held his breath as he cut the agent's foot loose from the netting inside the chopper.
He quickly began to swim upwards, the agents with him. His lungs ached. He needed air now! his head began to hurt and his vision blurred. He burst to the surface seconds apart from the agent, gasping for breath.



After the CSARs found Katana-5

"Thanks,"
Warner muttered as the Crew Chief pulled him aboard the UH-60.
He wrapped a blanket snuggly around himself as the Helicopter lifted up and followed the second CSAR back to its Carrier.

[Alversia]

[FT]

The Volunteers of Istros (Working title)

Chapter One

It was a cold, dreary morning in Illesia; an unusual occurrence. The capital of the interstellar Alversian Republic was normally bathed in a warm natural glow that came from having a large and powerful sun ever-present in the sky over the city of glass and steel. The sky was normally a beautifully deep, royal blue that mirrored the sea which bordered the city, separated only with a thin golden band of fine sand, forming the legendary beaches of Illesia. The air was normally filled with birdsong, the day warm, the sounds and smells of the sea forming an elegant backtrack to a bustling and active city. Of course, today this was not the case. The normally spotless sky was shrouded in a dull and heavy layer of thick grey rain clouds which seemed to suck the very joy from the city. The buildings of glass and steel which normally glistened like diamonds in the welcoming sunlight now seemed cold and uninviting. The air was cold and a bitter wind swept across the open parks and avenues of the city, rustling through the trees. The pavements and roads were abandoned, the sky threatening to unleash its payload of rain upon the puny mortals below. This of course, was not the only reason that the city was empty, merely a tributary to central problem.

This central problem was why Colonel Michael O’Rourke was being driven through the city. The Alversian Officer sat in the back of the military car, deep in thought as he stared through the glass at the buildings passing by. The cafes looked forlorn as they sat idle, their chairs empty, their parlours silent, unused to such inactivity at any time of the night or day. O’Rourke brooded on why they were empty. The date was the 16th Day of the Eighth Month of the year 2384 and the Alversian Republic was at war.

War had been declared against the Danaversian Empire, the mortal enemy of the Alversian People’s Republic for over three hundred years. They always followed the same blueprint, always the same template ever since that first war had been fought by O’Rourke’s ancestors. The perpetual stalemate that existed along the Alversian/Danaversian DMZ, would be broken by spontaneous activity from the Danaversian end as they assaulted the outer colonies or the DMZ itself. These attacks, as fanatical in execution as they were futile in scope, would break against the Alversian defences like water against rock. The Alversians would launch a couple of half-hearted probes into Danaversian space and then the conflict would stall, perhaps dragging on for weeks between actions. Feelers of peace would be sent out and before long, the status quo would be restored, as if nothing had ever happened. This had been the pattern for the past three hundred years, repeated ten times with the same results. Familiarity bred indifference although the Armed Forces remained ever vigilant. This was why O’Rourke was pulling up outside Cavourna House, the Illesia Headquarters of the Alversian People’s Army.

He should have been as miserable as the rest of the Republic over this news, the news that they were at war once again but inside O’Rourke could only feel a sense of elation. At the age of 37, he had finally been promoted to the rank of Colonel and that meant, for the first time in his military career, he was going to be given his own Battalion to command. His mind swirled with the possibilities. Would he get the 117th Guards? The unit that had held the corner of the line on Gerral during the first war. Would he get the 61st? ‘The Screaming Rifles’ who had been at the tip of the first Alversian Army to defeat the SASM in surface combat. He even let himself think about getting the 1st Guards Battalion. The Black Falcons. The unit raised by Trezan Baxtor himself to free Alversia from the Photenican Empire. The first unit of the Army. He knew it was impossible but his excitement would not let him forget it.

The car came to a stop in front of the old and ornate house, out of place amongst towering buildings so many years its junior. The door hissed open on its own, allowing the Alversian to step out onto the dreary pavement. A biting wind blew into his face, channelled down the unnatural canyon, numbing his nose almost immediately. He put his hands together, rubbing them against each other to generate some warmth as he ascended the steps, offering a salute to the khaki-armoured guards who stood vigil at the outer doors, rifles at their shoulders, armour neat and presentable.

Inside, the building was warmer. The floors and wall were made of marble while the tall ceiling was an exquisitely ornate curved roof. O’Rourke did not notice the expert craftsmanship though, nor the beautiful drawings exquisitely carved into the walls. He moved with a purpose through the outer hall, where a Lieutenant in the green jacket uniform of the Army took his name from behind a desk and issued him a pass. He was given a chaperone for his journey who guided him through the maze of corridors that made up the building. Leading off from each of these corridors were dozens of cavernous rooms filled with males and females from all the races of the Republic, sitting at terminals, working on the logistics that kept a tens of millions large force on the move. He could not even comprehend their work and did not try to. Their job was to keep him clothed and fed so he could do his job, killing Danaversians.

Eventually after a dizzying number of twists and turns, the Chaperone stood to the side and allowed O’Rourke access to a single, oak door. At eye level on the door was a name plate set in brass, which the Alversian could not help but read as he went in, even though he knew already who the room belonged to; Major General A.S. Phillips.

The room seemed to stretch out in all directions as he entered. The walls were painted in a dark, sombre green that did nothing to lift his mood. Directly in front of him was a desk the size of a Carrier; with electronic datapads, wads of paper, pens and condiments on its surface perfectly ordered like a Division on parade. The Major-General sat behind his desk while behind him, a grand bay window looked out over a park, devoid of life for now, tinged with grey. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a small table with four chairs around it, tall and imposing, they matched the old order that the house itself represented. This was the home of the Alversian Army and had been since its founder had established himself here during the civil war nearly 900 years ago. The building was even older. It so many memories to share, so much to tell those who would hear its tale but O’Rourke had eyes only for the Major-General who sat behind his desk.

Major General Phillips rose from his desk as O’Rourke entered, returning the firm salute of the younger man more lackadaisically. He was a little shorter than O’Rourke, three inches under the Colonel’s 6’8’’ although much more heavy set. His hair was streaked with grey, him choosing to keep his green peaked cap on his desk. He still looked in shape but it was clear he was in the twilight years of his military service. His eyes were duller, the lines deeper, the stance looser.

O’Rourke in comparison was in his prime, with his whole career in front of him. He was in perfect shape and quite handsome, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. Although it was impossible to see, under his cap he had black hair, cut to military standards. He stood tall, with a straight back, chest out, legs evenly spaced apart; the very model of a soldier. The most remarkable thing about him though was the large scar which ran from his right eyebrow vertically down his right cheek before finally finishing just past his lip. A fierce scar made all the more remarkable by the fact that he refused to speak of it or its origins. It added an unintentional sense of mystic to the man although he would rather everyone stopped staring.

“Colonel O’Rourke,” Phillips came around the desk, quite a journey in itself, and stood in front of the taller, younger man before offering his hand, “congratulations on your promotion. It’s been long overdue.”

“Thank you Sir,” O’Rourke felt a glow of pride within himself as he shook hands but now he also felt nerves. In a few minutes, Phillips was going to give him his new assignment and he was very much eager to know who he would be commanding in battle, “It’s an honour.”

“I have no doubt you’re ready for it.” Phillips nodded approvingly. “It’s only a shame it comes now in such a dark time for our nation. Now for your assignment; doubtless you have been waiting for it.”

“Yes Sir,” O’Rourke exhaled rather than said the words, not trusting his gut to form his words coherently. He was on tenterhooks, waiting for Phillips to turn and rummage through his pile of datapads to find the one with his name on it.
‘Come on come on,’ He thought to himself, impatience bubbling over, ‘pick up the pace granddad.’

“Ah, here we are.” Phillips finally found it at the point that O’Rourke thought he was going to burst. He virtually snatched the thin device from the Major-General’s hands but he seemed to be used to the reaction so did not comment on it. Instead he allowed O’Rourke to digest the front page of his assignment, eyes flying across the transparent blue screen. Silence filled the room interrupted only by the first few hesitant patters of rain on the window.

O’Rourke looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced down at the datapad in his hand again to make sure he had not made a mistake.
“The 636th Battalion Sir? I’ve not heard of them.”

“Newly formed unit from the 19th Illesian Regiment, Colonel; it’s been mobilised for the war.”

O’Rourke felt his stomach drop through some bottomless pit, falling away into eternity. It was harder to say which was worse, the crushing disappointment or the fiery anger which swept through him,
“I’m being given a volunteer Battalion?” he asked in incredulously, waiting for the punch line from Phillips. The stretching silence told him it was not coming. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to take the pad and smash it against the ornate wooden desk of the older soldier.

He did none of these things. Instead he took a moment to compose himself, breathing deeply to regain control over his turbulent thoughts. He looked at Phillips and hesitated.

“Sir, permission to speak freely?”

Phillips nodded, “granted.”

“Why in the hell am I being given a volunteer Battalion Sir?” He almost shouted, waving the datapad like a piece of incriminating evidence, “Have my aptitude scores not been consistently high throughout my career?”

Phillips nodded patiently to show they had been.

“and have I ever been given a report that would suggest anything other than I was ready to take command of my own unit and that I would be a credit to any force I was assigned to?”

“You have not.”

“Then surely, surely, I deserve a unit worthy of my talents?”

“You’ve been given one.”

“A volunteer Battalion!” he spat the word, like it was an insult to have it pass from his mouth, “Students, teachers, Chefs, anything but soldiers! Why are you doing this?” He looked for a long time at Phillips, “why are you giving me this shit?”

“Because you’re the best, Colonel,” Phillips still spoke calmly despite the rant that had been aimed in his direction, “You’re right. This unit is very inexperienced and it will need plenty of training to bring it up to speed. Right now, it’s not combat ready. It’s a lot like you Colonel. But you’re only focusing on the negatives right now rather than the positives. This is a chance for you to start from scratch. No one has commanded this Unit before you, there will be no lingering memories of previous leaders, no comparisons between old and new. Here you have a chance to mould it in whatever way you see fit. It’s a very rare opportunity. Few Colonels get a chance to oversee their Battalion from its very inception. Most would be begging for a chance like this.”

O’Rourke bit back a retort about asking for names and addresses so he could offer it to them and instead nodded sullenly. He recognised that Philips had backed him into a corner. Refusing now would look exceptionally bad on his record. He was stuck with it.
“Yes Sir.” He nodded, defeated.

“Very good,” Phillips seemed pleased. “They’re based in the Sanders Barracks in the South Passage. The driver outside will be able to take you to it.”

“Yes Sir.” O’Rourke recognised he was being dismissed and offered a salute, equally as respectful as before, although perhaps with slightly sharper movements, “thank you for the…opportunity.” He’d almost said something else.

“Good luck Colonel O’Rourke. It will be difficult,” he admitted, “but if anyone can bring it up to scratch, it’s you.” He guided the younger man to the door and quietly shut it as he ushered him out.

O’Rourke stood for a few seconds in a stupor in the hall. The waiting Chaperone approached cheerfully but backed away when he saw the look of outrage on the face of his charge. The Alversian was gripping the datapad so hard he could have cracked it in too. A volunteer unit…he couldn’t get over it. He looked out a nearby window to see the rain was drilling down hard now outside, the looming downpour finally unleashed. Somehow, it seemed to match his mood.

“Damned bastard,” He swore to himself as he headed back through the old house, Chaperone in tow, “goddamned Bastard.” His mind turned away from the Major-General and reluctantly set on the task in hand.

Like it or not he had a job to do.

[Amerikians]

[ MT ]

Part one

A Glimmer of Hope

The rising spires of Baltimore are the home to more than twenty three million people in the Greater Baltimore Metropolitan area. Politicians, Military, Police, Civilian, everyone from the President of the United States to the most common tourist and citizen can be found in the shadow of it's Gothic skyscrapers and glass high rises. It is a conglomeration of effort to make the best city on Earth. But nothing is perfect; no system, no government, no man; almost.

There are a few who's deeds move us to greater measure of ourselves; there are a few who make us reflect, and make us think that we are sub-par because of what it is they do to help those around us. There are those who take up the mantle of leadership and relinquish it, fading into obscurity with their acquired riches, leaving those who no longer matter to them to suffer. Then there are those who go to measures to assure that every moment of their lives are devoted to the assistance of others.

In the distance of other countries there are people like the Russo-Spanish who devote themselves to that task every minute of every day; but here in the shadow of the Great American Empire; there is no such hope of anyone caring. The suffering are not given second glance, the dying are left to do so quietly and reprimanded for daring to complain. The United States of Amerika...So divided.

Norman Francis Hope was the 43rd President of the United States of Amerika; having served in term from 2005 to 2013. He was regarded as one of the best presidents in Amerikan History. But he was not the same as all of the others that came before him. Though he was indeed another billion-heir president, he didn't buy some little island in the Maldevs, he didn't forget that the people he swore to protect existed. At the beginning of 2013 Norman Hope's bank account contained 13.5 billion dollars; the current balance is precisely 60 cents, this; is the story of how that happened. About how one man helped everyone he could; in any way he could; because the government he once represented just stopped caring.

[-Deus-]

[PMT]

---

Singing the Moon song

The Silver Fox strolled peacefully in front of the citadel garden, his daughter by his side as the pair walked hand in hand, his daughter’s soft touch and calming mindset bringing a refreshing nirvana over the broken man who was ruler of this fair city of Deus. The moon above glistening over them as they walked, their masks shining under the new moons rays, the daughter a copy of the father, something that brought delight to the fox as the two made their way past a small man-made lake, the tall citadel shining above them. He laughed as his daughter jumped into the lake railing, the agile girl as quick and nimble as he once was, her own ability surpassing his own even at the age of five.

The Fox sat slowly on a bench, his face obscured by his red mask, his white and red clothing a look for him, one he showed off every chance he got, his ego growing daily from the amount of praise the Morningstar prince got. He crackled looked up at the moon, entranced by its beauty as his daughter slowly climbed up beside him, her mask a shining white with a pink floral design, something she had personally design, something that for once in his new life the Silver Fox was proud of. Of course he was always proud of his daughter, his only love in the world, but to him the creation of a mask was something special, something considering praise worthy and the man showed it every chance he got.

He looked down at the girl as she swung her legs steadily on the bench, her pink dress almost matching his gloves which he had worn for this special occasion. Yes tonight was special, more so now that his daughter was with him to share it. He bent down and removed his mask slowly, his long grey hair flowing out freely as it wiped around in the air, the man kissing his daughter on the cheek of her mask, the smooth and clean surface of the mask a far cry from his own ridged headwear. But the girl slowly took off her mask as well, her long chestnut hair made into curls that bounced as the girl continued to kick her legs back and forth in a rhythmic pattern, her subtle humming matching the motion.

But soon the man stood up, taking off his back pack and pulling put a small viola, its brown, hardwood finish a sight to behold as he placed his left foot on the bench and leaned on it, a smirk on his face and shine in his eyes as he began to play a smooth melody, his daughter also standing up and humming along before singing a soft tune, matching his melody with lyrics unknown to the man yet starkly beautiful, the girl a talented designer and musician it seemed.

“I walk across the beach and see…The soldiers of our city.”

“I beat the drums as the soldiers thus march, the soul of the going with them.”

The man looked perplexed, the song unknown to him and yet she sung it well, not the best of course, but well for her age, and as the song continued on he continued to play. But as he played he saw the girl, her tears starting to flow, her quiet sniffles making his demeanor dampen.

“The soldiers lay across the field; their blood splattered both far and wide.”

“The victory of our city great, the cost paid in our blood plenty, our souls drowning in the liquid.”

The girl continued to sing, her voice quietly coming to a halt as she uttered the last phrase, “Our souls thus die in our own righteousness, our faith in ourselves proving our downfall, our hearts thus pierced with blades of sorrow, our peace shattered by the morning sun, our ambition hushed by dreams of the Leviathan Seeker.”

The Silver Fox stood surprised, a smile peeping up, confusion setting hold as the young man picked up the girl and hugged her tightly, her tiny pulse echoing into his own body. He looked at her, her red eyes covering the beautiful green eyes of her mother. Yet the Silver Fox still looked and felt amused, placing the girl down as he sat beside her, placing the viola down, its hardwood finish creaking as he placed it against the rustic bench.

“My love, who taught you that song?”

The fox eked it out, his joy bursting forth as he sat there, twiddling his thumbs as the small girl opened her mouth and spoke, her voice soft and faint.

“I learned it from Delilah, the angel….she says your supposed to cry when you sing it, it makes them happy when you do..”

Yes, the angels had taught the child this song, the angels being nothing more than her imagination, a side effect of her unique heritage, something the Fox often dreaded yet encouraged as the girl seemed to never come to harm, often times benefitting from her “angels”. But the man cared little as of now, the fox slowly standing and picking up the girl as he moved through the garden, slowly taking her towards the edge of the citadel, the black sea out in front of them as the pair grew closer and closer.

“Well my love your song fits perfectly tonight, for as you can see the ‘angels’ are going to battle. But don’t fret my angel, our guardians will protect us in this lightened time, the moon will shine again as the sun sets on our grand conquest. Would you like to sing a song of war for our angels love?”

The girl nodded as the man stepped back slowly, the sparkling warships shining in the cold black sea as the moved south, and the “angels” abroad prepared for their grand conquest, for their grand war. But the man again cared little for this as he plopped the girl down, rubbing her tears away as he picked up his viola and played a happier tune, the girl swaying back and forth as she sung slowly, the words crisp and clear, her voice elegant.

“The angels shine in the void of black, their wings spread far and sparkling bright, the cold night their protector, their lover.

The angels sway across the void, their swords sharpened and their shields forged. They slowly drift across the sea, the sun their only weakness.

Yes our angels move towards fate, their mission set. Our grand conquest begins, our birthright thus forwarded, our War of New Moons beginning rising as our moon thus sets.”

ooc: Just an OP from an RP I'm doing, I felt it was short story worthy.

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Two - The Power of the Iron Dragon

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945

They choked the water for leagues in all directions, surrounded them in an never ending siege. The steel gray of their warships glinting in the sun, blinding those who dared to look. The bellow of their cannons shook the Earth; as the mountains themselves bowed in homage to the power laid out before them. "We stand alone...He wasn't lying."

"He had no reason to lie." The two soldiers overlooked the horizon; the growing fear in their eyes understandable and went unreported. "The Barbarians have come." The first one said as the roar of their iron dragons shook the world again. The shells slammed into the dirt, and the rock and the fortifications and they were undone; and the mountains bowed again. The Mountains themselves...Bowed to the Foreign Barbarians.

"We have already lost..." The second soldier admittedly solemnly as the first one nodded.

Below them on the blackened beaches of the volcanic island sat silent pill boxes, the men inside camouflaged and barely saved due to that; they awaited the coming of their waves upon waves of men, and they would do their duty to the last man and shell. There was no question to it now. America was here, and they would have their revenge...

[Amerikians]

[ MT ]

Part two

A Glimmer of Hope

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The constant prattle of the alarm clock awoke the 49 year old without difficult, not even so much as rubbing his eyes the former President sat up, legs sliding side ways as his feet found cool hard wood floors. The twenty three room manor home was one of few, a survivor of the Great Baltimore Fire it was one of the only buildings in the city over a hundred years old. Tracing it's roots back to the time of the Prusso-American War it was a proud thing, from it's front garden flew an American flag; proud and strong the five pyramidal stars on the blue banner fluttered in the strong wind and blazoned it's message proudly; this was the land of freedom.

A groan, a creak and standing with the popping of knees came as Norman Hope walked to his closet, there was no procrastination or ridiculous time spent before it before he was standing dressed fully. The suit was something stereotypically now to him; he didn't quite remember the last time he'd worn something comfortable like sandals or shorts, and he was fine with this. Idly he made his way through the large house to his kitchen where he promptly brewed coffee while pulling out a pan to which he was going to use and fry eggs.

When these tasks were done he sat at a small table viewing the daily news via the television, it was wrong as usual; he had been in politics long enough, a grand total of ten years, to know that the situations had moved on or been resolved. Flicking through the channels he came across an ad for the Christian Children's Fund; sighing to himself he lifted his telephone from it's holder on the counter while simultaneously pulling a checkbook from a drawer.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to make a donation to your foundation." There was a murmur from the other side. "Who? Oh yes, Norman Hope; yes ma'am I'm serious." More murmuring followed and the former President chuckled. "No ma'am, I haven't been called that in a while. Donation amount? One million dollars." His voice was deadpan serious and there was a pregnant silence on the other end of the phone. "Yes ma'am, by check if you prefer it; I simply need the mailing address."

"Thank you ma'am, have a lovely day." Norman hung up the phone after scribbling a note on a bit of paper before he wrote out a rather pregnant check.

End Chapter.

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

One Shot

Lamenting at The End

Journal Entry
April - 1945

They weren't coming anymore, they were here. They had touched sacred soil, violated sacred ground and slaughtered thousands in their barbarism. Now they would pay, they would pay indeed. It was a well known fact that no longer could the Imperial Japanese Navy stand to the great power of the United States of America. It was a well known fact that the Soviets were pushing harder on China now with Berlin fallen. Death was Coming, their time was done.

We had failed in our mission, to defend our sacred homeland from the heathen barbarians, we had failed...Now, the last of our men, the last of our ships dug in in Okinawa or were headed there, the last of our iron dragons, the last of our vessels, the last shells, the last rifles the last everything...They were coming, and we could not stop them. What terrible soldiers we had made, what terrible men we were; failing in the defense of our homes.

Admiral Ito took his force to the south, and each of us knew we would never see them alive again; we knew the wrath set forth before us by Amaratsu-kami could not be defeated, and that what we had done had earned us this fate. None of us ever dared to speak it but we were pretty sure that this was it, the final days of the great war that would be our undoer.

So many millions, so many dead and dying, so much death; how could men stand against such reckless hatred as what the Americans held for us? We would hold to the last man and child, we would die to defend what is ours, we have died to defend what is ours. But this does not make it easier to sleep at night, each morning awakening and dreading that one day, their great steel warships shall be there to be our executioner.

The fighting in Okinawa will be the most horrible; we had no time, no ability to get anyone out, and the Americans and their barbarism would spare no one; we knew that and we told the people that and for now they stood with us. It horrified us, perhaps me the most that we knew now, there was nothing stopping them. The last barriers would crumble; and their barbarous fires would spread to Tokyo, Kyoto, Beijing and Hong Kong. The entire Empire would pay for allying with that German Barbarian...

---

They're here. They've been here? I don't know anymore...I can't remember life before this, the constant shots, the scream of engines and the sounds of battle; it is terrible beyond my comprehension; I stay alive through sheer force of will, I do not surrender because of my loyalty to the Divine Emperor. I will fight to the end, the end is here...It was always here...

---

A young man closed the book in his hands and handed it to his General who nodded; he had a plan, of course he had a plan. He had forbade suicide, forbade foolishness. This was the last stand though, as the book was tucked into a rucksack with letters and memoirs which another man would bury... Three hundred of them remained, three hundred; from a garrison of two thousand..."We have no bullets left, General." Someone said sadly, pitifully; you could see the fear in his eyes. "Fix Bayonets." The General calmly responded.

They did so, enmasse. The cave entrance trembled beneath the American guns; their Marines were out there but so be it. So be it.

"It has been an honor to serve with each and every one of you." The General said as he drew his katana, the few remaining officers did the same.

"Long Live the Emperor." He spoke the words loudly, but he did not yell, they stiffened, they knew what was to come.

"Tenna Heiko Banzai!" The General led the charge himself...

The End had come.

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Three - The Landing

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945

The shelling was over, the bombardments ended as they filled the blackened beach which would soon turn red. Barbarians landed upon sacred soil; they had violated sacred land. They would pay in the hundreds of thousands for their insolence. They held fire, the Emperor's loyal troops as the Americans kept coming, more men than the Christian God had Angels in his Heaven...More and more they piled unto the beach; until it was full, until men were standing in the water. They heard them, and the ones who knew English chuckled darkly. "No, barbarian...We are not dead. We are your nightmares..."

The response finally came, the pregnant silence broken by the roar of guns and the brutal bellow of cannons. Japanese Artillery opened up on the beach, splattering it with blood and gore; pill boxes along the beaches opened fire in a torrent of bullets sending the lancing shells into the bodies of men who had no place to go. Mercilessly they gunned down everyone that moved while the Americans clung to shallow shell holes desperately returning fire. There was no hint of remorse as thousands of shells rained down upon them.

Die Barbarians. Die.

This bombardment continued for several minutes before the tide began to turn. The American planes came down from Heaven and struck down the artillery positions that were not hidden within the mountainous tunnels. Tanks spilled out their guts as thousand pound bombs landed upon them. Flame throwers spewed their hot deadly liquids into pill boxes; screaming dying men leapt from the constructs only to be lanced down by American rifles. The sight was horrid, murder at it's finest. The Battle for Iwo Jima had truly begun now; and the Americans would pay for every step they took in blood.

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Four - Relentless Advance

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945

Two weeks had passed; and the fighting became more horrible, and more vicious. Every step the Barbarians took the Japanese fought back with even more vim and greater tenacity. The sounds of battle became so common place that men no longer hid from bullets; each one knew there was one out there marked for him. Shots were counted now, the crack of rifles more careful than ever before as ammunition began to run low, not out yet but certainly starting to get to that point. The Barbarians were relentless in their advance on the islands positions; each day and each night they pushed forward more yards, each man lost six replaced him, each man wounded five came from no where to save him.

They were limitless in numbers; like youkai risen from naraku itself they came and came; always pushing. Sheer strength of will kept them on their positions, sheer strength of spirit kept them from abandoning to death. Strict orders kept them from suicide; and for that they were thankful that finally there was a general who did not demand that. "Fix Bayonets. We're advancing." The officer spoke and the men obeyed, the Americans were five hundred yards away in the darkness of the night.

"No noise; make no sound. Advance." The whispered order came down the line and the men stood in the darkness and began to creep forward. A flare popped into the sky and bullets lanced into the air as men yelled and troopers died. Finally came the order, that was so familiar; that would have been immortalized. They didn't care who gave it; he would be dead too before the general could reprimand him. "Tenno Heika Banzai!" The cry dashed the silence of the night, and there was a shudder of fear in the Barbarian ranks. Forward they surged like a wall of men and steel; bayonets and swords flashing underneath the flare that illuminated the sky.

Not one man reached the American lines, the closest one did not go silently however, as he threw his last grenade into their trenches before he died; taking scores of Barbarians with him to hell.

Their relentless advance could not be stopped; but it could and would be deterred as long as humanly possible...

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Five - Is it...Over?

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945 - Mount Suribachi

"Is it over, then? Have we lost?" The flag dominated the mountaintop; proudly blowing in the breeze as though it had right to conquered territory and representation of the warmongerers who had hung it. There was a snort of anger and an officer stood up. "No!" He said loudly as he lifted the private's rifle.

"We are alive! They have not won! You see this!?" He pressed the rifle into his chest and pointed to the flag. "We are going to cut it down! And burn every heathen that has set foot here! So long as we breathe there is no victory for them! There is no final defeat for us! It is not over; it will never be over so long as we live do you understand me!?"

"Y-yes sir." The young man replied with a stammer, frightened as were the rest. "Good! Now get ready for our next offensive you coward! Glory to the Empire!"

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Six - No More.

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945

The command bunker within the southern side of Mount Suribachi was one of deterioating state. The Americans were pressing harder on the ringing defenses around the area and slowly but surely cutting off the mountain from the rest of the island. It was the twenty fifth day of the American offensive and the Japanese troopers knew that the battle was almost over, for all their bravery they could not stop the Americans. They simply did not have the men, or the material to do so.

Their loyalty was not in question though; as they held the ground to the last man and shell, with their bullets, with their bayonets, with their bare hands if so necessary they would assure that General Kuribayashi's orders were carried out to the letter. There had been those who were too cowardly to fight to the last; the ones who had wasted grenades, precious ammunition to kill themselves like cowards. There was no honour here anymore, it had fled, and those who were worried had fled the world with it.

Here, there were men who stood in defense of what was theirs and rightly so. Here, they would stand; in their dishonour, if only to hold back the Americans as long as they could.

A man walked up to a man in the uniform of a Colonel. "We are out of medicine, sir." He motioned to those of his comrades who lay in agony...Dying, in their blood and their clothing. There was no more gauze either. "Do what you can for them." The Colonel said.

"I have done everything I can, sir. They are in the hands of Amaterasu-kami now." The medic said sadly as he turned his head back to the dying men.

"Then you have done your duty." The Colonel said with a false sense of cheer, keeping up the morale as much as possible. "Come. We must leave." He said as men started gathering equipment and lifting the wounded.

"What of the American, sir?" He motioned to a young man the Colonel had been talking to, the only prisoner that had been taken thus far; he was dead now, blood loss that the medic could not stop.

"Leave him for his comrades to fi---" Silence consumed the bunker as the screech of explosives reached ears, the Colonel landed on top of the medic, saving him from a hail of shrapnel that propelled through the doorways.

When the smoke had cleared and all had risen the Colonel coughed severely, sitting up. "You must go, retreat to the fall back point, no suicide." He sternly ordered and the medic nodded; gathering the surviving men they fled. As they left the sound of a single shot filled the air, and they blinked back tears knowing what had happened.

At the same time they resolved themselves. There was no more of anything; least of all, there was no more mercy. No semblance of the act of mercy or compassion. The barbarians who wanted to destroy them; they would challenge them to the embittered end.

[The Kangaroo Republic]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

The fate of Izkart Chapter 1

The tale begins on a bright day in early may, the year 1842 in an underdeveloped agrarian area in the south-east of the kingdom of Barzavia, the portion of territory that the Inbrukians lost in the great war in the 18th century. The native inhabitants of the area, the sapient red kangaroos, lived in perpetual fear of persecution by the Barzavians, the nation of the Antilopine kangaroos. In the usually sleepy agrarian village of Izkart lying in the foothills of the Inbruk mountains the foul smell of burning flesh could be smelt as yet another red kangaroo was sentenced to burning at the stake for a crime he most likely didn't commit. The fire had already burned out, but the big pile of wood was still smouldering.

"That's already the second one sentenced to death this month." Wernand said furiously. "This is just not right, you hear me. It just isn't!" The other inhabitants of the village wholeheartedly agreed with him. "It's a disgrace! Jørge was innocent!" One of them yelled. "How long will it be before they'll kill us all?" There was about a group of 5 other red kangaroos who were shouting and chanting. But they were too scared to take any real action, if they would protest against the persecution the army would come and burn the entire village flat to the ground. The chanting slowly died out as two guards patrolled past them. They were very suspicious of any gatherings of red kangaroos in public areas and kept a close eye on the group, but the people went their own way again. Nobody wanted to draw suspicion, any such suspicion could mean their deaths.

The patrol moved on. Wernand stood still and watched the guards move. He stared at the stake again, the wood was blackened by the fire that was burning moments ago. Jørge's corpse had already been dragged away, his death hit him particularly hard. He had known Jørge for a long time, he lived just a stone's throw away from his house. The sound of the crows could be heard in the distance and gust of wind blew, it felt like a soft stroke over Wernand's red-furred head. "It's just not right." He said to himself, he took a deep breath and he hopped away to his home.

Wernand soon arrived at his little home, it was primarily constructed with wood. Only the rich had homes that were made out of bricks. He was about to open the door when a voice called him from behind.

"Wernand." A female voice said, it startled Wernand and he quickly turned around to see who it was. He noticed that it was Rudit, the young lady who lived next to him. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She said. "No, that is okay. W-w-what's the matter?" Wernand said, stuttering slightly. It was rather impossible for him to stay calm at the sight of the attractive young doe. "Well, I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while, my brother, he's just too busy drinking one glass of ale after the other at the inn and..." She wanted to continue but Wernand accepted her request immediately. "Sure, sure, of course you may." he said and he opened the door to his small home.

The two entered, the interior of the house looked rather poor. The entire ground floor was the living area, and had just a wooden table with a few chairs around them and a fireplace with a cauldron above it for the cooking of any food. On the left wall was a shelf with on it a few books about the history of Inbruk. There were a couple of windows on the right wall. A small ladder in the corner of the room went up towards the attic where the beds were. "Make yourself at home." Wernand said.

The two talked for a while about Jørge's death. It was particularly hard for Wernand to talk about it for too long, he just didn't want to believe that this happened to his friend. He remembered when they accused Jørge of murder. It was despicable, Jørge couldn't have done such a thing. Wernand had seen Jørge the night of the murder, how could he have possibly done it? It was all just discrimination of the red kangaroos, they were hated by the antilopines and were often punished for crimes they didn't commit. It was a terrible reality.

Wernand had always wondered what life would have been like in Inbruk, he was born in Barzavian occupied territory to a poor family of farmers, his parents didn't live in a good time either, they were born during the great war, not a fantastic time to say the least. His mother died of pneumonia 11 years ago, and his father was sentenced to lifetime in prison for stealing five coins, just five! It was disgraceful, the extraordinarily severe punishments the red kangaroos got for crimes they did or did not commit.

He looked outside, he noticed that dusk was setting in. "You'd better go now, your brother would probably be worried if he won't find you." Wernand said to Rudit with a soft smile. "Yes, I don't like it when he's angry, especially when he's drunk, then he usually just yells at me, he's so over-protective." She stood up and nodded as a way of saying thanks. Wernand nodded back. Rudit opened the door and left. It was silent again in Wernand's house. He just stared outside the window while sitting in his chair. He didn't even want to bother to cook his own food, he just didn't feel hungry at all. "How long will it be before they'll kill us all?" he said to himself, the exact same words that a citizen had said earlier today. He thought about that one thing over and over again. It was only a matter of time before the next one would end up on the burning stake.

(end of chapter 1)