Wrath & Retribution. (Closed! Attn: Sondria)

[Marquesan]

Over Al-Nasr Lake,
Marquesan-Occupied Mahdah.
Local Time: 1920 Hrs.

Two "Hellcat" Hunter-Killer Helicopter Gunships flew low and fast over the lake. From their open back ramps, a few men sat with their feet dangling into the cool evening breeze. Their weapons resting on their laps, their beards, plain olive drab uniforms worn "sterile" with no patches and extensive Ta Moko tattoo work identified them as members of The Shogun's Elite Light Infantry, the feared creme of the Marquesan warrior-elite. These men were among the last flights of Marquesan military forces to leave the country after the declaration of the ceasefire between the two warring countries. TSELI soldiers represented a unique blend, half diplomat, half warrior, skilled linguists and negotiators that were deeply feared on the battlefield. TSELI operatives moved like ghosts through urban combat environments, their sharp wits and sharper marksmanship made them respected by comrades and enemies alike.

In the fading light, the two coaxial helicopters sped along at minimum altitude, with the soldiers inside finally getting a chance to relax after the rapid campaign across the Mahdavian deserts that swept aside resistance and left charred, broken cities in its path. Marquesan soldiers had gone with little rest or even downtime as they charged across the countryside in a running war that forced organized resistance to simply crumble or wither in the face of overwhelming firepower. Here in the helicopters, they laughed and joked, their helmets laid aside. They had two hours to go until they reached the coastline and a waiting aircraft carrier that would ship them home. Each helicopter carried ten men and their gear, plus the crews. As the pilots switched to thermal vision and banked over the lake to turn southwest toward the city of Kharabena, they left the occupied city of Insil behind them.

Once over the lake, they passed over a forest of old standing Eldarica pines; a cool oasis in the middle of the desert. As they banked, the helicopter on the left turned too sharply, its blades making brief contact with the armored side of the helicopter on the right which hadn't banked so sharply. Every soul on both helicopters snapped to sharp alertness as the helicopters shuddered and shook violently. Reacting instantly, the pilot of the right hand bird banked hard to pull away. For a few moments, both helicopters leveled out and the passengers and crew alike both breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, a vibration took hold in the left side bird; first a shudder that escalated into a shake and then a terrifying wobble that felt like it would break the aircraft apart. At only meters above the trees, there was no time to climb or decelerate---the left side bird lost a rotorblade that shot into the fuel compartment of the right side Hellcat, which erupted into a ball of fire and shrapnel. Only a single "Mayday" got off on the injured remaining Hellcat's radio before shrapnel blasted the right side of the fuselage, taking the left leg of one of the men that had been dangling his legs off the lowered ramp and killing the copilot instantly. Blood showered the inside of the cockpit as the pilot struggled to regain control of the crippled bird, putting it down hard in a stand of mesquite trees. Shattered wood and burning carbon composite seemed to fill the air as the Hellcat came to rest on its side, rotorblades shattered, in a bed of dry pine needles that quickly caught in the burning wreckage and fuel.

There were only seconds to act; five men survived the wreck, grabbing what little gear they could and running for their lives as the helicopter exploded behind them, the ammunition and rockets it carried detonating in a shower of fire and smoke as the fuel tanks burst. Between them were four working Morrigan T3 Rifles, six T1 PDW's, four rucksacks with a few days of water, food and ammunition, and their body armor and helmets. Their helmets had onboard radio, but with no other allied forces within hundreds of kilometers, using them would be next to useless until they could relay their distress call in a nearby town. Finding a grove to bed down in far enough from the wreckage to not be discovered, they decided to wait for dawn to move again. That night, each of the men tended each other's wounds and kept watch while their ride home and twenty one of their brothers in arms burned a few kilometers away. There would be no time for sorrow; only the faint hope they could escape the country without being overrun by Al Hafa terrorists and killed; that they could survive the barren desert and the hostility of a people that days before they had killed without mercy or thought of leniency.

Best estimates put them five hundred kilometers from the coast. Days of forced marching lay ahead with every peril the mind could conjure between the five men and safety. The dawn would bring a column of smoke visible for many kilometers from the wreckage of the two helicopters; as clear a sign as any that the time was now to move. A quick meal and the five would be on their way, tracking silently in line through the forest. Would they escape? There was no time or place to wonder. Survival was of the only importance.

[Mahdah]

Six Kilometers from Lake Al-Nasr, Crashsite,
Marquesan-Occupied Mahdah.
Local Time: 0842 Hrs

The rising black smoke that carried on for many kilometers over the land had not gone unnoticed by the locals. Some had said they witnessed the crash from their homes or when they were driving. Two helicopters and seemed to have crashed into each other and crashed somewhere off in the distance, in a patch of trees. Not only had the civilians in the area noticed but a group of militants part of Al Hafa also saw the smoke and were even informed by locals about what they had seen. It wasn't long before two pick up trucks arrived on scene of the crash site with several militants hoping out brandishing Kalashnikovs and other weaponry they'd had either scavenged or received. The scene was certainly a mess of body parts, skewed gear and wreckage and the smell, the smell of burning flesh and fuel.

Once a search of the crash site area had started it was plain obvious to tell who these burning wreckages belonged to, along with the gear skewed about the area and the bodies. It had become clear what had happened here to the Al Hafa militants, two Marquesan helicopters had crashed in mid air and landed where they currently laid. The militants had found several partially burned rucksacks that had typical equipment used by the Marquesan. The scavenge was on now as they'd begin taking equipment, from medical aid kits to knives and weapons that they had also found skewed around.

The bodies were also searched as well, ID cards were found and examined, only first names and last names were displayed as the rest had been blacked out for privacy reasons. The scene was also being recorded with a video camera by one of the militants, the scene surely was a mess and the militants doubted that anyone had survived. Suddenly a radio crackled to life as a man's voice sounded from it, speaking in Mahdavian dialect.

"Have you searched the crash site, brother?" The man with the radio glanced about briefly before pressing the 'TALK' button on their radio, beginning to speak.

"We have brother, this wreckage is of Marquesan origins. The infidels crashed and landed here, a lot of them are dead. Their's gear around that we've started collecting. God willing some of their weapons we've gathered are in working order, this scene is pretty bad."

He looked to his left as he saw two militants conversing to themselves, one of them brandishing the decapitated head of one of the Marquesan. He held it up in a pose like matter as the other snapped a picture with his flip phone. A response was then given to him by the man on the other end of the radio.

"God willing someone survived that, any signs of survivors and we'll organize some sort of search party. Take what you can and ensure the bodies are buried somewhere."

The man with the radio nodded as he put away his radio and gathered up his men back to the trucks, any gear that was salvageable had been taken and placed in the trucks and the bodies compiled and buried somewhere away from the crash site. The militants had departed the scene soon after as they'd enjoy the spoils they had taken from the wreckage. A general question was now floating in their minds of if their were any survivors in the crash, surely they had all died but if some survived? It would be a mystery to them now as they watched the crash site go farther and farther from their view as they drove away.

[Quirina]

Afthonian Consular Headquarters
Augustopolis, Mahdah

---

It was a fire from the window that started this sortie of unexpected scenes in the chaotic atmosphere in the surround of the Afthonian consulate. There was no guarantee that the consular staff there is safe or injured. The probability of their survival was unlikely to be seen as luck or misfortune. Yet, their homeland government is pretty they must kick their boots back and bring their compatriots back to their safety of their homestead. This was the only mindful after of the President of the Government of Afthonia, Gregorios Sandikes.

The Consul for Mahdah, Antonios Sepranikoi, was reporting the recent events about the Mahdavian terrorist activities, thanks to a built network of local associates and secret agents lurking around the country, protecting the Afthonian consulate far longer than expected. But their hold will be much shorter as time goes on, no wonder an unwanted bloodshed might take place. Grigorios was sure that, at right moment, Athanasia will go to Mahdah and save their fellowmen in their spite, and be freed from the terrorists' surround.

A Presidential Order, named P.O. 5491, ordered the Defense Force of Afthonia "to secure the main threshold of diplomatic affairs of the remnants of the royal and legitimate government of Mahdah, eliminating all threats that surrounds the diplomatic neutrality zone imposed by conditions of the international laws on consulates, and repatriate the fellowmen staff of the Afthonian consulate as it is officially closes its duties and responsibilities." He added a clause saying that "if there is a Mahdavian loyal to the legitimate government that will join the repatriation operations, such persons shall be entertained after a series of examinations and investigations to ensure that no infiltration might happen during the peacekeeping operation." Thus, this military undertaking was named "Project Mariam 7".

DFA Military Command Room
Basilekos, Afthonia

---

It is always busy, but the business was shifted on surveying the consular zone of the Afthonian state in Mahdah. This may have gone too far, but it is sure that another terrorist act will be a legitimate reason for Afthonia to secure her assets acquired from its political slavery from Kylarnatia. It can be a reason, but the utter concern is the safety of the staff, then humanitarian assistance follows in. Defense Secretary Michaelos Donotias mentioned in one of his interview to The Triumphant that "Afthonia will be escalating its security measures, not only showing a power unseen yet, but a mere diplomatic guise that Afthonia can be a reliable nation in the Great Republic, "for it had been sleeping from the real deal"".

The trump cards were laid set in case something in the operation might fail. The 34th Flotilla, which is only composed of a Kazatlan-class amphibious assault ship, with a squadron of 50 aircraft composed of UH-24 Fox Multirole Utility Helicopters, TRA-92 "Eiko" Light Attack Helicopters, and CH-25 Vasteras heavy transport helicopters, exceedingly effective order for the salvage about to begin. The command staff was scrambling at their documents to formally commence the operation. In an office where lots of paperworks are bounded, the letter to commence the operation was to be signed.

The Defense Secretary Raubertis Trinobos reviewed the letter beyond its urgency. He knew this act is not informed to the Great Senate, but their justification of self-determination was already necessary for such event happening in Mahdah. As his ink dropped at the paper, the secretary had in mind the need for Afthonia to project itself as a savior and a well-composed power. His ambition was unspoken, but was obvious in his motives in his office. The document, after being signed, went directly to the Command Room and was announced the operation as an official military undertaking under the orders of the Command.

The GRS Semper Dulcis, the amphibious assault ship sent to Mahdah for the military operation, began to prepare for the commencement of the orders and coordinate destinations by the Command. Ensigns and seamen started the ship and sailed valiantly to the south of Augustopolis. Their course was to head over to the Mahdavian coast, with 500 km of distance from the beachhead. There is no intended invasion nor any amphibious assault, but merely, all but an experiment what can Afthonia's guns do. It was obvious that most of the marines were equipped with Quirinese versions of Istiglal IST-14.5 Anti-Material Rifles, with only bare numbers armed with HAMPBARs and M1 MASIRs. Others are armed with carbines along with the specialty weapons, such as SG2 12-Gauge Semi-Automatic Shotguns, and LY67 'Widowmaker' 3 round 40mm grenade launchers. Yes, these men are hungered for bloodshed, but still capable of logic and thinking as they follow orders given to them.

There were 500 men assigned in this dangerous task, yet there were doubts it will be successful, considering that whole of Mahdah is engulfed to a civil and constant war. This was not the mindset of the marines wanting to have their share of bloodshed over the conflict. There were many reasons for Afthonia to share a cartridge over the terrorists, but only one shone brightly - war. The Defense Secretary is ready to take it all, just for war. His insatiable hunger for war is surely will be answered once the soldiers started firing from above. No wonder, their salvage might turn into a ruthless massacre of terrorists in the Mahdavian capitol. The helicopters lifted, the men on board waving farewell to their fellows, prayers were recited, laughters are everywhere, celebrating their future victory. These men will be happily showering blood later.

Mahdavian airspace
Augustopolis, Mahdah

---

Their arrival was a nightmare.

The heavy machine guns with .50 BMG caliber rounds started showering over armed civilians who were seen killing unarmed civilians. Their arrival was a nightmare. The Eikos fired their rockets over the bandits around the area throwing molotovs and tear gases at the Afthonian consulate building. One molotov was seen thrown into a window, burning the room, which was extinguished later on. A CH-25 dropped its ropes to unload the platoon it carries. Ten consular guards armed with M1 MASIR PDWs had been holding ground since last week after few bandit groups terrorized the neutral zone. The gate was their 'no man's island' with bullets volleying everywhere. The noise of howling, screams of "Allahu Akbar!" and repetitive chants of the terrorist hymns were heard. The loudspeakers of the Afthonian consulate, after every chant, plays the Afthonian military march and national anthem as a banter against the Mahdavian noisy blabbers of ideological stupidity, while three ATR-V7 Towed Howitzers were fired as a gun salute and at the same time, a taunting remark that Afthonia can never be conquered, even being surrounded by danger inland.

The troops clearly surrounded the bandits trying to storm the consulate. Building by building, the troops were unloaded at those that are near the consulate to protect it from any other incoming bandit group, and lock the remaining terrorists by firing at their rear. No wonder the tactics were working at the first parts of the firefight, though urban warfare is bloody than expected. Nevertheless, Afthonian marines wanted blood and shower the 14.5x114mm lead bullets to the crooks wanting to burn the consulate as "sign of their opposition to Western-minded countries" though geographically, Afthonia is located at Mahdah's southeast at Aerus. The battle ensued longer, and the staff were leaving the building for the helicopters. It will take two days for all of the staff to be fully evacuated and be brought to Semper Dulcis to be pampered by medical personnel.

Augustopolis. Yes, it is clearly torn by hatred, envy, and bloodshed. The arrival of the Afthonian marines were verily unsure whether they will help keep the peace back, or just merely joining the stage of constant violence and war. One thing is for certain: the bandits' presence near the consulate is surely will be done for, and the marines will have no longer worry of a prolonged presence of their boots on foreign grounds. The Defense Secretary sent a letter to the Mahdavian command to invite them to give them asylum in Basilekos in Quirina and there settle until every single dissent is completely erased. But will this end until the mushrooms and ivies stop growing everywhere in the midst of blood showers and rainfalls?

[Marquesan]

Occupied Mahdah,
Local Time: 0715 Hrs.

"Shit. We make it outta this, we're getting the Order of Valor, for sure."

"Yeah, let's concentrate on getting outta here first, huh?"

Five men trudged along in a loose file across hard-packed desert clay. The windswept earth offered little concealment and no real shelter; dry grass and sage plants provided just enough in the way of roots to keep the sand from blowing away. At least the autumn temperatures had set in and cooled off the dry, hilly area they walked through. Ahead of them, a town was just beginning to stand out against the horizon, low adobe buildings forming little dark squares against the cool, clear morning sky. The going was easy enough for now, they'd managed to lose their tails in the woods and now, with the trees having emptied out into a dry but stable hillcountry, they could track more or less straight across the land as they moved toward the town in the distance.

The five of them spoke little. They'd seen helicopters in the distance but none of them had the signature coaxial rotors that RFA models would have had, so they'd stayed low. They were to be the last flight out of the country and while they were sure they'd be looked for, and the crash site was certainly searched by now, it would be obvious that there weren't enough bodies at the crash site for two helicopters; the Army would be looking for them. They'd just have to wait it out and kept moving. Fidèle, Cléry, Axel, Renard and Castor moved along with Fidèle, the youngest of the five at point.

He was twenty six, barely old enough to be through TSELICA and already a Senior Monitor at the end of his second deployment. Fidèle's shock of sandy blonde hair and bright hazel eyes with dusky tanned skin made him the pretty boy of his Lance and he'd always had a reputation as a ladykiller. His broad shoulders and deeply-cut physique had earned him the nickname "Handsome" at the unit and he walked with a sure-footed confidence that somehow made the ordeal easier.

Cléry, the oldest of the group was the highest ranking, a Marshall of thirty three with black hair and deep blue eyes. He was a burly man, a professional bodybuilder in his teenage years that joined the Army with a degree in mechanical engineering; he had been the second bird's flight engineer, a man of tribal descent with his massive arms and barrel chest covered in Ta Moko tattoos. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, his twin Personal Defense Weapons holstered at his hips and a rucksack with most of the troupe's water in it on his back.

Axel was a man of few words but an extremely sharp intellect. The only one of the five with a master's degree, he was a demolitions expert with dark brown hair and glasses, with a thin athletic build that allowed him to run with a grace that had earned him the name "Gazelle" which he'd never been amused by. Axel was the serious sort and tended to keep his distance from most of the unit, preferring to keep to himself and concentrate on the task at hand. He was the lowest ranking of the five, a Chief Operator due his promotion to Monitor when the group was to return to Pandora.

Renard was a sniper and a man of sharp wit that tended to be the jokester of the group. His closely-shaven head and thick facial hair lended him a "lumberjack" appearance; his burly, muscular build was a natural one. Renard was an avid outdoorsman and a rock climber who had grown up in the jungle mountains of Arue and hunted for sport. His dry sarcasm made him popular with the others, but he'd made a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been stripped of his Marshall stars twice for fraternizing with subordinates.

Castor brought up the tail, a professional soldier from a long line of professional soldiers. He'd never needed the money, his father was a member of the merchant aristocracy after leaving the Royal service. His light brown hair and green eyes, noble features and relatively slender build lent him a look of nobility and he was the group's linguist, speaking eight different languages, including the Mahdavian dialect of Arabic flawlessly. He wore a shemagh over his face, head and neck and carried a rucksack with the group's ammunition in it. His Morrigan T3 was slung over his chest, his eyes peeled to the horizon as they walked.

"Hey, Lumberjack, suppose you could climb that hill right there and see if there's any movement on the horizon?"

Cléry spoke glancing back inquisitively to Renard. With a nod, Renard split off from the column and trotted easily up a short hill to the right, his rifle cradled in his arms. After briefly scampering up the dirt mound, he dropped down to the ground, using the low-power optic on his rifle to scan the horizon while the others paused.

"Suppose he spotted a local girl yet?" Castor muttered and the others chuckled.

"He wouldn't still be up there if he did." Axel replied with a chuckle.

Renard looked back to the group and shook his head before he stood up and walked back down the hill.

"Can't see any activity in the town ahead yet. Whatever town that is, they're either evacuated or all inside. Either could be bad news or good news. We might want to go further right before we get there, though. Ground's churned up a little ahead. Might be a minefield."

The five of them looked at Cléry, who nodded. "Lumberjack says we go right, let's go right."

Wordlessly, Renard fell back into line and the five of them continued to walk. They'd reach the town by mid-day, but a few kilometers still separated them from the squat, mud-brick buildings with no concealment to speak of between. They'd need to stay on their toes to survive and wanted to take no chances. Silently, they carried on.

[Mahdah]

Kozakli, Mahdavian rural town, Central of the Imperial Caliphate Emirate.
Local Time: 0715 Hrs.

The town of Kozakli was barely awaking for the morning call to prayer by the two local mosques. People came out of their houses either waiting for the call to prayer to be said or walking over to one of the two mosques situated in the town. The town had a decent patch of farmland which was tended to by the local farmers. A market place was the bustle of activity in the town where many items could be purchased from the local clerks there. The town was averagely sized, made mostly of low mud brick constructed buildings. The towns-people wore typical traditional Mahdavian clothing and the men customly had grown out beards to show that they are either elders or grown men. The women were fully dressed up appropriately to follow sharia law which was strictly enforced by Al Hafa and society in Mahdah in general.

Suddenly a voice came booming from speakers strategically positioned for everyone in town to hear. From one of the mosques located in the town, the local Imam begun to sing the call to prayer, calling for the towns-people to begin their morning prayer to god. As the call to prayer rang out across the town, the people begun their prayers facing towards the holy city Karaman.

[Marquesan]

Kozakli Village,
Mahdavian Caliphate.


The five of them had approached the village following some old dry scrub brush on the banks of a dry wash, Fidèle leading the group, with Cléry, Axel, Renard and Castor in trail. The last hundred meters, they'd sprinted in short, five-second rushes, each taking turns, making sure that each advancing man had four behind him with rifles at the ready. Luckily, the town's call-to-prayer had taken place and every man, woman and child in the village would be facing east on a prayer rug; so far, their luck had held.

The village was a tiny thing; there were only three public buildings, a pair of mosques and a small clinic. A single main street ran through the center with the mosques on one side and the clinic on the other. A scattering of low single-story mud brick houses lay around them, most not particularly on a "road" so to speak, but with little pathways worn barren by man and beast. Five hundred people, at most, could live in such a place. Next to the clinic, a set of tents, open at one end, faced each other in what appeared to be a small bazaar, the shopkeepers trading meats and vegetables grown in fields visible on the other side of the village as the land sloped down to a river and greened on its floodplain. Here, the men of the immediate area would gather daily to talk and trade and pray, a simple agrarian lifestyle but a good one, no military targets of any great merit; here was a village that the movers and shakers of the world could pass by and leave undisturbed. The buildings had probably stood a hundred years or more, unchanged through conquerors and tyrants, fair governments and despotic regimes.

The five of them rested for a moment, their backs to a low adobe wall behind which a small garden was kept, a simple home and its vegetables obviously cared for as it would be difficult to make anything grow in such a place, and yet the scent of rosemary, ripening tomatoes, onions and several kinds of spices wafted over the wall, making each of the five men suddenly hungry, yet none of them said a word. There was little time to waste. Cléry tapped Fidèle and Castor's shoulders, motioning to them wordlessly. The two of them looked at each other, nodded, readied themselves and then sprinted toward the back of the clinic, where only a low adobe wall separated them from a door that stood ajar. Two goats stood staring at them from a yard as they passed, their bulbous eyes following the strange-looking Marquesans as they ran, one braying idly as the two men passed by. Fidèle and Castor easily cleared the wall without slowing down, their feet landing on the soft earth behind it, in what appeared to be a small cemetery for the village.

When they reached the wall of the clinic, Castor looked inside through a window to see that the clinic's medical personnel had gone to the mosque for morning prayer. He motioned to the remaining three at the edge of the village, who within a couple minutes had made it to the clinic themselves. Castor was the first to enter, his shemagh draped over his face to conceal his foreign features somewhat, but his uniform and build would be more than enough to distinguish him. Inside, two old men were sleeping on thin, old cotton cots, both with IV's dripping into their arms, one obviously very sick and the other badly bruised, as though he'd taken quite a fall. A young man with a broken arm in a cast was bent over at prayer, on a simple rug facing away from the back door when Castor entered, moving as silently as it was possible to, his rifle butt in the crook of his shoulder; needing only an instant to lift the Morrigan T3 and squeeze off a round if need be. Castor's eyes wide, watching the boy, he sidestepped into the doctor's main office as the others waited outside.

Here, he would be looking for a radio and for medical supplies that would allow them to continue. The other four remained outside, stacked against the wall, ready to fight at the first sudden noise. Castor's fluent Arabic might be able to distract the villagers for a few moments, but not long enough to get them out alive without a firefight if it came down to it, and none of them knew how much influence Al Hafa would have in a little village such as this, how much hatred the people of a small agrarian community might have for the foreign invaders and how well armed the villagers might be. The risks were high and Castor was moving as quickly as he could. It remained to be seen if he could get in and out of the clinic without being noticed. He had already accomplished one part, but the knot in his stomach made him think that the other part might be much harder...

[Mahdah]

Kozakli Village,
Second Imperial Emirate of Mahdah

Concluding the call to prayer made by the village's imam and then the morning prayer afterwards. The people rolled up their prayer rugs and began returning to their regular lives as inhabitants of Kozakli. Ten minutes had passed since the call to prayer sounded out across the village as the calm and quiet atmosphere of the village of Kozakli returned. Although it would seem that the village had unknowingly received visitors, those visitors being five stranded Marquesan TSELI soldiers who had entered the village searching for supplies, having spotted the village clinic they made a discreet approach to it as the morning prayer was carried out. As the villagers begun returning to their homes or heading to the bazaar to chat with other locals.

Suddenly after a few moments the sound of vehicle engines could be heard entering town. A dozen Al Hafa militants had just returned from their morning patrol and returned to town in two pick up trucks heading towards the single largest residence in town. A walled compound several feet high which had several banners about Al Hafa posted across the walls.. As the clinic came in sight of the two trucks it was decided they would stop there to pick up some medicine mostly pain killers for aches that some of them had on and enough.

The dozen or so militants all wore similar clothing, civilian clothing with tactical vests on and some with BDU's with pouches to hold magazines for their weapons. The weapons were mostly Kalashnikov assault rifles, with a PKP light machine gun or two and someone with a RPG 7 rested against there shoulder. As the trucks pulled across the street from the clinic into a full stop. The passenger of the first truck hopped out , slinging his AK47 off his shoulder and holding it in his arms as he moved casually across the street. The militant then entered the clinic through the front door heading for the front desk.

"Hello?" the militant asked looking around the lobby not seeing anyone else around to service him. The others started to speak amongst themselves while still sitting inside the trucks.

"Anybody here?." the militant said in a questionable tone as he moved through the lobby. He began to investigate the clinic and why none of the staff had returned yet or if maybe they were in the back somewhere busy tending to a patient. The sound of boots hitting the floor which were from the militant coming towards the back to try and find a staff member could now be heard as he kept his AK47 tight fully in his hands.

[Marquesan]

Kozakli.

Figures. He couldn't help but roll his eyes as he crouched with his rifle at the ready in the clinic, just behind the door of the doctor's office. In a reflection on a window in the hallway, he'd seen the insurgent with his Kalashnikov and heard him calling out. Now he was walking back into the hallway. He'd known that he wasn't likely to be alone and Castor only had one chance to distract the man until he had a chance to escape.

"Salām." he said, in the most casual, nondescript tone he could manage under the circumstance. "I will be out shortly. Have a seat, if you would like." Castor spoke in perfect Arabic. He had found what he was looking for, tourniquets, compression bandages, penicillin and aspirin, a few ready injectors of morphine and epinephrine, these he was hurriedly stuffing into his pockets with one hand, the other holding up his Morrigan rifle at the ready as he split his focus between the desk drawers and the reflection in the window outside the doctor's door.

He could feel his heartbeat in his temples as the insurgent man kept approaching. The game was up now, only a few seconds to spare--- A RADIO! He turned the knob atop the radio receiver and felt a rush of relief as a green LED clicked on and the radio crackled to life. With uncanny speed, Castor rolled sideways into the hallway, tossing the radio backwards out the back door. The doctor's office door slamming open would cause Fidèle, next to the door to peek inside and, seeing the handheld radio flying, caught it nimbly and ducked backwards behind the safety of the wall.

From the insurgent's point of view, a foreigner in a shemagh and Marquesan uniform had just tossed, what in his eyes, looked like a grenade. He shouted a string of curses as he ducked, squeezing off five poorly placed rounds in the direction of the door, four of which dug into the adobe wall, showering the sleeping two old men in bits of broken mudbrick and filling the narrow hallway with gunsmoke. The noise of the five shots was deafening, the muzzle of the old, beaten-up AK-47 flashing brightly in the relatively low light, spitting chunks of unburned powder, carbon and droplets of oil.

Castor, crouched low behind a cot had time to stabilize, however, and his suppressed Morrigan T3 squeezed off three precisely aimed shots, dumping 6.8mm copper bullets into the insurgent's chest, immediately staining his grey linen khet partug and vest with soaked red spots that blossomed like flowers. The three rounds dumped their energy into him, knocking him backwards hard over an end table, sending the lamp on it flying into the waiting room and shattering on the packed earth floor.

The man was dead where he lay, his body twitching, eyes open and fixed straight ahead, blood trickling from his mouth as his muscles spasmed and his bladder let go, soaking the front of his trousers. In the waiting room, the receptionist screamed and several people went running out the front door. Castor made a quick retreat out the back door, his pants pockets heavy with medicine. As he came barreling out the door, Fidèle began to shout into the radio.

"CQ! CQ! This is Dragon six four! Mayday, Mayday! We are under fire and trapped!" He rattled off the position of the village on the only map they had among them and repeated his message. "We have five survivors and need IMMEDIATE evac! Dragon six four require---" Suddenly his radio exploded into a shower of plastic and sparks, burning the side of his face and peppering him in flying fragments. Fidèle howled and threw down the rest of the radio; the other insurgents had circled around the building and now the five of them stood facing roughly a dozen armed militants, a low brick wall standing between them.

It didn't take long; the five Marquesans roared and dove toward the wall. Their sudden advance stunned the insurgents; they hadn't expected to encounter five armed soldiers; perhaps a meth-addled freak with a pistol was more what they had anticipated. Castor rolled to the side, coming up with his rifle and dumping four well-aimed shots into the insurgent carrying the RPG, who had just looked back to see whether the area behind him was clear and had prepared to fire. With a stunned look on his face, he flew backwards, his RPG and launcher tumbling to the ground and going off, shooting a rocket propelled grenade at ground level toward the street, catching and detonating on the tire of one of the militant's trucks which flipped end over end as though an invisible giant had picked it up from the right side and spun it like a toy, the front axle and engine coming apart as if a colossal hammer had struck them.

The next few seconds were chaos, bullets flew and guns roared; Cléry was grazed by a bullet across his shoulder, but otherwise it took only moments for the twelve insurgents to be struck down. With no radio, but Castor's pockets full of medicine and bandages, they'd done what they'd come to do, but now they'd roused the attention of the entire town with a firefight. There were only moments to decide what to do; they ran back through the clinic, now in shambles from its brief gunfight but otherwise occupied now only by the two old men who were hiding in a corner and one dead insurgent whose blood was slowly spreading and coagulating on the hard earth floor around his limp and cooling corpse. They ran out into the street, jumping into the second insurgent truck, still running, gunned its tired old engine and set off for the opposite end of town, the tires howling in protest as the truck set off on the dusty dirt road, two men in the cab and three ducking in the bed, trying desperately to escape Kozakli before the villagers had a chance to organize against them.

[Mahdah]

It all ended in almost an instant it seemed as the first shots rang out from inside the clinic. The other dozen insurgents rushed to surround the building as a firefight broke out between the insurgents and the TSELI. Although the dozen or so insurgents were within seconds sprawled out corpses in the street and around the Clinic building. The screech of tires was the first noise heard after the gunfire ceased, one of the insurgents trucks were taken by the five TSELI soldiers as they raced down the dirt road headed towards the outskirts of town. A phone call was made as the truck raced down the road by one of the locals who witnessed what happened. A compound utilized by Al Hafa was in the general direction the truck was heading and it was guessed that they would take the road leading down towards the compound to exit the village completely.

Therefore at the compound which was surrounded on all fours by a twelve foot wall with a gate in the front as the only entrance inside. A ambush was planned and put into place in the area. From the roof tops of the compound, several Al Hafa insurgents would lie in wait for the truck to start it's approach up the road before starting to fire. On the road itself which off on both sides was bordered by man made irrigation ditches would be additional insurgents lying in wait up the road past the compound, ready to open fire on the truck as they would aim for the driver to disable the truck along with the engine block. As two minutes passed they heard a screech in the distance, the truck had made a hard right onto the road heading down towards the compound and further towards the exit of the village.

The roar of the truck's engine could be heard as it made it's way closer and closer towards the ambush site. As the truck came in meters of the ambush point, a masked man from the rooftop of the compound rose from his crouched positioned armed with a RPG-7 and fired towards the hood of the truck to immobilize it. As the rocket was fired, all hell broke loose as the ambush was sprung and multiple Al Hafa insurgents wielding Kalashnikovs and light machine guns opened fire on the single pick up truck as he sped through, hopefully the overwhelming fire would some how kill the driver and send the truck off course into a ditch or off to the side of the road.

[Quirina]

Afthonian Consular Headquarters
Augustopolis, Mahdah

---

After hearing the news of the supposed evacuation of both the troops and the consulate, only mere confusion and debate went in the Consular Headquarters. Only then, divisions between staffs and troops came in. Both danger and dare were the two options they seemed to choose from. The State Command was reluctant to return without any result, aside from killing few brigands, but no coordination whatsoever to the Al Hafa. As much as the Command wanted to defend the legitimate government, there were more pressing matters at hand. What the best troops can do is the security of the vicinity, with checkpoints at the corners of the road leading to the Consulate. Nothing more but a police in a foreign land.

It was clear now that Marquesan troops are having good scuffles with the Al Hafa, but little that the troops knew of such. The State Command maintained close recon in the situation by sending out a 5-man squad, a recon squad, to further scout the area if ever there are any clear danger against the Consulate. Strolling in a wedge, with the team leader up front, the sand and dust that covered most of the road is what clearly being messed in their boots. Walking carefully for about hours, they reach a village, almost no one is around, with left hanged clothes and buildings similar in the Central East. The team continued to enter the village.

Kozakli Village
Mahdah

---

Upon entering, they saw a man wearing long robes and a vest in his chest, holding firm his AK-47. As the team leader assumes, he commanded his troops to stop and began commanding them through gestures to stay low. Slowly, they approached the man and few seconds later, he ordered them to return to normal profile. As they slowly walked again to the man, he was seemed to be talking to someone inside. And the rest was hazy and fast.

Few seconds later, the man aimed his gun after his eyes went all out widened, surprised, and shot five rounds of his gun. This alerted the team and each took their cover, mostly in crates and walls of houses nearby. The squad leader, shocked to the sudden events of gunfire, was approached by the team leader and reported few coordinates of the origin of the gunfire, which is about 260 meters away from their team, seeing that the origin of the gunfire was unknown, only the flashes show they have five men inside the building where the man was killed. The squad leader considered to fall back and leave the village while in such surprise. Another thing went on more shocking was the arrival of the Al Hafa insurgents that surrounded the building and poured it with more gunfire. This made more things much complicated for their retreat away from the combat zone.

Since their only goal is to scout and not to engage, the squad leader chose to break contact and fell back to the outskirts of the village without firing a single shot. At the small alleys of the village, the team manages to break contact from the combat and evaded lots of insurgents coming from almost all directions. A truck's engine was even heard coming in the village as the roaring shootout took place. The suburban-rural area provided the team enough cover to stay away from the insurgents' sight and made sure they will leave safely. After few kilometers rushing away from the urban shoot-out, the team reached their previous scouting point, almost a thousand meters away from combat. After the team leader radioed a requested vehicle from the Consulate as they moved in wedge formation, they conducted an SLLS to check if the team will still be in range of any possible engagement. After the team had assessed that there will be no threat at all in their range, the requested APC carried them back to the Consulate for relief. They are yet expected to return to their recon mission after a notice from the State Command.

[Erjunhuf]

ENS Kingfish, Erjunhuf 10th Fleet
Off the Coast of Bozbuk, Mahdah
Alkharanian Gulf

“Kingfish, this is Jester 3-1, requesting permission to land.”

The sun reflected brightly off of the teal-blue picturesque waters of the Alkharanian Gulf as three helicopters flew over the Erjunhuf Tenth Fleet, stationed along the coast of Mahdah in order to bring in humanitarian supplies. While the recent Marquesan-Mahdahvian conflict had not lasted very long, it had inflicted massive casualties throughout the country, along with an unprecedented refugee and infrastructural crisis that threatened to destabilize northern Alkharania. In an attempt to build influence within the new government, the Elder Republic had offered relief and aid as a sign of goodwill, and after getting approval, had established an outpost a few miles outside of the city of Bozbuk. Unfortunately, various militants and budding warlords, particularly those involved in Al Hafa, had made numerous threatening gestures toward that camp in recent days. As a result, it had not been a difficult decision to bring in outside assistance.

“Jester, this is Kingfish, permission granted. Welcome aboard.”

The flight deck was relatively clear of activity as all three helicopters landed on the ENS Kingfish, the flagship of the ongoing relief convoy. Out of these helicopters stepped fifteen heavily armed soldiers, members of the elite special forces group known as SWORD, the best warriors the Elder Republic could call upon. While ordinarily the situation would call for a heavier troop deployment of more conventional forces, it had been the decision of the Ministry of Defense to leave a very light footprint on the ground for the time being. In spite of their small numbers, however, every member of SWORD was deemed a highly effective weapon, each proven in the trials of combat at one point or another. None more so than their commanding officer, Captain Markus Corvin.

Having foregone college to join the military at age 17, Markus Corvin had forged a decorated career in the military, and had swiftly risen up the ranks, having been invited to join SWORD at the young age of 25. That had been ten years ago; now he led the entirety of Jester 3-1, normally stationed in Beblis, where it had proven viciously effective in the largely covert operations against the BDLF remnants there. His unit had been the closest to the Tenth Fleet when the call had gone out for a SWORD unit to intervene in the Mahdah situation. He had just begun unloading his gear when he heard his name being called.

“Captain Corvin!” a lone officer walked over to the entire unit; Markus stepped forward and remained silent. “Admiral Graves has requested your immediate presence on the bridge.”

“Did he state why?" Corvin asked simply. The admiral would likely not have summoned him this quickly if the situation hadn't been urgent.

"No sir, but it sounded important. Said to come get you as soon as you landed."

Markus paused for a brief moment before nodding. "Alright, I'll head on up." Turning back towards his men, Markus issued a quick directive. "Don't unload anything just yet. Something's up. And get these Hellcats fueled up!"

Following the officer, Markus quietly took in the view from the flight deck. In the distance, he thought he could make out the outline of the Mahdavian coast, although it was hard to tell precisely what he was looking at, and the two men entered the ship too quickly to be sure it wasn't simply the horizon. A large stairwell and a few minutes later, Markus emerged on the bridge; in sharp contrast to the deck, the bridge was abuzz with activity, somewhat surprising in a non-combat situation. Taking a quick glance out the window, Markus could better see the hazy outline of the desert that constituted Mahdah; he could almost sense the heat radiating from the desert. As he walked into the admiral's personal quarters, the officer left him, leaving Markus alone with the admiral, who was seated at a table reviewing notes.

“Captain Corvin, welcome to the bridge. I’m Admiral Willum Graves.”

“It’s an honor, sir.” Markus replied, saluting. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you call in my team? Has there been any trouble at the refugee camp?”

“No, no, nothing like that, at least not yet. Please, take a seat.” Willum gestured toward a chair at the other end of the table, which Markus promptly sat down in. “You may have heard about the recent loss of two Marquesan Hellcats over Mahdah last night?”

“I did sir. It was assumed that all occupants were killed on impact, if I’m remembering that correctly. Technical failure or something along those lines.” The captain recalled, grimacing at the thought. It was never a fun thought that a soldier could survive a war but die after the conclusion by something as simple as mechanical failure.

Admiral Graves pulled out a map and what appeared to be a radio transcript, and slid both across the table. “Ten minutes ago, we picked up this broadcast coming about 200 km inside Mahdah. The signal was weak, but the message in front of you was clear enough. Based on that transcript, we have strong reason to believe that there were survivors onboard that crashed flight. We are the only ones in any position to launch a rescue attempt, which is why I’ve brought you up here today.”

“Right, so we’re sending in the entirety of Jester 3-1 in, then?” Markus asked as he looked over the transcript. He had had multiple encounters with TSELI operatives, generally on joint-training exercises, and they were as good as the rumors claimed, maybe even better. Fifteen SWORD operatives ought to be ample backup in order to reco-

“That’s a negative, soldier.” The admiral sighed exasperatedly as Markus looked up, perplexed. “Our deal with the Mahdavians is purely humanitarian in nature; we want to draw as little attention as possible to this in the event this op is compromised. We still don’t know how much influence Al Hafa has in the current transitional government. If word gets out that we’re sending forces in, our camp outside Bozbuk is a prime target for an attack. This needs to be as covert as possible. You get a five-man team in Jester 3-1, along with a single Hellcat, to infiltrate Mahdavian airspace, locate the Marquesan survivors, and bring them back in one piece. We can’t risk any more exposure than that.”

“Doesn’t seem like the optimal way to go about doing this, sir.” Markus replied, looking at the map. With the village so far inland, there were any number of factors that could go wrong, and he wasn't prepared to take that risk without checking the alternatives. "Can we at least get air support?"

Willum shook his head. “I have my orders, captain. So do you: now, when can you deploy?”

10 Minutes Later

By the time Markus arrived back on the flight deck of the Kingfish, his team had already assembled by a waiting Hellcat, meticulously going over their gear and ensuring everything was in working order before carefully packing it away again; the rest of Jester 3-1 had already left, having evidently been informed of the situation. All four of them snapped to attention as Markus approached, and then just as quickly went back to going over their supplies. Formalities slowed things down, and the squad had served together for almost two years now, long enough to build a strong team bond.

Cas Morcant was the squad machine-gunner, and served as his second in command. While she appeared to be too small to be an effective operative, let alone wield a machine gun, she could conduct an orchestra with her weapon of choice, and acted like a force of nature on the battlefield, relishing the thrill of battle. She had a reputation for “socializing” with subordinates when not on duty, earning her the nickname ‘Siren’ amongst her peers in Jester. In addition to being an excellent machine-gunner, Cas had been chosen for her linguistic skills in speaking Mahdavian Arabic, the only one of the group who was able to speak more than a few phrases fluently.

Roose Terrick was the youngest member of the group, but by no means inexperienced. In addition to being the most profane man he’d met, he was also by far the deadliest sniper Markus had ever served with, having racked up several hundred-meter kills in deployments across the region, and being the only man alive to win the Cathair Egg Hunt three years in a row, a testament to his skill on the shooting range. As a Cathairi, he was also far more verbal and cocky than his more reserved squadmates; if he didn’t have a talent for long-range accuracy, Markus was sure that he would have been drummed out of the military years ago for insubordination. As it stood, Roose would be vital for the extraction effort, especially if the fight spilled out onto open ground.

Cole Benton was the polar opposite of Roose in demeanor; quiet almost to a fault, he was the squad’s medic. In spite of his medical training and focus, this did not make Cole any less of an effective fighter; he was just as accurate on the shooting range as any member of the squad, save Roose, and had racked up many kills over his impressive military career. Markus had chosen him primarily for his medical skills; undoubtedly at least a couple of the Marquesans would be wounded, especially if they were engaged in an urban firefight, and his skillset would certainly be useful.

Nikolas Thorne was the old man of the group, and the squad’s CQB expert with his shotgun, which he’d affectionately dubbed Nina, named after his ex-wife for being, in Nikolas’ words, “loud, devastating, and possessing the penchant to vastly shorten your lifespan”. A mammoth by Erjunhite standards, Nikolas stood at 6’4” and towered over his comrades, which in addition to his religious zealotry, made him intensely formidable in close quarters combat. If the TSELI operatives were still located inside the town, Nikolas would prove an invaluable asset in reaching them.

“So captain, which part of this hellhole are we planning on fucking up today?” Roose shouted over the noise of the Hellcat as he finished cleaning his Morrigan T4 and started loading his gear into the helicopter.

Markus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Simple rescue op. We’ve got some friends on the ground in need of a pickup. With any luck, we’ll be back on the Kingfish for dinner later tonight.”

“Sounds easy enough." Cas spoke up, sounding almost disappointed.

"No need to worry, we'll be seeing some combat today." Cas brightened up almost immediately as Markus slung his pack into the waiting Hellcat. "Finish loading up, we're heading out ASAP."

After a few more minutes of packing, the five-man squad boarded the waiting Hellcat. As it took off, Markus outlined the situation; most of Jester 3-1a had done training exercises with TSELI, and all of them were aware of the gravity of the situation. Even at top speed, the Hellcat was approximately 73 minutes away from reaching the town of Kozakli; Markus could only hope that the Marquesans could last that long.

[Marquesan]

Outskirts of Kozakli, Mahdah.

"RPG!"

The rocket in flight made a whistle as it cut across the desert toward the truck. Axel slammed the truck's brakes, slowing it down enough that the grenade flew over the front bumper and harmlessly sputtered out, detonating against a low earthen mound a few meters away. The truck skidded to a stop sideways on the dirt road, incoming rounds pinging off the steel bumpers or punching through the thin truck's skin and rattling around. Rounds kicked up dirt all around them as the truck was suddenly under fire from a walled compound that had been quiet only moments before.

The heat of the explosion caused by the rocket propelled grenade was felt along with its concussion, but it had missed its target and didn't cause any injuries. Renard was quick to rest the stock of his rifle on the bed of the truck, taking a bead on the masked fighter reloading a new grenade into the barrel of his RPG-7. He'd brought it down with the rear of the launcher on the floor while he bent down to pick up another round from a wooden crate at his feet and it was at that moment, with the launcher cradled against his shoulder and the grenade in his hands just over his chest that Renard pulled the trigger on his Morrigan T3.

He'd meant for the shot to impact the tube and disable it, but his first shot fell slightly to the side, striking the fighter's shoulderblade and knocking him backwards into the exterior wall of a room in the compound from where he stood on a balcony. The fighter screamed in agony, blood spurting from his shoulder as he reflexively brought his other arm over, his hand covering the wound, with the grenade cradled in his arms, his eyes closed as he screamed.

The next shot was meant to be a killing shot, and it was, but not in the way Renard expected. The second round struck the grenade, detonating it and vaporizing the insurgent holding it. In a bright orange flash and with a deep thud, the wounded fighter disappeared in a cloud of black smoke and a shower of shattered mudbrick and shrapnel. Three other fighters near him died instantly as they were pierced throughout with shrapnel and the embattled Marquesans let out a cheer as they saw the uppermost floor of the compound rocked by the blast.

Within moments, the five embattled Marquesans had taken shelter behind the truck. They were in the middle of the road, well within sight of dozens of armed insurgents fighting from a fortified stronghold almost a hundred meters away across open ground; the odds didn't look good, but insofar they had been giving much better than they were getting and each man was making his shots count. The minutes ticked by and the truck was taking hundreds of rounds; the windows were completely shot out but at least it hadn't begun leaking gasoline yet. They were too far from the compound for grenades and weren't carrying rockets with them, only their rifles and a few pistols. Each man knew he was dead already and was only waiting for the bullet that had his name etched on it.

A pall of smoke was rising from the top level of the compound; the firefight between the road and the building was apocalyptic, with men occasionally falling from the wall, almost four meters high to their deaths. With the truck for cover, the five Marquesans had escaped most harm, but they would eventually run out of ammunition if the battle continued much longer, and any attack from the rear would leave them totally exposed. More than an hour had gone by. If there was to be a miraculous rescue, each man knew it needed to be soon. They'd steeled themselves for the inevitable. Castor shouting the words "Last magazine!" or someone crying out that they'd been hit, the wet sound of bullets meeting flesh, but so far they had been lucky and their luck had held out.

Each wondered separately: Had anyone heard their radio message? Was there a rescue coming?

[Mahdah]

Post Music.

Outskirts of Kozakli, Al Hafa Compound, Mahdah.

The ambush of the five TSELI had done what it needed, stop the TSELI so far from leaving the grasp of Al Hafa. Over an hour into the firefight and already a dozen or so Al Hafa militants from the ambush had been killed by the expertise of the TSELI. Although the losses seemed high their were still plenty of militants to throw at the TSELI, as over the hour more insurgents had converged on the position. Hundreds upon hundreds of bullets had been spent as the truck they took for cover looked like shredded cheese, full of bullet holes and nothing else. Continuously rounds continued to be fired at the five TSELI as the firefight went on until the sound of a vehicle up the road came into seeing distance of the engagement. The pick-up truck had a mounted SPG-9 73mm recoilless gun which in the truck were several occupants, two manning the gun while another two were inside the truck.

One of the crew quickly picked up a 73mm HEAT shell as the other opened up the back slot as the shell holder forced it inside the tube. The back slot was then closed as the gun was aimed directly for the shot up truck which the five TSELI were using for cover. The truck for the last minute or two had begun leaking gasoline onto the ground unknowingly to the five TSELI fighting it out with the insurgents. The string on the recoilless gun was forcefully pulled as the 73mm HEAT shell rocketed out of the SPG-9 tube and on the path towards the truck. Time seemed to slow down as the shell moved faster then sound towards the pick up truck as the shell was only feet from impacting the truck.

Somewhere three minutes from the Al Hafa Compound, Mahdah

In a clearing amongst a dense patch of a trees laid in a wait a ZPU-4 AA gun manned by several Al Hafa militants wearing green BDU's. Several crates of ammunition were off to the side by a jeep parked there. A radio came to life for one of the men holding a pair of binoculars scanning the skies for something. He put the binoculars down as he took out his radio and listened to what was being said from his spotter.

"Helicopter coming in towards your position, take it down"

He looked over to the crew of the ZPU-4 AA gun and barked orders to them, "Helicopter approaching our kill box, take it down!" the man then put his radio away as he took out his binoculars and looked back up into the sky. A black figure came into the distance as he focused on it and the black figure took the shape of a helicopter. He kept his eyes on it as he begun shouting at the crew as he watched the helicopter.

"FIRE, FIRE NOW!"

The ZPU-4 crew followed the helicopter with it's quadruple barreled gun as the gunner pressed the trigger opening fire with a burst in the direction of the helicopter. The ZPU-4 rotated as another burst was let out from the quad barrels towards the helicopter as the man with the binoculars looked on as the Helicopter begun moving out of range of the ZPU-4. Thus the helicopter would now fall into the range of several Militants set up with Stinger AA launchers. Four militants aimed their launchers up at the helicopter as one by one in fifteen second intervals each man shot off his stinger missile at the helicopter.

[Erjunhuf]

Post Music

Just Outside Kozakli, Mahdah

90 seconds out, get ready for drop. The pilots voice came on over the radio, spurring Jester 3-1 into movement. The infiltration of Mahdavian airspace had been relatively uneventful – much, if not all, of Mahdah’s air defense system had been rendered inoperable over the course of the war, and any that remained would likely have been unable to even register the tiny radar signature of the Hellcat – and it had been a quiet hour as the squad waited for action. Markus stood up with the rest of his squad, checked his gear one last time, and headed towards the cockpit to give instructions to the pilot. As if expecting him, the pilot had given control of the helicopter to his copilot and turned around to face the captain. “We’ll be in visual range of Kozakli momentarily sir, any orders?”

“Sweep the town once we reach it and we’ll figure out where the best place to land is afterwards.” Markus instructed to the pilot. “We don’t know what kind of weaponry the militants are operating with, so keep a sharp eye out for anything. Engage at a distance.”

“Yes sir.” The pilot responded. “We’ll be sure to mainta-“

“Wait, what’s that?” the copilot interrupted, pointing out the window. Markus craned his head and peeked out; there wasn’t much he could recognize as distinctive until part of the ground lit up with the familiar sight of a muzzle flash, suddenly igniting the sky ahead.

“Oh shit, incoming fire!”

Heeding the abrupt warning, the SWORD squad braced just as anti-aircraft fire raked the Hellcat, punching through the armor plating and penetrating the fuselage in several places before the helicopter managed to escape the range of the withering hail of fire. The group quickly checked themselves for injury: all of them had managed to come out relatively unscathed, aside from a couple of bruises. Markus stumbled out of the cockpit a few seconds later. “Everyone alright?”

An abrupt muffled cry made Markus look to the corner; while his own team had come through unscathed, the Hellcat's crew chief had taken a hit from something to his stomach, and he was on the ground trying to put pressure on the wound. "Cole, we've got a casualty!"

His medic quickly made his way up toward the front, quickly reacting once he saw the extent of the damage. "Markus, grab the med-kit. Nikolas, put some pressure on the wound." Cole instructed, taking out a syringe and injecting the chief with a sedative; the man lost consciousness just as Markus came back with more supplies. Nikolas stayed quiet, other than a few whispered prayers, as Cole attended to his new patient. The rest of the team hung back, watching quietly until Cole signaled his captain forward after a minute or two of intense patchwork.

"How's he look?" Markus inquired as Cole stood up, finished.

"He took some shrapnel damage during that attack; probably it's still embedded in him somewhere." Cole summarized as he wiped the blood off his hands onto his uniform. "He'll need some surgery once we're back on the Kingfish, probably a blood transfusion too, but he'll make it."

Before Markus could respond, the intercom sounded off. "We've got four inbound missiles headed locked on to us; brace for impact!"

Once again, the entire squad got down and waited for the possibility of a crash landing; nobody knew how much damage the first attack had inflicted, and remained silent in anticipation, except for Cas who was already laughing wildly. "Sir, I thought this was supposed to be an easy op!" She said somewhat teasingly.

"Well we're still in one piece, aren't we? Besides, they can't make it too easy for us." Markus joked back, quickly tensing up as a nearby explosion rocked the Hellcat: Testudo had managed to knock out the incoming bogie. It was joined shortly by another, then a third, and finally a fourth one, which came far too close for his liking; he could hear the shrapnel from the blast impact the helicopter ramp like hail on a window. Great, what are they going to throw at us next?

"Sir, we've got contact on the ground!" Roose interrupted his train of thought and pointed out the window, followed by a string of Cathairi curses, as Markus made his way over to the window and looked out; from what he could tell, a vicious firefight had broken out a couple of miles outside the town. Five men were crouched behind a lone truck, the same number of survivors the radio had indicated, a good sign. Less encouraging was the technical that pulled up on the opposite side of the compound: whatever armament it was carrying managed to knock out the truck entirely, and in the resulting explosion Markus lost sight of the TSELI operatives. They had to act fast.

"Good eye, soldier. Get set for a rough drop, Jester!" Markus barked out as he went back to the cockpit. The scene was a mess; the copilot was dealing with a graze inflicted by the initial anti-air attack; and various lights and indicators were going off in alarm. Still, both pilots were remaining calm at the situation as the pilot turned to face the captain. "We've lost Testudo capability along the right side, but we're out of range of those Stingers. Everyone alright back there?"

"Your crew chief took a bullet, but we patched him up and he'll make it." The pilot looked relieved to hear that last bit as the captain continued. "I think we've found our targets." Markus said to the pilot, pointing toward the compound and the ongoing skirmish. "We'll need that ditch along the road for cover ASAP; if you can clear it, we'll be good to go."

"Solid copy sir. We'll clear a path for you." The pilot replied, initiating a lock-on for the Al-Hafa truck currently situated on the other side of the compound; Markus left as the pilot started giving orders to his copilot. "Targeting that technical, switch on the cannon and engage that trench once we're in range."

It was a tense wait as Jester 3-1 stacked up by the ramp of the helicopter, waiting to lower it once they had cleared out the immediate danger. They could feel the helicopter lose altitude as the Hellcat made its way into a firing pattern; the sound of gunfire from the ground was far more audible as the Hellcat got into position only a hundred feet or so above the ground, and more and more militant firepower seemed to turn toward the incoming helicopter. Finally, a voice came on over the intercom.

"Target locked, Tachi out. Good luck out there."

A lone Tachi missile soared through the sky from the Hellcat, passing over the burning remnants of the truck the TSELI has been using as cover just moments ago. Only a second later, just in front of the technical, the missile finally reached its target and detonated. The explosion rocked the technical, twisting metal and flesh from the force of the blast and caused the truck to immediately explode and flip backwards, barreling down the road until it finally came to an abrupt end several hundred meters away. Shrapnel and debris flew in every direction as the Hellcat made its presence felt.

The ditch along the road past the truck, meanwhile, became the target for the Hellcat's main autocannon, spitting forth hellfire and death to any militant unlucky enough to be caught in the ditch. There could be no escape for anyone within range, as they were mercilessly ripped apart by a hail of bullets; relief came only after the Hellcat passed over, landing on the opposite side of the compound as the SWORD team quickly descended down the ramp and toward the ditch, ready to engage any enemy still standing. Not waiting more than a few seconds, the Hellcat soared back into the sky and began to swing back to make another pass, this time on the compound itself.

“Get in the ditch!” Markus roared over the gunfire as his squad quickly raced to safety within the trench, diving in both to escape the Al-Hafa militants firing on them from the compound as well as to secure a foothold in the trench before any hostile survivors, if they still existed, could react; deep enough to provide cover from the compound, Jester 3-1 put their safety to quick use. Cas, once again laughing in savage delight, set up her machine gun after a few seconds, and in conjunction with Roose and his sniper rifle, began to put down withering covering fire for their squadmates. The rest of the squad, led by Nikolas and his shotgun, crouched down and made their way down the ditch in the direction of the burning remnants of the truck, where they hoped to discover the TSELI operators. Any Al-Hafa elements still breathing in between would be put down without mercy.

[Marquesan]

---

Listen.

---

Kozakli, Mahdah.


"Shit. Shit SHIT SHIT!!!! HIT THE DITCH!"

As soon as Axel saw the technical with its recoilless rifle, he knew that no good could come of it. As soon as it came within a firing line of the truck they'd sheltered behind, the five of them ran for the ditch, and not a moment too soon. The explosion of the 73mm shell against the truck turned their shelter into a fireball full of supersonic metal shards that whistled as they screamed overhead. Not thirty seconds later, the staccato chatter of a Hellcat's coaxial rotors brought their eyes skyward, growing wider with every passing moment.

Here was an Erjunhite "Hellcat" Helicopter Gunship taking fire and giving every bit as good as it got, hovering overhead with the rear doors open and the fuselage covered in battle damage. "Looks like they came to party, boys!" Axel said and the five of them let up a cheer as the Hellcat got a missile off and kicked the enemy technical down the road like a burning football. The thunder of its big autocannon brought the five of them to their feet as the SWORD members dismounted and hit the ditch. Through the smoke and dust, the five Marquesans came roaring, their Morrigan T3's blazing as they covered the Erjunhite's landing, emerging from behind the SWORD team at a full sprint, their boots digging into the swirling dust from the rotor wash, leaning into thier rifles and taking protective positions around the landing party, hitting the deck in the prone position and shooting anything that moved in the direction of the compound.

Fidèle, Cléry, Axel, Renard and Castor roared and raised their rifles skyward as the Hellcat flew off, allowing themselves a moment of exaltation for the big familiar helicopter flying overhead and blasting their enemies all to hell. It would only be a matter of minutes before the enemy compound was dust and they'd be on that helicopter flying home. Their prayers had been answered, they were going home! Each man had only one thought: Let's all get off this shithole alive and in one piece. No leaving brothers on the ground. Cut and dusty, sore and exhausted from nearly two hours of fighting, but with adrenaline in their blood and their senses sharp as a razor blade, each man made his shots count and their enemies were paying the price in scores, every insurgent that presented a target was engaged with extreme prejudice, their rifles chattering to life, the 6.8mm rounds carrying a knockout punch for every fighter that looked their way.

They hadn't even looked back to the Erjunhites they were now protecting as they got situated. The TSELI men were hellbent on their task and knew the SWORD team would take positions nearby once they got squared away. They'd crosstrained together with SWORD teams many times; the wide semicircle formation the TSELI team had taken offered maximum security for the new arrivals and presented small, hard-to-hit targets for the enemy. Now, with helicopter support, they felt like they finally stood a chance of getting out alive. None of them noticed the little trail of smoke coming from below the Hellcat's rotor mast, they wouldn't have been able to hear the growing wobble in its rotors from the ground nor did they know just how much damage it had taken; they hadn't seen the AA gun setup in the hills and didn't know the danger the Hellcat was in, but for the time being, they were simply grateful for the gunship and their new friends on the ground.

Cléry looked over his shoulder and shouted back to the SWORD team:

"Boy, you guys sure have good timing! We were just starting to think the party was getting dull down here! Good to see ya!"

Suddenly, A raking line of bullets impacted the ground around Fidèle, the youngest of the five. Big and handsome tried to roll out of the way, but the sickly wet sound of flesh and bullet meeting, followed by a guttural howl told the team everything they needed to know. Fidèle rolled and curled up into a ball, screaming and clutching his upper left thigh as Renard picked up from where he was and ran through a hail of incoming bullets toward his wounded friend. He came down hard on the ground infront of him, kneeling with his rifle braced against his knee, screaming as he put seven rifle rounds into the fighter that had risen up from behind a low mound and sprayed wildly with his Kalashnikov. "YOU BASTAAAAARD! DIEEEEE!!!!!!!!" He pulled the trigger of his Morrigan T3 over and over again, still pulling it five times after his magazine ran dry. Once he finally realized it had gone empty, he threw down the rifle and whirled in place, putting pressure on Fidèle's wound.

A moment taken to inspect the wound. Then: "It's not bad! It's not bad! You're gonna be fine, do you hear me, Handsome?"

Fidèle nodded, still screaming. The bullet had gone right though, a small thing to be thankful for, but that didn't make it look any better and Renard couldn't tell if it had struck bone on the way through; the hot red blood was soaking his uniform pants as Renard put pressure on the wound.

"MEDIIIIIIIIC!"

[Mahdah]

Outside Kozakli, Mahdah

Two consecutive explosions had gone off with one being from the truck the TSELI had used for cover being blown up by a vehicle with a SPG-9 attached to it. Then the approach of a Hellcat attack helicopter which then took out the truck with the SPG-9 which sent that several hundred yards back down the road of which it came. Even more insurgents had now been killed with the arrival of the SWORD operatives and the TSELI now linking up with them in a ditch off the side of the road. Another truck had now come on scene down the road behind the ten trapped soldiers from where they first came from, this one having a Kord 12.7mm HMG on the back of it. The sound of the Hellcat helicopter making it's approach back over had the gunner in the back swivel his machine gun around as he lined up his sights before pressing down on the trigger, letting loose on the helicopter with his machine gun.

A van had also made a stop further down behind where the truck was, additional insurgents hopped out moving down the street and then broke off into two different directions. Three made their way into the ditches on the left side of the road, letting off some rounds towards where the ten trapped special operations men were as those on the right side moved passed the burning wreckage of what was a truck. Now gunfire came from two directions on the special forces soldiers from Marquesan and Erjunhuf. Suddenly one of the men decided to toss a grenade in the direction of the ten men's position, where it would land would be decided as the grenade went through the air before slowing descending towards it's target.

Entering Kozakli Village, Mahdah

Five Kraken Infantry fighting vehicles rolled into Kozakli Village as immense reports from informants in the village reported heavy fighting between the local Al-Hafa militants and a unknown group, presumably from reports to be of foreign entity. The five Kraken IFV's split up to secure more ground as they stopped at certain points inside the village and unloaded their payload of twenty Mahdavian Army regulars. Within two minutes their were now one hundred Mahdavian Army soldiers within the village of Kozakli. A Mahdavian KA-50 helicopter now patrolled the skies over Kozakli and the surrounding area. It had reported seconds ago of fighting occuring on the outskirts of town near a large compound like structure.

A force of twenty Mahdavian Army regulars loaded into a Kraken IFV moved towards the fighting. Passing down a street a making a right down a road which was slightly forested the IFV stopped to observe what it saw. The back hatches of the Infantry Fighting Vehicle opened as the twenty Mahdavian soldiers moved out of the back and got into two lines behind the IFV and prepared to make a advance towards the center of the fighting.

"ALL COMBATANTS, CEASE HOSTILITIES IMMEDIATELY OR DEADLY FORCE WILL BE AUTHORIZED" Said one of the Mahdavian Army soldiers through a loud speaker as the Kraken IFV's automated 30mm cannon kept it's aim forward towards the fighting in case it needed to open fire if the fighting didn't cease.

[Erjunhuf]

Just Outside Kozakli, Mahdah

The howling cry for a medic reverberating across the landscape, piercing through the sounds of gunfire and shouting as the SWORD unit finally reached the TSELI operatives. “Captain Markus Corvin, Jester 3-1a, SWORD.” Markus quickly shouted out toward the Marquesans as his men took positions in cover and started pouring fire back onto the enemy compound. “We received your message and we’re here to extract you. Cole! Get over here; we’ve got a wounded man!”

Already on the case, Cole slid down in the dirt next to Fidèle, inspecting the wound as bullets flew overhead. Blood was staining the ground, but it wasn’t pouring out like it would if the bullet had nicked an artery on impact; a quick check on the other side of the leg verified that the bullet had gone out cleanly, a lucky break for the TSELI operative. He momentarily contemplated giving the man morphine for the wound, but decided against it; if more reinforcements had been coming, it wouldn’t have been a tough decision, but Cole wasn’t going to risk it until they were out of danger. He may have been wounded, but his patient was a highly lethal soldier, and Fidèle could still provide some covering fire from cover. A few moments later, he’d covered the wound in gauze and wrapped it up completely; he wouldn’t be able to do much more until the firefight was over.

The rest of the SWORD squad, now in positions complementing their TSELI brethren, continued to lay down a barrage of firepower. The skill of both squads marksmanship was quite evident, as they put on a brutal resistance against the Al-Hafa militants in the compound. From the distance, a van pulled off the side of the road, and out poured more militants, intent on providing additional reinforcements.

"Targets in the open!" Cas roared over the cacophony of the firefight as she fired several bursts at the insurgents running on the other side of the road. Those unable to find cover in time were mercilessly cut down; screams of pain and anguish were quickly silenced by the chatter of her machine gun, mere white noise on the battlefield. Laughing triumphantly, Cas turned her T5 toward the Al-Hafa fighters that had dared to enter the safety of the ditch and fired off a quick burst. Two of the insurgents went down instantly; the third managed to find cover behind the corpses of his fallen comrades, before tossing a grenade towards the combined squad.

“Incoming grenade!” Cas yelled, watching it soar through the air. She wasn’t the only one; Roose turned away from the compound brought his rifle up to bear toward the grenade. He tracked it's movement as it reached the apex of its ascent; time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as his breathing slowed. Roose held the record for the Cathairi Egg-Hunt, having hit an egg at a range of more than 300 meters: this grenade was much larger than a mere egg, and at this range, it would be hard to miss. Exhaling one last time, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet clipped the grenade almost dead-center, detonating it instantly; the resulting explosion rained a small hail of shrapnel onto the battlefield, inflicting some minor cuts on the group below but nothing serious. Hooting in celebration, Roose turned back towards the compound while Cas continued to provide covering fire for the flank.

"We've got em on the ropes! Wait, oh shit, technical!"

---

“Circling back around for another pass!” The Hellcat was in the middle of wheeling back for another attack; the sooner it could provide more air support, the sooner this firefight would end. Small-arms fire peppered the side of the helicopter, unable to breach the fuselage. The pilot grinned; his baby had taken some damage, but against unsupported infantry, the Hellcat was the angel of death incarnate.

Aimed back at the compound, he let loose with another burst from the autocannon - he didn't have a particular target in mind, but it never hurt to force hostiles to keep their heads down - and readied more missiles for another pass; down the road, however, he saw another technical, armed with a heavier machine gun, open fire well within range of doing serious damage.

“We’ve got a technical, get us out of range now!”

It was too late for any worthwhile evasive maneuvers as the technical opened fire: the structure of the Hellcat, already weakened by the previous bout with Al-Hafa anti-air weaponry, was completely devastated as the 12.7mm rounds tore into the interior, instantly killing the crew chief and gutting systems throughout the helicopter. Shrapnel flew through the air in the cockpit, slicing the pilots face as he screamed in pain and pulled up to try and gain altitude, already knowing he was facing a losing battle with gravity. The Hellcat had taken far too much ballistic damage to attempt anything worthwhile.

“I’m wounded, you need to ta-“ The pilot paused as he looked towards his copilot, who was gripping his throat and clenching it desperately as blood poured over his fingers. By the amount of blood that had sprayed over the dashboard and window of the cockpit, the pilot could only guess that the carotid artery had been severely punctured, either by a bullet or piece of shrapnel, immediately cutting off the supply of oxygen to his brain, a fatal injury. Only seconds later, his copilot’s hands slipped off his throat and he slumped over, dead.

Cursing to himself, the pilot took a moment to investigate his own injuries. In addition to the wounds he had suffered on his face, he had apparently taken a bullet on the right side of his chest; already he could feel a warm, familiar darkness slipping over him as he struggled to maintain consciousness. Equipment and power failure warnings buzzed all over the cockpit, and the pilot could sense that he was losing altitude as the Hellcat began to spin out of control. A crash was inevitable. It would be so easy to fall asleep before then, he quietly told himself. There wasn’t much good he could do anymore, and the prospect of dying in a helicopter crash was not overly appealing. He could feel himself falling into unconsciousness as he allowed himself to be taken into the void…

…and only a second later returned to the world of the living. I’m not dead yet. There’s still a mission to complete, even if I can’t finish it. Shaking off the wooziness as best as he could, the pilot made one final systems check: while most of the Hellcat was offline, the weapons system and rear hatch were still operable. He could still do some good in the time he had left.

Opening the rear hatch, anything not bolted down flew out the back. While most of it was merely debris, a supply crate of water and extra ammo also managed to make it out in time, sailing out into the void: he lost sight of it as his focus shifted towards the weapons systems. Even as the Hellcat spun out of control, he managed to get a solid lock on the technical that had shot his bird out of the sky and fired another Tachi, mostly out of spite. He still had a sizable arsenal of missiles left, and although most guidance systems were offline, the pilot armed his remaining missile pods and carefully tried to aim his craft right towards the compound.

500 feet.

250 feet.

100 feet.

50 feet. Almost nosediving towards the center of the compound at this point, the pilot launched every missile he had left, impacting the ground himself just a second or two later and immediately killing him as the helicopter impacted the ground and crumpled, crushing the cockpit almost instantaneously.

The crash itself, however, was nothing short of awe-inspiring destruction. Firing as many of its missiles as close to the ground as possible, the Hellcat turned the once defensible compound into an explosive inferno, incinerating everyone and everything in its wake; the explosives that had not been fired exploded in their pods, further contributing to a firestorm that quickly took temperatures to withering extremes that the human body was simply unable to endure. Those in the compound who somehow managed to survive the hellish maelstrom were shredded indiscriminately by the dual rotor blades of the helicopter as it finally impacted the earth, still spinning at full speed even as they melted and made a sickening impact with the ground. Debris and shrapnel went in every direction as the helicopter continued sliding, flattening a wall until it ground to a halt just outside the compound.

---

By the time the technical had been neutralized on the ground, it was too late; a missile slammed into the technical only a few seconds later, but by then the team on the ground could do nothing but watch helplessly as their only ride out of Mahdah plummeted to earth, making a sickening thud as the Hellcat made its final landing. Seconds later, silence fell over the area.

Watching the helicopter go down, Markus felt a momentary pang of panic. Their only chance of escape from deep inside hostile territory had just crashed, and it was highly unlikely that the pilot had broken radio silence to transmit either their location or situation. There was no hope of a quick and easy return home; salvation lay hundreds of kilometers to the southwest through enemy-held territory. For all intents and purposes, both the TSELI and SWORD squads were an eternity from rescue. In that moment, home and safety seemed very far away.

He allowed himself only a moment. A second later, his composure was back as he clambered out of the ditch; he had seen the ammo and water reserves fall out of the helicopter on its way down, and securing anything extra could mean the difference between life and death. “We need to secure the crash site!” he roared to his men as he charged the now burning remnants of the Al-Hafa compound; Nikolas and Cas were on the move behind him only seconds later, even as he registered the sound of a loudspeaker calling for an end to the fighting. Damn, the Mahdavian military is already here? Time was running out; the only optimal way of escape now was the sitting van the Al Hafa reinforcements had arrived in. "Someone get that damn van!"

[Marquesan]

Outskirts of Kozakli, Mahdah.

Cléry had steeled himself for this possibility; that a rescue would come and find more than it had bargained for; that the LZ would be too hot and they'd lose their ride home. He didn't even give himself a moment of anguish. Picking up his rifle and sprinting for the van, he'd yank the body of a dead Mahdavian fighter out of the driver's seat, cutting the seatbelt with his folding knife and throwing the bloody rag doll into the dirt. The van was still running, but the windshield was spidered. As Castor climbed in the passenger seat, they both adjusted in their seats, kicking the windshield out with their boots. Once it slid down the hood and into the dirt, Castor pivoted back into the back of the van with his rifle thrust forward, ensuring that there was nobody else to contend with in the vehicle. What he found, his eyes almost couldn't believe.

Cléry threw the wheezing old van into gear and rolled on the gas, the back tires engaging and kicking up a shower of rocks. In the back, Castor braced himself as the van rolled forward to Cole and Fidèle, just now standing up and moving toward the van. The eerie quiet that had fallen over the battle site was almost deafening to the ten foreigners half a world away from home and hundreds of kilometers from safety. The Mahdavian Army presence advancing through the town left them no time to survey or explore, only to pick up what they could and run. While Markus and Axel sprinted toward the crashed Hellcat, Fidèle and Cole were loaded into the back, along with the supplies that the Hellcat pilot had managed to drop out of the back ramp in flight; water and ammunition, medical supplies and food.

Cas, Roose, Nikolas and Renard brought up the rear as the two senior men dropped charges in what was left of the Hellcat and set them off, a brilliant light from the thermite charges that would reduce the rest of the armored engines and gearbox, electronics suite and cockpit of the Hellcat into unusable heaps of glowing slag in a matter of minutes. Once Axel and Markus were in the van, they made ten and suddenly things weren't looking too bad. With Cole busy tending cuts and scrapes, the rest of them caught their breath, reloaded their magazines and took stock.

"It's damn good to see you guys, Jester. Sorry about your bird." Renard was the first to speak.

The remainder of Dragon 6/4 looked up as they all shared a few nodded greetings, hands shaken.

"Name's Renard, I'm the group's marksman."

"Axel, demolitions."

"Fidèle, bullet sponge."

The rest of them laughed for a moment.

"Castor, I'm the group's linguist."

"Cléry, I was Dragon six-four's flight engineer." He said, letting his thick mane of black hair out of its ponytail long enough to shake it loose and tie it back.

After a moment, Axel spoke up.

"Say, you fellas don't happen to have a radio on you, do ya? This is all fun and games, and everything, but... I'm sure my girlfriend will be mad as hell if I don't call her, tell her I'm gonna be late for dinner."

Renard started looking through the gear scattered around the back of the van. From the looks of things, the fighters that had occupied this van had collected what they thought was salvageable from the Dragon 6/4 crash site. Here were two of their backpacks with medical supplies and ammunition, a functioning Morrigan T9 Hard-Target Interdiction rifle and sixty rounds for it, another thousand rounds of various Morrigan calibers and six more liters of water, along what looked to be a functioning radio.

They were a long way from being out of hot water, but as the van turned onto a forested road out of the sun and out of view of the advancing Mahdavian military, it looked like Jester and Dragon might catch a break, at least for a few minutes.

[Mahdah]

Outskirts of Kozakli, Mahdah.

The fighting had completely come to a close as at least ten men hopped into a van and sped off down the forested road. The Kraken IFV and it's twenty Mahdavian soldiers moved down the street and maneuvered through the wreckage. They fanned out and searched the immediate area as the Kraken IFV stood watch, it's thirty millimeter cannon scanning it's surroundings for possible enemies lurking about. The amount of corpses seemed endless and plentiful as the twenty soldiers searched around, the charred remains of a military helicopter was discovered by the ruins of what was a compound. Nothing could be salvaged from the helicopter as everything important within it had been completely destroyed. A second Kraken IFV appeared on the scene as it's back hatches opened up letting out another twenty soldiers of the Mahdavian Army.

"What of the van?" Asked a private to his squad leader. The private further surveyed the area having his LY20 HILAR over his shoulder, fellow soldiers had begun to search the corpses of the Al Hafa militants pulling off discarded rifles and other items and compiling it in a ditch.

"It's description has been given to friendly forces in the area, these men are top notch." The squad leader said referring to the amount of corpses and destruction their was all around them. He poked one of the corpses with the barrel of his assault rifle as he placed his foot on the corpses side pushing it over on it's back.

Above them was the roar of a Mi-24 helicopter gunship which circled the entirety of the village of Kozakli and the area further out from there. The gunship had been given strict orders to not engage the van if it is spotted and is to only relay information back to the Mahdavian Army.

[Erjunhuf]

Outskirts of Kozakli, Mahdah

The five SWORD members took a brief moment to relax in the van as it sped away from the sight of the firefight, just as Mahdavian military personnel were securing the sight. No attempt was made to stop them, but that didn't stop any of them from keeping watch as they drove into a nearby forest. Cole went to work on anyone who needed a quick fixing up, trying to ration supplies until they'd determined what medical supplies were left. For now, everyone seemed to be in one piece, and for the first time in several hours, everyone began to relax.

"They fought well." Markus said simply in response to Renard 's condolences as the rest of his team nodded in agreement; Nikolas intoned a silent prayer in the corner of the van, patting Nina carefully as he dusted some of the sand off of his prized shotgun. There was nothing that could be done for them now, and introductions were in order. "I'm just glad we were able to get to you guys in time at least. I'm Markus, squad commander."

"Cole, squad medic."

"Nikolas, CQB."

"Cas, resident badass motherfucker." Cas giggled to herself. "I'm on the machine gun."

"Roose, team sniper." Roose grinned at the others. "You really did a number on those militant bastards." The rest of SWORD sounded off in agreement; if there had been any doubt regarding the combat ability of their Marquesan comrades, it had quickly been extinguished over the course of the skirmish. If nothing else, the dozens of corpses lying in the desert sun was proof enough of that.

A few minutes of driving, talking, and joking later, Markus moved toward the front of the van towards Cléry and Castor. "Let's pull off around here and distribute some inventory. We've got a long road ahead of us." The van pulled off underneath a close grove of trees, protecting the van and its occupants from any sky-bound reconnaissance and providing some shade from the heat. Close by, a small creek ran through the forest, potentially clean enough to provide an additional source of water. Everyone quickly unloaded out of the van as Markus pulled off his pack and began to dig through it.

"A month ago, our government set up a humanitarian aid camp a few miles northeast of Bozbuk, and approximately 160 km away from where we're at." Markus pulled out a map of Mahdah and unfurled it for everyone to see, pointing towards its location. "The carrier fleet does a supply run every three or four days, depending on the state of things. A long trek to be sure, but if we can make it to the camp, we can all fly out of here without anyone being the wiser."

[Marquesan]

---

---

Suggested Listening.

---

---

Outside Kozakli, Mahdah.

They moved at night; the clear desert night and full moon afforded plenty of light for ten skilled operators moving in two loose files between the trees. The group had agreed with Markus; making for the Erjunhite humanitarian aid compound and laying low was the best solution. They'd spent the hours intervening sterilizing Fidèle's wound, redistributing their supplies and performing maintenance on their weapons. The Marquesans slept for two hours while the Erjunhites kept watch over their battle-weary comrades. Sleep had come swiftly for all of them; they'd needed the rest. Now, freshened, fed, hydrated and ready to go, they'd begun their march by the light of the full moon, leaving the Mahdavian insurgents van behind them, its rear doors opened to the downstream current of a small creek. In a matter of minutes, the van would be essentially washed clean of any traces of blood or gunpowder, any minute sign of the Marquesans or Erjunhites presence washed away with the gentle current.

Castor cradled his T3 in his arms, taking point in the left column. Behind him, Roose, Axel, Nikolas and Renard moved in silence, their own respective weapons at the ready. Renard now carried the enormous Morrigan T9 HTI rifle, a rucksack full of ready magazines for the big 14.9mm gun on his back.

Markus led the other column, with Cléry, Cole, Fidele and Cas behind. The big machine gun in the hands of Cas had proved its worth during the firefight; the ten of them were bound to rain hell on anything or anyone that stood in their way. They followed the creek as it flowed down between the trees, affording an opportunity for soft, loamy grass to grow on its banks, grass the ten SWORD and TSELI members walked on to conceal their tracks and silence their footfalls as they walked quietly through the trees. The path they were on was a gentle, downhill one that would eventually take them out of Antalya Province where they'd crashed and down to Bozbuk, the sea and safety. A hundred and sixty kilometers separated them from their destination and not one in their party believed they were out of the woods yet, literally or figuratively.

There was a long way to go, but at least for now, night, the forest and tall grass concealed their movement. Each man or woman had their eyes peeled for signs of their enemy, signs of any human presence which they were bound to encounter sooner or later. Relaxed, but focused, they moved cautiously. When daylight finally brought light to the misty forest, they ate a cold breakfast in a grove of cedar trees and the Marquesans kept watch while the Erjunhites slept. Another few kilometers and they would exit the forest and enter a rolling grassland that marked the boundary between provinces.

Perhaps they'd make it to the Humanitarian Aid encampment after all?

[Mahdah]

Town of Bagdat, Mahdah

The town of Bagdat was a town on the edge of the provincial boundary of Antayla and further beyond that entering Sivas province. The town was medium sized with just over one thousand citizens living in the town, it showed as the town was twice as big as Kozakli which held only three hundred civilians within it's confines. It of course had it's trade mark adobe buildings and Bazars within it along with three Mosques to use as worship and to hear the call to prayer from. Although this was not a regular town in Mahdah, largely unknown to any of the Sondrian Powers knowledgeable of the war between Mahdah and Marquesan, following the war's end a secessionist movement had begun in protest of Al Hafa being left with authority across the country while the Army was moving their way slowly through the country.

At least one hundred civilians in the town men and women were armed and poorly trained, they would protect the town from any Al Hafa or even Mahdavian military attacks. They wore entirely different apparel then Al Hafa and the Army its self which were dark green BDUs and ski masks. They were equipped with Model 30 assault rifles mostly and some light machine guns they had acquired from different sources within the country. A flag was hoisted atop of the town for all to see which was not the flag of Al Hafa or Mahdah but was a flag with a Lion's head and under it two crossed swords.