The Situation in Al-Khalifiya (TG Interest, IC)

[New Hayesalia]

OOC- 10 points if you see the meme

NH TANK DETACHMENT, EN ROUTE TO VANNISH STAGING AREA IN KHALIFIYA

When a New Hayesalian tank battalion was heading to battle, they were a a sight to behold. Taking elements of the battalions, medium and alpha main tank platoons, four Arctos medium tanks with 17 crewmen and five Leo main battle tanks with 18 additional crewmen slugged across the landscape, tank commanders in full protective gear poking out of their command hatches and scanning the horizon. The tanks had been called into action to reinforce a Vannish T-90 force, that had lost some tanks in the urban war ahead. Vannish infantry would lead that fight, with the NH tanks supporting them in the tricky and wide areas of the city.

The detachment commander was the Leo's platoon commander, Marine Lieutenant Vivo Morle, who reviewed his in-vehicle 9LANDs battle management system tracking the tank's progress. The tank, and their crew, were powerful and well equipped. The tanks themselves were built in New Hayesalia, but designed by the Yohannesian VMK armaments. The Pz.Kpf.W AY2-1L 'Panthera Leo' main battle tank was New Hayesalia's spearhead, with the Pz.Kpf.W AY1-1A 'Arctos' a more mobile friend. Both carried the full armament and equipment of the most modern tanks, from the Boomerang Shot Detection System, allowing the tank to detect where gunfire was coming from; IronVision Visibility Augmentation System, linked to the crew's heads up display showing them a 360 camera view around the tank for full visibility; Barracuda mobile applique camouflage in New Hayesalia's tan desert pattern; area and active denial system and countermeasures; and the Crows remote turret system for the 12.7mm Model 50 machine gun atop.

The crews equally were ready. They were equipped in the latest Crye Crewsuit, in the Marine's Transitional camouflage with an offset zipper stopping the suit's crutch from riding up - a rare comfort for a tanker - and the Combat Augmented AirFrame enforced further with attached mandible and cheek protectors. Their body armour, the standard Chameleon system, was ready to take them onto the battlefield with their Ripper Mk3 carbines if their tanks suffered defeat in battle. That being said, of course, their extensive training would likely prove a powerful foe to the enemy.

This was now to be shown in battle.

As the convoy of nine tanks proceeded down a long road, a curve around a mountainous outcrop led to an opportunity for the enemy. The leading tank, a Panthera Leo named "Jupiter" and callsigned 'Lyftward Oscar 1-2' was first to take the corner. The corner led the right side of the tank exposed to a Khalifiyan combatant, armed with a modern RPG, who launched up from the bushel he was hidden within. On the harshly sloping ground the backblast of the RPG knocked him off kelter and sent him faceplanting into the sandy ground to the side of the road, but his aim was perfect. The RPG was on its way at an extremely close distance, with the commander ducking back in just in time as the denial system kicked into play automatically. As this happened it identified the source of the attack, showing the location as the man fell forwards; though, he was obscured as the RPG was intercepted and exploded harmlessly some feet from impact. The tank was defended. Now, the 9LANDs system identified the tank had come under fire, sending the message to the tank unit. 'Jupiter' retreated to just behind the rocks, with a second Leo 'Gurkha' halting as it came to the corner. Commanders now buttoned up, and a Raven AE observation drone was deployed from the Lieutenant's tank - 'Big Hoss.'

Atop the hill, some Khalifyans were detected on infrared. Light infantry with RPGs were identified, but not in range of LOS. The man on the ground had been a forward scout or perhaps a sacrificial lamb. As he got up, he realised the tank was undamaged, and growling as it's engines spooled. Pointed directly at him was the .50 calibre gun, his heart racing in fear as he mentally asked if this machine of the devils would make the choice to execute him. His Kalashnikov had fallen nearby, and he was unarmed.

The tank's commander poked his head only slightly from the hatch, a Model 9 pistol drawn and pointed at the man. The tank corporal made a simple command - 'surrender!' The man seemed to get his messages, even as his comrades failed to spring into action. He could not, of course, see the additional 8 tanks keeping a 360 defence of the area behind. The Khalifyan, shaking in utter terror, raised his hands before clearly unbuttoning his load bearing vest.

The leading tank crew had made radio calls, and now moved slightly forwards. It approached next to the man, crushing the empty tube of his RPG under tread, with Gurkha maintaining more security. The commander on Gurkha, with Ripper carbine, pointed it directly at the man as Jupiter's commander, adrenaline rushing through him, dismounted the vehicle with his carbine ready. He quickly took the man to the floor, not being abusive but maintaining control of the foreign fighter in the throes of the shock of capture. Now he saw that the man was young - quite possibly as young as 17. This little lion had seen death in the barrel of a gun, and if it hadn't have been for the self-control of the man now driving a knee into his back to search him for weapons or explosives he probably would've lost his life on the very spot he now occupied.

The New Hayesalian now forced the young man to lay down, before rifling through his LBV for any armaments and throwing them aside. They had taken a prisoner of war, and even though they were prisoners they had the right to protective equipment such as their flak vests and helmets. Once it was cleared the man was told to put it back on, still under surveillance of three gun barrels which could easily tear through it. He was blindfolded and then had his hands ziptied, using some equipment pulled from kits in the tank. His Leo had a spare seat, ostensibly for the commander, but now occupied by the prisoner of war. He was escorted into the tank via the tiny rear door.

A call for fire was now cleared, with a Vannish army mortar unit in range requested to deliver four rounds, high explosive, on the coordinates of the local unit trenched on the hills above. They advised, further, to send a unit for battle damage assessment. The tank unit would now proceed, leaving the Vannish to clear the future mess and linking up with the Vannish Military Police en-route, handing over the captured soldier.

It was a good result, for the New Hayesalians and the admittedly brave young man who'd been truly thrown under the bus by his supposed comrades in the hills. It was with a can of semi-cool coke that started to allow the prisoner to relax, and realise what a nightmarish situation he'd just escaped from. For Marine Corporal Tomas Illoslavich, with two teenaged boys looking not unlike this blindfolded fighter, it was a surreal if not terrifying thing to see. Retirement, after this tour, was probably in order.

The Marine Corporal looked at a patch on the left sleeve of a fellow tanker, which bore an excerpt from the New Hayesalian Constitution - 'advance the ideals of Compassion, Freedom and Determination."

[Vangaziland]

Listening Post Corrigan was seen as essential territory by the Vannish military. It was in good hands, under Isle'ish control. But Vangaziland wanted to utilize the panoramic view of the surrounding area to watch and safeguard the other listening posts, as well as the road that ran to FOB April.

Vangaziland assigned one of it's assets to be based permanently out of LP Corrigan. A Combat Observation and Lasing Team is a Brigade Level asset. The typical COLT team consists of 3-4 forward observers. There is a driver/RTO, a forward observer, a joint fires observer and a JTAC, if one is available.

The team is usually made up of the best forward observers of a Brigade. There are competitions and requirements to join the COLT team. It was seen as an FO's dream job. The main reason is because they have much more freedom to maneuver and operate the way they want to. Standard FOs are attached to an infantry platoon, and have much, much less freedom.

At Corrigan, there was a 4 man COLT team, sent from the 16th Airborne Cavalry Division, which was responsible for the Fire Valley's two AOs. The team usually took their vehicle up on the surrounding hills, following some of the dusty mountain roads that spiraled down the hills and connected to the main road.

The Vangazi COLT team established several nearby locations on hills as OPs or observation posts. Their vehicle would constantly be parked at one of these OPs as they would spend most of their time living out of their 4x4.



Their vehicle was the MOWAG Eagle IV Artillery Observation vehicle. It lacks any armament. Instead, a mounted laser range finder and designator is mounted on a mast attached to the roof. The rangefinder has the ability, when paired with the truck's GPS, to plot a 10 digit grid immediately. This means the forward observers can call laser accurate fire missions with point and click quickness. It truly can be devastating.

There were four soldiers assigned to COLT 253, the team signed over to the Isle'ish at Corrigan.

Staff Sergeant Vinter Yorbett was the section leader. He also held the requirements for joint fires observer. A Vannish JFO was a highly qualified forward observer who specialized in cross service support assets. They were versed in methods of indirect fire, close air support and naval gunfire.

Yorbett was a funny fellow, slightly chubby with his blond hair cut close to his scalp. He was into weight-lifting and the gym. Yorbett was a workaholic who worried about his reputation. It helped him reach the rank of Staff Sergeant quickly. His superiors had faith he would do well with this Isle'ish mission.

The team's second NCO in the forward observer slot was Sergeant John Robberson. He was shorter than Yorbett, with dark black skin and an urban Blue Coast accent. 'Rob' was a joker. He was type of guy who should have become a comedian, but had too much love for the military.

As the team's FO, Rob would control most of the indirect fire missions. Yorbett should talk to aircraft and control the team while Rob worked on target location and relayed targeting information.

They were both supported by Specialist Jim Adamsen. The two NCOs saw him as a kid, maybe because he was a bit younger. He was the driver and RTO. When they deployed without a vehicle, Adamsen hauled the MANPACK radio. He was also responsible for filling the radio in the truck and making sure they were set properly.

Adamsen was on the path to becoming an NCO and a sergeant. He had done well to end up on COLT so early in his career. That didn't stop the two Vannish sergeants from teasing him. They made a game out of it. Adamsen was a good sport, usually, since he didn't have much of a choice.

The fourth member of this team was actually not Vangazi. Sergeant Ferdinand Gundahar was a JTAC from the nation of Gebeta. Gebeta had assigned JTACs throughout the city-state. SSG Yorbett handled most of the air support at this time, as he still felt air assets were his responsibility.

Gundahar did not seem to mind deferring to Yorbett. The SSG had spoke to him on the subject. Gundahar had responsibility mainly over missions with Gebetan air assets.

There were four seats in the Artillery Observation variant of the MOWAG Eagle IV 4x4. The back two seats were separated by the mast's turret and internal systems. Each soldier had a surprising amount of leg room. There were many nights that they camped out in the vehicle. It wasn't just a 4x4. It was a home. The MOWAG was truly the fifth member of the team.

It was often seen climbing the dusty trails of the surrounding hills near Corrigan.

The COLT would travel with the Isle'ish. If needed, the Vangazi could dismount and patrol on foot with the Isle'ish. Chances are the Vangazi would look to set up an OP. If possible, they would utilize the vehicle and it's increased target location. A second OP could be set up, by deploying Robberson. There was a portable rangefinder and designator, but it needed a tripod and was quite bulky.

*Meanwhile In the Northern Grassland Urban District*

The Hayesalian call for fire reached the Vannish Fire Direction Center that had been on standby for the Hayesalian operation. He responded to each line of the transmission, repeating each line of the call for fire. Once the entire fire mission had be sent, the fire direction center read the Message To Observer (Mike Tango Oscar).

"Message To Observer, Rock, 1 round, Victor Tango in effect, Target number alpha bravo two-niner-niner-one, Over."

The Hayesalian observer would repeat the MTO, ending with out. Then the FDC sent the mission to the mortar's over the radio. When the call came through, the mortar sergeant would yell "Fire Mission!" He would then yell the setting for the tubes.

In the MTO, Rock was the firing unit's callsign. 1 was the number of rounds per tube. Victor Tango was the change to the call for fire. The mortarmen decided to increase the effectiveness of the round. When the target location was sent over the radio as troops dug in on a hillside, that was the key to choosing a VT round. Variable Time means the round is designed to go off at a set proximity over the target. Basically it was an airburst round that would explode and rain the explosives down onto the hill. A standard fuse might just hit the hillside and have less impact for soldiers under cover or just out of range. VT would spray the entire area.

"Shot, over." This was the radio transmission saying the rounds had been fired. Hundreds of meters from the target, the first 120mm shells had been dropped. They were streaking through the air providing what was called 'High Angle Hell'. The rounds went up on a high arc and were now streaking down towards the Earth.

"Splash, over." This call meant the rounds should be 5 seconds from impact. The Hayesalian would repeat each transmission with "out."

From where the Hayesalian observer sat, he saw four black clouds appear close above the hill where the targets had been. He could see black plumes raising from the ground where the explosives had landed on the ground and were raising. There was a smoky haze raising from the ground. All of the black smoke joined together and rose in the air with the wind, like a dark crooked cloud. The sound of the explosion hit a few seconds later. It was a deep concussive noise that vibrated each soldier to the core.

The rounds were on target, mainly because the location on the hill had been so easy to spot on the map.

Meanwhile, the Vannish checkpoint radioed back to FOB Kali. The New Hayesalians had dropped off a prisoner at a checkpoint. The MP company would send a convoy out to pick the combatant up, spooling up the Quick Response Force.

[Holy Empire of Avalon]

The room was well lit as Swordsman Seventh Class Howard awoke, the room was a brilliant white as a television mounted to the wall was broadcasting some news story of how the events surrounding the nation's founding were different based on new research and records found, some public figures were upset that a girl was who led the revolutionary forces instead of the former prince; Howard quickly turned it off, he had better things to worry about than whether or not it was the Arch-Mage or the KnightPrince who started the revolution, either way they ought to just be happy the revolution happened.

Looking down to his leg the Knight saw it was wrapped up in bandages, still a better state than last he saw it however. Sitting up in his bed he could not help but laugh at how stupid he had been, some poor guy blew his leg off and then he stands on it, to Hell with how scared he himself was that terrorist must have soiled his robes. Then some guilt began washing over him, he was supposed to protect those guys, he had no business being there but it was still his job to ensure their safety; and in the end they ended up having to take care of his dumbass. A nurse came into the room, behind her white wide cap two points could be seen as they twitched slightly with each sound. "Hello, miss, where am I exactly?" She smiled and began recording his vital readings, "Carter Military Hospital." Howard lifted his eye brows in amazement, "Why am I in the primer military hospital?" The nurse aimed the top of her pin towards his leg, "It was the only place that procedure was possible. Do you remember what happened?" Howard looked at his leg, "Rifle round hit my leg, about took it off, technically did. Last I remember I was standing with my hip on my knee."

The nurse looked at him with a wide eyed glance, "Why possessed you to stand after getting hit like that? No wonder we had complications rebuilding your leg. You are either very fool hardy or very brave." She shook her head, "Thank God you are alive. Got any pain?" Howard shook his head, "Alright, I am going to go tell the doctor you are awake." She left and Howard got a perfect glimpse of two feline looking ears atop her head as she left the room. Looking over to his bedside table he was actually trying to find a glass of water when he was instead greeted by a letter in a beautiful wooden frame with a small blue case in front of it. Picking up the frame he read the hand written letter inside of it.

Dear James Howard, Knight of Avalon,

I would like to offer you may thanks for your actions on behalf of our country, in my time as a Knight I have found that the bravest of men are not always the toughest of muscle or the most chiseled of personality. Your actions in combat allowed your team to overcome great odds and pull through with commitment unlike any I have seen during my time in this position. Courage, dignity, and commitment are the principles all Knights strive for and you embody these fully with your actions; from the bottom of my heart I thank you and wish you a full recovery, accept this medal with my personal gratitude.

Aria Pershing,
Paladin, C.S. Knights

Opening the blue box Howard was greeted by a medal he had not seen before, it looked similar to the Knight's Cross however it was enameled with color, open it was a portrait of the Angel of Liberty while the words Courage, Dignity, and Commitment were scrawled in a circle around it. The reverse side of the medal bore the Paladin's signature engraved into it along with a message that was unique to this sole medal, "Man hath no greater love than this, to lay down his life so that others may live" The medal in his hands was the Paladin's Letter of Commendation, this award was handed out at the personal discretion of the Paladin and constituted one of the single highest individual awards a Knight could receive, it was obvious Paladin Pershing had put great thought into his award and that brought an air of determination to him once more, he was a Knight and a simple injury would not keep him down. Ignoring the other similar blue boxes sitting on the bedside table he swung up out of the bed and onto his crutches. Easing down onto his right leg he felt pain sear up his right side, he was determined to fight it off however and beat this.

The doctor came in to find Howard standing on both legs while still holding his crutches, "What are you doing, lad, get back in bed." The doctor braced his patient and lifted him so his right leg was no longer touching the ground. "I am walking. My leg is back in one piece, I gotta start walking on it." The doc helped Howard back into bed as the Knight grudgingly agreed. "That is not actually bone, it is a rod comprised of all the things bone is made out of. Our hope is that your body will heal the wound better if the materials are right there for it to do so. Please, rest." The patient rested his head on the pillow, "How many days am I going to be down?" The doctor had no exact answer, "I do not actually know, you will likely never walk again. Your femur bone was entirely shattered, you arrived on my table and it was either amputate or try to save what I could. There was an angel over you, son." Howard laughed, how ironic that statement was considering he had been an imp among an army of DEMONs. "What's funny?'

"Nothing, doc, just remembered something a friend said to me sometime ago." The doctor told Howard that a physical therapy regime would take place one week from then, if he was to need to leave his bed a wheelchair would be brought to him, and his discharge papers could be received upon his leaving the hospital in what was expected to be six months."

"Wait, doc," Howard called out form his bed as the doctor began leaving the room, "discharge? You mean from the hospital, right?" The doctor shook his head, "No, you are being taken out of service, you had your leg blown off, son." Howard swung his legs out of bed and hobbled to his feet before the physician could reach him. "I can stand, I can fight. Send me back, doc, my guys need me."

"Remain in bed, you are going to damage that leg." Howard this time gave some resistance, "So what if I do? If I cannot walk anymore then this damn leg is useless." At the threat of being restrained to his bed Howard listened, though he had a sneaky plan in mind.

Three days would pass, Howard had learned the schedules of everyone on the floor, he had roughly three hours wide open where there was very small chance of someone coming into his room. Struggling through the pain he would climb out of bed and onto his crutches, he'd walk around the room once on both crutches and then the second trip only use one, after that second trip he'd discard the crutch and stand on his own for several minutes and then over the next half hour fight and struggle through the anguish and crossing that hospital room. His body told him he would never walk, but his heart and mind said otherwise, he was going to walk and he was going to get back to his job. For one week he fought and struggled through the crucible as it galvanized his spirit and forced his body to follow. Each passing day he became able to walk further around the room, he swore, he prayed, and he cried, but he never quit.

The nurse came in as usual of the afternoon and inquired how he was doing, he said the usual and she took his vitals. "Any chance you could put in for me to have a physical? If I pass a physical examination they can't discharge me, you do not know how much being a Knight means to me." She sighed and marked it down, he had asked numerous times already. "If I tell the doctor you want to push on into the physical therapy portion of the recovery will you stop asking?" Howard agreed and she put the request in, the doctor came in some hours later and sat by Howard.

"Physical therapy? Movement on that will snap it in two. You need that bone to be healed and we are not even sure if it will."

"It is, I can feel it. It may not be fully healed, but it is good enough I know I can stand on it." The doctor gave a puzzled expression, "You are saying there is bone growth?" He inquired to inspect the leg and sure enough found that there was indeed bone there, it was not fully healed and was a mere fraction of the way repaired, but simply existing was amazing to him. "There is bone here, keep resting, I want to see what three more days do to it." Howard thanked the doctor and resumed his workout regime over the following three days, he continued to push harder, this time he did not even start from the crutches. His time on his feet increased as he no longer stopped after a couple laps around the room and instead walked endlessly for that three hour window.

The doc was pleasantly surprised when the x-rays displayed that while the bone had not healed spongy cartilage had reformed its shape as it was beginning to turn into actual bone over time. "This is miraculous." Howard agreed, "The Lady has done a lot for me, I truly feel ready for that physical exam." Finally the doctor was prepared to sign off on that request, healing progress would be monitored over the course of each day and once that bone was either entirely healed or as close as it was going to be to that point Howard would be free to be examined. Instead of merely walking though Howard was now jogging and running either a round the room or in place, the soft bone of his upper leg was hardening due to the harsh forces it placed upon it, the harder he pushed the stronger it had to be to survive, Howard was pushing his body as hard as he could and its only response was to answer back with strength. By the end of that second week Howard was standing in a large examination room with a measured straight track within it.

"Begin at your leisure." Howard received that and dropped his crutches before quickly jogging down the track. He was asked to run, jump, and do various exercises such as squatting and standing solely on his right leg, in the end he passed with a score better than his annual physical three months prior to being shot. "I," the doctor looked at his clipboard, "I was certain you would be leaving this hospital in a wheelchair, but you have defied every theory I had." Howard shrugged, "All I did was walk, doc, a lot of guys depend on me so I can't give in. Every day I walked and pushed harder than the last." Howard shook hands with the medical expert, "Thank you for patching me up, you really saved my ass." The doctor shook his head, "I guess I made the right call in using four fifths of a million thalers to keep you in one piece." Finally Howard was discharged, not from his beloved Round Table however but instead from Carter Military Hospital. Though a Knight officer was there to greet him instead of the standard escort vehicle.

"Howard, right?" Of course he agreed and both men shook hands, "I am going to ask you a question and I want you to answer honestly, are you scared of the dark?" The man's face was solemn, but Howard caught a glimmer in those steel grey eyes. "Sir, I live in it." He saw that golden pitchfork on the man's chest, he was a DEMON for certain, that question had nothing to do with childish fears, he was asking whether or not Howard was able to take the heat of a world he had only seen a a couple hours of. "Good, call this number after your deployment ends." Howard was handed a business card and the man walked off to his car and drove away without a single word after that. The small official card only said

Templarem Stone
C.S. Knights Special Operations Command
C.S. Special Operations Command
Development Operations Non-conventional

Three logos were in the top right corner, the Knights emblem of a equal armed cross bearing their name, a spear tip that had their emblem on it below that inside of its own seal, and then to the right of that was another spear tip emblem that was simply gold on a black background. A transport unit arrived shortly and Howard would find himself heading back to the desert, this time he was pissed and ready to get revenge.

Back in FOB Nightingale it was a typical quiet night, and by quiet the true meaning would be hectic as if each member of the base was a single firecracker popping around at rapid pace. Crimson Platoon had been placed in the emergency medical room as an influx of patients from a firefight were coming in, the location was a small village far out of the city and the call had been made by a cellphone that the communications department tracked with ease. The fight was still ongoing, but having been given the order to not engage the dispatched crews simply protected themselves and got the injured without question. Those found to have criminal or terrorist ties would be handed over to the coalition, a restricted battlefield was not the place to be trying to find out who was who.

All medical staff had been called to the hospital to treat the wounded which was beginning to stack higher by the minute it seemed to grow worse as they were simply coming to capacity, it was a strategic choice that had to be made. The combat wounded came before all other minor day to day cases, this however began causing tension between Nightingale and the local populace though as non-emergency patients were being turned away where as they usually would have been accepted right on the spot.

Guards stood at the gate directing convoys in and halting civilians who wanted on base seeking assistance, "My apologizes, we are at this time overloaded with victims of a gunfight." He was turning them away, more continued coming however. The phrase became muscle memory of the mouth though as he continued to repeat it. Strict protocols had been put in place to protect against assaults on the base, a yellow line had been painted in a half rectangle in front of the gateway with a sign stating that it was not to be crossed unless given permission, people began flocking towards the gate and crowding this entrance so heavily that the ambulance vehicles were nearly running them over just simply trying to get the wounded into Nightingale. "I understand we usually are right on it with your requests, but our hospital is full. Please head home, we should be able to see you all by tomorrow." They continued to get closer though, instead of being ten foot away as they should have been they were five feet and closing.

"Get back, we need these vehicles to be able to get through. Please go home." It was more than likely that these people did not understand Voynich, the sign however was in their native languages. An ambulance conveying the still incoming injured to the hospital slightly grazed one of the civilians almost knocking him down. That incident sparked the moment the event took a turn for the absolute worst.

The gathered mob grew upset and began throwing trash and general filth at the guards, their equipment however protected them any real harm, though they did grow heavily irritated and begin to wave the mass of people back with their light up batons that were used for directing traffic. Sentries on top of the wall were growing nervous, right now the situation was a powder keg waiting to go off, if they began neutralizing the threat the story would be misconceyed by the media and everyone else while if they did not it was likely to grow into a very dangerous situation for all involved.

Seeing the mob gathered close by begging to pick up rocks the guards stationed themselves inside the gate and sealed it shut before any could run in. The situation was sure to fizzle out come morning, the people were just upset and needed time to cool off. A tiered response was in place however, if they refused to leave the immediate area then tear gas would be deployed along with a non-lethal glue type liquid that hardened into a stiff foam upon oxidization. The hospital was now taking up level upon level of the skyscraper they had repurposed as the flow of new patients had finally stopped due to the gates closing. This was the first time a night such as this had occurred, and while the hope was that is would be the only night most knew that this was only the beginning.

The base commander has sent word to his higher ups about the ongoing incident, it was still peaceful though it seemed able to turn violent at any moment. It was easy to understand the civilians outside that gate, for a full month now all they had to do was come in and be seen, now though they were being turned away in favor of tan vehicles leaving and entering the base. One had to see both sides, Nightingale was simply allocating resources to treated the wounded in the hopes that this war would end sooner, the people however had needs they needed fulfilled also. From the perspective of the base commander there was really no way to win both situations, thus he had went with the triage method, emergencies and then non-emergencies; the prior had stacked up in mass though at a higher rate than expected. In the back of his mind the commander was also a bit irked at the way this had developed, there was no way to change it however. A message was sent back to central command that stated the possibility that they should consider their mission in Al-Khalifiya completed and return to Avalon. To a degree this night showed that their effort and time was wasted, and it was better to stop a leak in a boat tan to see how long it took to plug itself. The commander ordered all personnel to be informed of the current options that he conveyed to superior officers, the possibility that if this night did not end soon enough they may be best to pack up and return home.

It was now a waiting game.

[The United Remnants of America]

First Sergeant Devon Lewis, 3rd Sentinel Battalion

---

Sector E, Al-Khalifiya

---

23/9/2016 - 14:36

---

His name was Anton Tanzer. The Gebetan JTAC officer was attached to 1SG Devon Lewis' patrol, and the Torian-Remnant Sentinel squad leader was starting to like him. The ten-person Sentinel patrol had been buffed with Soldat Tanzer not only as a way of the coalition working together, but also as a way of the Remnant patrol units being able to call in for international air support, since all they had were a few VTOLs that could barely be spared after being moved from their original placement at a Vannish airbase to FOB Wilderness. Fuel was limited at the forward base, and so was ammunition for some of the aircraft, so the chance to call in Gebetan aircraft was really useful.

The patrol, unofficially known as "Lewis' Lances," and officially known as Bravo Patrol, Anna Company, 3rd Sentinel Battalion, Remnant Operational Command, had been dispatched to the other side of the damn country to do a preliminary patrol. They'd been rounded up and sent out about an hour after Master Sergeant Kopp and his 10+1 had been sent out. Kopp's and Lewis' squads had been given the two Gebetan JTAC operators that had been assigned to work alongside the Remnant units in-theater, so it was of course Kopp's and Lewis' jobs to go out into the bushes and "get a feel for things" by looking around Easy Sector and learning the roads. If you could call them roads.

Lewis' squad was split amongst two humvees. The first humvee held six people; a driver, Corporal Jaye as commander, two in the back seats, a guy riding bitch seat in the back, and the gunner. The following humvee had the next five. Private Corwyn was driving, Lewis was in commander seat, while Radetz and the Gebetan Tanzer sat in the back seat. Specialist Nowak was riding in the gunner stand. Normally, the guns wouldn't be manned, but it had been decided that the patrol heading into Fire Valley should have eyes up and ready in case shit hit the fan.

At the beginning of this patrol, Lewis was afraid he'd hate the big Gebetan sitting directly behind him, but over the last few hours, Lewis had realized that this guy was alright, though a bit dry on the humor. Lewis figured Gebetans weren't as dour a bunch as Remnants were, as Lewis immediately noticed Tanzer hadn't chuckled along with the squad when SPC Nowak had mentioned getting herself taken out by a sniper round the minute she moved her helmet to wipe her forehead. Actually, if Lewis was being frank with himself, it had taken the entire humvee, as well as radio chatter between the lead vehicle and their vehicle for the JTAC to visibly loosen up and unpucker himself.

"Corwyn, Crawford, does anyone know where the fuck we are?"

Corwyn was about to reach for the radio, but Lewis beat him to it and raised it to his mouth, "Crawford, are you telling me your commander has driven you astray?"

"Sir, you're aware Corporal Elliot couldn't unfuck himself from a brown paper bag." In the background, laughter from the lead vehicle could be heard, along with Corporal Elliot's vocal admonishment of her driver.

"I am aware of that, Private. I'm just surprised you haven't ditched your vehicle yet. We may make a driver of you, yet." Lewis' vehicle broke out in chuckles, and through the rearview mirror, Lewis could see even Tanzer grinning. "If you must know, Crawford, I can call check my tablet and then call ahead to Kopp and the Krusaders, see if they've found a village of more than three people and their goats."

"That'd be much appreciated, Sarge."

"Copy." Lewis shifted in his seat as he lifted a tablet from his chocolate chip pattern MPA leg cargo pocket and flashed the screen on. He'd left the GPS app up when he'd check it an hour ago, so it took a couple seconds to recalibrate with the Remnant telecom satellites in space, but soon enough, he had a moving arrow. "Alright, Crawford, we're still on track, on the same dirt road that Kopp's on. I'll call up and see if he's seen anything so you can untwist your panties."

"Much appreciated, sir."

Lewis leaned forward, careful not to drop his tablet off his lap, and shifted the radio signal to the frequency assigned to Kopp's patrol. "Sergeant Lewis to Sergeant Kopp, how copy?"

Lewis yawned and leaned back in his seat. It had been roughly four hours of constant driving, and the air conditioning in the humvees was about useless. It was hot as fuck in full uniform, but at least the gunner's port up top allowed at least a little air flow since they couldn't roll down the ballistic windows. Lewis looked outside. They were on a mountainside, and down below an elongated lake sat, around the lake were what appeared to be low-yield farms with shacks and huts around them, the populace of Easy Sector. Rumors were they were basically all on the payroll of the Red Wind. Lewis tried to ignore that, though, even though due to Order 23 of Remnant Code of War signified that even civilians in support of the opposing force were to be treated as hostiles and dealt with as such, which was followed by Rule 25 of Remnant Code of War, which stated that all hostiles that are taken prisoner by Remnant military forces are to be read their infractions and summarily executed. By that logic, the Sentinels should be rounding up most everyone in Easy Sector and gunning them down, but the fact of the matter was it was hard enough just to get here, and if there were enough angry villagers, Lewis and his squad were likely to lose that battle.

Along the lake, groves of trees were growing what looked like bright-colored fruit from here. It actually looked like a quaint setting if it weren't for one thing scratching at his mind. Lewis looked at the radio. No reply yet.

"Sergant Kopp, this is Sergeant Lewis, are you-" Lewis was cut off.

"Lewis, Kopp, read you cherry, five squared." Kopp's voice sounded stressed, and in the background, Lewis could hear gunfire. The atmosphere of the humvee changed quickly, and Lewis could feel the air get denser.

"Kopp, Lewis. Confirm status, over."

"Lewis, Kopp. Lead vehicle down. IED followed by immediate- Jonesy, keep fire on that fucking ridge! Lewis. Request immediate support. We've been under heavy fire from above on the ridge and below from the valley. We were gun waltzed."

Lewis breathed a silent curse before speaking on. "Roger. Oscar-mike at RTS"

"Roger, Lewis."

As the exchange went on, Lewis' humvee elements were just cresting a small hill and a bend in the road, and as they did so, smoke became visible, with the humvees up ahead. From the lead humvee of Lewis' squad, and soon from Lewis' own point of view, it was obvious the first humvee of Kopp's squad had been hit with an explosion, it was turned almost completely perpendicular to the road, with the front half hanging slightly over the road down the hill into the valley. The second humvee had stopped at an angle and all the doors were currently open on it. There were several chocolate chip uniforms kneeling behind doors and sitting against the back of the surviving humvee. Lewis' squad was only a kilometer away.

Lewis leaned forward and switched the vehicle's radio back to his squad's channel, "That's Kopp's team. IED. Trap. Need help. Private Crawford, slow and veer right. Let us take up a forty-five behind you."

The lead humvee slowed down and shifted to the right as the rear vehicle shifted left of center and stayed at a forty-five degree angle. Both gunners in the humvees now had clear forward lines of sight as well as having left and right fields of fire. They neared to within a hundred meters of the read humvee in Kopp's squad before rolling to a stop. Nobody moved or got out of their vehicle yet. The Sentinels weren't that stupid.

Lewis reached up and turned on his helmet's radio. He hadn't needed it since he'd been inside the vehicle, but now he needed it to converse with Kopp while using the vehicle's radio to talk with his team. "Alright, Kopp. We're on your six."

"Copy." From up ahead, Lewis watched Kopp turn from where he was and give a friendly wave. He was knelt down behind the front passenger door of his vehicle. "Enemy on ridge roughly thirty degrees and three hundred meters. Enemy in valley at roughly seventy and two-fifty. Count roughly forty nose-pickers total. Front vehicle is hard fucked. Three DOA, including JTAC. Three aren't cherry. Two minor injuries." From the back, Lewis heard Tanzer's growl in the back of his throat; anger and shock at the death of his comrade in arms who'd been in the leader vehicle.

Lewis quickly relayed the information to his squad. He leaned back and looked patted Nowak's shin, "You're cleared hot at will." Lewis quickly relayed that same order to the gunner in the front vehicle. The two gunners took a couple seconds to settle on a location, a movement, a flash of muzzle fire before depressed the triggers of their mounted R46 7.62mm Light Machine Guns. The weapons were relatively small and lightweight, and could be easily unmounted from their vehicles by pulling a pair of simple mounting pins, which made them perfect for a Sentinel vehicle, where mobility and adaptability were key.

Under the protective cover fire of the two new light machine guns laying down roughly 13 rounds per second each, the occupants of the first humvee opened their doors at once, followed an instant later by the occupants of Lewis' vehicles. Lewis hopped out of his vehicle, turned, and pulled his R21 Assault Rifle off the slot sitting between the car seat and door. He spun back around while pulling the charging handle and flipping the safety off.

"Bravo Patrol, cover fire on my mark. Mark!" Six Remnant assault rifles opened up, along with the Gebetan JTACs rifle as Lewis rolled off his door and sprinted froward for the back of the patrol's lead humvee, where he slapped the back of the vehicle. Behind him, Tanzer rolled around the back door and took up position where Lewis had just been. "Keep up that fire, dammit!" Lewis waited for a three count before rolling off the back of the humvee and moving to sprint forward. "Moving up!" Lewis kept his upper body low, his heavy assault rifle pressed tightly against his chest as he ran full tilt for Kopp's vehicle. The run was almost sixty meters and a five second run from the lead humvee, but in full armor and under fire, he might as well be running an eternity. Asphalt spit up around him as rounds slammed into the road from above on the ridge. Lewis nearly slid into the back corner of Kopp's humvee.

Sitting against the back of Kopp's Humvee was one of Kopp's squad, PFC Cho. His uniform was singed, with his right side looking worse than the left. Glancing up ahead, the right side of Kopp's lead humvee was blackened and part of the vehicle was still on fire. Inside the vehicle, he could still see the forms of two corpses on the right-most side. Kopp had probably had to leave the dead when they'd come under fire and had to move back to safety.

Kopp looked back at Lewis and nodded his greeting, firing a volley from his R18 AR before rolling to the back of the vehicle to join Lewis. It was then that Lewis noticed Kopp was injured. He was cradling his light rifle in one arm, the other had a bloodied bandage over the bicep, and he was obviously babying it.

"Jesus, are you good?" Lewis leaned in to check, but Kopp batted him away.

"I'm fine. Lucky me, Crawford had been taking some first aid cross-training before deployment, so we didn't need to wake Cho up from his morphine-induced nap."

"How long have you been here?" Lewis cringed as a bullet struck the rear quarter-panel of the vehicle, sparking and ricocheting off the steel.

"Eh, 'bout twenty minutes. We've started to get stingy with outgoing. So it's nice to see you made it to the fucking party. I would've reported up, but we've been a little occupied. Also, our hummers soft fucked. Heavy sniper round pierced the glass, hit the radio early on. Couldn't raise you till you were within helmet range." They were shouting over the cacophony of the incoming and outgoing fire despite only being a foot apart.

"Shit..." Lewis looked back and spoke through the radio mic at his mouth and throat, "Corwyn, patch to Wilderness, we need dustoff now!"

"Roger, sir!"

Lewis looked back to Kopp and punched his own helmet lightly with a gloved hand. "We got this, man."

Kopp rolled his eyes, "Yeah. SSDD, right?"

"Right, man." Lewis knee-crawled around Kopp and leveled his assault rifle up at the ridge, letting off a burst of 5.56mm fire.

Corwyn's voice buzzed in his ear, "Sir, dustoff inbound. Two-Five Mike."

"Copy, Corwyn. All Bravo, keep fire up."

Lewis breathed deeply. Twenty-five minutes. That was a long ass time right now.

[Solovie]

Chairman Idriss sends Troops to Al-Khalifiya!

Article by: João Nyusi

28 September 2016
Vlada, Solovie

This morning, Chairman Janusz Al-Idriss and Interim-Chancellor Haçim Dzugashvili announced the deployment of Solovien troops to Al-Khalifiya following a series of attacks on Solovien Merchant Marine vessels.

"After several attacks on vessels bearing the Flag of the Republic of Solovie," Chairman Idriss announced, "Chancellor Dzugashvili and I have come to the conclusion that these acts cannot occur with impunity. The Ministry of War has traced these attacks to the Peoples' Republic of Al-Khalifiya."

"The nation has been in a state of war since the summer of 2015." chimed in Chancellor Dzugashvili, "Following multiple bombings in the Empire of Vangaziland, the Empire and her allies declared war on the regime of Mahmoud Abbzan. While Abbzan has since been killed and replaced with the Coalition-friendly Omar Khaleef, an organization known as the Red Wind is still active within the borders of the country. We believe this organization is responsible for the attacks on our vessels. It must also be known that slavery and human trafficking are still facts of life in Al-Khalifiya. The main mission of the Solovien mission to this country is to aid the Coalition in wiping out the Red Wind as well as ending human trafficking in the region."

Military experts estimate that the engagement will not last over six months due to the amount of nations already involved in the small nation. It is also for this reason, fewer than 1,000 military personnel will be deployed. MoW doctrine states that if the Chairman and Chancellor are in full agreement for armed intervention, up to an entire legion and 2 naval vessels may be deployed before requiring approval from the Grand Majlis. Rumored to be sent are several hundred Zouaves from the famed Ninth Legion. More news will follow with the progress of Solovie's troops.

[Vangaziland]

29 SEP 2016
17:30

The Motorpool at LP Corrigan was just a wide open field next to the cave. It was located in a spur and hidden between the mountain's ridges. The wide goat trail that winded up the hill to the listening post led across the front of the cave's entrance and up over the hill and into the spur where Corrigan's few vehicles were parked.

Thursday was shaping up to be a fair enough day so far, at least for the COLT attached to Corrigan. They were in for a treat, along with the rest of the camp. FOB April's Finjan MECS had made the trip earlier in the day. A platoon of BMD-4Ms escorted the MECS. Two sat in the small motorpool, two sat off to the side of the road that curved up the hill to Corrigan.

There was a bit of a line, but it was a small camp. The soldiers were also aware not to flood the area, and were moving to the armored food truck by squad. Right now the Vannish COLT Team was on line, along with one of the Isle'ish squads. The COLT's MOWAG Eagle V was parked just a few dozen meters away from where the MECS stopped. Specialist Adamsen, the driver and RTO wasn't on the line. He was by the Eagle, preparing it for a mission. He had to check the fluids and make sure the radio was filled.

Food at the MECS was free. All you had to do was show your ID card. Adamsen had given his ID card to Sergeant Robberson, who was currently up on line. "Sup, mang", said the informal sergeant to the specialist behind the counter, in his Blue Coast accent. "Let me get two meatball subs and two cherry Vannisodas."

The black sergeant handed over the two id cards. The man behind the counter took a quick look at them and handed them back. A private stepped from the side with two 20 oz. soda bottles and the two sandwiches, placing them in two bags.

" 'Preciate you."

Next up was SSG Yorbett.

"Hey, how you doing?"

"Good."

"I'll take a pepperoni slice and an ice tea."

"We're out of pepperoni, Sergeant."

"Okay, cheese.... And an ice tea." The Blond staff sergeant handed over his ID.

The private put the slice into a triangular box and handed it over with a 20oz bottle. Yorbett took it and stood next to Rob, waiting for the next man in line.. The Gebetan JTAC.

"What's in a Vannish Meatball Sub?" The Gebetan sergeant looked up at the tall counter curiously.

"It's a spicy, tangy sauce on beef meatballs with onions. It's good, trust me, Sergeant."

"You know what? I'll have the lemon chicken. And a cherry water."

The chicken was grilling off to the side. The third soldier picked one of the filets that was ready and placed it in a box. He handed it over to the Gebetan.

The truck's commander stood in the truck's turret behind the mounted 240B. His headset was on the radio, monitoring the local frequency. His role was to be an ever-watching sentry while the soldiers gathered for their meal.

With the three of them ready, the COLT headed off towards their truck, which sat nearby. They could see Adamsen, looking under the hood of the Eagle 4x4. It was a short walk. As they approached, SGT Robberson walked up to Adamsen. The others went to their spot of the vehicle. Each soldier rode in a certain seat, every time.

"We good to go?" Robberson handed Adamsen his sandwich and drink.

The specialist looked up. "Roger Sergeant, radio and the truck are up."

"Okay then, start the truck."

The temperature was the coolest daytime temperature of the week. It hovered around 101 degrees at its highest point and was already starting to cool. The truck's air conditioning would be a lot more effective compared to the 120 degree days of the summer.

The soldiers sat in the truck and closed the doors. Adamsen closed the hood, climbed in and started the truck.

SGT Robberson took the handset from the radio that sat between him and the Gebetan JTAC in the back two seats. He keyed up and got a radio check with Corrigan HQ. It was successful.

"Okay, Adamsen.. Take us out."

The Eagle V slowly rolled forward. The soldiers took one last look at the MECS before the truck climbed the spur and made it's way towards Corrigan Road.

[Alhurriat Walssalam]

Private Jet Terminal Musa International Airport

The entire airport is on high alert with Intelligence agents patrolling all sectors. Frequent flyers would note the unusual presence of men in dark suits walking through passenger terminals with HK416s and MP5s freely. At the main entrance extra security checks are made for all vehicles.

A large convoy of 10 armoured SUVs with 2 identical armoured limos in the middle speeds past the checkpoint and pulls up outside the terminal and security agents in suits immediately rush to open the thick black doors of one of the limos. Out steps General Ali Bin Rashid. Dressed in combat fatigues and aviators he is escorted into the terminal at a brisk pace by his 5 man detail all dressed in black suits. There was no time to waste. Throughout the building every corner has a security agent armed with an assault rifle. After a quick walk through he exits and heads towards a G660 jet marked by the Royal seal that is awaiting him. Shortly after boarding the doors are closed and the plane begins to Taxi. The flight from MIA to Al-Khalifiya would be a short one.

Al-Khalifiya Airport
After a day of hard driving from FOB April 2 dust caked Humvees marked with the National flag on the side approach the Airport. Inside one sits Major Abdi Fatah Alhurriati commander in theatre. Arriving in advance to prepare for the landing of the General. Slightly worried about some of the failures so far such as the inability to intergrate the Battlefield Management System to the rest of the Coalition leading to a lack of good Intel during raids. 250,000,000 million Duas had been spent so far and he had nothing to show for it. What was clear however was his approach of going at things alone needs to change and many low ranking officers saw the Ministers arrival as a blow to the Major’s capacity to lead and an attempt to rectify his failures personally.

They stop at a Vannish checkpoint and the lead cars’ driver prepares the security clearance paperwork for the sentry.

[New Gazi]

Three of New Gazi's top-of-the-line Mbombe 6x6 APCs left Camp Kotu. The camp was a satellite of a larger Vannish base, FOB Jennifer, which was located 22 miles away. Camp Kotu was closer to the dense urban areas that set to the east of both bases. The three hulking, tan vehicles were heading west now, making their way down a four lane highway.

The trucks represented 2nd Platoon, A Company of the 2nd Battalion, 9th Regiment. They were on a fairly routine mission. They were driving out to the creek that ran east to west across the southern grasslands and met up with the White River.

The temperature soared above 107 degrees. Inside the armored vehicles, the air conditioners provided a slight breeze. These were African vehicles after all. But the hot air permeated all, fighting with the air conditioner and circulating just as much warm air as cool air. These soldiers were more accustomed to the heat than some of their allied coalition-mates. New Gazi wasn't this warm, but it was far from a chilly place.

Riding in truck 2-1 was 2nd Lieutenant Ade Omoya. Today was all about his mission. Along with him in the truck was a sergeant from headquarters section. He carried a heavy assault pack on his knee, as he sat in the truck. Inside was 30,000 Smiths, currency from Vangaziland. All across the country, teams were handing out funds. They were investments in local businesses.

Construction companies got the biggest contracts, especially since their agreements came with agreements to fix schools and public facilities. Today they were visiting a market. The trip along the highway was routine, for the most part. They ran into a slight bit of traffic as they got closer to the market, but they soon took an off ramp that curved off to the side and onto a narrow road.

The big trucks took it slow, crowding the unmarked, two lane road. They were in constant contact over the radio. The last truck radioed every time they made a turn. It was a safety measure that made sure nobody was ever left behind.

It took almost two hours to get to the market. The tan trucks pulled up alongside the long building, the side of which was colored in Arabic markings. 1st Squad disembarked from their armored vehicle and escorted the lieutenant and the money-bearing sergeant as they hurriedly moved inside the building. 2nd and 3rd squad repositioned their trucks to watch over the surrounding area. They sat in their trucks and waited for this meeting to end.

The 30mm cannons scanned the area, rotating with the turret. There were mounted 7.62 machine guns manned by a solider popping out of a rear hatch.

Lieutenant Omoya started the meeting off questioning the man about what improvements he made with the last investment. He mentioned that he brought trucks. The lieutenant wanted to inspect the trucks, so the group made their way back outside. Sure enough, they were brand new, expensive looking white trucks.

Next, Omoya asked what the man wanted to buy next. Businesses were complex because Al-Khalifiya was a communist country. There were businesses, especially markets like this. But taxes were very high. The state owned part of every company. So when the money was signed over to the farmer, some of that money was going to the state. When the farmer bought trucks, almost all of that money went to the state, who owns the automobile company.

Everything seemed in order. Omoya didn't feel like hanging around for too long. But the shopkeeper offered him chai tea. It would have been rude to refuse. So Omoya sat down in the warm room, under a fan, and drank some hot tea.

All their conversations took place through a translator. Local Khalifiyans were assigned to each coalition unit.

Once the tea was finished, the group shook hands. The sergeant handed over the next investment, 30,000 Smiths. They set up the next meeting date. They got an idea on what they could expect to see on their next visit. The man wanted to invest in foreign goods shipped from the port. That's where his trucks came in. He could cut overhead by hiring his own drivers now.

Finished, 1st squad loaded back up into their Mbombe 6x6 and got ready to roll out. A quick radio check made sure everyone was ready. All had gone well. The first truck set out, next the lieutenant's followed and then the last one did the same. It would be another long highway trip back up to the camp.

Again, they faced traffic until they moved away from the market district. Their ride back to Camp Kotu was uneventful.

[Solovie]

FOB Kali
Major Béla Elbegdorj
9th Legion, 12th Zouave Corps

Sand, sand, and more fucking sand. I thought as I wandered around FOB Kali, my home for at least the next six months of my life. The Vangazi and other Coalition forces stationed here proved to be hospitable enough and accommodated our troops without issue. I lit a cigarillo as I entered the Solovien command tent; the subordinate officers stood to attention as I approached the podium, only returning to their seats as I gave them the command.
“Evening all,” I said, pausing to take a drag of the ‘rillo, “So far, I think we can all agree our stay in Al Khalifiya has been uneventful. We’ve had two fire teams outside the wire in the week we’ve been here and they’ve turned up nothing. That’s about to change. Tomorrow morning at 08:00 we’ll be going outside the wire with the Vangazi. The Gripens will be up from the Capital to provide us with some aerial support. Captain Auad will be taking A Company northeast to this area,” I focused my laser pointer at a small cluster of villages, “Intel from the Khalifiyan Army reports some slave trading in the area. Ergo, you’ll have one of the BTRs with you. Captain Ivashenko and B Company will be just west of them; congratulations, Cornelis, you get a dusty-ass stretch of road to patrol. Boring as it may sound, it connects Company A to Company C which will be patrolling along the border of Sectors A and B. Lieutenant Santos, good luck on your first time in command while Captain Fawd is on bed rest. Company D has the pleasure of being under my command as we patrol the coastline. We’ll have one of the other BTRs while the third stays on base with E Company in the unlikely event that the Red Wind decides to attack here. Any questions?”
“What exactly is the purpose of this expedition?” asked Lieutenant Bright from C Company
“Simple: the area’s been pretty quiet since we’ve been here and we want it to stay that way. A flexing of muscle will either silence the Red Wind up here or force them to expose themselves. Personally, I hope for the latter so we can confirm their destruction and either be stationed somewhere else or go home. Anyone else?” I scanned the room to see no raised hand. “Seeing no one else has anything to ask, pass this along to your troops and be ready to head out at 07:30. Dismissed.”

Al-Khalifiya Airport
Lieutenant Alexei Lee
564th Fighter Squadron

I grimaced as I downed my second glass of rakı. The anise flavored liquor burned its way down my throat until finally exploding in my gut. Being stationed in the Capital meant that staying grounded wasn’t so boring. My fellow fliers would often find ourselves around base chatting with the other Coalition troops and the occasional light flirting. Friendly card and drinking games helped time pass by between sorties and maintenance jobs.
“Sasha!” yelled my wingman – woman, technically – Salma Patel.
“Ah, Sal, care to join us for some rakı?” I asked, motioning to the Khalifiyan airmen I was with.
“Not this time,” she said, handing me a thermos of coffee, “We’re flying in the morning.”
“Flying? There is a God after all,” I joked with my stereotypically Communist humor, prompting a light punch in the arm from my devoutly Orthodox wingwoman. “So where are we going? Fire Valley? Port Khalifiya?”
“FOB Kali. We’re helping the Zouaves out.”
“Those crazy bastards.” I said with a hint of admiration. With casualty rates as high as theirs, it baffled me why people still volunteered to join the Zouaves. Glory perhaps? They remain the most decorated units in the Solovien military. The uniform? They did have some nice threads, although I suppose they didn’t care to be wearing all black in the desert. Insanity? Well, that seems to be the stereotype of all Mixed people, so that’s irrelevant. Patriotism? Most Zouaves align themselves with the Nationalist Party, but even my Commie ass was patriotic. I guess some things are meant to be unanswered.

[The United Remnants of America]

First Sergeant Devon Lewis, 3rd Sentinel Battalion

---

Sector E, Al-Khalifiya

---

23/9/2016 - 14:58

---

The 3rd Sentinel Battalion was not equipped to handle heavy engagements. From their inception and their first operation, the 3rd had always been about as light as the Sentinels came. The 3rd lacked the gadgetry that other battalions boasted, and they lacked a lot of the heavier weapons that other battalions had. Hell, some battalions had entire companies that were nothing but glorified drone operators. Some battalions had tanks. The 3rd had panache.

"Time?!" Lewis yelled back at Corwyn, forgetting that the entire team was connected via microphone.

"One-Three Mike, Sir." Corwyn's voice rang in Lewis' ear as Lewis lifted his head over the back corner of the follow vehicle of Alpha Patrol. Only ten meters ahead of them, the charred lead vehicle sat, the fire was still going, but had mostly gone out at this point. Two blackened bodies remained inside the hulk.

The back of Alpha Patrol's follow vehicle was crowded. Three of Sergeant Kopp's troops sat up against the rear of the vehicle in varying states of consciousness and injury as the squad member with the most medical experience tended to them. Beside them sat Sergeants Kopp and Lewis, taking pot-shots at the ridge while the follow vehicle's gunner laid suppressive fire on the valley down below. The remaining two members of Kopp's squad were hiding behind open doors of the vehicle trading fire much like Kopp and Lewis were.

Behind them, Lewis' Bravo Patrol had pulled closer, within twenty meters of Alpha's follow vehicle, and the full team was dismounted except for the gunners and offering their own fire support to the fight, dividing their attention between the ridge and the valley.

"Sir, count one enemy technical arriving on-site in valley." Nowak's report came in. It was about ten seconds before the report of the heavy machine gun from the bed of the technical reached Lewis that he had proof, since he was concentrating on the ridge to the right. Alpha's remaining humvee vibrated with the force of the incoming fire from the technical, and as the gunner attempted to shift fire onto the technical, the technical caught the gunner first, putting several heavy-caliber bullets through his vest. The humvee's gun went quiet.

Kopp leaned his head up to check on the silence and grimaced, "Shit. Cooper, is there any way you can get up to check on Bradley?"

A bullet dug into the pavement by the other side of the vehicle, causing the Cooper to shield Cho's face. "Can't sir. Cho's going into shock, we need to-"

From behind came the response of Corwyn, "Shit! Terry just got hit! She's down!" Terry was the Alpha Patrol rifleman on the left side of the follow vehicle. She'd been behind the front door, which didn't offer the best cover to the technical.

"Fuck," Lewis twisted around so he could see where he wanted to go before he counted to three in his head and took off, sliding in behind the lead vehicle of Bravo, "Nowak, put some fire on that fucking tech!"

Lewis had spun back around to begin firing from his new position when he caught the glimpse of the telltale smoke trail, "RPG! Down!" Lewis tucked his head into his shoulders as the RPG streaked in to the rear of Alpha Patrol's second humvee, hitting it and exploding. Lewis looked up, mouth agape, "No..." Where Lewis had been only a minute ago and where Kopp, Cho, and the others had been was now a mess of charred bodies and body parts.

The gunfire seemed to subside for a few seconds, almost as if each side had been shocked at the RPG's explosion as well as its effectiveness. It was only a short span before the technical as well as the dual Remnant machine guns picked up again, followed closely by assault rifles from each side.

"Guns," Lewis commanded, "Focus fire on the technical. Rifles, focus on the ridge, and someone give me a fucking ETA on that Foxhawk!"

Corwyn's calm voice was quick to respond, "ETA, eight mikes, sir."

From up ahead, Lewis could make out movement by the humvee. It was on the left side, behind the front door, where the other rifleman had been. They were still alive! That gave them a reason to hold the position. Lewis fired into the ridge until he went dry. He swapped the empty magazine with a full one in his vest and reloaded, pulling back the charging handle, the action taking no thought. Fire, empty magazine, repeat. Lewis kept up this action for what felt like an eternity.

It was almost imperceptible at first, but in only a few seconds, it became obvious to all the Sentinels. That pulsing sound that can only be made by a dual-rotor aircraft. But as the AV-24 Foxhawk Attack VTOL's 25mm nose cannon opened up on the valley below, it was unmistakable. The divots the cannon dug up traced directly to the technical, and in the blink of an eye, the rebel modified truck exploded in a brilliant display as the cannon went silent. The Foxhawk was almost directly overhead now, the VTOL turning on its side, and the door opening from the sleek body. The crew chief was ready on the side-mounted 12.7mm mounted gun, which he used to spray off the ridge.

The arrival of the air show had done more than enough to scare off whatever rebels hadn't died. And nobody was going to be going to count the bodies of the rebels to see how many were killed. This wasn't a victory. You didn't care about enemy losses when you were the loser in the battle.

Everything after the Foxhawk arrived was simple procedure at that point. As soon as the incoming fire stopped, the survivors checked themselves. Miraculously, none of Bravo Patrol had been seriously wounded beyond scrapes and bruises. Alpha Patrol, on the other hand, had lost eight of its ten members, as well as the Gebetan JTAC embedded with the unit. One of the survivors was in critical condition after surviving the RPG impact, while the one Lewis had seen was in moderate condition and expected to survive. Both had been loaded into the Foxhawk, along with the recovered dead, and were going to be flown back to FOB Wilderness for primary evaluation, even though most everyone at the scene expected the guy in critical condition would have to be flown on to Airbase Hofstedder, where the Vangazi facilities were much better than at FOB Wilderness. At least it was only a quick hop for the Foxhawk.

As for Lewis and his patrol, they set the remains of Alpha's vehicles with charges and mounted up, waiting until they were a hundred meters away to set them off and blow what was left of the vehicles up, slagging anything of use to the rebels. Bravo was ordered to return back to base anyways, for debriefing.

The ride back was long, and it was quiet. Nobody was in the mood they had been before the firefight. Nobody was ready for this kind of resistance in a sector that wasn't listed as the "problem sector."

Either way, 1st Sergeant Devon Lewis, Corporal Jaye Elliot, Specialist Adrienne Nowak, PFC Iosef Corwyn, Private Krom Radetz, Private Lucas Crawford, Soldat Anton Tanzer, and the rest of Bravo Patrol had seen the first Remnant-involved combat in Al-Khalifiya. It had claimed the lives of eight Remnants and a Gebetan. Lives each one of them was going to see that night, and for many of them, several nights afterward. The Sentinels had been welcomed to Sector E, "Easy Sector."

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Imperial News, For You.

Imperial Occupation Forces En Route to aid Battered Allies

Last updated 08/11/16 at 0747

Scribe First Class Victor Fredericks
Capital Sector

Vangaziland has been a long term ally to the Imperium, it is time our people return the favor

Recent events in the city state of Al-Khalifiya, a war torn isolatinist paradise across the world have brought it to the global eye. Vangaziland was subjected to terror attacks just a few years prior to today and their intelligence sources pointed towards the country that incidentally was filled with rich amounts of valuable minerals. During the initial invasion, Adeptus Aerus and Terram forces along with the Optimus Equites assisted defeat of the enemy air power in the region and capture of strategic air fields. During the change into our Imperium, Militare forces pulled out of the region allowing Vannish troops to occupy the country as they saw fit.

Fast forward to now and we have a large coalition of allied states moving in to assist Vangaziland, whether that be out of pure intentions or to carve up the country for resources is yet to be seen. However now that the Imperium Militare is at the strength our Holy Imperator wills it, we may now utilize some of our forces to assist allies in their time of need.

The glorious 562nd Infantry "The Imperators' Basterds" will be occupying an area yet to be determined within the region. The regiment has recently been authorized a full strength of 9 total infantry battalions, two of which are mechanized with artillery and aviation support attached for the campaign.

As I sign off, any moment now the 562nd should be arriving in the region.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 562nd Infantry Regiment
Knight-Captain Chris Freemon
Port Khalifiya
0745 Hours, Local Time

Morning sun rises over the Port of Khalifiya, rays of sunshine cresting over the hills and pouring on to the waves. Hundreds of ships bustle about the large port as well as several other vessels out at sea either coming or going. Towards the middle of the crowded vessels were several low sitting grey ships, distinctly military, all flying the Birtonian Imperial flag. Several cruisers hung back, anchors dropped while two smaller gunboats were closer in the docks providing extra security for the transport ships. The "Charon" class sealift ships were capable of massive ocean based movement, transporting entire regiments at a time. Two of these ships were docked currently and unloading their cargo, massive waves of infantry, infantry fighting vehicles, weapons and ammo, food, all the fixings one would need for a lengthy military occupation. Loads were being carried by military vehicles, forklifts or old fashioned manpower and being stacked neatly by type on the storage area next to the actual pier.

Located directly between the docks and the main roadways connecting the port and the city was a large warehouse building that had been converted for military use, probably by Vannish forces. Within were several M-601 Recon vehicles utilized by company commanders for this particular mission, along with a large sand table representing the topographical map of both the Birtonian's position, as well as The Fire valley, complete with several pre planned routes for movement.

The regimental commander, a recently promoted officer, Knight-Colonel William Sink pointed at a line in the sand named "Echo" and looked up towards Knight-Captain Freemon.

"Freemon, Bravo is to take this route as our advance party along route Echo, stopping momentarily here" he spoke pointing to a spot marked FOB April, "continue on south down the valley and reconnoiter for a good spot for a base of our own".

Notes were sketched of the area and warning orders were ran out to the platoons on the docks, to make ready for their movement. A quick OPORDER would soon follow and be disseminated to the platoon leaders who would in turn break it down to their squads so that every soldier would know the details of their mission. Within an hour a convoy of assorted vehicles was idling on the road awaiting for their green light from command. Infantry fighting vehicles, armored transport trucks, recon trucks, even a pair of light recon tanks were mixed in with the line of vehicles.

A codeword was uttered over the convoy radio frequencies and the lead vehicle moved out, winding its way through the city and up towards the mountain to FOB April.

"Any blufor element, any blufor element, this is Bushmaster six over" called Chris into his integrated crew microphone in an attempt to contact any friendly forces in the area as they approached Fire Valley. He looked over his intel brief and double checked the frequency to make sure that was the one for coalition forces in the area.

Sorry for the double post but it's slow at work

[Vangaziland]

A flight of two RAH-66 Comanches had been flying up and down the network of roads that worked along the Fire Valley and up to FOB April. They had been monitoring a net shared by international forces, in this case Birtonians. They were told to expect a movement and had been conducting recon of the roads.

They heard a transmission pass through as they were scanning a field alongside the road.

"Bushmaster Six, this is Arrow 2-1, over." The sound of the rotors would barely be heard in the radio transmission to the Birtonians. It was quieter than most helicopters calls, since the Comanche had quieter rotors.

Pilots had a habit of sending their 'check in' right away. As soon as the Birtonian acknowledged, he called back with all his info. "Arrow element is a two ship flight of RAH-66 helicopters, carrying a full load of 30 mike mike, 2 rocket pods of 2.75 HE, and 8 hellfires total. We've got 60 mikes of playtime."

The RAH-66 had recently taken to the skies above the desert. They have proven themselves effective gunships, sneaking up on insurgents with their quiet rotors and stealthy profiles.

"Be advised, we have a line to Hog 1-1 and 1-2, a flight of Alpha Tens (A-10s). They are standing by to scramble in the event you request CAS."

Then another callsign checked in.

"Bushmaster Six, Scimitar Six."

The Birtonian acknowledged.

"Ah, ey. You've got a company of Airborne Cavalry deployed at checkpoints along the route. We'll be monitoring the net."

The presence was not overwhelming, but the Vangazi did not want to clog the route. If anything major went down, a hornet's nest would be stirred, starting with the Comanches and the A-10s. The Fire Valley had been under intense international pressure.

In the western urban districts, things were a lot more loose. They were starting to call it the Wild West. The Vangazi were taking casualties, too many. The Red Wind had rallied there among the tall tenement buildings and packed urban districts.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 562nd Infantry Regiment
Knight-Capatain Chris Freemon
Route Echo, En Route to FOB April

Chris bounced around in his passenger seat or TC seat as it was referred to, meaning Truck Commander. He was responsible for the navigation and coordination of his vehicle as well as communication between the crew and the rest of the element. Since he was in command these duties were in addition to commanding the entire convoy, the treasures of command. Very shortly after his transmission a Vannish pilot replied back and Chris quickly grabbed his notepad and pen from their respective pockets.

"Arrow element, Comanches" he whispered while writing down their callsign and what they were, as well as the following transmission for Hog flight. He thanked The Imperator that A-10s were on standby for the mission, those things would tear apart just about any sort of resistance that dared to come against them. Yet another callsign came through, 'Scimitar' letting the convoy know that Vannish Air Cav were stationed along the route they took.

From within his RG-38 vehicle, third in the column the outside was shut off by plenty of armor and small slits of very thick bullet proof glass. Slight vibrations in the vehicle as it hit small craters in the road and other various sorts of disturbances. It was quiet enough to hear the wheels rolling and faint clicks and buzzes of the radio as transmissions passed by through the crew headsets.

The first Vangazi checkpoint appeared suddenly around a corner and momentarily held up the convoy. Quick checks went through and the convoy was rolling yet again. Chris observed them as his vehicle drove by, well armed men behind sandbag walls and lines of concertina wire with a few vehicles nearby and some buildings around them. Enough to prevent any attacker from roaming through as they please but not so intimidating as to prevent civilian traffic entirely, as evidenced by the five or so cars that pulled to the side of the road to let the convoy through. He nodded at a few of the soldiers who made eye contact with the convoy.

Shortly after leaving the checkpoint behind them the convoy came to an area of winding road flanked on both sides by tall fields. Chris called a herringbone formation for the convoy so that they could asses the situation better, while his vehicle drove up the middle of the road and parked between the first and second vehicles. This particular vehicle had been outfitted with an APSS (All Purpose Surveillance System) per the Knight-Captains request, which was essentially a high tech periscope for the commander, fitted with thermal and night vision. Mechanical whirring brought the mast five feet above the vehicle which allowed Chris to scan back and forth on the fields, switching to thermal vision.

His sight fell upon a decent sized heat signature, though it was at a distance he was unable to verify exactly what it was.

"Arrow 2-1, Arrow 2-1, Bushmaster six, we're approaching an LDA with heavy concealment on both sides, got a heat sig on one side, break. Think you can cover some of my gun trucks while they move in over?" he asked while relaying the same message to the 4th platoon commander.

"Bushmaster six, Red element oscar mike" replied the young officer. This meant that the fourth platoon would come from the rear of the convoy and push into the field from the left towards the heat signature to discover what it was.

[Vangaziland]

Helicopter pilots were always monitoring several channels. They had to communicate with each other, as well as the tower. Then there were various maneuver units on the ground who bounced over several frequencies. One call came in from the Birtonians.

Before Arrow 2-1 responded, he got on the net with Arrow 2-2.

"2-2, Prepare to come around and rendezvous with the Birtonian element."

"Roger."

The lead Comanche made a hard banking turn and flew off in the other direction. The trail helicopter went forward a bit farther and then pulled the same maneuver, coming in low over a grove of palm trees. A trucker had been watching from a gas station on the road across the highway from the grove. He waved at the pilot. Arrow 2-2 ignored him.

The two helicopters had been scouting the path ahead of the convoy, looking for disturbed earth or hotspots on the road.

"Bushmaster Six, Arrow 2-1. We are en route, ETA 3 Mikes, over."

The two stealthy recon helicopters had punched up to full throttle and sped towards the convoy at 200 MPH. The desert terrain sped by them, with long, willowy tan grasses growing between the highway and along the rows of sand colored houses that made up the local villages. Smoke rose in the air, from several neighborhood burn pits. The entire air was choked with the smell of garbage from these pits.

The pilots had been monitoring the convoy's movement on their FBCB2 Blue-Force Tracker. They could also see a red icon plotted where the suspected heat spot had been observed. One of the Comanche's strengths was that it was a quiet observer. The pair began to slow down and observed from a distance with a powerful surveillance camera pod.

Before long, they were in position from some distance away. They could see the dark heat spot against the grey and white background. They zoomed in and could see the shape of a man lying prone with a rifle.

"Bushmaster Six, Arrow 2-1... Looks like one male, prone with rifle, watching the road, break." There was a pause in the transmission. "We could terminate him with commander's clearance. Or we could show of force and see if he'll surrender. Over."

So much rested on the observers on the ground and how the commander wanted to proceed. The ROE would allow for the engagement because the man appeared to be targeting friendly forces. They knew no local forces were set to be in this area at this time. This movement had been well rehearsed and monitored. Anything out of place would stand out. This man stood out, with his rifle.

The two helicopters flew a wide orbit around the area.

[New Hayesalia]

HANGAR, THE NHS LYFTWARD CLAUDIO DEURR

A massive, OD green CH-47 Chinook sat in the cavern hangar, her aircrew adjusting weight balances and preparing the vital systems of the aircraft for an upcoming flight. The aircraft, Yeti 1, was in preparation for a flight. Aside sat sailors in their standard temperate uniforms, excited and holding unloaded Ripper Mk3 rifles. They'd been pulled from the maintenance divisions of the Lyftward.The 21 sailors had been pulled together to form a specialist maintenance party for the Navy's nine Electric class riverine patrol craft at FOB Sarah, the boats themselves having been air dropped previously.

The pilots, also Navy, completed checklists as the petty officer loadmaster cleared the .50 calibre machine gun on the rear ramp, and the two 7.62mm Dillon miniguns in each side window. Sailors now, in their multicoloured vests and helmets, began assembling around the aircraft, plants and machinery moving the Chinook to the colossal elevators, the sailors comprising it's cargo sitting alongside it. The sailors, reissued weapons, body armour and helmets, looked somewhat of an odd bunch. The New Hayesalian Military generally eschewed carbines, leaving them in the hands of tank crewmen and pilots generally, so being handed the full length 7.62mm rifles for self defence if the need arose was a good way of putting them in the psyche that they were entering the battlefield. They'd all volunteered for the role, and now it was real.

The Chinook was chocked and the passengers sat alongside as the tons of metal rose to the flight deck, EC-725 Caracals and other helicopters on the flat forward deck as a day of operations took place in the midday sun. Sailors milled with purpose around the AFSB, readying helicopters and tilt rotors for various operations. The loadmasters, totalling three sailors, loaded the passengers and their gear into Yeti 1 while the two aircrew performed checklists. Massive blades were unfolded, readying for flight an aircraft that should not, mathematically speaking, be able to do so.

The sailors chattered amongst themselves in the rear of the aircraft - many on their first flight on a CH-47, even for the older Petty Officers. A yellow jacketed sailor, rather that radio comms, gave the Chinook it's final permission to take off, and with air blasting from it's six massive rotor blades, the monstrosity lifted and began flying west, across the Fire Valley and into the flat grassland riverine areas.

The sailors watched as the grey surface of the vessel fell beneath and the blue waters became greener, before being replaced by beach and woodlands. The Chinook held altitude, flying at huindreds of kilometres an hour, transiting the valley in quick speed.

It was on the other side of the saddle that the issues began, with the pilots becoming aware of a loss of oil in both engines, plus a fuel line apparently breaking down. It was a major issue with no apparent cause - in fact, it'd been a handful of stray bullets by a trio of insurgents on the side of one of those mountains, undetected by the port side gunner.

"Mayday mayday mayday, this is Yeti 1, New Hayesalian Chinook helicopter..." began the call from the copilot, as the pilot began searching for a suitable landing location. Other calls came over the radio, with some assets already looking to redivery. Power was losing out and the Chinook came closer and closer to the ground, the passengers realising the gravity of their situations. Some prayed, some sat in silence, some began to panic and strap in harder as they descended.

The Chinook came down on a sand island on the river, a small but large-enough soft spot of sand where the river separated slightly across the two. The landing was hard and the rotors flung water and loose sands blasted away from the chopper. The boof and the bang gave away to the whirring down of engines. Loadmasters called out "all good?" to a variety of calls. The order was given to set weapons to instant, and evacuate. The pilots shut down the aircraft and grabbed secondary radios and supplies, plus their carbines.

Passengers offloaded, with the loadmasters checking for injuries. There were some injuries, but none so pressing as to be considered an emergency.

The major issue is the fact of enemy territory being on top of them. With that, the chief pilot took command. The Lieutenant started making the orders, unslinging his carbine and ordering the sailors to cross the shallow side of the two creeks, heading into a brush and wooded area where they would be able to secure some cover and concealment. Petty Officers carried out orders establishing fighting positions, keeping their weapons high and ready - any hostile forces would be shot at and hopefully destroyed, but maintenance division sailors, aside from those in naval boarding parties, were not trained or ready to fight on the ground as much as their Army, Marine or even Air Force partners.

The copilot began making calls to local elements - they knew of a variety of units around the area, and even the boat NHS RC-90 was available to be tasked to fight even though it was at some distance.

Hopefully, an allied unit was closer to the downed Chinook than an NH quick response force.

[Vangaziland]

As soon as the calls of a downed aircraft went out, several channels were spun up. One of the first units to be contacted was a squadron of the 99th Pararescue Squadron. They have helicopters on standby strategically located throughout the city-state. The responding squadron was located at FOB April on the northern edge of the Fire Valley.

Their HH-60G Pave Hawk helicopters were being launched within minutes of the call. Their commander also was able to coordinate two AH-1Z cobra gunships. They would join the flight of 4 Pave Hawks. Their birds were still being fueled. The Pave Hawks would be the first on scene. But if the zone became hot, they could engage and stall time until the gunships caught up.

It wasn't long before the 4 rescue helicopters were airborne. The 99th Pararescue Squadron is the premier CSAR unit of the Vannish Air Force. They would split the Chinook's crew and passengers within the first 3 helicopters.

Two F-23 fighters on CAP across the river were being immediately shifted to the crash site. They carried a limited amount of air-to-ground munitions, but could also provide strafing runs with their cannons. An armed Reaper UAV was also being redirected to the crash site.

The two F-23s arrived first, flying a wide orbit high over the proposed LZ. Next the UAV entered the airspace. It took quite some time until the helicopters made it to the area. The first Pave Hawk came in low over the trees. The second helicopter in the flight flew a close orbit around the LZ. The first helicopter was filled up with passengers as they ran in from the sides of the LZ towards the bird.

It would take several Pave Hawks to carry a Chinook's payload. Once the first ship was full, it took off. When it reached the right altitude and set its own orbit, the second helicopter banked down towards the LZ. The third and fourth helicopters were flying a tight orbit around a battle position nearby.

The second helicopter landed and the passengers were quickly shuttled inside. It took a few minutes for everyone to get strapped in. Everything seemed routine, but this was interrupted. The report of a bolt action rifle echoed throughout the desert grasslands. One of the Vannish gunners was hit as he manned his gun. He was having trouble breathing. They pulled him out of his gunner spot and the bird's medic began taking off his uniform top to treat the wound. It hit under the shoulder. The bleeding was causing pressure on the lungs. But at least they weren't punctured.

The first helicopter joined the second and they broke off, speeding back to base. The UAV and the F-23s began running search patterns. Looking for heat signatures. The first two helicopters must have drawn the sniper's attention.

The third helicopter had to make a choice. They decided to come in and land in the hot zone. If there was a sniper, time was limited. The Hayesalians were in danger and the 99th decided to put themselves on the line, before calling the Hayesalians and telling them how dangerous it was.

A man running down a trail on a hill was spotted by the UAV. There was no proof this man was the sniper. He didn't carry a rifle, but chances are he was the shooter. Nobody else shot at the third helicopter. The rest of the Hayesalians could fit on that aircraft. The fourth tried to fly a tight orbit, their gunners scanning hard for an additional sniper.

Once the third helicopter lifted, the two helicopters raced to the position of the running man who was being tracked by the UAV. He ran to a wadi creek and was crouching against some dark rocks, drinking water from the creek. Chatter had been going back and forth over the radio and it was decided the small team that had assembled on the fourth helicopter as a response team would be used to detain the unarmed man.

They soon caught up to him. Helicopter 3 hovered to the west of the position, providing a stable platform for one of their gunners. The fourth helicopter touched down on a field near the man. Six Vannish airmen ran out and sprinted towards the man. He took off running and the Vangazi pursued. He was tired though from his first run and his belly was full of water.

After about 3 minutes, one of the Vangazi grabbed the man by the shoulder and eventually tackled him. The other Vangazi caught up to him. They wrestled and put him in handcuffs. They told him to stand in Arabic. He complied and was led to the helicopter.

Soon it took off, under the eyes of the UAV and the F-23s. He would be detained, questioned and processed. He would most likely be released unless his fingerprints confirmed him as conducting previous Red Wind activity. Any links to being a sniper would also get the man in trouble. The third and fourth helicopters, along with the 2 gunships sped back towards their base. The CAP left the scene to refuel at an airborne tanker.

The UAV was going to stay on scene and monitor any other response or activity between the crash site and the landing zone.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 562nd Infantry Regiment
Knight-Capatain Chris Freemon
Route Echo,

FIRST CONTACT

---

At the western most edge of the field there sat three M-5 LAV's lined up quickly just before the field itself. Each of the trucks were painted a dull brown with small splotches of OD green and black here and there to help blend into the desert background, heavy layers of dust already coating the doors and sand piling up behind crevices all over the armor. On top each truck boasted a remote weapon station where the gunner turret would usually be. Today they were loaded with M-2330 14.5x114mm heavy machine guns plenty enough to rip through lightly armored vehicles, small buildings, and most especially idiots in fields with rifles.

The platoon commander monitored his net awaiting the convoy commanders clearance to assault through to the objective.

Chris continued to scan the field every now and then moving his sight picture to anything that might provide cover, buildings, ridgelines, sand dunes whatever could stop a bullet. He leaned his head to the right, a habit he picked up before the IMAT acquired headsets for all vehicle crews, back when they used hand mics . The radio transmission came through loud and clear, likely due to the high efficiency of the Vannish military coupled with those of the Imperium.

"Arrow 2-1, Bushmaster six, let's go ahead and do a quick show of force, time your approach with our trucks over"

Clicking over to the company frequency Chris took a deep breath, "Red Six, Bushmaster six", he waited for a response.

"Yeah roger, Arrow element has identified one possible hostile in the prone with a weapon, break," he paused, "You are to approach aggressively with helicopter support, how copy over".

"Roger Bushmaster six out"

Chris smiled and leaned back a little in his chair, this would be the very first contact with the Khalifiyan people. It could go bad for this poor guy. Either way it would be a good day for the Imperium.

Engines roared to life on the far edge of the field as the drivers were given the command to punch it towards the objective. Their hefty frames and sturdy wheels quickly plowed away the tall plants, leaving neat, parallel trails in their paths. As they approached the vehicles began to split ever so slightly, they would come upon the lone gunman from three angles, further invoking fear into him.

Each truck carried an additional four dismounts, all of whom quietly sat, bumping around with each smack of the suspension. Some checked their weapons one last time, while others calmly ate some MRE's or snacked on home goods brought on their assault packs.

[New Hayesalia]

AL-KHALIFIYA

With the aircraft shuttling the sailors to nearby FOB Sarah for a medical checkup and and, most likely, get to work, the scene itself remained under watch. The errant sniper would be an issue but more so, the crashed Chinook and it's classified materials had not been destroyed. The threat environment was not necessarily that major so as to need it, and in reality the naval assets some distance away would find it a simple operation to demolish the entire aircraft with a single surface to surface missile - alternatively, the nearby Marines could send a platoon to do the job.

Indeed this would need to be done.

A part of New Hayesalia's special forces legion, the Female Engagement and Action Team, would be deployed to recover critical parts of the helicopter's information systems and disable the helicopter from flight until New Hayesalian elements could reactivate it. Already, the FEAT were en route to the crash site down river, kitted out with the full bevy of combat gear. The light infantry platoon, staffed entirely by women, had been serving very well in the front lines, speaking with local populations and working alongside allied nations.

They were moved by helicopter to FOB Sarah, where they would load up on a set of assault boats and follow an Electric class vessel in to the crash site. The platoon, comprising 25 women, would then need to defend itself from any potential hostile elements while the classified elements of the helicopter were stripped. The helicopter itself would not be destroyed or damaged, but disabled, it would save itself for recovery later when the risk levels were reduced somewhat.

On two EC-725s the soldiers arrived. They were tough looking women, with bristling weaponry the same as their male counterparts. To the NH Marines providing security at FOB Sarah had heard of the new special forces unit but seeing them in person was a different matter. Passing through the dusty FOB to the boat launch area, the soldiers checked weapons and kit as sailors readied the RC 89 and RC 91, 30mm guns atop that would blast through concealment and eliminate any enemy. This didn't count the crew served weapons, of course.

"Darris, get on boat 2 and check pressure in the front sections," called Army Lieutenant Georgie Harlin, pointing to one of her riflemen (maintaining the phrases as a matter of grammatical ease). "I want 3 squad in boat one, 4 squad in boat four, the rest know where to go."

The commander of the RC 91 approached, a relatively portly Chief Petty Officer, with information regarding the lead and following ships. Maintaining some distance the riverine patrol craft would be vital to the FEAT's security.

The soldiers checked their weapons and the boats set off, the women taking up combative stances in the boats. At a good speed and with relative quiet - and the benefit of a dedicated Skeldar drone flying above under control of FOB Sarah. With the 9LAND battle management system in place, the New Hayesalians had a strong intelligence and support system.

The boats parted the light choppiness of the wide river, the soldiers stacked about seven to a craft and the sailors in the leading vessels maintaining the watch with heavy weapons. At this speed, that balanced noise and quickness, the craft would be on top of the downed Chinook in about twenty minutes.

The area itself varied. Some areas were flat and others hilly, wooded and plain, as the river meandered and moved down stream. It was like guerilla warfare in a way, the Skeldar V200 overhead at 3000 metres giving the extra info.

Coming into the environment the first report was made - "CONTACT!"

To the left of RC 91 a small fireteam of four insurgents had been laying in wait, a scouting party that had been switching out after reporting on river activities. They were well camouflage and even had NIR protection, which in the heat of the day camouflaged them well from the electro-optical sensors of the boats and the Skeldar. They released their fire first, Kalashnikovs firing upon the RC 91, which in turn returned fire, quickly adjusting it's Lemur 30mm cannon. THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD and the smashing sound of huge shells echoed, splashes as the hot brass dropped and sank into the water alongside. Brown smoke signalled the hit of the explosive rounds, which did in turn blast apart the four insurgents before any of the soldiers had the chance to open fire.

The location of the encounter was marked for later investigation, but the sand island was not far away now.

As they appraoched, Skeldar noticed inbound insurgent forces, at least a dozen of them. They'd been quick to respond, but not quick enough from the foothills of the Fire Valley. There was still a risk of the sniper - the Boomerang 2 system mounted atop the Electric class vessels would give insight as to the location and distance of the fire, hoping it would not be overwhelmed by a fight. Approaching, the two Electric class vessels took up a slow patrol alongside either edge of the river. The inflatable boats split, a rifle squad sliding onto the island and setting upon the broken Chinook. A weapons squad set up nearby, with the other squads landing on the riversides and maintaining 360 degree security.

The rifle squad slung weapons as they found classified systems and any lost bits and pieces. On the right side of the downriver, a section commander spotted a hostile element. Two insurgents, one with an RPG mounted on his back. It was only a glance, bu they'd been spotted.

"CONTACT!" she screamed, "TWO HOSTILES, ONE OCLOCK, 200 METRES, MACHINE GUNNER FIRE ON THAT CONCEALMENT!"

In the nearby weapons section, the medium machine gun let loose, the DG Light Weight MMG spitting .308 Norma Magnum rounds at a huge rate of fire, blasting apart small trees and sending dirt flying. The "thuk-thuk-thuk" or bullets spitting from the weapon were a terror for the enemy and a scan with IR showed that the two scouts had been eliminated.

"Feat Romeo One, Feat Sunray, you need to hurry up and get it done, what's your ETA, over?" called the signaller, under command of Lieutenant Harlin.

"Feat Sunray, Feat Romeo One, just wrapping it up now and disabling the helo, one minute, over."

"Feat Sunray, Roger, out."

While the enemies came in, the long range IR detection had the FEAT leaving before the enemies could arrive. The grenadiers blasted smoke grenades a hundred metres in there directions, as a method of slowing the opponents by psyching them out, making them totally aware that they were entering a battle zone. This would not be the case. Extraction orders were given as the soldiers loaded their crafts with the sensitive materials and other sections withdrew, hightailing it out with the sensitive materials down the river with the emphasis on speed. It hadn't been a big fighting operation, though men had died in their fight to get the Chinook, now left to them as little more than a 10-ton pile of green scrap metal, probably impossible for them to recover.

Good operating.

[Vangaziland]

Arrow 2-2 had maneuvered to watch the convoy. The Wrexwic-born pilot called out as the three trucks took off towards the lone gunman. Arrow 2-1 had been holding to the North in a high hover. He punched the throttle and sped the helicopter towards the gunman. It's quiet rotors allowed the helicopter to sneak towards the man, but he would hear the faint sounds of the rotor just before the Comanche approached.

The pilot could see the three angles the trucks were coming in. The RAH-66 positioned itself to approach on an angle left open from the trucks. As the ground vehicles would come into the shooters view, the whir of the blades would be audible. The helicopter went low over the grasslands below, following the terrain.

The shooter had no choice but to drop their weapon and stand. 2-1's pilot got a good look at the would-be shooter for the first time with his own eyes. As the team approached, they would see that the gunman was actually a woman. She held her hands high above her head, shaking visibly. The two Comanches rejoined formation and flew a tight orbit around the scene, mainly to observe.

Somewhere, deep within the catacombs of a FOB, a Vannish officer watched a feed of the helicopter's gun camera. The brass would be glad to have another detainee to question. The swarm of international operations has acquired quite a fair bit of intelligence lately.

One of the things they've learned is that a new offensive is being planned. The Red Wind has been pushing a recruitment job aimed at pulling former Loyalists into their ranks. The Loyalist military movement has been tactically and officially crushed, with no more battalions fighting on the side of the old Khalifiyan government. The Red Wind was all that stood between Al-Khalifiya and peace as they see it.

Intel has also shown the Red Wind's ties to human trafficking. The location of several detention centers, where captives are being discovered. International forces have been scheduling liberation ops to free these unwilling captives. But many of them have been brainwashed from a young age and trained to hate and fight foreigners. This female sniper had a good chance of being a brainwashed captive.

The woman stood, frozen in panic, as the Birtonians closed in.

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

[quote="Military Democracy of Birtonia";p="30418665"]

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 562nd Infantry Regiment
Knight-Capatain Chris Freemon
Route Echo,

FIRST CAPTIVE OF BATTLE

---

The Adeptus Terram were well versed in all combat operations and known for their prowess in battle, however the first and foremost thought of a Birtonian squad of soldiers was violence of action. Dust and plant matter came flying up all around the lone shooter as the camouflaged trucks tore out of the field and abruptly stopped mere feet from her. At the same time the Vannish helicopter paused just above the group, stoppuing at the same time the trucks did.

Heavy machine gun barrels trained themselves on her, the operators within the trucks focusing on her hand movements with their cameras, watching for grenades. Each soldier threw open his or her door and jumped to the ground, rifles drawn. Shouts of "Get down!" were echoed from the unit, both in English as well as Arabic, as the soldiers were trained with basic Arabic phrases to help facilitate the Imperial projection of power in the region.

The girl trembled before the might displayed before her, one of the soldiers lowered his muzzle slightly when he saw her. She couldn't have been older than 18, yet here she was, dressed in old school fatigues with a rifle at her feet. Brown hair on brown skin showing through her head dress, she would've looking quite stunning if it weren't for the fact she was looking to kill one of these men, or their brothers. Fortunately, there were female Birtonians present within the platoon, so they would be tasked with searching ECB (Enemy Captive of Battle).

All that could be heard was the idle rumble of the truck engines, chugging away, the faint thump of helicopter rotors and a soft breeze blowing through the tall brown fields. Both parties were silent as the female shooter obeyed her captors commands and began to kneel on the ground. Two soldiers approached her, guns raised, one kicked the rifle away from her towards his bretheren while the female came behind and took the prisoners wrists. Quickly and forcefully, the young soldier pushed her target to the ground, maintaining control of both the prisoner and her rifle. A quick search warranted a crudely drawn map of what appeared to be the surrounding area.

"Secure her lilly" said another soldier from the platoon, who was now providing 360 degree security as he tossed her a rather large pair of zip ties.

The trucks had moved and formed a defensive posture around the area while the dismounted personnel moved towards the road to signal the rest of the convoy it was all clear. Roars of engines came up the road followed by massive dust clouds, temporarily blotting out the sun, as the troops escorted the prisoner to a transport vehicle towards the center. This particular one was a modified cargo truck, fitted with extra armor and two gun turrets, both housing 14.7 mm machine guns as well as 25mm autocannons. The interior, usually reserved for holding a squad of 10 or so men, was revamped for prisoner holding, complete with shackles on the floor and wall.

"Arrow 2, Bushmaster six, 'preciate the assist, I'll call you if anything pops up over" said Chris into his hand mic while simultaneously giving the hand signal to move out. A second frequency was utilized to instruct the convoy to continue the mission.

The prisoner would be either given to the Vangazi at FOB April or would be extracted by Imperium assets, that was to be decided upon arrival however. Judging by navigation system, the FOB would be within visual range of the convoy within the next ten minutes, hopefully nothing insane would occur between now and then.

[Solovie]

Sector VIII, Al-Khalifiya
Corporal Tomasz Adu
9th Legion, 12th Zouave Corps

"There's nothing out here, sir. Just sand." sighed Pfc. Ayşe Ortiz
"One more hour, Private. Griping won't make it go any faster." I snapped back.
"Everyone's thinking it, I'm just saying it," she replied, throwing her arms up in resignation. We have been out here for five hours and have seen nothing but sand and sun. This was the case for all patrols since our expedition last month, which everyone in the Corps knew was more of a flexing of muscle than anything else. While the action was all in the Fire Valley to the southeast, the most us in Sector VIII saw was the occasional potshot. Most of our work up here has been lounging around FOB Kali and PR efforts with the locals in an effort to seek out any Red Wind presence to stamp it out before they could try anything. So far, all we've done is repair homes, eat fairly well with the locals, and either buy or trade trinkets to send home. It is easy to say the PR war - the winning of hearts and minds, as the big wigs in the brass say - has been an overwhelming victory. So overwhelming, in fact, that letters from home speak of protests to bring us back simply because nothing is happening. I adjusted my tagelmust - many of us quickly stopped wearing our helmets and began wearing the tagelmust again due to the inaction - and put a cinnamon stick to my mouth. I had adopted the practice as a child from seeing my father and uncles chew tobacco; my father never allowed me to follow this lead and allowed me to chew on cinammon to let me bond with them. The practice is fairly common throughout the country and is a fairly safe alternative to tobacco in moderation.
"Stepping out of the vehicle to answer nature, Corporal." announced Private. Murad dos Santos
"Heard. Be quick, dos Santos."
"Yes, sir."
Just then, I noticed something on the horizon. The evening sun made looking in the direction difficult, but it seemed as though there was a convoy ahead of us. "FOB Kali, this is Sümbül 1-3. I have in my view what seems to be a convoy of 10 vehicles, possibly paramilitary. Can you confirm, over?"
"Sümbül 1-3, this is FOB Kali. Can you state your position, over?"
"15 clicks north of the village of Bam, facing west by northwest. Repeat: I have visual contact with a possible convoy of 10 paramilitary vehicles. Can you verify, over?"
"We verify, you have 10 vehicles in front of you, 1-3. Convoy verified not verified as friendly. Fall back to Bam and await further instructions."
"Heard, over and out. Private dos Santos, get in the vehicle, we are moving out! Private Chen, get on the 50 cal and keep an eye on that convoy. Private Ortiz, get us back to Bam."

FOB Kali, Al-Khalifiya
Sergeant-Major Adem Oruç
9th Legion, 12th Zouave Corps
"Load up, load up! We're in the air in 10, dammit!" yelled Lieutenant Gülşe Fields, "Time is wasting!"
"What is going on, ma'am?" I asked. A Huey pilot, I simply flew where they told me and did my job; this urgency was something we trained for, but the inaction in Al-Khalifiya made it seem new again.
"One of the teams in Sümbül Company made visual with some potential hostiles. You and Ox 1-2 are going over to help out. Anything else?"
"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." I saluted and went on my way to oversee preparations on my rotor, Ox 1-1. My copilot, Corporal Simon ben Joseph, was already seated and checking over the controls. A thumbs up from him indicated that everything was good to go.
"Adem!" I looked over my shoulder to see my wingwoman, Sergeant Piri Lau, approach me. A talented rotor pilot, we began our training as rivals. As time passed, our rivalry turned into a passionate affair that was the rotor squad's office secret of sorts. Officially under wraps due to military protocol, it was no secret and even Lieutenant Fields predicted it. As such, she turned a blind eye to it. "We're finally seeing action, yeah?"
"Inshallah, moje srce, inshallah. God be with you."
"With you as well, kalbim."
The ten Zouaves from Sümbül Company chosen for the mission loaded up into the choppers - 5 in each - were soon in the air and en route to reinforce their brothers and sister.
"Sümbül 1-3, this is Ox 1-1. We are 20 mikes from your position. State your status, over."
"Ox 1-1, this is Sümbül 1-3. Glad to hear a friendly voice. It's quiet, but my lookout reports the hostiles are heading in this direction. Maybe 10 mikes from our position, over."
"Heard. Hold tight, we're getting to you fast as we can, over and out."
Zouaves. We’re the fiercest that Solovie has to offer, and us in the Naji Battalion are the most determined. But can four troops still possibly last against such numbers? “Allah hafiz, Sümbül 1-3. Allah hafiz.”
“Don’t worry, brother,” said one of the infantry over the intercom, “the only bodies we’re bringing back are those of the insurgents.” This was met by a round of “uras” over the intercom. A smile crept across my face as we approached the LZ; when the Zouaves enter the fray, God is on our side.

[The United Remnants of America]

First Sergeant Devon Lewis, 3rd Sentinel Battalion

---

Sector E, Al-Khalifiya

---

24/12/2016 - 01:35

---

"On, on, they send, on without end, their joyful tone, to every home..."

They came in the night upon wings of vengeance. It had been three months since the last Remnant incursion into Sector E of Al-Khalifiya. It was known to the personnel in-theater as "The Massacre on the Mountain," where a squad of Remnants and a Gebetan were killed in an ambush. Since then, no Remnant operations had taken place in Easy Sector, and all Remnant operations elsewhere in Al-Khalifiya were mostly in support of other nations' assets. Due to this, there had been no other casualties since then for the URA other than a few mild injuries which were quickly remedied at the URA's main operating base. The URA had placed an operational hold on any movement in or through Sector E.

But the hold had ended on December 24th, and early in the morning, Operation Yule Tide began. At 01:20, a single AV-24 Foxhawk slipped into Sector E, flying high and at full throttle to lessen any warning on the ground. It took a scant ten minutes to get to a valley that was only a half kilometer from where the battle three months ago had taken place, and the flight crew of the AV-24 knew that all to well- they'd been the rescue flight on that day. There was still blood in the internal floor grating of the troop bay from the injured. Inside the crew bay, illuminated only by the red operations lights and accompanied only with the sound of the Foxhawk's engines, stood the VTOL's crew chief with ten black-clad figures toting weapons. The majority of the figures were from a single squad, though a couple had been switched out with ones from another squad. Regardless, the ten figures were made up of Alpha and Bravo Squads of Anna Company, 3rd Sentinel Battalion.

After the Massacre, the remaining members of Kopp's squad had been attached to Sergeant Lewis' squad for the remainder of the tour. Normally with Sentinel battalions, losses would be replaced to a man, and the affected unit rotated off the front lines to integrate new blood, but Al-Khalifiya was too far away to feasibly start the selection and integration process. If all of Bravo Squad had been taken down in the massacre, then the squad would have been reconstituted with Sentinels from the rest of the company, and new Sentinels would be spread out, but that was also not the case. So an exception had been made, and the survivors, a whole three members, had been attached to Lewis' Lancers, giving him a squad of 13. Three of his squad were currently still on-base, both to provide an alibi for the squad's absence as well as one of the trio still needing recuperation and therapy from injuries sustained at the Massacre.

The valley the AV-24 held a small village of only a handful of buildings, one that the Sentinels had seen on their patrol three months ago. And now, as the Foxhawk swooped in low and bled off speed until it was hanging ten meters off the ground of the center of the village, the side doors opened and heavy ropes were kicked out, landing on the ground. Inside the compartment of the VTOL, the red light flashed once, twice, three times, the signal to move. Five Sentinels moved down either rope, hitting the ground together in perfect practiced rhythm. Sergeant Lewis and Corporal Elliot were first, their rifles up and scanning as the next two came down, which took up similar positions behind Lewis and Elliot. Then the third and fourth pairs dropped, before finally the fifth pair dropped down. Ten Sentinels had hit the ground in forty-five seconds. They peeled off in pairs, one pair to each building, moving quick and low as the VTOL picked up altitude and began to move in an orbit of the village, the crew chief careful to make sure the ropes stayed attached to the heavy eye-hooks inside the troop compartment.

There were six buildings, but the Sentinels knew the architecture of a place of worship, and that's what the larger building to the north resembled. That left the five smaller buildings. It was no coincidence there were five pairs of the Sentinels. The pairs stacked up on each building and waited for Lewis' countdown. "Three, two, one, do it." At the command, one Sentinel in each pair moved off the outside wall and kicked in the door of their assigned building as the other threw in a flashbang. Each pair waited for their flashbang detonation before entering their building. As it turned out, all the houses were just one- or two-room huts, which made securing them easier.

The flashbangs made several small children and toddlers cry as their families were torn from slumber. The Sentinels used the rough commands they knew in the local language to tell the villagers to get up and go outside, which when faced with balaclava-hidden faced and the barrels of rifles, made even the more resistant of the villagers quick to comply. As one Sentinel from each pair pushed and prodded at the residents of their respective hut, the second Sentinel quickly went through their assigned hut to look for hiders and weapons. It took ten minutes to search through the huts, as the others rounded up and counted the villagers; There were twenty-three of them in all. No hideaways were found, and as expected, there were no weapons.

As all the Sentinels regrouped to surround the villagers, Lewis sent Privates Radetz and Crawford to secure the holy place, just to make sure it was clear. Five minutes later, they were back with a positive. That meant everyone standing and on their knees in the center of the village were just unarmed villagers. Lewis nodded as he thought that over. He looked at each of his Sentinels in turn. Though he couldn't see their expressions through the night-vision goggles and balaclavas, each gave a short nod to show their approval. Lewis nodded back and walked in front of the villagers as his squad pushed the ones standing to their knees and pushed and prodded them more or less into a rough line. Lewis cleared his throat and addressed the villagers:

"By the Remnant Military Code of War, and according to General Orders Twenty-Three and Twenty-Four, I, First Sergeant Devon Lewis, hereby place you all under military arrest as supporters of our enemies, deeming you too a hostile force. By General Order Twenty-Five of the Remnant Military General Orders of Soldiers, I, First Sergeant Devon Lewis, hereby summarily sentence you to death by execution as a prisoner of war to the Remnant Military."

He spoke English, so he knew none of the villagers understood them, but he gave a small nod to PFC Corwyn on the far left, standing behind a mother holding her toddler. Corwyn nodded back, let go of his assault rifle to pull out his M23-45 Pistol, and placed his pistol at the back of the woman's head and pulled the trigger. The shit instantly killed the mother, and Corwyn adjusted his pistol to the toddler's head as they screamed and held their mother's body. Corwyn fired again. One of the children further down the line got up and ran from his parents, Specialist Nowak lifted her rifle and put a pair of rounds into the child's back. It was at that point the rest of the villagers realized what was happening to them, and most of them broke down into tears as Corwyn walked down the line, firing shot after shot. He had to reload a total of four times as he walked down the line of villagers, since the M-23-45 only held seven .45 ACP rounds in its magazine. No one else ran. No one fought back. None of the Sentinels turned away.

After Corwyn fired the last round, Lewis contacted the AV-24, "Foxhawk-2, this is Bravo-1-3. Clear to pickup."

"Roger, Bravo-1-3. Inbound."

Lewis nodded as in the distance, the pitch of the engines of the AV-24 in the distance increased, indicating the aircraft was incoming for their pickup. Lewis let out a breath and signaled for his squad to form up. He took a last look at the line of bodies in the first and said a silent prayer to the dead. The villagers had paid the debt of blood made from three months ago. Vengeance had been enacted.

"Merry Christmas, Al-Khalifiya."

[Military Democracy of Birtonia]

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 562nd Infantry Regiment
Knight-Captain Chris Freemon
FOB April

MID-ROTATION

---

Several months into the deployment of Al-Khalifiya and the situation across the country as a whole has mostly stabilized. Majority of enemy formal units have either been crushed or gone so deep into hiding they might as well have fled the country. However on the same note there are still pockets of resistance scattered here and there, initiating a guerrilla war against the myriad of countries keeping the peace over their cities, deserts, valleys and mountains.

The Forward Operating Base that the 562nd was based out of, created and named by the Vannish soldiers whom first liberated the country has nearly quadrupled in size. Originally it was only a small walled off facility with a simple helipad. However now under Birtonian influence, the perimeter walls have been expanded and reinforced, concrete walls buffered with hesco bastions both behind and in front of, finally supplemented with several layers of concertina wire. A proper motor pool, helicopter landing zone, as well as two primary entrances were erected in the past several months, barracks and dining facilities were upgraded, and all centered around a well fortified and defended command and control building.

Dust settled in over the eastern gate as one of the last few convoys returned from their patrol of the Fire Valley. Standard Birtonian patrol of three light combat vehicles, a transport truck, and a medium wheeled vehicle for recon purposes. Vannish soldiers were on duty at this point, covering the gate, with their vehicles and weaponry in the towers, the guards looked over the coyote tan vehicles that rumbled past them. The months of occupation took their toll on the Birtonian vehicles, tan paint scratched off in major areas, certain parts obviously newer, those being replaced due to heavy combat losses.

Meanwhile in the command and control building, Knight-Captain Chris Freemon stood over a table in the center of the room. An overhead projector beamed down a real time map of the AO that the 562nd was responsible for, utilizing Eisen-Schloss Combat Networking, supplied by Wolf Armaments for the IMAT. Roughly around the hours of 1830 through 2000 some militant, posing as a farmer or some mountain tribesman would usually send off a lone mortar round at the base.

Chris looked down at the coffee he had just poured as the lights flickered for a moment before switching to a bright red. Alarms echoing across the base resonating against the reinforced walls of the C&C building affectionately referred to as "The Block". Very soon after a long succession of shots rang out repeatedly after each other forming a quick 'BRRRRRRT'. The base of course was now equipped with a C-RAM (Counter Rocket and Mortar) system to prevent any loss of life from small missile attacks such as this.

Red warning lights were again replaced by the soft cool glow of the operational lights, Chris quickly looked down at his watch and waved his hand over the briefing table. It was almost time for the evening FUB, or FOB Update Brief, where all commanders on post gathered together and given new tasks for the following days or told about any relevant data recently uncovered. He awaited other Birtonian and Vannish officers to arrive.

[Holy Empire of Avalon]

The desert was harsh and unyielding as a large pick up truck trolled on over the sand, in the bed of this four wheeled beast was a metal pole with a machine gun welded to the top on a swivel.

It was a full vehicle containing a driver, one passenger in the front and two in the back seat while one poor fellow was left outside the cab in the bed of the truck sitting with his back to the backside of the cab. Fortunately enough for the loner the back window was open so he could at the least talk to his compatriots. Their occupation, if one could call it such, was blaringly obvious. This truck was tan originally and then spray painted with various shades of khaki, cream, and light brown in a shoddy tiger stripe pattern while the doors bore white lettering in the local language that when translated would say SONS OF THE REVOLUTION. These warriors had their heads covered with scarf like fabrics to protect from the elements while their shirts were cut of sleeves so that they did not get hot in this insane but homely weather that they had long grown accustom to. Their weapons were automatic rifles, the standard of both the area and their duty. They had worn and rough wood furniture that once might have been beautiful while the metal itself was scuffed and scratched beyond all recognition of what color it once had been aside from its current scarred steel finish.

The passenger pointed down a worn trail and the driver quickly turned the wheel to hurdle down it. From the back their gunner knocked on the metal cab to signal his displeasure at being thrown around haphazardly. Their destination was soon in sight, large sandstone walls would give way to a former village occupied by those like them. There was no fanfare for the returning insurgents, no notice was given at all, much as if some unwanted cousin had suddenly showed up to the family reunion. The two men in the back of the cab dismounted and began walking over to a large collection of men, the pair would talk to these men for a moment before getting the answers they wanted and returning to the cab.

"They are low on ammunition, food is rather short, as is water. Shall I seek out their association leader to complain?" One asked as he leaned in to the driver through the window of the truck, his speech was muffled heavily by the scarf around his face and head. "Yes." The driver responded curt and sharp, his disappointment at the poor state of this outpost was evident. Thus the pair of men walked off to the group of insurgent warriors once more, this time a large argument erupted.

"We do the best we can! Every day our supply trains are bombed and hounded by hostile forces, you want food so bad go hunt your own!" A man in a white robe stalked off angrily towards the larger of the houses in this small village and would be followed out of it by another fellow wearing black robes and a red scarf around his head. One of the guys who had dismounted the truck spoke softly to the elder of this association, "We have finished a raid on the hostile devils, we are tired and we are hungry, we have items to trade back in our vehicle." The elder followed the two back to the truck while the gathered group of angered warriors dispersed back to their prior devices. Sluggishly the truck door was opened, as soon as the elder looked inside however one of the men threw him into the cab where the passenger reached behind and handcuffed him swiftly before dealing several rapid blows to the top of his head. Confused and angered shouts filled the air as the elder struggled for consciousness that left him quickly. By the time any of the fatigued, hungered, and thirsty militants in the camp knew any better the truck was speeding off out of the village and into open desert.

Gunfire filled the air behind them, rounds even pinged off their vehicle's tailgate, but they were far enough away that there was no need to fear. Jumping a large sanding dune the truck would rock and settle as it plowed on kicking up sand as it went. The real surprise would come as a loud explosion in the distance resulted in a shower of sand that lifted the truck's left side up and laid it perfectly on the right side's doors
"Fucking tank!" The machine gunner in the back shouted in Voyniche as he scrambled from the bed of the truck. Reaching through the back window as the men inside the cab hurried to bail out and save the hostage he would unsheathe a metal tube from the cab and move off behind a nearby rock to take cover and aim his cylinder of doom.

The four men who had been inside the truck climbed out through the left side's doors and jumped down to the ground. The right side passenger threw the elder out as the unconscious old man was dragged into a narrow ditch by two of the militants. "You got aim on it yet?" The driver shouted from the skimpy ditch they had been forced into. His answer was quick, a tank round ripped through the truck and tore a jagged gaping scar into the bed. Barely visible would be the head of a man peeking up out of the tank to use binoculars and see the damage done to their distant target. The machine gunner only had one shot and thus could not risk missing at this great distance, while he continued to sight in the tank's observer ducked down and apparently gave the order to fire once more as another round ripped through the truck, this time it blew the cab and the engine compartment to splinters nearly.

"To Akavish with it!" The machine gunner fired a hail Mary, and apparently his prayers were answered as a plume of fire and a cast of smoke erupted from the former tank turned metal oven now coffin of iron. The driver looked at the truck and laughed, he was quickly followed in action by the rest of this band. Who happily enjoyed the fact of their survival. They took their scarves off to reveal dirty rugged faces of tired men ready to get a good night's sleep. One would produce a can from the pocket of his pants and pop it as red smoke billowed into the sky followed by two more columns of that same scarlet hue.

It all would end with the shadow of a plane shaped aircraft with rotating propellers that landed, those two propellers gave a large authoritative thump that felt as if someone was pushing on the listener's chest. The ramp lowered to reveal teams of men inside wearing the typical Anglician uniform for the area of light sandy colors with browns and kahkis mixed within. Before climbing aboard the VTOL aircraft the captors planted charges onto the truck and set them with fuses. Once the ramp was up and their ride out of there was lifting off the charges were detonated and that poor truck was simply a charred, scarred, and utterly ruined carcass in the desert.

"Wonder what the insurance will say about that?" The driver pulled out his cellphone and dialed a number into it. There was a long ring and then a automated system spoke on the other side. "For an insurance claim press one now." He pressed the first numeral and was transferred to the claims department. "Hello, what is your insurance claim?" A friendly woman spoke up.

"Um, hello, my truck is totaled. I was wondering if you cover tank related accidents?" The woman could be heard flipping through papers, "You mean to ask a water tank or some sort of drum, yes?" A file could be heard opening on her desk as the paper slid against itself. "No, a tank, the kind that shoots things. Some asshole flipped my truck over and then shot it twice. I was wondering if my insurance covered that?" The woman was immediately shocked, "Oh my, are you okay? I take it you were not in it?" It was hard for everyone in the cargo bay to withhold laughter, "No, me and my buddies were out of it. Also, it was blown up with high grade explosives, would that be covered also?" There was only silence as the customer support worker tried to fathom exactly what he was saying, "I mean, I guess that would be filed on his insurance? Did you at least get his insurance, sir?"

"Yeah, we got his insurance. So I have to call them and file the claim?" The woman just meekly stated yes, "Alrighty, thank you so much." Before he hung up the customer service woman had a question of her own, "So just what did you do to warrant two tank rounds being shot at your truck and then it being blown apart with explosives?!" The operator shrugged, "Not sure, I think it was because I own a blue truck in a red neighborhood." He hung up and took the battery out of his phone. "Damn, those sons of bitches owe the S.I.A. about fifty grand."

The daring daylight capture of the local insurgent leader was marked as a success and he would quickly be transferred to Matsuro Detention Camp for interrogation and questioning and the five men who performed it would vanish back into the nothingness that they had come from, be they mercenaries, death row criminals, or professional soldiers from a foreign land the world would never know.

Eh, crappy post is crappy, I actually got the idea for the call first because of a joke I heard, the actually story was built off it. The inspiration of course being Ghost Recon Wildlands