Operation: Gra'fegan Fury(Closed: Alfegos)

[Holy Marsh]

Port Artland, Former Vile Lard Imperial Province 8.
100 miles south of Khaska.
10 Years Ago

The sky was on fire, His spectacle lighting the ballet for all to see. From all sides, the fires of war sung of death high into the night, the pillows of smoke a blessed sign to the Vile Lard. Warlord Arcesian was almost brought to tears by the sight. He was lucky, lucky to see the end of His Blessed Fire. The Marshites and their False Prophet were about to stamp out the Blessed, and so The Great Bloody One made sure to make the end a spectacle. Gor'ike main battle tanks were on fire, their crew scrambling out to live their final moments in the Glory of Fire. F-22s shattered in the sky as the divinity of the Marshite missiles were assigned the deaths of Blessed warriors. Fires raged in the city, buildings crumbling down. Dust, fire, screams, blood, rage, joy- these were the work of the Vile Lard.

He could see this from the tower near the docks, the fire a block away. On the street below, a hundred militia were being consencrated by a Bloodletter. They all bowed and stayed on one knee as he clu the back of their necks with his ceremonial knife. Then a man was brought out in chains, muzzled and with his arms melded together behind his back and legs melded together. He was cut in several places, and if he had a mouth, he would have screamed. The attendants captured his blood in goblets and then the militia drank from it. A few seconds afterwards, they seemed to grow louder and more nonsensical. They were given S-38s and body armor and were sent off to die gloriously. The man was then given a shot, which stopped his muscle movements.Unable to do anything now, he could only watch as needles approached his eyes and shot him with a chemical. He not only immediately went blind, but he would lose all sense of touch and hearing. He used to be a Marshite, now he was just a tool. His blood was impure and unholy, and drinking it would make the militia go insane. They first drank from his arms while he protested. His arms were then melded together. They then fed the contents of his mouth to the wounded, and they melded the skin to create a face without a mouth. They ate his ears, nose, genitals, and toes, and then melded his legs together. Now they had finished their feeding and left him without senses. They tossed him into the prisoner gutter, a secondary gutter. They opened up the steel traps and tossed him in alongside a few others who had been captured earlier. They then closed it, and his final torture would begin. Inside the gutter flowed nutrient rich blood, which could sustain him for years. He would always feel himself almost suffocating, and it would be his only sensation for all time. By the time he died years later, the Marshite private would have lost all sense of time, self, God, and sanity.

Sadly, he wouldn't have that long. The Marshites would eventually discover his body after they had taken the city, probably a week or two after they had won the battle. He would then be killed, much to the sadness of Cultists. But such was the decision of the Bloody One, and as Arcesian looked out across the city, he was pleased to at least know that blood would still be spilled. Thousands of militia were created daily through the feeding of prisoners, and they were holding off a Marshite division. They were getting massacred, but it took a while for the Marshites to kill them all, as they were pleased to do. This was the last Cultist city on the coast, yet the Marshites hadn't figured out that this was where the Chief Warlord and other vital figures had escaped to and were evacuating from.

"Warlord, I trust the evacuation is going well." Spoke a raspy voice from behind. Arcesian turned around and saw the President of Ceremonies, the purposefully blind leader of the Nation. Arcesian bowed, took out his knife, cut his hand, and offered his hand to the President. The President then lapped up the blood.

"Yes, m'Lord. Forty of the cargo ships have left. The remainder of our navy has launched attacks against Marshite positions. Glordy be them, they shall soon be dead. They will buy us time for us to make it to the Safe Waters, where we have been allowed passage by the World Assembly. The ships will then meet up with the migrant fleet and go to Alfegos. We shall board soon." Arcesian said as the President's tongue continued to lap up the blood that poured out of the wound in his palm. Blessed be the Bloody One, Blessed be the ones who served up the Blood of their enemies and friends alike, Blessed be the dead whose scream of pain and grief were music and the last breath given up His name.

"That is good, Warlord. There are many ways for us to continue shedding blood. A new chapter will begin when we reach Alfegos. May your death be long and your blood spent, Arcesian." The President said as he finished drinking Arcesian's blood.

"May we kill many, Tson." Arcesian said as he came up from his bow. The President solemnly walked away, flanked by his Brutes. Blessed be those who allowed their minds to become servants to Him, Blessed be those who give up Self in His Name.

Arcesian looked out at the bay. One cargo ship was sinking, full of Cultist refugee. A ship casually ran over the survivors, some killed by impact and others caught up under and drowned, while the lucky ones were sucked into the rudders. He, too, would leave soon. His ship as well as many of the others marked as important would have international advisors on board that would be in communication with the Holy Marsh. They would enable the strategicallyu vital Lard elements to survive to their destination, while teh Accursed Marshites exterminated the rest. Once the elements had reached the appropiate point, advisors on important ships would be silenced and replaced.

This was not a retreat. It was a relocation. Alfegos was chosen and after two years of settling and whatnot, the Dedicated Elements would enter the forest of that country and station themselves so as to save the Old Ways of the Bloody ones while the civilians adapted to the foreigner style of life. Then after they had secured themselves in Alfegos, they would find a way to continue their war with the Holy Marsh.
The Long War was not over. It had just entered a new chapter.

[Alfegos]

TEN YEARS AGO

Stars shimmered in the tropical evening sky, as the last vestigates of the sun disappeared into the Setting Sun Ocean. It was invisible from here, within the convoluted valleys and hills of the Gra'fegos. In fegosian, it simply meant "the Great Forest" - the largest of the rainforests in Alfegos, stretching from the wastelands and strip mines east of Milkavich to the farms and plantations west of the coastal towns, hemmed in by two ranges of mountains. It was a place of mystery, that few visited now - for in the forest, death lurked around every single corner. Scattered across it, ripped apart and claimed back by the voracious plants and fungi, the reminders of great wars of the past - the crater-riddled fields of battle, the now-crumbling defensive lines, and the wrecks of aircraft and airships alike.

In one of what had once been a clearing, the moon cast deep shadows across the skeleton of an airship. Fragmented and half-buried in the ground, great support struts had been left to corrode and decay, as creepers and trees bent into and through the carcass. At the edge of the gouge, where the newer, more vibrant growth merged into the ancient forest canopy, a small structure sat caught amongst the boughs of a tree, perched at an angle within them. The armoured plating had long since gone, the segments distorted and shattered by impact left abandoned. Within the cracked glass interior, three bodies sat perfectly still. Two were still strapped to their seats, tattered cloth hanging from the skeletons picked clean by the swarms of insects and invertebrates. The other lay on the floor still, and very much alive.

The hunter slowly lifted his rifle to a shoulder. Overhead, there came the occasional flicker of light - the flash of tropical thunder, in the mountains to the east. Rain would be falling, and the river would engorge to swallow the land that it claimed. The chorus of insects had been disturbed - something was there. He slowed his breathing down to a mere paced whisper, as he took aim at the source of the interruption. Slowly, he picked out a silhouette, just visible against the thick undergrowth, at the edge of an animal track. A breath of wind caught a brief smell, that filtered into his nose - hints of aftershave, and of soap. This was the man he had been waiting for - the messenger.

In one quiet movement, he pulled himself through the broken gondola roof, standing perched like a bird of prey. The messenger stood still, looking around nervously, rifle partially raised. He bounded across, making no sound, before whispering in the man's ear.
"Follow me. Not a sound."
The trip was quick. It was a mere hundred metres to the small cave, marked by one of the discarded airship engines. The man quickly ducked under the thick ceramic plate, disappearing down a narrow hole. He was soon followed by the messenger, as the two quickly moved into the supported room. Underneath the wooden struts, the man flicked on a torch, checking for serpents and scorpions, before hanging it from the ceiling.
"I bring for the Fego'spe the gift of food."
The messenger took the two fresh fish from where they were wrapped in his bag, leaving them on the floor of the cave. They would soon be consumed in this dense forest.
"And what do you bring for us?"
"For the People's Revolutionary Army, the gift of life."
The messenger passed a bag across. Within, hundreds of bottles and amphoules, of medicine and drugs. The hunter smiled, before continuing.
"You have our protection, and will stay the night with us. What messages do you bring?"
"I bring messages from the worker's Brotherhood in Milkavich, their report of their activities. I bring a message from the exiled general Xiu of the PRA, of your orders and of your resupply. And, I bring a message from an outside source. He was keen to contact your leader."
"Very well. Hand me the messages, and I will take them onwards to the leader."

The PRA was an army, a revolutionary force, with history. They had been the protagonists of the three civil wars, and countless terrorist attacks, that had rocked the nation across sixty years. Whilst they had been eradicated in the cities, and forced into exile in the colonies, the original active guerilla force still lived on in the Gra'fegos - a few ten thousand assorted revolutionaries, mutineers, deserters, tribesmen, and lost souls, who banded together to fight. The military had fought them for years, trying to destroy them. And yet, all they had managed to reach was a stalemate - two defensive cordons, to the east and to the west, hemming the rebels in and stopping their movement outside. To the north and south, the mountains offered the few safe passes from the forest to the civilisation of Polina and Zevkhay, watched over by the deadly monsters of the sky that were airships. Within the forest, there was no advance on either side - the military had re-enforced itself to a level where it could destroy many attacks. However, around every corner in the forest lurked death - minefields, traps, UXO and CBRN weapons sat in abundance along with hidden forts, camps and gun positions. Reconaissance aircraft no longer flew in the sky, nor did any smaller airship - for the firepower the rebels possessed, whilst antiquated, was almost limitless.

And so, the hunter was one of the high officials in the PRA, the intermediary between the various camp commanders, the messengers from outside, and the leader himself. Their strength was also their weakness - their lack of concentration of force. Each group of about 80 people, led by a PRA-appointed soldier or otherwise, reported to a lieutenant of some sort. And the lieutenants pledged their allegiance to the PRA leader, to whom they were now travelling. Checking the outside was clear, he looked around a couple times, checking that nobody was there. It was getting darker, if that was possible, and now the paths and routes through the forest would be treacherous. Taking out a cane, the hunter slowly moved forwards. The camp was near to here, at least for the night - tomorrow, it would be moving back to the interior, back to the isolated centre of the forest. It was difficult to remember a path in the forest - they were all unmarked animal tracks, identical in terms of their density, their difficulty of passage, and the number of plants that seemed to claw at them. And yet the hunter knew exactly where he was going, swiftly pacing through darkened arches of vines and leaves. It took fifteen minutes, as they moved deeper and deeper into the forest. The paths thinned, machete marks replaced with the ripping of animals passing through. For parts they crawled, the hunter all the time checking the path ahead - in the dark, the snakes would stray out onto the path with the other nocturnal poisonous creatures. They stopped a couple of times, as the hunter listened out, for what could be a threat in the distance. But then, he decided it was not critical, and would again disappear into the shadows.

They finally emerged in a darkened clearing. From here, it seemed deserted, moonlight picking through the few gaps in the canopy here. And yet it wasn't. The hunter took in a deep lungful of air, letting some back to stew in his sinuses. The heavy smell of a wood fire, the scent of tens of men, of explosives, of gun oil, and of insect repellent - they formed a delicate cocktail within his trained nose. The guards he knew were all around him - so he spoke to the world in general.
"I bring the messenger we were told about, who will stay the night in our presence. You all know who I am."
The shadows relaxed just slightly, and the hunter continued walking, before suddenly disappearing into the ground. It was the caves that provided their greatest cover - thousands of kilometres of limestone tunnels, some burrowing deep into the earth. They only inhabited the shallow ones, steering clear from the much deeper caves - the strange winds and echos, and the spirits that lurked within, were enough to put even the most rational of people off staying in them. And yet that was enough to afford complete invisibility from anyone overhead. A dim light flickered further within, past the two men who sat behind a simple rubble barrier - cooking fires. The detachment of PRA soldiers who followed their leader were a handpicked elite, the cream of the many survivor groups who pledged their allegience to him, out of respect, similarity of views, or raw fear.

Within, the messenger was shown down to a small corner of a large cavern, where an underground stream slowly tricked through a groove in the floor. The hunter had other business, for which he continued to proceed deep into the caves. Either side, groups of men sat around cooking fires talking quietly and eating, thinning as the cavern darkened and deepened. It was a gradual downhill slope, to where four guards sat attentively outside a cavern entrance.
"I wish to have an audience with our leader."
"Proceed."
The guards knew the Hunter well, and so ushered him in once he left his rifle and weapons at the entrance. It was a couple hundred metres walk, until he reached the centre of their operation - the command centre. In the centre of the chamber, maps had been unravelled, as movements were tracked. Tables had been unfolded, with radios and laptops mounted upon them. The leader sat in conversation with a few of the other advisors, gathered around one of the large maps.
"Sir, I bring messages from outside the cordon."
"Go ahead."
The Hunter passed the sealed metal tube across, filled with the compendium of messages - some coded, some not. Opening the sealed container without the key, which the leader proceeded to use, would ensure the near immediate destruction of anything paper. He tipped out papers and a flash drive, plugging the drive in before looking over the papers. The first he came to was the one marked on the back as "External". The leader sat in depth reading it, taking a couple notes with pen, before looking up.
"We will need to discuss this proposal. Mr Hunter, will you fetch the Lieutenant of the Eastern Batallion, and tell him that this meeting is most urgent?"

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Polinas Provincial Assembly Building
Polinapolis
North Alfegos

The provincial government Foreign Affairs Correspondant looked at the thick wad of papers that had been delivered late that afternoon. A letter for settlement in Alfegos of a whole community - refugees, from Holy Marsh. Numbering thousands, it was not the thing one saw every day. But it had been passed through the Foreign Ministry with little, if any, in the way of complaint, notes from clerks and officials along with signatures and seals adorning the original copies of the letters. It was down to the Provincial government if they passed this - which was why they were checking over it now. The land was little problem - the relatively arid area of eastern Mor'pru Sou'pru (sub province), close to the border with Milkavich - would provide both the land space and the isolation that was necessary. There were few existing settlements near the wastelands to the south-east of the proposed land space. It would be the conditions of residence that would be questionable.

He eventually came to the conclusion that most of the notes provided, eventually receiving a confirmation from the representatives of Mor'pru and of Polinas itself. The evening dragged on, as he compiled the report, letters automatically writing themselves as clerks assisted him. It was going to be a late night, as he sat in consultation. A resolution had to be passed quickly, as the situation developed.

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TO: The President of Ceremonies
Subject: Settlement in Alfegos, and Arrangements

The request to establish a refuge settlement within Alfegos has been granted conditionally, the terms of which will be discussed later. The act passed will enable up to two hundred thousand (200 000) of your people to register as international refugees, of Category III. This is effective immediate, with the ports of entry as Polinapolis and Ha'vi. Upon entry, all citizens must undergo full registration, which will involve the taking of a DNA sample (cheek swab), fingerprints, photographs, and the filling in of the legal documents of understanding of the arrangement of their status.

From here, they will then be shipped via bus and/or truck to a temporary refugee centre in south-central Mor'Pru. For the duration of this phase, food and medical aid will be provided by Alfegos whilst your community co-ordinate reconstruction. After the first one month period of orientation, all support aid will be granted as a low-interest loan, at a rate of 3%. This money is intended to be used for construction of the settlement on the land provided, and the starting of any businesses.
Employment will be provided by authorised firms, who will set up business (At their own expense) within the settlement.

However, we must alert you to the restrictions of this refugee status category:
1) All persons must respect Fegosian National law and Polinas provincial law. Punishment will be dealt out regardless of status.
2) All persons will not be allowed to leave the area allowed for settlement without a valid permit from the Police Force of the area. People breaking this arrangement will possibly have their citizenship revoked.
3) All persons will not receive the privileges of Fegosian Citizenship unless they pass citizenship selection. This includes social security.
4) Taxes will be deducted from wages for special work insurance,for repayment of borrowed money, and for government-maintained infrastructure including policing. Business tax will be charged. However, there will be no tax from trading within the settlement to outside. These taxes will be charged fairly, and reviewed.

The area your people will be restricted to is approximately 30km by 20km, so will provide adequate space necessary. The area will be surveyed by aerostat, so as to stop illegal exit from the settlement. The area is mostly flat, and semi-arid. There are transport links to the area which will be improved.

Please do not hesitate to contact us, and best of fortunes.

Iu'kki Er'yu
Foreign Advisor to the Polinas Provincial Government

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Sou'fe'bau Er'kii Foi'hu
Eastern Gra'fegos
Central Alfegos

The camp was quickly being packed up, as the dawn began to roll across the landscape from the east. A dim pink light in the blue-black sky was followed by a deafening chorus of the forest life, birds and insects alike increasing the dull hum to a cacophany. Within the caves, the command staff were finishing their discussions, as kit was secured.
"So, what are your thoughts as to this?"
"We know the Lardists will want to infiltrate the forests, since they will be unable to practice in the civilised world. However, they will have no experience what so ever of the terrain that awaits them beyond the cordon - so needless to say, they will likely camp close to the cordon, and will not do us too much harm, or our cause. However, until they contact us with any amicable intention, I have no regrets in ordering that they are exterminated."

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TWO YEARS AGO

Fighting Post E-2-27
East Cordon
Gra'fegos

It was early evening at the fighting post, manned by the eight man section. They were responsible for a one kilometre stretch, to the mid-points either side of them, between the next two fighting posts. The cordon was easy to see - for within the area, a single band of trees had been felled, the ground cleared, leaving only dense grass. A band about eighty metres wide stretched from where the forest restarted, to the first barricade - in places near the larger sector forts, this consisted of various fences and wire traps, mounted around ditches to catch any attacker. Here, in the deeper forest, the men occupying the post had only an earthern barrier and ditch, topped with the occasional warning sign facing both ways, and the windchimes - the latter to give the superstitious a sense of ease.

It was easy to see along the clear path from the firing position itself - a firing point partially dug into the ground, facing out in three directions, which also acted as their accomodation for the duration of their duty. A large machinegun sat occupied by one of the men at the post, as the other three on duty looked about the forest. Outside, a foot patrol of four men was busy walking towards the the south, as a kettle heated up within. They had no need to use bright lights - after all, those they were looking out for were unlikely to offer them the same kindness. Instead, they sat in the dark, keen eyes adjusted to the dimming skies, and ears listening for disturbance.

The men were all Whiteshields - cadets, conscripted for a year national service. Whilst many would fill other government roles, the bulk joined the army, and were quickly turned into fighters of sorts. The majority were used merely for logistics and as a special reserve - however, in Milkavich and many of the overseas territories, it was straight in at the deep end for many of them.
"Two Seven Foxtrot, this is Two Seven Papa - suspected movement, south of the point, three hundred metres. Cover us, over."
"Wilco."
The men were mainly armed with older-issue kit, surplus from the main army, who were in turn equipped with surplus from the more elite regiments. As such, the radios were ancient short-range bricks, running off short-lived batteries that could also act as very effective explosive charges. Their rifles were the older AF-87, rapidly retired due to its poor reliability. And none of them had body armour - if they wanted that level of luxury, they would have to buy it. Many men were equipped with non-issue kit, ranging from the variety of rucksack shapes to knives, and even some rifles. And now the machinegunner moved the rusted machinegun to aim at the area indicated, raising the iron sights to the correct distance setting.
"Confirmed movement."
The gunner quickly loaded, the belt of rounds pulled from a can and slammed into place within the unit. There came the grinding of the giant spring being cocked, the breech held open. When the trigger was pulled, the bolt would come slamming back, and start the automatic cycle of death.

"Stand up now! If you do not respond, we will assume you are hostile, and will return fire!"
They waited, as the section silently re-organised themselves. Strangely enough, they were facing the outside of the cordon - someone was trying to sneak in. The men organised themselves in cover, aiming into the patch. There came the tiniest click of a grenade pin being removed.
"This is your final chance!"
The insect chorus dropped, as if realising the storm that was coming. And then, there came a shot - not the distinct report of an AF-87. The machinegunner wasted no time in opening fire, rounds of blue tracer mingled with the jacketed lead 7.62mm NATO rounds that hurtled across the relatively short distance. Foliage shredded as a distress flare shot up into the air, the patrol on the ground returning fire. The flash of a grenade was followed by a dull crack, the sick noise evoking an image of cracking bones. There came a crash as a small tree collapsed, before the gunfire slowly waned. The men on the ground quickly took oppertunity of the lull to charge in, various combat weapons to hand - bayonets on rifles, or a mixture of heavy machetes, hooked knives and swords. The flare slowly descended, providing some illumination as the men cleared the patch. After a confusing five minutes, and much chatter over the field telephone in the firing point, a final contact report came in.
"Confirmed that six units were confirmed intercepted by patrol - all KIA. Units have no identifying papers, only unmarked maps, supplies and armaments. The bodies are being removed. Requesting that all nearby firing posts increase alert, and that aerial support be made available. Over"
"Understood. UAV will be launched from nearest Outpost to search for hostiles."

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Lardist Camp
Deep within Eastern Sector
Rebel-Held Gra'fegos

Who did these people think they were, to trespass without reason? The Hunter looked down from the canopy of the tree, into the enemy camp - it was sizable, maybe a hundred people within it, using the cover of what had once been an artillery position to hide their cooking fires from the observers in the sky overhead. However, the tribal folk in this area had noticed it, and for the past week had been observing their activities - and their weaknesses. Completely invisible, the ghosts that they were had watched the unspeakable activities that reached the climax of their ceremonies - and told the PRA to help. They had seen demons, and knew that they would invoke the wrath of the Fego'spe if something was not done. Or the wrath of the lost souls, a group of whom were known to aimlessly wander this area.

The Hunter had not come alone - and now, as he fitted a gas mask, he knew that the attack coming would be swift and merciless. Upwind of the camp, three rusted gas canisters sat part dug into the ground, deep within the bushes - they were a mere hundred metres from the edge of the ex-artillery position, more than close enough. Each cylinder had, in at least one place visible, a pair of green bands - the sign of a hideous death for those within. These man-portable cylinders, each weighing twenty kilograms, had been used by company-sized forces during the first civil war as part of cloud gas attacks. They had hoped they could break the deadlock of the war - and they had, in a way. Yet for the hundreds of thousands mutilated and killed in horrific ways by these gas weapons, they had been an agonising cruelty. The demonic, vengeful forms of many were still believed to stalk the forest - to inflict their horrific revenge.

The Hunter needed to give no signal - all had been planned by time. Instead, he raised his scoped rifle, looking over the position. Diphosgene gas was dense - it would sink easily into the tunnels and positions of the emplacement, and flush out all those within. Anyone fleeing upwind would have no change, and would collapse before they reached the edge of the cloud. Downwind, fourty PRA soliders sat in their aged CBRN warfare suits, some stolen, some aquired, and some personal from the units they deserted. From their positions high in the trees, and behind hastily-trapped barriers, they sat ready. They would not waste rounds - and they would not leave a single person alive. They had been told to send a message to these people - that they were trespassers.

There came a muffled hissing, as the gas cylinders were released - some by still-functioning 50-year old valves, others by the brute force of a rifle butt. Within seconds, the noxious cloud was forming, and drifitng downwind - with the windspeed at an optimal 5km/h, or a couple metres a second, it took a mere few minutes for the gas cloud to reach the position. The cloud was invisible at its forefront - away from the cloud of condensation around the firing cylinders, the aerosol of diphosgene was invisible in suspension. However, its strong smell, of musty hay, was all pervasive. And soon, as the first effects began to come, the panic started. Shouts of fear and chaos echoed around the camp, as people began to flee - many organised, some chaotically running like rabbits. And like rabbits, they did not look where they were going. As people appeared, the snipers began firing - the hunter carefully picked people off, dropping them with craters in their skulls and holes in their helmets, as they attempted to flee. Some reached the forest edge - and found the numerous traps that had been set, both by them, and by those who had occupied the position fifty years ago. Screams yelled from those who had stumbled into an ancient minefield, left with mere tatters of legs as charges still functioned, or collapsing as stick charges on trees blew ball bearings into their chests. Nearer the downwind area, the first few were left to find the traps - pits. A section, kitted in gas masks, found themselves falling into a ten-foot deep pit. At the bottom, sharpened stakes pierced the unfortunate, the remainder finished off by a burst of gunfire from overhead. And then, the main forces started opening fire, in a confused gunfight - as choking, half-blinded men burst onto the many paths leading from the area, the PRA opened up in ambush, short two-second bursts of fire quickly taking people down at close range. Even closer, there came screamed anger as machetes and swords were wielded against the confused, high, and even insane of the Lardists, in vicious co-ordinated counter attack.

The gunfire continued as the counter attack started - the hunter picking off the few stragglers, as the PRA moved forwards. Their dead had been noticed - yet the many killed in this ambush had made it a success. Their goal now was to capture any remaining supplies - the suited men quickly went through the facility, forgoing medicines and foodstuffs for ammunition, rifles, machineguns, grenades, rocket launchers, maps, and the odd trinket of some sort. They would all need to be washed before use, just in case. And as they began to leave, the enemy bodies were collected, on the surface above the chamber they had used to perform their hideous rituals. As that was purged with fire, a phosphorous round filling its interior with white-hot flames, the bodies were thrown into the inferno it became - even though they were trespassers, they deserved the right of funeral by fire, as was the way of the warrior. And on the surface, a message was left.

THOSE WHO DISHONOUR THE FEGO'SPE, AND TRESPASS UPON THE FREE FOREST, WILL DIE

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[Holy Marsh]

Two Years Ago
Fighting Post E-2-27
East Cordon
Gra'fegos

They weren't all that bad.
Jeremiah Thompson had led Lardist bands into the cordon for years. The quality of his troops had waned over time, but his knowledge of how to break the cordon grew. The tactic of sending a small squad of recruits to take the fire and allow the larger detachment to prepare to break through forced the enemy out of position and to reveal themselves worked well. By the time the six recruits had been killed, the two mortar teams were prepped and the marksman had found the target. The ten rifleman would take out the four man patrol, the mortars would destroy the emplacements, and the marksman would take out anyone who was left. Overkill on an eight man section, but needed. They had to eliminate the entire post within a few seconds so they coul rush forwards, secure it, and allow the fifty men behind them who were unarmed to run into the jungle before the Alfegans could respond. They would then meet at the designated point and be taken to the Lardist camps which were quite deep within the jungle.
But first, they had to kill the section. The Whiteshields seemed to be somewhat confused, and were obviously poorly armed. The Lardists that were about to attack were veterans- Thompson had been fighting since the late 70s and the rest had seen combat on the last victorious Lardish battlefields of Alserta. They had no body armor and were dressed somewhat plainly, but the riflemen were armed with S-38A2s and the Marksmen with S-38SDMs. They definitely had the advantage there, and after years of attacking these outposts, Jeremiah had the advantage of knowing what to hit first. The machine gun post was targetted by two mortars.
He waved.

The Marksmen first aimed for the Alfegans in the 'trench' whom they could see, two of them peering out into the tall grass. One of them seemed to notice something just before the Marksmen fired, but his cry was cut short when a bullet tore into his throat. The second target was hit not quarter second later in the shoulder and fell to the ground. The four man patrol quickly turned to face the grass, having been inspecting the bodies of the recruits, but they were quickly cut down by the fire of the ten rifleman who stood up. The machinegunner and the final Alfegan turned the weapon over in a panic and let out a short burst from the gun before a mortar shell landed directly on top of the gun, vaporizing both the gun and the men around it. In a span of ten seconds, the section was destroyed. The Lardist soldiers then took off towards the section line and the fifty unarmed men that had stayed hidden then jumped up and started spriniting. Jeremiah reached the line first and found that the two marksmen targets were still alive. The man who had been shot in the throat was clutching it and waving his legs around as his eyes bulged. Lucky kid was dying slowly. The second survivor had seen the machinegun post and his former friends get vaporized and looked on as the only other survivor died in agony. He clutched his shoulder and tried to reach for his pistol with shaking hands, but was stopped by Jeremiah who headbutted him and tossed him over his shoulder-
Gunfire. The other sections were still a far ways off, but they could see a large group of people running. Three Lardists went down. Usually, Jeremiah would care. But this was his final push and he didn't quite care about the large group. He and the survivors ran into the jungle, leaving a grand total of 19 Lardist bodies(Including the recruits) and 27 captured. Ten unarmed Lardists and seventeen soldiers, including him, would make it. Not a bad haul; normally, the soldiers would have left and gone back to Alfegan proper to await the next group. But a good day, and besides, Jeremiah was going to make a Brute out of this captured boy.


Modern Day
Lardist Main Camp
Unknown Location; Ancient Fort Caverns

President Tson sat in silence, as he was wont to do. He would never know what his surrounding would look like, but he would always know the sounds. The room he was in was an old and damp one that had been retrofitted to make liveable, but the sounds were still the same. Dripping. A heavy wind. Far off voices and sounds of gunfire. Dripping. Footsteps.
Footsteps which grew loud.
"M'lord, the final camp has been exterminated by the PRA. All dissenters have been killed." Arcesian growled, his doggish voice reverberating. Tson could feel a hand in front of his face and could smell blood; he started to lap it up. Blood to be made Holy, Blood to be spilled in His Glory, Blood for Our Tory.(Lardish Heaven)
"Good. Maybe now we won't have to deal with troublemakers." Tson said. Two years ago, forward camps of Lardist had stopped doing their duty and had instead gone rogue. Their practices had alarmed locals and clogged the wheels of what had been a wonderful relationship between the PRA and the Lardists. The PRA had contacted him, and he had told them that he wouldn't stop them in any way from destroying the camps outside of the area that the Lardists had bought. So, over the course of two years, six such camps had been destroyed- and now the Lardists worked as desired. The main camp had around five hundred permanent men and women of a fighting nature, with the ability to have a total of a thousand somewhat easily. The fort that was above them had been constructed during one of Alfego's civil wars and was a shadow of its former self; cracked and broken, it had fallen in such a way as to mask a lightly overgrown passage with a collapsed tower.
Vehicles, for what little use anyone had for them, and relatively large movements of men, could be masked entrance into the back, where a large opening led into a vast tunnel network. Partially built as housing and as a dungeon, the tunnels also included far more recent additions. It was ample and comfortable enough to house the manpower Tson desired and the supplies needed to keep them running. He had even found a worship chamber; a former Great Hall apparently built as an underground hideout was massive and allowed for human sacrifice to be performed without knowledge getting out. This was a good thing- they didn't want their practices getting out and damaging their relationship. But that was just one camp. Sixteen camps currently had 100-150 Cultists, while thirty other camps held less than a 100. Each camp had a specific function and manpower was rotated. Some camps would capture sacrifices, others would get food, and still others were just training camps or outposts. They were left alone for the most part by the PRA as long as they stayed in their zone and as long as Tson kept the payments up. The PRA had been very glad to hear about the vast financial resources Tson brought with him, $630 Billion.
$25 Billion had been paid in order to settle where they had. $15 Billion for training in survival in this jungle. $10 Billion as a protection order lump sum, $2 Billion annually. $30 Billion for use of her networks of supporters. Tson had spent a further $35 Billion resupplying his people, and had given what was now obsolete to the PRA. It was a fine deal- the PRA could use the money for any number of operations and ideas and the Lardists could use the protection. And, now that the Lardists were relatively safe, they could start fighting again. The Marshites had more or less forgotten about Tson, but he would make them remember. But before that could begin, he had to lay the groundwork.
"Have Jeremiah meet with their leader when we pay the annual protection money, but tell him to leave his Brute behind."

Just outside of Alfegan Airspace
C-130

Nine men were silent.
Each man was praying the same prayer, thinking the same righteous thoughts. How long had it been since they had been allowed to hunt true villains? Too long. Ten years. The Vile Lard had escaped, the President and Chief Warlord fleeing the Righteous Marshites. But they had been tracked- perhaps. The Alfegans had some scant information that the Pushanian Alliance of Holy Warriors believed led to the conclusion that they were here. And so, nine of the Holy Marsh's greatest warriors had been assembled and were sent to Alfegos with the sole intention of snuffing out this lingering flame. The operation was not to kick off for a further three months, as preparations would have to be made for the jungle and the people inside. And the Alfegans had just been made aware that the flight of nine STT members, five Inquisition members, and a Holy Warrior Bishop, was on its way about two hours ago. All of this only thirty six hours since the information had been retrieved and twenty four since the Holy Warriors had been made aware.
They were excited.

[Alfegos]

MODERN DAY

Aeromarine HQ
Station Solace Five
North Zevkhay Province

In the great Solace Mountains, huge caverns had been dug by the men to house their vast craft - and here was one of the finest examples of their handiwork. In one of the misty valleys, facing down towards the distant city of Il'vi and the Sea of Rising Sun, a vast cave mouth opened out into kilometres of tunnels, winding their way deep into the mountain. On the surface, vast supports buried into the rock strengthened the structure to limits beyond that of mere rock and steel, interwoven with the Aeromarine Headquarters - three large camps, hidden within thick concrete blast walls, partially sunk into rock. Around, the defences sat idle for now - alongside the near invisible missile cells, concealing hundreds of long-range missiles, more visible artillery emplacements and surface rocket launchers acted as a deterrent. There was a small heliport - that was little needed, as the vast behemoths of the Fegosian Airfleet came and went.

The aeromarines were a special force - trained to fight on airship, in air, on and under sea, and then specialising and a terrain of their choice, they were the cream of the Alfegan army. Deployed aboard dropcraft that utilised 120mm cannons as door guns, as part of the first shockwave of a country-destroying expeditionary force, they would fight to the death. For them, odds of 1:3 were good odds - for they knew exactly how to use the weapons in their arsenal to best eliminate an enemy, armoured or not.
The nature of some of their missions meant an even more select, special unit had been trained - the so-called "Golden Wing". They were put under the command of the Joint Special Forces Headquarters, who covered many of the various army commando units, civilian teams, and otherwise. The Golden Wing were picked from people of rank at least Captain or Sergeant, from various forces, and trained in their specialism to perfection. Of the eighty man attack team, divided into eight man sections, the entire spectrum of warfare was covered.

And now, within their home of Solace V, within the rocks of the hangars beneath, a team of them were being briefed - one of the two jungle warfare sections.
"Gentlemen - we currently have forces from Holy Marsh, Holy Warriors, arriving in Alfegos within the next two hours. They have been directed to land here, from where they will receive further instructions. The reason behind this visit is due to a most disturbing revelation, which we made a couple years ago, and have since been building intelligence upon."
The briefing room darkened slightly - it was like a small lecture theatre, albeit designed to stop any noise leaving. A projector image flashed onto the screen.
"Two years ago, there was an attack on one of our fighting posts, one of many in a sudden increase that led to re-enforcement of parts of the line. In it, numerous units were lost, and there was a major breech into the forest. However, before all units crossed, we managed to get a UAV into the air, and it sent us back a few interesting images."
He pointed to a single man, caught in mid sprint, looking upwards towards the camera as a flare lit the sky.
"We cross-referenced his facial photo with our national civilian database - and no luck. We then looked again, and found that he was a Lardist refugee in the settlement area in Polinas. Now, on re-examining the figures, we found that there were hundreds of people who had registered in the Lardist refugee scheme, and had disappeared. Many of them had military pasts - though that appears to be common through many of the settled refugees.

The point is that, if they are surviving in the forest, they must have at least an agreement with the PRA, if not outright help. This can not be tolerated - the boost in their strength will prove detrimental to the long-term mission. For that purpose, you have been given the following assignment. We must try and stop further attacks such as these allowing more aid to get across, and thus prevent any more deaths. We don't know how many people are now MIA or KIA due to Lardist-related incidents, but I can assure you that this is going to stop."

The speaker finished, switching slide to a large map.

"Your objectives are as follows. On arrival, you will start working immediately with the Holy Marsh forces - you will need to brief them on the objectives at hand. It is likely they are trained in forest warfare of some sort - however, you will need to give them the full familiarisation brief. For that goal, once they have been briefed on the situation here, you will be moving out to Outpost N-4-1. From here, you will be making small sorties into the rainforest, to allow familiarisation with the terrain and with tactics.

The next objective will be detailed in full once we have more intelligence, within the next month. It will involve you being inserted via HALO drop into the forest close to the objective, in the nearest known safe area. You will then trek along to the enemy camp. You will gather information on the enemy movements, numbers, equipment and fortifications, and from there plan your final attack. The culmination of this is to aid the Holy Warriors in killing the Lardist leader or leaders, and disrupting their operation as much as possible. In addition, you will then use information gathered to give us the location of any PRA officials.
From there, you will make your way to the nearest extraction point.

You know the PRA briefing, and the briefing for the forest areas you likely will enter. The deep forest is likely where you will end up being led to - and you know what they are like from training. Major Xe'ii, if you require any further information, now is the time to ask, before you assume your roles. I will send you the full report once the Holy Warriors are settled in."

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

Main Lardist Camp - Fort Qo'ki
East of the Central Forest - The Twilight Forest
Gra'fegos

As one pushed into the forest, they would find it becoming ever more desolate and wild, as the penetration of man was stopped almost entirely. There were the cordon forests - the forests around the military cordon, which were vibrant, full of life, and relatively safe. Then, as one went westwards towards the West Cordon, there was the Forest of Mists, the Water Forest, and the High Forest. Each one slowly becoming more and more dangerous. And here was the twilight forest - where the canopy of leaves was so thick that it left the entire place in a permanent twilight. This was the border zone, a place where few of the tribal people inhabited, and only ventured into as initiation ceremonies. Here, even the plant life would kill and eat a man in the fight for nutrients. And, to the west of that, the home of the PRA's headquarters - the Deep Forest itself. Beyond that, the twilight forest once again formed a strange protective buffer zone, before gradually becoming safer and more populous. To the south and north, the twilight forest gave way to the mystical Forest of Mists, and then the Cloud Forest, before ending with the desolate mountainsides.

Fort Qo'ki had been built by the Democratic forces during the civil war, a part of the defensive line trying to hold the enemy from the eastern coast, as forces were diverted south to help the men in their desperate fight for Zevkhay province. It had been the site of vicious fighting, as the PRA broke out from Milkavich in the 1952 push - when some had said the skies were on fire, as airship after airship took part in vicious battle overhead. The skeletons still lay scattered across the forest, along with the results of their payload - of which Qo'ki was an example. In a desperate bid to escape a squadron of jet fighters, the PRA airship Glorious Revolution had dropped its payload early, near to the fort. The 150 tonne earthquake bomb had been meant for one of the airship hangers - instead, the massive shockwave had levelled the fort, and had been the signal for a massive, bloody charge that forced the democrats into a rout.
During the civil war, the fighting that had taken place here had been vicious. The mass graves of fighters still lay near here, now covered over. Stockpiles of shells for field artillery had been abandoned here, most corroded and rusted beyond recognition. The PRA had liberated the place of its chemical canister stockpile, along with some parts from a couple ancient tanks that had rusted to near dust, and left it abandoned - they after all had better places to conceal themselves.

Sixty metres above the ground, atop one of the enourmous tree boughs, a group of tribesmen watched the place, as the occasional person moved in or out. They had been receptive to training, the ones who survived. It was a steep learning curve - for you only had one chance to remember which plants were poisonous, and which plants would kill you. If one did not know what to look for, the blast of a mine, the crack of an unexploded shell, or the screams of pain from one of the many vicious traps would await them. Right now, the tribesmen weren't interested in those moving out to collect food, or to hunt - they were watching out for the party who would be meeting the PRA with their money.

A group of men appeared, and started on the forbidden path. It had been pointed out by the PRA guide - that nobody was to walk down that path. If anyone did, fates far worse than death could await them. The PRA survived by living on the razor edge either side of inevitable death, that could await one in the deep forests. The meeting would be in a clearing on the edge - and for that, the men would need guides. The tribesmen scuttled through the forest canopy, occasionally disrupting a bird or small mammal - the network of thick branches and vines offered a second level to the forest. Here, it was lighter as well - much more easy to see where they were going. Here as well, they could make more progress than on the animal paths, if risking sudden death from a fall, or the prolonged pain of many various deadly beings that liked this as their habitat.

From here, they began scuttling down one of the giant behemoth trees, almost feeling its beat of life as they hugged to its side, the occasional vine adding grib to their desecent. Like spiders, they crept down to the ground level, before disappearing into the undergrowth. And soon, they were on the path, ahead of the party of Lardists.
"Us three are your guides - we will lead you to the meeting site. Please follow us, and step exactly as we step. The forest we will be entering is the edge of the deep forest - and here, the very ground and air can not be trusted. It will take about three hours to get there - so please let us start moving off."

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

Surface Flightway
Station Solace V

The airship hanger's vast floor had a section that had been smoothed perfectly flat, tarmac above the rough rocky surface. As support vehicles and huge crawler tow units dragged airships to mooring positions in the main cavern or side cavern, missiles, fuel, huge repair parts and scores of men rushing about, red lights began pulsating along the length - a warning that an aircraft was inbound. This was possibly the only place in the world where an aircraft could land inside a structure. Outside, the occasional light pulsated on the mountainside, guiding the C-130 towards the vast hole in the mountain, air traffic control sending the occasional message up to the lumbering cargo aircraft.

On the ground, as normal activities resumed, a of truck pulled up by the large turning/unloading area at the end of the 1200 metre long airstrip, before it continued onwards as a mere road into the interior. Overhead, huge lights flooded the area with all the light it needed. From the rear, the golden wing members quickly dismounted - dressed in their barrack uniforms, the pale blue of airfleet uniform, each was difficult to distinguish from the many surface support crews, including the airship tug that had been put in place to help turn the aircraft around. Alongside the camouflage shoulder tabbard, a tropical pattern marked with the aeromarine insignia, each man had a golden wing embroided upon their collars - that subtle sign was enough to tell all these were truly elite soldiers. In this context, they had left their rifles in the rear of the truck, their large automatic pistol sidearms and combat knives enough of a visual show of any force. The Major carried a sword with him, one that had been made decades ago by a village blacksmith, and yet still shone with a strange glint. Along with that, the strange tribal pictograms that graced its surface acted enough as a charm for the unit, and a curse for any enemy. The most prominant runes were the same in traditional Fegosian - that of the following death that awaited those who crossed him.

For now though, it hung unused - it was when he would renter the forest that it would become more useful. And that would hopefully be soon. In the distance, an aircraft was just visible, banking to approach the runway.
"Section, listen in. They're almost here, so as we said, nice and neat."
The unit shuffled into two neat ranks of three, the Major and his 2IC standing to the front. Warrant Officer Ki'er was a veteran of many conflicts, and had experience of the forest that all respected. He was responsible for training each new addition to the jungle warfare unit, after they passed the joint special forces selection tests. Whilst there was a high dropout rate for those he taught, those who stayed on, including the Major himself, had the deepest respect for both him and the hazardous environment they would fight in. In these mountains, they were too cold - the forest would be an ideal return for them.

The aircraft rolled in, a smooth landing followed by a gradual slow to a crawl, as it calmy cruised into the turning area. The rear ramp began dropping, as the Major called his section to attention. He waited as the newcomers paced across, taking in everything in a quick glance, before saluting their commander.
"Good afternoon. I am Major Xe'ii, the commanding officer in charge of this operation, and of 4 Section, Golden Wing, Aeromarines. If you want to load your equipment up onto one of our trucks, the other will have enough space for yourselves. We'll be staying in the barracks above tonight, and tomorrow will take helicopters down to a jungle training centre, to begin your acclimitisation. My section and I will be glad to assist you and inform you in any way this afternoon and this evening as to the sort of things you will expect, including an orientation briefing this evening after dinner. You will be sharing our building, since 3 Section are currently on assignment somewhere.
Anyhow, we will get moving now."

Behind, a fuelling unit was busy refuelling the aircraft, now towed around to face back towards the entrance to the hangar. Overhead, men scuttled about a vast airship, suspended from its underside as they moved to repair what looked like missile damage - a scar from a skirmish with the PRA.

[Holy Marsh]

Station Solace V

The design of the station was unique. The inquisition operated a helibase in the Hitlion mountain range that required a descent, but that was just a helicopter. Impressive.

"That will work well, brother." The Bishop said to the Major. The Bishop, as he was known, stood a paltry five foot seven. But he was wiry and the scars on his face spoke of a fiery nature long ago. His long white hair had once been short, but the Death Rites meant he had no choice but to grow it out after the death of a Holy Warrior under his command. When another died, he would cut and start again. It hurt to shake hands; the bones had been broken and reset in the heat of battle dozens of times on battlefields long forgotten. They were now forged into new locations and in new angles.

Behind him, all nine STT members disembarked. They each carried two dufflebags in their hands and a backpack where it belonged and were walking towards the cargo truck. The five inquisition members, armed and clothed only in their black robes, then marched out. Each one was a vision of horror, a lifetime of nightmarish acts visited upon the flesh of man had only acutely refined their indomitable faith. But they were not to be bothered until much later, except for one of them who the Bishop waved over. A moment later, as the STT members put their cargo onto the truck, Bishop waved over the captain.

"Before anything else, we must see the information you have in regards to the matter of this presence in your forests. We must confirm the Holy Order for the Death of the President of Ceremonies and the Chief Warlord, Marsh Bless us All." The Bishop said, giving the Marshite sign as the Captain and Chief Inquisitor approached and did the same.

[Alfegos]

Station Solace V

"If that is your wish, Bishop, then that is what we shall do first - since it is a most pressing matter. Ride in the front with me, and I'll give you the basic lowdown on what we know."
The trucks started up as the Captain swung in, enough space in the five-man cabin for the driver, the Major, and the three Marshites he had picked out as being of chief significance. The others sat in the part-covered rear, as the trucks began to pick up speed, darting underneath the shadows cast by millions of cubic metres of war machines.

"We'll go to the lecture theatre, and I'll brief you on everything I've been told is knowledge, along with my own forays into the subject and receipt of information reports.
You are after the head of the Lardist movement - and we know exactly where he was. Up until a couple years ago, he was registered to a Lardist refugee settlement to the north of the country. We may be a warlike people in Alfegos, but we are certainly against barbarism. It seems though that many of the refugees blew their chance at a new life here.

For years we've been having reports of increased activity, and of unfamiliar units operating against the East Cordon - and it was recently discovered that thousands of the refugees have slipped under the RADAR. We don't know how they managed this, but they appear to have dispersed. Whilst alerts have been put out for all missing Lardists, a chance encounter has shown us that the Lardists have been moving into the Gra'fegos. The overwhelming evidence is that they are there, to obviously hide from the Fegosian law. Along with this, their ability or want to constantly enter the forest means that they must have some sort of deal with the local controlling force - the rebel force known as the People's Revolutionary Army.

Whilst outside of the forest they act as a terrorist organisation, they have many guerilla fighters within the Gra'fegos - though technically they are not all strict PRA members. Aside from a hardcore group of mercenaries, ex-convicts, deserters and PRA-trained soldiers, almost every tribe has pledged men to fight for the PRA cause. Now, you might ask why we haven't bombed the forest back to the stone age to fight them. The reasons are simple - the biodiversity of the forest must not be harmed under Fegosian law, waging an extended campaign against the PRA would be extremely bloody, and in many areas we simply can not attack them using artillery or airborne assets. There are regions there where GPS will not work, where radio can not pick up, and where compasses will not work. Tomorrow, I will show you why the Fegosian Army continues to cordon them in, to hopefully let disease and lack of supplies do their job - and why you were selected as the most elite of your people to do this task.

But anyhow - we are currently working with sources we have within the forest, and within non-PRA tribes, to get an exact location on your man. Since we have not found any new camps via NIR mesolite scans, we must assume that they are encamped within caves, or within the deeper parts of the forest. Even foliage-penetrating NIR cameras can only go so deep into the organic matter that fills these forests of ours. Once we have anything from our sources, you will be informed."

The truck slowly rose on a massive cargo platform, a crane for carrying hundreds of tonnes of equipment in one go up to the airships above. It was the shortest way up to the top of the mountain, instead of taking the many kilometres of mountain dirt track. Eventually, after a short drive though tunnels, they broke back out onto the surface, driving up to one of the large fortified compounds. Thick gabions and bastions of concrete and steel provided defensive walls, within which firing points were concealed. After passing through a slab of steel acting as a gate, the two trucks rolled into the section of the camp reserved for their company - the Golden Wing. The vehicles pulled up outside an unremarkable concrete surface structure, parking to allow the Major to disembark. A minute later, they were off again, moving towards a series of repetitive concrete-like prefabs.
"I decided to forget the lecture - instead, I have a copy of all the intelligence you will find useful. There are the letters of absence, and the Fegosian Refugee Application papers, as delivered to us by the Interior Security Service, for your two men as identified. Along with them are the ISS reports on the last known movements of the two, along with the UAV picture of a Lardist soldier attacking cordon positions. Furthermore, there is the special warrant received this morning from the Office of the President, which due to the status of the refugees as non-nationals of any country means that we can treat any we find in the rainforest as enemies of the state - that is, you are free to shoot to kill. The other envelope contains the standard brief for the PRA, as given to foreign special forces, with their brief history, list of potential resources, etc. etc.. All it gets at is not to underestimate them, and to keep your eyes peeled all the time."

They arrived at the residential accomodation, pulling up by the edge of the parade square. The men dismounted, helping unload any equipment, before pacing across to one of the large buildings. It was long and arched, almost geodesic in places, the concrete surface made from numerous large triangles forming the overall arch. Within, it was relatively spartan, the entrance equipment area leading to two long dormitories.
"You can dump your equipment in the dorm on the right. The ablutions block and canteen are just across the parade square, if you so need to use them. If you have a sidearm and do not wish to carry your rifle about all the time, there's a rack with a padlock on it by the entrance to your dorm. Ammunition should be kept out of sight - normally, we're supposed to sign it in at the ammo dump, but eh. We'll give you a half hour to get settled, and then move out for the pre-training brief. We'll pass the signals centre on the way to the brief, so you can go in and send any messages you need to your HQ in regards to the execution of your two men."

Once the men had entered, closing the door behind them, he gestured to his 2IC, before leaving the building. The rest of the men had taken the chance to rest, a couple catching brief 30 minute naps or just chatting. Once he knew they were out of earshot, across the other side of the parade square, he began speaking.
"Is it just me who thinks this lot are nutters? Did you see that bishop bloke? I doubt he'll last five minutes. As for the rest of them..."
"It's their culture sir. You can't do anything about it. Fighting is a religion for them - so I doubt they'll fail you at fighting. To be fair, they did drop you in the deep end."
"I know that - I just don't know if they're ready to realise just how much they're going to have to learn. I'm not even sure if they've had their vaccinations - and the last thing I want is one of them coming down with Langley's Syndrome. I know I worry too much, but I think this whole religion lark is going to alienate the lads. There's a couple Fegoists, and that's it."
"Well, all of us have said the soldiers prayer at least once before, so I believe when it comes down to it there'll be no problem."
"Remind of that one, will you? But keep your ear to the lads, and tell me if anything crops up - we're going to need everyone working together on this one, or there's gonna be lads who won't come back."
"I will. And, as far as I'm aware, it's something like "Oh unspecific deity, may I kill that bugger over there before he kills me.""
The Captain smiled, before starting to walk back over.
"Just make sure the lads do nothing provocative - tell them to keep their references to religion low and clean."

He knew that they probably thought him as much a barbarian as he did them - so they had common sentiments. It was a start - though it would likely get better as the training progressed.

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

In the lecture theatre, the men sat assembled a good hour later, as the briefing began. The Major took to the front of the room, dimming the lights. A heavy-duty military laptop sat on the desk in front of him - a near-indestructable lump of lightweight, shock-absorbing plastic/metal composites, currently plugged into a projector. He flicked up the first image - a satellite photograph.
"We will be training around one of our Northern Outposts - an overwatch position on one of the mountainsides, covering about ten kilometres either side with artillery and a rapid reaction force. It is above the tree line, so temperatures will be relatively moderate there. However, since acclimitisation is needed, we will be working from a small position within the cordon itself.

The position we will be staying at is an old military outpost, which was abandoned in 1974. The surface facilities provide some degree of protection from fire, and will act as our fall back should we be contacted during training. From this position, where we will be dropping off supplies, we will make forays into the forest, up to 5km from the position, to allow you to refresh your knowledge of fighting in the Fegosian jungle enviroment. It should also give you a taster of the deeper regions of the forest, where we could be deployed to.
We will be staying here for four weeks, during which we will teach you everything we know on how to survive in the forests, and to assess whether you are suitable to this mission - which I know you all have an excellent chance of being. After this period, we will transfer to Fort Vea'lu, for our final briefing before moving out. There may be additional time before our attack, for the purpose of additional training should a specific battlezone be alerted to us.

Now, the area of forest we're going to be in will be 25km away from the nearest friendly forces - as such, we will be alone unless alerted otherwise. The area is not thought to be controlled by the PRA at the moment, though there is always that risk. Thus, you must be aware that we will be training in enemy territory. The PRA may be fired upon to kill - if there are any prisoners to be taken, then so much the better. Where we are staying was a radio relay station - the area, like massive swathes of the forest, is atop very large deposits of magnetic minerals. Thus, whilst short-range radios will work, we may experience interference with the long-range radio we will be bringing. Compasses will not work. So, we will truly be training for the worst case scenario. We will be bringing a lot of medical supplies with us, but be aware that there are some poisons we can not treat, and there are some fauna and flora that will not necessary try to kill you that way. In addition, the area still has numerous traps and UXO scattered around from the civil wars, which have the potential to maim and/or kill you.

I know this sounds like I've chosen the worst area in the forest for safe training - but believe me, when we are on operation it will be worse than where we will train. You will go straight in at the deep end, and if you keep your wits about you, and do exactly as we do, you will come back out as the fighters I know you are. You all know the soldiering - it's a case now of applying it to this new terrain. Any questions? The helicopters leave at 0900 tomorrow morning."

[Holy Marsh]

The nine STT members were silent as they went to their bunks. It wasn't that they weren't socialable- it was that from when they had first been assigned to when they got there, it had been a total of forty hours. That and they weren't sociable, truth be told. Four bunks were taken up with the Captain sleeping on a single, their personal affects tucked underneath the bunks. Tomorrow would be busy. Captain Jensai Marlaki would have his hands full; he was perceptive and knew what these Alfegans thought of his men. The most important part of this mission was to build trust. If the Alfegans learned about his people, their views would change. He was sure of it.
The five Inquisition members had found a small, quiet room to set up shop. They had shut the door, put up their idols, and unrobed as they slept on the rolled up comforters that they had brought with them. Best to be private, for the bodies of these men were long since spent. Unlike the other members of the mission, the Inquisition revelled in their reputation. It allowed their own mission to be performed with harassment and to the degree that they wished it.
The Bishop, however, had his sleep on the plane. He had accumulated what knowledge was able to be acquired at this time and, coupled with what he had on his person, he needed time to think. The Aeromarines of the base seemed cold to him, but he eventually found the Mess Hall. Finding a table to sit alone, the Bishop sat down and then brought out a folder and the 18th Scripture. It was to be a long night. Many readings to be deciphered and information to be analyzed before the sun shone once more.

He had dealt with those who held poor views of the Marshites many times before. It was always due to a combination of factors; their bloody history, genocidal war with the Cult, and the isolation with which the nation had conducted itself until recently. Many also did not know anything about their religion, and tied the bloody nature of their history with what the religion must teach together. The Bishop understood this, recognized this. He did not fault those who did not know the truth of their people and their religion to judge properly. The Bishop knew he had a poor view of other religions- likely due to these same factors. Before the Aeromarines and STT members went into the hell of the jungle together, they would need to be calm with each other. The only way to emerge from the cauldron of war alive was to have peace internally and eternally. That was his biggest and most important task.

[Alfegos]

Gra'fegos

The forest watched on with anticipation as the group of men slowly pushed their way through. Here, where the light was a deceptively cool hue of green, insects swarmed across the forest floor as the tribesmen carefully walked forwards, all the time eyes open and rifles shouldered. It was swelteringly hot, as always, but down here it was so humid that condensation dripped from every metal surface. A snake coiled in a large branch overhead, thorny creepers forming a curtain that the guides slowly pushed their way through. It had already been an hour, and yet they still weren't halfway - they had been so careful. And with reason - the guides rarely took the surface pathways, and as such had to be observant when pointing out traps set by dead men - tripwires thin as human hair, the tiniest of disturbances in the ground that proved to be a landmine, and numerous improvised explosives reminding all of vicious last stands in the rainforest. One of the guides turned back as the path suddenly seemed to narrow, the foliage forming an impenetrable wall, a tiny tunnel underneath.
"This part of the forest saw many battles in the 1970s. The army made a concentrated effort to flush the PRA from the forest, which failed. Instead, they fell back, acting as a diversion whilst two pincer forces attacked Milkavich through the mountains. Needless to say, the army who were left in the forest were either slaughtered, or mutinied."

The guide gestured across to a small rotten stack of wood, only just recognisable as manmade after being so wrapped by organic matter. A massive rotten log, almost eaten through by the voracious decomposing matter, seemed to have broken it asunder.
"There's your bunker. Not so easy to defend when someone drops a tree on it. But now, we will be crawlng for a while - that is the only way through the foliage here."
He pointed to a tiny gap, underneath a thick shroud of woody vines and ferns."
The men started moving, through the dimly lit tunnel. The guides moved at the front, shooing away anything small, and keeping an eye out for anything large. The insect chorus seemed ridiculously close, huge beetles and monsterous bugs rustling through the leaves. It seemed to be getting cooler, the path taking a turn to moving steeply downhill. Here and there, skeletons lay in the side, their very bones slowly being snapped and digested by plants and fungi. It was a stark warning of what was to come. The heat slowly dropped, as did the light. Eventually, the lead guide lit a torch, a small hurricane lamp providing dim illumination of their surroundings. The pathway suddenly stopped, the wall of foliage narrowing before finally stopping. The tiny pool of light showed they had reached the edge of a vast clearing of foliage. The ground, covered in white feeding hyphae and light-starved plant cells, stretched off into the distance, punctuated by the occasional vast tree trunk, many metres in diameter.

The guides waited for their eyes to adjust. Small pockets of mist hung underneath the roof, a few metres above their head - a solid mass of vines and leaves, picking out the twilight levels of light at that height and completely eliminating anything that could reach down. Small holes showed where unfortunate animal life from above had fallen, their bodies quickly broken down in the huge fight for nutrients down here. There came a strange glow from patches of ground - the fruiting bodies of fungi, a mix of giant brackets, large flat slimes, and groups of giant toadstools. Bioluminescent bugs flitted around, deceptively beautiful for what they could be. The lead guide took a pole, slowly testing the ground in front, before taking a step forwards.
"We are meeting them not far from here - by the crash site of an unfortunate fighter pilot."
He pointed - there was a tiny patch of light visible in the distance. Slowly, the group started moving forwards, the guide taking care where he placed his feet. Right behind him, the others followed in his footprints, noticing exactly what he avoided. They stopped for a moment, the guide pointing out a deep pit surrounded by white stems.
"That is Gyu'kji's bane - the Giant Pit Pitcher. Anything falls in that, you included, unless you have friends you will not escape. You'll be left to die of exhaustion, or drown. If the sedative chemicals in there don't work. The very plant life here wants you dead - so pay attention."
They continued walking, tapping the ground and treading carefully over the plant stems and hyphae. All the time, they were aware of a constant sea of insect movement, parting as they walked forwards, waiting for any potential meal.

Eventually, they reached the crash site. A fighter had been shot down, perhaps relatively recently, the pilot ejecting to some other fate. His aircraft had ripped a hole through the canopy, being stopped dead by the trees. And now, that hole was slowly being repaired, as the forest tried to claim what it could from the metal body. And there, a small group of men were waiting.
"Good afternoon, in this eternal night."
One of the six men stepped forwards. His face was a mess of scars and age, a tattoo covered part of his cheek.
"I am the Intermediary - as you are aware, our Leader is a most busy man. He has many advisors and auxilliaries, who act in his place. You will have met the Messenger before, and may have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the Hunter. There are many more, all nameless to protect our organisation from those who wish to eliminate it."
He reached down to the forest floor, pulling up the pointed cone of a mushroom.
"You know, there is a mushroom which looks just like this - however, whilst this one is harmless, there is another which will cause a state of delirium - it contains one of the most powerful hallucinogenic chemicals known in Alfegos. There isn't much of a market as such - most people can't handle that state of mind alteration. In addition, the effects are somewhat long-term... you might meet some of the lost souls of the forest in your journeys. I have spoken with their Lieutenant, and he has assured me that they will try not to attack you - but I would still avoid an encounter with them."

He tossed it down, far away from the group, there a seeming sound of swarming in the dark as insect life dived for it.
"Anyhow - I believe that we are here to continue the deal that you made with us. In exchange for this rather large monetary payment, we will continue to allow you passage throughout the eastern forests, and settlement at your numerous camps. We will also continue to provide you with a degree of education in surviving in jungle environments. However, before we exchange money, I must ask you about certain strange happenings which the tribal leaders have once again brought up. They want me to find out who, or what, is abducting their folk indiscriminately. They are worried that they have fallen out of favour with the Fego'spe, because of your presence here.

Now, I don't know whether or not we have fallen out of favour with the Fego'spe, or whether we haven't eliminated every single Lardist camp with people who still try to rend holes in this world with the vile crime of human sacrifice. You see, human sacrifice here is considered the darkest of magic, and is considered to be the only way one can communicate with the shadow world. I know that your people still long to practice their religion - however, if these strange disappearances continue in the tribal villages, then we will have to assume the worst and purge the forest. You remember what happened to the last camp of Lardists we exterminated for black magic? We tracked the leader of that camp for days - he was one of the few survivors. The others we put out of their misery, but we decided he would trialled and punished by the law of the tribe his men attacked. He chose trial by the Fego'spe - and of course, all rational minds would, believing that the spirits of the forest are mere superstition. He wasn't that fortunate though."

The man pointed. Parts of a skeleton hung from pale vines, which now wrapped it in a deadly embrace. The skull's jaw was locked open - a permanent death scream. The bones of its arms and legs had been snapped and shattered, by something of demonic strength, and many of the ribs had been bent out of shape. Parts of it had been charred, and the rifle still held in one of the snapped arms sat with the bolt open - the man had fired off a full clip at whatever had killed him, to no avail.
"You have been warned. There are worse things than us in this forest. Now, unless there is anything you wish to discuss, I wish to see your payment."
In the distance, there came a sudden bellow - a long, drawn out moan, that reverberated throughout the forest. The insect chorus was suddenly silent, as if waiting to see what would happen next. The PRA man were suddenly uneasy, raising their various weapons, whilst the tribesmen showed a look of true panic.
"We might be having company soon, so hurry up."

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

Station Solace V

The Major, at the end of the briefing, left his men to prepare for the next morning, checking over their equipment and making their various farewells from the station's telephone exchange - many of them had thought they would be going on leave sometime soon, to meet family members and loved ones. As it was, that was sadly untrue. The Major had a girl back home - they had been set to be married, yet once again his tour had been extended. He had only signed up on what had been promised to be an insanely difficult mission for a sole reason - the reward of at least 6 months of leave he had accumulated over the years, to be used when he saw fit. He himself had had to speak to her after the briefing, spending far longer than he had promised the Signal HQ staff on the videophone link.

And now, restless with anticipation, he paced across the parade square in the cooling air. It was late enough now for the air to be fresh - as if night had stripped away the stench and effort of day. The stars were shining tonight, lighting up the thick layer of clouds that hung over the landscape beneath them. Huge constellations of artificial stars slowly crossed the sky - airships, lit up like christmas trees, cutting their way gracefully through the air. He turned off past the Golden Wing Command accomodation building, quickly pacing his way down the roadway, before making a sharp left - to the squat concrete geodesic domes that made up the mess hall. Here, the officers shared mess facilities with the enlisted staff - however, there was a private officer's hall, where the most senior of officers would entertain guests and retire to. The Major had that priviledge, though he seldom used it. He tapped a vending machine, removing the dispensed can of non-alcoholic beer, before turning around. Almost out of the corner of his eye, he caught a figure sitting in the dim light, alone whilst the kitchen staff finished cleaning up after the night's meals. It was the bishop.

The Major decided what he was going to do. He paced over to the table.
"Mind if I take a seat, Bishop?"
He sat down a seat away from the man, taking out a small journal and pen.
"I find it best to write an account of my every day. Of course, one must use a shorthand so that others may not decode it, though then again one must refrain from any morale-damaging comments. Today will feature highly, as I suspect will the rest of this trip."
He clicked the pen, before thumbing through pages. Alongside rows of uniform Fegosian pictograms, forming a beautiful pattern of images across the page, drawings and diagrams graced whole pages. The page he opened at was a sketch of an airship, a small note at the bottom giving its name. He passed the journal over, showing the picture.

"That vessel has a most interesting story. She is the AAS Redeeming Lance, one of the first Stormbringer-class Aerodropcraft. I was one of the first men attached to it, when I was a regular aeromarine, as the assault section. Now, I tell you this from experience, the assault section has the lowest life expectancy. As the ramps go down, we go out - whatever there is out there. I have fought in many nations, and have reaped an experience most dark from my encounters - of that which we are willing to do for the goals of others.

She is also one of the vessels which was assigned to protect the Lardist refugee convoys on the edge of the Fegosian anti-shipping shield - 6000 kilometres from the homeland. I was attached then for my further training to become a member of the Golden Wing, as a heavy gunner. And what we saw was hellish - outside of our area of operation, thousands upon thousands of ships were burning. And we could do nothing about it - because we were too late. The lives of ten million people, snuffed out like that.

Before we go to war, I wish to get some strong feelings I have for Holy Marsh off my chest. I agree with the war against the barbarities of the Lardist cults, with the military action. However, as you are aware, Fegoism is a very pacifisitic religion - the killing of a living thing without reason is considered a crime. The killing of a man in war is justified, but for each person we kill, that is a person we must see is honoured, or at least remembered. We do not as a religion aim to kill civilians, though we find that it is inevitable. However, the crime of mass-murder, of extermination, of genocide... that is a crime that we can not forgive. In traditional superstitious law, the want to kill an entire race of people is considered to be one of the worst, and any death you are put to is inevitably painful and horrific, as an example to others.

So you see, whilst I am comfortable with this mission, to destroy those who actively want to kill and maim all those who don't conform to their beliefs, and those who support them, I am not comfortable working alongside people who potentially were involved in what I saw. I have seen the mass graves of Cynacia and Hervia, seen trucks filled with thousands of bodies, waiting to be identified. Whilst I am willing to suppress these feelings, and can actively do so, I am worried that my men may not be so moderate. The man who is assigned our section scout - when we were in Cynacia, he saw a street where the army were gunning down hundreds of children from a local school. He was lucky to survive the bullet wounds he got - but he went absolutely crazy. When we caught up with him and restrained him, he had charged a whole platoon, and cut most of them to pieces - one man he ripped apart with his bare hands. You see, when one man charges a position, you might just flick up a gun and take a pop at him. But if he comes at you, and you see the madness in his eyes, you will hesitate - and I'm not talking the rabid anger of those who lose their minds to mass psychosis, or to mind-altering diseases and chemicals, but the deepest fury of a Fegosian warrior. We covered him to try and keep him alive - but half of the men ran when they saw him.

I know that is an extreme example - but my men are uncomfortable around yours. I keep my ear well to the ground. I want as much as you do to get this whole thing sorted out. Four men from my section will be travelling out to teach your STT team the knowledge they need to survive this mission. The rest will be staying here for now, and will likely switch halfway through. So tell me now, Bishop - what is there that you can say to excuse this purge of an entire people?"

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

The next morning, the four Alfegan aeromarines scheduled for this training jaunt were up bright and early. Overhead, a helicopter circled, coming into land as the STT men assembled.
"I am Warrant Officer Ki'er, and during this training operation I will be your officer in charge. Do exactly what I say, when I say, and there's a change we'll make jungle fighters of you yet. My three men are Sergeants Yu'ki, Ex, and Geu'ji - all three are highly trained, veterans, who will act as your training assistants. You will be divided into three groups of four, each one led by one of my Sergeants, who will head your fire team and act as your trainers for all knowledge. I will teach the most important lessons, as well as acting as IC in the event of us being bumped. Any questions to this can be made on the helicopter. Now mount up - we've brought enough rounds and supplies for you to practice with for years."

A truck sat waiting as the helicopter touched down - a Fegocopter-TII medium transport, for up to sixteen men plus crew. The rear ramp dropped, allowing the Alfegans to quickly run the large boxes of ammunition, medical supplies and ration packs up into the cargo unit. The rest soon followed, ushered in. The pilot spoke over the intercom, as the men prepared for takeoff.
"Welcome aboard this Fegosian military flight. Your destination is the Gra'fegos, also known as living hell. The weather today is sunny, with thunderstorms this afternoon. Temperatures at ground level will be a mild 32 degrees celcius, 100% humidity. Please fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for takeoff - journey time will be about three hours. We're taking the long route around the cordon, instead of cutting straight across the forest. In the event of an emergency, stay calm and listen to instructions from the crew."
The rear ramp closed tight, as the rotor roared to full power. The unit took off, suddenly building speed as it roared northwards towards the mountains.

-----

Eventually, the journey came to an end. After miles of uninterrupted rainforest, the helicopter dropped to ground level - within a clearing in the forest. The Warrant Officer gestured for the men to leave, quickly carrying out supplies to a group of derelict concrete sheds. The helicopter soon was off, as the men formed a horse-shoe around the Warrant Officer, just outside one of the eight concrete buildings. Around them, a rusted fence had collapsed, the only defence being an overgrown ditch and a high mound. The heat was overwhelming for one not used to tropical conditions, as was the din of the abundant life around them.
"Welcome to the forest lads. Today will be a basic acclimitisation and setup day - you'll be staying for tonight in the bunker behind you, with our supplies. From now on, the routine will be one fireteam on sentry, one fireteam on personal affairs, and the other being taught. Once you've made yourselves comfy, today's lesson will be the basics of health and hygene in the forest. After that, a lesson on basic botany - you will be taught which plants are poisonous and which are edible, and will have a practical test at the end of it. Until then, Yu'ki's fire team are on sentry for the first hour, whilst Ex's team get themselves set up in the bunker. The rest of you, come with me, and I'll go over the basics with you."

The camp was in a clearing - the helicopter having just enough space to land. The clear ground it had landed on had obviously been farmed recently - then scorched. The PRA grew narcotics here, selling them on for money. And around them, a solid wall of foliage at ground level, the gaps between the canopy and understorey giving a view of the sea of green life.

[Holy Marsh]

"I can see those who are unfamiliar with our religion may blame it. The truth is, our religion is one that abhors unjust violence. It would consider the refugee slaughter unjust. However, you must understand the history of this war to understand why this war is genocidal. The Faith, the original religion upon which Marshism and the Cult are founded upon, came into the nation you know as Holy Marsh nearly five thousand years ago. There were once thirty-seven different sects, which the Cult and Marshism were two. The Cult of the Vile Lard openly advocated the slaughter and assimilation of all others to appease their warlike God around 2,500 years ago, and proceeded in the next four hundred years to kill millions upon millions, wiping out entire cultures. The survivors fled to the South, Pushania, home of Marshism, for protection. We attempted to reach a peace deal but they just tortured and eventually murdered the delegation before returning their flesh to us in the form of quilts. The war that lasted for 2,100 years followed, during which we defended our own land for the most part. We attempted to reach peace agreements with them several times, each time being rebuffed with the flesh and bone of our delegations being the what was sent back. Just like before, they would crush whatever they found and destroy entire cities overnight. The war became and still is genocidal not because of how they fight, however- it was based purely on our own will to survive.
They took delight in their bloody campaigns. They love war. They love death. They love pain. Their religion teaches them this. Every single one of them is as ingrained with this belief as a Marshite is with faith in the Holy Marsh. Warriors or not, their mass religious festivals had even children consuming flesh and drinking of the blood of their enemies and taking part in the active torture of all non-Cultists. Their streets in the Old Cities were lined with still-living men and women to be fed upon. Their tortures were cruel- they would eventually force someone to live for decades without any sensory input as they were kept alive to provide for their religious services. They would turn intelligent men and women into Brutes, unthinking automatons who would serve their masters. If you didn't fight, you must serve the industry. If you didn't do these things, you must breed. If you couldn't do that, you were to be killed. The refugees that you speak of are the worst sort of savages you can think of, and they approved of this.
The ones you see in the cities that are expatriates? This is a pattern of theirs. They will start settlements in new places and lie low for generations. Then they rise up and destroy the culture from within. This is how more than two dozen of the old sects were destroyed, and it is an acknowledged policy of theirs that they used to destroy several other states in the mountain range bordering Atrea. As long as their religion remains, this will happen where they live. They will hide the horrifying parts of their culture and religion from the civilized world where they wish to be thought of as civilized. Then, when it has become safe or the situation is ripe, they rise. And it may take a hundred years or five hundred or a thousand, but they will. The way to defeat this is to deny them the population and the religion.
You ask me why we consider wiping these people out to be a good thing. The truth is is that until this war is finally over without a doubt, every family that belongs to the Cult is a potential supplier of dozens or hundreds of future warriors. Until their religion has been absolutely wiped out, every one of them is a potential time bomb. Until you have defeated every vistage of the Vile Lard, they are his servants.
You ask me why I considered wiping out these so-called refugees a good thing, why my religion justifies it. The truth is, I don't consider it a good thing and my religion does not call for war- instead, this is a fight for survival. Because while this may seem to be the climax of a long war, it is only so as long as they are left with too few people to wage war centuries from now and we eliminate the leadership that will propel them forward on this barbaric path."
The Bishop took a breath.
"It may seem unusual, but you must understand that we consider this war to be ongoing. All across this world of ours, they consider the Cultists to be adjusting. When we warn them of what has happened in the past, we are treated with scorn. Yet, my Brother, check the stats froma round the world: Of 517.3 million Lardist refugees that were resgistered, more than ten million have up and vanished in teh past few years. Meanwhile, Cultist Revolutionary Groups are on the rise across the world and have wide support amongst their people while individual terrorists of Cultish origin are sprouting up among dozens of other terrorist groups. Yet has anything happened yet? No. They are waiting. Watch- some crackpot nation will collapse and the Cult will march on in to restart, and this war will happen all over again.
No. Billions upon Billions of Marshites, Broskis, Stotches, Burgers, and other followers have died. If my people are to know peace, then the followers of a religion that preach war as salvation must be crushed and their religion destroyed. This war won't end for a century or more even if we do everything right- but killing the President of Ceremonies and the Chief Warlord while destroying or capturing the vast stocks of cash they have will go a long way to doing this. If they survive...then this war will continue. This will never happen, Marsh damn my soul if it does. My religion will finally be able to be what it should be- one of peace and love to all peaceful people- when the Vile Lard has been scrubbed from this Earth and his influence shattered for all time.

You ask me why genocide is the answer. I say that the only way yo preserve my nation, my religion, and the eventual peace of the planet is by destroying the people, religion, and culture that looks upon that peace as an abomination."

[Alfegos]

Station Solace V

"Very well Bishop." The Major sat in thought for a moment, mentally drawing a mindmap. He took back his journal, before flicking through the pages. He stopped at another image, a more hurried sketch, leaving it open as he looked at it.
"I do not however believe that the average citizen would be capable of such acts, without guidance. You see, again, our goals align - to kill the leadership would help to eliminate the culture that has brought this upon the people. You see, in Alfegos, whilst it may seems we have not learnt from our past errors, we still emphasise re-education over murder. The mind of man is extremely malleable."

The passed the journal over. The sketch was of a man, smiling, holding an assault rifle. The page had been turned to many times.
"You see, I can understand from everything you told me that your nation fought for its very survival, and has now purged the threat of Lardism, forcing it aboard. However, what I must ask is when you will stop. That image there is of one of my best friends. He knew how to fight, oh he did. He however lacked control - he did not know when to stop. That led to him killing not just the soldiers at the objective, but charging through and murdering those sheltering in their houses behind. Needless to say, the Fegoist analogy of the soul being like one of the six elements is excellent. Those whose souls are of the forest make the most peaceful of us, the farmers and the doctors, those who heal. Those whose souls are of metal are the ones who give us industry, science, electricity. Those of the air, they are the messengers, the schemers, the intellectuals. Those of water, they are those who are comfortable only on water, and those of unstoppable will. And those rare few who have the souls of an Ethereal make the leaders of our great nation.
But I have left out the one which makes us, such as you and me, who we are - a Fegoist would say that you have a soul of Fire. Regardless of what you say, that fire is never extinguished, even after death. You were born with the mindset that is a man who will fight for his people - in you particularly, I see that it burns brightly. But that fire will never go out - and one day, you will find that you do what comes to you naturally - to kill. Man will always find a reason to go to war.

But again, I ramble. I will explain to the men when I speak to them exactly what this is that you have told me. I will tell them of these atrocities they have committed in the name of religion - and maybe we will be able to stoke our firey souls in the name of the innocents. But for my personal satisfaction - do you have the control to stop killing, even if all around you goes to hell? My men fear that your me will lose all control in battle, and not know when to stop the killing. Tell me that's untrue. This is again based on what is likely mere rumour - but you must realise in Alfegos the amount of bad press Holy Marsh has had. It's only recently that the government has tried to make a move towards a more positive relationship - after that whole fiasco with the civil war, and the announcement of it forming a Union with a close ally of the nation. So please understand any preconceptions we have. I am sure you have the same of us."

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

Gra'fegos - Training Camp

The first lesson of the day was basic survival. So as the men slowly began to acclimatise to the fact that they were now truly alone in this wilderness, it was vital the most important lessons were to be taught first. The Warrant Officer sat by a river on a fallen log, inviting the rest to take a seat on the river bank. The grass was thick here, filling around the huge woody roots of the giant trees around them.
"There are four ways to get water in the forest. The first, and safest, is to capture rainwater in the near daily storms. That is simple - just set up a shelter sheet, and allow the rain to pool in it."
He pointed to the shelter sheet - it was the standard army issue accomodation, for whatever environment, differing only in size and camouflage pattern. It had been strung between four trees with bungees, and a pool of water had already collected from condensation.
"To be safe, whilst we may not, ensure you purify your water. The Fegosian ration packs contain enough water tablets per day for five litres. You will all have had immunisation against Sekobacterium, the nastiest thing you can pick up from the water here - however, you may not have had immunisation against a few thousand microbes which will revel in making your lives misery. So purify your water. The instructions are on the back of the packets. If you wish, we will also issue you with reverse osmosis straws, an optional extra which may make your life better."

The Warrant officer turned around to the stream.
"However, sometimes we may be in a rush, or on the move. For that reason, there is a second safe source of water, in the form of running water. Whilst you may encounter standing water, I would highly recommend against drinking it - the algae may end up clogging osmosis straws, whilst numerous creatures in the water may not be killed by the purification tablets - for example, parasetic worms. However, any running water, in particular fast-running waterfall water and underground streams, are relatively safe to drink and wash in. I mention the latter as waterfalls are the only places you're going to be washing in - leeches are not pleasant, neither are worms. So, if you want a shower, this is nature's way of doing it."

He turned back, now drawing a knife - he had a large sheath on his belt for the machete, with three other smaller pouches on top of it - a multi-tool knife, a meat knife, and a plant knife. It was the latter he had drawn, a slightly curved blade changing in shape along its length - whilst the tip was re-enforced and hardened for hard stabbing and slicing, the inner part was shaped more for whittling, before becoming serrated for cutting.
"The third way is to use nature's water that she provides for us - that in the form of sap, syrups and juices. I do not recommend this for use if my first two methods are available, though I fear it may be necessary when we enter the deeper jungle."
He walked across to a tree trunk, pointing out a creeper.
"If a fruit is edible, it will likely contain more water than will be lost from sugar content. However, creepers offer a more reliable quantity of water."
He slashed the vine's woody coating, allowing a milky fluid to start trickling out.
"Ask one of your Fegosian comrades if you are ever unsure as to whether a vine is poisonous or not - this type, which is characterised by an inner, sub-surface layer of orange tissue with bluish fibres, is edible, as are its fruits. However, the roots are poisonous. You do not need to filter the saps from plants. This vine will probably give me about half a litre of water

He left a cup for the fluid to trickle into, turning back.
"The fourth way is to collect trapped water in plants. Bromeliads, to name one type, collect pools of water. Be careful though when collecting water from these - many creatures, such as frogs, worms and spiders, make these their homes. So, any questions lads?"

---

Back at the camp, the Fegosian man leading the third team had quickly set up his stuff - a hammock, strung between two hooks on the interior wall, mosquito net hanging over it. His bags sat in it for now, staying off the ground to avoid anything crawling. Sergeant Ex was trained with a specialism in medicine, and as such was the team's medic. At the same time, he also shouldered the responsibility of trained vehicle and aircraft operator, with training to pilot aircraft, helicopters and airships, in addition to numerous vehicles. With an eight-man team, they had to be trained in numerous roles. He had been an air ambulance pilot before being invited to join the aeromarines, and now enjoyed every moment of his new job. He kept a watchful eye as the other men set up what they had brought to the jungle.
"First lesson lads - you're not leaving anything on the floor. Waking up with a scorpion in your boots is not something you'll want to repeat. Ever. So when we move out from here, you'll be wanting to use hammocks, and mosquito nets, underneath a shelter sheet."
He hung his torch above his hammock - a small LED unit, running on kinetic batteries as standard army mobile electronics. It gave some level of illumination in the dark interior, of what seemed to be the most intact of the shelters.

---

Outside, the sentries slowly patrolled along the side of the defensive mound, in pairs to keep vigilant. The camp was about fifty metres by eighty metres, and still had traces of a violent past. They surveyed the ground, keeping an eye out all the time. Whilst two of the STT men had been paired up, Sergeant Yu'ki was patrolling with the others. He was the section scout - the keenest and most trained of the lot in jungle warfare. He was an expert tracker, counter-tracker, plant identifier, and marksman. He carried two firearms with him, along with a vicious forest sword, dented with use - on his back, a sniper rifle hung ready, an AWSM kitted for the jungle environment. The barrel had an odd sheen in places where it was visible through sniper tape - it was made from an anti-corrosion alloy, which would not rust regardless of abuse. On the end sat a plastic muffler, stripped down to its basic frame. The body itself had been extensively modified - the stock had been replaced with a lighter plastic, the body had been substitued with lightened metal or aluminium where necessary, and the scope had been considerably lightened. However, the heavy unit along with its night vision adapter still provided powerful magnification, for hitting targets on the other side of trees. Its downside was its rate of fire, and recoil - the rounds it used were much more powerful than standard 7.62 Nato, and in the lightened weapon meant that recoil was a pain, even with the suspension-enhanced folding stock the man had fitted. His sidearm, which rested in a leg holster for now, was an AAP-99 automatic pistol. Whilst he could drop two men with a single bullet, he knew that at short range it was sometimes best to spray and pray, with the reflex holographic sight as a testament to that theory. He carried spare parts for all the weapons - in these conditions, things easily broke, and kit required constant attention.

---

Lunchbreak came. Two of the fireteams sat talking quietly within the shade of one of the other bunkers, much more decrepid than the others, as they helped themselves to the Fegosian ration packs - a 24 hour treat, with protein and sugar spreads in tubes for the three packs of hard biscuits. Along with them, a pack of processed meat or fish paste (depending on the luck of the draw) and a bar of some chocolate analogue, with a strangely high melting point. The pack also came with a dinner and breakfast meal, dehydrated and pre-cooked, requiring just water to be poured in and then to be heated for five mintues - or with lack of heat, just a soaking. The ancilliary sachet with them contained dehydrated tea or coffee, depending on the menu, along with a pack of dry soup and flavouring - and of course, the useful matches, water purification tablets, and cleaning wipes. The Warrant Officer sat munching on his lunch - the deep brown flesh of some fruit, which he had earlier knocked from a tree and cracked open with one tap from his machete.
"We've brought enough in the way of ration packs for half of our stay here - when we are fighting on this operation we will be travelling light, so will only be carrying three-days worth of rations each as an emergency backup. Otherwise, you will learn to live off the forest. The same goes for your stoves - you all have either brought your own gas stoves, or solid-fuel hexamine stoves. I prefer gas stoves, though when it gets down to it one can't carry all the gas they want, even in an airship-grade pressure vessel - so if we cook, it'll be in a pit, burning on wood that produces little or no smoke, and shielded from prying eyes. That is, as I said, if we cook. You will relish every gram you shed from your backpacks in this environment, and will find useful every single extra explosive or device you bring with you."

---

That afternoon, as he promised, was the start of their botany lesson. The two sections off duty sat as the Warrant Officer led them down a path hacked by machete through the jungle.
"Whilst you can see some animals eating them, I do not recommend bamboo for anything except weaponry and roofing of permanent shelters. It is inedible, sharp, and covered in irritating hairs. In addition, you will see that when I cut them."
He slashed at a patch as they continued forwards.
"They leave extremely shattered, sharp points, if you do not cut them at an angle. The main use I have had for bamboos is in pit traps, or as stakes."
They continued through, as he pointed out each plant in turn - he knew what he was talking about. He was focusing on the plants which had no use for consumption for now - the tool plants, and the water-bearing vines. They soon stopped, as he gestured. Clambering up one of the trees was a thick green vine, sprouting groups of purple flowers occasionally. Part way down, the older flowers had fully formed into clusters of small red berries.
"There are general rules to eating anything in the jungle. The first is to avoid anything that is red, or comes from a red plant. The second is to perform an edibility test on the leaves and berries of the plant. First..."
He took a leaf, crushing it in his hand, before sniffing it.
"If it smells of bitter almonds, that tells you that it is out - it contains cyanide compounds, which can kill you unpleasantly. This leaf, as you can smell, fits that category. At this point you would reject it, but I will carry on to demonstrate a negative test.
The next step, if it conforms to taste and observation, is to apply a little to a non-sensitive area of the body, and leave for ten minutes. If there is no effect, then apply it to a sensitive area. I won't do this, as I don't want to get a nasty rash in areas where it will hurt.
If it seems alright still, take a tiny bit and hold it on the tip of your tongue. I normally would discard anything that tastes extremely bitter, or makes me want to gag. If there is none of that, or no irritation, chew it for a bit, and keep on seeing what'll happen. If nothing untoward happens, swallow it, and leave it to go through your system whilst you eat known safe foods. And, if you don't end up feeling ill, it's edible.

This vine is, co-incidentally, called poisonwood. It normally grows as a tree, though here is is acting as a vine. Every part of it is poisonous, containing potassium cyanide and a few rather power toxins against insects. It is very useful as an improvised insect repellent, if you burn it.

Remember that this test does NOT work on fungi - the poisons they contain are much, much more dangerous than many of the plants here."

And so the man carried on, as they trailed into the jungle. Here and there, he pointed out plants - all very distinctive for now, easy to identify and remember.
"If you can remember twenty edible plants, then you'll be alright. It is of course much easier if we stumble upon a path of native farmland, though that is quite unlikely."

He finally finished looking through some ferns, until he came up with a satisfied look on his face.
"The Purple-staining Psychotic Mushroom, in english. This is a mushroom that I would urge you to not even touch, let alone eat. It contains an extremely powerful mind-altering chemical, which will induce delirum for up to 96 hours. The stuff in this is much, much worse than BZ gas, or anything else you'll care to think of - alongside the hallucinogen, which co-incidentally is quite toxic to most non-human wildlife, there are numerous other chemicals which do all sorts of horrible things to your emotional balance. Needless to say, this didn't catch on as a drug after it became suddenly popular in the 1980s, for a couple of months - it seems to give only bad trips, with people doing stuff like ripping their skin off because they think it's burning. Or eating parts of themselves. Not very nice at all.

So, that sums up today's tour. Tomorrow, we're having an all forest food day - so you'd best have your wits about you, and remember what I told you."

[Holy Marsh]

"You are correct in saying that the average citizen is not capable of doing this without guidance. That is why it is critical that we succeed- by denying the people the guidance of the Cult, they will eventually fall out of their Old Ways. That is how this war is won, and when we know for a fact that every single grouping of Cultists that practice their Old Ways has been wiped out, then this war is over. There will then be no need to re-educate them, as their re-education will have have been stopped. This generation and a few others will still cling onto their old beliefs, but if we can eliminate their leadership, then eventually that will fade. You ask me when we will stop- we stop when the threat has been utterly destroyed. And until their leadership and their small Cults across the world are wiped out and the Cultish people have no guidance in their belief and thus abandon their religion, the war continues. This is a step in that direction. As for my men- you must understand that the Holy Marsh way of war is cold and calculated. They will only take what actions will aid them in achieving victory. The Cult and its members rely on emotion to carry them through, the belief that war is a natural state feeding their violent emotions. We are men of peace and seek to strike swiftly, accurately, brutally, and move on. The STT members are the scalpel of this force, and combined, have more than two-hundred and fourteen years of experience in special operations. They are professionals in a country that has been forced into war. You can rely on them. As for me, Major-" The bishop rolled up the sleeves on his arms, revealing that everything from the elbow to the shoulder was metal."- I got this about thirty years ago, when I was twenty-nine. You can't see my back, but the scars are worse there. I was a medic with the Khaskian Holy Warriors when the Cult made one final, desperate attack on the city. Khaska had existed as a Marshite stronghold deep in Cult territory, right next to Oceania, on the coast. It has been the scene of more than sixty major battles in the last two thousand years, with how many hundreds of smaller skirmishes. This was the last one, and in it, I was tending to a squad of men that had been surrounded for a time and we had just been able to recapture the point. As I tended to them, a Cultish Gor'ike main battle tank clumbered forward right onto the position. They called them Main Battle Tanks, but they were truly meant to massacre infantry, loaded with a dual 20MM cannon, pintle mounted flamethrowers, four .50 caliber guns, and a coaxial flamethrower. It looked me down as if mocking me, and then unleashed its hell upon me and the wounded men whom I had been tending to. I was aflame and could feel the fire right down to my soul. I tried to rush away, flailing as I did, when a 20MM shell tore off my arm. I had reached the top of the Bern and then fell over the other side. A moment later, a missile hit the tank and it erupted, killing its crew and all five wounded Holy Warriors. My arm and I were recovered and I awoke three days later in a hospital with this.
Now, you are asking yourself why I choose to tell you this. It is not a simple war story, nor is it me trying to set the stage for some grand speech about how the Holy Marsh saved me. That is because the Holy Marsh does not save us; we are fated to die when we do and everything that happens before that is not divinely inspired except our victory and our mission. Instead, I tell you this so you know that I have yet to kill anyone or anything in my life, but have dedicated it instead to healing all- civilian, regular army, and Holy Warrior alike. I was brought up to do this from when I was born, as my temperament is not one of fire, as you would say. No, Major, we are not fire. Fire can not be controlled, which is why I think professional solders are not of the elements. We transcend that by being professional and controlled; the elements, however, can not be controlled. I think the Sect of the Holy Marsh that follows the belief that there is a Pantheon of Gods perhaps has it right: Those who are professional in the ways of war are animals. We can be patient or impulsive, do best in a bitter fight or sneak by and strike with poison. But we are animals in the best sense of the word- we are predators who will kill when we must, do it efficiently, and move on.
As for preconceptions, , I have none. This may surprise you, but in all actuality, the Holy Marsh holds almost every nation and people in a high regard until we are given reason not to. The Alfegan mercenaries were considered just that, mercenaries. I have nothing bad to say or think about Alfegos or her people."
________________________________________
Gra'Fegos

The STT members listened patiently. For the most part, they were learning nothing new during the majority of the training. This was not a poor review of the Alfegans, but rather due to the fact that they were life-long warriors of Pushania, the southern jungles of the Holy Marsh. There were new things to learn as much of the vegetation was new.
"Brother Warrant Officer, how prevalent is this 'creeper' in the deep jungle? Also, if we are to ever eat an insect, are there any particular breeds of, let us say, spiders that would be best or ones we should avoid?" Asked the Brother-Sniper, his voice scratchy and broken.


Back at camp, the STT members had already started to set up as the Alfegan had instructed before he had instructed them. They were experienced at this, but understood why it was to be important. As Lunch came, the STT members brought out their own rations. Their daily allotment was three Health bars- not the official name, but the only name that the not very creative Holy Warriors had decided to give the not very creative bars. They had almost no taste at all, but most were happy just to have a bar that provided all essential vitamins and supplements needed for the fighter on the go. The bars were compact enough, with the full compliment of six being roughly the size of two candy bars. Over five days of these were tightly wound into a very small bundle and, coupled with the water tablets that were provided, the size of Marshite rations was dwarfed by the Alfegan ration pack, as they also did not bring stoves or other cooking appliances. Just bars without wrappers and ones made and developed in Pushania.

[Alfegos]

Station Solace V

"My oh my..."
The Major looked up and down the metal replacement, a bionic part of sorts, with an amazed expression.
"I have rarely seen bionic equipment used as an intermediary part in a joint replacement - I must say that I have an enquiring mind, so know a macarbe amount about bionics. But rerouting nerves and blood vessels through a metallic intermediary to a living tissue... now that is ambitious surgery. I am assuming they used transplant material as the bridge to the remains of your arm? My oh my. The bionic replacements they've developed here allow electronic interfacing with the motor nervous system itself, allowing the mind to control an artificial limb... but the integration between organic and artificial here is truly amazing."

He grimaced, before continuing.
"It will be perhaps to your dismay that our nation shows humanity even in the face of evil such as that you describe. The fundamental law of war, as taught to every man and woman of Alfegos, is that one may only kill another if that man is a deadly threat. Thus over the years, this law has been broken many a time by us in conflict, as a hope to cause a war to end sooner. Inevitably, this has rarely worked - but we try to follow by that rule. Man rarely learns from his mistakes.

The point is that if a PRA man surrenders to one of my men, we may not kill or maim him. Oh we can blindfold him with his hands behind his back and leave him to be found by his own men, but we may not kill him. For those wounded who we can help, we are often obliged to help, unless that puts us into a threatening situation. It is this humanity which is our greatest downfall with the PRA, I am sad to say. However, I am sure that your men will act as a guide to mine to teach them the proper way of dealing with the PRA.

You see, the PRA are similar to the Lardists in a way - they have a warped view of morality. Whilst they claim to be protecting the people, they will launch horrific attacks in the name of their so-called cause. One of the darkest arts of war is the use of agents of mass killing - the so-called forbidden weapons of gas, disease and nuclear energy. Whilst the PRA have yet to have used the latter, they have used the others many a time. During the civil wars, in the massive stalemates that ensued in the forest, both sides resorted to chemical weapons in a bid to flush the other out - whilst the government used tear gas and incapacitants, the PRA use all manner of gases. The PRA launched huge cloud gas attacks, which swept across tribal villages. In a bid to cover this mass killing up, they planted evidence and claimed it was us... which is why relations with tribes in the forest are often rather hostile. They leave cylinders of gas trapped, especially so that the bomb disposal teams are often maimed or killed. And they disease the traps - I know a man who was a disposal expert, who cut himself on a piece of metal whilst disposing of one of these cylinders. Three days later, he was dead, though that came as a relief to the agony he was in.

And then there's all the stories of the civil wars - the president went to a school in Il'vi that was firebombed by the PRA, and was one of the few survivors. The man who was responsible I believe you may have heard of - he was a mercenary who fought in Holy Marsh, who was confirmed dead. Yet on the other hand, the only use of a nuclear weapon in Alfegos, in anger, was against the massed army of the PRA in the 1950s.

You see, I have led myself into the trap of revealing how this that we talk of is but subjective, and will be suspended by either side. A perfect Fegosian soldier would not do as such, but we do. We make up for this lack of ruthless efficiency with superiority in every other aspect - knowledge, fitness, equipment, support. Whilst eight of our aeromarines would consider even ground as fighting 30 men from any other nation's army, a fully equipped eighty-man company with the support of an airship taskforce can level a city. You saw mere mercenaries rain hell upon Holy Marsh with a single capital airship and two escorts - from the reports I heard, they managed to level what surface structures there still were across most of the city - now imagine that level of firepower with twice as many airships, with fully trained airfleet personnel, with an aerodropcraft. It is our attempt to equal what your Holy Warriors do - and like the STT, my men of the Golden Wing, eight of the eighty most elite soldiers in the aeromarine corps, are on the cutting edge of our operations.

I will bear what you have said in mind - for I know now one of the facets of the story which was before invisible. My men will likely not consider the supposed downsides of your men, in their currently biased opinion, until morale is low. Which will likely not happen. Fire lives to burn - and when petrol is thrown on it, it will roar."

-----

Gra'fegos

The afternoon turned to evening in the forest, as the Warrant Officer talked to the men over dinner.
"I am aware that you all are trained in the principles of jungle warfare. Today was necessary though, as a refresher for both me and you in this environment, and to see that our training is along the same lines. Now I am satisfied that you are alright with your basic skills, I believe the more advanced lessons in botany and hunting for food in these forests can be made.
I have been to Putinia before, briefly, as part of the Holy Marsh Expeditionary Force supervising the violent ejection of mercenary elements from Holy Marsh before they became a severe embarassment. Low key, of course, but I had a sight of your forests - and I tell you, they are sparse in their diversity compared to here.
There are three types of forest that I believe will be similar to the terrain you have in Holy Marsh - the Forest of Mists, the Cloud Forest, and the Water Forest. We are currently in the Forest of Mists, which in terms of its density of life is similar to Putinia. However, you are right in being cautious, since there are very few similar species to Putinian plants here. Alfegos has been relatively isolated from other rainforest regions for millenia, and as such shares little with other forested regions. For a start, the plant life here tends to be... much bigger, and much more violent.

It is a shame that we are unable to visit the deeper forests, since that would provide you with the training necessary. However, I believe I can ease you in to what we are likely to encounter. There are two regions of forest that are much different to the forests of Putinia - the Twilight forest, and the Deep forest. In the twilight forest, you will find many of the species that grow here, albeit much larger, and higher above the ground. The ground level plants tend to be more thorny, with larger leaves - since the forest floor never gets bright light. So if you can climb the trees just a short way, you will find many of the species here growing in the many layers of plants. So grounding in botany here will train you sufficiently for survival in terms of plants in the Twilight forest.

The Deep Forest is another world entirely - it is nothing like you will ever encounter, and a place we will avoid unless absolutely necessary."

The Warrant Officer put down his dinner, a warmed up meal of noodles of some sort, pacing over to the whiteboard he had summoned as if from midair earlier that afternoon. He began drawing a diagram.
"In the deep forest, current theory believe that there is a massive excess of nutrients in the soil. In addition, there are slightly higher levels of background radiation - some believe this may have caused gigantism in the plants there centuries past. As you know, plants want three things - nutrients, water, and light. Here, there are plenty of the first two - an actual excess in the deep forest, which is self-sustaining in its level. The third, light, is the one that is most fiercely competed for. In attempt to survive, natural selection has favoured those trees that grow taller - this is seen as well in the twilight forest, but to a lesser degree. Thus, there are trees in the Deep forest that are hundreds of metres tall - living behemoths, many hundreds of years old. And in every gap, plant life has tried to grasp light, becoming ever more specialised down to the forest floor. About ten metres above the forest floor here, less towards the edges, the foliage has reached a point where all light has been totally eliminated.
The result is that the forest floor is completely deprived of sunlight. Now why is this anything to fear, you ask? In an area where there is no sunlight, everything must find something else to eat - so like the deep sea trenches, everything either feeds off dead material falling from all the hundreds of metres of plant life above, or off each other. In the dark, which human eyes are not accustomed to, someone who can not see is easy prey, either to the many hundreds of predators there, to the swarms of insects, or even to the plant life there - they will either kill you and digest you, or poison you and then fight with things for your body. There are very, very few things that are edible there. And I saw you lot eying up your night vision goggles - unless you've got light-intensifiers as opposed to the really cheap NIR or IR goggles I see people using across the world, they'll white out and you'll not see anything - everything is the same temperature constantly.

So, that leads to a question I had earlier from one of you - eating insects. You have to be extremely careful in that regard, since there are many insects which will try to eat you, or are inedible. But, since you lot obviously can handle anything you need to eat, there are ways, and general rules in Alfegos."

He pointed over to a small torch wrapped with a soaking rag.
"I made an insect trap earlier for flying insects - the rag is soaked in the juice of poisonwood berries which I pointed out earlier today. All those insects are dead, and will have little in the way of the poison in their bodies.
Rule one is that spiders in Alfegos are not worth the effort - there is little nutritional value, plus the problems of them either having irritating hairs, or being venomous. Rule two is that anything with bright colours is generally poisonous or stinging. Rule three is that bees, flies and hornets are not worth the effort. Ditto with butterflies and moths. However, even discarding those, that leaves us with quite a few available."

He shook the cloth, letting them drop into an empty mess tin.
"Flying beetles are generally fair game, as are many flying bugs. Honey ants and termites are fair game - though be careful with the more aggressive ones. Grasshoppers and locusts... now they are definately a worthwhile meal. And all insect grubs, with the exception of maggots, are edible. I mention the maggots, since some species will feast on live flesh, including botflies and hookflies - so unless I say so, leave them alone. Even if you cook them, there is great potential for disease. Earthworms, if you wash them out, are edible. Avoid snails, slugs and other types of worm - the worms because many of them are potentially parasetic, and the snails and slugs because they can harbour parasites such as hookworms.

However, I believe that we are more interested in bigger food sources here. There are no mammals in the forest that are inedible after cooking, even if they have venomous bites. There are couple poisonous birds, though those are extremely rare, and will only cause mild upsets. Snakes and lizards... be careful around them, but if I say it is safe to catch it, then do so. Just don't get bitten, or spat at. Avoid all frogs, newts and salamanders, obviously. And that about sums it up. There'll be plenty of reptiles in the twilight and deep forests, and plenty of mammals in the twilight forest. The deep forest tends to harbour the sort of things I would not risk attacking at all. And then, of course, there are fish - which are the best source of protein in the forest, and often the safest.

So tomorrow morning, one lot of you will be sitting guarding this site, one lot of you will be out gathering plants for food with me, and another lot of you will be out hunting. I see you've brought those vile health bars with you - I don't care if they contain your necessary vitamins and minerals, but from the size of them they can't contain the proteins and carbohydrates you need for long term survival - or have any taste. They offer those as survival rations here, since eating them every day would cause you to waste away - so feel free to help yourselves to Fegosian ration packs. We brought enough to feed you whilst you're out here, so use them up. Unless you prefer health bars."

---

They were early risers, rising to the morning chorus. At 0630 hours, after a hot and humid night, the entire camp was awake. The last senty group of the night moved off to wash and change, disappearing off to the waterfall they had visited the day before, whilst the others breakfasted, preparing for the next day.
Sergeant Yu'ki's section had opted for hunting - and as such, he was preparing, oiling his rifle. It doubled as an effective hunting rifle for larger animals, though was overpowered for shooting smaller animals. He would have his pistol and knives ready if they encountered those. As the sky slowly warmed, the orange orb of the sun starting to rise to the east, they prepared to move out.
"Right lads - let's show the others we know what we're doing. You all know how to hunt, so there'll be no problem with catching anything. What will be the problem is putting that to practice, and getting us enough meat for a veritable feast this evening and perhaps tomorrow. Follow me, and tell me if you pick anything up - I'll point out to you identifying tracks left by species you will definately not be accustomed to. I hope you've all brought machetes or forest swords, otherwise we'll be making slow progress."

[Holy Marsh]

as Holy Warriors is life-consuming- we utterly destroy the Cult so that one day, the war ends and the world may no longer have to deal with the constant bloodshed. If we fail, then 10,000 years from now, 50,000 years from now, 100,000 years from now- this war will continue. Trillions will have died over time. The war will be total. That is why the PRA and the Cult, though both are evil entirely, are different- if the Cult survives, it will continue to fight a total war if it can ever have a state again and if we don't break them of the old ways.
If the Cult wins, the war does not end- their religion tells them that war is a natural state and that they should practice it. Unending war. That is what the Vile Lard represents, and that is why our methods are so extreme. When you are confronted with a war that you know will never end unless your enemy is exterminated, them for love of God, country, and your people, you will do what is necessary. So no, feel free to capture the PRA- our men will think the situation different and accept your decision. Fire lives to burn, Brother- and sometimes, in order to snuff out one fire, a bigger one must be lit."
The Bishop finished as he sat up. Even he had to use the bathroom.
"We shall talk again soon, Brother."

______________________________
Gra'fegos
Jeremiah was annoyed, though he did not show it. Who was this heathen to question them? Time would allow this question to be answered later, as the tribesman seemed worried about one of the many predators that roamed this jungle.
"Is there some sort of predator about, tribesmen?" Jeremiah asked, not entirely too worried. These people were all experts and his transaction was vital.

[Alfegos]

The Deep Forest

The Intermediary looked on at the men he was dealing with, noting their reactions. He was perfectly calm as his men crouched down, forming a small defensive arc.
"I will take your expression as confirmation that you will accept our terms, and thus this transaction is complete. The money, if you please, and I should like it to be counted through before we part."
The proferred suitcases were passed across to one of the man's retinue, who quickly looked through the cases, before emptying the cash into two empty rucksacks.
"Please do remember what I said - any more unexplained disappearances in the villages, and we will not take to it nicely. And we will leave you in this deep forest, for whatever may come for you, and let you experience true fear."

The man nodded, before walking away, disppearing with his men into the murk. The tribesmen began moving rapidly, swiftly passing back into the darkness as they moved away from the hellish forest.
"Everything in this forest is a predator. What we fear are the demons, the creatures which we have never seen, and never do want to see - since if we do, we will likely die horrifically, as the many foolish ones who stray from the paths do."
Another roar, this time further away, shook the foliage around them, the very air throbbing.
"Even you can tell that whatever made that was not normal - the demons will find us if we do not make haste out of here, now this deal has been done."

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

Aeromarine/STT Training Area

The morning dawned bright as the three teams moved out from the camp area. The dawn chorus masked their leave, as they began to undertake the tasks given to them. The guard team took positions around the defensive camp position, slowly patrolling the perimeter with their aeromarine attachments, as the other two moved out - to gather food for the day. Whilst the foraging team would be close to the camp, the hunting team were being led out further into the forest, to begin the search.

Tracking was a simple part - most of the STT had a knowledge of those skills anyhow. The only difficult part was finding their prey in the midst of the jungle. One of the men signalled, as the group took to cover near the edge of the narrow path, melding into the grasses and bushes. By a small stream, as the leader of the team took aim, a small family of wild pigs were busy drinking. He signalled - they would be perfect food for the group. Four seperate shots rang out from the attack weapons, scaring the wildlife away in a cacophany of panic, the entire sky lighting up as parrots and other birds took to the skies. And in front of them, three succulent pigs - luck it seemed favoured them today.
As they moved across to the bodies, a low thud echoed in the distance. From out of the canopy, a flare had been fired, shooting high into the air before arching back down. The team leader signalled for them to grab the pigs, before starting a hurried move back to the camp.

Once in the confines of the defensive mound and fencing, the Warrant officer began talking to the assembled men.
"The flare that fired was not a Fegosian army flare - that was the PRA, shooting it from a mortar. Where it landed was where they wanted to head towards - and that happens to be in this direction. We likely haven't been rumbled yet, but all be on your guard. At that distance, there's about two days in this terrain before they reach us - so from now on, we're going to put the survival stuff on hold for now, and go straight to fighting in these jungles. Revised lesson one today is booby traps, the lesson two for today and all tomorrow will be practice attacks in this terrain."

-----

"Remember that in this space, fighting is similar to that in a city - fire will come at you from three dimensions. Furthermore, shooting is limited by how far you can see - so effective fighting range in these forests is about fifty metres or less, maybe more in the clearings. The most the training that we will be having now will do is give you a basic feel for this terrain - however, you can not learn and appreciate fully the need to be able to spot things that are almost invisible, you must have those skills already. You all have been given your body armour, along with a protective face shield addon to your helmets. You have also all been given fifty wax simulation rounds each. When you get hit by a wax simulator wound, it will represent you receiving a wound from the weapon firing it - two shots and you're down, or one head shot. When you are down, you will act as if you have been injured seriously, and otherwise incapacitated and unable to use your weapon. You will be acting as a section, under my command, in attacking a pair of agressors who ambush us whilst we are on the move - as you have noticed, two of the aeromarines are missing from this briefing. They will be acting as the enemy. Now, get your weapons made safe and prepare to move out."