Thus, Men of Iron Fought There (IC)

[Mediama]

Looking up at the land rover slowing behind the convoy, Franka could only purse her lips in annoyance. More visitors, which only meant more work for her and the little midgets under her charge. Waving for Dina to take care of the problem, the sprity young catgirl tapped on the windshield as her little helpers brought the inspection equipment. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was nonetheless necessary.

"Papers, please," Dina told the occupants, "name, rank, unit and purpose of visit?"

Major Kingston of the 1st RMP Regiment, 23rd Company looked oddly at the cat girl in front of him, tilting his red beret-clad hat, before shaking his head and muttering “I need to get more sleep, or coffee.”

He took out his papers, which included his orders, and his identification under Her Majesty’s Military Police. “Major Dennis Kingston of Her Majesty’s 1st Mediaman Royal Military Police Regiment, 23rd company. We have orders to reinforce the current military police presence in Italica.”

He gestured to the column of 4 land rovers that would be doing motorized patrols within the Italican walls, and 9 M54 trucks carrying the rest of the MP’s who would be conducting various tasks. “I have a company of 150 military policemen ready to keep the peace here, and hopefully take the load off from your plate.” He nods towards his orders “It says it on the paper, agreed upon by the whole Coalition and all that.”

He looks at the checkpoint and turns back to the inspecting girl as he said, “Long story short, miss, we’re your new co-workers. I’d rather not get off on the wrong foot and all of that.”

[Austria-Bohemia-Hungary]

Alnus - 7^th to 17^th of September - 7^th to 17^th of Harsies

It had been two full weeks since their arrival on Alnus, and by now the place had gone a long way from an undisturbed sanctuary of the most sacred object in Falmart to a sprawling and - at night - brightly illuminated base of operations. Two large airbases flanked the central compounds with their kilometre long runways in glistening asphalt, almost constantly buzzing with activity. Tonight, the 7^th of September, was even less of an exception than usual. Two convoys transporting large tarpaulin covered tubes and wings had come through the portal, along with division's worth of tank transporters moving armoured vehicles, in addition to the heavy outsize cargo trucks ferrying an not insignificant amount of personnel followed them.
In a staff car in the middle of the convoy, Feldzeugmeister Alexandra Prinzessin von Fürstenberg sat with her arm outside the window, watching with disinterest as the scenery changed from the electronically lit tunnel of the portal to the busy mazes of the Alnus Base. The new general-officer-commanding of the newly formed Falmartian airborne grouping had been recalled last week from Trieste where most of the Imperial and Royal 1^st Air Assault Division was based two months ago. Now she was in a completely different planet altogether, with an airborne force that together with the newly arrived Guards Infantry and Cavalry Divisions constituted the main body of the Imperial and Royal contribution to Operation Sanguine.

In the preceding weeks their reconnaissance efforts northwards along the Italica-Sadera railway revealed a sizeable town which appeared to be hosting the biggest slave markets this side of the universe. Further investigation rendered an estimated size of around 0.8 million, with a water front citadel facing the river Tiber defending the town and the connection to the capitol. This town became a high priority target for the likelihood of finding their kidnapped citizens, and thus Plan Sanguine, which eventually became Operation Sanguine was born.
The plan called for an opening air defence suppression effort, a large scale air raid to eliminate heavy equipment and artillery and an air landing with multiple brigades to breach the walls and secure the town, to be finally followed up a ground assault to move their frontlines some six hundred kilometres forwards. It was for the air landing portion that Feldzeugmeister Prinzessin von Fürstenberg had been called up. Following her was most of the First Air Assault Division, four companies of Land Units, and the most important part, twelve disassembled transport aircraft specially earmarked for the operation.

Ten days later, in the early morning light of the seventeenth as the elements partaking in Sanguine readied themselves for departure, Alexandra stepped down from her staff car and towards the awaiting Sentinel of the Royal Air Force that would act as their airborne command post. Meeting her there, was their guest of honour of the day: Princess Longina Victoria Ursula Ro Aurelius Augustus.
"Your Royal Highness," Alexandra began via her adjutant and translator, "I hope this morning finds You well? Shall we?" and invited her on a trip she would hardly forget.

[Monfrox]

Village of Bruhl, Sadera
Liberated Saderan Territory
August 29th

The more the Captain talked, the more Vlasta disliked him. But she had to be as professional as possible when dealing with high-ranking officers, and apparently extra so with this particular one. The tidbit about Italica was good news though. They had their next location as of now.

"If you would now excuse me, I need to continue my rounds. Dismissed."

Wonderful. Not wanting to stick around any longer than she had to, Vlasta almost instinctively went to reply, but the Captain had already done an about face. Well, that was that, then. She too turned on her heel and wasted no time in heading for the other end of the tent. Even as the Captain began to talk as if she was still there, Vlasta did not stop. She walked with a purpose and soon exited the tent via the front flap. Once they were halfway back to the GMV, she huffed.

"Asshole."

Her Corporal knocked her knuckles on the side of the Staff Sergeant's arm.

"I know, Gromek. Still, you'd think some officers out here weren't so uptight but it seems no matter where you go, it's always the same."

Gromek smacked her vest and then made a fanning motion with her hand up.

"Right, right. I know. I'll try to not let it get to me too much."

Gromek nodded as they approached their vehicle.

"What's the skinny, Sarge?" Mitzi asked.

"Pack up and settle down. We're heading to Italica."

"What about the traffic?" Esfir asked genuinely.

"Fuck it. Mitzi, take us off road. I don't want to stick around here anymore than we have to."

"Alright, Sarn't."

And with that, Mitzi got settled into the driver's seat and took the GMV out along the back roads and off through the countryside to avoid the large convoy on the main road.

[Parcia]

FAB Timoshanko


The CAS birds, much to their annoyance, all filed back in after the order to recover and rearm. The Slower Frogfoots were totaled, tallied, and sent back in for servicing and on to their regular CAS duties. Their Faster siblings, the Fitter-Ks, were ordered to re-fuel and rearm for a Air Cover load out, fitting Air to air Missile and 30mm Gunpods.

As they landed and went about their rotating, a set of Flat Beds could be seen making their way through the GATE: 2 large, massive 8KS23 Guided Thermobaric Bombs, otherwise known as "Father of all bombs" by other nations, held in protective, bullet proof Cases.

Rolling in to the same bays, were the pair of TU-22M Strategic Bomber Craft that had been trucked in some days earlier. Their wings were attached their engines and systems checked. Each bomber could carry one FOAB, with bomb bay doors open, to their target: A large, semi-horizontal Lava tube the Dragon (still going by Asset Designation "BIG SMOKE") had crawled in to.

The Bombs were both roughly on par with Small scale tactical Nuclear bombs with out the radioactive fallout. Both bombs had a secondary manual guidance system to be used when the GLONASS system was unavailable. It took them nearly 4 hours to get the bombs rigged and secured, to get the Data Link running between the Craft.

The plan was simple, the two bombers would fly in and line of their payloads, one after the other, at which point the LANTERN II Guidance pod on the lead F-14E would guide the bomb in to its target, were it would detonate upon impact.



How ever, a problem became apparent. While the bomb Crews, ground crews, Fighter Pilots, and ACT officers were all Parcian Military personal, they were still under the command of Coalition Command that were telling them to hold off on any bombing runs, much to all persons involved...


Oh the Bureaucracy.

[Allanea]

The Allaneans, meanwhile, did what Allaneans were best at – digging, and moving thousands of tons of earth. The Allanean camp continued growing, and the trench network along its edge grew more elaborate. The Code of Field Regulations, whether the one for the Allanean armed forces, the one for the Greater Prussian joint force, or the one for the Forces of the Resplendent Duchy, equally stated: the unit continues improving its position throughout the entire time it makes use of it. Therefore, the Allaneans, and all forces under their guidance – Reichskamphenites, for instance – dug trenches, flattened the soil for runways, and camouflaged those trenches they already dug.

The heavy Kotesh battle tanks were set in tank trenches – fighting positions that concealed the entirety of the hull of the immense vehicles, and shielded the sides of the turrets from flanking fire. False positions, filled with inflatable tanks, were made to deceive Saderan spies regarding how many tanks the Allanean force had, and where it was deployed. False trenches – about as wide as real ones, but a mere two feet deep – were also dug, to confuse the enemy about the Allanean plans, and of course parts of the real trenches had roofs made, with topsoil and even live grass covering them.

Those enemies foolish enough to attempt to sneak up on the Allaneans, and lucky enough to get past the first layers of barbed wire, would discover a complex, bewildering network of defenses – cameras hidden in bushes, microphones in the ground that alerted unseen watchmen to the sounds of human footsteps and the buzzing of vehicle engines, sentry turrets programmed to identify the outlines of Saderan rifles, bounding landmines the size of a rubbish bin that could wipe out a platoon of infantry in less than a second, drones patrolling overhead day and night, held aloft by the power of the sun itself.

Mages, too, served the Free Kingdom, and the magic they commanded was both destructive and dark. At times, a dead animal could be seen lying on a road – a piece of roadkill, perhaps dead for weeks. But were an unwary Saderan infiltrator step near it, it would suddenly move, its toxic teeth sinking into his ankle. A piece of razorwire might, suddenly, animate itself, wrapping around a commando's neck, his last cries subdued by the razors sinking into his neck. A wall of flames might rise from the ground when a wizard, lying unseen in an observation post, whispered a command word.

But it was what lay behind these defenses of wizardry and science that was the true threat to the Saderan Empire's plans. There, behind infantry trenches and tank positions, fixed-wing aircraft were preparing on their runways. In shielded ammunition dumps, under layers of poured concrete and topsoil, guided and unguided bombs were being prepared. Ammunition technicians, armed with lights and inspection kits, checked over precision fuses and missile motors.

Here, behind the minefields, behind the machinegun positions, behind the weapons and barriers, soldiers, weapons, and fuel poured through the portal, like blood to a muscle. Day by day, the army of liberation grew stronger, like a contestant preparing to meet an adversary.

[Sadera]

Alnus - 7^th to 17^th of September - 7^th to 17^th of Harsies

Ten days later, in the early morning light of the seventeenth as the elements partaking in Sanguine readied themselves for departure, Alexandra stepped down from her staff car and towards the awaiting Sentinel of the Royal Air Force that would act as their airborne command post. Meeting her there, was their guest of honour of the day: Princess Longina Victoria Ursula Ro Aurelius Augustus.
"Your Royal Highness," Alexandra began via her adjutant and translator, "I hope this morning finds You well? Shall we?" and invited her on a trip she would hardly forget.

Longina was no idiot. Naive, maybe, even she'd admit that at times, but she was no fool. She was not here with the xenos as a 'guest'; at best she was a future puppet of theirs, at worse a prisoner. At least they didn't enslave everyone they imprisoned, she'd give them that much. Not that it mattered - if their idea of lifting the siege of Italica was anything to go by, there wasn't a whole lot she or anyone could do about it without relying almost exclusively on mages and runic armor - and even then, they'd have to rely on numbers over these xenos.

Still, somehow she'd find a way to... at least, get them on her side. Get the Emperor on her side. Get them to leave with Sadera independent and with at least a scrap of dignity left. So, begrudgingly, she climbed into the jet-powered aircraft with what were either fuel bulges or some sort of sensors. For these xenos, and the size of the plane, both were likely.

It was terribly loud as they took off, with the military-grade sound insulation proving quite unable to block out the sound of such a number of jet engines with her and Alexandra outside of the cockpit. She said nothing as they reached what she assumed to be a cruising altitude (far too high for Longina's tastes) and headed in the direction of Falernum. When they did, she began to have a sneaking suspicion as to what this was all about.

Another show of power? Were they not satisfied with their 'liberation' of Italica?

Outside, she noticed a semi-familiar face just flying by with - were those jet engines on her legs? The Princess of the 'lead' nation of these xenos, Karlsland, was flying right beside them with jet engines on her legs, apparently uncaring that she was not wearing pants, or that another jet engine was mere feet behind her with nothing but apparent magic keeping the woman from being sucked in.

---

After giving the Saderan princess a smug (but friendly) wave, Hanna broke off from flying danger close to the Sentinel's wing and took position between it and another Sentinel, then opened outbound radio.

<<Everyone, this is Fraktur. I believe we all know what the battle plan is, but I will be going over it anyway. Our target is Falernum, a city between Italica and the Saderan capital whose primary industry seems to be the slave trade. Unlike Italica, it has no substantial outside walls, nor nearby mountains to slow us down, but it does have notable radar presence, and the main government and military control center is in a castle whose walls are too thick to be broken by anything not from the air.>>

<<The first wave of bombers will take out the airfield and anti-air, while escorts will take out anything already in the air and, if possible, the radars. Once those are dealt with, the first wave will dump the remainder of their bombs on the castle or anything that looks suitably hardened, and escorts will stay in the area to maintain air superiority until the city is captured or they are bingo fuel, whichever comes first. Special forces will land and establish drop zones in areas close but not too close to anything hostile, with the exception of the Winged Hussars, which will land and surround the castle.>>

<<Meanwhile, the second wave of bombers will target the castle itself, with the Hussars dealing with any nearby vehicles. At the same time, airborne troops will land in the supplied drop zones and target anything left capable or willing to resist the regular ground forces, which should arrive about an hour after the airborne.>>

Pause for effect, and to let the briefing sink in.

<<Mission commences as soon as the first bomber in Warpick is within range to pickle. That is all.>>

[Allanea]

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of ahundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

~ Sun Tzu

"The Earth is the cradle of humanity, but mankind cannot stay in the cradle forever."

~ Konstantin Tsiolkovsky



The jet climbed near-vertically, its engines struggling against the pull of Falmart's gravity. Its white trail was visible for many miles from the Allanean camp, and the roar of its engines carried far, like a monster shouting its defiance to this world's gods. It climbed, and climbed, and climbed, beyond the reach of any gun or plane from Sadera's armories, beyond the reach of this word's finest radar, further and further. Then, when the plane could no longer be seen from the ground, a mere dot at the tip of a spear of white smoke thrust skywards, it fired its weapon.

It was a single rocket, long and narrow, its body painted white, like a spear thrown upward by a warrior.

But the spear did not arc down.

Its target was not a Saderan city, nor a palace, nor a gun battery. The Allaneans have, well and truly, fired a weapon at the sky itself.

There, dozens of kilometers overhead, the rocket fell apart, its rear section falling back down into the atmosphere, and its front continuing its ascent. Finally, that, also, fell apart. The rocket parts burned as they fell back through Falmart's skies, and it would be its payload that would remain in orbit.

It was only a tiny box, weighing less than an artillery shell, and, as the box rotated in orbit, its positioning engines adjusting it for its flight, the front of the box opened.

No Saderan eye could observe that, with the lid opening, a lens gleamed within the box, aimed down towards Falmart's surface.

No, the box would not dive down screaming onto the Saderans' heads.

But in its own way, it was also a weapon, perhaps more lethal than a hundred times its own weight in explosives.

And it would soon be joined, in orbit, by other boxes just like it.

[Britiannia]

D Squadron, 22^nd Special Air Service - Falernum

Far below the Sentinel R.1 of the flyboys up high, an eight ship formation of Chinooks was skimming swiftly across the Saderan countryside, at heights that would be considered absolute suicide for any Saderan pilot in the universe of Falmart. This was the formation that was delivering the whole of D Squadron, 22^nd Special Air Service to their objectives miles ahead of the main airborne elements: The howitzer bastions circling the town of Falernum. For this purpose the squadron had packed enough explosives and incendiaries to demolish a whole regiment of artillery, let alone a few bunkers with a handful of guns in them. Accompanying them came the Apaches of the 3 Regiment Army Air Corps, loaded with Brimstone missiles and rockets for the suppression of tanks and anti-aircraft guns.

As the dawn approached over the town of Falernum, as the daily business of a Saderan slaver town began, the antiaircraft bastions outside the city started burning and exploding as coalition air strikes hit home. At scheduled time, with any enemy personnel out in the open being terminally harassed by the attack helicopters orbiting above them, the Chinooks carrying The Regiment arrived on top of their objectives. One after another groups of operators of the Britannian Army descended via ropes down upon their eight objectives.
Leading the first group, Bravo 4-6 and his men fought their way through to the gun positions ensconced on top of the bastion. As the first four man team formed up at the door of the first 15 cm howitzer bunker the rest of them continued on to the rest of them. The first team then breached with a door-charge that blew the steel contraption blocking their way in, finding that some of them were not even manned yet. Placing the charges they blew the undefended guns into uselessness and moved on to their next goals.
What would prove to be a bit more challenging than blowing up undefended gun bunkers were the housing bunkers for the gun crews. Approaching one of them with their weapons pointed ahead of them Bravo 4-6 formed his squad up for breaching when one groggy and surprised Saderan gunner came face to face with the SAS officer's pistol. The resounding gun shot, even while suppressed woke up the nearest Saderans who got up scrambling to find their weapons and uniforms. With little further hesitation two flashbangs went in through the open door and the rest of the squad followed with their automatic weapons. Within the next minute the men manning this whole Saderan battery was utterly destroyed with no survivors.

As they came out again they found that they had cleared the whole section that was assigned to them for neutralisation, with the last few guns in their positions being blown apart as Bravo 4-6's squad finished dealing with the gunners. Just in time he saw, for the main airborne element that was appearing in the skies southeast of them.

[The Selkie]

Operation Sanguine - the Battle of Falernum.

Léimneoir-Ceann/Jumper-Leader.
Jumper-Leader. Jumper as in something, that jumps.
Not an article of clothing.
Was this that hard to understand? Apparently, for some of the coalition, Lieutenant Finley Ionsaí of the Tribe of Wexford thought, it was quite hard. He didn't give a damn.
He had bigger worries, that relatively young man of twenty-eight years in the uniform of the SDF-Army, with a clear and simple mission: There were sixteen howitzers to be taken out before Operation Sanguine could begin in earnest. Eight were being taken care of by him and his Rangers, a total of fifty-six men and women, who would assault the bunkers, clear them out and hold until relieved by the following air assault and the onslaught from the ground.
With Captain Maor wounded, the command of the 2nd Company went to her Lieutenant, a man named Solas, from B-Platoon. He, Ionsaí, commanded C-Platoon and he would command it splendidly. He had commanded them through the initial assault on Alnus Hill, after all, and they were experienced in close quarters combat.
As their helicopters, a total of six Fuisce Utility Helicopters, their side-gunners firing the odd salvo into what they believed to be troop assemblies, all to hide the actual mission of the helicopters as air strikes rained down on everything and anything that remotely looked like it belonged to the military around them.
In its horrors, it was coordinated beauty.
Somewhere up there, the Veilbhits of Major Ainnir circled, waiting for missions to provide close air support. Many kilometres behind them, the 11th Dragan-Regiment waited on the go-order, securing the right flank of the Coalition Assault on Falernum.
All hinged on them.
"Carman Fea, give us strength.", one of his men intoned, "Carman Fea, give us strength, so that we may carry out our duty, to smite those, who broke Your Sacred Laws, to live and kill in Your Name, to be ferocious in battle and magnanimous in victory." The entire helicopter focussed on him, lowering their heads in prayer. "Let us all return to our loved ones."
"One minute!", the pilot called back.
Ionsaí heaved a heavy sigh, checked his KGS-29 one last time - an automatic shotgun, with a 100-round box magazine. Not the only one they had with them. Grenades, flashbangs, shotguns, explosives, other appropriate equipment.
Plus, two of the Fuisces were equipment carriers, they had a lot of stuff with them, which would allow them to hold out for a while, until they were relieved.
Not a complete minute later, the first half of the troopers fast-roped into the first bastion. One Saderan, an early riser, was about to wake his comrades by pressing the alarm - three shotgun blasts nearly ripped him in two halves. They woke his comrades, though, the crew-bunker being the first objective with the armoury falling within seconds.
A grenade into it, door closed, ears covered and the crew lacked anything but fists and a few handguns to fight them. And they tried to some extend... then, the first man surrendered, the Saderan commanding officer preserving order by shooting the man as he stepped out into the hallway with his hands raised. A moment later, another shot rang out as the officer tried to defend himself against the other men avenging their comrade, then tried to surrender as well... Ionsaí corralled them into one room, closed the door and barricaded it. Sometime later, other Coalition Troops would rescue them. For now, they had no time to herd prisoners.
The howitzer bunkers were quickly taken out as well: Half a pound of plastic explosives did short work with the steel door leading into the bunker, hand grenades dealt with the two confused guards, a pound of plastic explosives took care of the gun.
Eight howitzers, two entire batteries, were taken down in a few minutes. They did not rig the ammunition bunkers, they had prisoners, after all...
However, now came the complicated part: Meeting up with the Coalition Forces.
In the distance, the main assault began to come into view.

[Parcia]

Kick the Tires and Light the Fires...


The TU-22M Crews wouldn't have to wait long. With the Directive came the Alert Order to put the whole Air group on notice. With the blaring of Sirens and the yelling of orders, the Bomber and fighter crew saddled up for their first real mission.

First were the F-14s, their large engines screaming as they took off at full after burner. They were to join the first wave and clear the skies, while confirming with their LAMPS pods, the locations of the Bomber's Targets: Rail Hubs.


Fallowing them would be the SU-17Ks, fitting a mix load out of Air to Air munitions and guided bombs and rockets to allow for close air support Missions. The VDV regiment, complete with BMPs, were to Join the Allied VDV regiment in their operations in securing an airfield, Being posted under the command of the Allaneans.

The Star of the show would appear after the allied planes had lifted off and cleared the airspace. With a Lumbering grace most unlike a craft their size, the pair of Bombers would roll out of their protective shelters and on to the end of the tarmac. Waiting a few moments to let their turbines spin to full capacity, then with not a screech, but an unholy roar the bombers lumbered forward at full after burner, lifting off worryingly close to the end of the runway.

Each bird Carried a pair of what were known to the world as "The Father of All Bombs", a pair of Air blast explosives on par with a small Tactical Nuclear Strike in terms of explosive power.

[Totenheim]

Falernum Region, heading north on a road
17. Harsies 1839

"Say Ondrej, am I hearing things?"

, Matyas Svatousek asked his comrade Ondrej Lichal while they were leisurely driving down their road in their Totburg RV. They weren't exactly in a hurry to return to Totenheim anytime soon so they were willing to take their time with the journey home. Anyway, Ondrej answered gruffly after having quietly listened for any sounds for a while:

"Depends on what you're hearing."

Matyas frowned while trying to make out the sounds he believed to have heard before over the sound of the engines of their small convoy. A Tadaah 57k was leading the front, followed by a pair of Totburg RVs, the first one being crewed by two other totenheim "soldiers on leave" and containing their cargo and the second one being crewed by the two of them as well as two more vacationers standiong on the running boards of their truck, ZK-383s slung over their shoulders and sort of pointed in the direction of the truck in front of them. They were keeping watch, ensuring that nobody would decide that it was time for a daring escape and jump out. Matyas knew that two more comrades were also sitting in the back with the supplies. And then of course there was another Tadaah 57k at the end of the small convoy. So yeah, he was dealing with quite a bit of noise. But he tried nonetheless...and after a while he heard it again. Faint but most definitely there and relatively clearly audible. He said:

"I think I'm hearing explosions. Behind us. Far."

This time Ondrej was quick to respond. Too quick.

"No, you're just hearing things. Just hearing things. There's nothing."

One of the soldiers standing on their running boards knocked against the driver's window, signalling that he needed to speak to them. Ondrey lowered itand the man stuck his head in and said:

"There seems to be a party going on behind us. Can definitely hear explosions. Sometimes also a bit of gunfire."

Ondrej said curtly:

"Understood. Now eyes back front. You have slaves to guard."

Once the man's head was out of the driver's cabin, Ondrey closed the window again, retrieved a pack of Saderan cigarettes from his pocket, stuck one in his mouth and signalled Matyas, who understood the sign and lit a match, holding it to the cigarette and lighting it too. Ondrej inhaled deeply...and then fell victim to a coughing fit, spitting his cigarette against the windshield and his face slowly turning red while he lost control over the truck. Only Matyas quick reaction as he gripped the steering wheel and kept the truck on the road prevented any major accidents.

When Ondrej finally stopped coughing he took the wheel again and said thankfully:

"Thanks lad. Fucking hell, I heard these things are supposed to calm the nerves and not kill one. Really wanted to try them since the Gräfin doesn't check or care so much for what exactly we do out here. Anyway, fuck, looks like you aren't just hearing things but actually hearing things."

Ondrej just tensely stared at the road in front of him now, seemingly ignoring the poor lad Matyas next to him who asked:

"And...what do we do now?"

"What we do every time there's trouble. Drive faster in the other direction."

As if on command, the truck in front of them suddenly accelerated. Perhaps the front vehicle had also noticed that there was something very unfavourable going on behind them. Or perhaps they had been informed through some other, unknown way. Regardless of that, they were accelerating and all the vehicles of the convoy who were driving behind them followed their example so they could stay together. The men on the running boards nearly fell off due to the sudden acceleration and had to hold on with both of their hands while Matyas was pressed a bit into his seat.

"Wasn't this new enemy supposed to still be hundreds of kilometers away from here?"

Ondrej grumbled through clenched teeth:

"Doesn't matter where they were. Matters where they are now. And that is uncomfortably close."

He threw a death glare at the truck in front of him while continuing to ramble:

"And all of that just for some damn slaves. Since when does the Gräfin need imported slaves? I swear, if this will cost me my life, I'll first have my fun with each and every single one of those. They ain't getting a quick death. Not if they're going to be the cause of my premature death. I still have 5 years to live and I intend to live them to the fullest."

[Allanea]

LZ Delta

The landing zone, of course, had a Saderan name. It was, as it happened, well-defended – or at least it would be, if the Saderans were fighting their equals. A fighter squadron, a few infantry battalions, anti-air gun – well-equipped to handle any reasonable threat against the airfield.

Greater Prussia, as anyone would have noticed by now, was not really a reasonable threat. The Allaneans, and their allies, were something else entirely. And, of course, they had no real interest in the base's Saderan name.

Just two hours after midnight, local time, four Allanean aircraft approached the base. They were detected, no doubt, by local radar, and of course, anti-air guns came alive.

Far over the blossoming field of dozens of anti-air shells, four Warhawk strike interceptors passed, and let loose their munitions. Anti-radiation munitions dove down towards the Saderan radar, and dozens of dumb bombs screamed down towards the anti-air positions and runways.

There was a low, guttural roar, as the bombs exploded, as if the ground itself was waking up, the once-solid concrete of the runways being flung up and about, the very runways that the Saderans had once painstakingly built being torn up, the fragments of stone and concrete scything through flesh and steel.

The Warhawks circled, strafing the base and its defenders, dozens of explosions dancing up against the roofs and walls as the automatic cannon cut loose.

There was calm then – calm of that limited sort that comes after an air raid. There was no gunfire anymore, that much was true, but the crackling of the fire that was now devouring structures and planes alike, the screaming of men who had been injured or burned terribly, and the mourning song of ambulance sirens, that didn't go away.

In the darkness, a different threat approached.

With their radar destroyed, the Saderan militiamen could only notice this threat when an unfamiliar pattering sound seemed to come from the skies.

Coelum! – someone shouted, Coelum!


There were snapping sounds overhead, and then a howl, like a rocket firing.

Tiberius Equitius Polus was among the first to lift his head. "What?" – he asked, not comprehending what was happening. There was a… tank? …on a parachute? A tank on a series of parachutes? How on earth… and was that a tree on a parachute? A parachuting tree?

The tree was indeed descending, riding down towards the ground on a pair of immense cargo parachutes. Several men fired their rifles, just before it smashed, roots-first, into the ground.

It was not a tree, or at least not quite a tree as the Saderans had ever known it. It was a tall, humanoid creature, definitely tree-like, covered in dark bark, but also definitely standing on two legs. Its root-feet smashed into the soil and it crouched lightly, like a human parachutist ending his jump, the soil kicked up around it in a cloud as it crouched and then straightened up.

Tiberius Polus blinked at the immense creature as it cut itself free from the parachutes and walked across the airfield. Its movements seemed ponderous, yet, as Tiberius watched, the tree-like creature caught up with a militia officer.

For a moment, the officer looked up at the creature. He was the very visage of Saderan nobility – an eagle-like nose, an arrogant glance, features that looked as if they have been carved out of marble. And before him, among the foliage, a pair of gleaming, emerald-like eyes.

"Quis Es?" – the officer asked, and then, in the few words he knew in the enemy tongue – "Who… who are you?"

It was astounding to look, how swiftly the tree-creature grabbed the officer in its palm, how it raised him from the ground, bringing him closer to its face for evaluation.

It responded – slowly, in a low tembre. "I am Ashcorpse Briarthorn."

Then there was a terrible sound, an indescribable sound, as Ashcorpse Briarthorn squeezed the Saderan's body between his fingers, and bones and flesh alike gave way before him. Then, he made a sharp movement, like a man casting off a piece of food stuck to his hand, tossing the officer's remains across the runway.

The enemy vehicles had by now completed their landing. For a moment, Tiberius looked about, expecting paratroopers to land and run to the vehicles – but none of the sort happened. Instead, the tanks began to drive, rapidly, as if they already had their crews within them.

And they did!

As the vehicles moved forward, Tiberious saw men appear from them – doors at their backs, it seemed – and run, swiftly, towards the airbase.

Vorwärts! Vorwärts! – the barbarians shouted.

The airbase, that which hours ago seemed so secure, so well-defended, now was a veritable branch of Hades itself. The barbarian vehicles moved at frightening speed, their guns barking fire almost continuously. The barbarian soldiers, too, approached, moving with Barbarian ferocity and Saderan-like competence at once.

And in the center of the camp, Ashcorpse Briarthorn was wreaking terrible havoc. Spellfire, gleaming in frightening green, arced from the creature's fingers, and as he shouted the spells out in his low, guttural voice, terrifying things happened. Some men fell to the ground, their hearts simply beating no longer. Others became enveloped in magical flame, rolling on the ground as the fire began to melt their skin. Worse yet, some of them died – and then rose, biting and gouging at those who had but minutes ago been their very finest friends.

Woe to those, then, who ventured into close combat with the tree warlock. Rifle bullets dug into his bark, and momentarily the creature spat out awful oath. But the pain seemed to only drive the creature into a black, frightening rage.

As Polus watched, Briarthorn bent down to grab one of the Saderans by his ankle, and swung him about, the man screaming in terror as the tree used him as a living flail, sweeping his body among his comrades. There was a crunching sound as the leg gave way under the strain and broke, and, after a few more blows, Briarthorn cast away his now-useless 'weapon'.

Dozens of yards away, a pilot was struggling with his machine, one of the last fighters still remaining, somehow, in one piece on the airfield. His hands shaking with fear, he pumped air through the hand-compressor, he kicked the starter to life. The engine began to buzz. In the darkness, light only by gunfire and flames, his face seemed reddened, his tears and sweat glistened on his face as the Saderan struggled with the machine that, in a few moments, would make him, from a cowering animal, into a warrior again.

But this was not to be.

The words of a forbidden dark language hung over the ground, as Ashcorpse raised his palms. His gnarly, frightful, branch-fingers moved in spell-gestures, as he called forth the fire. This would not be the purifying fire of Anor, which of old the elves had commanded, but the other fire. Within the plane's engine, it awoke, a fireball that momentarily enveloped the entire machine, and then vanished – but now it was ablaze, all of it, the thin metal frame smoldering, the ammunition cooking off within the guns, the pilot screaming as the machine that was to be his weapon became his means of execution.

Elsewhere, the barbarians closed the circle tighter and tighter. Their machines' guns spoke – sometimes in a low, lumbering tone, much like that of their awful wizard, and sometimes in loud snapping sounds, as if they were armed with two guns at once.

As the soldiers approached, it would be the first time that Polus got a clear view of a barbarian. It was a tall man, with blonde hair, with a submachinegun in his hands. A long knifeb-bayonet was fixed to the weapon, and, as the man approached, he shouted at Polus.

Cede! Cede!

Polus balked as he realized that the barbarian was trying to order him to surrender. There was something incongruous about this, a man who looked like he was at best fit to be a gladiator, ordering Polus' surrender.

Behind him, somewhere, he heard a scream as the warlock tree grabbed a dragoon off his horse and flung the man two dozen yards.

Somehow, Tiberius Polus' fingers unclenched on his rifle of their own accord.

[Minroz]

Minrozian quarter, Coalition Base, Alnus hill

Within the Minrozian side of the entire Coalition base, particularly at the combat witches section, five Bannermen witch squads have been preparing for a sortie into air combat. The Eight-Banner recon force has been dispatched to scout ahead for the Qing forces as well as the Coalition. It is matter of short time that everyone is ready. The Hui regiment took up their occupation duties in Italica. The rest of the Minrozians were on other duties or on stand-by in cases of ground troops including the Pathans and Gorkhas, all awaiting orders from General Yi Jiguang and their respective commanding-officers.

At the alley between the buildings, hiding from prying views of other base personnel are the two girls, dressed in Eight-Banner field uniform. They are lieutenant Duan Yuelin and Shi Baoyue members of the Iron Wind squadron. They were among the witches on downtime. However, there are more reasons to why the two picked a peculiar spot in the alley. It was something personal between them.

“Lieutenant. Yuelin…it’s been a while...” Baoyue spoke, looking into the other girl’s eyes.

“Oh, is it?” Yuelin said quizzingly. “Aiya, sorry, I didn’t remember when to be exact, hehehe.” She scratched her head, chuckling.

The black-haired maiden chuckled back. “Aiya, I wonder why I fallen in love with you in the first place. You’re bold and beautiful like the Goddess of Water. You’re always someone I have in my heart.” She says, putting her hand onto her chest where her heart is. “For that, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Yuelin responded with her warm smile.

“Yuelin…”

In the heartbeat, the two girls began kissing each other in the lips, confirming their romantic love between them. Moaning as they continued kissing and caressing each other, the two savoured every moments of passionate together. They’ve been in relationship for a long time. The two continue kissing for five minutes until…

“Ahem, I hate to interrupt a moment.” both girls stopped their kissing as they’re startled into shock and surprise, the two didn’t expect to see their superior officer and best friend to appear, Major Zhu Hua herself. The said witch commander didn’t looked happy and sighed, “I was looking for you two, just to let you both know that we are going to sortie in estimated to be two minutes. So, be on time with full-gear. We’re going out hunting.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Both girls saluted her to which the witch captain returns her salute.

Minutes later, the two girls went to rendezvous with their squadron who’re happened to be ready to fly off into action.

“Hey wassup~!?” a energetic girl greeted them.

“Oh hey Yuelin, Baoyue! Where have you two been?” the brown-haired peppy girl chirped happily, ignorant of what Yuelin and Baoyue doing earlier. The Minrozian military has a policy of tolerating LGBT personnel, adhering to the stance of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’. For most part, the Minrozian military personnel care less whoever’s sexual orientation as long as it doesn’t impedes on their duties as servants of the emperor and as warriors of the Middle Kingdom.

In response to the question, the lesbian couple blushed. They don’t want to reveal something embarrassing to their friends and teammates. As a matter of fact, the whole Iron Wind team knew Yuelin and Baoyue as a couple and wholly supportive of their relationship. This doesn’t mean the said couple wanted to say they were making-out while the others are preparing for sorties.

“Oho, Good gods, did something exciting happened, hmm~?” A cat-smiled girl teased as if she knew what’s going on. “I wonder what were you two doing while we’re here first~?

“Err…we were chatting for a while. In private. Hehe.” Yuelin said sheepishly, scratching her head.

“Like she said, we have something…important to talk about.” Baoyue replied with her nervous chuckle. She and her girlfriend felt bad for attempted lying. Aside from their commanding-officer, those who’re presented with sharp minds have already figured out what the couple been up to. In response, the girls either sighing or looked amused.

“We were worried about you two. We had no idea where you’ve been.” A more graceful black-haired girl spoke with a voice of serene maiden. “Until Major Zhu comes looking for you personally. And…you know…” She fidgeted with her fingers. Normally she’s a confident young girl but when it came to more ‘private’ matters, she’s reasonably felt odd since she herself raised in more conservative household.

As if right on time, Three more girls, dressed in combat witches field gear, have arrived to join up with their squadron.

“Sorry, we’re late!” The tall girl apologized with her formal bow.

“We’re sorry!” The diminutive long-haired girl bowed as well.

“Sorry, sorry, ma’ams. We almost forgot the time. Did we miss anything?” The petite blonde chimed.

“No, you’re on time, girls. Don’t worry.” Zhu Hua sighed before smiling.

“Haha~. At least we’re together on time.” The bespectacled twin-tailed brunette remarked with optimism.

“Time for little briefing, everyone. We’re one of the squadrons assigned to assist our allies in taking the city called Falernum as well as providing air-support to our Recon. So suit-up in the striker packs and we fly into the skies.” Zhu Hua instructed. “Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!” The girls of Iron Wind team responded with a salute.

“Iron Wind Squadron! Move out!”

Eventually, the Bannermen witches get inside their jet striker packs of J-10 models armed themselves with their respective firearms. Upon igniting their striker packs, the witches flew off the Minrozian runway into the skies like soaring angels. The Iron Wind is one of the five Combat Witches teams assigned to assist their Coalition allies. They’ll going to rendezvous with other four combat witch squadrons who have the same missions as them. The Saderans will soon know how deadly the combat witches of Eight-Banners.

---

Streets of Italica

At Italica, it has been a while that the Wolfeners have given the Minrozian Eight-Banners greenlight to occupy the city for a time being. The Minrozian forces in Italica were given occupation duties alongside their Wolfen counterparts. The soldiers of the Hui regiment stood guard at key points of the city and patrol the streets with vigilance and discipline unmatched by the rest of Minrozian armed forces including the Eight-Banners and perhaps even the Coalition troops as a whole. Any attempts to make conversations with the Minrozian Muslim Hui soldiers who’re on-duty are met with stoic silence. The bannermen in contrast to their Muslim Hui comrades were more casual and noisy, far cry from their image as an elite troops of the Middle Kingdom who known for their fierce discipline and blazing fighting spirit. But they’re more conversational than their Hui comrades.

Now, it is downtime for most Minrozian bannermen as they took their time to respite from the earlier battles like any good soldiers, or ‘warriors’ they preferred to be called.

Walking alongside on the streets of Italica is particular group of young bannermen, fifteen of them to be exact, led by Major Kaitou of the Il-Khurgen clan – a noble warrior in all aspects but he’s known to be one of the most perverted in the Bordered Yellow Banners. Apparently, they’re on a casual stroll to pass time while awaiting action. At the same time, they’re looking to hang-out and flirt with beautiful women and girls, whether they’re local Saderans or fellow Coalition personnel. So far, they didn’t seem to have some luck. And they’ve just getting started.

“Hey brothers, are all of you grateful to be alive!?” Kaitou boomed with his loud voice.

Next to Kaitou is Honglong of the Koke-Borjigin clan, a younger officer and fellow pervert. Kaitou, along with Honglong and his little brothers, Mantie and Maohuo will be acted as ringleaders of their posse of perverts, regardless of their ranks. On his other side is Dashu of the Bayad clan, a fellow pervert too. These officers and fellow perverts have put up a plan to flirt with foreign girls to pass time.

“Sir yes sir!” The bannermen replied with hearty rancour.

“Thank the Gods for free time~!” Honglong quipped.

Behind them are the bannermen of lower-ranks, they’ve happened to be conversing among themselves.

“Thank God Almighty, we finally have our break~. The fight is rough!” A bespectacled lad chirped.

“You can say that again, we survived the hell. But we prevailed, God willing~!” said the shorty one.

“Haha, Praised be to God! More time to fool around.” quipped the burly-looking guy. “Oh, I’m little hungry.”

“You ate about ten ration bars! Isn’t it enough for you?” The bespectacled pointed out.

“No, By God, I’m big-boned!” The trio broke into hearty laughter to which their brothers-in-arms joined in the laughs.

“Though, I feel little bad for being separated from our units.” the shorty says, looking bit morose. “What did we do if our own superior officers caught us?”

As if Honglong heard them, he replied, “Don’t worry, brothers. As long as they don’t found out, we’ll be fine. We are men of the great Eight-Banners, there’s nothing we can do~.”

“Brother Fu is right, what if we get caught, sir?” One bannerman spoke up, sounding concerned. “You know some of our commanders are like…”

Most of his fellows gulped at the notion, even shaking with fear. Certain officers in their regiment were known to dish out heavy punishments. Sexual harassment is considered to be one of the heavy infractions in the Eight-Banners, the punishers will have no qualms in dishing things out as they sees fit to punish any offenders.

“I understand your fears, brothers. If anything, I’ll take punishments in your stead, brothers. After all, I’m the one suggested the idea in the first place. I’ll tell them I’ve persuaded you brothers astray.” Kaitou says, sounding dramatic. Not lying about it, he’s offering himself as a ‘sacrificial pawn’ on behalf of his brothers-in-arms in case the perverts get caught by their superior officers. Kaitou’s own action have moved his ‘co-conspirators’.

“You’re so awesome, big brother!” the diminutive bannerman praised Kaitou with complements.

“Big bro, we didn’t know you’re turned out to be so manly!” Manhou cheered.

“Thank you. For now, let’s go hunt us some babes~!” Kaitou pumped his fist up.

“Hurray!” The bannermen does the same.

“Hey brothers, look!” Mantie pointed out to the group of Wolfen girls who’re chatting nearby, dressed in their military uniforms.

“Gods, I’ll be damned. Men, we got lucky~.”

“Come on, brothers. Let’s go over there and meet them~.” Honglong beckoned his group. Thus, they went towards the Wolfeners, all fifteen of them.The Minrozian officers began speaking in English. It is one of their attempts to impress the girls in front of them.

“Hello girls~!” Kaitou greeted the Wolfeners. “Sorry to take your time~. Do you ladies mind if we stare at you up-closen, instead of across the sides~?”

“Hello there~! I want to say nice to meet you, I’m Honglong and you are…gorgeous~! Pardon me, I cannot helped myself that you’re so beautiful you made me forgot my pick up line~. Haha~!” Honglong spoke in his accented English.

“Hey babes, you look good~!” Mantie added in.

“Hey ladies, want to go out with us~?” Manhou piped up happily. “We cannot helped ourselves but mesmerized by your beauty~.”

“If I could rearrange the words I would put you and I together~.” Dashu spoke, trying to act like a charming gentleman. “If beauty were measured in in seconds, you’d be an hour~.” He added with a wink.

Obviously, it’s their foolish (and perhaps sad) attempts to court foreign women into much relationships. Little did the Wolfeners knew, the ringleaders of these excited posse, namely Kaitou, Honglong and his little twin brothers were in relationship with their ladies back home. While these bannermen are good people at heart, but their masculine instincts have prevailed when it comes to the attractive opposite sex. If anything, the situation sounded hilarious in case of Minrozian perverts. What these bannermen didn't realized they're flirting with members of the infamous assassin unit of the Schild. Question is how would the Wolfeners react?

[Sadera]

Ludus Falernae Constantinium - 17th of Harsies

Miles away, before the special forces squadrons landed on the fortifications of Falernum, a bugler employed by the lanista of the local gladiator school, part of the private company hired to guard the important compound sounded Rouse at 5 am, when the sun's first light barely peeked up above the horizon. For the city, and the ludus itself, it was a new day, a new round of preparations and maintenance before the next series of Great Games and festivals. Guards proceeded down past the row of cells in the buildings, unlocking each and everyone and informed the occupants, sometimes by rough prodding with their staffs that it was high time for breakfast and a new working day. They then trooped their charges across the central courtyard to the chowhall, sat them down while other servants delivered today's meal. Mood was generally kept relaxed before the morning training session began but as usual the guards did not mingle with their charges while they ate. As the morning thus went on the horizon on the east were suddenly decorated with multiple smoke columns and the relaxed atmosphere in the ludus - along with the relaxed atmosphere of most of the city disappeared. As army trucks started rolling fast outside the main gate the guards force their charges back into the cells, with some beating and haranguing as they did so.

Then high above their heads, they observed with some worry dozens and dozens of contrails were being drawn, a most curious sight for the city. The slave rebellion in the Italica governorate had been crushed without mercy in the previous month, or so their Imperator Augustus had told them. And usually contrails would only be there if the air force was hosting exercises, and there were no air force exercises running on this day... and they would be much lower than these aircraft that seemed to fly effortlessly at great heights.

The situation changed drastically as an army truck, full of men from one of the local vigiles cohorts suddenly exploded outside the gates of the ludus without warning, and then if somebody listened carefully a whining sound passed through as the truck burned. Another such sound came sweeping over their heads, and seconds afterwards, almost simultaneously in fact another explosion occurred.

The compound had now gone to full alert. Gates and cells were locked and the single heavy machine gun in the guard tower manned. Then, just as sudden as the truck which exploded outside, the guard tower exploded. From above the houses a flight of planes with no wings appeared and then outside of the effective fire range of the ludus' guards disembarked tall golems to the ground. With effortless speed they cruised through the streets until they arrived at the gate itself, and bashed bodily through the iron portal, their blue glowing shields covering them as they rolled on, to be met by the platoon strength PMC guards set up to stop their rampage.

[Austria-Bohemia-Hungary]

Compagnie z. b. V., Garde-Jäger-Regiment Nr. 1 - Ludus Falernae Constantinium - 17^th of September - 17^th of Harsies

Oberst Denise-Françoise-Vallière de Chanclos, Freiin du Retz, Guards Rifle Regiment No. 1 in her Wiesel Fußpanzer had lead her dismounted company through the streets of Falernum at speed, straight towards their objective, the Falernum gladiator school. Now she was staring down at what must really be the joke of her life.
Having battered through the iron gates with her shields she was faced with a single platoon of riflemen, well-dressed riflemen, their bayonets polished and their kit gleaming. They were formed up in a two rank firing line, in mimic of Napoleonic infantry. She turned her head slightly and barked an order into her radio to her adjutant, who then in passable Latin offered the guards of the ludus their lives spared in return for a peaceful surrender, adding that they would be utterly destroyed otherwise. This offer was promptly rejected by a volley of rifle-fire that struck their shields harmlessly. Sighing, she called out: "Fire, short-bursts, small arms only." Employing the heavy 27 mm rotary cannons here would probably kill all the enslaved persons in their cells as well as the guards so they engaged with their rifles only, making very short work of their opponents.
"Alright ladies... They chose it..." Denise muttered in the radio. "Clear the rest of the compound for any hiding guards... and find some keys to the cells and the guy in charge of this place..."

---

Forum of Falernum - Simultaneously

Simultaneously, to the north of the gladiator school Major Adelheide von Witzleben, Mirage 6-1 of the Mirage Witches lead another formation of an assortment of transport helicopters and tiltrotors to their objectives - the Forum itself. The Ostmarkian Chinooks amongst them delivered a single platoon of heavy Serval Fußpanzers, part of the First Tyrolean Rifle Regiment. They found the forum itself empty of civilians, but lined with Saderan army trucks, more importantly they don't find their objectives - the slave market itself. Nevertheless Major Adelheide ordered an immediate assault from her element, 27 mm shells thus raked across the trucks and the militiamen in short order as the infantry started dismounting on the forum itself.
"Lanseal-339, Mirage 6-1, Assault element. We have arrived at the Forum itself. We are dismounting. Objective not found, repeat objective not found. Please advice, over."
"Mirage 6-1, Lanseal-339. An update on objective location will be coming in short order... stand by and defend the forum against all who comes your way."
Sighing as Adelheide closed the radio link the Ostmarkian Witch then called out for the entire assault force to dismount on the forum, clear it of hostiles and fortify it while awaiting that bloody update.

40,000 feet above their heads as the troops below waited a single Taranis reconnaissance and light attack drone started scanning in concentric circles from the forum outwards, its controller attempting to match the aerial picture of an auction house of the sort they had seen and taken pictures of in Italica with the scenery he was seeing. After some effort, and what probably felt like an eternity to the ground forces the Taranis found its mark and Lanseal-339 immediately sent it on via the battlemanagement system to the troops in the forum.
As Major Adelheide received it she saw a barracks-like complex a few intersections down from the main street north. They had finally their objective...

[Allanea]

At the Forum

The Allanean helicopters were neither cargo nor strike, or rather, they were both – strike helicopters, with a small team of infantry seated in the crew cabin. Even now, as the first of the machines began to descend towards the Forum's cobblestone paving, the door gunner seated at its right door laughed as he swung his weapon around at a Saderan in a police uniform and fired a short burst. The man fell, a dark, crumpled figure, his arms and legs bent at uncomfortable angles.

Were it was Reichskamphenite Fallschirmjaegers had deployed to capture Falernum's airfields, here it was Allanean soldiers who were the first to fight. Some of the helicopters hovered over the roofs surrounding the Forum, the soldiers leaping down fearlessly from a height of perhaps two yards, enough to cause an untrained man to break a leg or sprain an ankle. But these were no untrained men.

"Nobody but us!" – a man roared, throwing himself prone on one of the roofs, his rifle at his shoulder.

On the Forum grounds themselves, several of the soldiers were taking up their positions, some flipping over food carts and even automobiles to use as barriers, others crouching behind pillars with their weapons in the ready.

And not a moment to soon.

Overhead, one of the helicopter pilots saw the enemy first - several open-topped trucks, steering towards the Forum. They were, of course, filled with men, seating in inwards-facing rows within the vehicles. It was easy to guess what was going to happen.

Dandelion Beta, this is Sparkle Six, there are tangos that are about to join your party. I'm going to give them some rain, over.

From the helicopter, a single missile detached, swooping towards the lead truck within less then two seconds. Fire erupted from the driver's cabin as the two cabin doors were ripped off, and the truck flipped, spilling its human cargo out. As the column slowed down, the Saderan militiamen leaping from their vehicles, the helicopter pilot spoke again.

Dandelion Beta, I've splashed one, but that's going to slow them down at best. The streets are very narrow so most of them are going to stay dry. Get ready, they will be joining your party soon, over.

Roger that, Sparkle Six, I'm going to be a kind host, over. – on the ground, the paratrooper officer fixed the bayonet to his carbine. He went down on one knee, steadying his weapon against a toppled food cart, and turned to his men. He remembered a phrase he had heard somewhere once, and it seemed appropriate here.

"Gentlemen! Prepare to defend yourselves!"

[Parcia]

Kick the Tires and Light the Fires...

A little known fact of Parcian Military personal is that often they were from all over the Slavic world, from Western Poland to the farthest reaches of Siberia men and women who swore their allegiance to the Tsar would do so in the military. The Pilots and crews of the TU-22Ms were of a special breed of people: Expats and Exiles form the former Yugoslav republic, either by choice, or forcibly sent away by the turbulent revolution that fallowed the death of Josip Broz Tito.

Thus, the stage was set for....

YUGOTHUNDER

With the soft sounds of Kerber playing over the Cabin's radio system, the Pilots joked and chatted with each other, waving and generally being outright goofy with their escorts as they neared the objective. As they did so, how ever, the tone would get quiet, serious almost. They had trained for this for months, years even and yet they couldn't help but feel a slight unease during their first combat mission. Captain Andro Frane was an experienced aviator, having flown under the Forces still loyal to Tito as the end came and was the only one on either of the crews with combat experience. His copilot, 1st. Lt Anto Veselko was a few years his junior, but still as skilled.

"Final check for run, open bay doors."
"Doors open"
"Disengage safety"
"Safety off"
"Designation module on"
"De-sig on"
"Final checks done"
"Final checks done"

"Are we the bad guys, Andro?" This question caught him off guard, though Andro couldn't fault Anto for asking. As they neared their target he answered. "In war, good and bad are relative, Anto...to these people, so backwards and barbaric to us we likely are, highly advanced and warlike people coming through the portal with our main battle tanks and helicopters and Jets, I suspect most people here see us in such a light...then again To us, they are almost the same: Backwards barbaric forces who still take their fellow man for slavery and hold Gladiator fights. It's all retaliative. Now, as for what they did? They could have opened the gate, sent an envoy through, established relations and we would have peace...instead they stormed the German's Capital and rioted and raved, raped and pillaged and took several thousand slaves. One could say it was cosmic justice or even the will of God that brought these people with in our sights."

"Approaching vector switching on autopilot. Bombardier, you good?" Two clicks came over the radio from Dimitrije Luka, one of their Flight sergeants and so they left the plane his hands as it shuttered with the dropping of the bomb. At the same time their sister bird would do the same, their escorts, through loaded to bare with guided munitions and bombs would drop there moment's later. Switching his visor up, the Captain looked at the place were the viaduct has once stood, now engulfed in a massive fire ball.

"It's all relative, petty kings and their soldiers, fighting wars for man and territory...But this...this is the work yearned for, the work I left in Yugoslavia...This is God's Work.



BDA

While the Damage to the viaduct was extensive, it still stood the rails and timbers scored and melted, but the bridge it self stood firm in a defiant action against the might of the Parcian air force. A Second strike was ordered and the crews given an hour to properly rest and re-arm their planes.

[The Selkie]

Asteria Sclábhaí of the Tribe of Fermanagh.
Ludus Falernae Constantinium.
The day began with reveille and unlocking of the cells at five a.m., like every morning.
I did not know, yet, that the day would take an extraordinary route, liberate me from my cycle of killing and training to kill and praying to my Gods, that I would not be killed the next fight. There had been a few close calls...
Yet, here I was, mostly still in one piece, usually training to the point, that I fell into my bed and did not dream. Johann's eyes were still... on my mind.
Carman Fea, please forgive me...
I exhaled as the reveille had finished, my eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Light was dawning from my cell's little window. I was not a novice anymore, so I had one, but I was not one of the stars, so my window was small and my quarters sparse.
My weapons were in the armoury, but my dress was not, the ensemble of leather, fur and vambraces was hardly an armour, but I made it work quite well. During the night, I wore an old tunic, not feeling safe around here.
If I would ever, after what they did when they tried to break me, was another question.
For now, I was picking up my ensemble, then went washing. That being done, and dressed, I went for breakfast. It was not a feast, but quite nutritious, which was a start.
Eggs, goat milk, cheese on bread, fish, cereals and vegetables – not bad a all. The Younger Militia, on marches, ate worse, yet more delicious at the same time, thanks to our Provisions. I ate heartily, the mood was relaxed. One could get used to being under armed by PMC-Guards, watching one at every bite. Some colleagues sat together, some alone, some didn't sit at all... it was a mess hall, alright.
I sat alone.
Morning Training Session began soon afterwards, with some people noting the smoke in the distance.
Then, all went off quickly: We were ushered back into our cells, I made a point out of handing in my wooden sword again in an orderly fashion. Some needed more convincing, but as soon as my sword was gone, I was docile as a sheep. Outside, I heard heavy trucks, I went to my window and peered outside.
Cut me some slack, I am but a civilian.
Younger Militia Training actually mandated, that I would keep my head low during what appeared to be a combat situation, but that was a while ago. Plus, I had seen contrails!
Now, I knew that the Saderan Air Force had planes, which could fly high up, but they were so high up, that there were not many possibilities but one: This was our ticket to liberty! However, I hoped, that no one would mistake the Ludus for a barracks or something, with our guard tower and training ground...
I heard explosions, then the thump-thump-thump of helicopter rotors.
Without a doubt, this was our rescue!
Crashing sounds, then more gunfire... and as I peered out of my window, I suddenly felt a sharp pain at the side of my face, stumbled back, fell down onto my arse – Gods, this hurt!
Something had hit me!
Reaching up, I felt wetness – blood!
For a gladiator, I was surprisingly afraid of blood, especially my own, but that would not stop me now! I was this close!
I rummaged for my night tunic – not the best, but it would hopefully suffice until a doctor could look at it. I pressed it onto the wound, dizzy, but alive and kicking as I heard footsteps, gunfire and the clinging of keys...
...and when they didn't work, someone ripping apart the locks of a cell with bare hands.
Okay.
Then, it was my cell's turn.
The four girls standing in front of it were heavily armed, dressed in olive drab and wore shorts and had both tails and animal ears on their heads. Their uniforms were decidedly not SDF. Their helmets looked quite expensive, too, and high tech.
“Hi.”, I said in English, waved with my free hand, “I take you aren't SDF or Spiorad?”

Major Faye Ainnir of the Tribe of Wicklow/Fairy.
In the air near Falernum.
It was interesting, I thought as I was awaiting calls for air support.
Eight Veilbhits in the air, flying high to avoid the local anti-air assets – despite us being more advanced and whatnot, I did not want to risk unnecessary damage to my planes or pilots and lucky shots were a thing that existed – watching the larger Coalition Aerial Forces do their thing while we got flight hours in.
Then again, calls of priority for us were from the Special Forces already in the city and from the air cavalry units fighting there already. We had everything one could need to ruin a Saderan's day under our arses, nearly two and a half tons of ammunition on six hardpoints, G-116 revolver canons in the nose. We had rockets, missiles, bombs... and, of course, one of my planes was equipped for Electronic Warfare, another for target damage assessment.
So far, no calls had been handed down towards us, despite us listening in on the general net. The slave market had not been where we landed the first wave, not at the Forum, which meant, that the force assigned to liberate those poor buggers would have to fight its way through the city.
That, in turn, meant, that we might be needed.
We were ready, for those calls, and for other calls for support. Mark targets and pull the head in, we'll do the rest – the old system, so often used and still merely a force-amplifier, not the force itself.
Beneath us, the force was finishing up, 11-Dragan on the right flank.
“Fairy-Flight.”, suddenly crackled from the radio, “This is Lanseal-339. Air Support for the forces on the Forum and their advance is needed, at their discretion.”
“Positive, Lanseal-339. Will provide CAS to forces on the Forum. Who do I have the pleasure of supporting?”, I replied.
I knew, that my people had listened in and were still formed up behind me. When I turned towards the Forum, they would be behind me.
“Mirage 6-1, Fairy-Flight.”, came the reply.
Hm... that name sounded familiar.
“Understood, Lanseal-339. Switching frequency, Fairy-Leader Out.”, I replied and did as I had said. It was shortly after the slave market's location had been found that I spoke: “Mirage 6-1, Fairy-Leader, we are to provide close air support. Tell us what you need gone and it will be gone.”

[Wolfenium]

-snip-

"Well, I'm sure we will, at some point. Maybe not now, but HQ is still drafting more regulations for the natives," Dina stated, "don't be surprised if anything new shows up. you're cleared to move on."

Ever a woman of few words, she gave a thumbs up for her comrades to raise the boom barrier, waving the truck driver on as she passed a simple salute. The strange women of Wachregiment 9 were many things. Mysterious, seductive, deadly. But one thing Füchsin had not counted on was the more average aspects of the girls. They were people too, and the boredom of daily duties was written all over her. Her colleagues seemed less concerned, perhaps content with staying behind the front. But not everyone would be granted that privilege, not the least those bound for Falernum.

-snip-

Forum

Empty. That was far from a good sign. Not that the enemy had not been warned of their arrival, but they appeared to have cleared out too quickly. The Wachregiments' new V-22 Ospreys were, to put it bluntly, almost unnecessary, and certainly a bit too big to land directly in the city. Even the ageing 'flying tanks' acquired from Amythyst in the war were better suited for this, though the pilots of the 533. Vaeringer appeared a lot less welcoming to such passengers.

Scaling down the rope onto the rooftops as the girls set up position, a fox-like commander in black combat gear, brown silky hair and a set of nine tails was quite dismayed. They had expected combat. They were not, however, expecting target practice.

"Looks like you got yourselves some motorized (infantry) inbound," one of the Mi-24 pilots radioed in a gruff, senior voice, "they look green."

"'Funny'," the commander grunted, checking on a fellow fox with a white bob hairstyle as she set up her Steyr HS .50, "you would think they'll bring in more?"

"Aye," the pilot said, "a bit of a shame wasting rockets on these poor sods, but they asked for it."

"Well, save some for us, would you, dear," she replied, watching an explosion in the distance as their allies drew first blood. Needless to say, with her team readied on the rooftops, the girls were prepared to pick off the hordes. As the Hind made its pass splaying the column with its deadly munitions, the girls prepared to face the incoming storm. Not exactly top-tier prey, all things considered, but it would have to do.

"Alpha Team, in position," the commander radioed, "engaging."

The pack was on the hunt.

[Allanea]

We, by the Grace of the Gods and the Will of the People, Emperor of Greater Prussia, King of Allanea, et cetera, et cetera, hereby wish to offer up the following change to the Military Statutes of the Mighty Empire of which We have been entrusted the Crown and leadership. Until recently, the principal military honor of the Greater Prussian Empire has been the Cross of St. George, of which the Statutes have been similar to the ones used in Allanea, and in Keishar Russia, by long tradition. We however believe that, due to the fact that the Greater Prussian Empire’s core and tradition emerges from several nations that are, primarily, inhabited by members of the Protestant faith, that it would be superior to establish a symbol that is not associated with the notion of sainthood, which by many protestants is seen as idolatrous.

As such, We wish to introduce anew the Order of the Iron Cross, which borrows upon the martial traditions of Reichskamphen, Karlsland, Imeriata, and other no less honorable and respectable nations.which are part of the Greater Prussian Empire. We are aware that variations of the Iron Cross are also used by less-than-honorable nations. That said, We feel the necessity to make appropriate military awards possible for honorable fighting men must necessitate the introduction of a new medal.

The Order of the Iron Cross will be instituted in five grades, issued for consecutive acts of bravery in combat, or other contributions which an individual makes in a warlike situation:

Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross]


Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves


Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords


Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds


Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Golden Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds.

These medals are to be worn on the left side of the chest on one’s parade uniform, replacing each other as successive Iron Crosses are issued (a Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves replaces a regular Knight’s Cross ).

In addition thereto, We shall introduce also a Knight’s Sword of the Iron Cross and a Knight’s Dagger of the Iron Cross, to be also awarded upon acts of military heroism and so forth. These shall constitute of a standard Infantry Shashka, Mark 6, redecorated in platinum and stamped with appropriate symbols, and an Iron Cross Ribbon (in certain situations, the Iron Cross Ribbon may be worn on an individual’s existing issue sword), or, respectively, a misericord dagger, decorated also accordingly.

In total, therefore, an individual may win up to seven various Iron Cross awards over a lifetime. Should, which we view unlikely, an individual win all seven, and yet by some act of valor require additional rewards through continuous acts of valor, We by the Grace of the Gods the Emperor of Greater Prussia shall contemplate additional awards, or perhaps the extension of the medal statute by additional classes.


Alexander Blaken-Kazansky, Emperor of Greater Prussia and the Thousand States, King of Allanea, Reichskamphen, Leipzig-Island, Tsar of All Russia, Moscow, Vladimir, Novgorod; Kazan, Astrakhan, , Siberia, Chersonese Taurianl Lord of Pskov and Grand Prince of Smolensk, Prince, Karelia, Tver, Yugorsky land, Perm, Vyatka, and others; Lord and Grand Prince of Nizhny Nogorod, Ryazan, Polotsk, Rostov, Yaroslavl, Belozersk, Udorsky land, Obdorsk, Kondia, and all of the northern countries Master; hereditary Sovereign and ruler of the Circassian and Mountainous Princes and of others; Lord of Turkestan; Archduke of Free Dragkon, Duke of Leyfield, Blaken-Island, Schleswig-Holstein, Stormarn, Dithmarschen, and Oldenburg, Count of Centreville, Protector of Snogohsia Liberator of Torontonias, President of the Capitalist Internationale, Friend of the Elves, and Headmaster of the Leyfield School for Girls.

[Austria-Bohemia-Hungary]

Compagnie z. b. V., Garde-Jäger-Regiment Nr. 1 - Ludus Falernae Constantinium - 17^th of September - 17th of Harsies

Colonel Denise de Chanclos-Retz was staring - maybe even ogling a bit at this woman with a dirty, somewhat bloody tunic pressed into her cheek. She was actually taken aback by the use of English but she wasted little time in replying after calling up the platoon medic.
"Imperial and Royal WITCH-Command. And you are?"
Seconds later the platoon medic came running, acknowledged her superior officer and reported that medical attention were mostly unneeded. These enslaved persons were at least well-fed and well taken care of... like lambs for slaughter in some perverse version of a Grimm saga - Chanclos passed the vile thought through her mind quickly before delegating the act of dressing this woman's wound to the medic, returning to her company to organise the defence before an exfiltration could be effected.

Hauptoberjäger Antonia Bergemann, the assigned platoon medic had now dismounted her Unit, and was on her knees as she took the woman to the bed and started applying with care saline on the wound. As she did so she started the battery of questions, in English: "Name, age and nationality please? How long have you been here?" Moving on she cut a suitable patch of clean cotton gauze and taped it to the wound, before withdrawing antibiotics and tetanus vaccine into two needles. "This may sting a little... we're going to get you home now."

---

Forum

Major Adelheide had one of her problems solved but now the process of solving the first problem had spawned another: The two militia battalions garrisoning Falernum had been brought into some organisation and were now coming at them from both sides of the Forum itself. Some of the militiamen, having dismounted outside the effective range of their weapons were now conducting probing attacks through the nearby buildings. Dull bangs were heard over the sound of gunfire going both sides - Saderan engineers mouseholing through walls. Countering them, Adelheide had her half squadron of Witches, the Land Unit platoon and paratroopers. And of course, the vast air support assets of the coalition above their heads. As if on cue the last truck in the vehicle column advancing on them from the north exploded into a burning wreck, the militiamen inside it included. Without further delay Adelheide called out on the general net: "All callsigns, all callsigns near the Forum. Mirage 6-1. All weapons free. All weapons free. Permit no hostile vehicle or troop to approach the Forum!"
Having to fight their way to the auction house would be a chore...

---

Sibyl Five-Three, V Army Cooperation Squadron, Royal Air Force - 41,000 feet above

In the cooled, almost sterile looking environment of an Sentinel R.Mk.1 of the Royal Air Force, far removed from the burning and explosions and gunfire below, electronic surveillance specialists were monitoring every stage of the activities down below and within hundreds of kilometres radius. It was one of these specialists, assigned to support the Parcian Backfire operations that first noticed a sizeable radar return on his console approaching the viaduct at speed. Picking up the radio, he made a call:
"Papa Alpha Romeo CAP. Sybil Five-Three. Unknown contact approaching your primary objectives at speed. Designate Golf 755. Golf. 7. 5. 5. Speed 51 knots on the ground. Suspected to be a train of some description."
In fact, Golf 755 was an armed transport train equipped with 40 mm pompoms and tank guns, but for Sybil Five-Three that could not be known.

[Allanea]

There is something strange about death in war. It defies logic – or rather, it defies the sort of logic that the human mind is typically used to use in interpreting the universe. We think of our fellow human beings not as collections of flesh and bone weighing this and that, and so and so many inches tall, who experience joy and pain, who want and do things, who have emotions and desires. Here runs Lucius Valens, a Saderan militiaman with a luxurious moustache, who braved shrapnel and fire from the skies to defend his hometown – or, if you prefer, a slaver nationalist fighting to preserve a way of life centered around the torment and oppression of others. Three hundred yards away, a man Lucius had never met presses a trigger on his rifle – moving his finger just less than an inch – and the rifle budges slightly against his shoulder.

And then, with terrifying ease, the man who had but inches ago lived and breathed is now lying on the cobblestones of the Forum. One can say that in his last moments, Lucius is shielding his beloved soil with his body – but in truth, Lucius Valens is now just this many pounds of flesh and bone, cooling on the ground, with no desires or hatreds of his own, all meaning and purpose now drained from his body by that single, tiny bullet.

But it is not only easy to kill at war – it is easy to die also.

You can be like Sergeant Diego Gonzales, wearing advanced armor that can take a rifle bullet in the chest, trained with the finest training, fighting alongside your friends – and then, a Saderan militiaman who has had no training to speak of puts a bullet in your neck just over the edge of your body armor. Diego staggers, blood spraying from his neck like a fountain – at this point he's already dead, the bullet having destroyed every vital organ in his neck all at once – his legs give way, and he crumbles. Over him, his commanding officer cries out – but a second ago, his friend was with him, talking to him, seemingly invulnerable, lucky, well-trained. How can he be dead?

Diego?! DIEGO?!

There is no time to mourn. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, the young officer swings his carbine, bringing it to bear on the edge of one of the roofs surrounding the Forum. There, the man who killed Diego – he killed Diego! – is working the bolt on his rifle.

The Allanean does not need to do this. He puts a shot in the Saderan's stomach, causing him to fall to his knees, and two more, in his chest. The man falls forward and off the roof.

At the officer's feet, Sergeant Diego Gonzales is still laying on his back, his brown eyes wide open, staring at the Saderan skies in open surprise.

[Sadera]

Around the Forum

Around him, his friends and neighbors were falling dead. They were not soldiers yesterday – they were citizens of the Empire, regular cityfolk called to the banner when the barbarian invaded. They had training, of course, and guns – but he did not remember them as soldiers. He remembered them as Tullius, the engineer, and Placus, the baker, and Septimus, his cousin the slave-dealer. Now they were dead – Tullius, torn to shred by a rocket shell from a helicopter, Placus, killed with a hand-grenade, Septimus, shot by a sniper. The barbarians were well-armed, and they were well-trained. With their tiny carbines, they brought men down at two hundred paces like they were at a shooting range.

But there were things, he thought, beyond the barbarians. The arcane art of illusion and metamorphoses was one of those. He – Sisenna Atronius Varus, battlemage – would have a few things to show them yet. He crouched behind the corner of a stonework building, and began whispering. Bullets whistled past him, and explosions made the ground shake, but they did not shake the Saderan's resolve. He folded his fingers into the sacred gestures, and whispered the words of the incantation.

They began to coalesce from the thin air – images of soldiers in full kit and uniform. He gave them the faces of the fallen – as if Tulius, and Placus, and his cousin Septimus, were among the living once more. The barbarians were unlikely to notice this silent tribute to his friends. The illusions materialized around the corner from the Forum, and when they attacked, it seemed simply that more and more soldiers were joining the fray.

Soon enough, the machineguns began to clatter, as the enemy began to shoot down the "reinforcements". Of course, these were not real soldiers – they could do the barbarians no harm. But as they assaulted, they confused the enemy, for they could not be told apart from the real Saderans who were also, still, in the fray.

From his hiding place, Sisenna saw his simple trick take a toll. Here, a barbarian in moss-green uniform took a moment to shoot down a fake soldier – only to be bayoneted by a real one, who had taken the that very second to cross the distance separating him from the barbarian lines, and drive a bayonet through the enemy's throat and up into his mouth.

"Welcome to the Empire," – Sisenna whispered.

In their hiding places around the Forum, Sisenna's brothers in arms prepared to cast their own spells.

[The Selkie]

Compagnie z. b. V., Garde-Jäger-Regiment Nr. 1 - Ludus Falernae Constantinium - 17^th of September - 17th of Harsies

Colonel Denise de Chanclos-Retz was staring - maybe even ogling a bit at this woman with a dirty, somewhat bloody tunic pressed into her cheek. She was actually taken aback by the use of English but she wasted little time in replying after calling up the platoon medic.
"Imperial and Royal WITCH-Command. And you are?"
Seconds later the platoon medic came running, acknowledged her superior officer and reported that medical attention were mostly unneeded. These enslaved persons were at least well-fed and well taken care of... like lambs for slaughter in some perverse version of a Grimm saga - Chanclos passed the vile thought through her mind quickly before delegating the act of dressing this woman's wound to the medic, returning to her company to organise the defence before an exfiltration could be effected.

Hauptoberjäger Antonia Bergemann, the assigned platoon medic had now dismounted her Unit, and was on her knees as she took the woman to the bed and started applying with care saline on the wound. As she did so she started the battery of questions, in English: "Name, age and nationality please? How long have you been here?" Moving on she cut a suitable patch of clean cotton gauze and taped it to the wound, before withdrawing antibiotics and tetanus vaccine into two needles. "This may sting a little... we're going to get you home now."

---

Forum

Major Adelheide had one of her problems solved but now the process of solving the first problem had spawned another: The two militia battalions garrisoning Falernum had been brought into some organisation and were now coming at them from both sides of the Forum itself. Some of the militiamen, having dismounted outside the effective range of their weapons were now conducting probing attacks through the nearby buildings. Dull bangs were heard over the sound of gunfire going both sides - Saderan engineers mouseholing through walls. Countering them, Adelheide had her half squadron of Witches, the Land Unit platoon and paratroopers. And of course, the vast air support assets of the coalition above their heads. As if on cue the last truck in the vehicle column advancing on them from the north exploded into a burning wreck, the militiamen inside it included. Without further delay Adelheide called out on the general net: "All callsigns, all callsigns near the Forum. Mirage 6-1. All weapons free. All weapons free. Permit no hostile vehicle or troop to approach the Forum!"
Having to fight their way to the auction house would be a chore...

---

Sibyl Five-Three, V Army Cooperation Squadron, Royal Air Force - 41,000 feet above

In the cooled, almost sterile looking environment of an Sentinel R.Mk.1 of the Royal Air Force, far removed from the burning and explosions and gunfire below, electronic surveillance specialists were monitoring every stage of the activities down below and within hundreds of kilometres radius. It was one of these specialists, assigned to support the Parcian Backfire operations that first noticed a sizeable radar return on his console approaching the viaduct at speed. Picking up the radio, he made a call:
"Papa Alpha Romeo CAP. Sybil Five-Three. Unknown contact approaching your primary objectives at speed. Designate Golf 755. Golf. 7. 5. 5. Speed 51 knots on the ground. Suspected to be a train of some description."
In fact, Golf 755 was an armed transport train equipped with 40 mm pompoms and tank guns, but for Sybil Five-Three that could not be known.

Asteria Sclábhaí of the Tribe of Fermanagh.
Ludus Falernae Constantinium.
"Imperial and Royal WITCH-Command. And you are?"
Well, that answered nothing.
Before I could reply, the next of her guys came, a girl with a medic bag, who began to dress my wound. It indeed hurt a little, but that was numbed, when I head the magical phrase: "...we're going to get you home now."
I think, that I choked up a little at that.
When I had caught myself, I replied: "Asteria Sclábhaí of the Tribe of Fermanagh. Imma Selkie-lass, don't have my passport on me, but I can proof it... I've been here for... call it five months. I'm of 25 Springs... listen." I rose a bit. "This is a gladiator school. These guys here are slaves trained to kill each other for fun and sports. Or be killed. I am one of them. Please, Ma'am..." I looked to the boss-witch around, imploring her. "...if you can, please get them all out of here, too. Many of them are not hurt physically, but mentally, too."
And so was I.

Major Faye Ainnir of the Tribe of Wicklow/Fairy.
In the air above Falernum.
"All callsigns, all callsigns near the Forum. Mirage 6-1. All weapons free. All weapons free. Permit no hostile vehicle or troop to approach the Forum!", came from the radio.
"Mirage 6-1, Fairy-Flight, copy, weapons free. Cover your ears, kid.", I spoke into my radio, adding the last as a small warning.
It would get loud.
The main purposes of the Veilbhit-II Light Attack Aircraft were as a close-air-support provider and as a trainer. It could be a fighter, but it was not a good one.
I decidedly did not want to go into air combat with her.
"Split in pairs and run down the main accesses. Let the footwrappers take care of the smaller streets, we clean the big ones.", she commanded, then her planes began their deadly dance, each carrying not only a 30 mm cannon in the nose, but also two tons of ammunition.
Rocket pods, missiles, free falling bombs and guided bombs... and what we referred to as Multi-Capacity Dispenser. MCDs were a type of munitions dispenser, which's effectiveness depended on the submunition filling the 120 slots. The usual loadout was effective against buildings, personell, unarmoured and lightly armoured vehicles.
The usual loadout consisted of 120 small bomblets with fragmentation warheads, which released, upon their small Doppler-radar reporting, that they were around a metre away from the ground, a small explosion and around two thousand small metal splinters and 250 iron balls, flying in all directions and killing with little concern about what they hit, or rather, punched through.
These small bomblets could be chosen from mission to mission and we had some nasty stuff in store, but as the MCD under my arse dropped its bomblets, my way leading me away from the forum down the eastern main road, I hoped, that this would be enough.
Over centuries and centuries of working as mercenaries for Lords and Causes not our own, my people learned one thing: The greatest weapon was not a sword, not a spear, not a bow, not a rifle or a cannon, but fear. Simple, primeval, fear.
The thing, that made grown men wet themselves and women concerned for their virtue slit their throats, for the barbarians would come - it was fear, that made them do this.
And what brought fear better then death coming out of the clear morning sky, ripping your people to shreds in front of your very eyes?
At the same time, I felt strangely detached.
I was here, in my plane, zooming in, zooming out, soon coming around for another pass, but it didn't touch me. Down there, where my bomblets ripped people to shreds, it was below me and behind me.
I might see images in the news or the after-action report, but... that was it.
Next mission, off we go.

[Austria-Bohemia-Hungary]

Ludus Falernae Constantinium

Colonel de Chanclos-Retz was in the process of leaving the Selkie to the care of Antonia when Asteria asked for her attention. Denise turned slightly around with a faint smile on her face, watching as Antonia started working on Asteria's cheek. With what Denise hoped to be a reassuring smile on her face she replied: "Don't worry. We were here especially for this gladiator school. So yes. We know what needs to be done. Now calm down and stay put as we arrange for an evacuation."
Walking on Denise convened a Chinese parliament with her senior company officers to see over their temporary defensive arrangements, and to radio in the Chinooks for the evacuation. They had all but demolished the main gate, exploded the guard towers and left a burnt husk of a truck outside on the street, all in all a not very ideal position to mount a defence on. Still though, the Witches found some carts and overturned them to block the main entrance, cleared a helicopter landing space in the middle of the exercise yard and stood ready, awaiting the Saderan relief column that was supposed to come to the aid of the Ludus, or their helicopter transports, whichever came first.

The first to arrive out of those two was one of their Chinooks, landing in the designated position and started loading the liberated persons. The second, merely minutes behind were one of the militia half-platoons, sent to investigate why the burning truck outside had failed to respond. It was destroyed without much difficulty by high-explosive fires from the Land Witches' autocannons. The second one, the actual relief columns for the Ludus, about four platoons in strength and advancing per foot by the sides of their transports was harder to deal with, especially since two of those platoons appeared to advance from the other direction of the street. This called for some... flying artillery...

"Valley TAC, by the gladiator school. Request priority air support outside the school, caution: friendly forces and air assets within danger close proximity. Enemy consists of footmobiles and soft-trucks advancing on our position in strength along the street. How copy?" As her tactical air coordinator finished talking, Denise yelled to everybody that could hear it: "Everybody's that's not in cover, take cover now, very close air support incoming! Get that bloody Chinook away and going right now!

---

Rest of Falernum

Sibyl Five-Three, the Sentinel R.1 orbiting above the city relayed at once the support request from Valley TAC to... Fairy Leader. Clearing the streets around the Forum could be done with their other assets and besides... cluster munitions inside a city was... a bit too much collateral damage for the Britannians' tastes... "Fairy Leader, Sybil Five-Three, priority tasking from Valley TAC at the gladiator school. Friendly forces and air assets within danger close proximity, repeat danger close proximity. Enemy of footmobiles and soft-trucks advancing on them in strength. How copy over?"
On the forum, as the smoke cleared after the Selkie's bombs had gone through the streets, the coalition forces holding the forum surged onward, the heavily protected Land Witches leading the way. And lead the way they did, the FPz Servals of the I&R WITCH-K track-dashing and ramming their way through the wreckage that filled the streets, their azure shielding blocking nearly all efforts to stop them in their tracks, up to and including those 20 mm anti-tank rifles the Saderan militia had managed to bring into action - their only anti-tank asset on the Forum itself.
Having crushed most of the opposition and sent the column blocking their way to the slave-dealing auction house flying, the Witches separated into guard positions around the objective as the rest of the coalition arrived next to search the objective, liberate the enslaved persons and confiscate the evidence.

All this took the better of thirty minutes or so, as the combined airlift capability of the coalition force in Falernum lifted bodily the hundred or so kidnapped citizens and enslaved persons from their prison and onward to freedom. Then as the primary mission was completed they withdrew out from the city towards designated assembly areas, relieved by the armoured columns coming up south. North of the city, the reinforcing train speeding towards the viaduct ate enough Parcian Kh-38's to explode several times over, and the viaduct itself, the primary objective of the Parcian air assets were dropped with a few nine ton bombs.
Finally the crescendo of the operation came, in the form of 12 Nakajima Shinseis from the 597^th Carrier Attack Group, bearing 106 tons of bunker busting ordnance designated to raze the main headquarters of the Saderan forces in Falernum to the ground - the Citadel itself. The crescendo was technically simple as every interdictor in the formation pointed their targeting laser at the entrances, the main citadel, and the four tanks within the walls, still being readied by agitated crews and mechanics. Four 2,200 kg bunker busters left each plane moments later and forty-six of the bombs impacted precisely on target, simply vanishing the entire structure of the Falernum Stronghold into a cloud of fire and dust, the forces and commanders holed up inside what they thought was an impervious structure with it.

Onboard Sybil Five-Three, with HIH Princess Longina in attendance, Generalmajor Wilhelmina Margareta Edle von Jäckl, deputy overall commander of Operation Sanguine declared over the coalition-wide circuits as the dust cloud that formerly comprised the Falernum Citadel slowly settled: "All channels, Lanseal-339 speaking. Operation Completed. Those who needs to return to base do so now. Others on the ground are to fortify our gains."