Homofront Returns [MT/Greater Dienstad/WIP/Closed]

[Mokastana]

Somewhere Near Kyzlar-Birgan Village
60km SSE of Bashkiriya National Park
Ural Mountain Range
Bashkortostan
09:00

It was a crisp, chilled morning when the latest set of drones was sent out, but the galeforce winds characteristic of the Urals at this time of the year had abated; for the time being, at least. Which was good, for these particular drones looked almost commercial, given their small size of barely a metre wide, a strong wind could easily knock one off course, forcing a team to recover them. The reason they would need to be recovered, was the electronic sensor suite attached to each one. Passive radar and radio receivers listened for any kind of electronic communication, while cameras, both visual and infrared spectrum, searched for signs of life. Normally they looked for small groups of people, campfires, villages to map out, but this time, it was something else that caught the attention of the drone operator back at base.

Thick smoke and the dying tongues of flame emanated from the smouldering, destroyed remains of what was once the village of Kyzlar-Birgan. The blackened rubble was immediately distinct, even in the poor visibility conditions—partially attributed to the smoke, of course—and the operators immediately pounded the alarm.

Within minutes, two ATH-30 Roc Attack Transport Helicopters took off from the local forward operating base. Each was loaded with six Air Cavalry soldiers, half of the maximum load each helicopter could carry. With them, a single Apache helicopter joined as an escort, in case some local terrorists tried to shoot down the humanitarian mission. Normally helicopters would drop troops off kilometers from the target site but—as this was a village—there was the possibility of survivors that needed tending to. Within half an hour, with the drone continuing to watch and study the surrounding area, the helicopters were soon approaching the ruined village…

“Command this is Bravo one Actual, we are at the village site. Dropping now.”

“Copy that Bravo One.”

The first Roc flew in low, outside of the village, never landing hovering just under a meter above the ground. The side doors opened and a supply sled was pushed out, followed by soldiers jumping out and forming a perimeter around the helicopter.

Homofront-Occupied Ruins of Kyzlar-Birgan Village
60km SSE of Bashkiriya National Park
Ural Mountain Range
Bashkortostan
09:10

*zzzzzzz* A buzzing noise was heard by the hermaphroditic Banana Split, as xe stood watch, as xe had done since waking up from the sleeping bag xe brought from xer last restock in the ruins of Kyzlar-Birgan, after Muffy had done so for the night, and now needed to relax for a bit, but not sleep just yet.

*zzzzzzz* Went the buzzing noise again, and Banana Split—understandably irritated, but also suspicious—asked his bent-as-a-floppy-disk Mokan comrade, Avocado: “Did you hear that? The buzzing noise from the sky, I mean.”

“Sí, I deed” responded Avocado, his Mokan accent thick as ever. “Ees too loud to be flies coming for the dead. I talk to the others over walkie-talkie, okay?” he continued, getting out his pocket radio, with added encryption.

“Be careful, Avocado” warned Banana Split, as xe loaded his SPG-9 and deactivating the safety lever on xer AK-74, as Avocado paged the others scattered throughout the ruined village. “I think the Povvo peeps caught on, and this is neither the beginning or the end of our story.”

Avocado nodded as he finished the warning, and readied his own rifle. But he was not assigned a recoilless rifle, being deemed as having a weaker-than-normal non-dominant arm, which would normally be used to steady a heavy recoilless rifle when firing; the munitions for those weren’t as cheap, light, or as easy to acquire as bullets.

30 minutes later...

The distant sound of at least two helicopters broke the silence that permeated the ruins since the drones left, and the Homofronters were immediately roused; even Muffy, who was relaxing on a pile of rubble while protected by her sleeping bag until then, had her rainbow balaclava on, her SPG-9 ready to aim, and her AK-74 loaded with the safety lever deactivated.

Muffy shouted into her pocket radio, addressing everyone in the war party: “They’re here! I repeat: they are f*cking here! Be prepared to scatter in small mobs when they fire, and remember: the rubble and dead bodies are your friends; hit and run, my queens, for the trap is ready!”

The fight had only just begun.

The ATH-30 Roc Attack Transport Helicopter had been designed for a lot possible threats on the modern battlefield, from guided missile defense systems, to armor capable of deflecting a 30mm round depending on angle of hit. However, no flying vehicle was perfect, and the design room couldn’t protect against all threats, especially lucky ones. A well hidden SPG-9 fired a 73mm shell into the side of the helicopter, hitting it just behind the passenger compartment and almost tearing off the tail of the war helicopter. The pilots attempted to pull up, either out of desperation or whiplash, luckily the contra-rotating main rotor configuration prevented the helicopter from spinning out of control, but but the stress on the frame only made the damage worse. The helicopter would not be able to maintain lift with a hole of this side in its side, forcing the pilots to crash land a few dozen meters away.

“Contact!” Someone shouted over the radio, as the other Roc and the Apache both began searching the ruins for targets. A soldiers who saw where the recoilless rifle had fired from pointed it out on the radio and the Apache gunship let loose a barrage of 70mm rockets onto the building where the recoilless rifle was hidden. On the ground, the six or so soldiers that had jumped from the helicopter were now prone on the ground, firing their rifles at any possible targets carrying a gun they could see while attempting to coordinate fire with the helicopters above. It was an ambush, but they had the air superiority for the moment.

”FIRE!” shouted a groggy Muffy into her pocket radio at the top of her lungs and with her dying breath as the rockets came straight for her and the three other Homofronters in her vicinity, which rung out so loudly that the Homofronters didn’t need to put the devices to the ears to hear the warcry, and thus return fire at the sextet of foreign soldiers who had landed. Two of the three Homofronters with and including Muffy were blown to pieces and dead, while a third one—by the name of Angular Merkin—was charred with blackened eschar from fourth-degree burns to the arms she held up in vain to shield herself from the blast, while the three in front of her were slain protecting her.

“Target down.” Shouted the soldier who targeted the recoilless rifle location right before the world erupted in gunfire around him. All around him dirt and debris kicked up as AK fire tried to eliminate him. A round even managed to hit his shoulder, lodging itself into his second layer of armor. Lyran made armor was great, but it could not stand up to sustained Kalashnikov fire. Already his radio was screaming at him “I’m hit, I’m hit!” as other soldiers in his squad screamed in pain. He rolled behind some logs and hoped they would obscure him enough to get a call on the radio out. “Get us some cover, we are being slaughtered down here!”

Above the soldiers, the two gunships continue to lay down suppressive fire from their 30mm cannons, followed quickly by smoke to cover the troops on the ground. The thick smoke begins to obscure the field the PUF soldiers are hiding in, from both visual and infrared spectrums. It would mean that the Mokans on the ground would be effectively blinded as well, but when outnumbered, it was the best course of action to take.

“I can’t f*cking see a thing!” shouted Banana Split, as xe scrabbled for xer SPG-9, and fired it in a straight line in front of him, hoping that it’d hit something in the panic that ensued among xer surviving comrades. As the smoke began to engulf xer, xe dropped the weapon and opted instead for the AK-74 strapped to xer back, and dropped to the ground, firing close to ground-level in front of xerself—left-right-left-right—across what xer usual field of vision would be, were there no smoke.

Around them the gunships continued to drop rounds and rockets into the buildings and possible cover the Homofront soldiers were using. The smoke might have covered the six soldiers on the ground, but the village was still visible from the air. Using their infrared scanners, they looked for heat signatures and fed them 30mm rounds as they found them as the Roc Attack Transport helicopter turned towards the second Landing Zone to drop it’s troops off. They would have to hike for a bit to get to the village and assist their downed comrades, but for the moment it was the best way to get the troops on the ground.

And on the far end of Kyzlar-Birgin’s ruins—far from the smokescreen—were two three-per groups of Homofronters, each armed with one 9K38 Igla anti-aircraft missiles. Two missiles screamed into the sky, one racing for each helicopter. The Roc’s anti-missile system woke up instantly, firing off flares and firing a laser into the incoming missile, effectively blinding it. The soldiers inside the Roc felt the blastwave as the missile exploded nearby, peppering the Roc with shrapnel but causing little to none serious damage. The anti-missiles systems had done well to take out the incoming rocket. The Apache was not so lucky. Although retrofitted with a similar anti-missile system, the range was less than a kilometer, meaning that the flares and laser defense had just under a second to detect and react. They did, firing off flares and blinding the missile, but at this range, the missile was already on target, exploding close enough to the Apache to tear into its body and bring the helicopter into a rapid descent to the battlefield. Crashing just outside the village, it was hard to tell if the crew survived.

“RETREAT!” shouted Banana Split into xer pocket radio, as the smoke began to clear, and it was clear that they were going to be outnumbered. “To the hills, my queens!” xe continued, before making a run for it on xer own, as the other Homofronts split up into a lot of smaller groups.

And—just like that—they were gone with the winds that blew across Kyzlar-Birgin’s ruins.

[Mokastana]

Command Building
Naval Station SOCHI of The People’s Unified Federation
Outside of Khyrkasy, Chuvashia, Povolzhye Khaganate

Naval Station SOCHI had the luxury of being the closest international Military base to the Federal Mainland, which meant that it was easily well maintained and disciplined, often being the first stop of many military commanders on their trips and “surprise inspections” between the Mokan Mainland and Wellovia. This also mean that it had a lot facilities often reserved for only the upper brass than bases such as Naval Station HERMANOS in Firmador sorely lacked. Also unlike the Firmador deployment, this one allowed families and dependents to live nearby, granting the base the feel of a small town, complete with commissaries and even international fast food places such as Cute Bunny Burger and MotoPizza. Yet, the tall fences, armed patrols and layered defenses at the gate remind everyone that this was still a military facility.

For foreign military officers invited to this conference, they would first be stopped at the main gate, where IDs would be exchanged and checked with the lists given by the host country, be it the Kolechian observers or the soldiers from the host country. Anything larger than a armored car would would escorted to the local motor pool where the crews and passengers would be loaded up into PUF military issued PPMVs for the trip into the base. Once inside, they would pass the various stores and business that existed to serve the needs of Federal Soldiers and their families, with many stores having multiple languages spelling out their names and services. It was not uncommon to see a sign that read “YES, WE SPEAK ENGLISH” on the side. Once passed the shopping centers and civilian housing, they would reach a second gate, to the base proper, where additional guards would check their IDs again, confirm their presence, and lead them to the main command center where the meeting was taking place. This time all visiting vehicles would be given a PPMV escort to the briefing.

It almost looked like a modern officer building, except only a few floors in height and cleary extra concrete was used in the frame. No doubt the glass was also reinforced by something. Once inside, they would be escorted to a large planning room, complete with a table/electronic screen in the center. On it a map of the Khaganate complete with known allied locations and unit names. At the front of the room was General Magnus Basu, a tall man with a broad chest and deep red skin. Mokan and Anuien aides continued their work around the briefing room, as General Basu waved a hand, and spoke in the common western language:

“Welcome to Station Sochi, we are here to discuss the coordinated strategy of the allied efforts in the Ural Mountains. On the table you can see the information of units you have shared with us, and we can update the map as we speak. Please introduce yourselves for the room.”

[Patrick OConner]

Command Building
Naval Station SOCHI of The People’s Unified Federation
Outside of Khyrkasy, Chuvashia, Povolzhye Khaganate


In the distance, the whoop whoop whoop of a helicopter can be heard. It is the blocky rough outlines of the AH 34 “Hunter” Attack Helicopter used by the Timocratic Republic Military Forces when brute strength and durability was needed over speed and stealth. The AH 34 series had a reputation as flying tank and easy to fix and maintain as well as large cargo space and heavy attack capabilities. The first is the reason why it is favored as a VIP transport helicopter the second was this particular helicopter’s legendary toughness. This one is painted the dark forest green of the Timocratic Republic Army.
The helicopter swoops in high over the base then turns around and comes down slowly in the middle of the base, in the area designated for its landing. The side door opens and three men step out. The middle one is a tall broad shoulder stout man and a thick white moustache adornes his face. His face is criss crossed with wrinkles of various kinds, some from frowning some from squinting too much. He is wearing Army digicam with the Timocratic Flag on one shoulder and on the other was the airborne Ranger patch. A red beret sits on his head, it only has a set of three horizontal stripes decorating the front, and on his collar sits the single star of a Brigadier General. His name tag reads Alexander.
General Alexander surveyed the area through his ice blue eyes took a deep breath then sighed.
“Smells like shit.” he said in a strong commanding baritone with a light highlands brogue.
To General Alexander’s right, is a man wearing the same style of uniform but he is a Sergeant First Class instead of a general. He is shorter but wider than the general and his uniform seems to have trouble containing his muscular frame. His name tag reads Anderson.
“What kind of shit, sir?” The Sergeant First Class Anderson asks his voice a low quite rumble
“Civilized shit” the general responds.
To the general’s left is a Second Lieutenant with the name tag reading Kelly. He is a tall thin man with a long nose and weasel’s face. He looks young as well only in his early 20s. All three men were wearing standard issue M1911 .45 caliber side arms in holsters on belts with two spare magazines though the generals had pearl handles and were chrome compared to the solid black of the other two side arms.
Both of the other men are carrying several large bags of luggage that they unloaded from the helicopter.
“Sir, what do you mean by ‘civilized shit’?” the Second Lieutenant asks the general with a quizzical look on his face.
“It means there is no action here or near here. The people here seem to be getting along fine and happy. All prosperous and civilized. Completely totally and utterly boring in other words.” the general finished with a harumph as if it had been an affront to his sensibilities that he was not dropped in the middle of an active war zone.
“Oh,” Second Lieutenant Kelly said faintly.
“And we are at some posh soft rear echelon support base to top it off.” General Alexander grouses now, sounding like he would most definitely have preferred to be in the warzone, preferably in the middle of a battle.
“Oh…” Lt. Kelly says faintly again
Sergeant Anderson leans in and whispers to him
“You get used to it. General Alexander is a lead from the front type. He is a grunt at heart and likes it rough and tumble.”
“Oh….”
“Yeah enjoy this while it lasts kid cause before you know it we are going to be ass-deep in the Shit,” Anderson says with a smile.
“Oh…” Lt. Kelly says a bit of color draining from his face.
“No soft aide-de-camp post to be found here” Anderson chuckles at the kid's reaction as he easily hefts the large luggage bags.

Once the two other men had unloaded all of the luggage from the helicopter, the helicopter is wheeled away by other enlisted men of the PUF Armed Forces. As the utility truck pulled the helicopter into a hanger, a PUF Army Convoy of three PPMVs pulled up to pick up the general and his party. A group of six soldiers in what looked like out of focus camouflage exited the vehicles and approached, each man with no visible markings on his uniform.

“Greetings, I am Master Sergeant Major Stephen McGrath, we are here to escort you to the Command post, I assume you are Brigadier General Alexander of the Timocratic Republic Army?”
“Last time someone shot at me, I was.” Alexander responded to the Sergeant “These men are my aides, Second Lieutenant Kelly and Sergeant First Class Anderson.” Alexander says pointing to each man respectively.
“Now let's get this walking cluster fuck of a meeting started asap. I got a long list of enemies to kill and I am impatient to get started.”

The general’s men quickly load the luggage into the utility one of the PPMVs and then the three men got inside and the convoy pulled away from the tarmac headed for the Command Building for the meeting or summit or whatever you wish to call it. The vehicle pulled up and the three men exited and the sergeant and unloaded the luggage. Then the three men headed inside the building.


The general’s two assistance are directed to a room were they could dump the luggage while the general was taken to the briefing room. General Alexander enters the briefing room and takes a seat quietly while examining the maps and such that have been laid out with his cool ice blue eyes.
After the two men drop off the luggage, Second Lieutenant Kelly joins General Alexander with just a briefcase while the sergeant waits with the luggage.
Kelly enters the room quietly and sits behind the general and opens the briefcase to reveal a laptop and other assorted office supplies. Kelly boots up the laptop and begins to take notes with it.
General Alexander scans the largest map and notes, with some satisfaction, that the Force Recon Teams and Extended Deployment Groups are absent from it, the EDG was incognito in the Ural Mountains scouting the area and building support with the locals and the Force Recon Teams were supposed to be holed up for now getting ready for there next strike, in both cases the Timocratic Republic Armed Forces had not divulged there current whereabouts to this group of allies to maintain operational security. General Alexander's eyes come to rest on General Magnus Basu, Alexander ignores the Mokan and Anuien aides scurrying about as he listens to the General Basu speak and when prompted he stands and introduced himself
“Brigadier General Cathal Alexander, Commanding officer of the Timocratic Republic Expendairay Force.”
He sits back down having finished his introduction and restrained himself from saying what he wants too, regarding the usefulness of meeting such as these.

[Povolzhye Khaganate]

Command Building
Naval Station SOCHI of The People’s Unified Federation
Outside of Khyrkasy, Chuvashia, Povolzhye Khaganate

A little on the late side, one of the Povolzhye Defence Forces’ Generals—Petĕr Huskanaj, an ethnic, tall, broad-shouldered Chuvash man, with dark blonde hair shorn close to the skin and visible beneath his peaked cap—entered the room. With him, albeit eyed with veiled disgust on his part, was a ‘trap’ of the Hijra caste—P’yer Aydzhyo—meant to be representing his people. For his part, P’yer didn’t think much of any disqualification he might have because of his status. As a member of the Marshite Hijra Security Service, his primary concern was the safety of his people and the elimination of evil, sometimes in reverse order. He knew full well the disgust with which General Huskanaj looked at him. He also wondered if there was more to it than what they did last night, but was sure none of it much mattered, beyond speaking only when spoken to, and stooping his head to a level equal to or lower than Huskanaj’s, out of respect.

His social station demanded such things when the person making the demands was such a public bigot, and even in private matters they were different; neither gentle nor kind… but more akin to a screen door in a hurricane, with Huskanaj as the hurricane. P’yer held back a smile. Not out of pleasure, though there was some of that. Not out of love; bisexual as he was, the Khaganate general wasn’t exactly his style. No, he just found it somewhat ironic what Huskanaj had with P’yer what a few Homofront members had done. Huskanaj was lucky that P’yer wasn’t here to dismantle the organization that the General was a member of; so far, a hundred of percent of those who had treated him as such in ‘uniform’ were rotting in mass graves or languishing in prisons.

“Salutations”, spoke General Huskanaj, in an imperious voice. “Do pardon my lateness, as this… thing brought with it… excess baggage”, he continued, glaring at P’yer as the Marshite struggled with carrying not only his own baggage, but also Huskanaj’s, before dropping the whole load down on the floor, trying to make the resultant thud as soft as possible, so as not to end up being the embodiment of a “pain in the *ss” for yet another night in a row. With his silver-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, firm bust, and delicate features, P’yer would have made the ideal Chuvash woman… but he was neither Chuvash nor a woman. Lightly-muscled, and with a resolute mindset, he had almost a dozen Homofront cell destructions under his belt; both literally and figuratively!

[Free Kolechia]

Command Building
Naval Station SOCHI of The People’s Unified Federation

Captain Sultan Masaev arrived at the base with his thirty-man contingent. They were being sent to both work with and learn from the PUF, and to an extent, the coalition of nations assembled to defeat Homofront. The situation as it stood before Masaev, would no doubt be difficult, and risky. Homofront had, according to what he had been informed, and known from other sources prior to this deployment, committed a string of terrible attacks and killed a great many people, for their cause. Homofront had made theirs known, it was not one he agreed with but it mattered not, everyone has one it seems.

What did matter to him was issues like their strength, it should be obvious they were fighting an insurgency because of numbers, but also because they couldn’t fight toe to toe with the coalition facing them. The fact they were in these mountains fighting as they were spoke to him about their capabilities. Of course their ferocity couldn’t be overlooked either, but he did not need much briefing on that, he was well aware of their capability for murder. More so, the only importance for a man (and an officer) like Masaev, was the fact that he and his men should expect no mercy.

He faced a fanatical enemy, who knew their terrain, and were experienced in combat. On top of this, he had only been given a small force of soldiers from his own country, three squads to be exact, though one of them was a medical unit. Part of this was due to the fact that the government had not officially revealed that Masaev and his men had even left the country, let alone being sent into a combat zone. The idea at the moment it seemed was to deploy small numbers of men, and that they could gain first hand experience and knowledge that could be passed on. It had been some time since the Kolechian Army had deployed personnel outside of the nation, or to a conflict, so this and the whole idea was tricky. The government and military wanted to be as prepared as possible, they were aware of what was happening in other countries, countries like this one, and in other wars where people were being exterminated. He was being taken to a meeting room where he would meet foreign commanders of this operation, and felt rather uneasy, knowing that he himself would probably deploy with his men in the field, unlike the officers he was about to meet.

Captain Sultan Masaev was an 8 year veteran of the Kolechian Army. He found himself rising through the ranks of the army as he fought time and again to keep himself and his subordinates ready for anything. The thirty year old Masaev, was born in the suburbs of the historical and major Eastern city of Grestin, (pronounced Grest-een) along the border of Wellovia. The result of this was that he was, in his private life, a Christian as were a number of men under his command, (Grestin was after all one of Kolechia’s largest cities and a Christian one) but this also meant that he could speak English, though the language was not required learning. Regardless, he spoke it fluently, but with a heavy accent. Masaev was an average sized man, he wore the standard woodland pattern uniform of his nations forces. He had light skin and dark brownish-black hair that was cut short in the traditional military manner, though the top was kept longer and had a natural waviness to it. He had little facial hair as he had shaved, but did have light fuzz. He had, like his hair, dark eyes. Though thirty years old, he often appeared younger than he was to those who met him.

He arrived at the meeting room and was faced by Mokan General Magnus Basu, who appeared both physically commanding, no doubt he was experienced, his face and rank showed that, though Masaev was no familiar with this man’s past. He immediately stood at attention and introduced himself. “Sir, Captain Sultan Masaev Tenth Regiment, Fourth Mountain Division, Kolechian Army, at your service.” The general exchanged his greeting and Masaev made his way further into the room, to meet his allies who would be of great help, and to learn of the challenge facing him...