Orchestrated Defiance (MT, Atlas Only)

[Zerinfrium]

Eisheimkeint, Zerinfrium
Primir's Office, Executive Branch Complex
The pen danced across the papers in front of her. The Two men had been standing in front of her dressed in black and at ease. Classic of them. It had been around several minutes since they entered.
"Madam Primir. As stated before we have important information to relay to you." The pen stopped it's delicate dance. "What is it soldier." she spoke up not looking up from the document before her. "One of our operatives was captured in.." the woman interrupted "Ederland? Grazerny? Odentia?" she asked abruptly. "No madam. Tenburg." The woman looked up coldly. Bags under her eyes that she chose to no longer hide. "What?" she said forcefully nearly confused. "Yes madam, the evidence at the site was destroyed, and the rest of the team escaped, but he was left behind. Based on evidence we deduced he survived procedure Delta 5c/" "WHAT ARE WE DOING IN TENBURG!" she yelled at the poor man in front of her. "Madam we've been in Tenburg for many months now." "I was not Informed of this. I may not be your commander, but I at least need to know. Did it ever occur to you that the leader of our nation deserves to know where you idiotic men are operating. You fucking fools, who knows what got leaked out. By Odin's eye if I didn't have coffee coming 10 minutes I would beat you senseless where you stood, and sent you back home to the family that thinks you dead." her eyes then went calm again, as she fixed her now misplaced hair, and held her pen between her fingers. "Tell me, who ordered you there." she said calmly. "Tell me now or I'll make both you and your silent compatriot's deaths look like the bloody accidents that killed you to begin with." The silent man next to the frozen agent spoke up. "It was him Madam." she raised an eyebrow. "Him?" the agent nodes, as the previously frightened man looked at him with now abject horror. "Out of my sight you two."

Anaheim Outskirts, Zerinfrium
Task Force Domestic, Hotel Squad Roster "Operation Nightfall"
Squad Leader: 1st Lt "Glasses"
Squad Sargent: Staff Sgt. "Slender"
Squad Marksman: Corporal "Kobolt"
Squad Communications Operator: Sub Corporal "Hush"
Operator: Sub Corporal "Breaker"
PFC "Gas"
PFC "Smoker"
PFC "Bright Eyes"

The APC crawled forward down the dirt road. The air was silent, not for the slight chilled breeze that comes from this time of year. The northern lights danced in the sky. Easily see able this far from the city. Inside the carrier it was even more so safe for the sound of it's engine. "Wow so we are actually going to do it?" the silence was broken by the young voice of Bright Eyes. "What do you mean newbie?" said the tall figure next to him named Jasper. Wearing snow camo over a black operations outfit. "I mean we are about to capture HIM. Who knew that it was always him behind IM. "Well im not surprised the man was a Intelligence officer." said Glasses. The highest ranking man in the vehicle. "Why us though? Why not some black ops group." "Did you not listen to the briefing bright eyes? The commander said that the Primir didn't trust any of the special forces to take out the leader of a special forces agency." piped up sub corporal Breaker slightly heated, but calmed with Hush putting his on his shoulder shacking his head. Assuring him that this is just Bright Eyes up to his usual semantics. "But thats just the thing though how deep does this thing go, who knows he might even be running the government behind her thick.." "Lock and load men we are here." Said Slender after getting a nod from Glasses.

The APC came to a slow stop, as the men got out of it, approaching the two Federal Guardsmen standing guard in front of a large locked gate. "State your business soldier." said the Sargent. "Federal Army never keeps guard on Compound B." The squads tall officer approached the man with his weapon to his side. "We are under orders from Top Adler to retrieve Package ZTJ for questioning." "No can do Sir, this is a Federal Guard Operation. You'd have to have brought orders from Federal Guard top brass to take over our operation." Bright Eyes spoke up quietly to his compatriot closest to him "Typical Federal Guardsmen dipshi" a punch landed on his right arm coming from Gas. The officer turned to look back at the Guardsman, smiling from the commotion. "Well we thought you'd say something like that. We'll be on our way." just then two rushes of air broke the silence of the night. The Sargent on guard wide eyed fell to the ground. A dart in his neck. with the private to his left falling forward with a thud. A man then dropped from the top of the APC. removing the box he used as camouflage. Another black painted vehicle then drove up slowly, as the men detained the unconscious men. "Great shot Kobolt." said bright eyes, as Breaker went up to the gate, and snapped the locks with bolt cutters. "Move" said Slender, as the squad rushed towards the mansion. Kicking in the door and searching the building. "All things clear sir." reported one Smoker. The group then approached a book case. "Wow so cliche. Going to move a couple of em Sir. Make it open. Let me guess it's war and peace and 69 shades of bla." another punch landed on bright eye's arm this time from Hush. "Knock it off idiots." barked the Sgt "Glasses is concentrating." The officer walked to the side of the book case, and then pushed it a couple feet out of the way revealing a stair case. "Now" said Glasses, as the group rushed down the stare case. entering a medium sized room lite up by monitors smelling of cigarette smoke and brandy. They pointed their guns at the target. "Blakurik Takarik for violation of your house arrest, you are to come into our custody." Glasses said, before noticing that the one eye staring back at him wasn't of shock or anger. It was of smugness. He then noticed the smile. "Well done Lieutenant. Well executed as well. Take me away. Take me to her."

[Stasnov]

Downtown Crosskeys
Stasnovan Consulate
1310 hours

The sounds of gunfire, explosions and heavy vehicles echoed in the distance. The dreaded noise of war seemed to get closer in one moment, and wither away into the distance in another. Inside the consulate's main building, the hectic noise of staff running around added to the general cacophony. Office clerks and secretaries hurried back an forth in the hallways, carrying stacks of classified documents that were to be destroyed in shredders. Hard drives and USB sticks were also being destroyed, as were maps and lists. The Consulate's security contingents - a platoon of 22 VDV paratroopers and 10 agents of the KGB 9th Directorate - were also at work, preparing the five GAZ Tigrs and four armoured civillian cars on the courtyard to exfiltrate the staff of 100 people.

Lieutenant Viktor Marinin, commander of the VDV platoon, was overseeing the the prepration of the vehicles. He was shouting orders left and right, urging everyone to move quicker. He was caught cursing at two paratroopers that were carrying a KORD heavy machine gun to the cars when he heard the all too familiar whistling sound coming from overhead. Cries of incoming sounded in the courtyard, and everyone dropped. The impacts from the mortar rounds followed. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Everything went white. Pieces of asphalt and dirt were thrown in the air, and deadly shrapnel flew all around. A painful white noise rang in Marinin's ears. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to get himself up. Two of the Tigrs were shattered, as were three of the civillian cars. A large chunk of the gatehouse was blown clean off by a direct hit, the scattered pieces of concrete all around the courtyard being its only remains. He then saw the bodies. At least three uniformed ones and five in civillian clothing. He recognised one of the bodies in civvies as the commanding officer of the 9th Directorate contingent.

Realising his only wounds were scrapes and bruises, he went to work trying to get everyone together. "Get back inside! Move!" Marinin screamed at those still on their feet, waving his hands and pointing at the consulate's entrance so those that still suffered hearing loss from the explosions could still hear him. He saw one of the paratroopers that had been carrying the KORD trying to lugg inside by himself, his buddy being one of the uniformed corpses. He rushed to aid him; the needed all the firepower they could get.

A sharp *crack* tore through the air. One of the civillian staff that was running towards the entrance almost completed a 180 spin as a round hit him on the left shoulder. Another paratrooper was hit on the plate carrier, the force of the impact throwing him on the ground. He had only barely gotten back up when another round made his head dissapear in a red mist. Snipers. Snipers with high-power rifles. Marinin couldn't hear a gunshot after the sonic boom of the incoming bullets, so he also assumed that the marksmen were using supressed rifles.

As they climbed the half dozen steps to the entrance, Marinin made short pause and looked behind him, trying to identify the location of the shooters. A bullet tore through the flesh of his calf, making him almost drop the enormous heavy machine gun hes was helping carry. The paratrooper in front of him grabbed him from the webbing and almost threw him inside the door, closing it behind him as the last few survivors from the courtyard poured in. Marinin cursed himself for his stupidity out loud and grunted. He quickly checked the wound; just a grazing hit, but it hurt like hell. A medic rushed to him and he waved him off, calling instead for his XO, First Seargent Glubov. The blonde NCO rushed to him from down the hall, panting heavily.

"Are you alright, comrade Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine" Marinin replied, now knelt down and tying a bandage around his calf. He looked up at the the First Sergeant "Tell the spooks their CO is dead, i'm taking over. We're digging in. Take the civvies and the consul to the basement, leave five men there. Get firing positions ready, KORDs and AGSs ready to get on the windows and rooftop. And get Markov and Efraimov to take care of those snipers."

"I think the spooks are already taking care of that themselves, sir" the NCO replied.

---

Sergeants Basayev and Kirilenko of the 9th Directorate KGB - the protective service, as it was known - burst into a 4th floor office on the east side of the consulate building. They were dressed in a mix of civillian clothing and military plate carriers and webbing, and armed with custom AK carbines and sidearms. But the real deal was the supressed SV-98M bolt-action rifle Kirilenko was carrying, kindly "borrowed" from the paratroopers' armoury. They had seen their CO go down. The enemy, whoever the fuck they were, wouldn't get away with it.

Basayev swept away whatever was left on the desk - books, notepads, papers a flowerpot. Whatever office clerk once work here wouldn't miss them. Kirilenko deployed the rifle's bipod and set it on the desk, looking through the scope. Basayev took a spotting scope with a built-in laser rangefinder - also courtesy of the VDV - and knelt down next to his comrade, scanning out of the window on th north side of the office. Kirilenko loaded a 10-round box magazine and worked the bolt action, chambering a 7.62×54 round.

The wooden piece of furniture was a few feet away from the window, far enough to not make them directly obvious to someone outside, but close enough so as to not obstruct their field of view too much. But it did obstruct it. And if they couldn't get eyes on the target from this office, they'd have to try the next one, and then the next one, and so on. Alternatively they could risk getting on the rooftop. They both wanted to avoid that. They scanned through the scopes and outside the window for a full minute. Left-right, right-left, up-down, down up. Nothing. No movement on any of the oppossing buildings. It looked like they would need to relocate.

"Movement" Basayev said suddenly "5-storey apartment block on the left, about 350 metres, 5th floor, second window from the right."

Kirilenko swung the rifle left "Eyes on. Silhouette holding what appears to be a rifle, leaning slightly to the left, left bottom corner of the window. "

"Confirm target. Range is 365 metres. Dial up 4"

"Ready" replied Kirilenko, holding his breath.

"Left 1.4"

Kirilenko squeezed the trigger. Miliseconds later, he saw the target collapse and disappear behind the windowframe. "Hit" declared Basayev and they both grabbed their gear and moved to relocated to another firing position. It would be a long day.

[Granzery]

K.Őrcsoportvezér (Company-Leader) Márton Jankovics
F.O.B. Kabaré-1, Outside Crosskeys - E.COY, 3.KGE, 1.KŐO

Alarms blared, the sound piercing the afternoon air. The multi-layered C-RAM defences of the base sprung to life, 20mm Gatling cannons unloaded their payloads into the sky, while mortars and rockets bombarded the base. Jankovics, who had been outside the base with two other members of the company, began to sprint towards the fortified base, his head buried in his shoulders, as stray mortar rounds penetrated the C-RAM defences, blowing craters in the grounds here and there. Jankovics fumbled with his helmet, which had been strapped to his chest, and quickly placed it on his head. After a few tense moments he made his way into the main barracks of his company, which was fortified with sandbags and concrete.

"Where the fuck are those mortars?" He shouted, closing the door behind him, just before a mortar round detonated outside the front of the base, the shockwave almost throwing everyone in the barracks on their ass. For a moment a sense of mortality overtook Jankovics, who had been out there just seconds ago. Staring out at the base, he saw the bright flashes of muzzles in the treelines some couple of hundred metres from the base, as men fleeing to their foxholes and barracks were cut down by a combination of sniper and machinegun fire.

"We don't know, sir!" one of the radio operators reported, moving his headset off his head, snapping Jankovics out of his trance.

"Get me the regiment," Jankovics said, approaching the operator. The operator merely nodded as Jankovics grabbed the headset off the operators head. "Get me the Colonel," he demanded.

A few seconds later the commander of the 3rd Regiment, Colonel Milán Szép began to speak. "Yes, Company-leader, we are aware of the situation, we are triangulating enemy mortar positions as we speak,"

"They've got fucking machinegunners and snipers on us," Jankovics said.

A few seconds passed and Szép answered, "Right, the Dragonyos' are coming out of their vehicle yards. Crosskeys is being attacked, this is just a diversion."

"That'd be much fucking appreciated, E-Company out." Jankovics said, handing the headset back to the radio operator. A few seconds later he looked at the troopers in the barracks quizzically, "How about we return fucking fire on those pieces of shit?"

"Yes, sir," came the response from much of the unit, as they began to

"Stay away from the windows, keep your heads down, I'm going to assume the Tennish Army can't hold Crosskeys on their own, the useless fuckers, so we are going to have to get out of this base pretty damn soon," he added. "There aren't any foot-mobiles attacking yet so I doubt they intend to take the base, if that's true hopefully they will turn tail and run when we take some of them out."

Soldiers scurried back and forth, snipers taking up positions in fortified gun ports, targeting the enemy machinegunners, while their own GPMGs lay down suppressing fire on them and the hostile snipers, riflemen carried ammo back and forth while taking potshots with their own SZ K78s. An enemy round from what was probably a sniper rifle struck one of Jankovics' men in the right shoulder, causing him to drop the GP80 he had been operating and falling on his back.

"Medic!" a man shouted, while a pair of combat medics rushed forwards to collect the man as he writhed in pain.

The first of what would hopefully be many Sp.KFz-450 Dragonyos Infantry Fighting Vehicles rolled their way through to the front of the barracks, its 35mm cannon firing in bursts of three rounds at a time, each one probably powerful enough to turn a whole man into a thin red mist. A second later, another Dragonyos parked alongside the first, as a third appeared just behind them. After a few minutes of sustained IFV fire, the machinegunners either packed up and left, or were reduced to stains on the dirt.

The Mortars hadn't stopped though, and Jankovics wasn't game to leave the barracks until they had stopped. "Sir, Regiment reports they've located the positions of hostile mortars, friendly artillery is engaging them now," Jankovics smiled.

"Let's give it a moment and then I believe we are taking our asses to Crosskeys."

[Chazicaria]

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg
1320, March 10th, 2019

As mortars crashed into the courtyard, taking vehicles out and killing Stasnovans, the FTLA made their move. Three trucks, lightly armored and armed with GPMGs, sped up the red and crashed through the destroyed front gate, opening fire on the first and second story windows. Each truck had a gunner and an AG that continued to feed rounds to ensure a constant stream of near-cyclic fire. Fresh barrels every two minutes kept the guns going while the three FTLA dismounts in each hopped out and advanced on the front door, letting short bursts of automatic fire rip through the apparent reception area. One of the men fired his 40mm rifle mounted grenade launcher through the shredded doorway, blasting a hole in a random wall.

These weren't elite troops by any stretch of the word, but they were a league above FTLA regulars, and they'd trained for urban operations a good deal. Stacking up on the door, the AK-wielding men eventually entered the building in an attempt to clear the first floor, no prisoners, no survivors. As they did so, the trucks backed up across the street and out of the courtyard, also shifting fire towards the second and third stories of the building.

Minutes earlier...

Heydrich smirked as he took shot after shot at the people in the courtyard as they fled the mortar impacts.

Crack. "Shoulder? Come on..." Crack, "Much better."

Crack. "That's right, stand in the open, idiot." Crack, "Damn, calf shot. Oh well."

A few minutes passed as he continued expending his 8.5x70mm rifle ammunition, shot after shot intended to cover the FTLA team as they entered the building. Just as he shifted his glance upwards towards the higher floors, he spotted two men with a rifle."

"Fuck." Crack, a round glanced the window-frame in front of him sending wood splinters flying, then impacted directly in his plate carrier. The force and his reflexes threw himself back out of his chair and perch, onto his back on the ground. Wheezing and trying to decide whether his ribs were broken or not, Heydrich muttered out a single word, "Fuuuuuuuuck."

Minutes later...

"Yeah, Heyd's ok, but he's gonna feel that for a few weeks. He's double checking our exfil now and Leon still has his perch- he's on countersniper detail now. I dare those fuckers to out-shoot Leon." Talz zeroed out the radio as he updated Erlicher- no way were they going to let commo keys fall into Stasnovan hands if this shit went sideways. Meanwhile, Erlicher was finishing his checks on the three FTLA guys that were going to be hitting the building with them. These were pretty good men, the best of the group they'd been able to muster. Byrne, Quinn, and Carroll- all Tennish Army deserters, all FTLA vets from the early days of the fight.

All suited up and ready to go, the gunfire could be heard above them- the five man team was in a service tunnel that ran parallel to the consulate's sub-level, separated by nothing more than a bricked up wall. A breaching charge was the only necessary tool they needed to have their backdoor entrance. Erlicher and his team stepped behind a corner, and click.

The explosion was loud even through their noise-cancelling earpro. Debris was blaster through the wall and into the sub-level, and the five men swung around the corner in a stack, FTLA up front, IRIS in back. With speed and aggression, the team stepped through the cleared wall and into the sub-level, ready to fire on anything that so much as moved.

Outside Crosskeys, Tenburg
1330, March 10th, 2019

The force attacking the Granzerian FOB was, as they likely suspected, merely a delay. Still, the aggressive defense wasn't entirely anticipated. When the mortars suddenly stopped firing or responding to radio requests, the company commander that had been placed in charge of the attack knew that things weren't going to end well for this distraction. Taking a volley of fire from the opponent's autocannons did not assuage that viewpoint. The last thing the CO had at his disposal as far as fire support was a team of ATGM troops and a possible light rocket attack.

Both were called for, and the truck-mounted rockets redirected from Tenburg to the Granzerian FOB before then moving to avoid counterbattery fire. At the same time, the ATGM troops used a two-story building as cover while they acquired their targets, the IFVs. Two launchers, five men. Both launchers let off a missile before they rushed to reload, hoping to get off a second volley. In their building, these men got a prime view of the enemy IFVs as they shredded the MG teams in the treeline.

Crosskeys, Tenburg
1400, March 10th, 2019

Everywhere in Crosskeys, order had seemed to collapse. From the Stasnovan consulate to the Granzerian FOB, and from the police headquarters to the city administration building, fighting was only increasing in intensity as FTLA units attempted to seize the important objectives and buildings that would give them the best chance at routing the Tennish Army and their VSO allies from the city.

Every last resource the FTLA had been given or taken was being employed in this fight. Truck mounted rockets and mortars for fire support, all manner of small arms and equipment- there were even reports of a suicide bombing on an Elesarian checkpoint.

With the city in disarray, FTLA troops managed to enter from outside regions in a rather disorganized manner, though they entered nonetheless. Casualties were likely mounting for both sides, and the FRT's commanders desperately hoped that a route was coming, because a war of attrition wasn't winnable for them. Increasing pressure was put on the city capital administration building and the military hospital, hoping they could overrun both and cause such chaos to the city's defenders that they'd pull out to regroup. As a result of this decision, increasing numbers of troops were attempting to fight their way to those two locations.

[New Elesar]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

As Padraig made his phone call, Olesya quietly slipped away to the apartment's bedroom. Opening the bottom drawer of her nightstand, she removed a small locked box and procured its key from a hidden compartment in the same drawer. Taking the small phone from within, she dialed a number and made a call of her own.

After two short rings, the other line connected.

"Identification, please," asked the almost robotic voice. "Petrova, identification twelve-forty-seven." Olesya replied, her voice taking on a similarly flat, emotionless tone.

"How can I assist you, Agent Petrova?" came the robotic voice again.

"I'd like to speak with the Imperial Intelligence officer in charge of the Tenburg Plan."

"Connecting you now." There was a brief silence, and then a man's voice spoke on the other end. "Good evening, Petrova. I take it you've gotten results?"

Olesya filled him in on her evening, how Padraig now seemed to be seriously considering a return to Tenburg; all the while, however, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her head. Was what she was doing wrong? No, she had to keep telling herself, what she was doing was for the greater good of not just Elesar but also for Tenburg and the Tennish people. All reports coming out of Port Pierce indicated that Mara Byrne, once widely respected, had been reduced to what could only be seen as a raving madwoman. To remove her would be doing that nation a service.

Elesarian Checkpoint, Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg

The attack had come out of nowhere. One moment, Private Artemy Hrabovsky and a team of 11 more Elesarian soldiers had been manning a small checkpoint on one of the many small roads of downtown Crosskeys. Checking papers, random searches of both people and vehicles, nothing out of the usual; the FTLA could, naturally, be anywhere and everywhere.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it; a small civilian truck barreling down the middle of the road towards the checkpoint.

"Contact!" Artemy yelled, taking cover behind a concrete barrier and bringing his gun to bear on the truck.

By the time the Elesarians had gotten off a few rounds at the truck, it was already on top of them. It exploded furiously, sending a mixture of cement, pieces of truck, and pieces of what had once been human flying into the air and onto the road and buildings surrounding the checkpoint. Artemy was knocked back, slightly shielded from the blast by the cement barrier. For a moment his vision went black. His vision ever so slowly returning, he pulled himself onto his feet in a daze, attempting to get his bearings. Pervading the air was the smell of sulfur. Artemy's ears were ringing, the screams of wounded civilians and his fellow soldiers alike muffled, his vision blurry.

Then, another sound, like a distant thud. He could barely hear it through the ringing in his ears, but there it was. Another. And another. Mortars. And as the ringing slowly subsided, the mortars got louder. And closer.

[Granzery]

K.Őrcsoportvezér (Company-Leader) Márton Jankovics
F.O.B. Kabaré-1, Outside Crosskeys - E.COY, 3.KGE, 1.KŐO

"Incoming!" someone shouted, and Jankovics could see the bright streak of a missile appear from a barn some 400 metres away, half a second later, another appeared. The three Dragonyos IFVs began to back up, now focusing their autocannon fire on the barn, the first of the missiles made a rapid course adjustment and soared high into the air, the second followed it.

"Someone put a HESH rocket in that barn!" Jankovics ordered, one guardsman nodded and rushed towards the weapons armoury for a PcR-100.

The Missiles approached rapidly as the KARTÁCS Hard-kill Active Defence System on the middle Dragonyos whirred to life, theoretically all the Dragonyos' should have been protected by the KARTÁCS, but most of them were still yet to be installed. As the missile approached, the KARTÁCS was able to intercept it, the missile exploded in mid air as the second missile continued to streak towards the Dragonyos', slamming into the top of the front-most Dragonyos, destroying the IFV in an earth shattering explosion. The remaining two IFVs fired their 35mm cannons in 3 round HE bursts towards the barn, hoping to god they would be able to kill the missile operators before they could fire another salvo.

The guardsman with the PcR-100 returned, toting his rocket launcher. The 100 was designed to have minimal backblast, so as to be safe to fire in an enclosed environment, and while the warhead wasn't powerful enough to contend with heavy armour like tanks, it was capable of destroying either lightly armoured targets or launching HESH warheads hundreds of metres to engage enemy bunkers, fortifications or in this case, a virtually unprotected barn. Fiddling with a switch on the back of the launcher, the guardsman shouldered it, briefly stood in the window, and fired the warhead at the barn, the impact of the high explosive collapsed the already weakened structure of the barn, anyone still inside was dead or being crushed by heavy beams.

[Tenburg]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

"...new live look at the chaos breaking out in Crosskeys today, as citizens run for their lives from the sound of bombs and machine gun fire..."

Padraig was lighting new cigarettes of his old ones at this point. His head was light, his eyes were heavy, and his mind was running in circles. All sorts of hair-brained schemes were darting in and out of his thoughts. One in particular was incredibly asinine, but it had popped into his head so many times that it finally had to make its way out of his mouth.

He stood up too fast from the couch, fighting light-headedness and blurred vision as he trudged to the bedroom. Taking no heed to how deep a sleep Olesya may or may not have been enjoying, he swung the door open, to find her sitting in bed using a tablet.

"Olesya, this is going to sound mad... you wouldn't happen to know anyone in the military, would you.... like, on a base?" His shoes began to tap repeatedly on the floor as he lit another cigarette. "Since your country is sending soldiers to your embassies back home... maybe i could sneak in with them. Problem is I know nobody."

His brain was setting off all sorts of alarms as it slipped out, but... he had to get home somehow. He Had to.

Crosskeys, Tenburg
Paddy Mullen kept his eyes locked on the rooftop of the building across, waiting for the bastard behind the A/C unit to pop his head back out. "Keep them pinned up there," Elricher had told him. "You're a good shot for an old man, shoot anything you see move." It was clear to him the boy on the roof had no clue where he was, and was keeping behind cover until he had some idea of where the fire was coming from.

But Paddy had employed a trick that Heinrich had taught him, way, way back, when they were sniping under a full moon one night: he had scuffed the barrel of the rifle Elricher had given him, to keep the sun from glistening on it. It was a nice rifle, a semi-automatic, and certainly an upgrade over his old .309 bolt gun. The other squad members joked that if they gave him something "too new" he'd have no clue how to use it... and they could have been right. Paddy chuckled to himself as he heard the gunfire from the basement of the other building. He knew they were getting to work.

The dumb boy on the roof slowly poked his had back out.

BANG!

He fell over, a red pool beginning to form around his head.

"There ye are, son," Paddy said. "Shuffle off this mortal coil."

Crosskeys, Tenburg

Killian was running out of ammo. Fast.

He had already bummed a magazine off of Durnin, and having cooked his way through it on a trio of FTLA soldiers, was down to about fifteen rounds for the rifle. He only had two magazines for the pistol.

"We need to move, and find some bloody ammo while we're at it!"

"Army set up a depot near the center of town!" Durnin replied as he popped back from behind cover and killed another guerilla coming down an alley across from them. "Somewhere around the Stasnovan Embassy, but it sounds like it'll be a bitch getting near that place."

"It'll be a bigger bitch here when we're down te throwin' rocks."

"Aye, that it will."

"So we're movin', then!"

Killian got up from behind the stone pillar, and began to head west, hopping over the newest casualty with Durnin behind him.

Northwest of Crosskeys, Tenburg

Danaher looked through his viewfinder down onto Crosskeys from the side of the mountain, glancing at random explosions, his ear fixed on the soft gunfire in the distance. He looked down at his watch. Almost time. He clicked on his radio. "One last check of your guns, Rain Man."

"Roger."

A few more moments of silence, save for the battle ahead of them.

"Commander, we're ready here. On your signal."

"Understood. Commence firing to cover our approach. Send it."

The SPHs began acquiring reported targets, mainly gun emplacements and enemy-controlled buildings, and opening fire.

"Let's get moving!" he called, and the M-117 Prionsa below him jerked forward, the diesel engine roaring with enthusiasm as they made their way down the mountain, the rest of the shiny new battalion behind him. He crouched back into the tank, closed the hatch and looked at his watch again. It was out of habit at this point. Go time had already come.

[Stasnov]

Downtown Crosskeys
Stasnovan Consulate
1320 hours

---

Sergeant Tkachenko was on the first floor, helping to set up a Kord 12.7 HMG when he heard the faint sound of car engines and tires spinning. It was barely audible over the gunfire, and he assumed it was just civvies trying to bugger off before shit got even more serious. But the sound got louder, and he glimpsed the first makeshift armoured truck speeding onto the road in front of the consulate, its gunner already opening fire on the move, his bursts going wide. He quickly dropped the large, heavy tripod of the machinegun and took aim with his AK-74M. He managed to get off a couple of bursts before being forced to duck by the overwhelming machinegun fire.

"Down!" he screamed to the other paratroopers. MG bursts lit up the face of the building, and Stasnovan fire was greately reduced as most of the consulate's defenders were forced to return to cover. He heard boots on the courtyard. Dismounts he thought. Then, the engines revved up again and he heard the vehicles moving. He rose and saw that the trucks were reversing fast, their fire being thrown off again. The Stasnovans again started to lay fire on the enemy, and he personally managed a hit with his GP-30 underbarrel grenade launcher on one of the trucks. The grenade blew its front right tire off, and the vehicle spun out of control and into one of the compound walls. The team he was with finally managed to set up the Kord and opened up at the truck. The heavy rounds tore the vehicle to shreds front to back.

The Stasnovans shifted fire to the dismounts who were taking over behind the vehicle wreckage in the courtyard. A burst from an AGS-30 automatic grenade launcher covered one of the three-man teams in a hail of shrapnel and dust, revealling only mauled bodies when the dust had dissipated. The FTLA were hopeless; heavily supressed, they could put up little fire against the 15 Stasnovan paratroopers on the windows, but the sniper fire from across the street was taking its toll, with 2 wounded and 1 killed so far. The 9th Directorate sniper team was still at work, trying to pick of the enemy sharpshooters, and they had already passed twice from Tkachenko's position while trying to relocate. They would eventually get them.

Tkacheno suddenly heard a muffled explosion coming from bellow, and the ground shook lightly. Maybe the FTLA werent' so hopeless after all.

---

Downtown Crosskeys
Stasnovan Consulate Basement
1323 hours

---

The blast had been defeaning. They were walking down a hallway to a saferoom when the explosion some 20 metres ahead of them had thrown them all off their feet. Sergeant Durov of the KGB 9th Directorate - leading the 3-man protection detachment and the 6 high value VIPs - had instictively thrown himself on the Stasnovan consul, trying to shield him. Couple of seconds later, when his ears had stopped ringing, he quickly stood up and raised his compat AK-105 carbine, scanning the way ahead of them. The explosion came from a room on the left side of the hallway. Through quick hand signals, Durov told one of his men to bundle up the VIPs into a break room to their back-right, and the other to go ahead and check the source of the blast. He himself took cover behind a door frame on the right and covered his pointman's back.

The pointman slowly moved forward, hugging the wall, rifle raised. He reached the edge of the room's entrance and waited, looking over his shoulder. His other man gave him the ok that the VIPs were all in the break room. Go Durov signaled him. The man leaned through the door, and immediately recoiled back into cover as rifle rounds impacted the wall behind him.

"Contact!" he screamed, flinching as rounds hit all around him "At least 4!"

The man returned fire as best he could, firing disciplined two-round bursts at the assailants who were still invisible to Durov. He edged to fire once more, and was hit once on the plate carrer, and once on the left shoulder. He grunted and fell on his arse, his rifle thrown away as the sling was cut by the shoulder hit. Durov thought he was dead, but the pointman pulled out his sidearm from a thigh holster and managed to fire two shots before a bullet blew his brains out on the wall behind him.

Durov cursed and informed both his remaining squadmate and Lt. Marinin above them of what was happening. He fall back a couple of doors so he was oppossite to the break room where the VIPs were sheltered, kicked the door in and took cover in the room, still aiming down the hallway. His squadmate, Medeleyev, was also aiming down the hall, ready to take out anything that came through that left-side door. Durov cursed, realising he almost forgot about the 3-man team guarding rest of the embassy staff some rooms away. He brought his hand on his comm device to switch channels when Medelev started firing at full auto. Return fire impacted around them, but Medeleyev's long bursts kept the enemy ducking. We won't last long this way Durov thought after he was done speaking to the other team and returned to his firing position as Medeleyev quickly changed mags.

---

Downtown Crosskeys
Stasnovan Consulate
1326 hours

---

Sergeant Kirilenko was now alone on the counter-sniper duty. The enemy sniper had shot him on the collarbone, and he was being taken care off by the only medic in the entire VDV platoon that wasn't manning a firing position. He had been unlucky, the bullet's trajectory somehow passed right above the man's plate. But he had been lucky in that the high-powered round had gone clean through. Regardless, it was a heavy wound and Kirilenko was left alone to take out enemy snipers as a result. He had barely managed to get off three shots in more than 15 minutes before being spotted and forced to relocate. Those bastards were good. Too good for FTLA, even the veteran ones. These were either mercenaries, or straight up Vazandian SOF they were dealing with. This, and the news from the basement meant they were in deapest shit that he had originally thought. Casualties were mounting too, with a total of 4 KGB, 7 paratroopers and 4 civillians dead.

He entered a room on the far left side of second floor, a room he had already entered once today in his counter-sniping efforts. He moved quickly, his body low, almost at all fours. He reached a large chair and set up his rifle on its back. He adjusted his scope and look through the window at one of the buildings he knew the fire was coming from. He searched from window to window, floor to floor, as quickly but as carefully he could. He spotted the bastard. He rapidly spun the rifle left and right, checking for other counter-snipers that might have spotted him. Nothing. Fucking finally he thought. He returned to the target, a dark silhouette with a high-power rifle, took a deep breath and started to tighten his finger on the trigger.

Kirilenko suddenly saw a tiny reddish ball of light zipping accros his reticle, and miliseconds later, the silhouette dissapeared in a sudden cloud of smoke and dust. "What the-" he started to say as he raised his head above the scope. A second later and the sound of the explosion reached him, and so did the sound of helicopter rotors. He rushed to the window, making sure to stay low and behind the window frame. He saw the helicopters. Tiny dots in the sky coming closer and closer. That red light had been an ATGM fired by them. He had to suppress his urge to start cheering.

The government was finally bringing in reinforcements. As the lead helicopter came closer and he got a better look, he noticed the coaxial rotors and the red stars on the black paint schemes of the Stasnovan Revolutionary Navy. These were Kamovs, with Mi-17 transports behind them. These were Stasnovan. Fuck it he thought, and started cheering as enemy fire died down and the helicopters fired of bursts of rockets and 30mms at the enemy, able to see them clear as day through their FLIR thermal optics.

A new voice cut in on comms "Consulate, consulate, this is Kasatka 1-5. We're hear to take you home. I hope we didn't come too soon."

Kirilenko thought he heard Lt. Marinin laughing joyously on comms as he ordered more men to the basement to secure the civillians and VIPs.

[Tenburg]

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg

"Fuck!"

Killian was blown off his feet by another shell of whatever was being fired. Dust and smoke washed over him and Durnin, filling the entire alley with mercilessly choking debris. He coughed, hacked and spit as he rose to his knees, rubbing his stinging eyes to search for his rifle. He crawled around in a circle before finding it, pulling it from under a pile of rubble. He looked it over, and attempting to pull the bolt, found it jammed. He tried twice more to no avail, tossing the rifle in frustration before standing up.

"FraochÚn gan fiúntas," he grumbled. "Odentian shit... Durnin?"

He turned around to find Durnin underneath a pile of rubble, motionless, with a pool of blood around his exposed boots.

"Fuuuuuck..."

He took his pistol from its holster, chambered a round and slowly made way through the floating dust, particles dancing in the early afternoon sun. The sound of mortar rounds was his guide. He didn't know who was firing on the Stasnovan consulate, but somebody certainly was. He could see the Kamovs and Mi-17s flying about, firing down on the streets as they seemingly looked to be evacuating their people. He saw a Tennish heli or two doing the same. Helping them, likely.

He approached the end of the alley, pistol at the ready, a mix of iron and dust in his nostrils. He quickly cleared both directions as he bolted for another alley across the street.

Ping! Pang! thwwwwp! pyoooong.

Someone had a look from a rooftop, sending Killian diving behind a burned out van. A peek through the smoldering husk elicited a chorus of bursts from a building at the end of the street. The Tennish yelling confirmed it was FTLA. Killian knew he was pinned. He reached for his radio, only to find it gone.

"FUCK!"

It must have fallen off in the blast. His ears perked up, however, as he realized that the radio was the least of his problems. Closing in from behind was the unmistakable sound of diesel and treads.

Armor.

His hearing focused entirely on the crushing noises of crumbling stone and brick, and splintering glass, underneath its tracks at it approached, and upon rounding the corner Killian's eyes grew wide. This was not a Tennish M85. The camouflaged paint looked as though it was band new, with only a light coating of dust on the track wheels. Killian very quickly accepted his fate as the mighty tank turned and came down the street towards him. He made the sign of the cross.

pwoooong!

A massive barrage of fire came from the house behind him, rounds bouncing off the tank as it came to a halt. an RPG hissed its way down the street, only to bounce off and into a building nearby with a concussive blast that pinned Killian to the bumper of the van. The tank seemingly took no notice, raising its main gun slightly and destroying the FTLA house with one thunderous BOOM! It was only then did Killian notice the small Tennish flag waving from the tank's antenna.

"You fuckin' saints!" he said as he hopped up and bolted down the adjacent alley. He heard the tank move down towards the house behind him, followed by, seemingly, another. The auld boys were not fucking around anymore.

He reached Tennish 1st City armory, punching in the access code--3445-- and slipping in the heavy alley door. Slamming it behind him, and freeing his ear from the gunfire outside. He was free to take his time, but really didn't, finding himself an RC-67-C, and ten magazines of .305 Tennish. A much less finicky gun than the RC-04 to be sure.

As he cocked the sturdy bolt, he realized that with his unit blown to hell, and no way to communicate with superiors, he had no official objective.

So he set himself some: Assist in covering the Stasnovan evacs, and kill any FTLA bastard he sees.

He made his way back through the armory door into the alley, raising his rifle up and he headed toward the street, which was shaking intensely due to mortars landing. Machine gun fire roared through his ear as he reached the end, another shiny Tennish tank rolling by, ripping into something at the end of the street. He ducked behind a pile of sandbags and engaged, shooting down a pair of FTLA who were attempting to make their way into the breached wall of the Stasnovan consulate.

Of course, he didn't know any of their language. But he hoped that the shooters on the roof would notice he wasn't shooting at their people, and, hopefully, would not shoot him in the back.

[New Elesar]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

"...you wouldn't happen to know anyone in the military, would you...like, on a base?"

There it was. It had all been building up to that singular question. Olesya could feel her hands ball up and tighten. For a moment, she hesitated, and then released them. This was something that she could absolutely not afford to mess up. Olesya's demeanor now, she was certain, was about to be like anything she'd expected from him, if only for a little while. She held up one hand, signaling with one finger for Padraig to stop. Olesya held one hand over the speaker and looked Padraig straight in the face.

"I need you to trust me."

She once again hesitated before speaking, before starting again into the speaker.

"Intelligence, is there any way we can have Repatriation move forward as of this moment?"

"Of course, Agent Petrova. I can arrange for pickup in an hour and have you both out-of-country within the day. Our forces and those of our allies in Port Pierce will be notified that Repatriation is moving ahead."

With that, the call ended. Olesya put the phone down and looked back at Padraig.

"I suppose there's a good bit of explaining I need to do."

[Chazicaria]

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg
1324, March 10th, 2019

Erlicher dropped to his knees and peaked the corridor just in time to watch the Stasnovan security detail drag one of the VIPs upstairs. An NCO and perhaps two other men, plus the VIP and a female all made it up the stairs, but the others weren't so lucky. Byrne, Quinn, and Talz all peaked simultaneously from their separate rooms and put a combined 15 rounds into the other 2 men as they tried to head upstairs. Without hesitation, the FTLA men secured the stairwell as their IRIS friends did fast checks on the downed men. Another pair of bullets for each man to ensure they weren't getting back up, then group stacked up again and pushed up the stairs.

By this time, the Stasnovans had almost all retreated to the roof to exfiltrate. The courtyard group had been almost entirely wiped out, save for two FTLA men that met up with the basement team. Pushing up through the building, the men had two objectives: kill anyone and everyone that remained, and grab anything that looked even vaguely informative. While the vast majority of the building's secrets were likely shredded or burned already, there was doubtlessly something of value left.

Meanwhile outside...

"Get fucked." Leon pulled the trigger, sending a round right at the sniper he's finally pinpointed. Simultaneously, two shots from the courtyard rang out, and distracted him- did he get that hit? Hopefully.

Seconds later, Heydrich popped into the room, "Leon, it's time to move. We need to grab Paddy and pop smoke."

"A moment longer. We need a proper send off..." The optimistic shooter had just realized he had a marvelous opportunity.

Standing, he kicked out the legs from the table he's used as a bench rest so that it fell over diagonally. Laying on it long way, his rifle still pointing out the window, Leon had an absolute perfect angle on his next target. Taking his time, lining up the shot, breathing in, breathing out, squeeze, crack. A bullet whizzed through the space between the two buildings, impacting right through the cockpit glass of the second Mi-17 loaded with survivors just as it took off. The pilot's head exploded, and he slumped forward, bringing the stick with him and causing the helo to pitch almost vertically, moving right towards the sniper perch.

"Oh my," Leon whispered as he turned around as rapidly as possible and lept from his table, tackling Heydrich out of the room just as he thought the bird was going to hit their building. However, they were both relieved when instead of hitting their building, some miracle occurred and the doomed aircraft instead turned on a dime and impacted the building all of their friends were in, the consulate.

Inside the consulate...

It felt like an earthquake.

"Did they fucking crash?" Shouted Byrne. He got his answer half a second later when a meter-long piece of the rotor crashed through the double door ahead of them in the hallway and landed roughly three meters in front of them. The damage ahead of them was evident: one of the helicopters had crashed into the side of the fucking building, and there was already a fire.

"We can't stay. Hit this last room and we're leaving," Erlicher coldly ordered as the group stacked up on the door. He wasn't 100% sure, but Erlicher was reasonably sure the door said something like "forbidden" or "off-limits" along with some other Stasnovan gibberish in their nonsense alphabet. Talz checked then opened the door and Byrne was the first in. Two shots rang out immediately and Byrne slumped on the floor with a grunt, then another rapid-succession of gunshots replied back, impacting the wounded Stasnovan soldier that had taken refuge in the room. After securing the room, Carroll checked Byrne- he was dead.

The room itself seemed to be a file repository, with most of the files now ash in burn piles on the linoleum floor. However, there was a handful of manila folders packed full of documents that were immediately stuffed inside of Erlicher and Talz's satchels. Satisfied with their take- a handful of folders, a couple easily accessible hard drives, a handful of thumb drives, a laptop, and two cell phones, the team made their way downstairs.

From there, the idea was to move to a nearby alleyway where two heavily armored Tennish Army patrol vehicles would be used to drive out of the city through the FTLA controlled regions. Paddy, Leon, and Heydrich would meet the group there, then they'd burn rubber to FTLA territory, then the border.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, Erlicher had been briefed on a very specific change of plans, however. IRIS had never expected the team to have to reach the border- it was expected that if mass uprising occurred, it was going to be crushed decisively. If this was indeed the reality that was unfolding, then the IRIS team would only have to reach as far as the Vazandian Army pushed into Tenburg.

Joint Forces Base Weiss, Halbinsel, Vazandia
1400, March 11th, 2019

A briefing room at the 9th Airborne Corps HQ building had been selected as the site where General Ludwig von Marx and his staff, along with a dozen IRIS and Air Force officers, would be briefed on the occupation of Eastern Tenburg. The goal was to prevent FTLA from losing all of their ground and to create a buffer between Vazandia and the VSO-aligned Tennish, if things ended up panning out poorly for the uprising. Of course, there was always the chance that such a military action would trigger an escalatory retaliation by the VSO, but it was a risk they were willing to take.

"So Gentlemen, Brigadier General Hallen has briefed the FRAGO to his people and has assumed command of Task Force Hund, comprising the 707. Luftmobilebrigade and the 429. Spezial-Panzerbrigade, both tasked out from the 16. Luftkorps. Per our plan of action, the 1st will move rapidly to seize advantageous positions in and around Bushmills with or without FTLA assistance. The 707. will move in through the southern border region to occupy Balaclara and will link up with a battalion-sized element from the FTLA that are currently in contact with intelligence units in their area. They've held their forces back from the bulk of the fighting in the uprising and are made mostly of the troops we trained here- they should be more willing to take our direction than other factions within FTLA may be. Currently, ROE is that our forces won't fire unless fired upon. Any questions?"

The room was silent.

[Tenburg]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

Padraig barely had time to think, jumbled thoughst jostling around his head in a similar manner that his new M.I.R allies were guiding him through the army base. It was probably a good thing, as he didn't have time to dwell on what may have been the biggest embarrassment of his life. The last year... the great affection he felt for Olesya, and what he thought was reciprocation... Was it all a lie? A ruse by a clever government agent? It broke him a little more each time her face reappeared in his mind. If he couldn't trust her... could he trust anyone?

He did, however, throw on the uniform as it was tossed at him: fatigues, boots, plate carrier, balaclava, helmet, gloves. Get home first, then figure things out. That was his objective now.

Then one of his handlers, Koslov, handed him a pistol.

"Fort 14 pistol," he said, loading a magazine in, and then handing it to Padraig without racking the slide. "You know which end the bullets come out of, right?" His Tennish was quite good

"Not even a premier's son can avoid Tennish conscription," Padraig replied, holstering the weapon.

The next and last thing that came was a rifle. "S-95. VSO catridge."

Padraig threw it over his shoulder. "Right. Where's the plane?"


Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg

"Fuuuuuck...."

Killian slowly rose to his feet, spitting dirt, covered in debris from the explosion. Whatever FTLA had up their sleeves, the new tanks weren't stopping them quickly enough.

He reached for his rifle, only to find it crushed. Looking back towards the armory door, he saw it was blocked by a flaming hunk of metal.

At least he still had his handgun. He drew and began stumbling through the dust, trying to look for friendlies, following the shouts and echoes of gunfire. Into the smoke again... just as at the police station. Just as above the compound... into the smoke again...

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg

Paddy stomped down the stairs as fast as his arthritic hips would allow, rifle slung over his aching shoulder, which hadn't felt that many rounds bounce out of a rifle on it in decades. The adrenaline had finally wore off, and the ibuprofen hadn't kicked in yet. His age had caught up to him. The goal was to join Leon, Heydrich and Elricher outside and get out. The tanks were closing in and he could hear the screams of FTLA from the rooftop he was on. It was a sound that brought back a lot of things he had suppressed... things he had no interest in remembering.

He had to stop on a level and catch his breath, blood rushing to his head. He knew he was too old... far too old. But he was too far in now. He took one last gulp of air and continued down the stairs

[New Elesar]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

As she watched Padraig get kitted out for the next step of the operation, Olesya had to admit to herself that there was a time when she thought he didn't have it in him. He'd taken the news of her true employers surprisingly well, and it was almost suspicious just how well he was adapting to this rapid change in events. Still, those doubts had to be cast aside; Padraig was all in, and that was all Olesya had ever really hoped for. Everything she'd done from the moment she met him at Mont Chagrin had been carefully orchestrated, researched, and plotted out to ensure this outcome. The Tennish civil war had come at an incredibly convenient time, and Olesya had half a mind to thank her Vazandian counterparts in IRIS for unwittingly moving a MIR operation forward by at least six months.

That was, of course, if the operation ultimately succeeded. That required further action, not just from her and Padraig but from her superiors as well, one of whom was currently motioning for her to leave the room with him. She complied, and stepped out into the hallway.

"Agent Petrova, as I'm sure you know there's a lot of work still to be done, so I'm going to keep this brief; the work you've done for the Tenburg operation has been nothing short of phenomenal, and I think you've got a bright future ahead of you in the Ministry. However, we're still lacking your portion of the operation report to send to the Minister himself."

Olesya was confused. Her portion of the report? Why was he asking for that when her part in this entire ordeal hadn't come to an end?

She asked him just that, and a look of what seemed to be annoyance came across his face. "Your part, as far as the Ministry is concerned, is done. The Ministry has every reason to believe you've been emotionally compromised. We could have pulled you out months ago, but the way he responded to you would have made doing so a mistake. For what it's worth, it wasn't my decision. This one came from high-up. Nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Emotionally compromised? What Olesya felt about Padraig shouldn't have mattered. She'd performed her job, as her superior had said, phenomenally. There had been no incidents, no reasons to fear in any way, shape or form that the operation was being made less viable by her falling in love. As her supervisor stepped away, Olesya tried to rationalize what he had said. Maybe he was right, she thought, attachment very well could lead to possible incidents, especially with the most dangerous, penultimate portion in the immediate future.

That part scared her. Padraig was about to be sent across the continent to take part in a coup d'état, and now there was no way for her to truly intervene. Unless she could change the mind of the Ministry, Olesya was now, for the time being, inactive.

[Tenburg]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

Padraig had heard almost everything, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. Again, his brain refueled the worry of Olesya being a government agent. But butterflies began to flutter in his stomach. He couldn't imagine doing this without her there, waiting for him when he got to Glandore. As far as he was concerned, with his own home country being akin to enemy territory, he'd kill to have every person he trusted with him. Right now, with Killian fighting in Crosskeys, and no idea of the situation in the Dail, Seanad or FSD, Olesya was the only one he had.

Something began to boil inside him like tea water. He followed his MIR handlers outside, but stopped in the hallway, his eyes darting to the man who had almost rounded the corner.

"Oi!" he barked.

The supervisor stopped. Koslov and Fetisov stopped. Padraig could feel Olesya's eyes, wide with what could have been one of many emotions, burn into him as he spoke in his best possible Elesarian.

"I hope you don't think it's lost on me how important this is... I also hope you don't think it's lost on me how important I am in this... to you, to your government, and to the rest of the VSO--becuase there's no way you didn't run this past the other members."

He wanted to puke, his hand shaking, but he straightened up and continued.

"Let me make one thing very clear to you, sir, and you can take this as high up the chain as you need to..." He gulped. "...If Olesya Petrova isn't the first person I see when I enter your embassy in Glandore... you can consider this operation over." He paused for a moment, letting the demand float in the air, now thick with intensity.

Before his father, James, was Premier, he had served as a commando in the predecessor to FSD. His fellow commandos had a story they told about how he quelled a mob of rioters, in some unspecified far-off land, with a few sentences. Padraig had heard it so many times it was burned into his brain.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, you see these guns?" his father had said. "They fire 750 rounds of 9-millimetre ammunition per minute. Which means that if all of you, simultaneously, were to rush us... not a single one of you would get any closer than you are right now."

What he had said next, to conclude, rattled around in Paddy's mind, then came out of his mouth.

"I do hope I've made myself understood."

His eyes moved to meet Olesya's as he turned around, holding a gaze for a moment before looking to her fellow agents. "Let's go." He marched past them towards the exit at the end of the hallway, and they followed, leaving Olesya standing there and making their way out towards the troop plane sitting outside.

Crosskeys, Tenburg

Killian put a pair of rounds into an FTLA grunt, turning to fire down the street at his fleeing comrade, when he heard a motor flying up behind him. He whipped around and fired thee shots, emptying his magazine and putting a hole in the windshield of a truck, which came to a halt. In an instant, three heavily-armored men jumped out of the truck, one of whom shouted "We're Tennish, Macdonald! Don't shoot!"

"Sorry," he replied, keeping a hand on his pistol anyway, crinkling his nose slightly at the smell of burning gas. "Who are you?"

The first approached him, a slim-built man with a shock of red hair and a well-kept beard to match. "Donovan, FSD. This is Finnegan and Parnell," he said pointing to the other two. All three of them looked like they had just shot their way in here. Not surprise, considering FTLA was putting up a hell of a fight. "We know what's happened to you unit. We've been asked to pull you out, to be placed on a special mission."

"What fuckin' shite do ye-- look out!" He pulled his pistol and put three shots into the FTLA goon who had just been running away. He'd cut through an alley trying to catch them from behind.

Donovan nodded in gratitude. "We know you've been in contact with Paddy O'Sullivan--don't worry. He still has friends here. This concerns him. We want you on this, Macdonald."

His stomach began to turn. For all he knew, they were going to take him and throw him off a mountain. "... and if I refuse?"

Donovan cocked his head. "Come on. How long do you think you'd last? If we wanted ye dead, we'd have shot you in the back already."

"So I'm just supposed to trust ye, is that it?"

"I'd prefer it... we'd sure hate to lose you."

Killian wanted to weigh his options, but by the look of it, he didn't really have any. "Right, well, if its for a friend, let's off, then."

[Chazicaria]

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg
1424, March 10th, 2019

The Consulate was ablaze- virtually all of the middle floors were spewing smoke and flames outwards from the doomed structure as the rest of the staff escaped n their helicopters. While things hadn't gone how the IRIS team has anticipated or hoped, this was far from a loss- just a couple dead FTLA guerrillas for what was hopefully a solid cache of intelligence on Stasnovan operations in and around Tenburg.

Erlicher and his team were nearing the pair of up-armored and armed patrol vehicles parked in an alleyway near the Consulate when Tennish Army troops began firing on them from a nearby storefront they must have been using as an OP. Bullets whizzed by them as they made their way across the street from the Consulate, using blown out cars for cover and returning fire when they could.

Quinn fired a 40mm grenade towards the storefront and landed just about 20 meters short, cursing underneath his breath. Reloading, he fired another just as a pair of rounds impacted Caroll in the clavicle, knocking him to the ground and mortally wounding him. Right on target, the grenade blast the storefront to pieces, like sending a hail of shrapnel into whoever was inside. Using the lull in fire to drag Caroll into the alley, in the minute and a half it took to get him there, he'd already lost consciousness. Blood was flowing out of his wounds.

"God-fucking-dammit. God-fucking-dammit." Quinn was livid with himself. If that first grenade had impacted its target, this wouldn't have happened.

"Quinn- look at me," Erlicher spoke up, "He's gone and we can't change that. Focus up, because none of us want to end up the same. You did your best." The team leader spoke with a great deal of authority. From Volka to Tenburg, Erlicher had seen his fair share of fallen comrades, and he knew becoming stuck in the moment was a great way to become one himself.

Mounting up, the group stripped Carroll of his pack and kit that had been filled with various pieces of intel from the Consulate. They took his weapon and ammo as well, leaving the man in the alley, slumped over in a pool of his own blood. It wasn't anyone's favorite choice, and that was obvious. No one spoke as the vehicles took off. Heydrich drove the first vehicle with Leon and Talz, while Quinn drove Paddy and Erlicher. On the guns were Erlicher and Talz.

Everyone barring Paddy had memorized the route out of the city, and as soon as the vehicles were on the road, the teams were double checking with their FTLA contacts to ensure their corridor was still open. While that corridor was still open, there was no way to guarantee it would stay open- the VSO counterattack was beginning and FTLA command and control was falling apart.

Crosskeys wasn't going to fall, and Erlicher knew that meant that as soon as it was assured that FTLA was going to lose, the Army was going to roll into Tenburg. Exhaling and focusing on the gun and target watching, he put out any thoughts of a hypothetical Third Great War.

[Tenburg]

Crosskeys, Tenburg

"The poor lad... the poor aul' lad..."
Paddy couldn't get the image of Carroll slumped over in the alley out of his head. The smell of iron and slightly tinged flesh, the pooling of red around his boots... It had been a long time since Paddy had seen someone get shot like that up close. It wasn't something he enjoyed being reminded of, and only brought up more painful things from the War.

He remembered Otto Danzig, a jovial, rosy-cheeked Vazandian Ranger (as the TRA men called them) from the wee village of Framersheim am Zentrum, getting his legs blown off by a flak gun that was hidden in a church in Glendalough. He cried and screamed in his native tongue, begging for his mother, and a priest. Poor Heinrich cried for hours.

Kieran Keough, from County Tallow. He wanted to be a movie star. He ended up with a face full of machine gun bullets.

Martin Brennan, blown to pieces by a Fascist Tennish tank, along with their getaway car.

And here Paddy was, in a truck, with a gun in his hands again. He shook his head. "The more things change..."

Outside Crosskeys, Tenburg

Killian joined Donovan and his SFD comrades as thy boarded a shiny, new Toad helicopter. "Where are we headed?" he called over the rip-roaring rotors as they sliced through the air.

Donovan raised a finger to Killian until they closed the doors and the chopper lifted off.

"Right, we're headed to Glandore. The Elesarian Embassy. Padraig O'Sullivan and an MIR entourage will in-fil at Glen Shane Airport, posing as Elesarian Security. Theyll then be spirited to the embassy where they'll meet you. Your objective is simple, MacDonald: Keep your friend alive. We're working closely with MIR on this... to the point where we can't mention this to anyone outside this helicopter. Understood?"

"Right." Killian cracked his neck. "So what's the story here? Why bring Paddy into this?"

"The VSO... they've become wary of Mara Byrne. More civilian violence against police, unable to quell the Vazandian-backed rebels, and apparently a bit of a witch personally. MIR told us they have reason to believe she has ambitions beyond her station in the VSO as well, though they have no proof of that to this point." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and held it out to Killian.

Killian took the offer, pulling out a lightly crushed cigarette. He had his own lighter on him and lit the cigarette himself. "So they're throwing their weight behind Paddy to get thing settled?"

"The VSO at this point just wants this to end," Donovan confirmed, lighting his own cigarette and taking a long drag, firing smoke out of his nose as he continued. "MIR has become part of a larger faction of people who have no confidence in Ms. Byrne, ourselves included. The last thing we need is a Third Great War, and frankly the VSO brass is at the point where they believe Mara Byrne brings us closer to the precipice, not further from it. She's a radical, Mac."

"She can't be controlled under foot, you mean."

This earned Killian glares from his fellow passengers.

"I'm just playing Advocate. How are we supposed to be taken seriously on the world stage as a nation when our Premier is an Elesarian puppet?"

"He's no one's puppet," Donovan said, cigarette bouncing between his lips. "You've known him since you were we'ens. Do you really think Paddy is gonna be anyone's doormat? He might not be aggressive like his father was, but he's got a backbone. He's also predictable. He says he'll do something and bloody well does it. He won't stab anyone in the back either."

"I know, and some of those are weaknesses in the political world, aren't they?" Killian took a long drag, watching the smoke rise from the burning tip of the menthol cig. He let out one big puff, then continued. "Paddy's a good fella and I love him, but being articulate and dignified isn't what gets you ahead in politics these days, it's backroom deals, and guys like us. I don't want my friend gettin' shot by some FTLA grunt, like."

"And that's why you're with us. To keep that from happening."

Not quite what Killian wanted to hear, but he supposed Donovan was right.

[Chazicaria]

15km West of Glendalough, Tenburg
1530, March 11th, 2019

FTLA was on the run.

In the span of a day, the entire operation to seize Crosskeys had fallen apart, and a counterattack by VSO units was now pushing the rapidly collapsing FTLA forces back at a rapid pace.

Having just barely escaped Crosskeys in time, Erlicher's team had to be extremely careful. The Tennish Army was pushing hard towards Glendalough, and if they were caught up against their forces, it wasn't likely they'd survive. Only two Tennish men had survived the assault on the Stasnovan Consulate- Quinn, a genuinely talented fighter that was ripe for official recruitment into IRIS, and Paddy, the dependable and likeable old bastard that had just weeks before been on the opposite side of the fight. Both of the men had spoken a little since they'd met a few days before, with Quinn in a sort of way really looking up to the old soldier. Erlicher had also spent a great deal of time getting to know the veteran.

The vehicles they'd used to get out of Crosskeys had to be ditched- with the team trying to break through a region where the fighting was heavy, it would not behoove them to be driving loud armored vehicles around. Even Paddy had suggested just walking, though it may have been simply because the man knew the local area, having lived there all his life.

As the group trekked through the forests and hills surrounding Glendalough, occasional gunfire could be heard, but they couldn't find a radio channel that actually had any traffic- all the FTLA frequencies were silent.

"If I ever find the absolute fuckin' idiots that decided to launch the offensive so early, I can't even imagine what I'd do to them. All this fighting- and for nothing. They can't even be bothered to coordinate the fight over radio," Quinn had been mostly cynical towards the war, but deep down he was a genuine believer in taking out the current government. He was no fan of Byrne.

Erlicher opened up, "It might not happen today or tomorrow, but Byrne won't last. Altstadt won't let up, but thing'll get dirtier. More grey."

"I can't imagine the rest of the VSO is happy about having to clean up her mess," Heydrich chimed in.

"There shouldn't have been a war in the first place- the fact that the people tolerated Byrne is just... It doesn't feel good. I love my country, but goddammit- what did we do to ourselves?" Quinn asked to no one in particular, though he looked in the direction of Paddy. This was the second time he'd had to fight fascists in his homeland. It must be crushing to see what he fought for during the 2nd Great War be thrown away so eagerly.

[New Elesar]

[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

Olesya stared at the back of Padraig's head as he walked away, not quite sure of what she should say or do. "I do hope I've made myself understood." He certainly had, but at this point strong words wouldn't have changed anything; MIR's higher-ups had made a decision, and that decision was final. But does it have to be? The thought ran quickly through Olesya's head. Maybe there were some strings to be pulled, favors to call in, connections to use, anything to ensure that she could at the very least be present for the completion of what had just a few minutes ago been her operation. Standing with her back against the wall, she weighed her options. Intervening directly was out of the question; to do so would be an act of treason. Unless she could come up with something fast, perhaps convince her superiors that she was integral to the operation and that removing her would only cause more problems, then Padraig's opinion of Elesar and indeed the VSO itself would be forever blemished.

By the time Olesya had finished begging her superiors for one last chance, a process that involved less of an attempt to convince and more of a simple process of annoying them until they said yes (some strings may or may not have also been pulled), it had become apparent that even with all that effort, she would still have to wait. It made her nervous, of course, but she tried to rationalize things; it would, of course, take time for Padraig to reach Tenburg, and by the time the operation to remove Byrne from office had concluded, there was a good possibility Olesya could be in-country just in time to ensure Padraig's...demand (?) was met. It could be done, but the window was closing fast. The time to act was now.

[Tenburg]

15 km west of Glendalough, Tenburg

Paddy Mullen stuck his hand from one pocket to the next, until he felt the crushed cardboard of a cigarette box. "I suppose, boy," he began as he pulled the box out, "that ye didn't learn much in history." He pulled a cigarette out of the box, and flipped it into his mouth, as he put the box back, pulled out a loose match, and struck it on his leg. He chuckled. "We're not a peace-loving people, son." He brought the match up with a shaking hand and lit the cigarette before tossing the match onto the ground and stepping on it. "Never have been. It's the life of the Gael. You'll see as I have. Once this is over, everythin'll be nice, and it will for a while. But someday... after I'm gone, twenty years, we'll be startin' a row over somethin' else. Whether it's here or somewhere else... who knows." He took a long drag off the cigarette. "Ye learn to live with it. Ye learn to understand how we really are." His shaking hand reached up and took the cigarette from his mouth to the his hip, where he ashed it. Bit of ash on broken pavement wouldn't hurt anything.

"You youngin's like to say that our kind don't have love. But ye see, it isn't true. You'll come to understand as ye get older that we... We show love, through a hatred of what threatens the thing we love. And we tear it out. And we don't think of what tearin' it out'll do, be cause we want it gone. Every so often we need to get into a row to make sure we can still do that." He took another drag from the cigarette as he looked to the dark louds in the distance. "You'll learn to live with it."


Somewhere in Elesarian Airspace

Padraig opened his satellite phone and simply hit "1." Putting it up to his ear, he listened to it buzz twice before it was answered.

"Donovan," the voice said.

"Where are ya?"

"We're inbound to Glandore now. Found your man standing amongst a pile of bodies."

Padraig smiled. "Wouldn't be the first time. We're in the air."

"Roger."

Padraig hung up, and chuckled. Killian wasn't always a stone-cold killer, perhaps, but he never had any trouble getting into a scrap. Now, it was just a matter of waiting out the flight.

[Chazicaria]

15km West of Glendalough, Tenburg
1555, March 11th, 2019

Quinn thought about what the old man had said- was he just a broken old cynic or a realist who'd simply observed the true nature of things in Tenburg? Either could be the case, but of course would a cynic volunteer at that age to be a guide for IRIS paramilitary officers attempting to overthrow his government?

Who could know but Paddy.

For an hour the group walked through the backwords, edging along the most uninhabited outskirts of Glendalough to avoid confrontation with the rapidly advancing Tennish Army and their VSO allies. Erlicher had been trying to contact their mission handlers across the border for hours, but electronic interference had prevented it; the team was in general agreement that it could be either the VSO coalition or Vazandian military that were generating the interference. Finally though, he managed to get through and received news he'd been hoping not to: the 57. Panzerbrigade, 3. Panzergrenadierbrigade and supporting elements of the rest of the 44. Panzerdivision had crossed the border to secure what was left of the FTLA's gains. The Air Force had a rolling no-fly zone over the advance, as well.

Of course the diplomats were scrambling to organize a ceasefire before the entire VSO was drawn into a war with Vazandia- a war that absolutely no one wanted. If they couldn't agree to a deconfliction or ceasfire within the next few hours, the Tennish and Vazandian armies would clash and likely trigger a full-scale invasion. And who knows how the VP would react, considering that two dozen of the Stasnovans' consulate staff in Crosskeys had just been iced by IRIS?

And that's when the buzzing started.

"Heydrich is that what I think its?" Erlicher hurriedly snapped.

"Sounds like a drone, yeah. If they've got thermals..." Heydrich was scanning the air with eyes, hoping to silhouette the drone against a cloud or something.

The group doubled their pace- even Paddy, being spry for an old man, though he was clearly struggling. Half an hour later the buzzing had ceased, but a much more worrying sound was echoing through the narrow valley the men were moving through: chopping. From a helicopter.

Moments later, the chopping was nearly on top of them as a transport helicopter swung into the valley and spotted them through the trees. A second later, the door gunner revealed himself with a burst of rounds that shredded a tree just a meter from Leon's position, sending wood splinters flying. Quinn immediately brought his rifle up and fired a pair at the helicopter, missing entirely. All of the men were now moving as fast as possible, doing everything in their power to avoid the sight of the gunner as he continued sending bursts towards them.

Over their comms, Erlicher heard confirmation from his handler: a company of panzergrenadiers had seized Objective Sandstone, an otherwise innocuous village called Green...Something, just east of Glendalough, no more than a mile from their current position. Back to Paddy, Erlicher shouted, "There's a village east of here- Green something. We need to get there and we'll be safe. You know where it is?" As the words left his mouth, another burst cracked through the air and Erlicher saw Talz stumble and fall, grasping his lower leg and ducking behind a tree. Quinn rushed over to him only to catch the tail of the burst with a round nailing him in the plate and another grazing his helmet above the ear, sending splinters of polymer and bits of kevlar across the ground as he sank behind the same tree as Talz.

This might be it.

Over the Vaznadian-Tennish border, Tenburg
1725, March 11th, 2019

Eamon McElroy and Tara Mohan.

The two behind-the-scenes leaders of FTLA, chosen for their inoffensive nature and ease of manipulation- IRIS had a long list of blackmail for both of them.

Neither were particularly smart, but they'd been helpful in controlling Michael Tucker as a figurehead President of the FRT. It was deemed necessary to not stack the "President's" cabinet with IRIS lackies for the sake of keeping maintaining a legitimate front. Of course, idealists rarely make for anything more useful than cannon fodder. Who could have expected them to lead? Now with FTLA collapsing on all fronts, the Vazandian Army crossing the border, and Crosskeys mostly secured, the FRT was at the end of its rope as a "legitimate" resistance. Even fools like Eamon and Tara knew they weren't going to have jobs much longer.

When they were ordered onto a helicopter and told they were going to oversea the occupation government however, the two were elated. A FTLA pilot and Tennish Army helicopter had been procured and within hours, the two were on their way to Bushmills, where the FRT government would be headquartered for now.

They had just crossed the border when the beeping started- very loud and accompanied by a flashing red light on the control panel. Curious, Tara asked the pilot through her headset what that sound was "Well ma'am, it's the radar lock, but... We're in Vazandian-controlled air space. They're probably just tracking us to be sure."

Her heart sunk, and she turned and locked eyes with Eamon. The two both rushed to look out their windows and that's when she saw it: a shining dot, rapidly enlarging and seemingly with a smoke trail just behind it, "Godda-"

Suddenly, the FRT cabinet had two open positions.

[Granzery]

Forward Operating Base, Bróker-20, Port Pierce, Tenburg
1630 Hours

The Granzerian FOB was ablaze with communications and in a state of utter chaos. Sattelite imagery revealed that the Vazandian forces had finally done it - they had finally launched a legitimate invasion of Tenburg. Granzerian armoured forces already in the field in Crosskeys, the 3. KGE Tigers and a recently arrived Armoured Regiment of the regular GRA had arrived, the 117. Páncélezred, in the midst of celebrating their victory over the FTLA, were rapidly redeployed to engage the Vazandian forces in the area. But it would take a day or two for them to meet the Vazandian advance.

In the meantime, the illegal no-fly zone over Tenburg could not be tolerated. GRAF assets in the region, including a squadron of F-10K Thunderstorm electronic warfare planes fitted with state-of-the-art jamming suites and LEMICIR antiradiation missiles, accompanied by a squadron of V-12 Tempest air superiority fighters and two squadrons of V-10 Cyclone multiroles aboard the GKH Zsolt Pesty. The Cyclones aboard the carrier were able to fly multiple sorties per day to engage enemy ground forces while the Tempest and Thunderstorm squadrons alongside other tennish air assets would protect the attacking formations from enemy fighter or air defence units. The first of these sorties would begin to fly by approximately 1730 hours local time, in order to coordinate with Tennish and Elesarian air forces and prepare the Carrier and her air wing for the operations.

Furthermore, Granzerian Naval assets in the region, namely the GKH Patrik Balázs and GKH Bokor Szabadsag-class Guided missile Destroyers would launch part of the complement of Ballista cruise missiles at known FAR-16 sites as well as any Vazandian military assets close to the Tennish Border. A large portion of them may be shot down but they were to send a message to Vazandia: continuing this advance means war.

Back at home plans after plans were being drawn up, preparations for total war with Vazandia, with the GRDF and StRaVez (Strategic Missile Command) prepared the Granzerian Nuclear arsenal in case the Vazandian first strike were to begin. However, with a no-first-use policy, the StRaVez remained on standby, finger on the trigger, awaiting the Vazandian nuclear bombardment. The outdated B-4K nuclear bombers, armed with short range nuclear missiles, were fueled for perhaps the first time in two decades, while the GRAF at home were to shortly begin flying sorties every twenty minutes in the sea of Zolevskoy should the Zolevskoyan navy or air force show any kind of hostility.

[Tenburg]

15 km west of Glendalough, Tenburg

Paddy Mullen pinned himself against a tree when he heard the roar of the guns from the trees. "Feckin' hell, these bastards!" He racked the bolt of his rifle. "If yeh'd just leave us alone...!" He whirled around to face the helicopter, which had seemingly materialized out of nothing, sights-up
BADANG BADANG BADANG... his rifle roared. He was aiming for the gunner, but caught a man in the back instead. Fair enough; he'd never used this gun before.

Paddy's first instinct was to look around at his boys. He saw Quinn, who had gone down, struggling to get up while putting fire downrange. He began to make his way over.

"Are ye alright, boy?" he shouted, but Quinn clearly didn't hear him, as he let his own weapon scream to life again, firing off desperately into the chopper.

The gunner turned his big machine gun toward the younger Tennsman. Paddy's instinct took over, and he dropped his rifle.

"GET DOWN, LAD!"

He pushed Quinn to the ground, then immediately felt several sharp pains. Debilitating pains which sent him right to the ground. He fell against a tree, his ears ringing, unable to move, as Quinn leapt to his feet and rushed over. What was he saying? Who the hell knows...

Paddy's vision began to blur. The excruciating pain began to fade... A bright light slowly took over his vision... He saw several figures in the light.

"...Paddy!..."

The voice was familiar... but...

"Patrick Sheamus Mullen!..."

A voice he hadn't heard in years...

The figures became clearer. Heinrich, not a scratch on him, tie perfectly straight, rifle slung on his back, knelt don to him.

"Patrick, We have been waiting for you," Heinrich von Essen said, smiling warmly down on Paddy.

"Ye auld bastard..."

"Only auld man is you, Mullen!" Martin Keough called from the back.

Paddy smiled. "Danzig.... Danzig, ye there?"

Otto Danzig replied. "I'm here, mein freund, and I have your old pipe."

Paddy looked back up at Heinrich. "I suppose you're here to collect me..."

Heinrich reached his hand down.

"Let's get going, Patrick."

Paddy reached up and took his friend's hand.

[Chazicaria]

15km West of Glendalough, Tenburg
1600, March 11th, 2019

"Fuck!" Erlicher shouted as he let loose another burst from his rifle towards the helicopter, managing only a few harmless hits, much the same result Heydrich achieved seconds later. Turning to check on his men, Erlicher saw what he'd hoped not to- Paddy slumped over on the ground, Talz barely managing to tourniquet his own leg, and Quinn trying to rouse the old man while simultaneously peaking out from the tree to fire bursts from his rifle.

Another long burst of machine gun fire sent splintered wood and dirt all over the battered area that the IRIS team and their Tennish friends had been pinned in. Barring hope for a lucky shot that would somehow wound or kill the pilot or gunner, it seemed like this fight was decided.

Quinn stopped firing to try and apply his CLS training to Paddy, applying the plastic airtight bandages to the chest and back wounds to prevent pneumothorax while also stuffing eligible wounds with hemostatic gauze- but he knew the reality here. Paddy wasn't going to make it. The old man spoke what seemed like gibberish- something about a man named Danzig before a rather final sounding utterance, "I suppose you're here to collect me..."

The old man had seen more than his fair share of conflict and devastation. And Quinn couldn't help but feel a great deal of sorrow for Paddy as life slipped away from him. Even as bullets sent bark, dirt, moss, and twigs flying all around the former FTLA guerilla, he made sure to give Paddy the respect he'd earned. Grasping his hand, he spoke with a lump in his throat, "You've fought enough, old man. Time to rest."

And with that, he was gone.

Heydrich in the meantime was trying to draw fire from the wounded Talz and distracted Quinn when he saw Erlicher shout something into his radio, followed by a smile. What does that mean?

Moments later, a fuzzy silhouette began to lift itself over the ridgeline of the hill opposite the team, directly behind the transport helicopter- it was an AH-99, aka the Spiegel. The helicopter opened its interior weapons bays and let loose with two LAW-66 air-to-air missiles, directly at the transport.

The old man won't have died for nothing.