Independent District (TWI only, IC)

[Vancouvia]

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Background

For about a month now, Vancouvian soldiers have been occupying the International District of The Western Isles, a small island in the middle of the region designed to serve as a hub for international business and diplomacy. A few weeks before the occupation began, the Vancouvian Congress ordered the construction of a military base, Camp Plymouth, on the south-eastern corner of the island, which was completed and fully garrisoned. To begin a crackdown on the general lawlessness and corruption of the I.D., Congress ordered a full-scale occupation of the I.D., which has since been conducting operations out of Plymouth to reduce crime, capture ringleaders, and install a general sense of order.

The I.D. can be separated into three roughly equal zones. The northern zone is heavily forested, hilly, and vastly underpopulated. The middle third of the island is an urban sprawl, heavily populated, and separated into various neighborhoods and slums. This urban area is colloquially referred to as 'The City'. Crime was extremely common in The City before the occupation, and the black market still continues to exist. The southern zone is also heavily forested, although it is more accessible and is known for its relatively safe nature tourism. Camp Plymouth is in this zone and it is thus arguably the most secure area of the I.D.

Relevant Vancouvian News Network news posts: viewtopic.php?p=25524321#p25524321, viewtopic.php?p=25619801#p25619801, viewtopic.php?p=25899885#p25899885, viewtopic.php?p=26208363#p26208363

Images of I.D: http://imgur.com/a/0HNmz 1, northern zone. 2, southern zone. 3&4, The City

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Current State

The I.D. has now been brought under heavy military guard. The Vancouvian National Army is being supported by the spear of the Vancouvian military, the Vancouvian Special Forces. The VSF are a versatile and hardened military force, operating in 10-12 man squads that are capable of conducting standalone operations against enemy forces. While the VNA entrenches themselves in defensive positions throughout the southern zone and the City, the VSF will take the fight to the enemy.

The enemy are conducting guerrilla operations against VNA and VSF positions throughout the City and the northern zone. Although a strict curfew is in place during nighttime hours and checkpoints are common throughout the City, the opposition force has managed to conduct deadly strikes against several Vancouvian patrols and outposts. Recently, banners have been seen throughout the City with the simple words, "INDEPENDENT DISTRICT". The Vancouvian Congress is beginning to worry that their simple operation against crime and corruption has turned into a full-scale occupation against a consolidated force. As the tide begins to worsen and foreign involvement seems certain, Vancouvia knows it must win the hearts and minds of the populace, secure the City, and eliminate the hostile threats to peace and security.

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OOC

This will primarily be a character-driven role play, showing the operations of both parties against each others' positions. If you are an ally of Vancouvia you should send a few dozen troops at the most, as Vancouvia is not currently out-manned or outgunned, but rather outmaneuvered. These troops will be sent on missions handed out by Vancouvian command. If you consider yourself a rival of Vancouvia you may perhaps support the local "independence" fighters, who are mostly crime bosses utilizing their influence and propaganda to try to turn the City against Vancouvia.

Please telegram me before joining so we can talk about what your plans are.

If you want to say anything OOC, then either telegram me or clearly label it at the end or beginning of the post.

This will be in current time, so please label your posts with respect to that, but you can do flashbacks to try to fit events in. This will be a slow-paced RP, and any major plot advancements (like the allied forces taking down a major boss, or securing an area) will be RP'd only after several preceding events have occurred.

I don't have the ending in stone yet so it is up to how well the two groups RP, without god-modding and etc. Keep things small, character-driven, and realistic.

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[Vancouvia]

October 8th, Midday, Northern City, Omega 8.

Three 21 year-olds stepped onto the roof of the thirty-story Calypso Tower, their rifles and gear hanging heavily from their backs and sides. None showed any emotion as they soaked in the sun's rays and set up their rifles in silence.

Cass McClellan set up her M99 facing the northern streets. Her auburn hair flopped in the high winds, but she promptly put on her baseball cap and stuck it under. Cass was the squad's medic, a role she had taken great pride in, until yesterday.

Chris Yao unpacked and tossed a sack of rounds at Cass's feet. He jogged to the east side of the roof and held his rifle downrange. His forehead began to sweat. It was only seventy degrees, but the concrete roof was cooking the soles of his barely-worn boots. Chris was one of the squad's point men--now the only point man--and he choked back his emotions as he scanned the streets below.

Arnold Arlington set up the radio and checked in with command, signaling his squad's arrival at their destination. Arnold was the squad leader of Omega 8, a freshly active squad who had arrived in the I.D. only two weeks prior. After carrying out a brief stint as security for a foreign nation's diplomat they had been assigned to patrol. Arnold had lead his 12 man squad through the City two days ago, but he only lead himself and two other soldiers out. He had to let go of nine of his squad-mates and friends--the kids he had grown up with since he was 10. And no amount of 72 Gun Salutes could change what happened or how he felt.

All three sat, hands on rifle, facing this sprawling city of death, knowing that it had killed nine of their friends. They're all dead, they're all dead, they're all dead, repeated Cass in her head over and over as she began to rock back and forth. It was her first time on a rifle since the massacre.

Arnold promptly looked over to her and gently ordered, "Maintain proper posture, corporal."

Finally the words came out loud. "They're all dead," she whispered.

"I know," said Arnold. "I know."

[Ostehaar]

October 9th, Pre-dawn, Camp Plymouth, I.D. Southern Zone

Johan Glihk paced quickly among the troops, avoiding swinging haversacks and keeping his M4 close to his body. Those who noticed him passing by as they picked up their gear, nodded and uttered Sehed, his nickname and also an old Oster word for honorable sir. He nodded back to each of them, constantly shifting his sight between them and the groups of Vancouvian soldiers walking around on the tarmac. He suddenly stopped when he recognized a young captain with a rumpled hair, wearing round glasses. "Lennon!" he called, "are you ready?"

"Yes sehed," the captain replied as he stood up and heaved his backpack up onto his back, "all set."

"Good," said Johan, "gather the intel' team and go with them to pick up maps from here." he gave Lennon a small map of the base and pointed on a certain location. "You can also get acquainted with the Vancouvian intel' officers while you're at it." Lennon acknowledged and went away, calling to the intel' team to gather up.

Johan was the commander of Batch-1013 - Also known as The Tailors - One of several Batches in Unit 78, an Oster special operations unit trained to engage in guerrilla warfare. The Tailors were supposed to arrive at the I.D. in late October to assist the Vancouvian forces on the island, but the events of October 4th forced a change in the schedule. Aside from intelligence, operations, and logistics officers and teams, Johan had around 40 combat soldiers under his command, divided into five groups of 8.

Ah! At last! Johan thought as his eyes located the Vancouvian officer he has been seeking. He fixed his beret as he approached with a polite smile, introduced himself to the Vancouvian, and handed over to him the written directive. "...So as of now," he concluded, "we answer to the VSF command."

[Vancouvia]

October 9th, Pre-dawn, Camp Plymouth

"And we are gracious to have you," replied General Storm, shielding his eyes from the creeping sun. "Please, have your aide and yourself follow me into my barracks." Storm held open the door for the Osters and then followed behind.

"I'm not going to lie to you, the situation is grim," began Storm as he motioned for them to have a seat. "The City is under siege from without and within, and it's all I can do right now to keep secure the sections we already have under our control. We outnumber them and outgun them, but we just can't find them. They find us."

Storm paused to pour himself a glass of juice. "Here's where your unit comes in: we received intel--very reliable intel--that one of the opposition's leaders conducts his business out of a dilapidated apartment building in the northern ghetto. I would launch an airstrike, but I.D. citizens are still living within the complex. I will not tolerate civilian casualties; this is my AO and I will see to it that no law-abiding Districter is killed under my tenure."

"I can't offer you much support; you will have aerial recon, an escort for about half the approach, but after that--you're on your own. How you want to approach this mission, commander, is your prerogative."

[Ostehaar]

October 9th, Evening, Camp Plymouth

One by one, the five combat team commanders, the intelligence officer and the operations officer entered the small fluorescent-lit room, in which Major Johan Sehed Glihk and his deputy captain Mik Lennon Sjtopel were waiting. A large street map of The City was covering the table in the middle of the room, and on another table in the corner of the room was a wide 29-inch screen, displaying a digital map of the northern ghetto. The latter was full of red markings, indicating the locations of recent clashes or incidents.

The officers stood around the table and saluted in unison, the right-most among them announcing "Sehed!". Johan saluted back and immediately gestured casually to signal them to take a seat. For a few moments he did not say anything, allowing the sound of breathing fill the room - He surveyed this group of experienced officers, each of them handpicked by him or his superiors personally, all ready to abide by his orders.

A slight smile appeared on the Sehed's face. "I trust you all know the Beatles' song Happiness is a Warm Gun." Confused, his listeners looked at captain Lennon, assuming this has something to do with him.

"So," Johan cleared his throat and started the briefing, "This next operation will be called Mother Superior. Our high-value target will be known as Mother... or Mom, Mama - you can be creative here." He pressed a tiny remote controller and a red perimeter appeared around a certain building complex in the digital map. "We believe Mother is in this compound in The City's northern ghetto. These are all apartment buildings and they are still occupied, which is why we need to get in there and relieve him of his command ourselves. We need to finish this in one quick and quiet session, or else our target will escape." The other officers nodded slowly in agreement.

Another press on the remote controller magnified the map, and a broken blue line appeared along a street leading from the center of The City to Mother's compound. "Tonight we should receive the seven Vulf's we asked - five carriers and two medevac's - and we'll use those to about half the way. We'll be escorted by Vancouvian forces in a manner which would hopefully seem to our enemies as a routine patrol. At this point," he pointed with his finger on the digital display, "we'll leave the vehicles and proceed by foot."

Johan described the entire plan in around 20 minutes and finished with a second reminder of General Storm's orders. "Rules of engagement are very clear here - innocent civilians will not be harmed during this operation. When in doubt, avoid using live fire. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sehed." his listeners replied.

"Good. We'll get rolling tomorrow evening. Dismissed."

---

OOC: To be continued...

[Miklania]

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you may now disembark. Thank you for flying with us today."

Evan was relieved to get off. The suit was more subtle than combat robes, but it was much less comfortable. He joined the mass of people frantically trying to get off the plane with their massive carry on bags. He had a simple backpack with his essentials. All other tools were kept in the hard case below with the other baggage. At least they better be. If not, some airline employee was about to get the chewing out of his life. The rotating conveyor belt at baggage claim proved his concerns to be unfounded. The case was there with his regular pack. He must have looked odd, a supposed business man carrying a hard, military style box. If anyone asked it was just some important prototype pencil sharpeners his company was working on.

The man at security stopped him. Evan whipped out the card that the State Department had so thoughtfully made for him.

"Oh. Right this way Mr. Michaels."

The guard gestured for him to head through a door off to the side. The guard quickly guided him past the lines and various metal detectors.

"Thank you." Evan politely said to the short, round man, who was sweating nervously.

"My pleasure sir, enjoy your stay."

"I will."

He walked out, and hailed a taxi. He had been told that Vancouvian forces would be expecting him, but it had been made quite clear that he was to remain anonymous among the regular men, so there would be some difficulty getting in the gate of Camp Plymouth. Well, he thought, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

[Kamieniec Podolski]

October 10th, Pre-Dawn, The road to Vamp Plymouth

The column of Uhlans nears the camp. They haven't been paid for the last two weeks, and are getting restless. The young Corporal is worried. This is his first command, he needs this to go well. So far he's maintained order through brutality. He had three dissenters hanged from trees yesterday, but that was to maintain a facade. How long until someone sees through?

They are stopped by a Vancouvian guard.

OOC, some context for the Uhlans.

[Vancouvia]

October 10th, Camp Plymouth

Sergeant Thomas Hadwell stopped a column of foreign soldiers at the gate and raised his weapon against them. "Halt, identify yourselves."

"Stow your weapon, Sergeant!" ordered Major Smith, approaching from Hadwell's six.

At once Thomas dropped his gun and motioned for his men to do the same. "But Major, who are these foreigners?"

"Those are Uhlans, boys, from Podolski."

The men around the gate eyed them up and down. They were not used to foreign soldiers, nor foreign weapons. An air of mistrust rose among the soldiers, with each keeping their fingers close to the trigger.

Major Smith approached them. "Head through the gate, make a left at the crossroads, and pull up into the officer's corps. Sergeant!"

Hadwell rushed up. "Yes, sir."

"Accompany these men to the General."

"Yes, sir," said Hadwell reluctantly as he hopped into one of their jeeps.

[Kamieniec Podolski]

October 10th, Camp Plymouth

"Much obliged," the Corporal replied. "Men, do what they say, try and behave yourselves." He enters the jeep after Hadwell.

[Ostehaar]

October 10th, After midnight, The City's northern ghetto

The ground was still a bit soft, and the asphalt glistened faintly after a short drizzle, as the vehicles came to a stop and troops - both Vancouvian and Oster - dismounted. The location was a junction of two streets dubbed "Lion" and "Tiger" for this operation: Lion street connected the city center with this lawless part of the ghetto, stretching from north to south and crossing Tiger street.

The dense, medium-height apartment blocks around the junction reminded the Osters of the old slums of Lindastir, the largest city in Ostehaar. The inner design of those buildings was also similar - they all had a long, narrow aisle with small apartments on both sides, and the neighboring buildings were so close you could almost jump from the window at the end of each hallway to the hallway of the next building.

In accordance with the plan, the Vancouvian soldiers began patrolling southwards along Lion street, in the direction of The City's center. The Oster troops of Batch-1013 entered the two apartment buildings north of Tiger street, on both sides of the junction. Two teams of eight entered each building and began advancing northwards slowly through the long hallways - teams Red and Black were in the buildings west of Lion street, and teams Blue and Green were in those east of it. The remaining team Brown stayed with the vehicles near the junction, ready to respond quickly in case of emergency.

The teams pushed further deep into the ghetto. Every time they reached the end of one hallway, they exited the building through a back door or a basement exit and entered the next one the same way. They knew insurgents would be waiting to engage Vancouvian patrols on the street, and that enemy snipers were monitoring the streets, so they avoided walking on street level altogether, making their way only through the buildings. Upon entering a building, one of the two teams was sent up to the roof, to make sure no armed Districters were surrounding it and endangering the other team inside. When they reached junctions and had to cross streets from south to north, they located the darkest parts of the street and stealthily paced to the other side.

Movements were swift but silent, doors were opened cautiously, and all actions were smooth and fluent, exactly like those soldiers were trained. They remained in shadows - not a difficult task in these dilapidated ghetto buildings, since many of the light fixtures were off or broken. Light rain started to pour outside again, making a static-like noise and covering for the sound of their walking even more. That way, quietly and carefully, the two pairs of teams approached Mother's compound without being detected.

The curfew was still on, and the residents of the ghetto knew the curfew orders apply to them and to this time of the day especially. No one wanted to be caught outside of their home, on the wet and dark streets - One would either be taken by the insurgents for questioning as a possible spy, or be shot by a Vancouvian sniper as a probable terrorist. Therefore, the Oster teams didn't encounter many civilians. Three civilians which were spotted in the hallways outside of their apartment were quickly caught, sedated and put carefully back into their beds.

In one of the buildings, team Black noticed several armed figures moving around on the roof as the team's scouts were walking up the staircase to check the area. The roof was partially lit, and the scouts volunteered to neutralize the threat: Like far-away thunders, they emerged from the shadows and strangled some of the insurgents simultaneously, as two of the team's sharpshooters used their silenced rifles to kill the others. Within a second all of the resistance fighters were on the ground, and team Black proceeded in their mission.

In another building, an armed person heard people entering the first floor aisle through a back door from the narrow alley, and he arrived there right on time to see team Blue entering. Luckily he decided to take his aim instead of alerting his comrades, so he too was promptly dispatched of. The two-way radio he was carrying supplied the teams with valuable information on the movement and location of some of the insurgents.

Several more such incidents took place on the way to the target building - all ended without even a single shot fired from an enemy weapon. The teams closed in on the building earlier than expected, so they decided to take their time making sure who's inside and where. A sensitive heat and sound detector revealed that around 30 persons were active in the top floors of the building - probably the insurgents with Mother - and that around 20 persons were inactive and horizontal in the lower floors - probably sleeping civilians.

The teams would have to make their way up the 6-story building in order to reach their objective, clearing floor-by-floor and preventing Mother from escaping.

---

OOC: To be continued...

[Vancouvia]

October 10th, 2:30 AM, Western City

"Contact front!" screamed Private Macintosh, returning fire with his M4. Soon the other members of his patrol joined him, rushing to the limited cover available before beginning to fire back at the unseen enemy. Bullets hissed past, with several striking the squad's Humvee, puncturing a tire and sending shards of metal splintering off in all directions.

"Why is no one on that ******* 50 cal?!" yelled Lt. Sanchez before being struck by a bullet in his chest.

Sergeant Riley, the vanguard and second in command, stopped to scan the situation. His ten man VNA squad had been patrolling a small commercial district on the western party of the City with no resistance. The sector was supposed to be secure, "locked-down" by the VNA just two days ago. Now he was engaged in the fiercest firefight of his career. He surveyed their position; the squad was caught in open ground in an intersection, there appeared to have already been casualties, and there was no chance of using the Humvee to slow retreat. Seeing no other options, and with his commanding officer out of commission, Riley eyed a small, two-story business at his left rear, and knew that would be their best chance at surviving until backup could arrive.

"Williamson, Raleigh, grab the Lieutenant. The rest of you, we're headed to that grocery behind us. On my smoke, begin retreat." Riley unpinned a canister of pink smoke and tossed it through the night air in front of where the Lieutenant went down. With determination, the squad ran through gunfire and haze to the mart, shot a window, and entered the store.

"Shit, where's Menard?" called one of his men as they all caught their breath. Riley quickly glanced out onto to the dim-lit street to see a bloodied and unconscious Menard lying face down on the pavement.

"He's gone," yelled Riley over the gunfire, not knowing if what he said was true but knowing that they couldn't risk heading back onto the street. He eyed his men, all anxiously looking to him for guidance, all of them not having seen combat in their entire lives.

The radioman broke the silence, "Viper Nine to HQ, Viper Nine to HQ. Go Viper Nine. Contact and casualties at current pos, requesting medical evac. Heard Viper Nine, teams your way in 14 mikes. Roger, HQ."

"Right, we make our stand here, men. We will use our point of entry as a bottleneck kill zone. Stay away from the windows, keep your heads down, and fire your weapons."

Riley positioned five of his seven active men prone on the first floor facing the door and windows while he led the remaining two and the disabled Lieutenant up to the second floor, presumably the shopkeeper's residence. Clearing off a dresser and puncturing a window, Riley planted his rifle out facing the intersection.

"I want illumination on this ****** whole street, corporal," he ordered. Within seconds after the radioman made the call a stream of light lit up the street. "Fire at will!" yelled Riley as his team took down five unsuspecting advancing enemy forces caught out in the open.

"I want continued suppressing fire on their advancement points," ordered Riley as he changed his magazine and rushed down the stairs to check on the other five men.

"Sergeant!" called one of his men as Riley came down, inadvertently picking his head up. Within an instant a bullet crashed through the man's head and pierced a can of beans behind him, splattering blood and brown juice all throughout the front aisle.

"Shit!" yelled out the other men in unison as several returned fire aimlessly out into the dark street.

Enraged, Riley ordered his men to the second floor immediately. He noticed dozens of flashlights outside, all approaching the store from various directions. "Illumination!" yelled Riley up the stairs at the radioman as he held in his breath. Six, five, four, three...

With a great ferocity he did not know he had, Riley stood up from below a broken window, found a lit-up target and fired a single bullet at his neck. With finesse, he aimed down his barrel at the next and fired again, striking a man in the shoulder, then strafing to the right, he took out two more charging soldiers, before taking a bullet to his left arm. Bleeding but unshocked, he tossed a grenade at a group of four approaching from the store's right flank and then shot at the wounded clump, yelling all the while deep from his throat.

Fire erupted from the second floor as the rest of his squad picked off more targets. The opposition kept coming and Riley kept firing, advancing from the safety of the store to an abandoned garbage truck on the near side of the street. Laying under the truck, he managed to kill several more of the approaching force, until he ran out of ammo. Shit, shit, he thought, lying silent beneath the vehicle as the men gained ground towards him. 30 feet, 20 feet, 10 feet, then a haze of gunfire.

Riley slowly opened his eyes, the pain of his arm now full-force. A Vancouvian uniform dragged him out from under the truck and dropped him on the curb, before turning and joining his advancing squad's fire. It was the VSF, lighting up the night like lights on a Christmas tree. Riley gently closed his eyes amid the sounds of Vancouvian rescue. Always for these Free Lands, he whispered as his squad mates ran out onto the street to retrieve their leader.

[Ostehaar]

October 10th, 4:30 AM , The City's northern ghetto

Major Johan Glihk checked his watch, for the second time in the last five minutes. They should have returned by now, he thought as he checked again. "Shehd," whispered one of his troops, pointing to the window facing north. Johan rose up a bit to get a quick view of the alley between the building they were in and the target building - it was rather dark, but he could identify two figures entering from the basement and closing the door behind them. A few seconds later they entered the abandoned, shabby apartment which was currently used as a safe house for teams Red and Black. Teams Blue and Green, still on the other side of the street, were waiting on a roof for further instructions.

"Good news, Sehed," the two reported, "The building has only two staircases, one on the southern end of the hallway and one in the middle of the building - no third staircase on the northern end. As we suspected, it seems that the lower floors are pretty quiet and there's some movement only above the third floor. The building is not connected somehow to any other building around it, but the building to the east of it is a bit lower and very close, possibly allowing for a desperate jump."

Johan released a sigh and nodded in approval. "Good, sergeant," he said as he gave the man a friendly pat on the back and turned to face the others, "this has to be fast and light, but powerful and determined. Lennon, you'll take team Red and secure the building's perimeter - make sure not a single soul leaves. Put someone on the roof of the nearby building to prevent escape jumps. When you finish taking positions, I'll lead team Black through the back door and up the southern staircase, and order teams Blue and Green to cross the street, and enter through the front door and up the central staircase. Is that clear?" Simultaneous head nods were received.

"Good. Remember to use your brains. Think fast, but do think before you shoot - we can't allow for civilian casualties. If it's armed, neutralize it." He exhaled and scanned the faces around him. "silver hammer," he declared, and smiled as his troops all mouthed the same thing without a sound and started gearing up for the assault. Team Red left the apartment first and headed downstairs and around the target building. Team Black followed and entered the building.

A sense of excitement streamed down their spines as they paced swiftly up the staircase, knowing that their friends advance up a parallel staircase in another part of the building. Unlike the casual encounters with civilians back a couple of hours before, not a single civilian was spotted at this early hour, but as they approached the fourth floor, they could hear clearly the sound of heavy boots walking on the wooden parquet. In both parts of the building, each team leader signaled his troops to get ready. Three teams of 8 were about to charge Mother's hideout - two through the central staircase and one through the southern one.

The lightning struck. Stunned and with barely enough time to fetch their weapons, armed insurgents on the fourth floor hallway got pinned down from two directions by teams Black and Green, as team Blue flooded the fifth floor hallway the same way. Stun grenades were rolled into apartments, and "clear!" shouts were heard from all directions. Armed hostiles who managed to grab their guns and tried to fight back were quickly shot in the head or chest, or stabbed from behind by soldiers moving through inner doors. Around 20 insurgents were neutralized in that assault.

The sixth floor was a tougher nut to crack. Hearing the sounds from the two floors below, the people there had enough time to prepare for the coming soldiers - who they thought were Vancouvian - and to get ready to fire in the direction of the staircases. An iron table and a refrigerator were knocked to the floor to be used as barricades, and armed insurgents waited behind them.

After clearing the fourth floor, team Black was the first to climb up and reach the upper floor. Dummy-grenades were lobbed into the hallway, causing all hostiles to take cover behind their improvised barricades. During these few seconds, several soldiers entered the apartments closest to the staircase in both sides of the aisle, and quickly put small explosives on the thin walls separating these apartments from the apartments next to them, so the soldier could move further into the floor. Walking Through Walls was the nickname the Oster troops gave to this practice. Before the insurgents realized what was happening, the soldiers burst out of the doors right behind the barricades, and took out the "defenders".

Two of the insurgents managed to pick-up their rifles and shoot in all directions, hurting both other hostiles and some of the soldiers. An officer and two sergeants were wounded, but the Oster troops advancing through the hallway behind them quickly ended enemy fire. About 8 more insurgents were neutralized on the sixth floor hallway. Several more - along with Mother - remained in one of the apartments. Stun-grenades were hurled inside, and a few seconds later small explosives blew up the walls on both sides of the apartment, allowing the soldiers to flow in and finish the job. Mother did manage to reach for his personal gun, but was shot dead before he could use it.

The teams collected what seemed to them as valuable intelligence and headed downstairs. Team Brown, which was left behind for emergency, was approaching the compound with several Vulf's in order to evacuate the wounded soldiers. The officer, Lieutenant Dihn Sjkolt who was the first to engage the hostiles on the sixth floor, eventually died of his wounds. On their way back to the Lion-Tiger junction, the teams encountered sporadic and inaccurate fire, to which they responded with accurate, lethal one.

All in all, 50 insurgents were killed or neutralized during the operation, the opposition leader known as Mother was terminated, and valuable intelligence was collected. An Oster soldier was killed, two others were wounded, and several civilians were sedated and will probably feel a bit sick when they wake up.

Major Glihk felt this weird sensation of mixed satisfaction and regret, knowing that the mission was accomplished and that his troops are safe, yet one of his favourite subordinates is gone. The realization that back in Ostehaar this officer will be remembered as a war hero helped ease the pain. Blackbird, fly into the light of the dark black night, he recited to himself as he picked-up the radio to report the news to Camp Plymouth.

[Miklania]

Evan had managed to make it through the gate. The card he had been provided by the government was more useful than he had thought, the guard had simply run it through a computer and gave him an escort to the Miklanian League Delegate. A diplomatic ID was probably not that uncommon of a sight around here, he figured. The soldiers had helped him with his case and bags, and brought him to the improvised barracks room where other staff were living for the time being. His supposed high rank earned him a separate room, not large, but with enough privacy that he could do some work without being interfered with. Those State people think of everything.

It was late at night by now, and he could not talk to the ambassador until morning. Storm was the man he really wanted to meet, but that would not happen until well into tomorrow. He welcomed the opportunity to rest. Before he could sleep, however, he needed to unpack his gear. Four plastic clicks later and the case was open, revealing his "Prototype Pencil Sharpeners", a scoped rifle, a 1911, a tomahawk, and a sleek black compound bow.

Staccato gunfire broke the silence of the night, a firefight off in the distance. Evan sighed wearily. This was going to be fun...

[Vancouvia]

October 11th, Camp Plymouth

Storm set down his model ship and shifted his attention to the man sitting by his desk. "Our Oster friends managed to recover some key intel, Michaels. This is a real game changer."

Storm took a seat, facing the Miklanian, looking him up and down, judging his character and his potential. "I need one man for this mission, and you happened to show up today--one lone soldier looking for a mission. I can't help but feel it is fate."

He paused to look out the window onto the base. Humvees and helicopters passed around him, and men on the ground rushed from one building to another.

"The Osters found intel that revealed one of the chief weapon suppliers to the opposition is currently staying at a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city. His name is Demarco Gates, and the worst part of it all is that he's Vancouvian-born, former VSF. A traitor. This is where you come in. Your mission is to pose as a Jagellion dealer looking to sell some of 'your' nation's arms to him. Find him, make the deal, build trust. We need to use him to learn his contacts within the I.D."

Storm stood up and adjusted his cap. "This is deep cover, Michaels. My government will have no ownership of this operation nor yourself. I assume you know what this means."

He led Michaels towards the door, his hand on his back. "And I'm placing you in command of the Podolskians. They are your resource if you choose to use them in this operation."

[Miklania]

October 11th, Camp Plymouth
Michaels habitually stood at parade rest.

"Yes sir, I understand. That is what my government planned by sending me."

He was not happy about having to deal with Podolskians. Too much bad blood in his past. But, objectively, they were good fighters. Uhlans would be useful if he needed to knock some skulls together. He shook Storm's hand and walked out the door, flipping his hood up against the cold autumn breeze.

---

He took time to put his robes on. The robes of his order were practical and allowed great freedom of movement. Although the archaic design looked slightly out of place, even if they were of modern materials. He walked through the camp, a misty rain had begun to fall, further compounding the guards' misery. He walked on, aware of the curious glances that his black hooded shirt drew.

He found the Podolskians' barracks, it was not hard, all he had to do was find the one with the most light and noise coming from it. Stopping outside the door he took a deep breath. He would have to put his prejudices aside for now. Evan opened the door. There was a great commotion inside, two Uhlans were wrestling on the ground between the rows of austere bunk beds, the rest of the company were sitting on them, cheering on the two fighters. Evan noted that some were drinking. His entrance did not go unnoticed. As the cold air blew in the open door, everyone stopped and turned to look at him. Silence filled the room. Evan looked back and forth over the rabble, keeping his face stern. He was even less impressed than he thought he would be. He had expected some discipline from the infamously strict Podolskians. The Uhlans continued to stare at him. He made eye contact with a grizzled veteran, about his own age. He could see the man making the same mental calculations of him as he was making of them.

"Who's in command here?" He said sternly, sweeping his gaze over the men.

[Kamieniec Podolski]

October 11th, Camp Plymouth

"Who's in command here?" The Miklanian asked. The men gaze in silence, and slowly shift their gaze to the young Corporal. He's seated at the end of the room reading a book, the Discourses on Titus Livy. He stares blankly for just a moment too long, before he jumps up to greet his guest.

"I'm in charge, I suppose."

Despite his initial slowness, he moved quickly across the room. If the men were like oxen, he moved like a panther. As he neared the Miklanian, his composure rebuilt, and from step to step his face hardened, his stride lengthened, his hands drifted to his belt, where a saber and pistol hung. The Corporal was a master with the Szabla, when he studied at the Poldolski Military Academy he had defended his undefeated title until he shipped off to war. Those were good days, before he was put in charge of these savage Uhlans.

"Tell us exactly do you want, and close the goddamned door."

[Miklania]

"A word if you please, outside."

The man looked young, scholarly, inexperienced, and generally unfit for command of such rowdy troops. Soldiers, especially rough and tumble soldiers like these Uhlans, need discipline. Clearly their leader was failing in that category. He took the young man outside, onto the small plank porch of the barrack building. The rain was falling harder now, but Evan just let it roll off his hood.

"General Storm put me in charge of your men. I have some assignments that require subtly, poise, and finesse. Therefor I really have no use for you, but I do want this rabble ready for action anyway. If you can give me a good reason to deploy your men I want them to be shooting straight, standing straight, and giving straight answers to questions and orders. And I want them sober. Do you understand?"

The terse statement gave no hint of goodwill.

[Quintipoli]

October 11, 2015, I.D. International airport

A medium sized brown airplane sat on the runway of the I.D. international airport. The airport was crowded with international passenger planes as usual, but today, a dark military air hung over the whole island. Three workmen were removing an "Independent District" banner somebody had put up on the chain-link fence near the edge of the airport. The door of the plane slowly swung open and a nervous looking man in the uniform of the Quintipolese Íwaft stepped onto the edge. He had reasons to be nervous. His name was Kommander Luis Sarani, and he and his batalion were on a dangerous mission. They were landing in the International District of the Western Isles without summons from the occupying Vancouvians. They had no ill will towards the Vancouvians, of course, their mission simply was to stamp out a certain boss, and a tratrious Quintipolese arms dealer, who was indirectly selling weapons to the independents. On top of that, he had only been in command of Íwaft Squadron 6 for a month, and didn't know the men very well. As the stairs folded down from the door, he instructed his men to unload the supplies into the waiting trucks, so that they could get out of the airport as soon as possible.

[Kamieniec Podolski]

"I understand you fine, but that won't happen." The Corporal replied. "You don't command Uhlans, you point them at the enemy and hope they don't kill too many civilians." "They stand how they want and they drink when they want. You seem to think they're men. No, they're a force of nature, and I'll let you in on a secret. I never learned how to command a force of nature in the Academy."

A lightening flashed and a burst of thunder rang out, but neither man flinched.

"I've been with the Uhlans long enough to know, you control them by being even more monstrous then them. I hanged two of them so far, and they still don't fear me."

[Miklania]

"I understand you fine, but that won't happen." The Corporal replied. "You don't command Uhlans, you point them at the enemy and hope they don't kill too many civilians." "They stand how they want and they drink when they want. You seem to think they're men. No, they're a force of nature, and I'll let you in on a secret. I never learned how to command a force of nature in the Academy."

A lightening flashed and a burst of thunder rang out, but neither man flinched.

"I've been with the Uhlans long enough to know, you control them by being even more monstrous then them. I hanged two of them so far, and they still don't fear me."

Evan was as unimpressed as ever. "Ah, the 'beatings shall continue until moral improves' approach. Good luck. These kind of men, you need to earn their respect. And hanging their friends is not the best way to go about it. When was the last time you went on an operation?"

[Kamieniec Podolski]

"I understand you fine, but that won't happen." The Corporal replied. "You don't command Uhlans, you point them at the enemy and hope they don't kill too many civilians." "They stand how they want and they drink when they want. You seem to think they're men. No, they're a force of nature, and I'll let you in on a secret. I never learned how to command a force of nature in the Academy."

A lightening flashed and a burst of thunder rang out, but neither man flinched.

"I've been with the Uhlans long enough to know, you control them by being even more monstrous then them. I hanged two of them so far, and they still don't fear me."

Evan was as unimpressed as ever. "Ah, the 'beatings shall continue until moral improves' approach. Good luck. These kind of men, you need to earn their respect. And hanging their friends is not the best way to go about it. When was the last time you went on an operation?"

"You try, they hate my wealth. Many of them have nothing, and I can humbly say I have everything." He remembers his youth among the great palaces of Kamieniec Podolski. "The trip here. I hanged the two of them because they got carried away, killing not only the enemy combatants, but some nearby civilians."

[Miklania]

Evan was as unimpressed as ever. "Ah, the 'beatings shall continue until moral improves' approach. Good luck. These kind of men, you need to earn their respect. And hanging their friends is not the best way to go about it. When was the last time you went on an operation?"

"You try, they hate my wealth. Many of them have nothing, and I can humbly say I have everything." He remembers his youth among the great palaces of Kamieniec Podolski. "The trip here. I hanged the two of them because they got carried away, killing not only the enemy combatants, but some nearby civilians."

It was getting dark, and Evan could see this was getting nowhere. The Uhlans and their commander were as useless to him as he had expected.

"Alright then. Have it your way for now, but if these men aren't brought in line, it'll be your head, not mine that will be in the line."

With that he turned and walked off into the stormy night.

[The Brazilian Polish Exiles]

-Deleted because puppet-

[Kamieniec Podolski]

The young Corporal stood for a moment in the rain. "What if," he muttered, "What if I took my own advice and let them loose?"

He walked back into the barracks and stood just inside of the door for a moment. "Men, I know you haven't been paid for a while. I just talked with the guy in charge of us, and he's a real asshole, he won't pay you. What do you say we go and take something, maybe have us a good fight?"

He pauses nervously, waiting for a reaction, which he doesn't get.

"Um, I acquired some Vancouvian intelligence. It says there's a group of rebels holed up in a few buildings around midtown. We could use the subway system and enter from the southern tunnels and send them back to hell, if you're game."

An old-timer who had been with the group since it was created then spoke up. "Well, will we be going? You're the boss."

*fade to black*

[Vancouvia]

October 14th, Midday, Northern Zone

"You got any more chocolate bars, Sarge?" asked Private McHenry, reaching his hand out towards his sergeant.

Sergeant McHenry, Private McHenry's older brother, smacked his hand away. "You know good well I only got one left."

"Yeah, and it's for me," said the private.

"Cut if off, you two. We got a war to fight," yelled back the co-pilot.

The Aleutian helicopter Big Dog raced straight over the forest treetops, its wake tearing branches and leaves from the canopy.

"We're at half fuel--heading back," announced the pilot on his intercom. As Big Dog swung to its right to complete a 180, a quick bang let out on the side of the helicopter.

"What the hell was that? McHenry, on the M60."

Instantly another pop. Then another. And then the whole helicopter sounded like a roof defending itself from a hail storm.

"HQ, this is 347 Big Dog flying in quadrant 56, we are receiving small arms fire, over."

Roger Big Dog, escort on its way, over.

Private McHenry unleashed the fury of the M60 onto the forest below, exploding green and brown beneath his dangling feet. Suddenly, smoke started pouring from the tail.

"Shit, shit!" yelled the pilot, grasping desperately at the controls. "Prepare for emergency landing!"

Big Dog spiraled uncontrollably, all the while McHenry keeping on firing. The tail exploded and instantly broke off, its contents creating a hail of shrapnel on the trees below. Within seconds the helicopter drove headfirst into the treeline.