Operation Gatelord: IC [APPLY THROUGH OOC]

[Kassaran]

Adapted from “Unto the Breach” by Bentus and “A Gate of Iron” by Rupudska

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Captain Matthew Candle
September 29, 1971

---

The sound of the jeep pulling to a stop before his tent had his eyes open and his body moving before the visitor had any time to introduce themselves. Pulling on his boots as the young officer outside announced his arrival, the Captain invited him in with a gruff shout that carried over the din of vehicle motors, nearby marching formations, and the general cacophony of noise that was associated with as active a base as this.

In fact, this had to be one of the largest Forward Operating Bases that the Captain had ever been on, but that had more to do with the fact that the supply line to the United States was roughly the length of a football field rather than the hundreds or thousands of miles the US Army had to generally contend with. As the older man slowly pulled himself together, his cotton undershirt already soaked from sweat given as the tent offered little in the way of ventilation, he almost sighed in relief at the feeling of the air rushing out of the tent as the Lieutenant outside made his way in.

“Captain Candle, I’m under orders to report to you and inform you as to the time of the briefing for Sortie Niner-Seven-Zero-One-Romeo. Do you have the time now or should I come back later?”

The Lieutenant’s voice was weak, soft, almost inaudible to the older officer now groggily making his way around the tent in a well-practiced dance that slowly assembled the entirety of his uniform upon himself through sheer happenstance. It was a well-practiced maneuver that he’d taken years in Korea and Vietnam to perfect, but once he’d gotten it down, it had made getting up all that much easier. Emptying some water into the helmet that served as his makeshift sink, he began to lather up his hands in the soap which had been a closely monitored luxury he’d brought to the field with him.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up Lieutenant, I’m getting old and you’re competing for my attention against the sounds of an Infantry Battalion outside.”

The younger man was taken aback by the short response for a moment before he took a breath and put a little more effort into repeating his last line. As he finished, Candle was already applying the lather he’d coated his hands with onto his grizzled jawline, the stubble disappearing beneath a soft white foam as he worked his hands in a methodical and automatic manner over his lower face.

Taking his eyes off of the mirror propped up towards the rear of the nearby desk which held his shaving kit, the Captain sized up the Lieutenant before returning his attention to his current task,” Alright, give me what you have right here Lieutenant, no better time than the now, just don’t go dropping off of any cliffs on me.”

As if to punctuate the Captain’s advisory, the loud rumbling of what must have been a tracked APC making its way down one of the nearby vehicle trails pierced the thin walls of the tent and rattled audibly some of the gear currently hanging from the criss-crossing wires and lines serving as clotheslines and map-holders. The Lieutenant cast a dubious glance in the direction of the interrupting machine, almost barely suppressing the glare which he wished to shoot in the direction of the disruption before turning his eyes to the packet of papers before him.

“Captain Mark Julius Candle, you are hereby ordered to report on the authority of General Rupert Joseph Brenus to Command Muster 47 at 0900 hours today, September the 29th. The content of this Muster will include the Operation Order for Sortie 9701R and requires the presence of the 97th Mechanized Infantry Battalion’s senior Charlie Company commanding Officer for the deployment of the Scout Platoon in support of Operation Gatelord,” the Lieutenant reached a natural break in the briefing as he took a look at the Captain.

Pausing mid-stroke as the blade cleaved away the stubble from his chin, the Captain too also paused, taking the momentary pause to frown and put his attention squarely on the Lieutenant,” Yes? Am I supposed to be saying something here or are you just resting your tongue Lieutenant?”

“Oh, uh, no sir. I was just wondering if you had any comment, I’ll carry on with your permission of course.”

“You have it.” The Captain returned to his shaving as the Lieutenant continued detailing the remaining expectations for the day. The Captain’s attention was intently placed upon the sharp blade that deftly made short work of the stubble that had early been present, and as he rinsed off the remaining lather, he turned to the Lieutenant and pointed just past him,” throw me that hand-towel please- yep, that one. Thank you”

The towel was deftly caught by the seasoned soldier with a single hand as he ran it over his face and through his hair, letting the washcloth land in a small heap on the desk beside him as he reached down and picked up a small case beside the discarded laundry. Dexterous fingers quickly had the pair of thick-rimmed glasses placed atop his nose and he was reaching a single outstretched hand for the packet of papers the Lieutenant still clutched.

“Oh, yes sir. Here-” the Lieutenant quickly handed over the paperwork that was being silently requested by Captain Candle. There was an air of awkward silence about the tent for a moment before a pressing stare, a nod of the head and wave of the hand dismissed the younger officer. Blustering out a farewell, the Lieutenant backed out and exited the tent, the sound of his driver turning back on the jeep just outside and driving off a moment later allowed the Captain a moment of breathing room.

It was a sigh that came as he thumbed through the papers that had been handed over. From the looks of things, his recon platoon was going to be assigned to scout out the most northern vectors, with his first section covering the 35-00 positions and his second section covering the 00-01 positions. It was a large span of land between them at the end of their individual treks and the rough maps that had been composed of the immediate area within the twenty-mile exclusion zone now surrounding Hill 001, offered no certain information on what lay beyond. His men would be driving blind, but he’d have to tell them as much.

Pulling together the rest of his gear, the Captain deigned himself otherwise ready to begin his own day, the sun was somewhere just beyond the horizon as he exited his tent. Cool morning air hinted with a heavy musk as to the humidity which was sure to climb in the noon-day sun as the ball of fire far away carried on it’s apparently earth-like journey. Here the days were about 29 hours long. Not all that much longer that it affected a man like the Captain greatly, but many of the soldiers present were in desperate need of an acclimation period. Nevermind the possibility of sickness and diseases which still lay unknown in this land.

Walking along the usual path between olive drab tents and roughshod wooden facilities, built from lumber sourced supposedly in the forests of nearby states, he paused for a moment as he listened to the call to reveille. The groaning and moaning of perhaps a thousand enlisted men stirring within their cots, the occasional shouting of non-coms stirring their men to action, the Captain smiled. As he soon found himself approaching the 97th’s main parade ground, he watched closely as the various companies formed about it.

Charlie Company, his own command, was quick enough to form up and the clarion voice of his Boston-hailing First Sergeant could be heard bringing the morning roll call. It wouldn’t take all that long to get through general accountability, but it was nevertheless important. Since they’d started bringing over all sorts of people since the attack, there was a need to ensure folks weren’t trying to run off in the middle of the night. It wasn’t known how much the enemy knew about the Army’s patrols and positions, but even a little information in the wrong hands could spell the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, at the camp.

Walking up to the front of his formation as his First Sergeant completed the morning roll call, he took command in the usual way, calling the man over and briefing him on the specifics of what needed to happen. The briefing he knew would happen at 0900 according to the papers, but knowing General Brenus and his need to feel self-important, there would no-doubt be a pre-brief, a warm-up for the lecture that was to follow for sure, but the Captain had long since learned that these were valuable insights into how the General’s mind was working through the various operational stimuli which came up.

As he finished his morning brief with the First Sergeant, he cast a look down the line of soldiers formed up, there was a brief moment of recognition as he spotted a certain Lieutenant he’d need to speak with at some point or another today, but that could wait. As for now, he needed his men to get what food and rest they could, if he was right and the papers he’d read were accurate, the big show was gearing up to happen and the 97th was poised to be at the leading edge of the most significant conflict in the United States’ history, nevermind world history.
***

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
First Sergeant David Waterson
September 29, 1971

---

“Rogah that ‘sah. Ah’ll get it done.” A quick nod towards the captain as he sped on his way, the First Sergeant of Charlie Company of the 97th Mechanized Infantry Battalion turned on his heel to address his formation. One hundred and eighty-two men in all, and as of right now, he had orders for but thirty-one of them. Clearing his voice, the man quickly called out the task listings of the day, for the majority of the Company, it was business as usual, but as he went down the line, he finally reached the Recon Platoon.

“Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah to conduct hah’jeen and sec-yuh mahnin’ rations. Up-ahn finishing theys tasks, cah-lect yah kits and prep for sah-tie. Yah brief wih-beh aht tah cahm-panee see-pee at eleven hundreh owahs! Chahlie! Dismissed!”

As the formation quickly fell out and began to carry out their morning tasks and prepare for the day, the Recon Platoon was now left to their devices, their time to shine had finally come, newly assembled and brought to the forefront of what was a new frontier for American interests, they would soon be spearheading what would come to be known as Operation Gatelord, the official war of the worlds had now become a reality for them.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Sergeant Everson Daniels
September 29, 1971

“Alright, open up”

“Ahhhhhhh…”

The mouth of the Mississippi private sitting on a field chair in sergeant Daniels’ tent was the bane of every GP back in the States. Proper dental care had not yet permeated into the more rural parts of the South, and the tooth decay in the private’s mouth was a testament to that. Everson made a silent prayer that he was wearing a mouth cover, otherwise he would have gotten the full blast of the man’s probably abhorrent breath. Many of the teeth were probably beyond saving, and even a standard issue M1 Toothbrush could probably not save the three worst maulers to the back of the mouth. That was, however, not the most important diagnosis to make. Everson was not looking at the teeth. Rather, he was looking at the back of the soldier’s mouth, where a rash had formed. The amygdala were swollen as well, partially blocking the oesophagus.

“Hmmmm…” Everson mumbled, switching off the little flashlight he has used to peer into the private’s unholy maul. The sergeant stood up from his hunched position, removed the mouth cover, and began tapping his jawline with two fingers of his right hand. It was a tic, something he always did while thinking.

“So, private Jones… You have been experiencing diarrhoea, nausea, light headedness and stomach cramps, correct?”

Private Jones nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, I’ve been shittin’ myself dry for a day!” he said, conjuring unpleasant images in the head of sergeant Daniels.

“Sir” was the quick response of Everson, prompting a questioning look from Jones.

“Yes?” he answered, a confused frown appearing on his face. Daniels shook his head.

“No, no… You meant to say ‘Yes, I’ve been shitting myself dry for a day, sir” Everson said, his frown appearing a bit more stern. “Or sergeant Daniels, what you prefer”

“Ahhh, yes, sorry, sir” the private quickly improved himself. “It’s just, you know, we don’t see many docs like you back home…”

The frown on Daniels’ face becoming even sterner quickly shut up the ramblings of the private, who knew that he at least had to sit through this examination.

“Sir…”

Everson, on his part, wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Of course it was not entirely the boy’s fault. He came from another part of society. Still, in the army, no matter one’s background, one’s superiors were to be addressed properly. It was one of the few parts of society where soldiers were seriously reprimanded for disrespecting a black man, and Everson was going to make full use of that while he was wearing the green.

“No matter” he said, feigning a smile.

“So, private Jones, when was your last time leaving the base?”

“Two days ago, sir. We were tasked with checking out a lake in the area. We were supposed to comb the area for hostiles, but couldn’t find a trace of visitors. So, we decided to have a lake day, sir.”

“Right…” Daniels answered, making a few scribbles in a notebook. It was mostly for show, as he had an inkling what was wrong with the soldier. Still, being listened to was an important part of patient care, something other army medics usually forgot about.

“Had any snacks there, private?”

“Just rationed lunch and chocolate, sir”

“Nothing else?”

Everson recognised a crack of guilt running through the private’s face. He had seen that face before, usually when a patient was about to tell him something incredibly stupid. ‘I was trying to ride a laundry basket down a flight of stairs’ was what came to mind. Of course, here, there were hardly laundry baskets, and hardly any stairs.

“Well… Greg… that’s private Randall, sir… saw some berries growing next to the water…”

There were go.

“And momma used to pluck some delicious raspberries back home, so we thought… Just a few won’t hurt, that’s all, and…”

The tent fell silent. Everson shook his head, but couldn’t help but smirk a bit. These country boys were treating this like an excursion. This was the 12th case of soldiers eating berries they should not have eaten. Besides that, there was drinking from contaminated pools, angering local hornets on patrol and walking through nettle-like bushes. These boys thought they knew everything there was to know about the wild, not having prepared for an environment that was totally alien. He was glad these boys weren’t in Vietnam, where an hour of bathing could end you up with leeches draining half your body of blood.

“Alright, private Jones…” Everson said. “You keep off those berries in the future, alright? You’re not in Mississippi anymore. It should take the berries another day to leave your system. Drink enough water to counteract the shittin’, okay?”

Jones nodded enthusiastically again. He stood up and started walking towards the exit of the tent.

“Thank you, I appreciate it! I will tell my buds that they should lay off the stuff too!”

Just before he excited the tent, the stern voice of the army medic returned again.

“You’re dismissed, private…” he said, more as an affirmation of the fact than as an actual order. Jones stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turned around, and saluted the sergeant.

“Yes, sir… Thank you , sir” he said, before leaving the tent.

[Ormata]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Corporal Finley Baker
September 29, 1971

“Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah to conduct hah’jeen and sec-yuh mahnin’ rations. Up-ahn finishing theys tasks, cah-lect yah kits and prep for sah-tie. Yah brief wih-beh aht tah cahm-panee see-pee at eleven hundreh owahs! Chahlie! Dismissed!”

Breaking ranks, Baker made his way back to the glorious, glorious collection of barracks they had gotten set-up in the meanwhile, in the damn wait after the battle. You didn’t have to look far to see the remnants of the battle to take the Hill, not far at all, the massive craters in the side of the hill evidence enough for that. The ground, in some areas, seemed to resemble glass, shining in the sun and crunching under the boots, and despite that some of the southern bastards still seemed to have their fun in the jungle. He’d figured many had never seen Vietnam, no not at all, something that made him just a little happier. If the man had to depend on one of the hicks who were more interested in eating damn berries than covering him, well damn it all to hell if that entire squad was fucked from the very beginning.

It was nearly a blessing that they were in the Zone. Nearly. Judging from the craters, whatever the fuck the natives had was even more damnably effective than anything Charlie had back in Vietnam, especially if they could deploy whatever the hell it was, whoever it was, in any sort of appreciable numbers. Judging from the fact that Camp Janus still existed, Baker doubted that they could; if they had the potential, then simply rolling over the firebase with superior firepower would have been a breeze for the natives. Natives. Finley needed to figure-out what the fuck to call them. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured that it would come to him, whatever the hell it was. The fact that he was with the Recon Platoon was annoying, though, all things considered. Being the first to have the great joy in running-out there and figuring that the enemy liked their punji sticks covered in human shit was not something the Corporal aspired to do, especially in the jungle when magical bullshit mines might exist. On the plus side, a fireball would probably just incinerate you. Probably. Finley didn’t want to test that hope, though.

Down a few crude stairs, through the door and into the barracks; they were alright, all things considered. He got to shaving, his locker open and a mirror set there.

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Corporal Michael Poole
September 29, 1971

“Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah to conduct hah’jeen and sec-yuh mahnin’ rations. Up-ahn finishing theys tasks, cah-lect yah kits and prep for sah-tie. Yah brief wih-beh aht tah cahm-panee see-pee at eleven hundreh owahs! Chahlie! Dismissed!”

As the First Sergeant finished briefing us I broke ranks and headed towards the barracks. I figured I could check on my equipment before getting some food. As I walked over and I had some time to think on what´s to come. We were part of the spearhead of this invasion into a new world. Just the fact that we would be seeing things no one else had ever seen before was both exciting and unnerving.

My mind began to race with possibilities. There had been talk about the natives of this land using magic goddamn magic. Like something out of a fairy tail. I mean in a world with magic the possibilities seemed endless. I mean the kind of amazing things we could see was intriguing. But the thought of what kind of creatures that could be out there was as unnerving to men than maybe even being told your going to Vietnam.

Anyways as I entered the barracks I quickly looked over my bunk and gear with everything looking in order. That's when I heard a very odd sound it was a cat… How in the hell did a bloody cat get on the base? I decided to investigate kneeling down near the cat.

The cat, a little Leopard Cat that normally was a glorious wild cat from general-life Asia, was crouched down underneath a rack, a metal cup serving as a bowl with some milk, likely from the field kitchen. Two little eyes peered-up, a little meow, and casually went back to drinking the milk. The man sitting on top of the rack, a razor to his face and mirror sat-down in the open locker, made some little note of this with a smile; yeah, of course there was only one thing the guy crouching down could be trying to see and yeah, it was a novel thing that probably violated a few minor conventions, regulations, Officer’s orders, and general life, but in all fairness the general order Finley had gotten out on a firebase in Vietnam was “Fuck it, keep the thing, just don’t die for it”. Finley had, generally, stuck to that fact. “I like cats,” was the man’s response, though, to the inquiring man on the floor, going back to his razor.

It was an odd response seeing as this most likely violated multiple regulations but hey what harm could a cat do right? I stood up and said.

¨I´m not even going to ask how the hell you got a cat here. But anyways Corporal Michael Poole¨ I finished reaching out my hand for a handshake before realizing he was shaving and that might not be the best idea. I then spoke again.

¨So I'm guessing your part of the recon platoon.¨

“Baker. Finley Baker. Pleasure,” was the man’s response, the razor still on his face and eyes looking the guy over through the mirror. He looked to be the normal US Army guy, probably...bit older than Finley, if looks were to be trusted, bit older and far more square-jawed than the Rhode Island native. Then again, Baker wasn’t all that old-looking himself and frankly most people looked older than him anyways were it not for his moustache. Some facial hair, most of the time, made a guy look a far cry older than he actually was and that most certainly was true for Finley. Recon Platoon? The comment drew a raised eyebrow from the guy as he stowed his razor and the like away.

He got down on his knees though, one arm delving under the bed and dragging the metal cup across to him, the cat following patiently behind, as he asked, “Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

I watched as he grabbed a metal cup very likely for the cat with a bit of a raised eyebrow this guy was very clearly prepared to take care of a cat on a military base. To his response of why to my question I internally cringed. The question was admittedly kind of dumb. This is why I prefer to be quiet small talk is my weakness. I responded.

¨Trying to make small talk to be honest get to know one of the guys I´m going into a world where there is supposedly magic.¨ I finished before pausing and continuing with.

¨And failing at it.¨ I then quickly glanced back to my equipment checking over it and grabbing what I needed. After finishing I glanced over at the man and spoke saying.

¨Well I'm going to get something to eat. Nice meeting you I guess.¨

“Same to you.” Finley nodded a little bit, taking the cup from the cat, opening a window, and dumping it. It was all very sanitary at Janus, after all, especially with the way things were likely going to go soon. Closing the window and stowing it with the rest of the gear, he checked his watch, found it to be probably a good enough time to get chow, and with that, picked the cat up. It wasn’t near cat shedding season, that was for damn certain even if they were in the Unknown Zone, and Charlie wasn’t shedding whatsoever. He’d be clean enough. “Might as well get some food too.”

I nodded back to the man and began walking towards the mess hall. I figured it would be nice to eat something even if that food was only classified as food because it could be eaten.

I walked in and saw the good ol messy tables where everyone usually ate and walked over to where the cooks were serving out food. I grabbed my food and looked it over. It was the usual. Awful and it's only value being that it could provide enough nutrients for you to survive.

I sat down and began to eat figuing that it might be awful but at least it will help keep me from laying dead is some bush.

Sitting down beside Poole, Finley looked-over the food. It was standard, in fact abnormally so all things considering, but then again that made sense. The Gate opened in goddamn Kansas, of all places, so it’s not like the stuff had to be put on a transport to be shipped-off to Japan, to Asia. That’s not to state that there was any sort of massive difference, though, considering the preservatives and chemicals they put in the food, or the fact that it was generally canned and stored until a cook had to make the stuff. Setting Charlie down in his lap, Finley picked-out a piece of the scrambled egg, questionably egg, and put it down in front of the cat. Taking to eating his own meal, arms on either side of the table and knees just high enough to prevent the cat’s escape, Charlie started his own little small talk. Poole had a point, that was for sure, in trying to figure-out the people you’re trying to survive bullshit with. It’d be especially helpful if he found who was the new guy and who wasn’t.

“So, where’re you from?” He said, picking a piece of floppy bacon up and taking a bite, other hand grabbing at the tin mug and taking a quick drink of coffee. It was standard shit, the normal stuff that had grains in it still and was strong as hell. No sugar was needed, there, just a pound of caffeine to make you feel time move around you. His fork up, he began the assault on the eggs.

In response to his question I looked up from my own food and answered

¨Mason it's a small town near Cincinnati in Ohio. We have very lovely cornfields.¨ I then asked.

¨So where do you come from?¨ I then looked at the oh so amazing food and began to devour the bacon one of the only the things that I actually enjoy eating. The eggs were okay and the coffee was meh.

I glanced very briefly up at the man. He seemed a little odd. Not the sort of odd where you want to avoid at all cost but the kind of odd that you can't help but ponder a bit. I mean the man had brought a cat through the Gate into another world and also had a funny mustache but that was subjective.

But anyone could be considered weird I figured it´s how that person acts that I judge someone off and he I believe Finley seemed to be nice enough and not the kind of dude who would flip you off for accidentally bumping into him on the first day of bootcamp. I then looked down at my food and began to eat.

“Rhode Island. Big town, lots of people, it was great,” came the less-than-serious response. Oh yes, Finley most definitely was interested in Cincinnati’s cornfields, completely, so a little snark seemed nearly…nearly called for. Nearly. Taking another drink of the coffee, he smiled a little. “Twenty-odd graduates from the high school. Yep, big place. Helluva lot different than here, that’s for sure, and a helluva lot different from Vietnam. More fishing, less shooting, you know. The usual.”

The cat was most definitely enjoying the scrambled eggs, he noted, two paws clawing at one of his arms causing Finley to look down at him. The piece of egg was most definitely gone, and the cat of course meowed for more. Another piece it was, then, and with a chuckle Finley got another piece with his fork, giving it to the cat who summarily assaulted with even more vigor than the man thought possible.

So this guy had been deployed to Vietnam so he had seen some action and would probably be a reliable person in combat. Good to know along with the fact he would only 21 at the most making me older than him by at least two years. Also had a bit of snark again interesting.

I chucked and responded with.

¨Well I would not know to much about that being a 23 year old former bouncer who spent the past two years in reserve.¨ I looked at the cat who was attacking a piece of bacon with more ferocious than a goddamn Japanese banzai charge.

I then followed up with.

¨So how did you get that cat?¨

“Vietnam,” was the deadpan response. It was true, though, and Finley hadn’t paid any goddamn Charlie for that cat. Hell, there hadn’t been a human being alive, besides the squad and VC, for a few dozen miles at least, and the village that they were checking-up on was gone. Sure, the buildings still stood in some areas, but the people? Gone. They’d collaborated with Americans before, and apparently someone had gotten word back to the boys in black. They’d found the mass grave in the back, not even covered, and the cat out at a destroyed truck, the driver gone. That’d been a hell of a day, that’s for certain, helluva day that Finley needed just a little bit of joy to get through. Just a little. Getting out of his pause, he ate the food again, not even paying attention really to the fact that the man had been a bouncer, had been in the reserve.

Finely had paused for a second which indicated to me that the day he got the cat had been a bit of shitshow. I then said.

¨I'm guessing that cat has seen some shit judging by the way you just paused there.¨ Then trying to lighten up the mood a little I followed up with.

¨So what do you think of this new world. I personally think the fact they apparently have magic is a bit concerning.¨

“Fucking wizards. Give the CIA magic powers and watch the Soviets run home. A little concerning...that’s the understatement of the century. You saw those tanks? The metal melted on the inside, cooked ‘em inside-out. No bodies recovered, that’s for damn sure, and the craters? Fucking hell, I hope to God Almighty, if he’s still up there watching, that the fuckers haven’t made mines that can do that. Level the damn forest with those things. It’s a lot concerning, and we get to be the first out there.” He kept on eating though, his voice in a steady tone somewhere between normal talk and a whisper, just low enough that the guys at the next table don’t start to get annoyed by his volume, just high enough that Poole didn’t have to ask for repeats. There was a purposeful non-answer, there; ‘I’m guessing the cat has seen some shit’ was a weird thing to say and a weird thing to answer, and Finley made a point to not answer it. He didn’t like to think about the answer.

Well that was not at all helping me not to be jittery about what was coming. But Finely was right these fuckers are able to destroy entire forests as effectively as goddam napalm. And my father never told me about a german anti tank weapon taking out a tank that badly. I had to agree if god was here then I hope that he liked us somewhat cause I did not want to die here.

I also noticed he did not answer my cat comment maybe cause it was an odd thing to say or he did not want to answer which I'm guessing it's both.

I then responded with.

¨You know when you say it like that I start to think maybe we should get the goddam soviets to help us out here. I really hope the boys back in command can find a way to get aircraft in here to give us some goddam air support cause I would much rather hit someone who is able to destroy forest from a range.¨ I finished.

“Mhm,” was really the only comment that received; air support, sure, that’d be great but you could see how well that worked in Vietnam, how well that worked with all the great joys of the guys in black pajamas. You could burn the whole damn forest, burn it with napalm and blast it with missiles, and the gooks would still come out of the holes in the ground like goddamn rats. Air support was never the answer, though it was a hell of a morale booster for the bastards on the ground, fighting what they couldn’t see. Getting the Soviets to help wasn’t the answer, either, considering the gate was in Kansas. No politician worth his weight would try to push for Russians on US soil, especially soldiers.

Seeing as my food was finished I stood up and looked at Finely and spoke saying.

¨Well this has been interesting been nice getting to know you and all since we will be working together against these fucking wizards. I'm just going to get ready for the upcoming operation. See you then. I then quickly disposed of my waste and walked back to the barracks to ready to the rest of my equipment.

[Cloony]

Jordan sat up in his bed. By now he was used to having the same nightmare over and over again involving Felicity. He laid in bed calmly and counted to 5 focusing on the present. The moment of meditation began as a way to help deal with the nerves of being away from his fiance but now it was habit. He reminded himself he was in the right place. As much as wanted to be with his her he knew the best way to protect her was to be where he was making sure the threat was contained and not making its way to his home and town. He stood up and decided to get dressed. It was early enough to where it was dark and most of his brothers were still asleep but not to where you couldn't hear morning preparations and PT outside. Jordan grabbed his things, made his bed perfectly, and made his way outside for his morning walk.

Like most mornings Jordan made his way to the edge of camp. Not only was it quieter and more peaceful he got to see the new world and it never stopped amazing him. Jordan spent all his life in Chicago so being here was a real treat. He took a seat and looked out at the world. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the piece of jewelry from it. The only thing he brought from home. He opened it and looked at the picture of his mom and his fiance. He studied it for a while like he always did as if if he forgot what they looked like they wouldn't exist anymore. Jordan heard the morning wake up signal in the background. He closed the jewelry and put it to his heart. Closed his eyes and took another deep breath. It's time for another day of work and he planned on working harder than the day before as he did every other day. Jordan stood up and put away the jewelry turned towards the camp and began to get in formation.

“Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah.............

[The United Nations Of Europa]

Camp Janus / Unknown Zone
Cpl. Eduardo Mäkinen
Sept. 29, 1971


Mäkinen woke from his sleep in his tent. This was his first day in the new area that had recently popped in Kansas. It was an odd place to appear but Mäkinen was happy that it popped up somewhere else than Vietnam. He may have still been in a combat role but at least it wasn't in Vietnam. He could hear the outside noises that consisted of vehicles and other troops moving around. Mäkinen grabbed a small bucket and headed out to a small well close to the tents. There he filled up his bucket and took it back to his tent where he cleaned his face and brushed his teeth.

After washing himself up, he put on his uniform and headed towards the mess hall to get some breakfast. As he was walking towards the mess hall, he took a minute to look over at the damage from a recent fight. Small craters were scattered on the ground with some bullet casings still left behind from the previous fighting. Mäkinen reached into his bag and pulled out his camera. He took some quick snapshots of the damaged field and put it away. When he got news of his transfer to this place, he thought it would be a great opportunity to get some, one of a kind pictures. Pictures that would be groundbreaking once he got back.

Mäkinen entered the mess hall and grabbed a quick breakfast. The breakfast was just some precooked meals that were sent in recently. Hopefully later on the US would bring in some fresh food. Seeing that the combat zone was in Kansas, it would seem reasonable to do it.

Mäkinen took a bite of bacon and swallowed it with a feeling of disgust, "God this tastes like shit." Back home all his meals were prepared fresh from the food his family had or from the markets in his town. But this was just despicable. He ate the rest of his food and headed back out to his tent. There was a group of other men from the Recon Platoon that were gathering together. Mäkinen was wondering why but then he saw a Sergeant walking up to the group. He quickly joined up with them to listen to what was going on. Soon enough the Sergeant started to yell at the group and give them orders. Mäkinen could barely make out some of the words. The yelling and the accent didn't help much be he could make out the basics of what he was trying to get out.

"Chahlie! Dismissed!”

And just like that everyone in the platoon scattered off to get ready. Mäkinen went back into his tent and gathered his supplies onto his cot. He first put on the rest of his uniform and started to get his backpack ready. He put things like his rifle grenades, camera, and film inside. He tightened his Boone cap and looked over at his rifle. His weapon was unlike any other that the other members in his platoon were using. Everyone else was issued the standard M16 and M14's but Mäkinen had used an M1 Garand since day 1 in Vietnam. When he first went to Vietnam, he was unsure of using it but he later learned to love the rifle. The history of it was also something that he loved. To use a rifle that had been used in the second great war was something he cherished. Many others oddballed his rifle but for Mäkinen, it was perfect. The 8 round enbloc clip gave a challenge whenever he used it, but it made sure that he kept his accuracy on point. It reminded him of his father in a way. He gathered the rest of his attachments and put on his sniper scope while putting his rifle grenade launcher in his sack. He normally didn't attach it unless it was called for during the battle. With finally getting all his stuff together, he left his tent and headed out. Waiting for his recon platoon to be called to their next mission.

[Kassaran]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone,
Captain Matthew Candle
September 29, 1971

---

As the debrief finally wrapped itself to a close, the General's great deliberating on the musings of some interesting reports in the far southwest sectors, Captain Candle pulled himself up to a standing position, offering a salute as he and the others were dismissed. The taskings were easy, simple, and likely to result in the least amount of men dead. For as much a fool the General could make himself out to be in opining on the nature of warfare in this new world and the doubtless victory he would be assured in carrying out the military operations on this side of the Gate, he definitely had a desire to crush the enemy completely and fully. Support was going to be present on all fronts, roving helicopter and gunship patrols, that while still close to the Hill were going to no doubt be thick in the air as the last stragglers of the hundreds of thousands strong enemy force was picked off at its fringes, would no doubt be pivotal in ending any prolonged engagements that recon elements would find themselves in.

Making his way through the network of tents and bunkers that served as the central nervous system of Janus' operations, the Captain smiled behind his mustache, reflecting on the first days here on this side of the Gate, the sheer amount of infrastructure and buildup that had occurred since the implementation of the rotating supply lines coming through the Gate had enabled an impressive military fortification to quite literally appear overnight and only further expand as further supplies and resources were supplied. His aid walking beside him, a Private First Class within his Operations element, the captain turned his head to the side to regard the younger man who was gawking at the sight of something truly unique though. Hidden within the heart of this massive command complex of temporary and semi-reinforced tents and structures, there was an intriguing sight to behold. Several dozens of humanoids sat in chains under lock and key, watchful eyes and loaded assault rifles and sub-machine guns trained on the few that made movements toward the average passerby.

Yelling at the edge of the detention center had trained most amateur eyes on the sight of several soldiers corralling what appeared to be a horse-sized beast of reptilian origins. The beast was massive and had already suffered extensive wounds. The metal cages and holding pins it had been detained within were rattling ferociously as a man in green fatigues appeared to take a series of skin and tissue samples from the unamused creature. A shrill rumble that seemed to rattle in the chests of anyone nearby brought unsolicited goose-flesh as the beast reared its head back, slamming into the retaining barrier that had been placed in its way. There was a brief gasp from the Private as the Captain brought himself to a halt to watch the spectacle. The Veterinarian he'd known from OCS, and the sight of such a man here had brought an entertained look to the seasoned warrior's eyes as he regarded the nervous yet determined visage gripping the unfortunate man's face. As the samples finally finished being obtained, a brief gout of flame and sparks skittered under the metal barriers that served as the retaining wall's forward limit. The guttural snarl and exhalation shook the metal cage with an appropriately infuriated huff as the beast let itself settle down once more and was guided back into a large holding pen.

"A wyrm, or so I've been told. A variation of large reptiles that live in this world. You didn't hear that from me though Private. Shall we continue or would you like to stay?"

The resolution of the tense situation had brought life back to the surrounding area as soldiers resumed their tasks within the vicinity of the heavily guarded Prisoner-Of-War barracks. The Private had noticeably started with a mixture of embarrassment at the chiding of the Captain as he regained his composure and nodded his head.

"My apologies sir, I am indeed ready to go." the young man's eyes shone with a mixture of interest and insatiable curiosity that had similarly gripped the faces of many working here in the heart of the facilities that made up the true purpose for Janus' existence. Pushing through a series of barriers and guarded doorways, the Captain simply shone the small badge on the papers he now held as they wound through a final checkpoint and into a large assembly area. The sounds of the camp that had once proliferated through every wall were deadened here by an interesting aura as the Captain held out a hand, gesturing for the papers the aid held.

"Private Clarence, you are dismissed until thirteen hundred hours. Meet me at my office at that time, not a minute late or you'll be replaced by someone just as capable. Understood?"

The Private nodded hurriedly and withdrew back through the guarded checkpoint leaving the Captain within the quiet chamber. For all of the hub-bub of this meeting, if not a negotiation of sorts, the Captain had been chief among them to understand the need for someone of his caliber to be involved. As he moved towards the singular table in the middle of the space, the clinking of chains and the shuffling of footsteps brought his gaze momentarily to his interest of the hour. As the first four armed guards entered, he took his seat, adjusting himself as he removed the items of his current task into position about the table and waited for his interviewee to take their position across from him.

As the military police filed in, chains and high-strength nylon ropes bound the warrior's body. Were it not for the very serious nature of this warrior's strength, the measures would have been seen as laughable, but the copper-toned skin and hints of verdant hues under the right light betrayed the true nature of the being that stood before the Captain. Long, pointed ears and brilliant topaz eyes -that gave way to cat-like slits for pupils at their centers- were unnerving to say the least, but the faint shining and glowing from the earth-like skin showed traces o the very same magic that had nearly leveled all of Emporia. Had it not been for armored rush that had charged through the Gate in hot pursuit of fleeing hostile elements, the spell caster that now sat bound before the Captain would have been lost to the chaos of the fighting. Instead, the most powerful combatant of the fighting had been rendered unconscious after multiple high-explosive shells were used in quick succession - everyone had their limits and apparently his had required as much.

This, magic, as it were so called was the element of great interest that the Captain had been given to investigate and determine the level of threat to the recon elements who would be departing in less than ten hours. The member of the race of 'Alvar', or elves as many had taken to using, had shown incredible perception when he'd finally been defeated, and while many had been suspicious, his willingness to be detained had come likely at what represented the sheer extent of his power. Live to fight another day, a wise choice perhaps, but the US Army had no intentions of letting him fight if it could mitigate the risk. So sat the bound prisoner before Candle and as he stroked his mustache once more, he opened the packet of paperwork and turned to a page filled with strange glyphs and ruins pictured upon it.

"An urrainn dhut mo thuigsinn a-nis?"

The stranger turned its head, inquisitively viewing the seemingly mundane man before it. There was almost a look of surprise as it realized perhaps this was the attempt to speak its own tongue, but how it had managed something resembling the Holy Tongue was impressive. It leaned back in its chair and smirked at satisfaction at having forced such an outcome from the mortals before it. Entertained by the prospects of finally enjoying a conversation in its tongue though, it spoke.

"Bidh thu a 'bruidhinn mo fhaclan, ach tha an fuaim ceàrr," the enchantment seeped on the words of the elf as it spoke, weaving into its dialogue with the human a minor illusion, probing his mind for information that could benefit it. As it strengthened the spell, the sudden lighting up of a small black box had the elf looking down quizzically before a vast surge of power rippled, no - ripped, through its body. His eyes shone with fury as the spell dissipated before it and fixed the Captain with a cold and harsh glare.

"Chan eil cuideam aig Song of Ancestors an-seo. Tha fios againn mu na cleasan sin. Bruidhinn riut mar co-ionnanachd, no cha bhith e air a ghoirteachadh ach leis an eas-onair agus do bhròin."

The elf's eyes glowed in anger and as it went to open it's mouth, magic surging throughout its body, the small black box on the table lit up again and an ear-splitting wail filled the air. As the elf struggled to breath, it came to the terrifying realization that this force was not magic, but something not unlike it altogether. It's own voice was breaking as the screams filled the air and as it attempted to summon forth more strength, the pulsing of pain behind its eyes and the seizing of every muscle in its body bore resemblance to a dead tree as the skin dulled in hue and the thin frame of the creature contorted and twisted as the spasming of its body allowed.

"Is e seo peanas airson eas-onair, thoir seachad agus is urrainn dhomh faochadh a thoirt dhut."

"Dè cho dona 'sa tha na deamhain agad! Tha mi a 'cur mallachd air do ainm agus do chàirdean airson a' pheacaidh seo!"

Another scream lashed out across the room as the being convulsed more and kicked its head back once more. The pain had to be excruciating, for the Captain knew the voltage that was required to disrupt the pathing of magic within it was high, far higher than most Human resistances. The detection agent, however, was beyond his own understanding as the small box on the table simply served as an indicator of the use of magic by this elf. He winced in sympathy as yet another final spasm ripped through the creature's body before it finally surrendered to the pain. Head dropping forward, chin against its chest and tongue lolling out as it sat nearly unconscious, sweat beading along the oak-flesh that covered its body. The Captain was ultimately unimpressed as he began to flip through the pages of the folder before him.

"You understand this tongue as well, yes?"

"Let me go human, I'll kill you myself quickly and mercifully before the others so you do not have to watch their suffering."

The Captain raised an eyebrow as he lifted up a photograph, it was crude and heavily distorted and yet the shapes of a village from above could be seen, "Does this village have any like you? What do you know about it and what is its name?"

The Elf raised its head only to fix thee picture squarely in its eyes. While its face remained staunchly focused on showing no element of surprise or fear, the eyes narrowed intensely and the pupils dilated in sudden recognition and the slight flare of magic behind its eyes as it tried to summon up yet another spell gave way to pained crying as electricity once again suffused its body.

"I told you already, the Song has no effect on me, you will die before you manage even to call a hex upon me. Next question, how many in the village and how many of them are of your kind? If you answer honestly I can promise no harm be visited upon them preemptively."

"You mortals! You'd dare strike the innocent? I told you nothing! What is the meaning of this line of questions? How dare you insult the Ancestors in this way!?"

"Ah, good. I was worried you'd try and hide that information from me. I'll make note of it that it was volunteered, anything else for me today? Any requests I might be able to help with?"

The Elf's eyes glowed in hatred and anger, perhaps this time some sort of low-level magic, but the coursing of electricity through its body sent it's face reeling forward and into the table against its will, sending a spray of green-gold sap-like blood across it before slipping off and onto the ground. The Captain stood, gathering the papers as the guards behind it ceased their use of the cattle prods to fetch the prisoner from his place, crumpled on the ground and curled in the fetal position. Standing over the creature, he smiled grimly as he adjusted his glasses, pushing them up along his nose until they sat snugly atop the bridge of his nose.

"If that's your answer, then I must get going. It's been a pleasure as always Caethys."

Howling and screaming followed the officer out of the detention center as a faint ripple of magic suffused the area with a temporary surge in electricity. It was almost ironic how the elf had been detained and used by the base. Researchers had quickly determined a surprising element to the energetic forces that came from the elf. As it was slowly guided back to its cell, the knowledge as to the nature of its immense power was reflected upon in the Captain's mind as he moved towards the tent of one Lieutenant Morgan. The Recon Platoon, or forward Scout Platoon was to be dispatched at 1600 hours with fresh ration and was to camp for its first night at a small encampment set up by infantry forces operating along Janus' outer perimeter for the night before heading out in full in the morning. Arriving to find the tent empty, the Captain was turning as he caught sight of his man, making his own way back towards his quarters after having a late breakfast perhaps. It was not the concern of the Captain as he waited for the officer to approach him.

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz
September 29, 1971

---

Paperwork was something that he despised having to do, and it was almost with a thoroughly smug look that he smiled at the First Sergeant as the orders were given. A sortie, no doubt in advance of whatever major invasion force was going to be deployed in short order. There was whispers of it at all levels of the soldiers based at Janus, but the Sergeant standing at the head of his platoon smiled with satisfaction at finally being able to do his job could not have been more thoroughly entertained, relieved, and perhaps most appropriately, anticipating of the operation's details. As he filed through the mess hall and began to devour the food set before him, he couldn't help but cast a disparaging glance towards a member of his own platoon. A Radio Operator if he remembered correctly. While he was no stranger to animals about him on the battlefield and understood the benefits to morale they could have in garrison... there were others who did not act so- accordingly.

As he finished his food, perhaps a bit peckish still, Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz made his way over to the young man who'd been just abandoned to his own devices by his fellow squad-mate. Moving to stand beside the soldier, the Sergeant smiled and looked at the bundle of fur in his lap," You're aware I can't stand between you and the First Sergeant if he catches your little friend here in the mess. I'll recommend you best keep him hidden better or perhaps look to feed him out back with the scraps from the cooks. This will also be the only time I have to make myself clear on this matter, yes?"

[Nations United for Conquest]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Staff Sergeant Rainier Fletcher
29 September 1971

---

The special region that was beginning to garner the name of the Unknown Zone by high command, though not particular creative in name as anyone could tell at a glance it was an unknown zone, just as one could easily tell Vietnam was a land of jungle and pain among other things, though there wasn't much you could expected from all the pencil pusher back at base in Kansas and D.C who had probably never stepped foot in the area it self to look it over a give it a fitting name. Though then again, calling it simply forest wouldn't do it and more justice than would calling a great portion of the Applications or even the yukon forest or snow land respectively, but it might have a better ring to it than Unknown Zone. Even something like Special Region, a cognate of some respect rolled off the tongue quite a bit better, though it wasn't up to the decision of the people there what it was referred to as, the title only applied to the various load of paperwork that would be required for the actions taken in this zone. Though in the end, little in the way of the limits of human language, American or otherwise could give true meaning to the beauty of the region, regardless of what play in the immediate surroundings of Camp Janus, though a Forward Operating Base would likely be a more appropriate title, given its location and the state of the building itself, though yet again wound up as an issue that passed high among one's own head in the matters of such trivial ideas. Nevertheless there lay a grand patch work of greenery off past the horizon of the Camp itself, the trees showing little sign of relieving themselves of their heavy greens in favor of the sort and likely later sharp colors of their own trees back across the GATE, possibly given wonder as to if the trees and bushes alike ever did truly change from their rich colors of current into something a slight bit more dynamic, though the greenery itself was nothing that one should scoff at in any respect. All around for as far as the horizon could stretch, minding of course the immediate areas, it was nothing but rows upon rows of trees, reaching ever higher in the sky above their their many branches that lay shrouding underneath a thick layer of leaves, leaving uninterrupted splats of darkness around the ground that seemed to grow and shrink in accordance with the whims of the clouds even further above them, almost like the tide slowly pushing over great rocks which lay just beyond the shore though not quite in the rough surf of the wave itself; positioned perfectly as to allow for the water ti simply lap over them, refreshing them and renewing their dark hue of color, and allowing no passage of time for the sun to dry them out to their more natural state, or naturally depending on one's preference towards such a sight, before the next wave would return and drown them back all again. Elsewhere, though no farm land could be seen in the immediate surroundings, though there was no doubt it existed in equiste grand plains and squares of wheat like crops among others such as corn if such a variant existed in this world to be called such; they would likely have rivaled the great fields of the plains back in their own world, with the exception of course of the area around a town in Kansas, and likewise the immediate surroundings of Camp Janus, Ground zero of the invasion, though it would be believed to simply be an expeditionary adventure of sorts had you not been there itself, reflected this same idea in an almost twist of irony. Pay back if one would, or perhaps revenge depending on who you asked, though it would be contested as to decide what exactly was the worse of the situations; going by dead one might assume that Camp Janus took the figurative cake, though looking at loss of life, it would seem Kansas would pull ahead by quite the lead, though such was simple opinion and speculation and each side would claim the inverse of the other yet for much the same reasons.

Thus the nature of the two areas comes more into play after all, with both suffering the relative same scars of warfare, though in much the same and different ways, all being left up to a series of chronological events rather than any sort of actual attempting at evening the loads inflicted to each, as disproportionate retribution was likely a time honored and praised word by both sides. In the small city in the state of Kansas there had been a great disaster not to long ago, or perhaps it had been long but the nature of the event itself lended it to seemingly being closer than one might truly know it to be; as was the power of the mind and tragedy working in conjunction with one another; a truly scary device at work in deed one might surmise of events lending themselves to be of a similar nature, a particular event on a small chain of islands some score and a half early might bring to one's mind the sound of ringing bells. It was after all in much the same light that the tragedy befell one another; out of the darkness rose a strong force, one of immense power and one unannounced to those it sat posed to strike. Perhaps our nature as people simply lended us to the simple misunderstanding that one must announce oneself before engage an opponent; honor one might say and likely something practiced in good part by those that had arrived both unannounced and uninvited in the latter case, but was a concept that had been lost across the ages and a horrific period of some four years near four score in a few years it would be.

But nevertheless this powerful force came forth and wreaked havoc on the small town that had had the unlucky fate of being the initial point of an attack; some powerful force unknown to those who sat in its wake descending upon it in a rapid striking motion that none had seen coming and once they did were left perplexed as to the true nature of the events surrounding their last moments, though dead men will tell no tales, as the story goes and such thinking is best left in vain; furthermore it a point of almost irony in the great events of not by a score and a half ago or some more in but a tenth of that time forwards. It was this great power that left scars upon the face of the small town, and rendered it in simple terms to be little more than a village after the initial attacks were finished and their damage dealt; the clean up crews coming to finish up what was left and drive back the mysterious forces that had been at play, though who's objectives had perhaps been completed, or in some lights perhaps not, depending on the angle of which one looked and the game of which they wished to bet on per this angle of their reference of the events. Though in the end the Great Power still remained a mystery, being drawn from some source outside of both the victims and the avengers range of thought, yet one might have argued looking back upon the series of events and likell those that were to follow that in end, it ultimately was within our understanding but not quite within the reason of accepting such an understanding to fall true in our own terms of understanding and knowledge. Regardless a similar fate had befallen those on the other side after their initial attempts, whether successful or not still left on the great table of a great many debates that were to be had and were being had at that time and after; and as they might say, those of course who are they never mentioned, is that just as revenge is served cold, retribution is served as a multi-course meal, or so one might assume it would be worded as it was a tricky phrase to associate with; digression aside, those who eagerly awaiting the return of or perhaps the chance to travel and meet their comrades who had passed before hand were instead greated to a strange sight to themselves, foreign and alien in concept; that of men in matching sets of green, carrying unknown objects of wood, metal, plastic and many others foreign to their eyes piled across from the place whence their comrades had disappeared from, often riding upon great beasts which cried and moaned in a sound deeper and more terrifying than the very monstristies they were thought to have been using by the very Green People who had just appeared. And with these men of green came the swift winds of death, whether they come in the sharp metallic noises emitted from each of the green men which one their our roared out like a mighty clap of thunder and together unleashed a torrent stream of not only noise but brightly lights which wined and whistled through the area, ripping appart anything that stood in their way. Yet this would not be the end of the forces that lay beyond their understanding, much as the events in Kansas lay beyond that of the Green Men, as many of the beasts with loading groans of terrible pain to the ears of the awe stricken natives, for no official name had been given thus far, turned their attention towards the large formations attempting to feebly approach the hill upon which the pathway rested, and began to rip apart the masses of natives with a sound and power than drowned out the very torrent of hundreds of the green men, their strange sticks rumbling evermore as the sky became clouded with dust, only to be interrupted as a flash of red or green broke through the area with their red hat whines and whistles.

But such a time had been left behind in the dust of the passing of time and the sacred ground was all that remained up the time before, along with the scraps and tidbits that served as possible clue for those who were not there to witness the events surrounding the hill themselves, as there were quite a few, only a number of men in green arriving in those first couple of days, even as their advance grew farther in reach and the destruction left in their wake followed suit in a unifomr manner, one would atulucate to the nature of well displiplined soldiers. Every now and again one could spot the soiled corpse of some soldier, riddles with a myriad of wounds ranging from single scraps, to exaggerated holes and missing parts of the body, the arms and legs seemingly an uncommon thing to be missing among the few bodies still seen upon the ground as a vast many had simply not lasted through what befell them, or had been picked apart by whatever served as this strange worlds collects and beneficiaries of the dead that lay on the field, notably being the amount of horses carcass that lay, some having been ripped open by sources biological and others little more than dry husks, only a few tatters of fleshing waving about in the light mornings breezes which in days past had carried the scent of death all across the land ands the hill for many miles, but in recent days have begun to die down as the bodies disappeared from their places of feeling, or simply irt had become something to be of accustomed to, tkien how one might based on prejudices already established. But nonetheless the desert of scroed and ruined ground around the hill sat much the same it had for some time, seemingly unchanging and devoid of everything except for a single, lonesome figure resting at the crest of some small hill, it being an insult to call it a knoll, though one might argue it if given the chance to; the figure itself draped in the same green that had once overflown the entire hill, not quite that of the many trees bushes and grasses that lay just on the border of death and life as was the hill itself, but of the bringers of such a great change, yes that of the Green Men, their colors of a hue that wished to blend in with that which was around them, but never found any sound agreeable ground of which they could stand side by side and instead rested in an uneasy position that caused tension and discomfort as one attempted to flow with colors that lay around them.

The figure itself was of a somewhat younger man, perhaps positioned to be in his mid twenties going off the silute that was plastered against the sun, still making its journey to the climax of the sky high above, though such a destination was still a ways off as the morning had only begun to start it's daily routine. The green man wore the same as those who had been upon the hill all those days ago and still remained there as well, even at this very time, though we're no doubt heavy in their complaints about such a station for a myriad of reasons, often contradicting one another, but to assume such a thing could ever be streamlined was a dream fast broken on a man's first day with this great sea of Green Men; this Green Man in particular wearing his suit in a slight variant to what was required, though somewhat common all the same, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up a good portion to fall just upon his elbows, swinging between above and below depending on his movements, which the hunched over figure caused to retreat to just about his elbows, occasionally shrinking over as he adjusted himself, though often returning but a short time afterwards. The arms and skin as well of the man was of a darker hue, thought this was not so much natural as it was acclimation to the times of which he had endured, though even in the dead of winter upon his own world, would his arms return to their natural state, almost as if they had been bleached, or more like stained depending on how one understood such an event to take place. His face, of the same hue of course, was a bit weather it would seem, with faint scars from cuts finding their ways across his cheeks and foreheads every so often, but were faint enough that they could not easily be seen in the early morning's rays, or liely at any one point in the day at all, regardless of the situation of light and likely unless it was the particular mission of whomever was looking at the man's face. The eyes of the man sat inquisitively in the center of his face, as all good eyes do, and wore an expression of deep thought, the light blue hue cutting an almost icy feeling to look and likely given the man quite the glare if it was required of him, though while his eyes sat in a deafast position they were more focused than enraged one might say, though the passion existed nonetheless with hints of something altogether lost on one who did not know the man well or did not know enough to catch the slight change in the expression of a person depending on what events may befall them in their head or the world, often involving both. At the peak of the man's head rested a mop of dirty blonde hair, how much was in fact drt and how much was simply the natural color of his hair was a question best left unanswered for the sake of all involved, though for the moment the light curls had been hidden beneath a small hat; the large brim of this hat, perhaps a few inches but no more than three at the most, out from his head found itself wrapping all around the head of the man, though never in a straight line as it dropped and rose in certain places in an uneven manner without much thought seemingly given to how their changes in altitude were given, but all the same it not only covered his mop of hair but also provided a cover of sorts against the rays of sunshine slowly finding their way across the landscape that lay all about. This, however, did not rest at the only protection, from the sun or otherwise, that lay at the man's disposal for another article of the headwear rested just on on belt, as he wore one as well, being the saving grace that held his pants upon his hips, which were of the same hue as his other clothing, and also held a myriad of other items, such as a small leather pouch, secured tightly to the man's right thigh, and within rest a small chunk of metal, dark in its own hue and contrasted to the green of the man's own clothing, and appeared cool to the touch even in the heat that surrounded the strange world; the other item on the belt and the one related to his head was a small sphere like object with a large portion cut out of it, a new webbing resembling some sort of fishing net upon it and a small fabric upon the exterior as well in much the same hue as the clothing the man wore. It appeared heavy for it sange low on his belt and had been nestled into a small divot in the ground caused by its own weight, perhaps hinting that after all it was of a different variety than the droopy hat of which the man was current wearing and rather of a stronger material like that of the metal object that rested at his right thigh, of which it is likely important to call attention to yet another leather like pouch that hung on the opposite side of the man's belt and slightly position towards the front; within it resting a larger tubular object that apparently turned into one that was flat as it entered lower into the leather and was generally hidden from view. This tubular part of the object was bound in a slightly dark hue of the same leather that was used to secure it into place and the exact width of it varied from one end to the other, with the top closest to the man's face ending with a larger ball that was just about the same size as the thickest part of the tubular object, and the opposite end, where the tube disappeared into the leather compartment and turned into something of a more flat object, rested a large flat piece of what could only be metal, carrying the same tint as the object on the man's opposing side, however it rested perpendicular to whatever flat object lay within the concealment of the leather, and was ultimate longer on one side, in an oval shape, with the longer sides touching upon the man's hip and the opposing one facing away, with either end coming to a rounded edge, like that of a high school track.

A final point of interested rested in what the man himself was busily extended his energy, thought, and focus into, his icy colored eyes stabbing into this object of interest with a fiery intent upon them, and the man's hands of the darkened hue, though his palms naturally rested in a color that while dark was no doubt the closest to his natural hue on his body, lest one were to relieve the man of his trousers but no such thing was likely to happen unless it was of the man's own volition. The object in question was simple in nature, being a rectangular object perhaps no bigger than half a foot at the longest and perhaps just shy of making a square upon the other two sides; the thickness not being terribly larger and no doubt resting somewhere below the ballpark of an inch, perhaps half an inch at most, though a number of what made the thickness of the object were thrown over the top side of the object itself, like a wave that had been suspended in motion by some unknown force and was meant to hold such a position for the foreseeable future, causing some but at the same time very little of the objects thickness to disappear. Yet, this object would not stay still for a powerful force could be found upon it, causing it to shale gentle from side to side, or rather in any direction it would appear, but the most violent of all motions being the side to side motions; the motions themselves caused by a long and yet again tubular object moving too and fro upon the surface of the object, this tube, however, was much skinner, perhaps not even resting at a size close to the pinky finger of the man's own hand, and yet again at a certain point striking down to a smaller shape at some point, though this time it was only at one end, the end upon the object, that it grew smaller, yet never reached a period of flatness like the object on the man's left side and belt, and this however turned to a hue of dark grey if not black, rather than the simple yellowish color of the rest of the object, save the opposite end where a small section of pink material different from the end of the skinny object and the shaft of it as well, all three being different, and the pink object itself being the cause of the violent motions previously established. As this object's grey end glided across the surface of the much larger and flatter object, a great many lines began to appear, some of a light color and power and others of a much more powerful and darker one, creating what might be taken as rivers from one end, but the true understanding only rested in the angle of which the man viewed them; from the top, as after all he was the one who was scribing such lines upon the flat object with the long skinny object, no doubt perhaps crafting some sort of image, a sketch if you will, upon the surface that he held in his hands much like a book, though arguable the enemy of the book in some opinions.

However, the man's concentration upon the small booklet he held in his hands, and was busy scribing down upon would be interrupted just as the stillness of that mornings air was soon disrupted by a sound that was not native to it, yet was all too familiar to that of the man who sat with his small booklet in hand, and did not even glance at the source of the loud roaring that was fast approaching him, followed closely behind by the sound of dust rising and then falling again upon its place in the earth, as there was no semblance of roads in the place where the man rested, and truth be told there was little remincinent of roads anywhere around where the man had come from, except perhaps where he had come from, though those were not native to this land, just as he and the beast fast approaching him were also of the non-native status. The making of the roaring noise itself finding an apparent resting place not too far from the man, who of course was still ignoring it which seemed to only make it grow louder, though it was also arguable that it was simply the change in distance between the beast and the man, though either explanation held merit and it was no doubt the collect of both together than ran the point home true. The beast itself was of a green hue, not altogether different from that the man wore, and was in a square like shape, a rectangle if one would be so inclined to believe, with a good portion cut out from the middle of it, appearing to be a box of some sort, though the lid was not apparent, though not necessarily gone, as a small rumpled collect of dark brown cloth seemed to rest as the far end of the hole that had been cut into the metal box. Elsewhere there rested a small pane of glass, rising from the front end of the missing part of the box and resting in an angle that positioned it to it seemed to be leaning backwards, if one were to be behind it of course. The eyes of the beast lay in the front and were positioned on either side of a small oval like impression upon the front of the box where a netting of many smaller boxes could be found, not unlike that of a fence. Similar eyes, albeit smaller, could also be found upon the rear of the box. Finally came the legs of the Beast which were instead simple a set of large black circles, thicker than man's head and four in total, though a fifth lay upon the rear of the box as well, and with metal positioned upon the center with the exception of the one mounted upon the rear. The circles themselves looked to be of an elastic material, not of the cool and hardy metal that made up the various objects upon the sitting man's belt, and were cut with a variant of grooves and dents, some of which had found themselves caked in a dark brown substance, no doubt mud, as did much of the underside of the beast and the sides as well, in splatters no doubt caused by the spinning of the large wheels under the beast itself.

Though a new and fresh sound would soon be filling the void left behind by the disappearance of the metallic beasts loud roaring sound, as a man dressed in much the same attire as the man who was at current sitting at the crest of the small hill or rather large knoll, with the except that he was instead wearing a helmet, much like the one at the sitting';s man's side, in place of the floppy hat with its droopy edges that the other man he was fast approaching was, his boots crumpling the soft green grasses below each step, as this was in fact one of the few places near the Camp that still possessed any foliage of a any type, having seen very little fighting during the initial days of hell that followed the arrival of the Green Men across the GATE, as it was called, and into this new world and the Unknown Zone itself. The sounding and pace of the foot steps increased as the green flat that originally been the place of walking slowly gave way into a slight incline, causing the newly appeared Green Man to raise his feet up significant highly and place down a much firmer force as he attempted to propel himself up the shallow, yet unlevel all the same, surface of the knoll, to approach the man obviously sitting at it's crest, facing away from the newly arrived man. Though such a pace of high, almost goose like stepping, up the knoll soon yielded the intended results as the newly arrived man now sat only perhaps a few feet away from the seated man, apparently trying his damndest not to make any sudden movements, to the point where his crinkled green upper shirt had ceased its normal rate of expansion and collapse as the man's breathing slowed and his mouth ceased to open; his nostrils instead flaring in large gapping swaths every so often to allow air to pass throughout his lungs, though in an exaggerated way as to release it all slowly rather than once to avoid any sort of sound related to that of a yawn or gasping noise. Even to the point, this stillness was that the only movements of the man were that of a few strands of curly red hair brushing past his face in a dangerous game that could possibly prompt a sneezing reaction and send the newly arrived man's whole plan into disarray were he not careful, for a paradox presented itself; no matter what action he was to take, whether it be to remove the hair or let it be, it would cause some sort of revealing of the man's position. Nonetheless, he remained steadfast in his position, likely gambling that he could outlast his nerve system and survive a bit longer as his neck, and truth be told body as well, began a creeping motion, like a sunflower in a way, as the young man, he was in fact a bit younger than the sitting man it would appear by virtue of his face and size alone, though perhaps not by much, attempted to look over the shoulder of the sitting man, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was he was so fixated on in the early morning hours.

Such a gamble, was in vain it would seem for whatever work the sitting man was attending to at that moment was more or less completely covered by his own head and the brim of his hat, still dropping in an uneven way without much rhyme or reason to it, and the shadows of the morning sun playing upon it, which to the eyes of the sitting man were likely a blessing and curse, depending on which element of his work one might be referring to when discussing the impact of the sun and shadows upon the delicate work he had sat out to accomplish on such a fine morning. Though no sooner than did the very edges, the tip of the iceberg if one would, of the task was revealed to the young man, in the form of some number of lines and rough patches where a number of lines had been met together and the cavities caused by such filled to the brim with the same materials of which they were created, that there was a sudden shift in the sitting man, as his shoulders began to relax a slight bit and there was a release of some sort of pressure in the form of a low sigh or perhaps rather growl if you knew the circumstances of his work, as did the younger man though he paid to head to what was very likely a warning sign of some extent and degree and simply back away a slight bit as to allow the sitting man a place to rise, and upon the full extension of the sitting man's body it would seem he was in fact perhaps a few inches taller than his younger colleague, though no more than two it would seem. Not enough to cause one to look down upon another, but just enough to cause the type of strain in one's eyes one might fin upon attempting to forego the action of tilting a head to change the objects which fell into vision, and the pain that felt like the over extension of a muscle in some ways, though there were no doubt better ways to describe such a feeling, it was likely the most fitting given circumstances, that of course seemingly being the rising of the slightly older and taller man from the slumber that was his work. Nevertheless, this was no doubt not the first time such an occurrence had transpired between the two, as it was doubtful that it was the first of the older man's experience regardlessly, and his face showed nothing that one could assume related to that of annoyance, much less anger, though you'd be mistaken to assume it was one of relief and joy, for it was far from those feelings as well, likely being equivalent to a feeling of being tired, though of what one would be left to guess upon their own reflections and thoughts of the occurrence, and additional information one might have had previously on the man, as the younger of the pair no doubt did, as evident by the relaxed face he wore as well, if a bit on the sly side; fully aware of whatever situation he had just caused to befall his slightly older companion.

Now at a level field, the younger man was the first to talk, as it appeared the older had no intentions of sharing a word with the younger man, at least in the current time and circumstances, if such was no to be required of him. "Sergeant Fletch, out doing landscape again it would seem?"

The slightly older man let out a dry chuckle at the man's words, though it was likely lost on any but the two standing there, for they were perhaps not the only two on that knoll, but it was not of concern for the current situation. He then let out a deep sigh before a small grin cracked across his face, "If you're out here to critic my drawing you must be bored as fuck Sergeant Coleman..." Came a gravely reply, different from the man's deeper and more smooth voice, evidently signalling that it had been sometime since last he had anything to drink and instinctively causing the opposing man to toss a dark green canteen towards his counterpart, which a few sip were taken, some water falling upon his uniform, but quickly drying to a small dark spot in the morning sun's rays, which cut across the two men's left sides. Finishing his long sip and tossing the canteen back to his counterpart, the whole ordeal taking no more than perhaps thirty seconds, he continued his voice restored to a smooth deep sound that rumbled across the knoll like a raging thunder storm, to put it poetically, "...Or perhaps the First Sergeant had enough of your shit, and you need an excuse to save your ass..."

The look that crept across the younger man's face, though he seemed to try his best to hide it, much like his presence beforehand, he was still found out all the same and a much deeper though still quite dry laugh, rather than a chuckle, escaped from the older man's lips before his face returned back to the neutral expression he had been wearing before. At seeing this the younger man rolled his eyes, which were much the same color as the canteen he placed back upon the rear left section of his hip, succerly on his belt, and turned back to the older man to continue on with their conversation, "Well, truth be told, I have another reason to come for you" he continued on his accent, distinctly Irish growing a bit stronger and causing the older man's light blue if not grey eyes to become hidden as his face grey a bit hard, "Captain called formation together. Seems we'll be head out shortly. Or so I'd guess."

"Well, either way I don't want to end up in the same boat as you with the First Sergeant" came the reply through a sly grin painted across the older man's face as he swung himself into passenger seat of the metal beast that the younger man had arrived in beforehand, the younger man following suit with an exaggerated sigh hanging from his lip as he started up the roaring of the beast once again and kicked up a cloud of dust and dirty as the beasts went leaping down the sad excuse for a road that was the dirt path leading up to the knoll.

"So..." barked the younger man, trying to overcome the sounds of the beast's mighty roar, "What was that a drawing of anyways? Seemed pretty interesting."

"Hmm?" was the inquisitive reaction from the Older Man, only looking ahead and not turning to his companion sitting besides him, as it was doubtful the younger man had turned to him and he was correct in such an assumption. "Not much really..." he trailed off, "Black and White doesn't do it much justice anyways..."

"Hmm..." was the only reply given by the man positioned in the driver seat as the pair continued down the winding dirt road, attempting to avoid a fiery death at the hands of one of the many trees which grew in a random pattern both around and within the path itself, making the pair feel like a cat in an old folks home; if the rocking chairs were on fire and the cat on cocaine, though.

----------

The last rays of the sun's light were filtering away as they proceeded upon the ground, ceding ever more territory to the darkness that would upon normal circumstances have come crawling from its hiding place over the far fields and forests of the eastern reaches of the field; yet it would seem that this night was to be different from those past in the old days, though by chance not much different than other several that had preceded it some time ago it would seem, or at the very last within the range of the previous four or five, though one would be forgive for loosing count as they would seem to merge and push together into one incompressible blob that could not be made out from one end or the other, only by the individual parts of it's sum rather than the other way around, as the saying might go, for on this very night the hill and the plains that surrounded it were very much alive with activity. Not quite that of the peoples who inhabited these strange lands, though they were no doubt present as well in some capacity, or the woodland and field creatures that ,might call the many grass fields and small bushes of the hill home at any given time, if they were so inclined to spend the night like a worry travel or perhaps had established some kind of home there at one point or another, though it mattered not what conditions they were upon that hill, for they would be a wie creature to avoid it on those night. As it was these night that the hill had been shaken with a terrible and unexplained thundering and shaking, interlude by the massive flashes of light that seemed to turn the darkness creeping across the fields to daylight once again and send it scurrying like a frightened animal back to the reaches of the east, or rather the areas where this newly created light could not reach them in any timely or physical fashion, through the thunder was not alone for another object, brighter than these flashes originated at either end of the hill, sat hanging low in the sky, like stars that had fallen from their place among the heaven, but had caught themselves just before arriving upon the ground. Here, strange form played in the shadows of the evening's light and danced in the massive clouds of brown dust and dirt that has risen from the ground to shower the area around it with rain of debris among other objects that are best left to the imagination for the moment, least one wished to wonder why much of the green grasses and bushes at the foot of the hill and beyond had turned to a bright red colors that glowed with each passing flash of light, and too continued to grow dark and more extended in color and coverage, respectively, with each of these flashes. For on this hill at this night two seas had found themselves in opposition, crashing upon each other, one falling from the crest of the hill and the other attempt to rush up it's soft slopes, and leaving this wake of destruction and redness in their path. One one side rested a uniform wave, green in color, and the one responsible for the most among of the flashes, as time streaks of red and green etched out paths in the sky, like lightning bugs at an indie five hundred race who were attempted to claim a checked flag, though had lost their sense of direction, for they flew about in every which way, crossing over one another at time and often finding themselves moving in larger arcs that rolled back and forth across the slopes of the hill like a secondary wave of shining light.

"What do you see in our eyes"

However, a stark contrast was to be found on the opposing end of the hill, as the other wave attempted to push their way up the slope and meet with the Green wave which was pushing their way down, though one might not that it would appear every step forward of the lower wave was met with two back as they lacked the strange glowing lights being summoned from the crest of the hill, against the sound of rolling thunder and crashing waves, which for all their beauty seemingly prevented the lower wave from approaching, like an invisible wall, one granted that was built with no definite shape, but a wall nonetheless. This wave, however, lacked the crisp and uniform color of their opposing wave, many members of the wave finding distrptensies in the way they were dressed. Pushing aside the many fowl and strange beast which occupied the ranks of this wave; strange creatures with skinn of all hues and extrimenates unknown to the vast majority of the waves on either side, they were joined by many who were strange uniforms, or at least those opposed to the men who sat at the crest of the hill and continued to rain horror and fiery noise and light upon their counterparts at the bottom. The vast majority of this lower wave wore a uniform all the same, yet very different at the same time, for every man, and perhaps woman to an extent largely unknown, wore some variation of what could only seem like a small metal fishing net, the links off the metal chain tiny and strung together in a rather loose looking garb that many wore over what appeared to be but simply tunics and trousers, patches adorning them evident of heavy usage. And for a vast majority this was common place, to hold but this small amount of what was mail upon their bodies, with perhaps a short blade worn upon their belts which were no doubt the very same that had been used to carry all manner of tools that they were to use in their own lives, and a larger pole with a blade of sorts fixated on the end, though more for stabbing or rather thrusting that another sort of maneuver it would appear, for the rest of the pole or shaft was made of but simple wood and would do little against much besides that which was of its own material. Those few that did own some sort of additional clothing, in a similar vein to their green clad opposition, they might have found a simple helmet upon their heads, though it would be of a vast many shape rather than that of the uniformity of the Green Men and would vary between each section of men, as would their exact armor, as some would be seen adorning some sort of metal plates which rested firmly on the outer areas of the chain netting they wore, those these members of the wave found themselves often time upon the back of horse rather than upon the ground, though there were some exception, perhaps a man who did not favor the horse or who had been able to purchase for themselves the strange plates of metal, often adorning areas such as the shoulder or breast, with those upon horseback the only who wore such upon their full bodies, and likely for that reason alone; weight.

"At the shrieking iron and flame"

Yet, towards one of the small knolls that sat not to far larger hill where the waves of men fell upon each others, though not in a literal sense it would seem as the Green Men remained fixated in their position utop the crest of the hill and only dared to venture down the smooth and shallow slopes when it seemed beneficial to them, for they seemed to possess no desire to leave where they stood on this current night and no doubt for good reason, as it was fast becoming night and even the large lights, flashes and hanging stars alike, could they have made their way through whatever lay below, though things had begun to change towards this knoll as the vast wave of men and beast that had futilely attempted for some time to dislodge what was only to be assumed a small contingent of Green Men sitting upon its crest. The men and beast which had once stood shoulder to shoulder, the beasts among the group notable leading the small section of wave against the hill, had begun to split not unlike a famous scene from a well read story book, and in their place a new figure had arise from the cracks, the beasts themselves and man alike stopping their movements to watch the newly arrived figure who remained out of view of those on the crest due in part to the massive clouds of dust that sat curling and turning upon the winds that hbad carried them from simple clouds to a thick wall which blocked sight from both up to a certain point. Though such an illusion would not last long as a break in the clouds of dust suddenly began to shift, revealing to the men upon the hill the sight which had evaded their eyes and as well had resulted in the disappearance of their fine cloud of dust and smoke, for it should be noted the men in Green possessed such an ability; the dust had departed to reveal the form of a young woman standing between the rows of the men and beasts and between themselves and the Green Men upon the crest of the small knoll itself. The woman herself appeared to be in perhaps her middle twenties, given her height and the way her body had shaped out in the womanly departments, though it would be wrong to write it off as such after the fact for more knowledge had been gained at evidence had revealed that all was not as it seemed in these situations and the woman was just as likely to be younger or older than she appeared due to the nature of the strong world, though nevertheless the strong case rested in her mid twenties.

"Hurled through still heavens?"

Even from a distance her face was clearly seen, outlined against the fading rays of sunlight in a natural sense and revealing a calm look upon her face; her eyes being closed preventing the discovery of any hidden thoughts or feeling to those with a trained eye. Her features were others quite soft and feminine with a kind look to them, only helped by the peaceful state she seemed to be in. Her hair was on an interesting side, appearing to be of a light pink or purple color that seemed to shine almost like a dull silver in the sun's warming rays; the hair itself was largely fasted behind her head through the use of a gold chain upon which a large red gem rested, her hair falling back in a large and wavy ponytail of some sort and reaching far down past her hips, and likely more, though much of it was hidden behind her clothes; the remainder of her fair sat falling down in large cascades upon her face and pushed off to the sides it would seem, some of the lengths that fell below her chin showing the faint wavy circles that the rest of her hair so clear showed. Another point of interested would be found in the young woman's clothes, that being a relatively form fitting dress, though by no means skin tight and was more so a result of the woman's form than anything else, that was of a darker purple hue, almost like that of a dark blue or a night's sky in some respects; the dress itself ending up opened on either side once it reached her hips, splitting off into a sheath style of sorts with one part hanging down in front of her and the other rested behind her, leaving her legs up to her hips exposed. On Top of this dress sat a large cape sort of garb, held upon her shoulders through not only larger and orient shoulder padding, with silver colored plate armor upon the outside, decorated in gold styling, and a necklace similar in style to the gold chain which held her hair in place, acting as a support that kept this cape in place upon her back; the cape itself in fact being of a two tone design with a high collar, the outside being a dark midnight black and the inner layer a powerful red which played nicely against the gold styling found upon her cape, dress, and jewelry she wore. Upon the woman's arms sat long silk looking sleeves that reached from her hands, where they were held in place by a ring upon her middle finger, to just about her elbow where they were cut off by a ring of gold and rested in a similar color to that of her own hair. Upon her legs, a similar get up was discovered with a pair of high heeled shoes of a gold color which were found to be firmly filled with a leg dressed in a tight fitting silk sleeve in much the same style to that of the woman's arms sleeves, however these captured her entire foot and rose to about half way up her thighs before they were again ended with gold cut off of some design. Her body was in a relatively relaxed and a single had was raised into the air, her left hand to be exact as the rest of her body remained still. Yet, as she stood in this position the air around her once again began to change, as a small swirl of wind appears to kick up out of nowhere once again, however, this time it did not simply blow the dust away from side to side, as it appeared to be rising up from the ground below the woman, causing her cape and hair to flutter gently in the wind, which the woman paid little mind to, and even more so as faint rings of blue light began to rise up about the woman; three to be exact of different sizes depending of their were upon different section of her body, one laying towards the area of her neck and the other around her stomach or the middle of her torso. Then, in an instant as she lowered her hands, a strange circle, much of the same light color, began to materialize in front of her, strange symbols being etched upon it as her palm turned to face the crest of the hill. As her eyes opened the strange symbols consolidated and were instead replaced with a blast of blue light that arced out over towards the Green Men who sat upon the hill and with a loud fizzle and cracking, on par with that of the might metal beast who had been busily hammering away at the lower waves for hours before, and found itself in contact in a small hill that lay not far behind that of the small section of Green Men, causing a section of the ground, perhaps a wide as a few cars to rise from the ground, the individual blocks of dirt being suspended in air for a short time before instantly being vaporized in a blinding blue light, leaving nothing but a divot a few feet deep and scorched from one end to the other, a small fire beginning in the greenery around the crest that had been seemingly sucked of its life as the blot of blue passed over head...

Yet black and white cannot do her justice

----------

There wasn't much time left of the gawking at the many wonders of the Camp, as many a young man had done upon first arriving in the Camp on their first day, for a great number of wonders had been storied their in the middle of camp for all to see, trophies of you would, inform of many a strange creature that had been taken from the fields of battle, a popular request being that of one of the flying dragons they had captured, and though it was not supposed to be referred to as such, the base's Dragon was loved all the same by the men who enjoyed to gawk at it like little kids looking at some strange occurance for the first time, or perhaps a candy shop in a different light, full of all their treats and such. Yet, the Staff Sergeant had already seen his fair share of the beasts on his few days in country, having been one of the first unites sent across, his battalion unluckily or lucky enough, depending on who you asked, himself refusing to comment, being among the first units across the breach and the GATE and landed smack in the middle of this crazy mess of a world. He knew first hand that the Dragon's everyone was so found of were tough sons of bitches, even the heavy rifle round he carried in his M21 doing little to put a dent in the beasts and such heavy lifting being left up to the guys running the various anti-air installations that had been brought over, as well as a few crazy guys who had taken a liking to use some of the fifty calibers machine guns, mounted and unmounted, like shotgun to hunt the beasts like they were nothing more than game birds back home; and thus had little reason to be amazed by them, though he still shot it a passive glance, it had been a great thing to sketch and quite a number of such drawing lay in his notebook, not securely fastened to one of the small pouches of the bag he was carrying with him throughout the camp, though soon enough he found himself at attention with the rest of the battalion, the Captain having finally declared it was time to straighten some stuff out with the group, though it was still quite agonizing to be forced to listen to the same mundane briefing for the other platoons over and over, though it would seem worth it at the words that finished off the briefing.

"Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah to conduct hah’jeen and sec-yuh mahnin’ rations. Up-ahn finishing theys tasks, cah-lect yah kits and prep for sah-tie. Yah brief wih-beh aht tah cahm-panee see-pee at eleven hundreh owahs! Chahlie! Dismissed!"

The Staff Sergeant had heard a lot of different accents in his day, whether it came from the German that his mother had spoken, the ship mates that his father had served with and he had met over the countless years, or those that he had just encountered throughout his time in the service, though he had never come across an accent that was harder to understand than that of the First Sergeant, and you could have easily fooled the man if he had been told the First Sergeant was speaking in a completely different language, like French, and it would be believable. But nevertheless, the message got through that the Recon Platoon, designation Bandit would be moving out past the worst soon enough and that he like the rest of the Platoon where to get their shit together and prepare to move out when the Captain ordered it, though it seemed it would still be quite a ways off, leaving the Staff Sergeant without much to do; most of his equipment had already been stored away in a place not far from the departure point where he could grab it when needed, most of his other kit items already on hand, and for all intensive purposes was simply without his rifle, though that was no piece of equipment to simply scoff at the lost or missing of, though he seemed to be without worry about it for the time being, instead ducking his head into the mess tent on the base, though he was not hungry at the present time, having already grabbed food before heading out earlier and not wishing to upset his stomach through some sort of over stuffing like a turkey might feel on Thanksgiving Day; that was of course if the Turkey could actually feel anything at that point in time. Instead he simply turned his head on a slow swivel around the room, taking in the sights and many of the faces, some he recognized and other's he didn't, before seemingly finding what might be a good place to sit about for a little bit for the clock would reach the time where he would be forced to gather up his gear and prepare for what would likely be a somewhat uncomfortable ride in the back of one of the Platoon Armored Personnel Carriers, or APC for short hand, though in retrospect, it certainly beat the trouble and pain that would be walking from the base to whatever the Captain had decided their first destination would be. Likely some sort of settlement by the Staff Sergeants guess, as he had heard little in the form of decent cooperation and understand between the men on base and the natives they had apparently captured, or at the very least it was a slow connection, and the commanders were no doubt hunger for that first hand information, as they always were. Though he supposed it was a necessary thing to have for the operation going forward. Nevertheless, the scan of the room revealed a pair of soldiers which were recognizable to the man of being from his own platoon, that of course being the First Sergeant from his own platoon, who seemed to be giving a bit of an earful, though subtle, to a younger man sitting down at one of the tables. Seeing no one else around from the Recon Platoon at that moment, the Staff Sergeant simply made his way over, taking a seat a little ways away from pair casting but a simply nod in their direction as to not interrupt the conversation, or rather the First Sergeant's scolding to the younger man, and removed the small book once again from his pocket, flipping through the pages before settling on a familiar image and returning to work.

With a slight sigh the man simply mused to himself in a low tone, "Black and white just doesn't do it justice..."

[Independent States of Tula]

6km Northwest of Hue, Vietnam
A Young Soldier
February 3, 1968

"I need help up here! Please I'm all alone! Someone help me!" A young man fresh out of basic shouted out over the sounds of mortars and the snapping of passing rounds.

His pleas fell on deaf ears however, everyone near him was either too wounded or too dead to help him. Even the young man's best friend who'd he'd enlisted alongside was too hurt to come to his aid...he was completely alone. Things had gone so wrong for 2/12th Cavalry since they'd touched down the day before, the heavy fog preventing any gunship support as they were forced back from the villages of Que Chu and La Chu where PAVN forces had dug in heavily, and the early dawn being signaled with a mortar barrage and an all out assault by PAVN forces on 2/12th Cavalry's positions. It was that assault which the young man found himself caught in as he tried laying as flat to the ground as he could as mortar shells rained around him on his squad's small rise in the jungle that they'd fortified the night before. Now though, that small rise was alone in a sea of hostility as the North Vietnamese forces overran positions along the line, leaving the young soldier's squad the only one for a hundred meters or more in any direction...effectively cut off from the rest of 2/12th Cavalry by the PAVN troops that were now circling like sharks.

The mortars and machine gun fire soon died off, and a relative peace settled over the jungle, but the young soldier knew that it wasn't a true peace. They'd done this earlier, the North Vietnamese soldiers, they'd softened what defenses the Cavalry troops had set up and now they waited for a single signal. That signal came in the form of a shrill whistle, a cursed sound for any American who heard it, soon to be followed by the sounds of hundreds of men's war cries as they charged forward to finish off their wounded prey.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." The young man cursed as he began crawling forwards to the crest of the rise, his foxhole was there, and in that foxhole was his weapon...an M60 machine gun, and the only weapon that would be available to stop the oncoming tide of communist soldiers.

The young man dropped unceremoniously into the hole headfirst, quickly collecting himself up and grabbing his weapon with shaking hands as what sounded like hundreds of men gave out a mighty roar and he found himself ducking at the snapping sound of passing rounds. Chiding himself for doing so considering its uselessness the young man soon rose his head over the edge of his foxhole and saw dozens of muzzle flashes coming from the darkness of the jungle foliage. Putting the butt of his weapon to a shaking shoulder, the young soldier lifted the M60 before resting it on its barrel's bipod, he took a steadying breath as he placed his eye behind the sight. He took another one as the rounds kept flying overhead, the enemy getting closer as the muzzle flashes closed in, with a final breath the young soldier spotted a moving silhouette in the bushes and pulled the trigger. Doing as trained the man fired a burst of about five rounds before moving over to a muzzle flash and doing the same, switching from target to target as rounds started hitting the dirt around him instead of just flying overhead.

Soon the young man began firing longer bursts as the muzzle flashes started to dwindle, the silhouettes starting to fall more often than move on, all of it to a steady rhythm in the young man's mind, 'Die motherfucker, die. Repeat. Die motherfucker, die. Repeat.'

It became a mantra for the man, pull the trigger 'Die motherfucker, die', release and do it again. Soon the fear became a distant memory as a foreign rush filled the young man's mind, and a voice that had earlier been screaming for help in pure fear changed, it began to speak a simple mantra that grew louder and louder. It felt like hours later when a hand startled the young man out of his reverie, the young man twisted about in his foxhole and pulled his sidearm, stopping just before the trigger pull when he recognized the face of a fellow American...help had finally arrived. Later on, the man who'd led the reinforcement action had stated that they could just make out over the gunfire a simple mantra being shouted out by the lone defender still holding his position, he'd also stated that the young man and his squad had only been cut off for about thirty minutes...not the days that it had felt like before everything went into a sort of blur for the sole defender. The blur of gunfire, fighting, and an addicting rush he'd never felt before...a rush that had started to wrap Ethan Paine around its finger.

---

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Corporal Ethan Paine
29 September, 1971

The now slightly older Corporal opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light that came through the tent's opening and onto him. With a grunt he hefted himself up and swung his legs over the side of his bunk, with a sigh he dispelled the memories of his first time in combat, dispelled the memory of the scared little boy he'd once been as he awoke to the man he was now. Hue had gone on long after that engagement, and the rush had always returned every engagement after, from the second assault on Que Chu to the fighting in Da Nang it had always returned as a welcome friend afterwards. Now however it had been some time since he'd last felt that rush, but that might change soon, Ethan and the Recon element he'd been assigned to was to go past the wire and see what they could about the new world they'd found beyond that Gate in Kansas. After the morning news Ethan had done what any normal battle-hardened soldier would do, he grabbed his gear and equipment, laid it at the foot of his bunk, and went to grab as much shut eye as he could before the briefing at eleven-hundred hours.

It was now an hour to eleven-hundred if Ethan's watch was anything to go by, and soon he'd know what they were to do in the new Wild West. Ethan chuckled at that thought, a lot of the new guys were calling the Unknown Zone the "Jungle"...at least everything that was outside the wire that is. But for someone who'd slogged his ass through a real jungle for three years, Ethan knew this wasn't anything like it. In the jungle the enemy was much more dangerous, in the jungle he had rifles, mortars, artillery, rockets, and everything else man had thought up to kill his fellow man. In the jungle the enemy waited for you to come to him, or if he didn't then he advanced under heavy supporting fire and artillery...here though? The enemy charged well fortified machine gun positions in large formations with swords, shields, and spears.

Sure they had a few ugly bastards that could take their fair share of rounds, but they couldn't fight back against those firing those rounds unless they closed. And sure there were a few of those weirdos with what only Ethan could call magic, but they were easy to pick off once they started glowing and shit, they weren't a real threat to what the average American soldier could throw at them...and those were their special troops. That didn't mean everything would be a cakewalk though, Ethan knew that, and so he had gone and dubbed the Unknown Zone as the New Wild West...it was the closest thing in recent history that he could compare to the situation he now found himself in. The enemy were the Indians, uncivilized, brutal, and woefully outgunned...but not without tricks up their sleeves that worked just right. And the Americans on this side of the Gate? The first wave of the old blue-coat army, marching westward towards glory, armed with the latest and greatest military technology, and just as brutal as their foe when push came to shove.

As he gathered his gear and his weapons, Ethan smiled just the littlest bit at that thought, the enemy had sown the wind in Emporia...now Ethan was going to make damn sure they reaped the whirlwind.

[Intermountain States]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Private First Class Randall Cooper
29th September, 1971

Cooper had that dream about the dead NVA boy again. It was practically a daily occurance and it's not something he could get used to.

"This is stupid," he thought to himself. "It wasn't like the kid was some innocent villager caught in a crossfire, he was armed and dangerous, pointing a gun at me. I was just trying to defend myself by shooting before he did. I shouldn't feel any guilt about this."

No matter how many time Cooper assured himself with that explaination, he just can't shake the feeling that he was just making an excuse to take a man's life. The kid looked to be younger than him, maybe a few months or a year difference in age with no facial hair or anything to make him look like an older man. The fact of the matter is that both Cooper and that Vietnamese soldier were staring at each in the eye and that made both of them hesistate. There is a possibility that both of them would just leave the combat scene and head back to their respective platoons. Maybe the kid would have shoot first. Cooper wouldn't know which possibility was true as he pulled the trigger, killing that kid.

Instinctively, he reached for his bag to take out his rosary bead that his mother gave him on his 13th birthday and begin to recite the Hail Mary a couple of times. Like the nightmare, the recital always happen every day. Unlike the nightmare, he's actually used to it and a rosary to Mary, Mother of God always make him feel better about the morning. After his recital was over, Cooper begins to think about the Unknown Zone. It gives off a different vibe than when he was in Vietnam. While Vietnam was a different country thousands of miles away in Asia, this Unknown Zone is just a walk out of a portal in Kansas. Add to that, the Viets were also humans like him while the inhabitants of this area seem more than just man. For all he knew, the United States Army just stepped into another world, maybe another planet or dimensions. Is he fighting some little green men on Mars or demon servants of Satan? Whatever the Army fighting, he'd have to put these thoughts to rest as he had to get ready for morning call.

“Rec’ahn Platoon, you ‘ah to conduct hah’jeen and sec-yuh mahnin’ rations. Up-ahn finishing theys tasks, cah-lect yah kits and prep for sah-tie. Yah brief wih-beh aht tah cahm-panee see-pee at eleven hundreh owahs! Chahlie! Dismissed!”

Cooper was at the mess hall, staring at a plate of unedible food resting on his table, missing only a bite. Precooked meal that tastes horrible and something he wouldn't feed to a stray dog or he might be arrested for animal abuse. Cooper wasn't demanding restaurant quality foods and he knew that this is what the boys stationed in Europe and Asia are eating. But those guys are stationed miles away from the US which makes sense for these awful precooked meals to be shipped out to but Camp Janus is just a portal hop away from the mainland US. It's right in Kansas, meaning that fresher, tastier foods could arrive in the camp. Plus, those soldiers stationed in Europe and Asia probably have access to local cuisines far more edible than what they have. No wonder some dumb privates got sick after eating some berries in the Unknown Zone, if he had to choose from swallowing greasy cardboards or get food poisoning from alien fruits, he'd pick the latter.

Maybe he's just being nostalgic about his parents' cooking. He had longed for his father's famous donuts when he away at Vietnam. He could just taste the freshly fried sweet dough covered with chocolate glaze and washing it down with a glass of whole milk. He wouldn't admit this to his mother, who would call an exorcist on him, but he'd probably sell his soul to the Devil if he could munch on some freshly made pastries from his dad's bakery.

There is no point in complaining though, the thing masquarading as food is the Army's only sustenance for breakfast and while it tastes like hell, it does fill up his stomach, although it could be the work of the grease than any feeling of satisfaction. Once the hell on a platter is being slowly digested by his stomach, Cooper went back to the tent to get ready for his mission.

[Kassaran]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Captain Matthew Candle
September 29, 1971

---

The Captain shook his head looking at the slip of paper in his hand. There had been, at the last possible moment, a complete change of lineup for the leadership in his Recon Platoon. Something regarding Lieutenant Morgan and some family issues that had arisen back home and the young officer was being recalled from the frontline position. As much as the man had wanted to stay with his unit he'd been training with for the past month, there was nothing that the Captain could have done. Emergency leave offered, or in the most literal of terms, foisted upon the young lieutenant left the Recon Platoon now running without a current leader. In walked the answer as the Lieutenant from Alpha Company he'd been watching for some time, managed to time a perfect entrance.

"Danner, take a seat. I'm reassigning you as of thirty minutes ago."

The young man paused in his walk, almost mid-stride as he took in the entirety of what had just been said, and then slowly let his left foot return to the earth beneath him. The young man stood for a second, almost completely dumbstruck as the Captain raised a bemused eyebrow. The officer had been out of college less than a year before and OCS had offered a quick way into the upper ranks of the Army for him. His degree hardly mattered and from what the Captain figured, was mostly nonsense regarding anthropology. The need for good infantry officers had led to the young man receiving a commission and an assignment straight for Vietnam, which had shunted in favor of Kansas and the Unknown Zone when the GATE had opened. In the short, he was being taken off-guard entirely by it all and would have to hit the ground running or risk being a liability to his team in the field. The Lieutenant nodded somberly as he took the offered seat across from the Candle.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Lieutenant Morgan was recalled home due to extenuating personal issues which could not be countered or adjusted for. It was lucky enough for him that he was this side of the oceans when he did. In all, the responsibility is falling to you as a junior officer to lead the Recon mission now. If you're concerned in regards to your experience, just stick to Yantz. He's a good man and won't let you down if you don't get in his way."

Danner went to raise his hand to ask yet another question, when the Captain promptly stood up and moved around the desk, in his hand was grasped a packet of papers and a small parcel," If you have any more questions, this is the mission docket and briefing. You have the intent of the leadership here, and you have the details. I don't believe I need to fill you on much more than Morgan would have killed to have taken this job. Now you're going to have to fill his shoes for the time being. We'll rotate you out as soon as we can for someone trained for this role. Good luck Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant could only grab the packet of information as quickly as he could before standing back up and moving towards the door, his head pounding and his heart drumming to the tune. He hadn't expected to go into combat this soon, he had just been assigned to the company to replace those they'd lost in Astoria. Now, he'd be facing the enemy on the battlefield in little more than a glorified armored car. As he wound his way back to his tent, he took note of the open and empty officer's tent where Morgan had been just earlier this morning. He looked back down at the ruts and tracks worn into the dirt and mud, the narrow and winding passages through the tent city that was the officer's quarters gave little obstacle to the already oriented man. What did bring him to pause for yet a second time this day was the package he held in his hand. It was a small tin, something that bore a small label he'd never seen before. It was, almost disturbing, the very ink upon the box made his stomach turn over in him. The moment his eyes looked away from the device, he no longer felt the waves of nausea. Whatever this was, it had yet to prove useful, and Danner tucked it away in a chest pocket as he continued on his way to ready for his brief to his Sergeants.

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz
September 29, 1971

---

1140 Hours Local Time
As the brief finally concluded, the orders had come simple and the pre-brief he'd held with the Lieutenant just a few minutes prior had put him in a much less enviable position of understanding a little more behind their mission. For the most part, it was written so stupid-simple that he doubted anyone in the Platoon could mistake what the purpose of the sortie was going to be. Recon, force recon on that note. The recon APC's they'd been issued were the disastrous M114's that had flopped hard in Vietnam, but as many had pointed out in the motor-pool, seemed perfectly acquainted to the hardly tropical environment here in the Unknown Zone. Standing tall and looking about the room as the Lieutenant dismissed himself from the low-set dugout bunker that had doubled as the Platoon headquarter's building alongside most of the other platoons in Charlie Company, the man took particular note of those faces that seemed to register only confusion.

"Alright sergeants, listen up. Get your men together and get to your assigned vehicles. Lead element is going to be shipping out via Charlie-Five-Five. Everson, Finley, make sure you got the P-M-C-S done by the time we need to get out of here. Rally time will be at Fifteen-Hundred and Thirty hours in the Company Motorpool folks. Make sure you have your gear ready to go. Sergeant Fletcher, you will take Charlie Five-One-One; take One-Alpha with you. Sergeant Woh-Chee-Chow-Skee, you're taking One Bravo in Charlie-Five-One-Two. Sergeant Hess, take Two Alpha in Charlie-Five-Two-One and Corporal Paine, you'll be commanding Two Bravo from Charlie-Five-Two-Two."

As Yantz continued to run down the list assigning various others in Second Section to their vehicles, he couldn't help but get the feeling that something was off in regards to their current orders. As he caught yet another glance of the pictures on the board, now being cleaned up by one of the intelligence aides, there seemed to be a particularly large black ink-stain on a section of the picture. While it could have been passed off as simply a smear or large shadow, there was something off in the shape. The Sergeant turned his head back to face the rest of the room as the last Squad was assigned to it's vehicles," -and Corporal Gutierrez will take Four-Bravo in Charlie-Five-Four-Two. Convoy order will be as previously listed, make sure you stock up on a full tank and get extras set up. We're going to be moving quick and fast across rough and unimproved surfaces. Rules of Engagement sit as Weapons Yellow. Keep them loaded, but don't open fire unless they've become an immediate threat. Any suspicious lights, or glinting of metal or reflective surfaces needs to be taken with the utmost seriousness. Keep your trigger fingers clean and don't shoot anything you're not supposed to though. We're just pulling recon here. Any questions can be answered once we get to Rally Point Alpha, otherwise, Platoon! Dismissed!"

With just under five hours to ready whatever other gear they'd need, the platoon would be hard pressed to find time to relax now. Weapons drawn and ammunition allocated as needed, the quartermasters would no doubt be kept busy by the demands of the recon platoon as they pulled extra equipment for the remainder of their time. Anything and everything that wasn't bolted down and couldn't be folded was coming. Tents rolled and camouflage sourced from some of the wooden shipping crates that had been kept in the motor-pool since Day One. This was going to be the start of what no doubt would become a several weeks long mission if God allowed, and the chaplain found himself making the rounds and praying with several of the men willing to pledge themselves into the protection of their perceived creator. Meanwhile, beyond the wire and down the darkened, ashen-grey hillside and into the green hills that lay just beyond Janus, their end goal lay. Rally Point Hotel, a sizable settlement along the banks of river, hidden within a massive forest that no doubt had originally been built to hide from prying eyes on the ground. Much of the terrain no doubt was seen as impassable, but already some routes had been located approaching from the riverside that would enable an easy approach from what was determined an otherwise unprotected side of the settlement.

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Second Lieutenant Mitchell Danner
September 29, 1971

---

Charlie Company Motorpool, 1530 Hours Local Time
Walking to the front of the line of armored personnel carriers, the Lieutenant nodded approvingly, the sounds of their engines humming happily in the warm summer heat of the waning afternoon hours gave rise to the imagery of a line of war beasts, preparing to embark on some great journey. In many ways, this was to be a trip. RP Hotel sat a full two-hundred and thirty miles past the red line, and within the hundred-mile limit of his own convoy. His mission was relatively simple, yet unimaginably complex in its execution. As the saying went, some things were oft easier said than done, and the mission before him was no slouch of a responsibility either. The Plains of Cydonia to the East, as they had been apparently named by the locals, were going to be scouted out by one of the Armored battalions present while the mountains and body of water to the East were to be investigated by another Mechanized Infantry Unit. A lack of enemy forces to the south when the fighting first had broken out had relegated it to a secondary priority and aerial reconnaissance had returned little to no items of great import as of the moment. For everything the Army had learned of this new land though, it still stood on uncertain ground. The locals in the area had not had any positive interactions, if any at all, with the United States and it was unknown just how pervasive the aggressive and hostile disposition of the natives towards this invading Army were.

Initial projections through the intel boys had projected possible resistance from several local hamlets found along the river land to the East. This new settlement to the North, still along the river, but isolated within a remote area of a great forest had fostered some expectations of perhaps an information delay. If this was possible, then there would be a chance of gaining an early PR victory for the US here, and a score of significantly important information to obtain from reaching that location first. Still, a slight nagging feeling regarding the censored section of the recon photos had still brought an unease to the young officer's mind as he'd been giving the brief. He hadn't been given any information on what could be there, and the briefing offered no explanation. It was a dark zone, and he gave only a slight acknowledgement to the gravest of concerns that now sat buried in his mind. What lay in the missing section of the photograph?

Finally reaching his command vehicle as he let himself emerge from his thoughts, the sight of his Platoon Sergeant slinging himself up across the top of the APC and into the commander's hatch, where he took up a comfortable position inspecting the Browning mounted to the roof of the vehicle. There was, no doubt, a sort of fiery passion and intrigue that had been kept stoked in the heart of the older soldier all these years. It was almost admirable, having looked a little bit into the man's report. No doubt he would be of his own use during the extent of the action here in the Unknown Zone, but for now all that mattered was making it to Rally Point Hotel in one piece, and their first stop would be Rally Point Alpha, just fifteen miles outside of Janus, in the groves that lay untouched by artillery fire somehow throughout the entire last month.

Inquisitor Markus de Ordo Angelus Ultor
Imperial City of Italica, Province of Formal, Empire
13th Year of Emperor Molt Sol Augustus

---

"Count Formal, you must understand the situation in which you currently stand. Your father died on the field of battle, and your unwillingness to join him, has led to your ascending the Duchy. As many throughout the region have noted, this is an impressive power-grab for one such as yourself, I think you can appreciate the suspicions of our Order. No?" The sharp eyes of the man in Imperial-crested plate armor stood alone, but not without support as nearby a Centurion and several dozen men in the armor of the Order of the Avenging Angel. The Empire had no need for such treachery as had been suspected of the now titled Count Formal. The popular perspective, no doubt lay on the shoulders of the young man for no reason other than a desire to obtain the seat of power in the namesake province of the young man's family, but Count Formal had been taking in the Inquisitor's accusations with little physical reaction. In fact, the bored, almost lackadaisical yawn that now parted the Count's lips and forced a reactionary stretch throughout the rest of his body gave rise to a murmur of outrage. A hand extended from the seemingly lazy ruler gave the Inquisitor insight into just how the man had maintained order as several of his nearby guards tightened their grips on their spears. A small lance of flame erupted from the Count's index finger and licked up at the air feet from the Inquisitor.

"To accuse one in such a station as mine is something I do not appreciate. You know full well as I do, the careless whispering and mutterings of drunken fools and envious cowards brought you here. No doubt, the gaudy display of power you show in bringing half a Cohors into my city, has only served to stoke the flames of their wandering eyes."

A sharp glare from the Count to the crowd of several nobles which had, up to now, remained motionless during this encounter," Any of you wish to explain the circumstances regarding my absence from the field of battle, in that your gossip has brought the eyes of the Inquisition upon my head and estate, or shall I offer him yours for wasting the time of nobility?"

A slight stir of excitement amongst the nobles brought a confused and somewhat panicked state to the general crowd in the room that lacked armor or standing to remain fearless in this situation. The Inquisitor let a smirk cross his lips as he shifted his weight onto the spear he'd kept light until now. Leaning on the device of his station, he found that little more would likely need to be investigated as the Count let the display of magical power and affinity curl back into the aether. The power he held was indeed great, and it was true that the Inquisitor already knew much behind the story as to the Count's absence from Alnus, but it still didn't explain the reason for the withholding of so many troops either. At least, it wasn't until the second messenger during the decicron-long meeting came running in through the doors," My apologies sir, urgent news from Canu and Iridan!"

"Rise and be recognized, divulge the tidings you bear aloud, so that I might not be charged of withholding information from the Nobility or the Inquisition," a coy glance inn the direction of the Inquisitor who now was standing once again at attention as he cast a sidelong glance at the Count before fixing the young messenger boy squarely in his gaze again. The boy looked confusedly between the Inquisitor and the Count before carrying on.

"Canu reports smoke in the West! The great flickering of fires has been spotted moving across the wood, slinking about at the dead of night, but sighted by the town guard on a particularly darkened night last decinight! Of the Iridan settlement, a rise inn bandits found prowling the roads, sighted by guards from the village proper have brought some disturbance to those travelling the road. The crest of Empire lays upon their devices and it is believed they abandoned the armies at Alnus! The elder knows not why, but rumors of a great defeat at the Sacred Hill have brought whispers of great unrest to the townsfolk and he wishes an audience with you at the soonest time available!"

The face of the Inquisitor darkened at the mention of Alnus. The news of what had happened had not yet been disseminated to the nobles of the land and Empire stood weakest now in the loss of the Generals that had carried out the attack through the GATE. Some great conflagration had consumed most of their forces beyond the Gate and even worse, the hill had been lost when demons from the other side had come through. The Count's eyes darted to the Inquisitor, an eyebrow raised inquisitively in the irony that the Inquisitor knew he was soon to be questioned regarding his own knowledge in this. If the Order cared so much about the nobility as they did the enemy Empire now faced, perhaps the war effort would have gone easier, but alas the corruption that riddled the ranks of the royalty required such meticulous, if not tedious moderation and investigation into constant accusations of illegal activity. As the messenger was dismissed to go rest, the Inquisitor finally spoke up, turning to the Count and matching him word for word," I need to speak with you."

The synchronicity of their voices led to an audible stop in all motion and discussion in the court of the Count as all action was seized. A nod was all the gesture needed to dismiss the Inquisitor from his station at the foot of the throne's stage in the courtroom, and as the members of the Formal faction were dismissed, the Inquisitor approached, hearing the words he'd been dreading most since the arrival of the messenger," Tell me of Alnus, and of what rumors he speaks. Your discomfort was greatly noted by my eyes, and do not lie to me as you understand the penalty of dishonesty before royalty."

"As you wish my liege."

So began the many hours long explanation and recantation of the events on Alnus, many weeks ago, and in regards to the devils that now walked the Holy Hill. Time would only tell when they would descend upon the rest of the land, and the Inquisitor had to admit, not even he was sure they could be repelled at this point as the Count took everything to heart and dismissed the man at the end of it all. Times had become dark indeed, and storm clouds now gathered over the riverside city, the garden of Formal and the crossroads of Empire.

[Independent States of Tula]

Camp Janus, Unknown Zone
Corporal Ethan Paine
29 September, 1971

Charlie Company Motorpool, 1530 Hours Local Time

The earlier briefing had been simple...very simple, and in Paine's experience that meant one of two things. Either the higher ups on this one wanted to trust the platoon's initiative, unlikely considering the last minute change of Platoon Leader from a seasoned combat veteran to a boot, or no one had any idea what was to be expected out there and so had not the faintest clue what to plan for. Considering they were the recon platoon, Paine thought the latter option was more likely, which for him wasn't much of anything new...though the fact that the higher ups didn't make a bullshit plan based on baseless assumptions was a refreshing change of pace. Looking around the crew compartment of the vehicle simply known as C522, Paine took note of the looks on the faces of his support fireteam, his second was a Hawaiian Specialist by the name of Henry Perez who specialized in fighting in close combat (something that Ethan knew would be useful if the enemy ever closed in on his fireteam while it provided supporting fire for the rest of the Platoon), his assistant was a black Private First Class from Ohio named Benjamin Greenwald who carried extra belts of ammunition and a spare barrel in case Ethan melted his first, and the last man in the team was a white southern Private ammunition bearer from Texas by the name of Jason Lee, he carried even more belts and the M122 tripod for the M60.

This wouldn't be Ethan's first time commanding men, though it was his first time commanding these men. He didn't know them well, having been a last minute transfer to the Platoon at his own request, only a few conversations here and there. What he did know was that while Perez had fought in Tet much like Ethan himself, the other two members of his team were complete boots, and the nervous looks those men held more than confirmed it as Ethan's gaze passed them over.

"Alright guys, this is it, feeling excited? Nervous?" Ethan asked rhetorically as the rear ramp of the M114 closed with a hydraulic whine, covering the crew compartment in darkness aside from a few small lights in the ceiling above, "Good, that means you're alive, anything you're feeling right now is just alright."

Ethan paused and looked around at the faces of his team before continuing, "We're going up against a bunch of natives with spears and shields, we've got rifles, machine guns, grenades, hell we even have an autocannon on one of these metal boxes, this mission will be a piece of cake. We go in, meet a few locals, kill them if they need killing, and map the place as we go. It's just that simple guys, now that doesn't mean I want you all going off half-cocked out there, we still got ROE we gotta follow...but don't take any unnecessary risks, just do what I tell you and we'll all come back to Camp Janus in one piece. Hoorah?"

"Hoorah!" The others echoed in unison, Ethan just smiled at that, no matter what came at them they'd do what needed to be done.

[Kassaran]

Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz
September 29, 1971

---

1600 Hours Local Time
The sound of the APC's outside must have been deafening, the notion of which only faintly came to the mind of Sergeant Yantz as he sat in his seat, looking around the space. There was supplies and maps, and charts. Spread out all across the seats, he could see the general plan and layout of the area and the redline which sat at Rally Point alpha, almost thirty minutes away. The site had been reporting sporadic movement amongst the locals, but the dense tree line and the position of the small observation camp negated the ability of local attack helicopters to move in and secure the area. Napalm tanks and Artillery canister shots had leveled much of the ground around the muddied and ruined earth of Hill 001, but as the drive continued and the Serfeant looked at the landscape around them change, he noticed the small sprouting of minor plants and weeds that had quickly retaken root in the upturned and disturbed battleground. Laid strewn across the road and the fields along the worn set of dirt ruts in the ground were the bodies of still dozens of decaying and rotting corpses. Bodies lay mangled as a testament to the sheer power of the military action that had occurred only a few weeks prior.

Keying over the radio as the convoy began to near the camp, the Sergeant put out the new orders for the convoy. While the Command APC had been safe enough at the lead of the convoy, the lead would be taken now by Charlie 511, commanded by Sergeant Fletcher while the Command Vehicle took a middling position to enable more precise radio communications. One of the M114's with Second Section had begun to suffer some radio communications' trouble and were switching between short-range relays along the drive and High-Freq communications when that didn't suffice. With a technical issue so early in the expedition, it no doubt would be indicative of the theme of the remainder of the operation. The intrusive pessimism cultivated over a career in the Army reared its head yet again for Yantz as he described the issue over the communications. When he finished, he put the hand-microphone back on the small lip it had attached to so conveniently during the duration of the trip.

He cast a look down towards Finley, manning the radio equipment he'd been so dutifully attending to. The man was barely concealing within a small sack carefully placed upon one of the crew storage nets the small bundle of fur which seemed to always accompany him. There was a moment that Yantz debated whether or not the man knew of his small friend accompanying them, but decided that it was better not to ask. He'd just pretend he hadn't seen it. The Lieutenant was already in deep and seemed to be ardently studying a whole sheaf of paperwork he'd obtained sometime between the brief and the sortie time from the motorpool back at Janus. As the bumping and jostling of the tracked carriage came to a stop though by a series of small, dug-out pillboxes and a hastily camouflaged net in the shade of an old-oak tree, the young officer was quickly stuffing the intel reports back into a satchel and securing it within a special lock-box.

"Showtime sir, I think I can see Corporal Havelston now, coming down from the Command Post."

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
First Lieutenant Danner, Mitch
September 29, 1971

---

1830 Hours Local Time
"Showtime sir, I think I can see Corporal Havelston now, coming down from the Command Post."

The voice of the Sergeant brought the young man's head snapping up, his helmet nearly slamming into an errant sack that sat strangely low over his head as he finished stowing away the rest of his gear. This was it, he had been told about the sporadic reports of enemy infantry movement in this wooded area roughly fifteen miles just north of the camp, but he'd actually be in close contact with the enemy now. His chest felt heated with anxiety as he took a deep breath to cool himself down and calm his nerves. The fumes of the APC filled his lungs and he felt his throat burning from the acrid smoke that now seemed to be gathering about the cabin as the idling war machine he'd chosen as his mount now began to wallow in it's own ichor. Stooping as he got up to avoid an obstacle just out of the corner of his eye, he opened the rear door to the M113 and moved out, securing the straps to his officer's pistol holster and the M1911 it held within. The world was much brighter here, the green hues of the wilderness were a welcome contrast to the browns and blacks of the scorched earth all around Hill 001.

Coming down the grassy knoll that Rally Point Alpha now occupied, the double stripes of a corporal revealed the leader of the small outpost on the fringes of Army-occupied territory. While the command post was lightly fortified, the single long, gun-metal grey barrel that protruded ever so slightly from the camouflaged tent betrayed the presence of Ma Deuce. The Lieutenant smiled kindly as the young man, possibly his age, walked up with M16 in hand. Coming to rest near the Lieutenant, the Corporal adjusted his helmet which was currently unstrapped and lightly cocked to the side. A series of white markings on the side in an unknown language led to Danner's right eyebrow climbing his sweating forehead.

"I don't think I've seen that writing before, it got a name?"

The dirty and mud-stained nametape which identified Corporal Havelston suitably represented the rest of the man. Grease and dirt caked the man's face, but it was about as good as camouflage as one could ask for out here," It's old Gaelic, sir. You would be Lieutenant Danner I presume? I heard you got transferred in for Ell-Tee Morgan. A shame about that, but we've got the reports you likely need up at the See-Pee. If you don't mind, I'm sure the trees have eyes off in the distance, but we haven't had an arrow fly our way since day one. Ma taught 'em straight about that mistake."

The proud beaming of the young man led to a reciprocated expression on the Lieutenant's as he nodded and began to proceed up the way towards the Command Post, gesturing for Sergeant Yantz to accompany him. Casting a look over his shoulder, he called back towards Sergeant Fletcher," Sergeant Fletcher! Have your men pull into defensive positions for now and start setting up camp. We're here to help pull security for the night until they can get a small mechanized unit out here in the morning. I want organized two-hour watch shifts of four men each throughout the night. Work with Second Section to get it done."

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz
September 29, 1971

---

"That'll be that then", Yantz muttered to himself, nodding towards his two section Sergeant to get it done. There wasn't much else to say and they were being given lawful orders. If they were to camp for the night, no doubt camp intelligence expected something to be happening soon. No doubt the convoy was to act as a show of force to try and dissuade any ideas. As he followed Lieutenant Danner into the tent, he couldn't help but pull one last glance back at the convoy, now slowly moving into positions around the base of the rise, the shadow of the lone oak tree at the top starting to wear long across the green and golden grass of the area around and inching towards the woodline that sat to the northeast.

Lifting the fold of the tent as he entered it, the smell of cordite, sweat, and fuel couldn't help but pierce the seasoned veteran's nose as he cast a quick look around and identified the source of the low rumbling noise present. A small, and incredibly underwhelming, gas generator was sitting in the corner. Likely turned on for the time needed to send back the Status Report that was due back at Janus in about a half an hour, he'd been in the communication's tent one night to listen to the daily reports. Just another duty like the rest to watch over the Joes doing their work while their Sergeants took the chance to get some food for their squads. In spite of some of the reports coming in during the middle of what sounded to be terrible gunfights, everyone had sounded remarkably calm in the command tent. It was almost unnerving to think that some of these men had heard the last words some of the men on the other end would ever say.

"- and as you can see here and here sir, at the base of the hill we've got an array of foxholes dug, your men should be able to take up cover there. They offer plenty of cover and once we throw the boards over them, the arrows just get stuck trying to penetrate. We've not taken too much contact here, but the reports say that the enemy has been probing our lines this past week. Something's got 'em all spooked. I don't know what could get into them to drive them back towards us, but I doubt it's anything I'd like to deal with."

The Lieutenant was now looking thoughtfully at a diagram and series of sketches which were no doubt the sector sketches of the AO for Rally Point Alpha. Turning his head towards Yantz slightly, he motioned the senior warrior over to look at the map. Within moments, Yantz could see something which disturbed him, but the Lieutenant seemed to already have been on it, gauging the concerned expression play out over Yantz's face before turning back to the Corporal. Straightening up, he pointed across a series of lines drawn between the woodline and the nearest foxhole at the base of the hill," What are those, and why aren't there foxholes in a whole 360 around the base of this hill Corporal?"

"Sir, we were instructed to leave a hole in the foxholes, intel says we're least likely to take fire from that direction and with limited manpower, we were advised not to expend too much energy further fortifying our position. With our current set-up though, nothing can emerge from the woodline unless we permit it to. Most of this should be resolved when the rest of Highwayman Company arrives here. This is going to be Staging Point Alpha for Highwayman into the North." The Corporal spoke matter-of-factly, but the point that he made in mentioned he'd been instructed to leave an obvious vulnerability in his defenses like that was something that made the officer feel uneasy.

"Have you been maintaining the barbed wire along the perimeter?" The nod from the Corporal made the Lieutenant's eyes narrowed. Something was off in how the defenses had been set up, but he couldn't quite yet put a finger on it. Regardless, he had the benefit of an entire APC recon column and it gave him great comfort to consider the firepower options available to him for it. A final nod towards Yantz and the Lieutenant stretched out his hand," Alright, well let's see the reports."

"The reports-" the Corporal looked around for a second. Yantz took a moment to appraise the cleanliness of the workspace that no doubt had been serving as the Corporal command table, or moreover the lack of such order and cleanliness. Papers were scattered all across it alongside brass cartridges and .50 caliber machine gun rounds out of their belts. Likely spare rounds from belts that had been used up, but not enough to signify any major firefights had happened earlier. Pressed into the now dead grass underfoot was the faint glinting of metal likewise pressed into the soft ground during some earlier skirmish against scout forces from the Empire military.

"Aha, here it is sir!" The Corporal finally managed to find a series of papers that had been at one point likely paper-clipped together, but now were being held together by a mixture of sweat and mud at the corner. As the Lieutenant peeled apart the report in a slow and methodical fashion, Yantz allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips. The Lieutenant soon enough was looking at the SITREP and a slight look of concern evolved into even more worried anxiety. Turning over the sheets to Yantz, he looked at the information written upon and then back at Danner. If this information was right, then Bandit had likely shown up just in the nick of time.

2130
"Alright Fletcher, so your men goinng on right now, tell them to keep their watch around the east side of the camp. Apparently this location has a built-in fail point. We've got 513 supporting that gap right now, but they'll be useless if the enemy infantry push up on them without being stopped or halted. We're going to also have everyone up and standing by at 0430 tomorrow morning, ready for contact and standing-to. There's good intel that Empire soldiers are going to try some bullshit while we're just getting up in the morning. Apparently it's ritual around here that the main defensive gun fires every morning at 0600. The Lieutenant believes that there's a strong chance the enemy will try to charge our weak-spot at that point under the guise of a full-on attack to the front while a smaller force tries to infiltrate our lines."

The old Platoon Sergeant looked down at the papers he had in front of himself on the camp stool between Fletcher and Hernandez, the Second Section Sergeant. Charts and graphs placed the support position as a circle at the center of the papers, with two small rectangles off-centered to either side just above it signifying the foxholes, and at the very top of the page, a series of lines representing the wood-line. A looping line around the top, left, and bottom of the circle represented the various barbed wire barriers present. The right side was notably barren. Now written into that emptiness was a small rectangle with the letter C and a 5-3-1 scrawled over it in pen. Other rectangles with similar notes scrawled across them denoted the various other vehicle's in the scout platoon currently in secure positions around the base of the hill.

"Either of you got questions, because if not, we need to get our preparations done and get to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a helluva fuckin' morning."

[The Twelve Isles]

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
Specialist James Henry Barrow (Jimmy)
September 29, 1971

Jimmy sat in his foxhole, his back pressed up against the dirt wall and his helmet low over his eyes. He looked rumpled, and his chin was a little whiskery, giving him the appearance of a pile of used military gear rather than the actual soldier who was wearing it. Jimmy didn't care much however. He had never cared much about things like that. It was a little chillier than he was a fan of, and he wanted to get a blanket, but his pride kept him from doing it. If any of the other soldiers saw him bundling up in some sixty odd degree weather, he would never hear the end of it. He zipped his flak jacket up however, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible. He never thought he would say it, but he missed the temperature of Vietnam. He inhaled on his cigarette, cupping his free hand around the ember to try and block as much of the light it created as possible.

Jimmy sucked on his cigarette like a baby, taking in as much of the smoke as possible and working hard for a good head rush. Beyond the Gate did not have the grass he had learned to oh so much while in country, and so he would have to make due with cigarettes. He hated the nasty little things, but at least they kept his hands busy. As he breathed in the smoke, Jimmy sniffed, and stuck his head over the edge of the foxhole, making sure to keep his ember below it. He couldn't see anything, but wished he could. He was bored. Or he wished it was daytime, and he was back in base so he could play his guitar. Anything to break the monotony. With a disappointed sigh, Jimmy ducked his head back down, and stubbed his cigarette out on his boot. It was only half finished, but he had had enough. His mouth felt like an ashtray now. Taking the little box of Marlboro's from his helmet, Jimmy stuck the cigarette back in for later. He put the cigarettes back in his helmet, before putting his hand on his rifle and leaning back again. He just hoped there would be something happening tonight. Even if it was just someone breaking their foot, at the very least that would give him something to do.

[The Russian Nations]

Rally Point Alpha,Unknown Zone.
Rifle Specialist Michael Cooper.
9/29/1971.

Michael sat there bored,usually scratching his E-Tool,during his days in Vietnam,he left the E-Tool in the rain for 6 hours,when he went to get it,he discovered what happened with disappointment in his eyes,he was nicknamed 'Rusty Corpo' due to his rusty E-Tool,he casually sat down on the dirt ground with a sharp rock in one hand,entrenching tool on the other,normally he would go around and have a walk,but no,this place,maybe even a whole new world,was filled to the brim with danger. there were possibly enemies who would try and ambush us at the night,in Vietnam he heard of one person,an unfortunate rifleman get abducted by charlie and days later they found his body mangled and bloodstained,to this day that story haunts him,sometimes it would prohibit him from sleeping,imagining what those people could have done to the unfortunate man,he shrugged and continued scratching his entrenching tool,he noted that it was cold,very cold.

Michael wasn't really a fan of cold,he once got sick after playing in the rain once,and he never heard the end of it from his family when he decides to go out in that type of weather,to combat the cold weather beyond the damned gate,he opened his kool cigarette pack and lighted one,closing the pack and extinguishing his lighter so that any fire hazard would be safe from it,he stuffed the cigarette in his mouth,exhaling the smoke that would come with it after being lit,he turned his head up as if he noticed something,but quickly shrugged it off.

"If it wasn't for..." he was thinking of a way to describe the people who possibly opened the gate "Them,i would be in peace,though i could be called a.." he stopped for a second,thinking of the best way to imply the word "N,yeah,N,i really hate it when people do that to me,but hey,'Rusty Corpo' would be better than N anyway." he said. he stopped scratching his E-Tool to take a rest,but he had to finish his cigarette first before he could sleep,so he sat there tired but with a cigarette stuffed in his mouth,if he choked on the cigar while sleeping,that would spell his end,he took off his cap to look at it,spinning it on his index finger a few times before stopping,he had nothing to do other than spin his own hat around.

[Independent States of Tula]

Camp Janus, Rally Point Alpha
Corporal Ethan Paine
29 September, 1971

The weather was rather nice for Ethan, the sixty-odd degrees fairing him far better than the blistering humidity of Vietnamese jungles. Some of the others might have had problems but for Ethan this was about as nice as it got up in Vermont. Currently the Corporal leading 2-Bravo was checking the barbed wire marking out the perimeter's edge at 0130 degrees, just slightly in the North-Northeasterly direction for those who didn't know their degrees. He and Specialist Cooper, who'd been a last minute replacement for Perez once they'd arrived at Rally Point Alpha for some bureaucratic shit or other, were currently on guard duty as they kept eyes peeled on their section of the perimeter. Apparently the enemy was likely to attack, and considering Paine's support fireteam were the most easterly unit of section one, the section one unit therefore closest to the "intentional" gap in the Rally Point's defenses, that meant they were the first line of defense against the enemy if said enemy had enough brains to assault that section of the perimeter.

With a sigh Ethan muttered, "Fucking Roman bastards won't know what'll hit them when my little piggie gets her fill."

After confirming that the barbed wire hadn't been sabotaged by enemy sappers in the night Ethan began his trek back to the defensive fighting positions, his M60 still cradled in his arms like one would cradle a baby. He walked forward idly, as if he had all the time in the world, and in a way he did. This wasn't Vietnam, it wasn't like a sniper could shoot him from a hidden perch in the undergrowth of the jungle five hundred meters away. No, if the enemy wanted to take a shot, then they'd need to get damn close to do it, and if they did that...well Ethan's pig would have more than enough to say about that. After a minute or two of his idle strolling back Ethan found himself in front of his section's foxhole, which if Ethan was being honest was well made along with the others.

Deep enough for only a soldier's eyes to look over the crest unless they were on the firing step which got them into a proper position to fire at whatever was in front of them, and wide enough for two men to have relative comfort in sharing it, the foxholes seemed to be built by the book. Ethan had even noticed the grenade sumps within his foxhole, something he had found amusing considering the enemy didn't have grenades and the positions were covered with timber so rain couldn't get in anyway...but it was a feature he respected nonetheless, it showed attention to detail that most soldiers would've just ignored to save themselves the extra work.

However, for Ethan that was enough admiring of dirt holes, as he came around the back of the hole where some ad-hoc steps helped one enter. As he came in he noticed the hole was already occupied by Specialist Cooper, Paine's newest replacement, Paine shot the rifleman a grin before settling himself against the left-most wall of the foxhole, giving him a view that went as far east as the defensive position allowed. Lifting up his M60, Ethan positioned it on the left side of the foxhole's viewport so that this too would have the easternmost arc that the position provided. Nodding at the sight line, Ethan let the machine gun rest on its bipod and buttstock, in easy reach if the enemy assaulted before looking back over to the specialist.

"You look tired Specialist, not going to pass out on me are you?" Ethan asked half-jokingly, taking off his helmet and revealing his buzzcut hair as he rested the piece of equipment on the floor of the foxhole, his head more than protected enough from the timber roof above their heads.

[Nations United for Conquest]

Alnus Hill, Unknown Zone
Staff Sergeant Rainier Fletcher
September 29. 1971

---

For a long time the Staff Sergeant remained sitting there, his eyes fixated on the paper and the drawing that had been etched their by his hands sometime before, his glance ,ongoing at it with some yet unforeseen desire and thoughts. It was perhaps nostalgic in a way, though those were hardly the right words and the man would likely be scornful to hear someone assume the circumstances of his meeting with the subject of the drawing were ones that someone would look back on as they would the celebrations of a birthday or the fireworks shown in their home town during the summers long and cool nights. No, this feeling was one that could not be expressed by the man, for the fact that he did not understand it was true, but rather because he couldn't understand the meaning behind the feelings. One can easily decided what the feelings of anything are, whether they be man or anime; alive or long since pasts; real or imaginary, but to understand the meaning of these; what lies behind them and what makes their origin is a skill that few poses. Especially when talking about their own feelings. It is not something that can so easily be gathered by a merger glance, or through the superficial feeling of 'mutual experience' as some might wish to call it. It was something all on it's own, and it was this that perplexed the man for he had no way of understanding what the image meant to him, why he was drawn to it. There was no feeling of deep seated unrest in his gut as he had no doubt felt in the initial stages of the encounter. One could easily pick out those feelings; the feelings of dread, mystery, and all that comes with an unknown and terribly powerful force beyond our comprehensions. But those were of course shared feelings, and not specific feelings. They were drawn to these so called 'mutual experiences' and lacked depth, just as does the mutual experience, for it has none of the finer details that make for an experience worth partaking in. It was the same as assuming one could play baseball simply because he had thrown a ball at one point; that they could be an umpire because they had watched a game before, and while true to an extent, it was still a superficial idea in the end, and an null point. Especially to the man who was aware of such experiences.

Though, it would seem the man did not have the time to reflect on such things, for there was a call to leave the mess hall no sooner than he had taken his seat, as it would appear things had begun to move and the man was left with nothing but a grunt and a quick thought of his terrible luck; a fallacy at most though and not one that was directed anywhere. Anywhere important, at least, that was. Instead he simply gathered that of which was his, only being the notebook, and returned it to the pouch in which it had been carried before. Tucked deep into the pocket of his pouch and with all materials tucked away he made for the area outside of the mess tent, following just after the Sergeant and the younger man who had been having a bit of a conversation, though in relation was much more of a scolding on behalf of the Sergeant to his junior, and avoiding making any conversation with them, as they had with him and each other. The trio moved in solemn steps, not particularly worried about moving at some great pace as if there was a prize to be had for arriving first, though surely there was a punishment for last place, and lacking the energy for what was no doubt to come. One might leave that up to the experience of the older men of the trio, or simply due to the nature of the day for it was particular hot even in the early morning hours; the heat of the midday and early afternoon still several hours off from their current time of the day, but it was in fact a subconscious reasoning for why the men did not rush. There was no explanation save for the fact that it had happened. Perhaps it might own to the fact that one does not rush to school on the day of midterms, or perhaps that you only speed to work when late, and the trio was far from it, but it was a fallacious argument no matter what way you took it and asking would have resulting in a strong telling off from the two men and a look of indifference from the third man. But what could one expect. The heat has hard and the men in no mood to spend time in the cramped confines of the armored vehicles they would be calling their home for however long it would take to reach the objective. Not a thought that sat in high regard in the mind of the Staff Sergeant and likely a sediment that was to be held by his companions walking a few paces ahead of himself.

Eventually the group had arrived at the motor pool; a small section of the tarmac that was always filled to the brim with nothing aside from vehicles of slal shapes, sizes and role. There were Pattons in all sorts of configurations laying about, some with longer barrels and others with shorter ones; the latter belong to the engineers on base and apparently used to some great effect during the opening battles of the hill, though the Staff Sergeant had not had the luck of having any assist with his operations, and he passed by them with a look of indifference, as if they're being being there meant little to him outside of the fact that it was extra room taken up. Elsewhere there were some jeeps, much like one that Sergeant Coleman had used earlier to 'rescue' him from the outer areas of the base and bring him back to what would be considered civilization before he would be forced to depart from it once again. Though the real spectacle on display were of course the several large box like vehicles, possessing treads, and with larger guns sticking out from their flat and angular tops. They were the vehicle that anyone on base would easily recognize. For better or worse. Armored Personnel Carriers, and the sight of which caused a sigh to escape from the Sergeant's lips revealing himself to his compatriots gathered around. He paid it no mind and instead gave off a nod towards the Captain and found his place among his men and settled in to listen to the new set of orders that were about to be rattled off.

"Alright sergeants, listen up. Get your men together and get to your assigned vehicles. Lead element is going to be shipping out via Charlie-Five-Five. Everson, Finley, make sure you got the P-M-C-S done by the time we need to get out of here. Rally time will be at Fifteen-Hundred and Thirty hours in the Company Motor Pool folks. Make sure you have your gear ready to go. Sergeant Fletcher, you will take Charlie Five-One-One; take One-Alpha with you. Sergeant Woh-Chee-Chow-Skee, you're taking One Bravo in Charlie-Five-One-Two. Sergeant Hess, take Two Alpha in Charlie-Five-Two-One and Corporal Paine, you'll be commanding Two Bravo from Charlie-Five-Two-Two."

As the men scrambled about the area to gather their gear and report to their vehicles, the Staff Sergeant paused for a moment, surveying the scene around his and stroking his chin; his hand being caught up against a bit of grey stub that had begun to form for it has likely been sometime since his last shave. If he truly thought about it, it likely wasn't that long ago, but the man's thoughts were elsewhere and a simple humming noise was all that escaped from his lips as he looked about the scene around him. Men had thrown their gear upon their backs and we're hiring for their assigned vehicles in complete disarray; men everywhere and pushing each other slightly to get the best worst seat in the Vehicle that they would call there home for however long they were to, and would likely be some amount of time that the Staff Sergeant did not even want to think about; a train of thought that should never leave station in his mind. Instead, he nearly threw the weight of his own things upon his back; a small green back back that carried most of his kit and other gear that he would need out beyond the wire and walls of the Base on Alnus Hill and that of his rifle, for everything else including his pare was already stored within the Vehicle by the ground crews who were in charge of servicing the Beast. He simply coughed up a light chuckle to himself musing that he had seen the exact same seen before somewhere as you'd expect out of some sitcom on the television, and threw himself through the commander's hatch of the beasts. Popping with in for a moment, he took inventor of the beast, checking to see if the men had found their way into the belly of the beast, so to speak, before giving out the order that they were to move out.

Rally Point Alpha, Uknown Zone
Staff Sergeant Rainier Fletcher
September 29. 1917

---

There was a familiar and distance growling noise that had begun to rise up from the south of the hill, long past where the elements of the Recon Platoon and those on the hill whom they were to reinforce rested. Far from the shitly built foxholes and other defensive positions that littered the crest and the long thins line of metal sparkling in the light of the afternoon's sun that fell about a short distance from the wood line. Far away from the men clad in their strange green uniforms that were busily scrambling about the hill, departing from their metal beast and falling all about the hilltop; mixing with those who had been there beforehand and were about their own business, whether it be resting, digging, or walking about the long thin lines of metal that rested some distance from the crest of the hill top. It was a long growling and howling noise that slowly descended upon the upper reaches of the hill like a large tidal wave an absorbed everything in its path, converting it in a thick coat of raspy and animistic howling that drowned out even the groans of metal resonating from the many metal beasts that had called the hilltop their temporary home. As it descended upon the strange green men it left with it a turbulent bout of wind that pushed through the leave filled branches of the trees causes them to rustle as they moved back and forth upon their branches, rubbing against one another; pushing the long grasses that surrounded the hill and the accompanying lands all about like waves of the ocean in periodic movements, sweeping across the long fields with a sharper pitched rustling than was felt about the branches of the trees. Finally it reached the crest of the hill where a wave of coolness fell about the men, and most paused for a moment to enjoy the bountiful release from the heat of the day and weariness inflected by their work in such heat, before it passed off again into the distance carrying with it the coolness and returning the air to the state it had before. Slowly the men too returned towards their work, the moment of relief now passed, though they no doubt eagerly awaited the next release. It wasn't a terribly hot day and was relatively temperate, or rather warm in comparison to where many of the men had been just a few weeks prior to arriving. A spring refrain to their humid and sickly summers and rainy seasons within dense foreign jungles of a land as much a mystery to them as the one they stood in at present. Though if one were to pose the question most would undoubtedly say they prefer this world's mystery to that of the one they had arrived from. Perhaps, there was a romantic quality to the whole situation, though more likely than not it was a simple matter of the conditions. Nothing as debatable as national pride or some duty, revenge, avenging, or anything of the sort, but rather a motive that lay in the work before them. Or perhaps it more had to do with the state of the world. One could never be too sure.

Though for the time being it would seem that their thoughts would be forced to be left up for some discussion on another day, for their was still much work to be done, something clear from but the simplest of glances about the area. There was an increased number of metal beast of the green men than there had been before hand, increased to perhaps double with the arrival of the Recon Platoon and her forced to the crest of that rounded hill top. Elsewhere a number of divots in the ground had been made all around the perimeter. They were simple devices and rightfully so for they had to be dug in an instant and with the simplest of tools at that; a shovel and one's own hands, sometimes not even. They were fairly well built, being perhaps a few feet within the earth and possessing a number of lightly colored bags that had been stacked about the perimeter and crest of the pit, as to provide it with additional cover while saving the strength of those who were to build it; little nooks carefully planned as to allow the barrels of the men's rifles to fit seamlessly into these positions and use they as effective firing beds should the need arise, and finally capped off with a few inch thick piece of plywood upon their tops. The addition of the plywood was no doubt a curious one to those who did not understand the true circumstances of the operation at hand, for most would assume and rightfully so that such a piece of wood would do little against the rounds of hot steel leaving the barrels of the rifles that all men carried and doing less against the explosive rounds that fell from the sky, launched by the tube of some mortar unseen. However, those that understood the true nature of the situation would see the boons that such a piece of wood would no doubt provide to them, for the enemy was an uncommon one and archaic in his weapons and tactics. It took little to repel the basic weapons of the enemy, and the plywood surfaced plenty to accomplish such a task and considering the many notches and cuts that had found themselves etched unto the surfaces of these boards, easily seen from a simple glance from afar, they were invaluable to the men. However, a certain quality was lacking and for those who had experienced a great number of things, as the Staff Sergeant had, and as many other had as well, there was a feeling of unease that came across the learned and experienced man;s gut.

At first glance, perhaps it was not the most clear thing to see and one might not blame you if you were forced to look a few times at the hill before such a realization were to fall upon you. Among the many section of the perimeter there was one that was perhaps not as bounty full in it's defenses as those that flanked it on any given side, there in actuality only being two flanks, but rested the same verdict of the situation nonetheless. Upon the eastward most reach of the perimeter their lay a certain section that had been neglected by those who occupied it to a point of allowing it to fall in disarray. Yet, it was not the existence of such a gap in the protective lines of the hill top crest that was cause for the fallacy in the defenses but rather the reasoning that were behind it. It was not some section of the rings that was subject to something impassable or unusable, for it was of the same earth and terrain as all that around it; there was no rise or divide in it, no sand that seeks to entrap all those who walked upon it, not rocks full of points that would force all but those of feet of the toughest leather to avoid, nor was it obstructed by some form impassable or unavoidable. Rather, it was that it was allowed to happen that was the cause for some concern and the issue that made men's stomachs twist and turn with the thoughts of such a position existing. It was if someone had crafted a fine table, yet had only sanded down three of the four legs, claiming some feeble excuse of the positioning of the leg relative to room to ignore it. A craftsman of any worth does not leave a job unfinished for any reason that can be rectified, and even goes as far to rectify those that seem out of his power to do so, yet the gap in the lines remained. Even the defenses were poor, for while the other fox holes were plentiful in their size, the lone pair of foxholes sat shallow and without the protection of any blocks of plywood nor the many bags filled to their brim with earth and positioned in the way as to lend to the defense of the position. There was the absence of much of the silver metallic wire that stretched on all about the lower portions of the hill in it's maze like patterns and further lack of any of the great metal beasts to watch over it with their stunning tubes of steel with breathed forth the most terrible of destructive fire upon all that lay in their way.

Yet, before any action was to be taken by the disturbed Staff Sergeant there was a voice falling upon the wind and over the din of the many motors and other voices that occupied the hill which called out to the Sergeant from a place unseen to him and lying to his rear; the Command Post of the hill. It was but a small building laying about what would be called the center of the hill and being little more than one of the simple dugouts that served as the platoon's own command post back on the hill at Alnus. It was a simple pit that was perhaps a few feet deep, around four perhaps that one might still be able to look out about the ground with a good clearance should they have been standing within its confines. The square shape was carved straight out of the earth and was perhaps around twenty feet in its entire length upon any side; dark with dirt, though there were small little steps carved out of the sides that resembled that of benches and were occupied by soldiers, gear, and supplies alike and piled up to near the brim of the post, or rather the brim of the hill. Around this brim of the hill their lay a large number of the same lightly colored bags of earth that had reinforced the many foxholes about the perimeter of the hill, though unlike their forwardly positioned brothers, the gaps in these walls of bagged earth were a few feet wide and allowed for one to easily slip into the interior of the command post. Resting on the corners of these walls of bagged earth were four great pillars of wood that rose up a several feet from the base of the pit, though perhaps only a foot or two above the level ground of the hill's crest, and held a large thick piece of plywood much like that of the foxholes, except for the addition of a mesh of many earthly colors that looked like a fishing net, save for the fact the holes were much to larger to snag any type of fish besides that of perhaps a shark or marlin, and more bags of earth piled high about six or seven high resting upon the top of it, which were covered with the previously mentioned mesh sheet. The interior was simple as well, with put a few tables littered around and a number of papers and their tools scattered about them in a manner that seemed to possess little rhyme or reason to them and of which calling it disorganized would be an understatement and an insult to the word in every way but a positive.

It was also from within those pit that the form of the Platoon Sergeant and Commander were fast descending into, but not before a burst of words were to escape from the latter's mouth and fall upon the Staff Sergeant's ears.

"Sergeant Fletcher! Have your men pull into defensive positions for now and start setting up camp. We're here to help pull security for the night until they can get a small mechanized unit out here in the morning. I want organized two-hour watch shifts of four men each throughout the night. Work with Second Section to get it done."

It was an order that was all together unnecessary to even be spoken, as the men were already fast unloading a variety of things from the back ends of their great metal beasts and scouting out the perimeter of the area that was to be their home for the night it would seem, given the words of the Platoon Commander. Yet, the Staff Sergeant did little else but nod in a steadfast manner before turning on his heels in a mechanical fashion and with several great strides, more full or pep than before in the motor-pool and command center back on pace, found himself among the many members of the Recon Platoon's First Section. Perhaps it was the idea of finally having something to do, or being left to his own devices yet again, but a new burst of energy seemed to flood through the veins of the man who had previously worked his way through the crowded areas of the base like someone trapped in a bath of syrups or perhaps like a slime slugging along slowly from one destination to the other.

Now within the ear shot of these who had gathered about the Section's Two Armored Beasts he began to call out in a voice that resonated about the hilltop like that of a drum, overpowering even the rumble of multiple engines and voice all about the base. It was a deeper voice that was surprisingly smooth, only hoarse slightly by the dust that was being kicked up by the wind from the areas of the hill that had been relieved of their grass beforehand by the heavy tracks of the metal beasts as they walked about the hill's top and ascended from the dirt roads below.

"Hess. Andrew." The voice rang out through the camp. "Gather up the men."

It was a bit of time and a few bouts of yelling and harsh words being thrown about before the two squad leaders had managed to wrangle all the men of First Section into a single location, as they had quickly spread about the base to tackle their own tasks, whether they had been unloading the gear from the backs of the metal beasts or were helping out the soldiers already there with whatever duties they needed to attend too, or had simply gone for a stroll about the base and the outer wire in order to get a better feel for it. All of that would come in due time, however, for they much more pressing matters to attend to.

The Staff Sergeant poised himself to speak again, now down on one knee like the rest of First Section who had begun to huddle around him. He wore a slight grin upon his face and his grey eyes glowed with a dim fire as his gaze drifted across the faces of all those within First Section; the weather old faces of the veterans who had fought their fair share of combat both in the Jungles and the fierce and brutal combat that lay all around the Hill of Alnus on those first couple of days across the Breach and into the Unknown Zone, to the newer faces of the young privates and Corporals who had only but a taste of Vietnam or perhaps had witnessed their first taste of combat here in the Unknown Zone, though it mattered little to the Staff Sergeant for they were all men of the First Section.

"Seems like the Commander's got some shit to sort out with whoever is in charge of this place. For the time being we're to hunker down and see which lucky part of this base will have to deal with First Section for the next few hours. While we wait I think we ought to do a little bit of sprucing up this place." He cast a sideways glances down towards the eastern section of the perimeter where the gap in the line was as visible as ever in the late afternoon sun drifting from its place high in the sky ever closer to that of the horizon below. "I want First Squad out their fixing up those two fox holes. They're too fucking cramped for my taste, so how about he open them up a bit? As for Second Squad, get some rough defenses set up around the APCs. I also want both squads to send someone out their to get a read on what it's like around the chicken wire. I'm betting these fuckers running this outpost didn't bother to keep track of their shit, so watch out of 'Toe Poppers' I don't need anyone getting taken out by our own damn equipment."

With that the men split into their various groups and descended out to their work, some heading off to begin work on the two forward foxholes while a steady wall of bagged earth began to appear near the Metal Beasts filling out shallow positions that would force those occupied them to lay down, for their had not been much digging besides that of small troughs here and there to fill the bags with the earth that was needed. Elsewhere a pair of soldiers, Private First Class Whitaker and Cooper, were making their way out towards the rows of barbed wire, examining the various areas and watching carefully for anything that may lay below, like a pair of bloodhounds sniffing out a trail through a field, or greyhounds scaring up a fox. The Staff Sergeant himself was busy at work with the First Squad, assembling bags of earth to be positioned about the pair of lonely foxholes, having seemingly secured some left over plywood from the forward operating bases supply depot, though it was battered and bruised with a great many times more number of notched etched into its surface than many of the other pieces that had been used for the defenses of the other foxholes about the base. Though by and by another man arrived to pull away the Staff Sergeant from the work with his men, that of course being the Section Leader of the Second Scout Section, a Staff Sergeant by the name of Hernandez, eager to talk about the rationing of hours between the two section in the coming hours. The discussion wasn't terribly long for both seemed to have a similar idea in mind and no sooner than that conversation finished did the two depart towards the outposts mess hall, though it was little else besides a few tents that had been set up by the forces occupying the base, in order to secure some meals for their troops. There was a bit of haggling and harsh words, as it was evident that the bases supplies were surprisingly low, even with the addition of new supplies that had been brought by the arriving Recon Platoon, even if they were little else besides rations for allow them to simply make it through this mission, the main mission rations still being left on board the Metal Beasts scattered about the perimeter. Though, the young corporal manning the mess station could do little against the onslaught of two tired and hungry Staff Sergeants with a whole platoon of hungry and tired men behind them and was eventually forced to give in.

----------
2130 Hours
----------

Having returned with their booty liberated from the clutches of the mess tent the men and their Sergeants and Section leaders soon set about to have a grand feast or at least as grand as one might have from a few B-Ration given out to each man, though all the same it did not matter for it was food and they were all hungry. And so they sat, gathered around in a large circle with the men of First Section forming one half of the circle and the Second Section men forming the other, their commanders sitting between and giving off the Erie feeling of something reminiscent of a chess match, though far friendlier than a pitched battlefield, for most had turned to their own small conversations as they ate their meals, joking and chatting with one another in a light heart manner, their guns and packs thrown all about with most using them in some fashion of seating arrangement, for as the sun had fallen from the sky, so to had the warmth of the day and coolness of the summer's night was fasting approaching them. Though semi-warm and semi-edible food given to tired men changed all feelings of this, and there was a great banter shared among those who were not too busy stuffing their faces full of food to speak out with the others. Discussions of home, of family, filled the air though most powerful were the thoughts of this world. Stories shared by the Section Leaders who had been there since the beginning and the greenish ones who pondered a great many question and the whole lot who wondered aloud an what mysteries wait in their near and far futures. For it is not every day that one might experience something such as this. Sure, the jungles of Vietnam were a land altogether foreign and much different than any man had scene and were much in their own right a world of their own as well, so alien to what they had all experienced before, whether it be in terms of the terrain or the people. The Unknown Zone was much the same with it's foreign peoples, but what was most striking was the land, for if one had not seen the people or the great many beasts that roamed it and had instead simply been left about to wander they might believe it was some great and preserved forest of the European lands or perhaps even that of the forest in the Eastern and northern reaches of the United States, perhaps even a national park with all of its untouched splendor. There was too the idea of the people. In Vietnam the people were different, they looked different for they were of course Asian, and spoke a language that fell on deaf ears to most in country, but the people of the Unknown Zone; of the Empire had a quality all their own. A quality that an only be found in that which defies the imagination, as the foul beasts and brilliant other worldly powers, 'magic' as the men in green would call it, could only do; that the men and women adorned in radiant colors of metal and fabric waving their archaic weapons in air could. It was a quality that could not be found in the chaotic and death filled jungles full of rifles and bullets, a place that twisted the imagination, but never truly surpassed it.

Though for the time being such thoughts would have to be reserved for yet another time as the appearance of the Platoon Sergeant yet again fell to that of the First and Second Sections. Having appeared from the Command Post laying at the center of the hill's defenses, the voice had beckoned the two Section Leaders away from the comfort and coziness of their men, the pondering of great mysteries and the sharing of glorious story and back to the harsh reality of the situation that lay at hand.

"Alright Fletcher, so your men going on right now, tell them to keep their watch around the east side of the camp. Apparently this location has a built-in fail point. We've got 513 supporting that gap right now, but they'll be useless if the enemy infantry push up on them without being stopped or halted. We're going to also have everyone up and standing by at 0430 tomorrow morning, ready for contact and standing-to. There's good intel that Empire soldiers are going to try some bullshit while we're just getting up in the morning. Apparently it's ritual around here that the main defensive gun fires every morning at 0600. The Lieutenant believes that there's a strong chance the enemy will try to charge our weak-spot at that point under the guise of a full-on attack to the front while a smaller force tries to infiltrate our lines."

The two Section Leaders simply nodded and passed off grunts of a satisfied nature towards their platoon Sergeant.

"Either of you got questions, because if not, we need to get our preparations done and get to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a helluva fuckin' morning."

The grey eyes Staff Sergeant simply shook his head before raising it to meet the eyes of the Platoon Sergeant a small smirk crawling across his face and a dim fire beginning to ignite within his eyes as he spoke through a muffled chuckle, "Wouldn't have it any other way..." And with that returned with the Second Section Leader to address the remainder of the troops.

"Alright, listen up." Called forth in a piercing manner from Fletcher's mouth. "Looks like we got the shitty end of the stick and have to watch over the death trap of a perimeter over in the East. The Lieutenant thinks that some serious shit is gonna go down in the morning, and I'd say I have to agree with him. Intel seems to indicate the enemy is gonna try some slippery ass shit on us and pull a feint or something of the like on our positions in the morning. For now, we gotta watch over this section of the line. When you're out there keep your trigger fingers ease up. This is nothing most of us haven't seen after all. The enemy likely knows we're here, but now where we are, so if we keep our shit together and our position hidden, we'll give him a hell of a surprise in the morning." His grin had widened to the point it was breaking in a full on smile, his brow furrowing a little and fierce fire now laying in his eyes. "So, if you see something suspicious out their, let me or Hernandez known IMMEDIATELY. I don't care if it's a pair of rabbits getting up to it in the bush, you let me know. I'll be less pissed you wake me up about Rabbits fucking then if you don't and some little mage shit head blow up one of our APCs in the morning." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Intel doesn't think there's any H-VATs out there, but keep your eyes peeled. Rotations goes as follows; First Squad, Alpha, Bravo; Second Squad, Alpha Bravo; Two hour shifts each. Second Section will be providing support on our flank on similar Rotations. So get to it! Keep sharp, and don't be a fucking idiot. Everyone's got to be up by O-Four-Thirty-Hours, and don't even think about making me have to wake up you're sorry ass. That's all."

[Kassaran]

Count Colt Formal, Duke of the Garden City Italica
Imperial City of Italica, Province of Formal, Empire
45th Day of the Heran Season, 13th Year of Emperor Molt Sol Augustus

---

The afternoon air was heavy with the humidity from the nearby river, the cloak that hung over the Count's shoulders annoyed him with it's weight. He was frustrated and tired, a night of deliberating and writing letters to the local lords and vassals of the Empire in search of more fighting men. The words he'd received from his runner the night before had kept him anxious, the rumors of a bandit army having already begun to proliferate throughout the city as several prominent guild members had visited his court earlier in the day. If he was to be expected to rule the city of Italica, he'd have to protect it's people first and to do so he needed to mount a defense against not just these bandits and deserters- he'd need to defend against the armies of hell itself. Now he was speeding through the garden at a quick and long stride to reach the Barracks of the City Guard. The garrison locally sat within the great keep during their hours on duty, but the barracks were located a short ways away between the river and the palace. If Formal was to begin setting his guards to work at flushing out the bandits and raising a new military force in the city... he'd need to meet with the captain.

The sound of boot-steps on the gravel, rang in the Count's ears as he approached the edge of the gardens and approached the great stone building that had served as a garrison's barracks for the city over the nearly two centuries that Italica had existed. The impressive stonework had been said to have been carved by the Dwarves themselves as a gift to the first Emperor and now sat in testimony to the long-lasting nature of the Empire. That was the story they all were told at least, but the Count knew better than to simply be impressed by the building's exterior. The true magnificence of the structure came from the layout within, nearly a maze within another maze as the building seemed to wind and curve in upon itself. Magic infused the walls and it was well-known that only those who carried the magical crests and insignia of the Formal family could navigate the halls without fear of becoming forever lost in them. Something in the stonework from when the Dwarves had laid the foundations served to forever disorient and misguide intruders, to quite often very well guide them into traps and dead-ends.

Pressing past the wide oaken doors that barred entrance for most into the building, the Count took a deep breath of the air that hung inside. It was metallic, and tinged lightly with smoke as he could hear the fires of several dozen fires crackling throughout the many-chambered halls. A couple of young pages wandered past, bowing to the count before carrying on with their duties. The knights that often rested here amongst the guards, usually were followed by their retinue of aids and servants, as such information was well known to the Count it still came as a surprise to see as many pages as this. His eyebrow raising as he watched them disappear into a passage beyond one of the wide curves, he made a right and began to walk. As he walked, he could begin to hear faintly the sound of metal upon metal, and wood upon metal. There came the sounds of men shouting and sparring with one another as the Count rounded the corner to find himself staring into one of the training halls of the City Guard.

A great, rounded room with a high dome overhead, most would have believed it to have been of nigh impossible construction, but the high arches and the bands of magi-stone laced into the carvings betrayed the true strength of the structure as a soft glow emanated from the walls and the skylight high above. Within the entire compound, there were three such halls as this that made up the vertices of the triangular walls of the garrison's barracks. Above, high in the eaves, the balconies from the second and third stories of the complex could be seen, with a few guards in their daily dress milling about and watching the fights going on below. Towards the center of the room, there stood a group of men, crowded about an arena composed of a pit, one shoulder shallow with the radius of nearly ten men laid upon the ground. Logs, set upon their ends and embedded within the ground, served as posts to reinforce the sides while a mixture of rock and gravel served to make up the walls and the floor. In the center of this arena Colt could see a large man standing with a buckler and wooden rod in hand, wearing only a tunic and sandals against the three younger men facing him.

As the Count drew near, his brow furrowed as he noticed the identity of the man in the arena, a skilled warrior by the name of Lakarus of Iridan. While he had been with the Guard of Formal for quite sometime, he never was quite capable at handling himself when it came to sparring on account of his side. As this was the case he was often relegated to positions that required his great strength, but none of his fighting prowess which led to bouts such as these. A handful of slaves, sold in the markets of the city whom would be bought and given to the Guards to train against. The men themselves were armed with weapons not unlike Lakarus' but their experience showed as they attempted to charge down Lakarus. A sickening crack filled the air as one felt the full brunt of the giant's swing connect with the side of his head, sending him falling to the ground in a bloodied heap. The second man, caught off guard by witnessing the act, found the leg of Lakarus rising up to slam into his chest, knocking him flat on his back as the stick came down with a crunch across his ribs. A cough of blood highlighted the critical condition that Lakarus left the slave in, before the final slave threw down his weapon and attempted to surrender.

As the count reached the railing, he could see that there was something off about the dress of the men that had been brought in. Their clothing, their apparel, was not of the Empire provinces and neither had he heard a tongue as the remaining slave spoke. There was panic, tears streaming down his face as he no doubt was begging for mercy. The man from Iridan was not having it as he raised his hand and prepared to strike the killing blow. There was something almost desperate in the man's voice as he tried to convey his surrender, and as Lakarus' arm came down, there was the final sickening crunch of the rod against the skull of the young slave. Falling to the ground, lifeless, left only Lakarus standing in the arena and the guards began to cheer. It wasn't something that the Count approved of, to be honest he found these blood sports to be in quite bad taste, but they were good for morale and for training so they were permitted on the request of the Captain of the Guard. The memory of which, brought Colt's gaze across the crowd as he scanned the faces of each.

A voice from behind the count, announced the presence of the man he sought as a large hand clapped down on his shoulder," Count Formal, it is a pleasure to have you here among us again! Come, you just missed the fun, we were about to pit Lakarus up against his fourth match of the week, the old boy hasn't enjoyed this much action since the peasant rebellion of the 2nd Year of the Emperor!"

The Count managed to give his best look of disdain for the mundane event. Lakarus was no better than a simple executioner in his current state and the match he'd just witnessed had done nothing to alleviate him of such an opinion. Several years of knowing the Captain as a trainer of killers and thugs had lowered his opinion of the fighting and defense forces within Formal. It was quite obvious that the majority of capable military leaders had been conscripted or pressed into Imperial service at the end of the last great campaign against the Warrior Bunnies in the far Northeast regions of Empire and the burden of the massed conscription had come to the gates of Formal lands themselves. Unable to resist the strength or the call of the Emperor, they'd given up much of their fighting power to refill the ranks of the armies that had suffered the heaviest casualties in the fighting. The results of which left many inexperienced officers in their wake to become the new strength of Clan Formal and the City of Italica.

"I will have to decline your offer today Captain. I am here to discuss urgent news with you, if you have the time of course? I'd hate to interrupt your fun in watching a bunch of men be executed by others." the sarcasm dripped from the voice of the young nobleman as he cast a look of disgust in the direction of the three corpses being drug out of the room. A chamber on the far wall was slowly being banged on to gain the attentions of those within, likely more slaves purchased in the latest market releases, and so the Count turned his back and began to walk away. He didn't need to see the faces of the slaves as they were brought out to know they likely were scared men and as the guards began to shout excitedly again around the pits, the Captain called out for Formal to slow in his pace as he jogged to catch up.

"Sir, I apologize if it is something you cannot appreciate, but if we gave them anything more than what we have, we'd run the real risk of becoming injured ourselves. This way we can minimize the risk and-"

"Keep your excuses for the monthly prayers to Emroy, Captain Mathais I need only to speak with you about carrying out another draft order within the City. Now, if you think we can discuss that here where we stand, then I shall entertain the notion briefly before explaining why you're wrong and carry on towards the offices, or you can remain silent until I've asked you for your input on the matter. Understand?" the cold rebuke in the voice of the Guard Captain's liege was enough to freeze coals in the mind of Captain Mathais and so he simply muttered a simple acknowledgement before falling in line behind the man and following him towards on of the nearby studies. The halls fell quiet shortly beyond the first turn and for the remainder of the short trip to their destination, only the soft impacts of their feet against the stone floors filled the air.

As they came about and into an open room populated by a dozen or so chairs and a single large slab of rock, there was a moment of silence as the Count moved towards one of the nearby shelves and began to rifle through the scrolls and tomes stored upon it. A minute of searching and finally a series of papers and parchments had begun to take their place towards the center of the grand table as the Captain peered curious over them. He'd never been a studious man, but there was enough here to tell him that whatever the Count was worried about, it was hitting close to home. Surveys and imperial documents detailing the local terrain and villages, not excluding the nearby townships of Iridan and Canu. While they were more distant and remote in the farmlands that surrounded the "Crossroads City", Italica, they represented definite sources of possible manpower which could be locally recruited. The talks which would follow would no doubt require far more capacity to plan ahead than the Captain had ever used before, and his questioning gaze move between the papers and the man studiously poring over them on the far side of the table.

"Mi'Lord, what do you intend to find from these papers?" The question had almost seemed joking, the captain never having believed much in trying to plan for everything as none ever seemed to survive the first slam of shield against sword and spear against buckler. The Count's response, however, sent a cold chill down the spine of the battle-hardened veteran as the nobleman looked up and fixed him with an intense, almost desperate stare. For the first time in his life, the young man seemed truly disturbed by something he'd come to know and so the three word response served only deepened the atmosphere of dread that had materialized within the room.

"How to survive."

[Kassaran]

Checkpoint Quebec-Nine, Unknown Zone
Private First Class Jessup Conte
September 30, 1971

---

0230 Hours Local Time
It had been a long night, and Private Conte was getting ready to turn in for some well-deserved rest. His eyes were getting bleary after two hours of walking about, pacing atop the hill which he'd been told was his post and waiting for nothing to happen in the great expanse that was somewhere to the South of Camp Janus. His feet, leading him through the darkness with a slow, steady shuffling which betrayed his weary and tired state crunched the short, dry stalks of grass and meadow flowers beneath his feet. Somewhere to the north, the distant lights of Janus could be seen, piercing the darkness like swords of flame and moonbeam, dancing across the scorched earth that surrounded the motte it sat upon. As he walked, his eyes surveyed the long and empty stretches of land between himself and the sign of distant civilization, before surmising he'd dallied enough and trudged in the direction of the tent that made up the command post for this little outpost. A boring post it was, and the moons high above shone ample light to betray any attacker's movements should they attempt to strike in the traditional ways.

As he finally approached the tent wherein lay his relief, he cast one last look out into the dark, his eyes searching in earnest for any sign of movement, but fell upon nothing but an empty expanse which suited his own desires just fine. A little bit of food from the rations his squad had brought, and a few good hours of sleep and rest would do him good at this point. Stooping low, there was a whistling sound as something pierced the night air above him, brushing the back of his head with a sudden rushing. As the sound of fabric ripping and pulling tugged at the grip of fabric he'd held in his hand, his tired mind attempted to make sense of the sound and sensation. It was unfamiliar, but yet bore the faint resemblance to a rock having been thrown at him, he dropped the handful he'd obtained and his senses went to full alert as he fell into a kneeling position, his hands reaching for his rifle as a second hurtling streak slammed into his chest. Pain seared across his body as a sharp ringing sound of metal on metal filled his ears. His chest, feeling as though someone had punched him squarely over his ribs, thundered with the weight of an almighty blow which set him off balance and set him sprawling to the ground as a sharp and bitter metallic taste filled his mouth.

Even as he fell back, the sight of his attackers melting out of the darkness and into the light of a nearby moonbeam filled him with fear. Their faces wore expressionless masks of ivory and ebony, mixed with the garish paint of what appeared to be ocher against the colors bore passing resemblance to a hand. An unearthly glow covered their forms as a second figure materialized with a dagger in hand, glinting in the ambient starlight of the scene as the nightmare grew in intensity. Hitting the ground with a solid impact, the new assailant fell upon him, plunging downwards with the knife, attempting to pierce the jacket which the soldier wore. Terror and adrenaline filled Conte's mind, a flashing memory of his family, of those he'd left in the other world being left behind filled his mind as his arms raised defensively, the sharp heat of the blade slashing into his forearms. Grasping for the arm of the being as it sought to take his life, weeks of training in just this sort of combat filled his mind as his legs raised to brace himself between his attacker and force them off balance. His voice cried out in the night with the only word he could think as his mind filled with rage and razor sharp focus.

"Attack!"

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
Sergeant First Class Stephen Yantz
September 30, 1971

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0400 Hours Local Time
He never could sleep peacefully in this god-forsaken place. His mind still wandered and drifted as he thought of the carnage he'd witnessed all those years before in a jungle another world away. His mind danced along the stars which filled the sky, their unfamiliar constellations bearing only in the most fleeting of glances a resemblance to those seen on Earth. Positions all wrong, the colors of the sky too purple, and the distant breeze which softly rustled the grasses in the early morning stillness were soft whispers of the alien nature of this world. A terrestrial retreat of sorts from the hellish conditions of the jungles of Vietnam, the enemy he now fought seeming as capable as a toddler before an adult, such was their strength, but that was so long as they didn't encounter their magic-casters.

He dryly laughed to himself, magic, that such a thing were possible made a part deep inside of himself squirm with unease and restlessness. Like some fairy-tale he'd seen in a Disney picture, perhaps even there were fairies to grant him wishes, or the wishes of his enemy. Certainly the rifle he held in his hands now lay heavy in the early hours of the morning, having risen early to oversee the defense of the hill. The attack was expected to come early, but it was unknown just how much so and if their ambush would work. A kill zone had been set up to the right of the machine-gun nest, a funnel between the defensive positions which all now sat fully manned by the men of his Platoon. If Stephen had a guess as to the tactics the enemy would use, it would be a fatal entrapment of their forces by the time they determined anything had gone wrong. His own position, sat up against the gentle slope of the front of his M113 offered purchase against mounting bolts and frames as he sat staring back at the night sky.

Time passed slowly here, or perhaps he simply thought quicker, such was the curse of his overactive mind as he began to watch his men stir around him, the Lieutenant too even sounding off from within the command vehicle as he moved off of his makeshift cot on the floor, rolling up the mat he'd used to add menial amounts of comfort to his rest before poking his head out from the commander's hatch above. The practiced motions of a man whom had long since become experienced to the ways of the world carried Sergeant Yantz's form off the front of the APC, and to the ground as he allowed himself to slide off. His knees gently bending beneath the weight of himself, balls of his feet absorbing the shock of his landing, he winced as the age-old pain within his shin worked up again. He held for a moment in his pained position as he tried to let the sharp sensation wear off before turning around and facing Lieutenant Danner he awaited his orders for the morning.

Rally Point Alpha, Unknown Zone
Second Lieutenant Mitchell Danner
September 30, 1971

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0427 Hours Local Time - Charlie Five-Five
The soft ringing of a small alarm clock the Lieutenant had brought along, had stirred him from otherwise restful sleep, he felt somewhat sheepish however as he stirred within the APC, his mind slowly growing in alertness as he called out for the Platoon Sergeant. The familiar sound of the man, acknowledging him with a simple rap upon the armor plating from outside the vehicle settled the Lieutenant's mind on which way to face as he moved to peer out from atop his commander's perch within the vehicle. His helmet loosely fit over the top of his head, as he took a second to blink his eyes and adjust to the slightly brighter conditions outside. While the APC had remained almost completely dark inside, the early morning air carried the hint of the dawn soon to come in the waking hours of the day to come.

Standing, almost with a bored expression as the Lieutenant gripped both sides of the hatch's opening and pushed himself up and out of the vehicle- paying mind not to disturb the Browning mounted atop- settled him atop his chosen steed with the certainty of one whom had only recently mastered the maneuver. Swinging an arm over, he retrieved his rifle from where it hung inside by its sling, pulling it out and settling to check through its functions softly. When more than a moment had passed in the early morning air, he turned to Yantz and shrugged," so I guess you're the one with all the experience here, got any advice or is this about all we can do- wait?"

The older man turned his head, surveying the defensive positions as best he could see them in the dim light of the waning night," I'd be lying if I told you we'd be better off running in there and flushing them out ourselves, or running from this position and back to the Camp. The treeline's close enough that if they had but even a rifle amongst their number, I'd fear for my life, but I guess there's a complacency that's now come from knowing what advantages we hold over them. I can't even really justify retreating from them unless they had but one or two in their number that could use this magic they have."

The Lieutenant nodded, the very idea that there was such a force existent in this world had made his thoughts run late into the night, swimming with the romantic notions that came with such a revelation as that, but so too did fear grip at the edges of his heart and mind. The warmth of his body seeming to sear at his soul as it contemplated the end in the fashion he'd seen with the few wrecked and burnt out husks of the APC's that had been present at Janus upon arrival. Even still, a few lay around waiting to be fully decommissioned, investigated, and then sent through the GATE for proper analysis. If anything, there was more of a dread he had in contemplating his end by such forces than bleeding out upon the end of a spear or arrow. The sharpness of such pain was familiar to him, having sustained cuts and bruises and breaks of bone and spirit before, but the idea of simply becoming ash disturbed him. It was such as his thoughts on death by the bombs which the great nations of the previous world threatened the now constant use of if one made a single wrong step, cooler minds perhaps only prevailing out of desire for self-preservation.

"Yeah, I can understand that one sergeant. Best get on with bringing the Section Sergeants here now, I'm going to give them a run-down of today after we're done here this morning. If we're lucky, the enemy will simply lose their nerve with our presence and refuse to attack-"

There was a crackle of static in the command post tent as he watched a Private come jogging over to him. His helmet sat too far back, exposing the man's forehead like a band of dirt-splotched linen in the soft light of the moon which illuminated the hill now. Far above, the wispy remnants of perhaps a stronger storm front simply passed lazily by the pale circles which hung in the sky. The Private, his eyes seeming a bit wide and eager, betrayed that some news must have come from Janus, the stirring of soldiers around the encampment coming to a brief halt and stillness as the soldier gave his report," Sir, news from the far side of Janus, it seems four checkpoints came under attack in the night, small groups of infiltrators that entered and exited, killing or injuring a handful before leaving. We've been instructed to take roll call."

"Alright, get it done, Yantz, give a call-out to your men and make sure our line is good. If we're running short any men, get me a casualty list and start first aid."

With that, his eyes searched the darkness, peering out and attempting to discern from among the treeline if any shadows or shapes could be separated from the backdrop of the woods beyond.

[Independent States of Tula]

Unknown Zone, Rally Point Alpha
Corporal Ethan Paine
30 September, 1971

0430

Two brown eyes opened slowly as his world became much darker than it had been just moments ago. Another dream of a foreign land of jungles, rice paddies, and bloodied bodies had consumed the Corporal's dreams the night before. When PFC Greenwald and PVT Lee had come to relieve him and the Specialist, Ethan had chosen to forgo sleeping in their armored scout vehicle and instead chose to remain curled up with his back to the wall in the foxhole with the two underlings in case they got attacked in the night. Paine had reasoned that if an attack did come in then he could better repel it with his M60 than they could with their M16s, and so he'd slept in the corner of the foxhole while the two younger men kept eyes out.

"Awake now, eh Corporal?" Greenwald asked from the opposite corner of the foxhole, a cigarette between his lips that lit up his face with dimly flickering light.

"Is he? Damn, Corporal, you sleep sounder than the dead." Private Lee added from his spot on the firing step.

"At least I don't snore, Lee." Ethan replied with a small smirk before asking, "SITREP?"

Greenwald answered, "Nothing new, Corporal, was a boring night for us, but no one crossed the wire in our zone. Those two companies of hostiles this point saw yesterday morning before we arrived never showed up, maybe our arrival scared them off?"

"Could be, we have bigger guns than this checkpoint does. And more men, might've been just in time to force those bastards to pull back." Paine mused "It's still dark out though, so they might try to pull something...fuck it, guess I'm up now. Lee, wanna take a break from the firing step?"

"Yessir," Lee answered in his Texan drawl, stepping back from the ledge and switching spots with the more experienced Corporal, who to his delight found his M60 was still in position in the foxhole.

Paine shouldered the weapon and brought it back a bit so it fit snugly against his shoulder while he stood on the firing step, once he was comfortable with his weapon's position he began scanning the shadows ahead of them, past the wire perimeter and into the trees. He couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity with the situation, how many times had he taken aim into the endless darkness of Vietnamese jungles, waiting for that flash of light from a muzzle, that sudden movement of shadows, or the sounds of bushes moving unnaturally against fabric? Plenty it seemed.

"Hey Corporal?" Lee asked suddenly, drawing Paine's attention away from his lingering memories of a jungle a whole other world away.

"Yeah, what's up Lee?" Ethan asked.

"I forgot my smokes back in the tracked box...you got any spares?" Lee asked.

"Yeah," Ethan answered absentmindedly as he dug into his jacket pockect beneath his flak vest and pulled out a pack of ration cigarettes.

He tossed them over to the Texan private before asking, "Need a match too?"

"Nah, I got a light, thanks Paine!" Lee replied happily before asking, "Hey, this is a fresh pack, you ok with me openin' it?"

"Yeah, it's fine...I don't smoke." Paine answered as he scanned left to right over his field of fire.

"No shit?" Lee asked rhetorically, there was the flicker of fiery shadows off to Paine's periphery, they went away as fast as they showed up though and he soon heard a shuffle from behind before his pack was offered back up to him.

Ethan looked away from the firing arc for a moment as he took back the offered cigarettes with a silent nod, returning to his dutiful watch as his two men took a break. The silence of the night overcoming them as Paine continued an old nightly ritual he'd honed far far away from here.

[The Russian Nations]

Rifle Specialist Michael Cooper.
Camp Janus,Rally Point A.
9/29/1971.



Cooper snickered at the remark of passing out, "Man not funny." he replied with a grin on his face, "I'm gonna go check on the barbed wire,see if those roman dummies tried to bite their way through it." he remarked, learning that some people were dumb enough to actually do that. The sheer imagination of that was satisfying for someone sadistic, but it's horrible for a human being and a beastman, the sheer horror of trying to bite through metal snakes only to have your gums pierced isn't the best way to go, but these people did not acknowledge rights so they truly deserved this.

"The nobles who command these roman lookalikes and send them to their deaths should be hanged in my opinion, they do not value their soldier's lives, just like some politicians at home." the last part he mumbled angrily, he had experienced Vietnam and how he was sent there, he will always remember how he was demoted just for saving a squad member, "At least this wasn't bloody mandatory, otherwise i would've deserted when i had the chance! hell, i wouldn't be here if i was angry at service." he said, he stood up and dusted off some dirt from his pant's rear end, he grabbed his E-tool and pat the ground with it, before he put it down and sat again.

"Better start checking on the barbed wire." he said, standing up and and climbing out of the dirthole, he walked up to the wire and saw luckily that nothing or no-one managed to at least try and climb or bite their way through it, "Barbed wire's clear, though i highly doubt that in the future though!" he shouted to no-one in particular, he proceeded to sit down and relax again, however with nothing to do he decided to take out his Bible and read one of his favorite verses, and he flipped to 2 Peter 1:20-21, and recited it to himself.
"Above all, you must understand that no prophecy of Scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation of things. 21 For prophecy never had its origin in the human will, but prophets, though human, spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit."
he flipped a few more pages later, and found 2 Peter 2:1-3 and recited it too.
"But there were also false prophets among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you. They will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even denying the sovereign Lord who bought them—bringing swift destruction on themselves.
2 Many will follow their depraved conduct and will bring the way of truth into disrepute.
3 In their greed these teachers will exploit you with fabricated stories. Their condemnation has long been hanging over them, and their destruction has not been sleeping." he recited it two times before closing the Bible, he wondered in his head if these people do have gods, because if their gods condone this filth, then he will personally end anyone who follows these gods.


He decided to read the Bible again, continuing on the page, deciding to recite 4-10.
"4 For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, putting them in chains of darkness to be held for judgment;
5 if he did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people, but protected Noah, a preacher of righteousness, and seven others;
6 if he condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes, and made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly;
7 and if he rescued Lot, a righteous man, who was distressed by the depraved conduct of the lawless.
8 (for that righteous man, living among them day after day, was tormented in his righteous soul by the lawless deeds he saw and heard)—
9 if this is so, then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials and to hold the unrighteous for punishment on the day of judgment.
10 This is especially true of those who follow the corrupt desire of the flesh and despise authority." he concluded that the last verse could represent the people of this world, following their own lusts and desires.

"Well only God knows when i'll be knocked out."

[Zjaum]

Rally Point Alpha
First Squad, Fire Team One-Bravo
Enoli Guthrie

Enoli got up a little worse for the wear. Before the military, he'd risen this early nearly every day, just to tend to the ranch animals' daily needs. Now, the vast untamed temperate fields and forest patches, with the stars still bright overhead... it reminded him of home. Bloody dreadful.

What's more, he had just picked out a spot in the area to play cards. It was flat, and dry, and nice. Playing inside the vehicle would attract too much clutter and ire from fellow soldiers. There, though, you could sit and be comfortable and play solitaire in peace. He had hoped, as boring as the scene seemed to be, that he could have some good rest and relaxation. Some things simply weren't meant to be, he figured. He walked over to the chosen spot during his daily routine and touched it, as if to say goodbye. Regardless, action, and the heat of battle, were all right by him. And, seeing the discussion of his superiors from the corner of his eye, it seemed quite likely that he was going to get just that.

He'd checked his gear before going to bed, but he rechecked it again just in case. Dischargers were all set, and C4 was available in all forms. His rifle and pistol were cleaned and ready, and he had plenty of ammunition in his pack. He reached into his crammed pouch and pried out his pocket Bible. Seeing that there was nothing else of import to do, teeth brushing and pit polish not exactly prioritized as "important," Enoli figured that reading a segment of Joel would be a suitable, and significantly more portable, replacement to cards.

Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision: for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision.
The sun and the moon shall be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining.
The LORD also shall roar out of Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and the heavens and the earth shall shake: but the LORD will be the hope of his people, and the strength of the children of Israel.

Enoli put away the Good Book. He was to face an unknown enemy, with perhaps a myriad of unknown powers. Reading a short piece like that felt... fitting. He walked out to attend roll call and receive the news for the morning. He stood at attention, legs lightly bent, reflecting on the course of the excursion in his head.