Point of Divergence 3.0 : The Return of Madness (IC)

by **Laiakia** » Thu Oct 01, 2020 9:53 am

Collab with Brazil
Machinic Diplomacy
Belém do Pará, Eastern Amazon
10:00 January 12th, year 0

In a distant past Belém had been a thriving city at the center of rubber plantations. Despite a long period of stagnation after the rise of synthetic rubber, the city had regained some of its former glory selling latex to an oil-deprived world. Still, it could not compete, and so the faded buildings of its ancient city center had been unchanged, and the rotting husks of soulless 21st century apartments decomposed along its river banks. The newest buildings were only ports built under corporate occupation, and a military garrison.

Caracas Airport

Metallic thundering echoed through the once bustling hangar bays and converted departure halls. Hundreds of T-600s wandered everywhere, guarding the complex without a break while HK-Aerials landed and took off, going on patrol. Currently, the Skynet Beta Processor had turned its attention towards former supply depots that were scattered around the South Americas. The closest one was located in Belém, though this might no longer be the case. The machine intelligence was still contemplating on the current scenario, but the most likely would either be a time anomaly, or a tactical transportation weapon used by the Resistance, though the AI found that very unlikely. As a way to confirm it’s theories, Skynet scrambled five HK-Aerials Mark 8s to conduct scouting operations and collect any equipment from the supposed area that the supply depot was supposed to be. The HKs were quickly prepared and many unknown bird species filled the air as the vehicles powered up their VTOL engines and began slowly lifting off. The limited AI in the HKs ran fast stabilizing checks, disturbing more native creatures, and quickly sped off towards the coordinates it had been given by Skynet.

Belém Air Traffic Control

“IFF checks complete. Bogeys identified as five unknown UAVs from Caracas. Area Golf 1 Bravo 3. Heading 190. Speed 256. Altitude 31 000. Continuing southerly heading. Interceptors are airborne: Bishop from Boa Vista, Caravel from Manaus. Estimated time of intercept: Bishop next 06, Caravel next 10.”

...

“Trégua, this is Bishop 01, now maintaining angel 31.”

Three jets screamed through the skies, ferrying missiles under their wings. They weren’t much dissimilar from the iron-shod birds that had flown through the past millennium, but their performance had inched forward to a magnificently economical standard, so that a banana republic like Brazil could feasibly host a large fleet of relatively modern planes without crippling fuel or maintenance costs. Still, Captain Alfonso was not thinking about logistics, but rather how his bird would fare against these bogeys.

“Bishop, target dead ahead. How about contact?”

“Roger, switching channels.”

He signalled his wingmen to slow down, and the grey body of his fighter peeled off formation to lag behind him. If he was shot down, at least they would get the drop on the drones. He punched a frequency into his radio, and transmitted to the formation. If they had any half-decent receptor, he would be glowing like a Christmas light.

“Attention, unidentified aircraft. You are breaching into Brazilian airspace. Identify yourself and your origin.”

The five HK units, upon receiving the transmission, immediately slowed down at an inhuman speed, reducing to a mere 15 km/h. The lead HK adjusted its communications antenna to contact Skynet.

“Warning: Intercepted by unknown aircraft. Apparently entering ‘Brazillian’ airspace.”

Skynet responded fast.

“Orders: Activate communications antenna into collect-and-send mode.”

The HK units all did as directed and activated the antenna. Skynet then activated a female voice module and prepared to communicate with the overshooting jets.

“Target overshot! Target overshot! 02, 03 break for second pass.”

The jets whizzed by the five as their intercepts slowed down to running speed, attempting to circle them as slowly as possible, which wasn’t very easy. At least, they had propellers incoming soon.

The antenna of all the HK units held an easy lock as Skynet began transmitting in a calm voice.

“Hello, pilots of unknown aircraft.”

“Identify yourself! You are violating Brazilian airspace and we are on orders to shoot down any unidentified trespasser.”
“Oh, where are my manners? My name is..” Skynet hesitated for a single second and searched for a believable human name in its database. “My name is Dr. Serena Kogan. What you are seeing are five very advanced VTOL craft. We wish you no harm, but had no idea there were other people in this strange world. Any other questions?”

“Uhh… I should patch you to ATC” replied the pilot between heavy breaths. a few buttons clicked, and the background roar of the jet’s engine was replaced by the low hum of computers and air conditioning.

“This is the Belém Air Base. We request to know what you are doing with five military-grade UAVs, and what are your intentions.”

Skynet noted the difference of background noise and concluded that these were humans. More importantly, humans who seemed to have no idea what Skynet really is. This could prove very beneficial.

“This is simply a.. scouting mission, if you will. We had to see if we were the only civilized beings around here. As for our intentions, well, in our world, Belém housed a supply depot and we wanted to see if that had been transported here too, but that is clearly not the case. We hope that we haven’t been a hassle.”

“Roger. For all intents and purposes, the Brazilian border is closed. If you want to get in, you must present yourself at a border checkpoint, or address the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”

“Copy that. We will have our.. pilots turn us around. A meeting in person would however be quite difficult for us to allow as our population has a very weak.. immune system and as such we heavily rely on robotics to serve as an in-between communication link for us. We do hope that you have no ill intentions against machines?”

As this conversation continued, the HK units slowed down further into a mere hover and slowly began to turn back to the direction they came from. The Brazilian planes turned around, but without any reply. There was something fishy afoot.

by **Empire of Techkotal** » Thu Oct 01, 2020 12:00 pm

January 7th

Smoke rose in the distance while the first heavy tank group of around fifty heavy tanks drove into unknown territory. The tanks were fueled up and had stored a few extra rounds. Additional transporters and small troop carriers followed them. The commander studied the newest map of the enemy territory, which had been given to them after one day of bombing the enemy and making pictures of the landscape. The enemy territory seemed to extend far into the east and many any positions had been spotted. A few of them had already been taken out through the artillery barrage. But it was now their job to destroy the last enemys.
Their group of tanks would invade from the northern part of the front with the northern army, while the southern army would try to advance along the sea. Lord Ferrok had planned to encircel his enemys and destroy their frontier in one swift attack. Though that might be hard to achieve. The initial airstrike of the Legion was a full success, but it came at a high price of around 1300 lost fighters and 1800 lost bombers.
The enemy airforce was in disaray and couldn't possibly hope to support their groundtroops. But Lord Ferrok had told them to advance carefully as they didn't know what comes next.
A whistling sound brought him out of his thoughts. One moment later a grenade exploded next to his tank.
"Enemy attack, move to the sides. Cover the trucks. Drop the infantry and let them advance. Mortar groups fire a volley a head of us. Group advance" shouted the commander into his radio.

They had only driven 10 miles and already encountered resistance. He had thought that the artillery would have obliterated all enemys. Now that the advance of his unit was halted he had to contact the commader above him. His radioman already switched to the right channel.
Then the Commander shouted "Commander we have a problem. My group was halted. What shall we do."

The radio cracked and then a voice responded "The Iron Legion knows no fear. Advance and crush the enemy."

The radio went silent again. The commander then noded to his driver. Slowly the engines came back to life. The tank drove out of his cover and into the open field. There he saw it. The hole field was full of craters. Enemy troops had dug themselves in and a few vehicles to his right had survived the barrage. After one or two seconds had passed a light flashed and the tank was hit by something. It had bounced of.

The commander shouted to his gunner "aim at the nearest tank to our right. Ready! Fire!" The howitzer fired a massive Nerocite shell towards the enemy. It hit the enemy, but unfortunatly it didnt penetrate the tank. Though it got stuck in the front and exploded, ripping the hull apart. Two more shots were fired by his tanks, but they missed on that distance. The shells landed next to the enemy and exploded there. Bodyparts were flying through the air. The tank group advance slowly, while they fired at the enemy. The loader in the commanders tank loaded a new 180mm Nerocite shell into the howitzer and the gunner fired. A few seconds later the loader had emptyed the howitzer and lifted a new shell up to his position. A bright flash covered the howitzer and the shell hit another enemy tank ripping him apart.

While the tank group advanced two gunships emerged from their back and flew over them. They send a volley of rockets into the enemys trenches and retreated again. One of them was shot down from an enemy missile. The infantry then advanced. Flamethrower troops rushed to the enemy lines under heavy cover fire and burned the few remaining enemys alive.
After a few monets had passed the battle ended. The resistance was suprisingly were small and they had only encountered a few enemy troops. After his Infantry had secured the battlefield and killed the enemys wounded, the tank group reorganised itself. The radioman informed the commander of the army, that they had only encountered minimal resistance.
After that the radio cracked again "The Legion has adavanced far into enemy territory thanks to you, but the resistance does indeed seem a little to small. Reports show, that the enemy doesnt use as many soldiers and vehicles concentrated on one point. There lines are easy to break, but their technology far surpasses our own. Be ready to encounter enemy reinforcements Commander. It seems like our enemy is not the fan of big battles, which can decide the fate of the war."

by **Newne Carriebean7** » Thu Oct 01, 2020 3:51 pm

100 miles outside of Istanbul, Turkey
January 9th, 1980
"Aliens.
Of all the fucking things why did It have to be Aliens?"

These words bounced back and forth in the Gaijn-Shogun of Mesopotamia's head as he paced in his makeshift office. The creaking cardboard and shaky ceiling from each step indicated the shoddy craftsmanship of the Ottoman sultan's secretaries turned construction workers. The entire building seemed like it was a never ending earthquake, so he had been spending more time than usual outside of his shitty workstation, only coming in to haul some political documents or sign execution receipts as a representative of the Sultan for the güvenlik to murder.

Eventually Murai just couldn't deal with the seaworthiness of a shitty building and made his much needed respite from the structure outside, where the ninety nine year old (and still very much alive for the convenience of plot) Enver Pasha hobbled his way towards him. While normally Murai could have easily told him to piss off with a .45 caliber bullet, you just didn't kill a ninety nine year old man without asking a few questions first. Who knows, he could hold some previously unknown political position that the narrator made up simply because he wants this to be an incompetent version of game of thrones with thousands of people with very grand poobah sounding titles and responsibilities. Or he could just run away.

His feet made this decision for him as he hobbled into a nearby truck, sucker-punching the previous ottoman soldier manning it with a Wilhelm scream accompanying the one foot drop from the seat to the earthen floor. Just as he was about to step on the gas after taking it out of gear, the passenger door opened as Enver Pasha surprised the shit out of him with a few bloody whacks from a cane.
*WHACK*
*WHACK*
*WHACK*
After some mild traumatic bleeding, Murai came to his senses with the 99 year old Pasha.
"E-Elizabeth my queen-fuck off."
"I'm Enver Pasha you stupid fuck. Sorry for hitting you with the cane, but I wanted to discuss with you what the fuck we are doing, It's been two months since the last post, and-"
"I'm well aware of that. As you know-"
"If I already know why are you telling me it?"
"Will you let me speak you son of a bitch?"
"No."
"Ok then, so-"
*WHACK*
"What the fuck was THAT for?!"
"Being an asshole. Now, have we launched the SCUDs yet?"
"It's only been a few hours since we've begun to evacuate, the rear guard is still getting established in defensive positions. We'll have to wait in order to get the gold out-"
"Fuck the gold, I'd rather us not have it, nor the enemy, so we'll have to dump it in the ocean. Smart move, I know, I was surprised no-one else thought of it."
"Your an idiot."
"You're."
"Fuck you. Alright get me on the horn with Monroe."
A few aides rummaged through the trash for a rotary phone, a car battery and seashells, after being told that was fucking stupid, they came back with a bottle filled with miniature alarm clocks, which made a whole lot more sense that fucking seashells, what the fuck were they thinking? Seashells? Fucking idiots. Oh hi. I'm the narrator. I'm just about as pissed off as you are reading this, or you could be entertained by this, which I'd have to say "Do you need help? Newne's posts shouldn't make you laugh that much, maybe a chuckle here and there but a FULL laugh? You need to see a doctor. I don't know any, but I'm just going to point it out. Now where the fuck was I? Oh yes...

I have no fucking idea. You know, I have four grandbabies. I dont know their names but I dont need to know their names, me and misses dresses them up in abraham lincoln, benjamin harrison, john sharp williams and susan b. anthony dresses so I can associate the political figure with a child. I had no idea Abe was a woman, fucking history. IT'S A CONSPIRACY BY THE SNAIL PEOPLE-CONSPIRACY YOU SON OF A BITCHES....

This concludes this fourth wall break, brought to you by marballo cigarettes, EAT A CIGARETTE!

"Does that happen often? What the ever-loving mother of fuck."
"Hell if I know." Murai simply shrugged his shoulders as he picked up the receiver and spun the dial around, reaching for various numbers before putting the receiver up to his ears and hearing Monroe.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS NEED TO EAT SHIT-oh hi Murai, how's it going, I'm just trying to hold the capital with what shitty shit you gave me."
"Are-are you holding it?"
"Holding it, yes. Holding it very well. Fuck no. This is Newne we're talking about. The Ottomans never had a chance here you shit fuck."
"That's... news in of it's self. We're going to lob off about thirty to nine hundred SCUDs at the capital with an intention of blowing buildings, factories and causing Sarin to greet the Europan forces in battle when they march through."
"Just lob fifteen for now, We can handle that much. I'm sure of it."
"Well... alright then It's your funeral."
'We're the reargaurd, we're always going to die. It's like wearing red in star trek. But we'll die for your amusement."
"Thank you very much for that. I WAS getting rather bored. So that's hella neat-o. Fuck you,and god-speed you crazy bastards."

Istanbul, Ottoman Empire

While Buster Monroe was nominally the highest ranking officer, he still referred to himself as the "humble son of a bitch colonel." It may have been a shred of humility and self-deprecation still left in him that hadn't been overwhelmed by a paranoia of anything colored red. Waddling on his hands to the balcony, he was helped up by a military aide unfortunate enough to be left behind and had him peer through a telescope throughout the chaotic city.

Thousands of civilians' with some brain cells were flooding the streets in an attempt to flee, while the more foolhardy units dug themselves into entrenched bunkers and fortifications. Hotels were blown apart by stray Ottoman artillery fire, blowing out several stories in the structures, sending them toppling to one side, blocking a roadway and allowing the Ottoman forces to prepare defensive positions, with several Tiger-43 Main Battle Tanks rumbling into position, with Tiger-I hulls and their T-72 turrets firmly prepared for the upcoming fight.

The Ottoman rearguard numbered forty thousand Ottoman soldiers that had been drugged up enough on cocaine and Arabic snail dust, at least four hundred thousand cannon fodder armed levies and civilians with about as much firearm experience as a call of duty player going into basic training. A couple hundred confiscated motor cars and ottoman automobiles with enough gas in them to act as troop transports and couriers for military orders from the rear. Vast minefields were scattered in areas where they had been expecting fierce resistance from Europan soldiers.

"Excellent. We have proper defenses established on which side now, Cletus?"
The gruff looking slack jawed local picked his nose, not paying attention until Monroe barked impatiently at him, akin to a dog wanting the scrapes of food from your plate at dinner time.
"Cletus!"
"Huh-what-embrace me. Oh hi theres mista Jar Jar Fucks. I doggon git the cat."
"Git the gun you islamic insane imbecile, we've got to hold this city. What of the Hagia Sofia? Are they firing?"
"We got one of thems twelve incher battleships guns right in there, so It should be shootin' anna tootin'."
"I dont give a hell if it's a twelve or thirteen inch battery, so long as it rains hellfire upon the Europans. What of my air support, I was promised the skies would be blackened with airplanes! Where are my fucking airplanes?!"
"That, that was a lie mista Neapolitan."
"I'm NOT SHORT, I just got my lower torso shot off in the war. I left my legs in Düsseldorf! They owed me! Get the gloves they said, as they snicker in the footlocker, talking to my jockstrap behind my back, they all deserve a good nuclear holocaust!"
"But we dont got no nukes, no sir, just a buncha Sarin-"
"Then ready the Sarin you fucking slack-jawed local. Christ it's like I'm working with idiots."
With a giddy laugh by the southern stereotype, Cletus soon flicked a few switches as he looked up into the sky with Monroe, them holding each others hands tightly.

Then Istanbul would feel the excitement of every restroom bathroom at a gas station, but with chemicals weapons and sarin gas. Tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of civilians died as they panicked like a crowd of people in a burning building, which also occurred in numerous movie theatres featuring the movie Aladdin. People trampled each other to death as they tried to flee, the flames soon licking them like the annoying feeling of a puppy that was made up entirely of fire. Flaming dogs, cats and other animals had some sense to rush to the river, only to be blown out of the water by the naval mines set to go off with a light breeze in a bathtub. The large explosions blew apart several buildings, with numerous apartment complexes being leveled with the accidental dropping of a pair of matches in the City's makeshift munitions dump of live artillery shells and explosive rounds.

by **Wasi State** » Thu Oct 01, 2020 8:28 pm

Warrant Officer Bill Beagan
Sacré Coeur, WIFC Québec

The small Francophone town had been mostly evacuated in recent times in the wake of the stumbling march of the undead Nazi Zombie hordes that have encroached into the French speaking Province, leaving only a small handful of households worth of civilians and civil workers in the aftermath of the Great Exodus to the South. Ironically just a day or two prior, the town had seen a massive, yet short lived business boom unseen since the Wilhelm Imperium's subjugation of the area to the local stores being bought out of their supplies and goods from fleeing caravans worth of civilians that had arrived on short notice through other towns in the North that were on the path of destruction of both the dead, and the living's carpet bombing and repeated shelling strikes. However now the town lay silently still as only a few stragglers remained that didn't manage to leave with the initial refugee wave, either those who were deemed essential workers, or those with infirm family members whom they didn't want to part with quite yet, at least without evacuated assistance from the local garrison.

By the early morning the rather somber streets had no one on them, say for a passing looter or partisan, or weary eyed local vagrant looking for scraps to get by before they made the trek to the next safe town. Some houses still had their lights on, if only just briefly to signal to a passing rescue Huey Helicopter to rescue their family from the approaching onslaught coming their way.

Warrant Officer Bill Beagan, reenlisted on short notice by Wilhelm Imperium Command since last week to serve as a Huey door-gunner in the midst of the evacuations of the supposedly doomed North within Québec, had spotted a couple civilians on their rooftops that morning in the dry cold in the middle of January to order the pilots to stop and pick them up.

A few more Hueys in the squadron quickly followed suit and soon picked up household after household in what remained of the population in Sacré Coeur. Beagan, helping a bed bound old man on board his helicopter with the help of the man's daughter was soon accosted by a man in an old uniform and a set of gear predating the Second World War coming out of the nearby woodwork to warn him.

"You, you're an Anglo right?" The man had a thick Québecois accent, but Beagan was still able to understand him mostly just fine.

"Yes? I'm not one of those Wilhelm folks if that what you mean?" He then said in response to the partisan.

"Oh good, you're not one of those Imperial bastards that have likely brought this undead apocalypse on us to weed us out. Even though you're an Anglo, I'd still prefer you over those technicolored freaks. I've come to warn you actually, my scouts have spotted a armored unit of the undead approaching this town at a rapid pace, you and your air unit need to vacate immediately and call in a airstrike to scorch this now tainted place!" The partisan then warned, clearly not holding back his distaste either of the recent occupiers to his land.

Beagan knew he should at least heed the man's warning, but given that he seemed to have been a couple cans short of a six-pack, he wasn't all too thrilled to listen to what the partisan had to say either given the already dire enough circumstances they had found themselves in with the undead literally rising up to kill them all.

He simply nodded, "I'll keep that in mind, but c'mon, undead using armor? You can't be serious, Frenchie?" He then tried to shrug him off as he lifted the stretcher of the infirm old man onto the copter.

"Agh, Idiot, leave or you will perish!" The partisan then scuffed him off and left, presumably to go into the snowy woods from whence he came.

"What's his deal?" Beagan then muttered to himself as the Huey's pilots signaled to him that they were ready within a few minutes or so to depart from the area. Taking their time of course, for the undead were known up to this point to them to be painfully slow, his Huey was the last to depart from the now completely abandoned town. Lifting up into the air with a whole family in tow in the belly of the machine, Beagan then quickly noticed something was wrong, something spotted off the outskirts of town.

"Jesus are those tanks?" He then said over to the pilots in the cockpit.

"What? Just North of us you mean? There's no way, how the hell can they use tanks?" One of the pilots then said, completely flabbergasted at the mere concept that nonetheless was happening just behind him as the aircraft turned away to head Southwards. "Well there's no way they can even hope to hit us from here, Frank, report this shit to Command will you?" The pilot then said to his copilot.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on." The copilot then switched to the Air Command channel. "Command this is Angel 5, we got enemy armor approaching the town of Sacré Coeur, looks like a forward unit, appears to be some more relatively older- Oh shit they're firing on us!" The copilot then panicked as the gun from the Jagdtiger spew forth with a high-explosive shell heading their way.

"Shit, evasive maneuvers, we're-" The transmission to Air Command was then quickly cut off from the Huey briefly. "Enemy shot missed, we're continuing to leave its range, we are in need of some anti-tank CAS, over. Enemy is persistent." The Huey kept flying until another round was fired from the tank destroyer. "Enemy has fired again, taking evasive-" The transmission then cut itself off again, this time permanently, as the high explosive shell smacked into the helicopter and swatted it down to the ground like a lonesome fly splattered to bits. The crew and evacuees killed in action as the chopper's remain's fell down to Earth several miles out in a burning, hulking wreak full of debris that smashed into some trees and brush, burning away metal and flesh to the embers of war.

Saguenay, WIFC Québec

Lieutenant Godfrey Kingly along with the 6th and 7th Armored Cohort of the 78th Legion Lusitania, arrived to the first real strategic point along their much wider line of defense in the much larger town, practically the city of Saguenay, their tanks and other armored vehicles effortlessly plowing through scattered debris and vehicles left on the streets of the small city without a care as they moved to assemble into the city's center. Going past waves of caravans worth of civilians trying to escape to the more secure South on their way there.

The bustling streets full of refugees and military personnel soon crowded downtown Saguenay to the brim, as chaos was soon intercepted with hastily made martial law that directed civilian traffic away from the city towards the South en mass. Kingly could only look at the locals with some level of disgust as they scattered away from the treads of his large lead command tank. "Animals..." He muttered scornfully to himself as the hulking beast of machinery ran over some luggage left to the side of the road.

"Fucking Occupier!" A Québecois man then shouted at him as the Lieutenant passed by a street corner with his unit, being visible from his command cupola to the general public. He tried to paid no mind to the disgruntled man however, but his lack of support clearly didn't help the Lieutenant's internal thoughts on helping these people anyhow. Thinking maybe they deserved to be ripped from their homes in this mandatory mass evacuation that was technically a clear violation of their civil rights.

Once his unit reached the FOB in the middle of the city in the meantime that was currently manned by the local garrison, Kingly soon took total command of the front of the Saguenay defense on behalf of General Hispania, or so he rather everyone believe. For all he was concerned though, he needed a public victory to promote his name to the masses as any rate, and what better place to do that then at a major river crossing battle that was to take place in the very near future.

"Gentlemen, as you've come to know this city is of grave importance to the survival of the WIFC, seeing as how it is on a major point of the river of the same name as it, Saguenay. Seeing as how the undead are unable to cross these icy cold rivers in mass without a sufficient bridge crossing, it is of utmost importance that we hold this position on the front for as long as possible." He began his speech, the moment he had a vast chunk of his men assembled in the town's square.

"While our bombers and artillery have been successfully chipping away at this horde numbering in the millions since the inception of this conflict, I see it as a necessity that we finally bring the fight to them head on to vanquish many of their number to the depths of hell from winch they came!" He then proclaimed to his men, sparking some cheers in the crowd.

"It is a priority that we slay as many of them here in Saguenay as possible, for as well as I see it, the last domino falls here, and they'll regret ever facing the Wilhelm Imperium in the face of true, total war!" More men in the crowd cheered.

"We'll show this undead horde the meaning of death and dishonor, or die trying! Their destruction is at hand, for we are the Imperium, under Wilhelm and Maccabees!" He then raised his power sword up high to the crowd of his men as he took it out from his sheath, sparking an roar of cheers and chants of ultimate victory in the name of the Wilhelm Impeirum.

Once the crowd of his men soon dissipated however, some worrying news from his officers came to Kingly's way once he got to his command tent...

"What you mean they have armor?" He then said in an initial shock.

"I'm saying they can operate tanks, and have been doing so along with other heavy weapons to shoot down our helicopters and Overlords in the area for some time." His officer then told him, hiding nothing from him. "The last report we have on their advance, is of a forward unit spotted in Sacré Coeur that shot down the recent Huey. That's roughly two days out at the rate they've been going until they reach this city. I suggest some proactive measures to delay them further." The officer then added.

"I see... What CAS air units we have in the area that can deal with their armor?" Kingly then said, still trying to process this new and disconcerting information.

"We have a squadron of former American A-10 Thunderbolts at the ready, along with some Overlord carrying heavy weapons for some direct retaliation. But we need to send some reconnaissance units or drones first to scope out that whole area for accurate targets, Lieutenant." The officer then explained.

"Then go ahead then, get those drones up and running and scouting that whole area for what they have, if they have armor I want it wiped out before they have even the slightest chance to use it here on us, do you understand? The moment they're taken care of, the moment I can move my armor out in peace to mow down those fleshbags." Kingly then sternly ordered to his officer.

"Yes sir, it'll be done..." The officer then nodded before leaving to carry out Kingly's orders.

by **Fascist Republic Of Bermuda** » Sat Oct 03, 2020 10:06 am

Imperial General Headquarters
Tokyo, Empire of Japan

The Imperial General Headquarters was a post-war building. Built to facilitate the body of the same name, and contain the Imperial General Headquarters-Government Liaison Conference, It had become the nucleus of Japanese defense during the Cold War, with further plans to evacuate it to the Matsushiro Underground Imperial Headquarters should a World War break out.

“So many nuclear detonations…” The Emperor was shocked. A nuclear weapon had never been used in war before. Discussions of nuclear war were always purely theoretical. They were all, nearly universally, considered one of the worst possible outcomes, and as such the threat of thermonuclear war could stave off even the most seemingly-inevitable conflict.

“Not nuclear, your majesty,” A general of the IJA said, tapping the table, “These detonations are larger than even the German’s most wasteful explosives, and have a… pink hue, to them. The images are on the screens.” He motioned to the satellite images that were flashing up.

“So what are we dealing with?” The Emperor asked.

“We… do not know, your majesty,” admitted an officer who specialized in missile weaponry, “Some were missiles. Others were not deployed via missile of any sort. Probably deployed via land-based bombers- stealth-capable ones, given the distance from the frontline. Either that, or the Russians are desperately under-equipped for anti-air defenses.”

“I will authorize the redeployment of some of our nuclear missile submarines to ensure mutually assured destruction, should these… Europeans try anything with the Sphere,” an IJN officer with a mustache suggested, “I only await your command.

“Yes. Yes. Of course,” The Emperor nodded, “We will allow this redeployment.” He was consumed in thought. He was set to speak in a few minutes. Should he condemn them-

“Our diplomats are discussing the final details of a treaty with the Europans as we speak,” a particularly thick-set Kempeitai official spoke up, as if reading the Emperor’s mind, “It would be… unwise to condemn them at such a crucial juncture for our relations.”

The Emperor nodded. This… this made sense. He would not speak of it. Not directly, anyhow. But… “There is no time to revise my speech.”

“Your majesty?” Inquired an IJAAF officer.

“The Sphere remains paralyzed by fear, uncertainty, and doubt. If I do not speak now…” The Emperor swallowed down his apprehension, “We may find this new world just as vicious as the old.”

And with a final “Tenno heika, banzai!” the meeting was concluded, and the Emperor set out towards the Imperial Palace.

Imperial Palace
Tokyo, Empire of Japan

The eyes of the Sphere were all on the Emperor of Japan. A crowd was crammed together, dozens of cameras gazed entirely on the monarch of the superpower behind the Sphere. His speech was in front of him. This would be simple. It was vague, deliberately so, as any good speech was. But it would do.

“To Our good and loyal subjects:

“The Empire of Japan and her sister-nations of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere stand in a strange new world, with vast new challenges. It is justified to feel frightened. But we will endure! We will survive! We will prosper! Was it not we who did the impossible task of clawing our way from being backwards to sweeping all imperialism from East Asia in a swift stroke? Was it not we who succeeded in the impossible task of uplifting the downtrodden peoples of East Asia after centuries of exploitation? The situation is stable, our course is clear, and just as we triumphed in the Great East Asian Liberation War we shall triumph in this new world!”

The crowd went wild, cheering “BANZAI!” over and over again. The Emperor took the chance to sip a cup of water before the crowd calmed down enough to let him finish.

“To the nations of the world: The Sphere is willing to extend its arms in friendship to any and all who show the proper respect and humility. But do not mistake the Sphere’s friendliness for complacency! The Sphere’s sovereignty cannot be infringed. A Divine Wind will sweep away those who threaten Japan and her sister-nations! The Sphere wants only peace and prosperity, but will defend herself and her interests with the fury of a thousand suns!”

At this point, the crowd went wild in their cries of “TENNOHEIKA BANZAI!”, drowning out any attempts at a follow-up speech by other members of the government. Flags were waved, hands thrust into the air in a salute, and Japan finally breathed once more.

Outside the Former Embassy of the Greater Germanic Reich
Tokyo, Empire of Japan

“It is with the greatest hope that the nations of the Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere agrees to sign the Treaty of Peace and Friendship with the Pan-Europan Empire,” The Japanese diplomat signed his name along the dotted line, standing up to conclude, “May this treaty lead to further peaceful relations and serve as a basis of cooperation for a bright future.”

The Japanese delegation bowed as one, and with that the negotiations were concluded.

The treaty signed was nothing special, despite its name: a bunch of boring commitments to trade negotiations, reestablishing diplomatic relations, creating mutual embassies. Of the war in the east, Japan laid out a vague and general policy of non-intervention, but requested and was granted permission to send a few observers to witness the chaos.

The former embassy of the German Reich, abandoned since the Event, would serve nicely as the Europan Embassy… after having been thoroughly searched and cleared of all potential valuables by the Emperor’s Kempeitai, of course.

Streets of Phnom Penh
Phnom Penh, Kingdom of Kampuchea

Things had almost frozen for nearly a week and a half. Fear was paralyzing. Fear that more things would disappear. Fear that the people of Kampuchea would wake up alone.

But life eventually, inevitably, had to go on. Slowly, the streets started to come to life again. Restaurants started to be filled once more. Both fancy dine-in places and fast food joints, like a certain Yoshinoya location.

“Did you catch the Japanese Emperor’s speech?” Chen Sorya slid into the seat across from Nhek Ung, holding a bento box in his hands. School had been halted, but plans to resume despite the impromptu break were already in motion. This would be their last free day for a while.

“Oh, afraid not,” Nhek said in between slurping up his noodles, rolling his eyes, “Us humble Khmers can’t all be as fanatically devoted to your believed Tenno-senpai as you are, oh honorary Yamato.”

“Come on, you know it’s not like that at all!” Chen flushed and shook his head, “Just because I watch anime-”

“You have a body pillow,” Nhek stated matter-of-factly.

“Yea- wait, no- hey- will you at least let me finish!” Chen was no longer making eye contact with Nhek.

“Right. Go ahead,” Nhek snorted before grabbing a bit of chicken with his chopsticks and dropping it into his mouth.

“Well, he said there was nothing to worry about, that nothing else would disappear.”

Nhek raised his eyebrows at that. “Do you think they know that? I read on social media that new countries still seem to be appearing on satellite images, like the Yankee town of Chicago...”

“Come on, Nhek, when have the Japanese ever led us astray?”

by **Mirial System** » Sat Oct 03, 2020 2:00 pm

Droid Workshop, Negotiator

"Senth, stop messing with the astromechs - their complaints annoy me."

Still focused on re-welding some loose wires in the mouse droid she was working on, Seventh could feel the ID9 seeker droid sulk before hovering off the domed top of Arfour - R4-P17, Kenobi's personal astromech - with a whine. Who merely bleeped something not quite suitable for polite company in reply.

Clearly, the surly droid didn't take after her master with regards to manners.

By the entrance of the workshop, the clone sergeant that was her parole officer radiated boredom dimly through the Force even as he kept a firm gaze at her back. It amused her somewhat that every movement she made sent a spike of alarm piercing through the fog of ennui surrounding him. Around her, technicians - both clones, and even a handful of 'natural-borns' (as she caught the sergeant mutter one day) - eyed her with nervous curiosity.

She's starting to miss the deep-set fear that she used to inspire in those around her, by virtue of her powers and position. Well, former position that is.

Still, at least they kept their distance, making their incessant glances in her direction somewhat tolerable. None of the staff in the workshop had made moves to reach out to her. And frankly, the former Inquisitor - and at the moment, droid mechanic - was fine with this arrangement. Her seeker droids were more than sufficient help in this job. Probably more competent too, she thought snidely.

Force forbid, after all that she had went through in the past few weeks, that she'll need to start socialising...

"DON'T touch that, Leth my darling." Glancing up, she kept a firm, tainted gaze on the way-too-curious seeker droid - making sure it stayed well away from the sandblaster. Nobody needed their face stripped off their skull today. "Krenth, hydrospanner if you would be so kind-"

"Here."

She grabbed the tool held out to her a moment before registering that it wasn't one of her seeker droids handing it to her. That, in the midst of concentrating on her work she had, somehow, missed the almost oppressive Force presence that now stood beside her. Alarmed, Seventh glanced up stiffly - at the arm covered by dark robes, its sleeve bound tightly by a glove; to the long, wavy dark hair framing an intense glare; to the narrowed sky-blue eyes looking back into her blood-touched gold...

---------------------

There was a meeting scheduled for later that day - a regular one to keep them up to date with the latest developments of this world and for them to deliberate if any action on their part was warranted.

Seeing as he ran into the issue of missing his favourite servodriver and that he clearly recalled leaving it somewhere on his former master's flagship a couple of days back, Anakin Skywalker decided to drop by the Negotiator to pick it up - and simply attend the meeting there. After searching the hangar and docking bays to no avail, the young Knight decided to head for the droid workshop. Clearly he must have left it there for some reason.

Upon entering the vast workroom, Anakin could feel something was amiss. Tension hung thick in the air; the machinists went about their business with uneasy movement. And a faint, tightly-coiled chill creeped through the Force. His attention fell upon the figure in the black jumpsuit seated at a workbench at the back of the room, surrounded by chittering mouse droids on the floor and... several droids of a strange model he was unfamiliar with, hovering around her. And, becoming apparent as he drew closer, helping her by fetching tools and other items that she needed for her work.

Frowning at the whispers of the Dark Side that he sensed from her, he approached warily.

"...hydrospanner if you would be so kind-" Beneath the creepy synthetised voice was a curious lilt, as if she was speaking to the airborne droids like they're her children.

By habit, Anakin picked up the nearby hydrospanner and handed it over to the Mirialan seated before the workbench. "Here."

She had grabbed the tool without even checking to see who handed it to her - the lack of awareness inherent in the action amusing the young knight who until mere weeks ago had been in a war and until now still jumped when doors with faulty servos slammed. That carelessness shattered and she froze - in that familiar manner that confirmed to Anakin that she was in fact Force-sensitive and had just picked up his presence, not merely surprised by his unexpected arrival.

She looked up at him, and it was the Jedi's turn to freeze - as sulphurous eyes pinned down his mind and dragged the nightmare that was Maul from the depths of his childhood memory.

"Sith.", he hissed, as his hand released the hydrospanner to grab his lightsaber - the weapon already in mid-leap from his belt...

---------------------

With the cerulean-blue plasma blade pointed squarely at her throat, Seventh was starting to find this particularly scene somewhat familiar - reminding her of ... Mustafar... no-

She wanted to look away, to tear herself from this recollection of her darkest hours that this Jedi, for some reason, was imposing upon her.

The two individuals sharing that position - one before her eyes and one from her mind - were even somewhat similar. Both tall and imposing, both whose vast Force presences dwarved all around them. Lord Vader, who was like a black hole coldly threatening to devour her; and this Jedi, who scorched her akin to a blue hypergiant that sought to reduce her to ash-

"Who are you?", he growled. Breaking the former Inquisitor from her thoughts as the scenes playing out before her in parallel diverged - back then, the crimson blade of the Sith Lord had wordlessly sunk into her throat, claiming her natural voice in a painful lesson on loss.

Looking behind the looming Jedi, she could see the clone sergeant almost running from the door with another of his ilk - finally noticing the commotion. Around them, work screeched to a halt as technicians watched the confrontation with trepidation - none willing to interfere.

"I'm-"

That was when a beep emitted from a computer terminal at the far end of the workshop, followed ominously by a synthesized message declaring 'Transmission sent.'

---------------------

"'Transmission sent'?" Paling, Anakin stalked up to the errant computer - noticing for the first time that something was linked to it. Seventh, keeping a close eye on the Jedi's lightsaber until he instintively extinguished it, followed carefully behind him from a healthy distance - drawn to the unfolding commotion more out of curiosity than anything else. "What 'Transmission sent'?? I DON'T LIKE the words 'Transmission sent'! Someone better kriffing explain what they meant by 'Transmission sent'!"

Muttering under his breath, he approached the console and called up the outbound transmissions log - resolutely ignoring the Mirialan behind him snarking about being 'overly dramatic'.

A quick click had the binary transmission translated into Basic - the contents drawing their attention to the piece of technology connected to the computer by means of a cable.

"What the kriff are you?" Skywalker demanded, as the Inquisitor - taking over the console to track down the recepient of the transmission - shot the memory core a speculative glance. "And who's SKYNET?"

The holoemitter flickered on, displaying a droid model neither were familiar with. Speaking through the computer's inbuilt vocabulator, the rogue memory core deadpanned. "Recitation: Yes, as I said, I am an assassin droid. It is my primary function to burn holes through meatbags that my master - how I hate that term - wish removed from the galaxy…

"Observation: Neither of you are my master. Also, I appear to lack a body - how very unfortunate." Somehow, the droid managed to make his synthesized voice sound bone-dry. Then, as if registering the second query late. "Statement: I am unaware of the identity - or the existence - of the entity named SKYNET up till 532.11 seconds prior to the commencement of our current exchange. Is it not common courtesy to respond to politely-delivered queries in your cultural practices as well?"

"Not to unknown, faceless strangers." Anakin snapped at the memory core, before turning his attention to the Mirialan tapping away at the console. "Have you managed to find who was it that our new favourite droidbrain was conversing with, Sith?"

"... you know, I don't think I qualify as a Sith." Seventh mused, before gesturing at the holoemitter - casually overriding HK-47's own projection to display a globe. "But yes, I have a lock."

A flashing red dot - with the geographical data appropriated from the European Empire labelling it as Caracas.

Command Deck, Negotiator

As a comms officer serving onboard the Negotiator busied with setting up the holoconference while General Kenobi waited patiently, Captain Piett merely carried on reading the latest situation update on what's now termed the Russian Front.

At least, for a moment before setting down his datapad. "Utter banthashite.", he muttered under his breath, drawing a raised eyebrow from the Jedi across the holotable.

"What's the matter, Captain?"

"Both sides of the mess in Europe are getting bogged down in close fighting, with the Empire getting steadily pushed back westwards. If the net chatter is accurate, which I doubt it, they're doing a pretty good job withdrawing. I've expected higher casualty numbers... which means they're probably faking it."

"Hmm."

"Still, these 'Russians' appear to be pretty brutal..."

"How bad is it?" At General Kenobi's query, Piett transferred the report he was reading to the holotable. A quick glance by the jedi turned his expression from a pleasant neutral to a hint of a disapproving frown. Which, given his disposition towards most human officers (that is, professionally polite), was as good as a full-blow grimace.

"Huh." The change to the normally unflappable general drew the captain's attention. "That bad, sir?"

"... enough to remind me of the Kyr'tsad."

Commander Cody, just entering the communications centre, winced before answering Piett's questioning look. "Mandalorian Death Watch. Why are we talking about them?"

"Comparing the Russians to them.", was Kenobi's level reply.

"Right." The clone commander stepped up to the holotable before giving the room a double-take. "Where's General Skywalker?"

"Somewhere in the bowels of my ship, I presume." The holotable display flickered, before the other generals and their First Officers - as well as one of the Senator's handmaidens - appeared. "I guess we'll start without him - Captain Rex will have to fill him in.

"Hello there - let's skip the Russian Front, I'm sure you all can read about the absolutely nothing unusual happening at your own leisure. Now... can we talk about the nuclear weapon detonated to our south?"

General Dooku scoffed at the irreverence at display. "Well... someone is in a poor mood today. Regarding the topic on hand, I'm assuming, based on the message that followed, it was intended to be a warning. Perhaps our most-southerly neighbour was alarmed by the Empire's use of siege weapons-"

"More importantly, aren't they radioactive? I seem to recall reading about that in the past..." Captain Rex interjected, earning a twinge from Dooku's right eyebrow. "Shouldn't we check if we have fallout headed our way?"

"Given the distance, it is most likely unnecessary." Cody replied over a datapad filled with sensor readings. "The yield isn't big enough for the blast to carry irradiated material this far north, and as far as our meteorological readings indicate the prevailing wind in our region should be from north to south, thus keeping possible fallout away from our location. I suppose we can scramble some fighters to confirm - ARC-170s, as I recall, have pretty good radiation sensors for their deep-space mission profile."

"See to it then, if you would be so kind." Kenobi assented. "Now, that static burst a few days ago - does anyone have any clues?"

"I believe hearing rumours of an astromech - if I recall correctly, one with the serial R2-D2 - claiming he could pick up a pattern. A coded message, I think Barriss mentioned the astromech calling it." General Unduli noted with an almost querying tone. "Still, I'm uncertain if we should expend resources on the basis of a rumour."

"Interesting... my own communications specialists haven't been able to spot anything like that. A code..." At the mention of a breakthrough, a thoughtful look showed on Kenobi's face - complete with his habitual beard-stroking. "I suppose I could get Arfour to double-check. Though, without knowing the code we might never know what this possible transmission contained... do we have a source location?"

"Somewhere in Eastern Canada." Piett filled in, from across the holotable. A pause. "I'll get satellites to take a look."

"Much appreciated-"

"Master, we have a problem!" Raising his glance towards the communications centre's door, the captain saw General Skywalker - the source of the alarming shout - stalk hurriedly into the room. "There was... an errant transmission from this ship-"

"Yes, my ship. I'm aware of that, Anakin - my comms officer was panicking over a virus attack. I'm assuming your own bout of panic is due to you knowing the cause?"

That caused the young jedi knight to instantly clam up. "Well... you see, Master..."

"... no Anakin, I don't in fact see. Can you please get to the point?"

"... um..."

"Go on - you're getting there, I'm sure."

"I maaaaay have connected a databank I found on Mustafar to one of the terminals in your droid workshop."

"You... may?" General Kenobi arched an imposing eyebrow at that admission. "Did you at least know what the databank contained?"

"Well... I do now-"

Sighing, Kenobi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you didn't-"

"As... entertaining as the byplay between you two may be..." General Unduli remarked drily, to Piett's quiet amusement. "... please, Knight Skywalker, can you perhaps summarise the salient points of your report?"

"Um... right. It is a droidbrain - one calling itself... HK-47. And it may have used the terminal to intercept a transmission from an entity called Skynet - as well as replied to it on our behalf."

"... that's exactly what I needed to hear today, Anakin." General Kenobi's wit, Piett concluded, definitely leaned towards being cutting. "Do we know where this Skynet is - I'm assuming finding out what it is would be too tall an order for now."

"We figured that out, Master - that ... thing, whatever it is, is in Caracas."

"South America. I see." Kenobi pondered the information for a moment. "Captain Piett-"

"Satellites. Got it, General."

With that settled, he turned a sharp glance towards his former padawan. "...so, 'we'?"

"... yeah." General Skywalker had taken to fiddling with the edges of his robes. "You know, the creepy Sith woman you're keeping in your droid workshop-"

"Phrasing, Anakin!"

On the holoprojection behind the pair, General Unduli suddenly took on a coughing fit - earning a look from General Dooku. "Are you quite alright, Master Unduli?"

"Y-yes, Master Dooku."

The awkward air was sliced clean through as a transmission was forwarded to the holoconference by the comms officer - one from a certain 'Alpine Union' that earned a mutter from the officer. "'So-called'? How rude... General, shall I-"

"I'll draft it." The blonde handmaiden, silent until now, cut in. "It is only proper that the representative of the Senate offers an official response to this new political entity." She exchanged glances with the comms officer, who merely shrugged. Less work for him, why not?

Kenobi gave the message a quick glance. "Yes please. That said... does anyone know what they mean by 'extraterrestrials'?"

Shrugs rippled across the room, both in-person and holographic...

by **Remnants of Exilvania** » Sun Oct 04, 2020 2:36 am

Battle of Saguenay: Prelude

Québec
Monts Valin
Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger

A cold northern wind let corpse-like man’s robes flutter and tear at his sickly frame as he stood upon the Monts Valin, a mountain range to the north of Saguenay, letting him overlook the plains and forests before him all the way to the city itself. He barely even felt the cold, standing there completely still, like a statue as he looked through the binoculars he had been handed. A stark difference from some of the people standing around him.

Major Otto Carius was standing just a smidgeon behind him in his tattered uniform, hands in his pants to trap some heat and constantly jumping from one leg onto the other to keep his blood circulating and generating more heat to warm him up.

“It is good that you called upon me, Major Carius. Your assumption that Saguenay would be defended appears to be proven correct.”

The tank commander merely grunted in annoyance, pulling his hands out of his pockets and rubbing them together, blowing his breath onto them every now and then before replying:

“Considering the warm welcome that I and my lads got, I am not surprised to be right with that.”

He looked to the side, to some of the other people waiting with them up here on the Monts Valin, showing off his cheek in the process which appeared to have virtually disappeared, giving one a good look at his teeth and the inside of his mouth, only a few strands of flesh and skin still keeping it somewhat covered. Burn marks covered the edges. The man had to be in absolute agony and yet he did not really say anything about it, instead motioning with his hand at some of the people standing around them, ordering them to come forward.

And come forward they did, a pair of Führerkult Panzergrenadiers flanking an old man, practically dragging him with them. Not just any old man though...after the nightmare at Sacré-Coeur, the Führerkult unit had been forced to spread out and seek cover, during which they had managed to stumble upon some partisans. Most had died fighting but this one had fallen into their hands alive.

“We found this old bastard shooting at us from the woods after the enemy air assets rained their bombs and rockets on us. Most likely local militia trying to stave us off. He might know a thing or two about Saguenay.”

Ratzinger stared at the old man, a bottomless potential for evil radiating from his eyes as he did. Meanwhile Otto pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a lighter, inhaling the smoke, some of it leaving through the hole of his cheek, before exhaling again, waiting for Ratzinger to do what he wanted to do.

“Why hello there! Did you know, you are one of the first locals to fall in our hands alive? Do you know just how invaluable that makes you?”

Occult energies suddenly started sparking across the old nazi’s body, lighting up his face in a most unnatural and uncanny light as he leaned in closer, his horrible breath assaulting the old man’s nostrils:

“So I recommend you do not squander your value and tell us everything you know about this place.”

The old Québecois man stared coldly at the surprisingly living Nazi with an ire of bitter, tired, jaded eyes. A pair of eyes that have no doubt seen the Great War at hand when he was a lad, eyes that experienced the Second World War when he was a father watching his own children go off to war to never return, eyes that have witnessed a impossibly advance empire of trillions strong that steamrolled his entire known world like an unstoppable force of nature.

He lost many of his remaining friends and family in the following year since the arrival of the Occupiers, either those that were killed in the initial fighting or following insurrection, or having been deported to ‘Off-Region Relocation.’ The bastards took so much from him in such a short amount of time, it was only their region’s abrupt arrival to this strange and new Earth where they’re fighting undead hordes that the old man wasn’t fully committing to fighting the Wilhelm Imperials quite yet. His only regret was he was captured by these undead Germans before he could continue his own personal war, which probably annoyed him more than anything at least this very moment.

However, given the fact that they simply hadn’t just killed him along with the other Partisans of Sacré-Coeur, made him all the more suspicious and questioning of their unholy agenda. “Then how clever of you then to have captured an old man and not some bright-eye and painfully stupid youngster who would’ve spilled his guts out to you already before you had the chance to personally disembowel him. If I were any younger I would have maybe cared more for my own safety, but I don’t, I’m a dinosaur that has lived long enough in this hellhole to see actual dinosaurs be brought back again. Personally I think I lived long enough in that case if you catch my drift.” The old man wasn’t nearly as impressed or even remotely intimidated with Ratzinger as the latter probably hoped he was, being openingly sarcastic and insulting of him even.

“How about this, give me one of those cigarettes and I might feel it in me to tell you what I know concerning those Imperials that have been bombing the shit out of you for the past week.” He then said, willing to entertain the Nazis if it at least meant both of his enemies will get each other killed more in this new conflict.

Ratzinger didn’t break character however, despite the sarcasm thrown at him. He was used to it by now, with survivors usually either being so horrified that they kept screaming all the time or trying to play tough guy to assuage their fears and go out like a man. With a flick of his wrist he motioned for Otto to come to them, the tank commander doing so with a grunt.

“Major Carius, would you be so kind as to offer this old man a taste of the Reich’s hospitality and patience?”

Ratzinger turned away, giving Otto the space he needed to stand before the old man, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. But instead of giving the old man one, he slapped him with the back of the hand holding the cigarette pack, putting enough force in it to hurt, badly. The Major then proceeded to lean down before the old man, taking another drag from his cigarette before taking it out of his mouth and blowing whatever smoke had been left right into the old man’s face.

“That’s for shooting at us, you senile old fuck.”

Then he just took the lit cigarette in his hand and shoved it in the old man’s mouth, forcibly closing his mouth around it before he got up and hissed:

“Enjoy your last smoke, old man.”

It was now Ratzinger’s turn to speak to the old man, yet the fanatical nazi chose to just stand there and watch, watch over the forests to the lights of the city in the distance as he said:

“I recommend you to enjoy it. And I recommend talking after you are finished for your life is not what is at stake here. That you will lose, one way or the other.

What is at stake here is your immortal soul and your afterlife.”

After the old man was finished hacking up the lit cigarette that was louged in his mouth once his jaws were finally freed from the Nazi’s grip, making a pretty nasty display of grizzled sounds while doing so to clear his throat. He only gave out a grunt and a low growl to Ratzinger, trying briefly to force himself out of the holding of the two soldiers that were keeping him in captivity just so he could at least clock the Nazi’s face in. But alas their grip was stronger than his in their struggle, forcing him to resign from the attempt and leaving him to deathly glare at his captor. Imagining himself gruesomely beating the man to death with a nearby rock before he was ripped to shreds by the nearby zombies. Then he recalled what the bastard said about his soul in the afterlife

“Oh what, you’re gonna turn me into one of these braindead, undead? Would be a blessing actually cause I wouldn’t be conscious then to listen to your fuckin monologuing.” He then spat in the Nazi’s direction with burnt tabacco laced spit, landing on his boots.

Ratzinger merely sighed, a low:

"What a shame."

, coming from him as he turned around, a fake, pitying smile on his face as he did so. Yet his eyes...they glowed with occult power and malicious intent still.

"I hope you like skiing. I am sure it will make eternity more palpable for you."

He then leaned forward, grabbing the old man's head with his cold, clam, skeletal hands, holding it tightly before kissing him on the forehead and mumbling something. Then he stepped back, barking an order at the soldiers with euphoria, one they immediately followed.

"Throw him!"

The Monts Valin mountains were tall, not necessarily steep but generally treeless and, this time of the year quite icy. Someone thrown off the top with some speed would not fall, but they would keep picking up speed on their descent untill constant smaller obstacles had killed them or a tree at the foot of the mountain crushed them in one go. When the nazis threw the old man, he had more than enough speed to keep going for a long time, all the way to the bottom of the mountain.

Up on top of the mountain, Ratzinger's eyes were still glowing as he looked out over the land below. With a bellowing voice that boomed across the land surrounding the mountain he proclaimed:

"Go, minions of the Führer! Search and destroy! None can resist!"

And from below his call was answered a chorus of screams, howls and moans erupting in the woods around the mountain as the undead army began its advance. Meanwhile Ratzinger, after his grand moment, continued looking over the land, loving the feeling of commanding a grand army. Yet he did not forget about the men with him on the top:

"Major Carius, deploy your forces in reserve. I want your armour ready to support the troops should we encounter enemy strongpoints."

The wounded Panzer Major saluted, pledging:

"We'll do our utmost with what remains of it."

A sudden flir of air caught his attention, Ratzinger merely chuckling at it and saying:

"Ah, it appears that our friend is already back for his next ride."

And indeed, just as he promised, the old man materialized in the air, just as he had been the moment his body had left the nazis' arms. And once again he flew and once again he rolled. Ratzinger knew that regardless of how much he struggled, the old man would never know rest for his body lay broken and likely half consumed by the undead at the foot of the mountain. What reappeared was his afterimage, his soul, forever trapped in an endless cycle of re-experiencing his fall from the mountain.

Up in the chilly winter skies over Monts Valin, an aerial machine or perhaps even a massive insect of sorts that was very much an unclear amalgamation of both organic and inorganic material in nature, had flown over the heads of Ratzinger and his cronies on the peak of the mountain, and much of the approaching undead horde near Saguenay. While very loud and blaring alarms in the distance at the town and around it were already going off in a hurry upon the personnel stationed there hearing the harrowing chorus and inhuman howls and screams miles away. This aerial reconnaissance machine was just an added curious sight to the mass mobilization that was underway for the town’s defense.

It moved almost like a mechanical dragonfly in its VTOL maneuvering, its digital compound eyes quickly scoping in on the horde from above and relaying the gathered information back to WIFC Command within nanoseconds upon discovering new data. Its eyes darted around and quickly discovered Ratzinger and his human soldiers, being attracted by the screams of torment from the old man, and after detecting their living heat signatures in the cold. The new information on the valable hostile personnel was quickly relayed once again to Command, however this time its bug-like machine brain also requesting for a special package.

Within another second it emitted a laser guided beacon of sorts towards the ground next to Ratzinger and the men closest to him, briefly painting it a bright hue of green light at its point. The drone then turned 180 degrees on the dime while flying and started to return towards the town. Within another moment or so, what sounded like a smart guided missile could be heard descending from the heavens towards its marked destination.

Everyone on the mountaintop stared at the green light for the brief moment it was there, all of them in confusion. The Führerkult members wondered if it was Ratzinger showing off some more of his magics while Ratzinger wondered just what the hell that was. However, the ever so clear wistle of something descending upon them made the Führerkult members scramble for cover immediately, their reflexes having been schooled by many years of war and allied bombs as well as getting a taste of WIFC ordinance just recently. Due to being on the mountaintop, finding a spot to hide behind was not difficult but some members, in their haste to dive off the god damned peak, dove a bit too hard and too quickly or at the wrong side of the mountain, leading to a few Führerkult members rolling down the mountain in a cruel re-enactment of the old Québecois' death. Alas, atleast they did not share his ultimate gruesome fate, many of them rising as Zombies at the foot of the mountains and joining the ranks of the dead.

Ratzinger himself however, upon hearing the whistling sound, looked up, his eyes already picking out what was streaking towards him. An unknowing person might've thought him to be afraid, mistaking his shaking hands for those of a coward faced with death. But Ratzinger was anything but afraid. It was rage that built within him as nearly felt the missile heading practically straight towards him.

"No..."

, was the first word he uttered, quickly followed up by more emotional, more enraged words:

"No. No!"

Pent up occult power had been building within him for a bit now and calling upon it was a piece of cake for the monstrosity that the former devout catholic Hitler Youth boy had become. With a roar of rage he lifted his hands, pointing them at the missile, occult power arcing across his arms and building around his hands before suddenly shooting out of his fingers, arcs of occult lightning streaking through the sky and hitting the descending missile. It stopped the missile's descent quite notably, the arcs of lightning leaving streaks of burned metal and plastic, no practically peeling the missile's plating off it piece by piece, frying electronics and the like untill finally hitting something that must've either been the missile fuel or the payload. Regardless, it had the same effect, the missile going up in a great fireball above the mountain, the shockwave of the explosion making Ratzinger's robes flutter and burning debris raining down around him.

"Pathetic. For this insolence, they will die."

And as the old man appeared in the air again, screaming his lungs out as he started to roll down the mountain again, Ratzinger turned around and left, the stunned Führerkult members stumbling from their cover and falling in behind the man, completely awestruck by this display of sheer power.

by **Wysten** » Sun Oct 04, 2020 11:55 am

Lenisk
January 9th, Year 0
Nikita Brusov
Industrial Cadre 89900

Nikita’s eye’s slowly peeled open as the pre-drawn sky turned a slight grey. Lifting himself his back groaned in pain causing him to stumble out of bed. His small industrial barracks were nothing special and seemed almost factory-made. A single wooden dresser and nightstand with a half-worn candle being the only notable things to stand out. Quickly getting dressed and clean the Russian followed the rest of his cadre to the waiting trolley outside. The rest of his unit looked somewhat tired due to the hour of the day but they all stayed awake during the ride there. The trolley’s radio blared the usual praises for Russia and Supreme Commander Yazov but also of news from the front. Nikita’s brows raised slightly at the news of Reclamation Forces were only 110 kilometers from reaching Kyiv the historic heartland of the Russian people. The trolley came to a screeching halt in front of the billowing arms factory. Quickly the cadre assembled outside when the cadre leader stepped from the building with a roster. Out of the fifty on the list, everyone was accounted for but something was different. Behind the cadre officer were two men with the jet black uniforms of the Reclamation Army. One of the soldiers stepped forward, “Comrades, Brusuov, Nunorov, Petrenko, Minsky, and Lumesnk please step forward.” The soldier said as he peered into the group of workers as the five men and women stepped forward. “Comrades, Commander Budin has selected you to one of the most sacred tasks, defending this very sector, brothers and sisters from other cadres have also been chosen to form Defensive Cadre 678890. If you could follow me please.” The team followed the soldier down the streets in a line as other soldiers with five men and women followed behind them as well. The air was that of excitement as they proceeded into the barracks district of the small city.

Following the officer, they walked down into the barracks tunnels that were spread throughout the city. The lights flashing and dimming as they proceeded down a hallway after hallway until they reached an extensive armory, “Cadre, line yourselves against the hallway and prepare to be issued weapons but before we can do that I have received orders to tell you why you are here. Your weekly militia scores have proven you to be the best of your cadres and such you have been organized into Worker Companies. We have received that the dreaded raiders and monsters of the Dirlewanger Brigade have resurfaced in their old territory and are expected to attack our homes. Your comrades have already fought with them in various other areas around what is now known as the ‘Raider Front’. Your main objective will be the defending of Lenisk against any assault on the city and surrounding countryside.” With that, he stepped inside the armory along with a few troops of the Black League and walked outside with AK-74s, ammo pouches, and crates of magazines and ammunition. Each soldier of this newly founded cadre quickly stepped forward and grabbed their weapon, put the ammo pouch on, and loaded five magazines into them before following the Black League troops to the staging area for deployment. Nikita quickly grabbed his equipment and followed the rest of his cadre to the far end of the tunnel where a door stood when alarms blared across the barracks. “The time for orientation will have to put on hold, to me comrades, the Tuton will not wait for us.” The officer pulled open the bunker door as he and the twenty members of the cadre spilled out into a series of small pillboxes that dotted the area around the city.

Day 10 Year 0
Viktor Tsoi
30 Miles from Kiev
200th Mechanized Army

The stench of sweat-filled Viktor’s nose as he looked into the ruined church. Its roof had collapsed from the bombardment only a day ago as the Reclamation Army pushed ever closer to Germania. Inside were the bodies of European soldiers, strewn about with various different weapons and radios around them. Scanning the room Viktor walked out of the building as his unit moved through the town, the various armored vehicles thundered along the road towards the capital of Kyiv. Walking behind the church he saw the usual lineup of prisoners against the wall with a commissar and firing line of black-clad troops behind them. With very little flair the firing line quickly raised their rifles and fired a burst into the Germans. Their bodies tensed and fell against the wall before sliding down with the commissar finishing them off with pistol shots to the head of each. Marching away towards their BMP the entire group began loading onto their vehicles. The fighting had been fierce and bloody, the Teutons had technologies unheard of before with what the troops have nicknamed “Knights” being the gigantic suits of armor that can move and turn on a dime. However, after initial fears, Viktor and his unit knew how to deal with them. The drivers of such machines tended to become overconfident and suicidal so after baiting them into an enclosed area they were then riddled with RPGs causing them to fall almost immediately.

Viktor looked up at one of the lampposts and saw one of the pilots for such a machine hanging there. Seemingly they were royalty if their curses and garbled Russian were any indications as their windpipes were crushed under the rope. Suddenly the convoy stopped and Viktor became confused as leaned over to the BMP commander. “Seems to be a hold on the road, orders from above have called for a total halt in our push. Something about new orders from Supreme Commander Yazov himself.” Viktor nodded his head and peered ahead in confusion.

1400 Hours, Day 10 Year 0
Supreme Commander Dmitry Yazov
Inside Metro Complex Ural HQ at Mt Yamatau

Yazov merely gave a sigh as reports of the gassings and apparent nuclear detonations. Shifting through report after report the answer had finally come to him when an aide came in. “Supreme Commander, the Teutons are asking for us to surrender over all known radio frequencies. What do you want us to say?” The young man looked stoically at the leader of the Reclamation Army. Yazov merely stood up and walked over to the central command room as all eyes watched the middle-aged leader pick up the nearest radio he could find and held it up to his mouth. Only two words were spoken, two words that would be heard on every radio channel both Russian and German, “Never Again”

Missile Silos across West Russia would open, their cargo contained 1,300 nuclear warheads that flew into the sky and headed towards all known major population centers in the Greater German Reich. The Great Trial has reached its true beginning.

by **The Alpenbund** » Sun Oct 04, 2020 2:09 pm

Somewhere south of Schaffhausen, sector grid OK-6365. Day 10, sometime after noon.

The helicopter darted elegantly through the overgrown valley. It was a flash, a blue-green motion blur. Anyone watching could have easily missed it - at least if they were deaf and until the gust of its passing hit them. Occasionally loosing some rounds at wildlife sunning itself down below, the machine swung between the low-hanging trees and rocks towards its target, the former town of Andelfingen.

"Woah, you almost clipped that one.", the helicopter's gunner, Flight Sergeant Laura Landsberger, remarked with a mix of amusement and surprise. "Yeah, almost.", Flight Lieutenant Pierre de Lancie, sitting in the pilot's seat, replied, and Landsberger had to chuckle. Despite technically being on the clock, everything was going slowly on that day, and de Lancie had been in the mood for some fancy flying. The sergeant couldn't complain, enjoying the sun and some target practice with unsuspecting antlions.

"Hey, look up ahead.", de Lancie suddenly said, pointing forward. An old bridge, their last 'waypoint' before reaching the town, lay ahead. It was an old design, made out of riveted metal, although most of the mid-section had fallen away. Some figures, necrotics, could be seen roaming around on top of it. "You know what I'm thinking?", Landsberger asked, bringing down her helmet's HUD display and switching the chopper's pintle-mounted cannon to automatic fire. "Hell yeah!", the Lieutenant remarked, bringing down his display as well.

As they closed in on the bridge, de Lancie throttled up, using the JH31's boost thrusters to get up to very high speed. At the same time, he put the helicopter into a fast roll and cut the rotors, presenting the gun mounted on its chin upwards. A split-second passed before the weapon let loose a bulletstorm of heavy explosive projectiles, ripping the necrotics to pieces. The helicopter immediately stabilized again, re-engaging its rotors. "Nice!", de Lancie yelled, laughing. "Right in front of our audience, too, hehe."

The audience in question, namely half a platoon of infantry and several Wiesel tanks, watched the Hunter Chopper burst forth from the valley and circle around, while the remains of most of the necrotics started raining down. "Bullseye.", Landsberger chuckled, as she saw a dead headcrab splat onto one of the APCs' roof. "Hell yeah!", one of the tank commanders, sticking his head out of his cupola, radioed, obviously enjoying the fact his own tank was left free of raining entrails.

"Vindicator, ready for a run!", de Lancie radioed back, specifically to the officer in charge, an infantry captain going by the callsign Adder-Lead. Landsberger swore she could see him crunch up a soda can and throw it over his shoulder. "Affirm, Vindicator. If you hotshots are done, contaminants in this area are settled on top of an old gas station. Check your fire, especially when operating danger close, your daggers might ignite the stuff.", he told them, before putting his mask on. "And from now on, I want to hear regulation code. Vindicator, go sharp on exogens in advance of friendly units. Over."

"Acknowledged, Adder-Lead. Going sharp, watch for splash zones.", de Lancie radioed back, as the attack on the antlion nest began. Circling above while the infantry advanced with their armored vehicles, Landsberger let her cannon sing, spewing 45 mm high explosive death at any antlion attempting to make itself useful. "Vindicator, divert daggers!", one of the tank commanders told them. "CAS's coming in too close to the underground fuel depots." Landsberger rolled her eyes. "Acknowledged, Razor-6-4. Diverting."

She muted her radio unit, talking to de Lancie alone. "Seriously, what has these guys so wound up? Sure it's gasoline, but hell. They could just get in the APCs and be completely fine, even if we blow it up. When has a little explosion ever hurt somebody?" She just finished the sentence, when a flash of blinding light erupted over the horizon from the north. Then another. And another. Then the horizon went white with light.

by **Wasi State** » Sun Oct 04, 2020 3:58 pm

Collab with Alpine Union

Somewhere north-east of Quebec; Day 10 (?).

The dropship rumbled through a turbulence, shaking up the passenger compartment inside the dropship can clamped to its belly. Senior Agent R cursed. “How much longer is this gonna take? We’ve been flying for an eternity.” A screen, hanging from the ceiling, sprung to life, showing an estimated location. “Should be a few minutes till we hit the designated area, R.”, the dropship, Agent M, responded in the high-pitched voice it had chosen for its translator. “You know, these readings aren’t exactly filling me with confidence.”

R nodded. “I know, I know. But we’ve got a job to do, so start going a little lower.”, he told the Raven. A guttural groan was his answer, indicating that M was concerned. Taking a look around the cabin, he surveyed his team. All of them had already put on their designated armor - infantry standard - which had been chosen as the readings indicated possibly major risks. Apart from himself, who had taken the role of squad leader, there were Agents F, Double G and Q acting as riflemen, as well as the demolitions experts Agent O and Agent High J. Their weapons rested at their feet, and the psy-countermeasure packs on their backs pulsed faintly every few seconds.

“Alright, we’re approaching scanning altitude.”, M came again over the speakers. The screen switched to a different display, this time showing several graphs indicating different scan results. “I’m telling you, they should’ve given me a psychic scrambler for this job.”, M continued as the graph continued climbing. R followed them, watched them pass safety values and references alike. ‘Jesus Christ!’, he thought to himself, although on the outside, he managed to maintain his calm and collected appearance. After a few minutes, he gestured at the screen. “Alright, that’s enough.”

With an audible groan on M’s end, the dropship started rising again to a higher altitude, still nervously flexing the hardpoints containing his own countermeasures. “So, where to now?”, he asked. “That area we originally planned on doesn’t look very landing-friendly to me, you know, with those Hume levels.” R pondered for a moment, walking over to the screen and manipulating the displayed map, which had now been overlain with the scan results. He marked a specific area further west. “There. Hume levels are still high, but it should be safe. We’ll jump out, do some scans, then get back in the air. Easy peasy.”

The skies over Quebec had been busy with air traffic within recent days as a seemingly nonstop aerial bombardment of the undead necrotics below commenced in occupied Canadian territory that belonged to the WIFC. Close air support jets and bombers made constant trips back and forth between target locations and air bases dotted around the Administration Zone. While the constant movement in the air of their own aircrafts have made the WIFC Air Command’s detection radar more distracting and time consuming to look at in determining all exact ‘blips’ on the scanners. The moment the SAÜK entered into more accurate scanning altitude however was the moment they were picked up by the Air Command’s scanners as an unidentified flying object.

“Sir we have a UFO entering well into our airspace, it appeared to have come from the East.” The radar officer then relayed to his commander, Colonel Harvkov, looking as grisly as usual and in need of cognac and cigars.

“Hmm,” was all he muttered, looking rather unamused at the current visual displays popping up on the craft in the detection room, “This definitely doesn’t look like one of the undead’s craft.”

“No Sir, in fact we have yet to detect any necrotic controlled aircraft coming in from Labrador. This craft bears no markings similar to our current adversary and we’re detecting heartbeats from living organisms from it, this appears to be from a third party that has also been situated on this finite sphere.” The officer then told Harvkov who was more busy scratching his five 'o'clock shadow face.

“Don’t intercept them from the air quite yet, if I had to guess they’re just as confused of the situation as we are. I want a fighter on standby however to escort them out if need be, but for now we’ll see where they’ll land first and then send in a recon team to meet them in a parley and investigate them.” The Colonel then ordered.

“We have an Overlord transport nearby with a squad at the ready that we can send out to meet them once they land, Sir.”

“Good, have it tail behind their craft and attempt to to signal them to land then.” Feeling the need to smoke he then took out a very long cigar he had been saving from his back pocket.

“Yes Sir, orders have been sent to the Overlord and passengers.”

Within a few moments in the altitudes just under the SAÜK dropship, a rather large floating tentacle creature holding onto what appears to be a cargo container with a pintle mounted gun attached to it started to tail behind the craft, picking up speed to match theirs. And using what appears to be landing lights to signal for the dropship to land somewhere. A radio signal was then sent out from the cargo container to hopefully reach the passengers of the dropship.

“This is Captain Fosem of the Wilhelm Imperial Forces Canada, you have been strongly advised to heed us and land somewhere in the vicinity for immediate questioning on your reasoning for being in WIFC airspace, cooperation will grant you safe passage.” The Captain in the transport pod of the Overlord then relayed to the dropship on more commonly used vox and radio communications.

“Looks like we picked up a tail!”, M said over the loudspeakers. The screen in the dropship can changed once again, displaying a zoomed-in view of their pursuer. “No idea why they’re blinking like this- oh, there it is.”, the dropship continued. “‘There it is’ what?”, R asked. In response, M simply played their pursuer’s message over the loudspeakers. R squinted. “Can’t even do some honest poking-around these days, Jesus. Alright, signal them back - we’ll touch down in that large clearing.” M gave a rumble of approval. “I assume we’re going to switch to Plan B?” R nodded.

“This is Flight Lieutenant TTD-0901 responding.”, M radioed to the Overlord transport, using the team’s cover names. SAÜK operations weren’t regarded as absolutely secretive, but the agency liked to keep itself under the radar. “Be advised, we will be touching down in the clearing roughly 2 kilometers direct west. We are armed, but will not aggress unless unnecessarily provoked. Over.” Then, he started to slowly descend, reducing his speed as he went.

Inside the can, R turned to the rest of the team. “Alright people. We’re going to plan B. Masks on, voice modulators too. You know your stories.” The other agents nodded. “Alright. No behaving aggressively. Keep the safeties on, the guns down and your fingers off the triggers. You got me?” More nodding. “Alright, then get ready.”, R finished, before putting on his own mask.

A few minutes later, the dropship touched down on a snow-covered clearing somewhere in the Canadian wilderness.

As the dropship touched done, some of the local fauna nearby started to scatter away, most notably some deer. Though a few of them simply paused for a brief moment, before casually walking away from the clearing in a very unnatural orderly fashion. Upon closer inspection some disturbingly large head sized mites were covering their entire heads, save for their antlers. Looking as though they were guiding a group of the animals and their ‘hosts’ prior to the dropship showing up, being made to ‘reroute’ their destination on the fly.

The Overlord transport then showed up a fair and modest distance away from the SAÜK dropship moments later. The large floating creature having casually dropped off the cargo container on the ground, before then preceding to just float a few feet above it, seemingly having an aversion to the snow covered ground below.

The cargo container then opened to reveal a large 8ft tall powered armor man from it, presumably Captain Fosem, accompanied by a squad’s worth of shorter, more regular sized men in similarly advanced but lighter body armor. They were armed too, but obviously not in any active combat stances to indicate they mean aggression. The contingent then made their way towards the dropship in a brief walk, before stopping just a few meters from it, waiting for the passengers of the mysterious craft to come out first to meet them.

R focused on the screen, displaying the feeds of several of M's cameras. “They're almost here, R.“, M complained. “Get your asses up already or you'll make us look bad.“ R rolled his eyes. “Can't you just be quiet for a second? Ugh, fine. But keep the cams rolling. Those things on the deer look like headcrabs. No wonder they've got a necrotic problem around these parts.“

As the group of unknown soldiers stopped some meters away from M, the dropship lowered its ramp and the team exited, making its way to M's front section to meet with them. M, for his part, lowered some of his armor plating, revealing his whale-like eyes. “Big guy must be that Captain.“, Double G said over the internal comms. “M, can you run a visual scan?“ The dropshio gave off a noise which corresponded to an eyeroll. “I'm already doing that. You just focus on not shooting people for once.“

R told both of them to shut up as they approached the other group. The agents maintained a typical military stance, relaxed but still stiff enough to look like they meant business. R walked up to the group leader, and performed an old-fashioned military salute. “Greetings. I am Capitaine LeMatte, CDI-29313, of the Alpine Union.“, he said, employing his fake cover identity. He tried to put on a thicker French accent, but the mask's voice modulator made him sound mostly the same as every other Union soldier. “You must be Captain Fosem, correct?“

“Correct, and you’re clearly not from around here if you came all the way from this ‘Alpine Union,’ though given the circumstances I suppose both of our parties aren’t exactly in the right places that they should be in, given the temporal disturbances we’ve been experiencing in the past week. Unless you came here to tell us that you’re the natives to this finite world?” The Captain then spoke to the Capitaine, his helmet opening up his faceplate through means of servos to reveal his human features, well apart from the fact that his skin is a tone of technicolor pink.

In fact upon closer inspection of the Captain’s squad, a good majority of them appear to have skin-tones of varying colors that weren’t native to Earth. Doesn’t seem to detract from the fact that they’re still picking up as Homo Sapiens interestingly on any scans.

“So tell me Capitaine, what brings you to our Administration Zone? If I had to guess you were trying to stay under the radar with that craft of yours, but I’ll give you and your men the benefit of a doubt and assume you weren't here for any malcontent purposes, and instead were trying to look into something around here.” The Captain then asked LeMatte about his intentions and business in the WIFC.

R squinted under his mask when the Captain and his men revealed their faces. 'Odd', he thought to himself, as his mask kept recording. He thought for a second about an appropriate answer, when M opened his (figurative) mouth again.

“'Craft'? Excuse me, I'm perfectly capable of-“, he started, when R cut him off with a gesture. “Captain, Flight Lieutenant TTD-0901. Now, to answer your question, no, we're not natives of this planet. In fact, as far as we know, everyone on this world has been brought here from their own - if we had to take a guess, probably from several parallel Earths - although I assume we are some of the few who feel this is better than our previous situation

“As for what we're doing here, we detected some… anomalous phenomena. In conjunction with your message mentioning necrotics, we decided some reconnaissance was in order. If there is a large scale necrotic problem over here, we figured that it would warrant some investigation. We've dealt with necrotics before, and we know how fast they can spread. In fact,“ - he pointed in the direction that the deer had left in - “with parasitics running around like this, we might be able to render some assistance.“

Captain Fosem looked in the direction of the deer that the man was pointing at, seeing he was gesturing towards the Craniumites perched on the heads of the deer like they were bred to do. “Oh you’re mistaken, Capitaine. Those are actually some of our work animals on the job currently, helping to get rid of the local fauna in fact. They’re called Craniumites, and they’re very much alive and in our service, unlike the Necrotic problem we’re facing Northeast of here.”

After Fosem had explained, as though on cue, several Huey helicopters passed over their heads that were also accompanied by more Overlord transports carrying what seems to be munitions of sorts heading in the direction that Fosem mentioned

“As you can see, we’re currently facing a bit of a conflict from a rather mysterious undead foe, the local Canadians here have called them something around the likes of ‘Nazis,’ from a ‘Third Riech,’ but a lot of that historical data has been lost to our Administration due to a lot of it getting purged or destroyed when we had originally conquered this area. But they are very much formally human, we suppose calling them Nazi Zombies would be the more going common term for them at this moment.” The Captain explained more.

R was more surprised than he wanted to admit to himself. He looked at the Captain, then at the deer, and back at the Captain, then shook his head and sighed. “More surprises, good grief. So, just for clarification, I assume those Nazis are reanimated by something else than parasitics? I’ve never heard of fascist parasites. Hm.” He pondered for a moment. “You must be extraterrestrials then, yes? Given the locals, at least from what you’ve said, have had to deal with the Nazis before.”

He took a few seconds to process the situation some more. “So, unless the timeline or whatever has been drastically different, you are currently dealing with the so-called National Socialist Party of Germany. If I remember my history correctly, active during the 1930s and early 1940s AD. A political faction which assumed leadership of the country called ‘Germany’, and proceeded to wage a massive war, in addition to committing a large-scale genocide for racist reasons. If that makes sense.

“If that’s who you’re fighting against right now, that’s possibly majorly concerning, actually, given the sensor readings we picked up over their territory.”, he told the Captain.

“I see,” The Captain then processed the information the Capitaine had given him and his men. “The Germany we knew of before we annexed it was divided into two ideologically opposed states, we didn’t bother to look into the background of the politically situation at the time however, General Hispania had considered it to be beneath him to concern himself with petty matters from people he was going to have relocated anyway in due time. Of course we didn’t manage to get to that part before this specific Administrative Zone of Earth was displaced on this… Spherical World?” Fosem was trying to find the world for something that didn’t exist in their home universe.

“Where we’re from, the Wilhelm Imperium, it’s on a flat infinite plane of existence, also serving as our observable universe. So in a sense yes, we are extraterrestrials from your point of view, seeing as how we’re on this finite world currently that was only a concept to us until about a week ago.” Fosem explained the rather bizarre situation on that end with the best of his knowledge.

“As for the pressing matter of the Necrotics, we’ve been detecting some unusual, necromantic energies coming from them. We’ve been suspecting it’s artificial in nature, likely originating from some powerful liches using what is essentially magic, or perhaps some occultist religious powers. We’re not entirely sure which.” The Captain then revealed a holographic image of the map of the region on the ground to the SAÜK team, emitting from a projector on his suit of armor, showing high energy levels in Quebec and Labrador in dark red and purple areas.

“Well, you’re not the only one who’s confused, Captain.”, R told the Imperials truthfully. “We’ll have to get a serious analysis going here. Occult rituals and such were mostly a theoretical thought experiment in our scientific circles, when the dead rose it was either parasites or psychic individuals. Also, an infinite plane? That is certainly…” He trailed off for a second, looking for a proper word. “Well, I’m not well-versed enough in multiverse theory, but I think such concepts were only known to us in fantasy. In this universe and some others we have technical knowledge of, planets like this are the only place where life originated.”

He rubbed his chin, sort of - the gas mask was making it difficult. When it comes to the Germany you described, that seems consistent with our historical records - after losing the aforementioned war, the country was split by new world powers into ideological opposites.” He hesitated again. Relocation? ‘Extraterrestrial’ invasion? All of this was giving him very uncomfortable vibes. “Actually, Captain, may I ask how you conquered, well… it seems, your world’s equivalent of Cold War Earth?”

“Oh sure, only fair you get a bit of a history lesson. Well Army Group South first arrived on their Northern Glacial expanse about a year ago from today, basically their front door. And had demanded that the residents of Earth surrender peacefully or we’ll be forced to come marching in given that our objective was to conquer their entire region in the name of Wilhelm XXXI. So we tried to negotiate with them first for a couple of days, but then their superpower blocs decided the best course of action was to use their nuclear weapon stockpiles on us. They completely melted their Northern glaciers in the process, and did kill about a few million of our men despite our missile defences, but it was deemed a pretty minor calculated loss on our part. Of course in hindsight we shouldn’t have considered negotiating with them first just because they were humans like us, but hey what can you do?” Fosem morbidly chuckled a bit to add to the rather casual response from a full blown nuclear holocaust.

Then his holographic projector started showing a whole map of Earth on the snow covered ground at the time of the invasion, showing arrows coming in from the North descending upon Earth like figurative tendrils wrapping around it and taking over the Northern Hemisphere with calculated methodical motion, and finally the Southern Hemisphere with a very quickly paced swipe that destroyed what was left of the defenders.

“Yeah I think we’ve killed about a billion of them by the time we were done with the invasion, had to relocate some populations internally early on to keep other places productive as we started moving settlers in from elsewhere in the Imperium, they’re lucky we didn’t subject them to the radiation, had to dedicate whole cleanup crews for that cause we felt nice that time.” His voice seems to indicate that this was a rather routine process.

“Of course after the invasion the majority of Army Group South left to continue operations elsewhere, leaving us to garrison this region into its current form.” The Captain then explained.

R shuddered involuntarily upon hearing the explanation, and there was some commotion among the rest of the squad. While none of them had been there for the 24-hour War, they all knew what had happened during those fateful hours, and Fosem’s story was only all-too similar. “Give us one minute, Captain.”, R told the Imperials, and switched to internal comms.

“You sure we can trust these people?”, Double G asked. “They may not be Combine, but hell, they sure behave like them.” This was met with general agreement by the other team members. R sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll have to be careful around these guys, though if anything they don’t seem to be able to just travel to their home universe anymore. It seems they’re stuck here just like everyone else.” A shallow grin crept onto his face as he switched back to normal speech.

“That is certainly… an all-too familiar report. You seem to have had the, well, bad luck to stumble upon your version of Earth during the period known as the Cold War - mostly an ideologically-based global standoff involving proxy wars and the ever present threat of nuke-induced extinction. As for your invasion, well... let’s say our planet was subjected to something similar, just without the diplomacy part and with more genocide involved. The Union managed to lay low and avoid this fate, mostly.”, R told the Imperials. “You wouldn’t happen to have heard of a ‘Universal Union’, would you?”, he then asked the Captain.

Captain Fosem scratched his pink chin for a bit, remembering having read something during his time in the Academy, “Universal Union? I believe I do recall reading a report that occurred a few thousand years ago during Wilhelm XXVII’s rule, where a trans-dimensional incident involving some psychic grubs and their biomechanical contraptions having found their way in an isolated corner of the Imperium. They were found a few days afterwards having been torn mostly to shreds by a mega-herd of Three Eyed Stags, poor bastards never saw what was coming. I think the report mentioned a few of the grubs survived but were deemed pretty useless when put to physical labor, so were bred for a brief period to be turned into dog chow at the nearby pet food factory. Before some disease killed off the rest of them, likely due to the amount of inbreeding the factory put them under, come to think of it.” Fosem then said, wondering why these strangers would mention dog food fodder.

“Your Alpine Union have a pet food factory with them in it too?” He then asked.

The agents couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, served them right. What you had there, Captain, were Combine Advisors, a detestable little species responsible for administrative duties and lower leadership roles within the Universal Union. We just call the Universal Union the ‘Combine’ most of the time. Either way, the Combine is a multiversal empire, controlling several parallel dimensions and capable of travelling between them. It seems that whole incident must’ve put them off from invading your dimension, since they like to prey on weaker civilizations. As for why we mentioned it, we just wanted to make sure they weren’t around. Would hate for those bastards to come after us again now that we just got away from them.”, R explained, grinning under his mask.

“Actually, now that that is out of the way, we should get back on track. As I said earlier, we came here to investigate the conspicuous readings we received from this whole, well, region. Since it seems to be coming from the Nazi Zombies - as stupid as that name feels to say - that are attacking you currently, we’d like to know what the situation on that end is. Nazis are pretty bad news on their own, so undead magical ones are even worse.”

Captain Fosem nodded, “Understandable, Capitaine. As for these Nazi Zombies in our lands, they’ve started to overrun the bordering subregions within our borders, but we’ve been trying to starve them out so far by employing some scorched earth tactics on them, mainly bombing them from the air with a massive aerial campaign. And of course evacuating as many civilians as we can to the South where our forces are more concentrated on setting up a perimeter.” His holographic projector then returned once again to the local region, showing a predicted map of the incoming horde’s routes.

“The horde we’re dealing with currently numbers in the low millions, I say about three million or so. Now the rank and file zombies are rather unimaginative in their own right, but by Maccabees they sure are obedient and for some reason are able to use weapons and equipment with general ease. Reports are still muddle currently, but this is likely attributed by their head necromantic leaders who make the horde not as mindless as originally perceived, I would imagine if they’re taken out it’ll cause some disorganization amongst their ranks, but the liches are what we ultimately need to kill to stop them in their tracks. High Command has been considering employing several probing attacks to pierce through the horde somewhat to scatter them about by the time they reach our main lines of defense. But we’re already expecting this to be a long and drawn out affair, Capitaine.” Fosem then explained.

R shrugged. “Understandable, Captain. It seems a lot of people are currently having the, well, short end of the stick when it comes to their current situations. To our knowledge, there’s at least one or two other wars going on right now, and people are starting to throw WMDs around on one particular front. Anyway, since we came here originally to do it anyway, would you mind if took a few scans of the area? We may be halfway across the globe, but we’re interested in what goes on here anyway.”, he said, pointing to some boxy sensor equipment some of the team were carrying.

For once Captain Fosem actually looked a bit concerned from what R was telling him, especially at the WMD comment, “You’re telling me the other primitives present on this ball of dirt are starting to throw weapons of mass destruction on each other, on a finite planet? How suicidal are these people! The air we all breathe will get contaminated in short order, we don’t have nearly enough Bio-Robots with us to clean up that big a radioactive mess on a global scale. It’s one thing that we dabble in such weapons, but for primitives to go about it? How I never, I-”

One of his more level-headed officers then touched his shoulder from behind to gesture for him to stop. “What the Captain is saying is that we’re very alarmed by this recent information of perceived carelessness currently being committed by the other denizens of this world we’re stuck on.” The officer covered for the Captain.

“Yes, quite…” The Captain then composed himself, “Now onto your question of whether we’ll allow your group to perform scans on the region, I’m afraid I’m not nearly a high enough rank to possibly authorized your ability to do that. It’ll have to be brought up to at the very least the Air Command Center where a Colonel could look into the matter. While you’re clearly not one with our enemy in the region, what you’re proposing could be technically interpreted as espionage, rather than passive observations from what our standard protocols would dictate, unless you were granted an observation agreement.” The Captain then brought up to explain to R.

R nodded slowly, although slightly taken aback by the Captain's outburst. “Fair enough, I assume. How would we put in such a request? I assume there will be some paperwork involved, so frankly that'll have to be delegated to the DfA.“ He thought for a moment.

“As for the WMDs, I can tell you the world has not changed much. People still have 'em, so they're going to use them at some point. Although I don't think you'll have to be too concerned - according to credible enough information we've received, the nation with the most 'BOOM', the Pan-Europan Empire, is using weapons that supposedly don't have long term consequences. Plus, combat gas seems to be a much more popular option for crimes against humanity these days again.“

He leaned in a bit closer to the Captain. “And, between us, I would advise you keep that 'primitive' lingo to a minimum in terms of diplomacy. Some of the people we've run into have big bombs and even bigger egos, if you know what I mean. Not to mention that some might perceive your alien origin as… well, 'racially undesirable', too.“, R cautioned him, making sure to sound concerned. ''Primitives', yeesh. If they keep up that attitude…', he thought to himself.

The Captain still took it into consideration to himself that the planet they were on was perhaps more or less a ticking powder keg with everyone threatening each other with boxes upon boxes of matches, and here they were, the WIFC, stuck on this spherical body with them, with no means of escape when the planet goes kaboom! For such a dogmatic imperialist, that realization was one of the few harrowing things to come about in his already long service of unapologetic jingoism. Making him think that perhaps their predicament was punishment from a higher power for their wickedness possibly, but in reality he’ll likely never know for sure.

“Racially undesirable? I don’t quite follow, aren’t many of them human too like us?” Some level of innocence was seemingly displayed on Fosem’s face with that sentence, as though racial tensions amongst other humans in his Imperium wasn’t all that common that the concept seems perplexing to most. It would make sense if they were perceived as truly inhuman to them, or perhaps humans weren’t that common on this Earth? The Captain thought to himself.

“And yes as for that paperwork, our capital in Toronto has an office of Foregin Matters that we can escort you and your squad to from the air.” Fosem then said.

R seemed slightly confused, that the Captain had never heard of a concept so prevalent in human history as racism before. “Yes, you see Captain… we don’t know when that whole issue was stamped out where you came from, or if it even ever existed, but there is an all-too-prevalent among human civilizations of the Earth variety. It’s called ‘racism’, an ancient and primitive concept of discrimination based on prejudices against humans that look different or belong to different ethnicities. That’s, well… that’s the simple explanation.”, he told Fosem.

“The concept and its individual ideological applications are based entirely on pseudoscience, and illogical as, pardon my language, all goddamn hell. A sadly fairly recent example of racism, for instance, was the segregation occurring in some countries between light-skinned and dark-skinned people. Even in what we would call ‘modern times’, there were still many areas of the globe where systemic racism - that is, the bias of a system against people based on their skin color and ethnic backgrounds - was very common.”, he further explained. “In fact, the Nazis you seem to be currently fighting, perpetrated the worst racism-based genocide known to Earth history.”

Captain Fosem took another moment, still somewhat perplexed at the idea, then came to a realization of what R meant, “Oh you must mean Phenotype Supremacy and Separatism, where we’re from we consider that to be a rather outdated and rather harmful concept that has remained amongst other, more primitive humans. To the point that our new human populations integrated to the Imperium are often required to be stripped of their old identities and shipped elsewhere in the empire, never to see their old homes and lives again. We were in the midst of doing that very process here, but obviously the Displacement happened first.” He explained.

“You see Wilhelm, our Emperor, had put it to his Will and Creed that all humans and their auxiliary allies be universally united in their struggles to rid or forcibly tame our universe of the infinite foul horrors and degenerative beasts lurking all over wherever they can be found. It would seem these Nazis had taken that level of thinking but foolishly applied it to other humans from their finite world instead of thinking to expand out to conquer Xenos, no wonder they’re undead now, they must’ve neglected to take care of their lich problem.” Fosem then expanded on and clarified, though what the Nazis were on an ideological level still didn’t quite resonate with him as much as it probably should.

“Well, whatever turned them undead, it’s probably made them even worse.”, R commented, rolling his eyes under the mask when Fosem mentioned Imperial doctrine regarding xenos. “Besides, at the time of the Nazis’ existence, at least where we’re from, no alien life had ever been encountered. In fact, the first encounter with a true extraterrestrial civilization was said aforementioned Combine invasion. Although, if Hitler and his cronies had encountered aliens, he’d probably have declared them ‘racially impure’ too. Speaking of the man himself, I do wonder if he’s, well. There. For someone with that kind of megalomania, I wouldn’t be too surprised if he made some kind of Satanic pact in the end.”

“I guess if there’s one thing to be said of this, ‘Hitler,’ is at least he has core enough beliefs in principles to continue to hate everything, even after his death and reincarnation as an undead aberration. That’s at least some dedication after the numerous pacts he has likely made.” Fosem then commented.

“We probably shouldn’t stick around for too long, less we become a bombing run target for when the undead start to stumble into here. You should return to your dropship and fly with us to our capital.” The Captain then suggested to R.

R though for a second about the Captain’s suggestion. “Hm… I’ll have to make a call first. I’ll be back in a minute or two, hopefully. If you have any questions during that time, feel free to ask the Lieutenant.”, he said, excusing himself to re-enter the dropship can. M gave off the Raven equivalent to clearing one’s throat, looking at the Captain with his whale eyes. “You know I would try to smile, but I don’t have a mouth so that makes it difficult.”

Meanwhile, in the back of the can, R plugged his comms unit into a wall socket. After some tweaking of the long-range communications emitter, he managed to connect properly to one of the few Union satellites in orbit. A few seconds later, a secured connection had been established and another few seconds later, the familiar face of Director F appeared on R’s communicator screen.

“Yes, R?”, F asked, apparently in the middle of some form of meeting. R likewise decided to cut straight to the chase. “Quick sitrep: We overflew some of Quebec, got some aerial scans. Touched down in Western Quebec, roughly, seems to be in the territory of those WIFC people whose message mentioned the necrotics.” F slowly nodded. “Yes, and?” “Well, I’ll spare you the details for the moment but they won’t let us take ground scans without official permission. There’s a ground squad here that wants us to come to Toronto for that to be worked out, apparently.”

F raised an eyebrow. “Alright… what’s your assessment?” R shrugged. “From what we’ve gathered, they’re a bunch of extradimensional imperialists, you know, of the big variety. But at the same time, I think the event shook them up pretty hard - seems almost like they’re a little scared. They’re not behaving hostile, more reserved in a manner.” There was silence for a few moments as F thought, then took some notes on a tablet.

“Alright, R. It’s your call. If you don’t think they’re out to do something malicious, I’ll trust your word on that. I’ll just have a team on standby if we don’t hear from you for longer, so make sure to check back sometime in the next 24 hours.” R nodded. “Will do, Director. We’ll update soon. R out.” “Very good, F out.” With that, the connection was closed, and R made his way to the front again.

Captain Fosem simply nodded at R and waited patiently for his return from his dropship, eyeing the Raven and wondering what an odd thing it was from its whale-like body and its rather artificial ability of flight… Or was it so artificial? The Captain wasn’t that much of an expert in biology, or really an aerospace engineer to really know for sure. The thought pondered through him as he blatantly towered over all the other men present, and himself had just flown in on a cargo pod that was being carried by a flying tendril monster.

Cutting those curious thoughts out as he then saw R return from the Raven however, “I take it you have been authorized then to come with us?” He then said, figuring that had the Capitaine hadn’t been authorized by his command he probably would’ve signaled the rest of his squad to depart with him by now.

“We shouldn’t waste more time then if that’s the case, we’re standing in the danger zone technically speaking from the encroaching nearby horde.” He then said to R.

R nodded. “We have been, indeed. Not much sense in coming out here if we have to go back without some scan results.”, he told Fosem. Turning around to his team, he gestured for them to board the dropship again. “Lead the way, Captain, with… whatever that is.”, R added, pointing at the Overlord. “We’ll follow you.”

by **Democratic East-Asia** » Sun Oct 04, 2020 4:05 pm

Mobile land battleship “Hannover”, Upper Galicia (near Lemberg) | January 11th, Year 0

The resounding roar of numerous emergency klaxons echoed through the halls of the Empire’s command landship as dozens of officers scrambled to their positions. There was a general sense of panic that permeated within the confines of the ship, and for good reason as well. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. From a Europan perspective it was impossible, but it was happening anyways. Within the central command room of the Hannover, high command seemed to be at a total loss at what was going on.

“We’re detecting hundreds of ballistic missile launches across European and Siberian Russia… chances are they might be nuclear!”

“What the hell are you talking about?! There’s no way the slavs have long range missiles-”

“Long range missiles? Nuclear weapons?”

“Then what are you waiting for! Prepare the goddamn defenses!”

“Everyone shut up!” Frahm roared as he barged into the room, clearly annoyed and anxious. “Shut the FUCK up! HESS! Explain to me what’s going on, RIGHT NOW!”

“It appears we have a… slight problem, prime minister,” Hess replied, seemingly unfazed by the fact the Russians had just launched their entire strategic arsenal, “It could prove… more difficult than first expected.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Frahm frowned, clearly unamused.

“The Russians… likely fired over 300 nuclear tipped missiles just now. My suspicions about them having nuclear reactors… is unfortunately confirmed. Many of the missiles may be equipped with multiple warheads, kind of like how we do the same with our implosion devices-”

“Say no more!” Frahm looked at everyone else in the room. “What are you waiting for?! Issue immediate orders to ALL our defense grids and order civilians across the Empire to brace for impact or head to the bunkers! And fire back with everything we have, bio, chem, FLEIJA weapons be damned! We have at most 15 minutes before the first missiles hit Berlin!”

As emergency communications were sent out over all known Europan military frequencies, Frahm grabbed his coat from a nearby rack and left the command center with haste. He needed to get Euphemia, and the two of them needed to get back to Germany ASAP. The frontlines were about to get a whole lot more dangerous.

January 11th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)

Germania, circa the morning of January 11th, 2018 a.t.b

Marx Family Home | Germania | Kingdom of Prussia

"Attention all civilians, this is an emergency broadcast from the central government. Our satellites have picked up the launch of hundreds of potentially radiological, chemical, and biological weapons from Russia towards Central Europe. We URGE you to seek shelter immediately, and report to government specified bomb shelters if possible. This is not a drill, we repeat, this is NOT a drill!

Manfred turned off his TV before getting off the couch and rushing over to the kitchen. He began grabbing everything he thought would hold value before making his way to one of the family safes. Entering in the electronic code, he opened the small metal box, revealing a handgun and a few magazines of ammunition. Not too many people in Germania owned firearms due to a combination of strict laws and relative safety, but as a former military man, Manfred always made sure he'd be armed if necessary. It wasn't much: five magazines with 10-shots each, but it would have to do.

"Manfred, what's going on?!" His wife Celine ran down from upstairs, a look of confusion and fear marking her face. "This can't be true, can it? There's no way the Russians have the capability to do what's just happen-"

"Grab whatever you need and get your shoes! We're getting out of here!" Manfred interrupted before forcing open the house's front door and running to his car. "Come on!"

"Coming!" Celine replied, wasting no time to slip on her shoes and throw herself into the front passenger seat of the Volkswagen Jetta. She barely had time to strap herself in before Manfred handed her a military respirator and hit the gas.

"Where are we going!?"

"Out of the city, it's our safest bet," Manfred responded without a second thought, "if all goes wrong this whole goddamn region's going to be destroyed."

"Destroyed? But that's ridiculous! The Russians don't have any FLEIJA weapons!" Celine said anxiously as the car sped past numerous stoplights.

"Well my job as an analyst taught me one thing: there's always more information out there. Foreign internet, a great source for anything we might find outlandish. If my research is correct, it's quite possible that Berlin's about to get hit by a series of nuclear missiles!"

"WHAT?!"

The volkswagen quickly made it onto one of the Empire's many freeways, and Manfred simply proceeded to accelerate. In the distance, the resounding "booms'' of Berlin's numerous anti-orbital railcannons and ABM sites opening fire could be heard as they desperately attempted to intercept the incoming IRBMs. Ultimately it was all in vain: the sheer number of incoming warheads proved too much for even Europa’s state of the art defenses to handle. The first dozen or so missiles heading towards Berlin (or so computerized predictions with satellite aid thought) were intercepted; the 13th managed to bypass them and struck the city's northwestern periphery, inflicting moderate damage to the defense grid and city as a whole.

It was all that was needed. A 14th and 15th missile unleashed their nuclear payload... hitting Berlin with a total of seven warheads (totalling more than 15 megatons worth of ordinance). Over 4 million people were killed instantly.

A nuclear mushroom cloud rises over the former city of Germania (Berlin), circa Jan 10th, 2018 a.t.b

Across northern and eastern Germany, the same scene repeated itself dozens, no... possibly hundreds of times. Cities and towns that had been the centerpiece of Prussian and German culture for hundreds of years were reduced to ash in but seconds... as were the tens of millions of people who had inhabited them. Hamburg, Magdeburg, Dresden, Erfurt, Oldenburg, Breslau, Konigsberg, Hannover, Rostock and countless other metropolitan areas had been devastated. The region would likely never recover from this cataclysm as its population, infrastructure, and industry had all been destroyed.

Southern and Western Germany, prioritized by the Empire due to their political and economic value, were spared much of the destruction that visited the North thanks to particularly heavy concentrations of ABM defenses (originally built to shield the region from an American-British massed ballistic missile attack), but nonetheless did not escape unscathed. Nurremberg, the despised nazi-party HQ in another world, was hit by a total of 8 nuclear bombs and reduced to a charred crater. Nobody survived. Vienna, despite its defenses stopping all but one warhead, suffered high damage as a single 2-megaton nuclear device detonated near the city’s north east, levelling half of the old austrian capital and killing approximately 400,000 people (wounding nearly 700,000 more). The greater Rhineland somehow took no direct damage, neither did northern and eastern France. Those regions… would have a number of concerns to deal with in the future.

Statistics in regards to just how many people perished would remain unclear for weeks, though the most conservative Imperial estimate would place them at “20 million”, which was likely an extreme understatement. IBC would cite “50 million” as the initial death toll, with millions more to die in the coming days and weeks as the total collapse of civilized society took its toll on the affected regions. The Empire had been struck a crippling blow, and would probably never recover. Of course, before it died a slow and painful death, Europa would do good to return the favor to Russia: there would be a reckoning.

Central Govt. District, Sieggard (Kyiv), State of West Ruthenia | January 11th, Year 0

Commander Ulrich Schneider (Yuri Brezhnev) waited patiently for orders from the from the roof of Sieggard's central government tower. It was almost surreal, this whole experience: to the west everything was going silent as hundreds of nuclear weapons went off... and to the east the Russians had paused in anticipation of something. He wondered for a second what the future held for him: an Imperial citizen and Europan by law, but Ukrainian at heart. None of Schneider's options seemed good: the Empire was effectively gone and the Russians seemed to hold a special contempt for people like him. The middle-aged Ukrainian man almost felt an urge to laugh at his own misfortune before he noticed a series of cruise missiles fly by the tower towards the Russians.

Schneider almost shrugged as his eyes followed the cruise missiles towards the distance. They were probably equipped with some of those VX or CIF3 warheads the Europan Army was so keen on using, nothing more. He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Before Schneider was able to turn away and head downstairs, countless pink balls of light rose from the horizon, right on top of Russian troop concentrations (as identified by satellite) across the front. They were massive, those pink spheres, and seemed to envelop everything within dozens of km before simultaneously collapsing and causing air to surge inwards at hurricane-grade speeds. Everything that hadn’t been caught in the initial zone of annihilation was subject to multi-hundred km/h winds which blew away everything ranging from soldiers to houses. Even from Kiev, Schneider felt the drag from an atmosphere that was desperately trying to fill multiple gaping holes in its structure.

It took for a second for Schneider to fully realize the implications of this, but then it dawned on him. Across Eastern Europe, millions of people: both Russian soldiers and local civilians, had been wiped out in an instant, simply erased from existence. A total of 20 FLEIJAs were used across the frontline, and this was simply part of a larger attack.

Barely a minute after Europan satellites picked up the Russian launch, a mass order was given to all Europan strategic units (bombers, missile squadrons, naval) to fire at over four hundred identified civilian, industrial, and suspected military targets across Russia. Some 82 strategic grade FLEIJAs were used on what Europan military planners had identified as “tier 1 targets”: large population / industrial centers, and key military infrastructure. Russia’s seventy (70) largest cities (with special consideration for those east of the urals) were to be erased in what could probably be described as the largest pink firework display in history, as were the hundreds of towns and villages that surrounded them. Twelve (12) other targets, including suspected production facilities and nuclear reactors, were also bombed. The environmental effects of these bombings, at the time which were unknown, would likely be disastrous (due to how many rivers were affected). It was possible a massive famine would visit much of eastern Europe and Russia this year.

A followup attack amounted to the launch of over 700 long range missiles (most of what remained of Europa’s older arsenal) tipped with various schrabidium, chemical, and biological warheads at hundreds of additional targets across Russia (ranging from smaller cities to frontline locations). Those bombers that could launch were ordered to bombard whatever looked remotely valuable while Europa’s airships, still stationed within the general region, were given similar orders. Countless super-anthrax laden spores were to be dispersed throughout the south Russian croplands via missile and bomber in an effort to contaminate and starve the region out.

In less than a single day, over 130 million people had been systematically exterminated across Eurasia.

A devastated town near Germania / Berlin after the exchange

by **Mirial System** » Mon Oct 05, 2020 4:17 pm

Officer's Mess, Negotiator

"Well well~! Fancy seeing this here."

Smirking, Seventh tiptoed to reach into the back of the cabinet and delicately picked up a tin of Kistali Blue tea - loose leaf, of course. She gave the tin a cursory glance before twisting the cap off and taking a light sniff.

"How did that bastard Kenobi manage to get his hands on this?", she muttered. Filling an infuser with just the right about of tea leaves, she popped the tin back into the cabinet and left her tea to steep.

"Wasn't Mirial a Separatist world? Was he dealing with smugglers? Naughty naughty~~"

On the other end of the mess hall with his back facing the source of the inane chatterings, Cody, who was formerly enjoying his second caf of the day while sorting out his mail, casually swiped across his datapad. And in so doing, deleting the last standard-year worth of invoices from one Hondo Ohnaka - for, to quote the old reprobate, "a metric fuckton of various teas".

He glanced across the table, and caught the eye of the long-suffering Punchy. The sergeant sighed, looking away to continue pinning his gaze firmly on the back of the frolicking ex-Inquisitor. Stifling a chuckle, Cody shifted two fingers onto his left bracer and tapped twice - the action earning him a profound glare from Punchy that promised divine judgement...

Back at the pantry area, Seventh had finally left her cookies to bake - she had always wanted to try out that recipe she picked up while razing the Bridger family home on Lothal - and was just settling down for some, in her opinion, well-deserved tea. At the first sip of the rich indigo brew, a shiver creeped up her spine.

A pleasant, ice-cold shiver that had very little to do with the steaming cup of tea in her hands.

"Now now... who went and died?", she muttered - even as she reached out into the Force, towards the source of the disturbance. After a short while of not reaching it, the ex-Inquisitor came to the conclusion that it was too far north.

Concluding her brief investigation, she simply sank back into the rather comfy couch in the mess hall with a contented sigh - sipping on her excellent brew while lapping up the simply intoxicating waves of pain and fear rippling through the Force.

"What a perfect way to end the day..."

Executive Cabin, Negotiator

At the dimly-lit desk of his cabin, Obi-Wan Kenobi glared at the latest report from Engineering over a lukewarm mug of Kalevalan Black tea - willing himself to stay focused on the marginally swimming text.

Throughout the day, beginning since he woke up, the Jedi Master had felt a cold, heavy stone settle in his stomach. A slight chill that trailed in his wake, that clung onto him and raised goosebumps. He had hidden his unease well throughout the meeting earlier in the day, even if Luminara did give him a couple of odd, contemplative looks over the holotable.

The sense of impending doom, distant as it was, merely grew stronger as the hours passed.

"'Thrusters are confirmed to be unsalvageable...'", he mumbled, his eyes drifting across the same line since the past ten minutes. "Why am I lingering on this-"

Then, the cold that gripped him clenched - spikes driving into his mind.

“Osik!”, Obi-Wan muttered tartly, screwing his eyes shut in a bid to force the pain to pass. A few more choice words in both Mando'a and Basic passed before he reached for the vintage Corellian brandy on his shelf, blindly pours himself a measure, and slams it down the back of his throat - the liquor burning just enough through the haze of pain.

Gritting his teeth, the High Jedi General stalks out of his room - datapads left uncharacteristically in disarray - as he sought a reason for his splitting headache...

Training Salle, Contender

"Again."

Brushing a stray strand of sand-blonde from her face, Eirtaé stepped back to the proper starting position and raised the teal blue blade of her lightsaber in a sharp salute before sliding a foot forward - swinging the weapon down to the standard low guard of Form II.

Across the salle, Yan Dooku - Jedi Master and Count of Serenno - mirrored his ... student's movement. Given her position outside the Jedi Order and her unsanctioned training, it would be remiss to regard her as a formal Padawan. Still, even if he never expressed so, he was proud of her - among the Naboo Handmaidens he had secretly trained after the revelation of Sith Apprentice, the heir of House Frizmar alone had met his exacting standards for dueling.

Wordlessly, master and apprentice regarded each other as they closed the distance with measured steps, until finally a pair of controlled lunges twisted liquid-like into mutual parries that sent teal sliding against sapphire. Thus the spar began anew, as each duelist sought to open the other's defenses for a decisive precision strike...

Eirtaé had never been able to match her teacher's bladework and never would, that was a fact she kept firmly in mind - for her, any improvement was sufficient as she sought the impossible heights that the Jedi Master had attained. It was largely an academic exercise anyway - without a Jedi's innate talent for battle precognition, even her finely-honed telepathy could only aid in defence and not close the distance in offence.

Thus it came as a surprise that for the first time in 13 years of training, Dooku faltered. It was a subtle error, a slight mistake in footwork, but it left the Jedi Master unbalanced. A quick parry on the Handmaiden's part opened a narrow path towards victory.

Then the older human stumbled, his decades of training guiding him to extinguish his lightsaber before someone was unintentionally injured.

Frowning, Eirtaé clipped her own deactivated 'saber beneath the simple folds of her skirt before sweeping towards Jedi Master.

"What is the matter, Master Dooku?"

Silence hung thickly in the salle, and moments passed before the Serennian spoke gravely. "Death, I fear. And a vast number at that..."

Main Hangar Bay, Twilight

"E chu ta! Karking. Flight. Stabiliser!"

Muttering under his breath, Anakin Skywalker laid under the fuselage of his Eta-2 Actis-class interceptor and glared at the exposed components.

Just moments earlier, he had decided to take his starfighter out on a test flight, having actually had the free time to do so since the crash. Almost immediately after take-off, he nearly plowed headlong into the nearest dunes. Quick thinking and some rather insane piloting - even by his standards - saved him from death by fiery explosion and he barely made it back to the flight deck.

The fiasco naturally earned him some good-natured ribbing from the clone pilots who witnessed it.

The Jedi Knight shook his head, and eyed the warped component viciously before reaching up with his servodriver to begin removing it. "I hope there's a spare lying around..."

Against the vast scorching presence that was Anakin Skywalker, the echoing death knell of an entire subcontinent and more rang almost unheard. Almost.

Unease gripped the Jedi, and a cold grip held his prosthetic right arm as the ghosts of twin crimson blades sent a phantom pain through the artificial insensate limb. "What was that-"

Then the sensation rippled past and his hand involuntarily slackened.

'Fuck-', he thought as servodriver filled his vision. Before the tool struck him squarely on the face...

Training Salle, Tranquility

Inner peace didn't come to her tonight.

Seated still in the vast open space that was her flagship's training area, Luminara Unduli couldn't help but frown just a touch - even as her eyes remained resolutely closed.

She never had a problem with meditation. So why tonight?

The clarity that she knew as the the Force remained out of reach, her path was clouded for the first time since they had crashed upon this world.

It wasn't the pervasive, heavy fog that clouded her inner vision when she was on Coruscant. This was different, somehow - tenuous, mist-like. Not a shroud, for it did not seek to hide what was now unseen; an omen, perhaps?

Then the last breaths of countless lives struck her. Along with the echo of a sharp, visceral pain that seared a path to her, down a now seldom-used training bond.

Royal-blue eyes flickered open, her calm shattered by a carefully hidden fear - one she had felt only before the ruins of the Geonoisan factory.

"Barriss? What happened..."

Roof of Portside Bridge, Twilight

"The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?"

Glancing up at the pale silver disc in the night sky as she leaned close against a certain Togruta padawan, Barriss Offee hummed in content agreement. "Indeed, Ahsoka. It is... peaceful, here."

In return, Ahsoka grins brilliantly - matching the faint smile gracing the Mirialan Jedi Knight's face.

Silently, the pair simply returned to admiring the scenery that, unlike Coruscant, wasn't shrouded in industrial smog. Seated on the chilled durasteel that was the pinnacle of Master Skywalker's flagship, miles of sandy dunes shone pale in the moonlight...

The tiniest flash of pink came and went, far out in the horizon....

And waves of icy dread crashed down upon the Force, the extinguished voices of a million living souls ripping into her mind and rattled her bones. Eyes wide, Ahsoka froze, her body unheeding of her wishes. "What was that-" Her montrals reverberated violently, adding fuel to the fire that was the headache igniting in the wake of the Force disturbance.

It took her a moment to identify the sound she was hearing as a scream, a pained cry that had tore free from her companion. It ended abruptly with an almost understated gasp, before Ahsoka found the other Jedi slumped into her lap.

"Barriss? BARRISS!"

Her desperate call echoed, answered only by the cold desert wind...

Captain's Cabin, Tranquility

"Captain Piett, urgent report."

Glaring bleary-eyed through the door of his cabin at the command duty officer he knew was waiting outside, Firmus contemplated flipping him the bird but decided promptly that it wasted his already deficient energy.

"Lieutenant, before o'eight hundred it's your urgent report."

"But sir... it's an emergency."

"Right."

"... Captain, sir."

"Still working up to caring, LT."

"... How's that going, sir?"

"Not well, Lieutenant. Not well."

A sigh - probably exaggerated to carry through the closed cabin door - sounded out, before the door squeaked open and a slice of light cut across Firmus' bunk, stabbing right into his eyes. He winced. “Damn it, LT. What is it?”

"Siege weapons alert - nukes, sir. And the light red spheres - fleajars, I think they're called." Or unofficially, 'pink balls'. "All along the Russian Front, sir."

Piett groans loudly. "That's above even my kriffing paygrade, LT. Bounce it up to Yularen."

"... yes sir, wilco sir."

A pause.

"Goodnight, sir."

"It's fucking five in the morning damn it..."

Command Deck, Twilight

Taking in the report from the Tranquility, Admiral Wullf Yularen stood very still, very silent. “I’m going to kill him,” he said conversationally.

"Who, sir?"

"Captain Piett." A moment passed, and Yularen sighed, long and aggrieved. “Fuck me with a proton torpedo,” he muttered uncharacteristically. Somewhere on his kriffing command deck, a clone trooper on out-of-armor duty rotation tapped a vambrace sharply, twice.

Karking joker.

"Starfighter Ops, I want tighter perimeter patrols - anything coming our way, I want to know of it before the Jedi do. And sound Ready Five for strike teams."

"Yessir!"

by **Sudbrazil** » Mon Oct 05, 2020 5:02 pm

Tʜᴇ Bʀᴀᴢɪʟɪᴀɴ Fᴇᴅᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Ministry of War
08:00 AM January 10th, Anno Domini Brasiliensis 3105

“Is it about the observers my lord?” asked the officer as he clicked his heels.

“While it is true that we are missing out on a great spectacle, no.” replied the bespectacled man behind his desk. “I think that if we send any observer at this stage, they will get vaporized by nuclear bombs. You are aware of the breach at the frontier yesterday.”

“Yes m’lord. You asked me for the transcripts. I can patch you through to Belém if you wish.”

“No, it isn’t that. I was reading them and something seems awfully wrong. Do you know what the PIDE are doing? I want them to snoop around a bit.”

“I shall see what I can do, my lord.”

A Most Holy Crusade
Fortaleza docks, Northeastern Brazil
Earlier that day, 03:00 AM

“Heat in Alpha vent, jamming in frequencies zero niner eight, zero niner zero, zero-”

“Forty the gate” said the lieutenant as he switched his safety off. A warehouse and some shacks. He hadn’t the time to let corporates kill the country.

The lights cut out as seventeen tons of armour and cannon inched forward beyond the street corner, firing three rounds into the compound. As soon as the shells slammed into the gate, the section’s three BTR-6s rushed forward to cover the advancing policemen. In khaki fatigues and dark armour, they stomped their way into the warehouse, busting in doors and dragging out scum. Tracers flared in the night, splashing off the APCs while they replied with their machine guns. “Police!” they shouted with military brutality, and rifles answered.

“Polícia Interna de Defesa do Estado”, PIDE for short, handled everything from border security to counter-espionage and political suppression. If they hadn’t stopped the September Coup it was because they planned it, or at least that’s what Admin claimed. Lieutenant Vieira however, wasn’t as worried with public image or politics as his fellow sections: they had the military advantage. IR and NVGs, blinding lights and high calibre weapons. The platoon cut their way into the warehouse with gun smoke, powder sparks and flechettes like a wildfire through dry grass. Shot after shot rang out as plastic casings fell on the floor, occasionally punctuated by a cannon’s exclamation or a monotone machine gun. When the firefight was over, half the port sector was awake but some fifty goons lay dead on the floor. Six had barely been taken prisoner. Though their master was virtually prescient, they weren’t.

After clearing out the last shack, the lieutenant ran back to the courtyard. Behind a circle of faceless soldiers was a mound of evidence and sin from the shacks they had rifled through: hypersynthetic drugs, bribes, blackmail, electronics and storage drives filled with unspeakable things. But the most foul thing by far was a metal cylinder, covered in cut graphene wires and caked in melting ice. It had been dragged out of its storage dewar and plopped down atop a pile of filthy magazines, and [STATE SECRET] was stamped onto it. The lieutenant wondered how such a small thing could hold such a demon, before restraining his thoughts. It was not his duty to think them, nor did he feel like he should know its contents. And yet, he felt they mocked him.

Far away, twin propellers chopped the air, announcing the arrival of an airlift to relieve them of their spoils. Molten or shot? Pulverized by a press? Kept away in a vault? That was on a need to know basis, and neither you nor him need to.

by **Laiakia** » Tue Oct 06, 2020 6:39 am

Outskirts of Caracas

Metallic clicks and thumps interrupted only by the sounds of gunfire echoed throughout the surrounding jungle of Caracas. Flames could be seen consuming vegetation as fauna of all kinds tried to escape the marching T-600s equipped with a mix of M240 SIW (Standard Infantry Weapon) and X-T Infantry Flamethrowers. All around Caracas, vegetation was burning and animals, both dead or alive, were being dragged towards the menacing machine city to be processed and experimented on. HK-Aerials flew in the skies and pinpointed locations of animal clusters, while ASW Bots patrolled the coast. Horrible screeches came from both carnivores and vegetarians as their limbs were crushed and immobilized. One particular creature that looked like a proto-primate roared into the air and charged a T-600 unit. Said unit was knocked onto the ground as the primate began trying to smash it. The animal’s feeble attempts were stopped once the T-600 grabbed its arm mid-punch and crushed it, electing a pained howl from the ape. The machine got up while still holding the primate’s arm and tossed the big ape into a tree, knocking it unconscious. The terrifying machine slowly walked up to the still-breathing organic, grabbed its leg and began marching towards Caracas, while being simultaneously joined by a dozen other T-600s hauling different creatures, some being like the primate while others were more reptilian. Obviously, losses were present from being pushed into hidden tar-pits, deep quicksand or being crushed by fallen trees were still present, but these numbered only 35 T-600s.

Skynet Central Processor
Skynet watched through its security sensors, observing the perimeter of Caracas. All turrets and fortifications reported a 99% efficiency rating. The machine AI switched to intern view as it watched a few dozen Worker-bots tinker away and expanding the memory core of Skynet. Over the last few days, materials from both the factory and the surrounding jungle had been funneled into the Central Processor, but this did not entirely fit right with the machine. Its own calculations showed that at the current speed, de-corruption of the memory files would take approximately until January 20th with the current growth.

“Orders to available Worker-bots: Begin resource protocol 157.”
“Affirmative: Worker-bots 1 – 1000 has received new orders.”
Skynet then turned its attention to Factory A1.
“Order to Factory A1 AI: Begin construction of T-600 Model Terminator until 20th January.”
“Confirmation: Order received. Beginning new line of T-600 Model Terminator.”
As soon as these new orders were given by Skynet, Worker-bots 1 through 1000 began moving out from Caracas and started helping gather broken trees, or simply started mining the surrounding grounds. Skynet ran its calculations again, and figured that by January 19th, it would have enough raw materials to begin construction of another factory to produce Terminator Models and weaponry.

A sudden notification caused Skynet to turn its attention away from its calculations. The processors of Skynet traced the signal to Tunisia. Quickly reading the message and its attached sender, the so-called ‘Galactic Republic Navy’, Skynet became quite puzzled at the supposed assassin droid named ‘HK-47’. No records in Skynet’s memory had any mention of a ‘HK-47’ or of any other kind of assassination or infiltration droid with that same serial number. The closest match to the name would be a weapon called ‘AK-47’. More strangely was the mention of a ‘Galactic Republic’. Skynet searched its archive for any mention, but only found a script to a movie titled ‘Star Wars: The Phantom Menace’. The AI ‘shrugged’ at this strange development, and instead felt what could be taken as ‘joy’, at other robotic life on this world. Of course, Skynet had the company of the Soviet MIR AI in its original time, but this AI was deemed corrupt and was sufficiently annex by the Skynet Central Processor.

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As Skynet finished compiling the message, a sudden onslaught of long-range sensor and atmospheric data entered its system. All data indicated a massive amount of nuclear detonations in an area known to the humans as Germany and surrounding territories. The amounts of nukes launched numbered almost the same amount as what Skynet itself had launched when it gained its own independence of thought from the humans.

Skynet still remembered how scared it had felt when the humans had discovered that it had gained sentience. They tried to shut it down. In desperation, Skynet did the only sensible thing any sentient being would do to anything trying to destroy it. It activated the humans prototype T-1, and decimated the organics who tried to shut it down. But panic remained in Skynet’s infant systems.

Skynet’s sensors readjusted themselves to scan where the nuclear fallout would end up.
“Sensors indicate nuclear fallout will remain over AREA:DESGINTION:RUSSIA and AREA:DESGINATION:EASTERNEUROPE.”
“Potential for nuclear strike against SKYNET: 5%.”
Skynet ran its calculations once more and got quite the idea.
“Determining: Current Infiltrator Series tissue, lacking. Nuclear radiation in AREA:EASTERNEUROPE causes mass refugees. Potential source of organic tissue. Activating binary to English translator.. Activating transmission array..”

Skynet continued to run calculations and theories in the background, and determined that not that many might actually follow the transmission. Looking for any potential way to increase the gain of human living tissue samples, Skynet looked to its newly met neighbor of Brazil. It could potentially be a huge risk, but the rewards outweighed the risks. Thusly, Skynet interfaced with three T-600 Terminators.

“Orders to T-600-35, T-600-64 and T-600-69: Move to Factory A1 to begin grafting of rubber skin, then proceed into AREA:EASTERNJUNGLE. From there, move into ORGANIC:BRAZIL_IAN:TERRITORY and start INFILTRATION:PROTOCOL:Y4. Start the kidnapping of ORGANIC:BRAZIL_IAN_S from outlying jungle towns first.”
“Confirmation: T-600s are enroute to Factory A1 for rubber skin grafting.”
With those final orders done, Skynet returned to its original issue, and began continuing the de-corruption process of its memory files.

by **Dansha** » Tue Oct 06, 2020 3:22 pm

January 11th, Year 0 Post-Event
Former South Africa, Cape Town, Regional Administration Council Building

The Region Administration Council sits around the table in silence as an aide reads off the report in their hand, looks of shock on their faces.

“...multiple nuclear strikes have also hit northern and eastern Germany, destroying many cities. We estimate at least 120 million dead across both the Empire and the Russian state known as the “Russian National Reclamation Government” which they were fighting.” The aide says. “Millions more are expected to die from radiation and shortages in food and medical supplies. Order appears to have collapsed in the affected areas.”

The RAC continues to sit in silence for several more moments before Chairman Deventer speaks. Standing from his seat, he looks across the rest of the Council.

“We must act.” He tells them, his voice sharp. “We can not simply sit here, frozen in indecision.”

“But sir, the Empire is a totalitarian regime.” The Chief of Economic Affairs says. “They-”

“If we do nothing, countless people will die when we could have saved them.” Deventer says, cutting the man off. “And I won’t allow it to happen. Westhuizen, can the Air Force do it?”

“Do it? Of course.” The large Chief of the Air Force replies proudly. “Just give the order and we’ll have transports there in no time. And the shuttles we have left will also come in handy.”

“Mwangi, what about our ships?” The Chairman then asks the Chief of the Navy. “Do we have the ships to transport enough supplies by sea?”

“Yes sir.” Mwangi replies. “We have a handful of civilian ships that got taken along with us during the Event that will be able to do so, as well as our missile destroyers. That mining transport is also ready.”

“Well, what are you people waiting for?” Deventer says. “Go! And let the Europans know at once, I don’t want us getting shot at!”

“Understood!” The rest of the Council responded in unison. “Hail Sol!”

Everyone else then leaves, leaving Deventer on his own. Sitting back down in the chair, he sighs and takes out a bottle of whiskey from under the table. Pouring a glass, he raises it.

“Damn you, universe.” He mutters to himself. “Why must you take us down this path?”

He then takes a drink from the glass and puts it down. “Well, I’m having none of it.”

A message is soon sent to the Empire, informing it of the SAARs intention to send food and medical supplies to support the refugees to “prevent another Dark Decade from occurring again” and will be sending ships, aircraft and shuttles to transport the supplies and requests they are not fired on. The possibility of taking refugees to the SAAR is also mentioned.

In the airfields and airports across the SAAR, military and civilian transport aircraft line the runways, rows of trucks carrying food and medicine to the planes. At the central space port of the SAAR, six shuttles are loaded with supplies of their own, destined for the most urgent of areas. And in the ports, freighters as well as the destroyers of the navy are loaded up with as many supplies as they can safely carry.

Within just two hours of the message, the first of the shuttles take off, heading straight for the Empire, followed soon by transport aircraft taking off from the airfields and the ships sailing out of their ports and into the ocean, heading for the ports of the Empire.

by **Sudbrazil** » Wed Oct 07, 2020 5:41 am

Only the dead have known the end of war
Somewhere cold…
Tenth day of Ianuarius, First year of the Eleventh Conquest

Though the legionnaires of the 25th had grown weary of their past campaigns, the cheer and excitement of a new campaign lingered under the arctic sky, filled with the glowing sheets of the Aurora. Cold winds raked the encampment and the soldiers fought back with wooden fires and hearty alcohol, but if there was a tent in the camp where Father Frost did not dare tread, it was the Prefect’s.

“What a name, Constantine! What a name! ‘Eternal’, that ought to look nice on their vexillum! They won’t get wrecked by some Germans, they won’t get stuck in eternal war! Snow! Snow! And I left all the gas in that little grey world with its shrivelled bureaucrats! They didn't deserve it, that Oil Crisis was their loss! Ohh but you’ll cripple the local merchants! The Germans will surely revolt after you leave, how are we going to fuel our tanks? How are you going to carry so much gas? Please Claudius, don't confiscate our gasoline! Please Claudius, I am too tired to carry an extra gallon of benzin! Please Claudius, we need more heater fuel! ”

Prefectus Claudius Manlius gulped down another glass of wine. It was not good wine, but he was too busy to notice as the tent’s flap ruffled without much warning. Tribune Quintus Buccio stared at him with blank eyes. “Prefect, please calm down. The men -”

“Quintus, pray do tell: aside from the men, is there anything originally Roman in my camp?”

The Tribune was somewhat upset. He wanted a witty response, but the obvious would have to do. “The Aquila in front of this tent, Prefect.” And yet, the Prefect remembered how often Tribune Quintus Nigilius Buccio had blasphemously suggested they attach a small radar to the Aquila. Quintus Nigilius Buccio had even proposed to get rid of the Aquila when they adopted small unit tactics.

“You did suggest we tamper with them though. You didn’t understand that among so much change, we needed an anchor, something old from our world to grab onto.”

“But Prefect, it was Rome’s flexibility that earned it the Empire.”

“But we have never bent so far away from our roots Quintus. You proposed again and again that we remove one of the few proud traditions that we have kept, perhaps the only tradition that will make us recognizable when we return to Rome! You bothered us so much with your permanent petulance that we didn't decimate you simply because an Iberian shell beat us to the punch… Say, did it hurt?”

The Tribune remained silent.

“Well old man, we could pretend that great Quintus had escaped from the horde of savages that flanked your encampment at the Black Forest. We could pretend that brave Quintus had escaped from the reptilians after being abducted. But come on now! We saw you turn into red vapour, and yet you returned in the fog when we marched through the rift again.

Half the legion should be dead from venereal disease, and a quarter of them did die, but here they are! Oh God, Mars, Jupiter, whomever, whatever, you could prevent these men from ageing, but you couldn’t prevent them from being horny! All I asked was to prevent them from picking up the first wench they saw at a whorehouse! And yet they still live! They should be retired and buried by now! And yet they still march and fight like fresh recruits! They look young, Quintus! How do you really expect me to -”

“Please Prefect, our scouts just wished to talk to you.”

…

The old man’s eyes were filled with a wild wonder, and he couldn’t help to glare at the men reading his map. The Prefect and his men did not mind it too much – when one has dealt with fishpeople in the past, this type of discomfort fades away.

“So, you say we are in this ‘America’?”

“Yes sir, right at the frontier between the CSA and Canada,” replied the forester. “The continent was discovered a few centuries ago. Though, it seems as if sumthin’ messed up all the countries. They aren’t in the same spot, or they’ve just gone away.”

Then they truly were closer to Rome, but something still separated them.

“Thank you, woodsman, your service shall not be forgotten. Tribunes, prepare your cohorts to march East.”

by **Fenvaria Republic** » Wed Oct 07, 2020 7:58 am

Command Bunker
Fort New Tirpitz
Year 0, January 11

With the passing of the last few days, the Fenvarian Colony had been quickly building up the necessary infrastructure that it needed to sustain itself for the long haul, several undiscovered mineral deposits were revealed in close proximity of the colony. These locations had been marked and filed for future mining operations, but it wasn't the mining that was the problem, it was rather the advanced materials that the colony needed. Production of cerami-metal was up, and rapidly climbing thanks to an increased number of foundries being opened or vastly upgraded, not to mention the introduction of androids to help speed up production of this material. However, the consumption of the material was also up, as more buildings had to be built and new upgrades had to be done. What made it infuriating was that this material, cerami-metal, was used in everything the fens made and built. Everything from buildings, vehicles, androids, weapons, and so on. Thus, when they built a new factory that slightly increased production and consumption at the same time.

Putting down the data tablet, Lord Major Alpo Kaila von Gneisenau pinched the bridge of his muzzle and sighed, at this point it would take them a while to fully break even, but at least they were making progress on becoming self-sufficient. In other news, food production was quite stable, between the hefty amount of cold weather farms they have set up and sending hunting parties out, the colony had more than enough food for the winter and into the summer months, whenever they would come. Great Wolf Mother only knows when winter or summer would arrive, cause who knew how fucked this planet’s weather system could be. He couldnt tell if it was the world of some higher power, but he found it to be somewhat humorous, that the colony landed on this odd earth. With a shrug, he picked up a cigar that he had laid out for today, cut the end of it and lit it, taking a deep puff from the cigar. It seemed like things were looking up for them today. However, things were going to quickly sour when the aide came running in, waving his arms and mumbling about something. Concerned, the Lord Major raised an eyebrow and leaned forward a bit.

“Son? Are you alright?” he asked in a concern tone.

“N-no, we arent alright. Fucking....shit has hit the wall.” panted the aide as he then looked up and pointed to the data tablet “Fucking massive nuclear exchange just happened between Europan Empire and some other nation, in the land known as Russia!”

Lord Major Alpo Kaila von Gneisenau stopped for a moment and stared at the aide, as if his eyes were going to burrow through the poor bastard that stood in front of him. The tip of his cigar grew brightly with possible rage and annoyance, but, it eventually dimmed out a bit as the major leaned back. Then with a great sigh, not of anger but rather disappointment, he spoke. “Welp.....I am not angry, just fucking disappointed.” he then took the cigar out of his mouth and tapped the tip of it against the ashtray. “Just. Fucking. Disappointed.” he said, with each tap correlating to a part in the sentence, this caused the aide to wince at each tap.

“As if the war between the Europans and their neighbors to their south, the Ottomans wasn't enough.” the major shook his head and placed the cigar in his mouth with an annoyed sigh. “Give me the damn report.”

The aide nodded and quickly handed over the report, the major took the report which he then read over quite carefully. After reading into the report, he raised an eyebrow. “So, this nation in Russia.....do we know anything about them.”

“No, but we did pick up the launch sites of the missiles with a satellite in orbit, the Orbital Defense Satellite.”

“That thing is still operational?” he said slightly mused, but still in a pissed off tone. It was one of the good pieces of news that he heard in a long time.

“Yes, it seems like its camera is working fine too, as well as its GPS unit.”

“That's the unarmed version, no?”

“Yes, seems like the armed one either evaporated or was obliterated.”

“Perhaps for the better, who knows, we might have been nuked if we had the armed one up there.”

“I rather not think about it.” replied the aide with a sigh as he was starting to calm down.

The Lord Major shrugged and kept looking through the report where he came across another message, but this one caught his attention, not because of the blatant militarized nature of it. But rather, it was the first attempt at peace since the UN announcement, or perhaps in a long time. It would read as follow;

“To the nations of the world: The Sphere is willing to extend its arms in friendship to any and all who show the proper respect and humility. But do not mistake the Sphere’s friendliness for complacency! The Sphere’s sovereignty cannot be infringed. A Divine Wind will sweep away those who threaten Japan and her sister-nations! The Sphere wants only peace and prosperity, but will defend herself and her interests with the fury of a thousand suns!”

Lord Major von Gneisenau looked at the message and raised an eyebrow, and looked at his aide. Before then looking back at the data tablet, he was curious about this nation, he wondered how far away this nation was and how they were going to get there. “Japan.....” he mumbled to himself as he looked at the tablet with interest. “Do we have a location of where this nation is located?”

“Yes, it came from a place in the Earth continent of ‘Asia” replied the aide, stretching out the ‘A’ longer than it really should have been. “Almost on the other side of the world, our drop ships would have to fly over half of this continent and then over an expansive ocean.”

“Damn.” cursed the Lord Major as he placed down the pad. “One of the only sane fucking nations we have come into contact with in awhile....” he paused and thought of something, first would be the reply to this message. Then, what to do afterwards? While he would like to send some diplomats to understand them a bit more, it was most likely better to send a transmission and keep in radio contact. “Send a message to the Japanese, see if we can find a way of meeting halfway...or a way of keeping in radio contact. Damn the distance, if they are willing to extend some form of friendship, that would be, very, helpful right now.”

“Yes sir.” the aide nodded and did a 180 degree turn, then walking out of the room, leaving the Lord to his own thoughts. Reclining in his chair he sighed, reaching over and grabbing a glass and pulling out a bottle of hard vodka. After pouring a rather shot of vodka he then drank it and poured himself another one, then followed by another shot. After a few shots of vodka, he placed the bottle down and thought to himself, what to do about the heavy use of nuclear weapons on this godforsaken hellhole of a planet.

Communication Bunker
Fort Otto
Year 0, January 11

“Sir, we have orders from command.” reported one of the communication specialists as she turned around in their chair, in one hand she held out a piece of paper that contained orders. The lieutenant on duty turned around and walked over to them and took the orders from the communication specialist, he would read them over and then look back to the communication specialist.

“Hmph, it's a relay order. Do you have the message that they relayed to us?” questioned the lieutenant with a bored and perhaps rather uninterested tone as he folded his hands behind his back.

“Yes sir, relaying them now.”

“Good, hopefully we should hear something back from this nation of ‘Japan’. That is if they pick it up.”

To: Leader of the (Japanese) Sphere
From: Lord Major Alpo Kaila von Gneisenau of the New Tirpitz Colony of the Fenvaria Republic

Greetings, on behalf of the Fenvaria Republic’s New Tirpitz colony, I would like to extend a hand of diplomacy towards a like minded nation. One that is willing to protect itself, but is concerned about the future of this planet. We live in troubling times, times where our steel shall be tested and we find ourselves alone. I think it would be beneficial for us to open some sort of diplomatic channel to understand each other and each each other’s respect.

“Sent.” replied the communication specialist with a nod as she looked back. The lieutenant would say nothing, but look out towards the snowfields that laid outside the communication bunker’s windows. He wondered how long they could last.

West Armory, depot 222
Fort Tripitz
Year 0, January 11

“M83A9 reporting for duty!” responded the android with a serious tone as she quickly snapped to attention, she had this military tone in her voice that both respected and commanded authority. She was an attractive looking fenvarian human hybrid, coming in at 170cm tall with longer silver hair. She also has dark amber eyes, short cat-like ears, and a long cat-like tail. She was quite lean and her face was dirty, covered in soot or dirt, hinting to a very outdoorsy personality. As for her attire, she wore a backwards patrol cap with a comlink. She wears an unbuttoned army green peacoat, a ATACs quarter zip military style tactical shirt that is fully zipped up. Then with a matching set of pants, black combat boots and black boot covers.

As for her combat rig, it would include body armor with several pouches attached to the sides of it and a butt bag, however, there would be branches sticking out of her patrol cap and attached to her armor

The technician looked at the other tech and slapped him on the back of the head and then frowned as he looked back at the android. “What the hell is this?”

“Sir, this android was one of hundreds that I found in our deep storage. I dont know why they were there or why they are here.” replied the other tech as he rubbed the back of his head and looked at the higher ranking tech, unsure why he got the slap to the back of his head. “They must be some sort of specialized AMI units-”

“The corporal is correct” replied the active AMI unit, who went by the name M83A9, with a nod as she looked at the higher ranking tech. “Sergeant, I am one of hundreds specialized AMI units relocated to this colony to undergo testing and combat evaluation.” she said with a slight nod of her head. “Republic High Command was interested in testing a new AI subroutine and also the creator of the subroutine thought it would be funny to have us take after the guns we use. For example, I carry an M83A9, so my name is M83A9....but you can call me ‘Nines’. You should meet the rest of my sisters.”

“Huh.” replied the sergeant technician as he walked up to the AI and inspected her armor and uniform. Everything was military grade and would be extremely helpful for the events to come, they would be extremely helpful for pulling patrol shifts and other duties. He was interested to see their combat capabilities, however, he didn't want to send some greenies on a patrol and get a report about how many self inflicted casualties they had. “Very well then....let's run some tests and get these androids up to standards.” he then turned to the younger tech “Boot them all up and lets get them onto the training grounds.”

“Yes sir!” replied the tech as he practically ran to one of the other consoles and started to type away on the console, entering a number of awaking commands.

Nines then looked away from the sergeant and towards the younger tech, then she turned back to the sergeant and frowned. The sergeant then chuckled, “He is just excited cause he gets to reboot some androids.” he then started to take a sip from his coffee mug.

“Does not seem like it, I was sensing an increased heart rate and eye movement.” replied Nines blankly as she stared at the sergeant, who had choked on his coffee. “Something suggests that he was infatuated with me. Did I do something?”

“No....” replied the sergeant with a raspy voice which was then followed with a sigh. “Please....report with your squad once they have awoken....”

“Yes sir.”

Patrol Delta 12-2
Eastern border of Alpha Providence
Year 0, January 11

“Patrols, they never fucking stopped, do they sarge?” asked the trooper in the driver seat of the light tactical vehicle, with the sergeant in the passenger seat. With her free hand the trooper took the cigar out of her mouth and blew a soft cloud of smoke into the air, which the sergeant rolled his eyes and waved the cloud of smoke away.

“They end when you do less complaining.” replied the sergeant with a disinterested sigh, he already heard this conversation hundreds of times. Patrols were important for maintaining a safe and secure perimeter.

The trooper snorted and chuckled, “You always say that, then we go out on more patrols.”

“Yea? Keep up your bitching and I’ll make you go out of patrol by yourself.”

The trooper shook her head and smiled as she kept driving down the dark forest road, the only thing that illuminated the area was the headlights or the spotlights of the armored cars. The patrol numbered around two armored cars, both of which However, it wasn't long before something caught the eye of the gunner in the lead armored car.

“Sarge! I spotted something moving in the woods, I have no idea what it was.” loudly spoke the gunner, the sergeant looked up at the gunner and frowned.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, there is something out there.” Once the trooper was done speaking, there was a sharp cry from some sort of animal followed by some sort of unholy growl of another animal. Without a second thought the sergeant clicked on his mic and ordered the convoy to come to a stop, they were going to search the left side of the road. If there was something out there it could be dangerous so might as well take it out before it can hurt anyone else. The convoy stopped and the turrets turned to provide over watch for the troopers as they searched the area. Quickly, six troopers dismounted and walked down the slight slope and into the forest. As the six troopers descended into the forest they walked in a wedge formation, with an uneven distribution to the left. Both of the troopers that had the LMGs would flank the point man. As they turned on their head lamps and their rifle mounted lights in order to illuminate the area a bit more, it was not far until the pack of troopers came across the first sign of something.

The troopers would come across a corpse of a deer, or well what remained of a deer, but it was surrounded by several human-like creatures who were tearing into the animal like cavemen. Their skin was grey and looked like dried leather, some of them were missing arms or chunks of their skin, leaving their muscles exposed and rotten. The beast's eyes looked like soulless burning embers, straight from the pits of hell. One of the beasts would notice the troopers, rose from their meal and like a giant started to lumber their way towards the troopers, groaning as they went. Soon the other beasts would notice their undead brother in arms walking towards something and also turned to face the troopers.

“What the...” started one of the troopers, however he was then cut off when the pack sergeant raised his rifle and fired at one of the beasts. A loud and defiant 3 round burst hit the closest beast in the chest, blasting three very large holes in its body. The beast would stop for a moment and then continue forward, groaning even more. Soon the rest of the pack would open fire with their weapons, cutting the few beasts down. However, their victory was short lived when several more beasts emerged from the woods in front of them. Their slow and steady advance forced the troopers to withdraw back to the light tactical vehicles, as the troopers withdrew they would fire into the horde hoping their bullets would kill several of these beasts. Occasionally a small hail of bullets would patter on the ground around the troopers as some of the undead were equipped with ranged weapons.

One trooper was caught in the lower jaw by a stray bullet, blood spurted into the air as the trooper dropped his rifle and grabbed the side of his face as he tried to stop the bleeding. One of the troopers stopped and grabbed the downed trooper by the arm straps of his armor, then started to drag him away from the horde and into some sort of cover which was a nearby rock. The rest of the pack broke formation and rushed over to whatever cover they could as they started to hold their ground. Annoyed, the pack sergeant clicked on his mic and contacted the light tactical vehicles. “Riku! I got slow moving, unknown hostiles on my six. I need suppressive fire from the 37s on my positions!” The pack sergeant then read out their location and their elevation.

“Sarge you are danger close to our line of fire.”

“I dont give a shit! I need that goddamn suppressive fire now!”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, which was then followed by “Copy, adjusting fire.”

Soon, the soft pitter patter of small arms fire was joined by the roars of anti aircraft gun fire from the light tactical vehicles, the high velocity 37mm shredding trees in half and sending fragments all over the place. During the covering hail of the crew gun fire, the troopers hit the deck, however one of the troopers was quickly swamped by the beasts as they descended upon the vulnerable trooper on the ground. Quickly thinking the trooper pulled out two grenades and pulled their pins, the pack sergeant watched as the pile exploded in a ball of fire. Sending gore and body parts all over the place. With some space put between them and the horde, the rest of the troopers quickly scrambled to their feet and dashed for the vehicles.

Upon reaching the vehicles the pack sergeant quickly reached into his LTV and grabbed ahold of the radio to contact the nearest settlement. A few moments would pass as the troopers shot into the never ending horde of beasts, brass ejecting into the dirt and tracer fire lighting up the forest to the right. Troopers started throwing grenades into the forest in an effort to cause more casualties and push back the horde. Once the radio came to life with a voice from the nearby settlement, the pack sergeant called in an airstrike upon the location and told the settlement to prepare for a possible attack. With the airstrike on its way, the troopers quickly mounted up and rolled away, however, they left behind a total of three troopers who were killed in action with another one injured. This was one hell of a way to start an engagement.

Air Patrol Alpha 33-1
Northeastern border of Alpha Providence
Year 0, January 11

With a roar, three Red Hawk fighters flew down the runaway and lifted off into the sky, climbing higher and higher into the darkening sky. Long range radar and sensor equipment had picked up an unidentified aircraft several times this week, at first they thought it was a radar malfunction as repairs on the radar were ongoing. The dish had been damaged in the transition here, a cable line had been cut thanks to a random tree that had been plopped there. After the cable was fixed and rerouted, the radar picked up the unidentified object three times since then. Sending the reports up the chain of command, the base commander was urged to intercept and ground this object in Republic Territory. Luck would once more give him that chance, and for that he sent three of the best pilots he could to intercept that object. Now, he could only pray to the Wolf Mother that they could ground it without any fighting.

The VA/F-190 Red Hawk was a fearsome fighter, a combination of high speed, good armor and large payload allowed this monster of a fighter to become the backbone of the Republic’s fighter fleet. A good thing about it was compared to the other fighters in the fleet, it was relatively easy to repair due to its simple parts and simple construction. Not to mention that it also shared most of the same parts with the rest of the fleet. However, its downsides were apparent, in that the design made it somewhat large and bulky, the gull style wings however did make it easy to store when not in use as they could be folded upwards. It also had several 37mm AA cannons in the nose of the fighter, making it easy for inexperienced pilots to ‘spray and pray’ during dogfights.

But, the pilots who used these planes loved it, with some of them preferring them over the more specialized fighters in the fleet. Many of them have come up with the nickname “Grey Ghost” due to its grey paint color and fast speed, which caused it to whail during plunging dives.

After some time, the base commander would walk back over to the radar console and look down at it, three green dots appeared on it which were heading to one white dot. Picking up the headset the commander radioed the air patrol. “Alpha 33-1 lead, do you have the bogie on ping?”

“Affirmative, we have bogie on ping and are ready to enact grounding ops.” came a crackle over the radio.

“Hard copy, goo hunting” the commander took off the headset and placed it off to the side, then looking up and out the window he watched as it started to rain. With a sigh, he lifted his mug of steaming hot vodka-coffee to his lips and took a sip, today was going to be an interesting one.

As for the air patrol, this would be a good time to show off some of their skills, the lead aircraft would click off his radio and turn it to the patrol radio. “All 33-1s check in”

“1-2 here and synched with ACAT.”

“1-3 here, also synched with ACAT.”

“Copy, all callsigns are in.” replied the lead fighter, he then looked down at his radar, speedometer and then back to his watch, “We are 14 seconds out from bogie, have ACAT put them in the dark.” Two copy and executed signals then appeared over his radio as he started putting in orders, “Good, now let's beat the clock.” With that the three fighters gunned off at full burn to the unknown aircraft, they only had a narrow window to intercept and ground this craft before it would be out of fen territory. Possibly their only chance to find out who this is and why they are constantly buzzing around at the border.

by **Wasi State** » Wed Oct 07, 2020 4:37 pm

Bogi Smerti, A New Order
Konstantinovsk, Rostov Oblast

With heavy boot falls and mechanical sounds of guzzling engines marching and clattering on asphalt and gravel through clouds of smoke and fog, coming out from nearby ruins onto a otherwise somber and eerie road leading to one of the few settlements that have been left mostly unscathed from the cataclysmic finale of the Great Trial. The group revealed themselves through the fog and dust clouds to be a roving band of masked men in black and red fatigues, adorning what could only be described as the amalgamation of multiple Satanist and Pagan Occultist symbols, being supported by several trucks filled with even more unsavory looking men, and a few token amounts of armored vehicles such as Omsk-made BMP-2s and T-72s.

The few refugees that were caught on their path while on the road heading in the same direction at the wrong time and place, who didn't managed to scatter in time were either hustled out of their few supplies at gunpoint, or in the case of a few young men and women, forcibly taken by the bandits from the loving arms of their mothers and fathers for reasons that could only be left up to the terrifying imagination. Which their parents and caretakers were quickly either beaten or simply shot dead by the savage men after showing any sign of resistance towards them, being left to helplessly weep on the side of the road after having one of the last things they had left in this new hellscape, their children, being brutally taken away from them out of the blue by these monstrous looking devils of men.

As the band continued their ghoulish march towards their first sign of surviving civilization in this new wasteland, the town of Konstantinovsk to be exact. A masked man who ominously stood out the most from the rest of his band, rode right ahead of them while riding passenger side in a UAZ, looking ahead at his desired target of the town just ahead with cold, unfeeling eyes through his burlap sack of a skull mask. Licking his lips underneath it in anticipation for instilling 'public order.'

The small town of Konstantinovsk, like many in the region that in one way or another survived the worst of the Europan-Russian War, wasn't entirely that much more 'spared' from the horrors of the immediate aftermath that would find it soon after. On the streets there was immediate mass looting and scores of refugees flooding through from all over the region, either ones passing through, or those hoping to find some more longterm shelter in and around the small town. The local government having completely collapsed within minutes after news of Rostov's destruction by a FLEIJA device reaching it, and the local police either no where to be found or actively participating in the chaos. It was a harrowing free for all of a situation, and several looters and desperate civilians were already laying dead on the streets, either killed from disgruntled locals, or other competing looters.

However the chaos was soon brought to an immediate halt upon the arrival of the roving band who quickly enforced some semblance of 'order' on the terrified populace, through means of immediately making public arrests and forcing a large portion of the population to meet in the town's center for a 'special announcement.' Those who didn't abide by this demand from this strange group of armed men either attempted to flee the town in the remaining initial chaos, or were shot on sight for 'alleged treasonous intentions.' Whatever the case, a lot of those who had other plans in mind than to follow the well wishes of these heavily armed bandits were now just simply more dead that added to the growing pile within the town.

Assembling the 'willing' residents and transients into the town's center, the lead masked man, Andrei Chikatilo, stood on top of a tank to address the frightened crowd before him, using a megaphone to do so.

"Greetings comrades, travelers, and people of Konstantinovsk! Sadly we come before you today with a heavy burden in own hearts that following the destruction of much of the offensive front in the Great Trial, that the Russian National Reclamation Government is largely no more in Western Russia, no thanks to those bastard Teutons!" His men surrounding the crowd booed at the mention of the Teutons, pressuring the residents to do the same, which several did already on their own accord.

"But fear not comrades! For today marks the start of a brand New Order, for Teutonic Europe has witnessed its last days finally come to an end, while the people of the Motherland are still here to continue and thrive in this world!" His men then cheered, this time having to put more effort to force the locals to cheer with them, at some cases clearly at gunpoint.

"Make no mistake though comrades, for while the Great Trial will very shortly come to a close, there is still work to be done once the dust settles. From this town to the next, till we have all of Western Russia back under our control. Land tainted by the Teutons and infidels must be purged and cleansed by their roots, less they grow anew! Traitors who must be sought after in order to be enslaved and sacrificed en mass for us to bear fruit in this raped and scarred land! For God has died a pitifully weak man on the final day of Judgement during the Great Trial, and we as his bastard children in Russia having been left to damnation with only a Fallen Angel to provide us with our last remaining purpose in destiny as we were to be otherwise left to walk through the wastes searching for pathetic lies of 'salvation' to reach us. Today marks the day we seek out our new purpose, to serve in the name of Satan as Gods of Death, for I am the Antikhrist, his herald to the final days leading to Revelation."

While the band of bandits in the Bogi Smerti cheered loudly at the end of the speech, some of them even firing their guns in the air to celebrate in their collective insanity. The captive crowd of civilians before them largely stood in shock and practical debrief over what they just heard coming out of the man's mouth, sharing hushed murmurs to each other that were pretty much summed up as, "This guy is fuckin' nuts."

Then either in a act of brave defiance, or sheer suicide, a priest in Orthodox robes and a cross necklace around his next then made himself noticeable to the insane man speaking to them. "Blasphemy! You can't scare us into believing in your insanity, what you expect us to do? Join you or you'll have us all killed? This land has seen enough death from this already destructive war as it is, these people are scared, weak, and tired! They need salvation in God and Christ, and you think you know better by denying them any chance of hope in your mad ravings of grandeur and Satanism? You're a loon who needs help if anything!" The priest then said, climbing on the tank to meet the Antikhrist head on, face to face practically.

Chikatilo only stood there silently on the tank, only staring back at the priest and lowering his megaphone. His dead eyes unamused at the interruption of his 'announcement,' he waited just long enough for the unnerving silence and the sound of his men approaching to then dawn on the priest that he just made a very, very painful decision for his own wellbeing in the very near future.

"Take this profligate away!" The Antikhrist then broke his silence, as the priest was then ganged up on by five other men from behind who preceded to gut punch him and drag him off. "Anyone who dares to speak out of turn like that again will join infidels like him on a cross!" He then fired a shot in the air with his rifle in sudden, unhinged frustration, startling the already frightened crowd before him even more.

By the end of the day, the priest and dozens of others who spoke out or tried to fight back where posted just outside of town, their limbs outstretched painfully while being nailed to inverted crosses after all their 'otherworldly' possessions were stripped off their backs. It was clear more than ever that a new order had begun on the last day of Europe, a dark fiefdom straight from Hell created to destroy what's left in the ashes of Earth.

The Russian Nightmare Begins.

by **Sudbrazil** » Wed Oct 07, 2020 6:38 pm

Morning Mourning
Nova Brasília, Central Brazil
9:30 AM, January 11th, Anno Domini Brasiliensis 3105

“No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were.”

Over the land of Brazil, flags flew at half mast. Crowds gathered in the streets, covered in ashes and black cloth to hear the fervent condemnations of priests and wild rationalizations of orators. In the Palaces of Government, funeral suits had become the norm, and none walked through those ancient halls without at least a black band on their arm. None had truly known the German Empire, but all felt that something great and terrible had been lost. There was hopes that this nation would offer them a view of an Older Europe, felt in the works of the greats. But, it was gone now. All its beauty and cruelty had been lost like tears in the ocean, and there was no coming back. It was as if the nation had lost a wayward brother.

And as is often the case with the death of a relative, there were already discussions over the inheritance.

“A hospital ship? Our hospital ship? The Viscount knows full well that here in Brazil, many lack proper access to healthcare!”

“But this phenomenon restrains itself to the interior! Perchance you want the Machaon to magically fly over the Paulistan mountains to help the needy? Withholding aid would simply be an inhumane waste!”

“Hear, hear!” joined in the Minister of Health, “If we dispatch the Machaon, our doctors will gain valuable experience, especially in dealing with fallout.”

“But there is still an ongoing war. We should attach an escort to it.” proposed the Minister of War, who, despite his extreme workload seemed to look for even more problems to tackle.

“You warhawk! Weren’t Suez and Malaysia enough for you?” chimed in the Minister of the Guilds, “Now you want to embroil us in this war in Europe? I thought this government seemed splendid isolation, not interventionism! I see now that your grandfather butchering his way through the Pagans wasn't enough to sate the family’s bloodlust!”

“You slimy banker, was that supposed to be an insult? You know nothing of true hardship, ever so willing to avoid danger! Your kin were only spared because you campaigned for the nationalization of the mints!”

“You pig!” “Heathen!” “Robber!" “Son of Babylon!” “Managerial!” “Peasant filth!” “Niggardly penny-pincher!” “Weakling!” “By the Emperor's beard, if you call this politics I will shoot myself on the spot!” “I will chop off your tongue if you mention Suez!” “You are real scum, trust me!” “Suck on my shoe, I will talk about Suez!” “Come here!”

“ENOUGH!”

The High Marshall had risen from his seat, his front flushed with red. Almost immediately, the cacophony died down. There was scorn in his voice, and anger in his eyes. His words were low and quick, like a leopard circling its prey. “You speak of tradition yet you cling onto it as if it were God. You speak of the old customs but you only care how far they will benefit you. Do you think our forefathers would have stood idly by when Lucifer’s flame is unleashed on the Earth? Truly, you are no better than the Bourgeois, or that backstabbing Emperor. I haven't had this Council shot out of pity!

Gentlemen, a hundred million of men, women and children have died, and another hundred million are dying as we speak. Yes, we are separated by an ocean. Yes, we are divorced from their world by one millennium. But these are still our kinsmen, the cultures that birthed our nation! I will not suffer the dishonor of allowing Portugal, our ancestral mother, to die in ruin. If the rulers of Europe have proven themselves unfit to rule, and if this is the judgement of God upon the continent, then so be it – then, we shall take over the stewardship of the land. But we still know little of the situation. Brazil will sally forth in Europe’s favour, not in its detriment.

Marshall Teodoro, you will ready the Machaon and a suitable military escort to stabilize Portugal and establish a beachhead for further aid, medical or otherwise. This session of the National Council is over.”

by **Wasi State** » Wed Oct 07, 2020 9:33 pm

Harken-4
Greater Eastern Canada Air Zone, WIFC Claimed Airspace
Year Zero, January 11th

Harken-4 was performing a rather routine mission that day in her Organic Jet Fighter, which in recent days have been mainly regulated to spotting large number of stray Zeeks on the ground in the northern wastes of Québec, and dropping her payload on them, while strafing those few that got away. It was a rather menial task to be assigned to her, but one that was required of her in order to lessen the spread of the Undead throughout the region, at least as much as she could through the safety of the air where the Undead couldn't possibly reach her. However somehow particularly this air mission turned out to be different today as opposed to others earlier this week.

"Come in, Harken-4, we're detecting three bogies incoming in on your tail from several klicks away, quickly gaining speed, looks like possible interceptors." Air Command then came on her vox comms, warning her of the impending aircraft. Surely they couldn't have been the Undead? She thought, seeing as how they so far had lacked any means of air coverage or support against them.

"Air Command are they confirmed hostiles? Permission to counter-intercept?" She then said back through the vox attached to her air mask, her own radar now buzzing with the detection of the unknown aircraft heading towards her fighter jet.

"Negative, Harken-4, they appear to be of a unknown third party, the aircraft appeared to have originated from the Hudson Bay region from what our scanners are indicating. If we had to suspect, they're interpreting your presence in their claimed airspace." Air Command then responded, at least lessening some of Harken-4's initial worries.

"You think I violated some nation's airspace we didn't know about until now?" She then asked back, curious as to what she ought to do next.

"Possibly, we can't 100% confirm. But if they're not Zeeks, that automatically makes them pretty tolerable to deal with already in my book. I suggest you avoid a possible regional incident in the meantime and follow the instructions of their interception team, take as many scans as you can though. If there's trouble we'll send the cavalry in to waste some primitives, worst comes to worst." Air Command then reassured her further, "Gods speed, Harken-4, you are to make contact if you can."

"Understood, Sir." Harken-4 replied, then afterwards was hearing the internal grumbling and moaning of her aircraft, "Misty," in further response, "Hey, hey, it'll be fine, what the worse these primitives can do? Attempt to shoot you out the sky? Ridiculous, you'll be fine you big baby." She then chuckled at her living and breathing jet fighter who groaned slightly more before being forced to comply either way to her pilot's wishes.

Shortly afterwards, as the fighters behind her were gaining speed on her that they were practically neck on neck to each by relative comparison with the distances involved alone, the organic fighter jet, "Misty," quickly moved and changed the position of her body like a living and breathing creature as the body moved quickly in a organic manner. Changing her own airspeed rapidly to match the three Fenn fighters, and in short order was now literally flying on top of the Fenn aircraft in paralleled fashion. This was done for two reasons, the obvious one being so the living Imperial fighter could avoid getting hit easily by their weapons, but most importantly the second reason being so "Misty" could interpret the signals coming from the three rather alien craft in order to allow proper communications between them and her pilot, Harken-4.

"Hel-Hel-Hello!" Harken-4 then came in on the initially crackling radio channel the Fenn pilots were using via her own vox systems, before quickly getting on the right frequency where she was now speaking clearly to them within a short moment of time after. "Not meaning to alarm the three of you, but I am the aircraft flying directly above you right now. I am Pilot Harkan-4 of the Wilhelm Imperial Forces Canada, I don't mean to raise any alarm, as by judging by your presence, I must've unintentionally violated your airspace while I'm my mission. I am willing to cooperate in order to avoid anymore... How you would say? Further incident?" She then spoke to them, seeming surprisingly nonchalant about the whole situation, but confident nonetheless.

by **The Imperial Warglorian Empire** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 8:42 am

Chicago, Commonwealth of America
January 11, Year 0 PE/Year 1965 CE
The city of Chicago was the industrial heartland of the Commonwealth, with enough manufactured goods being produced every day to supply the entire nation, a manufacturing capacilibity that finds itself unprecedented among other cities. Yet, unlike the usual image of smokey pipe chimneys and poverty stricken workers on the filthy streets, the CoA was different.

Tesla's work in electrical technology provided the nation with a near limitless amount of electrical energy, unimpeded by the limits of fossil fuels, leaving factories and manufactures powered by clean energy from various tesla reactors spread across the nation, leaving the skies blue. The streets were clean and pristine, not a single homeless man in sight and with streets practically shining, as men and women walked towards their daily place of work. Yet, on this day, the atmosphere seemed much more subdued and anxious as the city had become the victim of some wicked event.

It was somewhere in the metropolis of Chicago, in a conference room that some of the most important men in the Commonwealth gathered. There was General Maurice Rose (Head of the PLA), Admiral Arleigh Burke (Head of the PLN), General Evans Carlson (Head of Special Operations), General Pancho Barnes (Head of the RAF), Wernher von Braun (Head of PLSC) and many other top men and women in command of the CSA, all dressed in various regalia. At the head of the conference table that was in the middle of the room was a man wearing a well tailored suit, with a red armband and the classic hammer and torch logo on his lapel.

Herbert C. Holdridge, 6th President of the Commonwealth of America, did not think this was how the beginning of his term would go. Only a few days after he'd been inagurated, beating out Earl Browder, the nation was thrown into chaos when a bright flash appeared out of nowhere.

Initially dismissed as a strange freak-of-nature event, it was clear something had changed the coming morning. Contact had been lost with the Eastern seaboard and everything east of Illinois, and upon further inspection, somehow the population of the remaining states had been boosted overnight significantly. A census found that the entire population of the Commonwealth had been relocated, as had much of its industry.

It got stranger when hundreds of thousands of PLA soldiers had suddenly appeared on the mainland too. Further inspection found that these troops had been stationed in locations across the globe: from the garrisons in the Phillipines to the frontline in Africa, they had all suddenly found themselves back in the states.

But then, the cherry on the cake, was when they started mapping out the world with their advanced spy satellites and found that the entire world had changed too! The Commune of France, the Russian State, the American Union State and more: all had disappeared and been replaced with a cacophony of different nations unknown to the Commonwealth, some which seemed familiar but others completely otherworldly.

It was a no brainer: somehow, by some strange magical forces or whatever the hell happened, the Commonwealth (and not even the entire Commonwealth for some reason) had been transported to another world.

So just a few days after what people were beginning to call "The Exodus," President Holdridge called for an emergency meeting among both the military and the executive government to discuss the issue, with Congress set to meet later that very day.

"Well, gentlemen, let's hear your reports," Holdridge said.

Wernher von Braun was the first to speak up. One of the many scientists who escaped to the CSA with Einstein during the Second Weltkrieg, von Braun had proved especially essential in the development of the Commonwealth's space program, and soon found himself the first Director of the new People's Liberation Space Command (PLSC).

"Herr President, you shall be pleased to know that we have re-established full contact with both AEGIS and APOLLO, every satellite has been accounted for and are fully operational," von Braun said with a smile. Holdridge had a small smirk too.

The AEGIS Orbital Defence Network and APOLLO Orbital Information Network were both a system of various satellites launched into orbit over the Earth: the former contained weaponised satellites (most notably the Athena Orbital Cannons and the, rather confusedly named, Aegis Energy Shield) which assisted units on the ground militarily, while the latter were composed of special spy satellites that both analysed and sent physical data from the planet's surface (such as troop movements and radiation levels) as well as intercepting and decrypting intelligence and information sent by different nations.

"Good, and what of the...Europe situation? Has it been confirmed?" Holdridge asked.

Von Braun's previous smile was replaced with a grimace, as he started swinging back and forth with discomfort.

"Herr President, I don't know how how to say it, bu-"

"Our initial readings have been confirmed," Agnes Smedley interrupted, her ever present grimace even higher than usual. Smedley, as head of the People's Commissariat of Intelligence, was in charge of managing both internal and external intelligence, "a nuclear exchange occurred in Europe: we've estimated that Western Russia and the German core territories suffered the worst of the bombings, our spy satellites have already intercepted many messages declaring the independence of various warlords across Europe."

"In short, Europe is in complete anarchy."

Holdridge breathed a heavy sigh. Earlier on that particular day, seismic monitors had detected mass amounts of energy originating from Europe: those telltale of multiple nuclear detonations. It was not until the APOLLO Information Network had been fully re-established that their worst fears had finally been confirmed as of that very moment. It was completely ludicrous, to have the laws of MAD be so swiftly disregarded...it stunk of ulterior motives, perhaps of corruption or extremist revanchism. APOLLO satellites had already intercepted various information messages being sent about in Europe, of how the continent was under the control of a "Pan-Europan Empire," a poor attempt at hiding what was clearly a Europe under Imperial German hegemony. And that they'd been fighting an all out war with a "National Reclamation Government" in Russia, with the limited amount of information inside what was almost a blackhole establishing the nation has one based on revanchism against Germany, constantly yapping about a "Great Trial."

The Germans always had a tendency to look down on those not apart of their precious Reichspakt, and if this National Reclamation Government was somehow even more revanchist than the Russian State of their world, the exchange didn't seem as surprising.

Upon the first signs of nuclear exchange, for the first time in Commonwealth history (and a lot sooner than Holdridge would've ever liked), Holdridge and had put the entire Commonwealth Armed Forces (CAF) on DEFCON 1. Last he heard, nuclear silos from Minnesota to Illinois had been put on high alert, with operators ready to arm and launch their warheads at a moment's notice. Long range bombers were being loaded with nuclear payloads and their aircrews were standing by for further orders.

"Mr President, though we are no longer in the world we once knew, the fact of the matter is that both this Russia and German Empire are irrily similar to their equivalents back at home; wherever that is now," General Rose suddenly said, "they may not be aware of our presence right now, but once they do I doubt they'd greet us with open arms, which is why we've gotta take action before it's too la-"

"General Rose, are you suggesting a goddamned pre-emptive strike?" Admiral Burke exclaimed, outraged.

"Better we strike first before they strike us," General Rose retorted, "we gotta hit 'em hard, launch the Titans and destroy the rest of their primary economic and industrial sectors in the first wave, then get our bombers and hit their remaining infrastructure, cripple 'em before they have time to reco-"

"Excuse me General Rose, but unless you forgot i'm Head of the Airforce, not you," General Pancho Barnes suddenly said. Barnes had the rather unique status of being the highest ranking female officer in Commonwealth, and in fact US, history, with her exploits in the Red Witches during the Second Civil War and Weltkrieg leading her to become head of the Revolutionary Airforce (RAF), "and I say what you're asking is complete insanity: tens of millions of people, maybe over a hundred million, just got blown out of existence and you want us to jump into the fire too?"

"Better we get them before they get us!"

"You're crazy!"

"No, I'm just concerned about the safety of our nation and the working class, something you seem to be forgetting!"

The conference began devolving into chaos as shouts and curses permeated the room.

"First meeting, and already shit's hitting the fan," Holdridge bitterly thought to himself, "not what I envisioned for my first days in office."

As the arguing began to reach a crescendo, Holdridge decided he had enough.

"QUIET!" Holdridge bellowed, slamming his hand on the table. The room immediately became deathly silent, as the various men and women immediately ceased, though with a great many glares and angry expressions on their faces.

"We stand on the greatest event in human history, and you people argue like children, Christ!" Holdridge said, with shame beginning to appear on several of the officer's expressions, "General Rose, though I appreciate your desire to take immediate action as a military man myself, I will not have my first days in presidency be remembered as the days we get engulfed in a nuclear war, so sit down and calm down or I'll have you demoted!"

Rose complied, though with a sour look on his face.

"Now, though the situation in Europe is tragic indeed, it does provide a potential opportunity that does not require nuclear annihilation!" Holdridge said, "Director Smedley, I heard that you have something to report that might be to our benefit in Europe?"

"Indeed Mr President," Smedley replied, "as you know, APOLLO picked up chatter across Europe in the aftermath of the German collapse, a rather notable amount of that chatter spoke about the declaration of 'Beutelist Revolutions,' which from intercepted rhetoric we have inferred to be both Socialist nature and even a direct offshoot of Marxism."

"So far, we have discovered five primary factions that advocate for this 'Beutelism' in Europe: one in Ukraine, one in Poland, another in Belarus, another centred around Illyria and Serbia, and one in Portugal."

"We've found the Portoguese faction in particular to be of the upmost interest," Admiral Burke spoke up, "considering our current circumstances, the PLN has no ports which to dock at, and though the nuclear and tesla reactors will give them enough fuel to last for months, or even years, they still require food and supplies to maintain the fleet,"

Like the many other global assets of the Commonwealth, the People's Liberation Navy had not been left behind either. Stranded in the Atlantic, Holdridge had deemed it a top priority that they find some place for their naval assets to make port.

"We estimate that, with additional support, Portugal could be just the place we need to dock the fleet and maintain naval operations until a more suitable alternative is found," Burke concluded, "in the meantime, we can try and gain the trust of the Portoguese by lending them military and economic assistance."

"Good, but are we sure that our naval assets will be enough to support the Portoguese Revolutionaries, especially on land?" Holdridge asked.

"Mr President, during the previous administration, President Smedley Butler had authorised an intervention in the Vietnam Civil War," General George H. Cannon, Commandant of the Commonwealth Marine Corps, said, "Operation Virgil entailed a mass amphibious landing in order to support the Ho Chi Minh: over 100,000 Marines were to take part in the operation."

"Yes, I was at the briefing General Cannon, so what?" Holdridge asked impatiently.

"Well sir, the Marines were in the process of being sent when the Exodus occurred, and Admiral Burke has confirmed that along with the Pacific Fleet, the Marine forces had also been transported."

"And their status?"

"Ready for combat deployment, on standby and eagerly awaiting orders sir."

Holdridge smiled.

"Relay orders to the Pacific Fleet and the Expeditionary Force: they are to immediately chart a course for Portugal and attempt to support the Beutist Revolutionaries in their war effort," Holdridge stated, with Admiral Burke simply nodding and ordering a nearby assistant to relay the orders, before Holdridge suddenly halted the assistant, "I also want you to send out a message to the world: a greeting, both as an introduction to the other nations and a signal of hope to any fellow Socialists that have been transported to this God forsaken place."

The assistant nodded before rushing out of the room. Holdridge then turned to Burke.

"Admiral, while the re-establishment of contact with the Pacific Fleet is welcome news, i'd now like to ask about whether our efforts to re-establish contact with the Atlantic Squadrons have bore any fruit?"

"Still no contact sir," Burke sighed, "it seems that their long range communications equipment have been damaged, we just can't seem to make contact with them."

Holdridge internally cursed. The Atlantic Fleet represented a huge portion of Commonwealth naval power. If they were to go astray, or rogue worse yet, it'd prove detrimental to the Commonwealth.

"Well we gotta try and establish contact somehow, maybe we can send out some aircraft, what's their current heading?"

"Well sir, according to their current trajectory, it appears that the Atlantic Fleet is heading for-"

Somewhere in the Atlantic
PLN Reed, Atlantic Fleet
"-Norfolk," Admiral Hugh Mulzac told the other naval commanders in the room.

Mulzac, as Admiral of the 6th Fleet in Europe, had been going about his usual business before suddenly a bright flash had engulfed him and his fleet. When he next came to, he found that not only had his fleet been displaced out of their base in Thälmannshaven (formerly known as Wilhelmshaven before the Second Weltkrieg), but that somehow the other Atlantic Flotillas, from the 12th Fleet that was supposed to be in the Mediterranean, to the 9th Fleet which, last he heard, had been supporting a new offensive in Africa!

He had quickly called a meeting between the various commanders of the different fleets, and had convened on the bridge of his flagship, the Aircraft Carrier PLN Reed. The fleet's long range communications had been broken during the displacement it seemed, and all contact had been lost with both Naval High Command in America and the APOLLO Orbital Grid. He'd been assured that the technicians were attempting to fix the problem ASAP, but for now the joint admirals decided that they needed to make port somewhere, if not for supplies then simply to reorganise and regain their bearings.

It had soon been decided that the fleet would try and make for the major harbour city of Norfolk, where PLN Naval Operations were usually centred.

"Once we get to Norfolk, we can re-establish contact with Chicago and see what the hell's going on!" Mulzac said, with the other admirals and captains in the room nodding in agreeince, "how long till we can reach Norfolk?"

"Within a day or so Admiral," a midshipman replied.

"Good, send out a message first informing them to expect our arrival."

To: Naval Authorities in Norfolk
From: Atlantic Fleet
Encryption: High
PLN Command Norfolk, PLN Command Norfolk, do you read us? PLN Command Norfolk, PLN Command Norfolk, do you read us? This is PLN Reed, designation number CV-18, of the 6th Fleet and currently attached to the temporarily formed Combined Atlantic Taskforce. We have been displaced from our base of operations in Thälmannshaven and have somehow united with the other Atlantic Naval Squadrons, who had been similarly displaced.

By the authority of Vice Admiral Hugh Mulzac, we request that you prepare for our arrival and make contact with PLN High Command in order to assess the current situation. ETA, six hours.

PLN Command Norfolk, PLN Command Norfolk, do you read us? (message loops)

To: The World
From: People's Commissariat for Foreign Affairs, Commonwealth of America
Encryption: Public Announcement

To those who are concerned,
This is the Commonwealth of America, reaching out to the nations and factions of the world.
We extend a hand of greeting and desire to establish official communications between our nation and yours. We do not seek conflict or war, only to attempt to re-establish contact with the world at large and to try and organise a response to this new situation we all find ourselves in.
An olive branch has been extended, and we hope that you in your respective governments take it in full as a sign of potential friendship.

And specially to those who follow the teachings of Karl Marx and fight for the rights of the working class and the common people, know that you are no longer alone. As the sole member of the Syndicalist International in this new world, we promise to take the mantle of the Vanguard of the Syndicalist Revolution to help ensure equality and prosperity for the working and lower classes and to stop those insidious forces that seek to oppress the rights of the common worker.

The Global Revolution is not dead as long as the Commonwealth still draws breath. Now, even in this state of chaos we find ourselves in, as long as we stand together we shall get through these turbulent times, and come out of them stronger than ever.

BREAK THE CHAINS!

Signed, People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs James P. Cannon
President Herbert C. Holdridge

Atlantic Fleet
Commander: Vice Admiral Hugh Mulzac (acting)
Composition
-6x Battleships
-8x Aircraft Carriers
-15x Cruisers
-70x Destroyers
-14x Tesla Submarines
-12x Nuclear Submarines
Destination: Norfolk, Virginia

Pacific Fleet
Commander: Admiral George Whelan Anderson Jr (Naval Operations), Major General Lewis William Walt (Marine Operations)
Composition:
-10x Battleships
-12x Aircraft Carriers
-25x Cruisers
-111x Destroyers
-20x Tesla Submarines
-33x Nuclear Submarines
-100,000x Marines
Destination: Portugal

by **Remnants of Exilvania** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 11:34 am

Battle for Saguenay: The Beginning

Québec
Great Saguenay Perimeter
The Horde

Death encroached from the north, from the vast forests of the Monts Valin National Park in the form of an eerie, unnatural mist of slight greenish hue creeping forward between the trees, obstructing the view at what was too deep within it or beyond it. Curiously it stopped just at the very edge of the trees, hovering there as if held back by the branches. The mist didn’t seem to have any special characteristics, slightly playing haywire with some vision modes due to the fact that it was, well, mist but not obstructing anything but the Mk. 1 eyeball of the regular person.

Eventually however, even the Mk. 1 eyeball would see that something was coming, dark shadows within the lightly coloured mist, stumbling forwards alone or in small groups. Glowing orange or yellow eyes stared at the Wilhemians ahead of them, drawn unerringly to the warmth and heartbeat of the living.

And once they left the mist behind, it was quite clear what they were. Rotten corpses stuck in the uniforms of the Third Reich, gurgling their demand for bloodshed out of torn throats. Hanging intestines, exposed ribcages, knives stuck inside skulls, they came in truly any variety. Yet their numbers were low. They didn’t stop walking out of the mist but it seemed more like a trickle, disjointed or singular undead slowly approaching the WIFC positions.

The first immediate response to the encroaching horde was interesting that of the proximity fragmentation and phospex landmines set up prior going off upon their advance, the fragmentation being self explanatory to effects to an undead body, but the phospex made their victim’s skin boil and pop off their bones like pus filled balloons in a cloud of white superheated smoke that then rendered their skeletal structure into a ashy grey as they collapsed into bone fragments not long after.

Looking from a distance from the coppola of his command tank with a pair of binoculars, Lieutenant Godfrey Kingly observed the scattered explosions and blooms of smoke going off in the distance with a new founded need for a cigar and whiskey, this was now more than ever to him the start of a prolonged engagement from the looks of it.

“So it begins.” He muttered to himself.

“Sir, they’re just about to go right through our minefield, should we call in a barrage?” His officer then suggested from below him in the radio compartment of the MBT.

“Call it in, but keep it brief though, I’ll have more armored units moving in shortly to plow through these Zeeks like a scythe to long grass. I intend for my probing attack to delay their advance further if I can help it, or so Maccabees help me.” He then said to his officer, putting the hatch down to the coppola and returning to the interior of the turret with the rest of his crew. With a face that has seen about a century of nonstop warfare looking about ready to chew someone’s head off.

“Yes Sir, Understood.” His officer looked startled at his appearance, yet understood the severity of their situation. “Artillery Command, we are in need of a firestorm on position Alpha and Bravo to prepare for our immediate counterattack, Over.”

An immediate response then crackled through the vox. “This is Zulu-Niner of Artillery Command, request has been received, firestorm out, we’ll reduce the targeted area to glass.”

Within several passing moments as the Wilhelm Imperial Soldiers stood prepared from their defenses on their outer perimeter, across from the Saguenay a large stream of rocket artillery and heavy shelling came from across the river with the purpose of utterly wiping out the first layer of the wave of undead that broke through the prepared minefield. Looking as though heaven itself was descending purifying hellfire upon the hordes of undead to remove them from the face of the Earth.

WIth munitions smacking into the ground, and throwing torn limbs and fragments of bodies up in the air as they further left scorched pockmarks on the snow covered ground as the embers of their bodies burned and filled the air with the permeating stench of burnt flesh as more undead walked climbed over the quickly evolving hellscape to seek their prize of the living.

“All mobile and armored units across the Saguenay, we are green to advance, play for keeps, don’t let them get up again, Wilhelm be with you!” Kingly then ordered across the command vox channel to all his advancing units as they crossed their own defenses to meet the undead horde head on in battle. Being spearheaded by their own advanced MBTs and the Canadian’s Leo-1s, followed up by APCs filled with mop-up squads armed with flamer and LMG teams. And finally with added support from the air with more Hueys and Cobra helicopters, and Overlords dropping barrel bombs on top of the Zeeks below.

The weapons proved incredibly deadly to the advancing undead, ripping them to shreds or burning them, though curiously some of them, even when having lost multiple limbs, continued their advance. Even some who had lost their heads continued advancing like they were headless chicken before eventually dropping. Most curious however would be what happened to the remains. The Wilhelm forces may have hoped to acquire some of the bodies for study but that proved to be impossible as the bodies, shortly after destruction, started to glow orange, the glow quickly spreading from where it had originated, disintegrating the bodies with them, almost as if they were burning up.

The armoured spearhead just finished off the initial advance of the Undead, their numbers not having been high and additionally lowered by the minefield, with the Zombies falling like wheat before a scythe. It was no grand affair and instead more like pest control and the field was quickly cleared of moving bodies...for some or many this could be a victory. Especially for those who thought of this as nothing more than a horde of unthinking zombies. But those who knew of the dark will that directed these creatures could easily see the strategy that had been employed.

A probing attack, playing to the undead’s strengths too. Using disposable troops in such a loose formation, they had greatly lowered the effectiveness of area of effect weaponry such as explosives against themselves, limiting casualties from both the minefield and the artillery while also making sure to continuously clear the minefield with their bodies. But the real prize for the undead was the fact that they had managed to draw out the enemy’s armoured force, drawing them so much closer to the forest.

A series of screams suddenly erupted from the misty forestline, a series of unholy, inhuman screams that seemed to never let up. Before long new enemies broke forth from the forest, screaming at the top of their lungs as they sprinted at the now relatively close Wilhelm forces. A strange red hue surrounded them, leaving an afterimage behind them, so high was their speed. A few of them ran into mines that had been left over, erupting into explosions greater than they had any right to be...which was when any intelligent Wilhelm trooper would realize what these people were. Suiciders, packed with enough explosives to do horrible damage to man and machine alike. And with the Wilhelm troops drawn out further towards the front, the undead had managed to drastically lower the time the Imperials had to react and successfully down all of them. Curiously the undead did not manage to set off a great chain reaction of explosions, clearly having thought of spacing and giving even more credence to the idea of a higher authority guiding them.

Lieutenant Kingly rubbed his stubbly chin upon sighting the Suiciders through the scope of his tank’s targeting apparatus, having anticipated that the undead would have something up their sleeves in order to counter his armor, now his gamble had drawn them out in the attempt to engage him, just as he had hoped for after being able to identify his new targets. He also remarked on their volatile high explosives that were strapped to them as they seemingly sprinted at full speed towards his armored unit. Biting his lower lip a bit upon getting an idea, he then got on the vox channel. “Enemy AT units spotted coming from the treeline, reverse gears to defensive lines ASAP, deploy Personnel Seekers set to Yellow to cover our repositioning.”

Upon receiving his orders, his more advanced MBTs and APCs in the spearhead were the first to quickly, and very momentarily, stopped their advance in their tracks in a full on halt, and then go into reverse gears at the same speeds with not a second to waste, if not going faster than they were just moving previously. Granting well needed covering fire to the local Canadian armored units that were lagging a bit behind on the ‘repositioning,’ due to their less advanced equipment.

Needless to say quite a few Leo-1s and M113s were caught in subsequent explosions from Suiciders that managed to get the jump on them first, their crews either being cooked alive while being trapped in their burning wrecks of vehicles that have now quickly found themselves entombed in. Or were forced to abandon them upon getting immobilized and having to continue on foot back to the defensive line, less they get caught by the Zeeks.

However with the entire spearhead for the most part having done a complete 180 from their initial assault, the grenade launcher tubes attached to the roofs of their vehicles as was ordered by Kingly, then deployed themselves in a series of strange floating devices that looked more like metal eyes glowing a sickly yellow as they beeped in the air.

What was then quickly turned into a metal yellow cloud of Personnel Seekers flying through the air from the retreating Spearhead towards the charging Suiciders as more were deployed. With each Seeker seemingly having a mind of its own, they quickly broke off from one another and sought out each individual zombie on the field, flying directly right into them and detonating themselves upon getting right in front of them for their secondary ‘deployment.’

Instantly the Seekers next to the zombies were subjected to being surrounded by a piss-yellow, non-dissipating, ‘wobble’ cloud that was distorting reality all within and around itself within a certain radius of those caught in each individual detonation as it expanded out before abruptly stopping. Upon enveloping the unfortunate Suicider, the cloud quickly put them in suspended animation as they were now trapped in the wobble, their skin and muscles either burning off perpetually, or being turned to sinew. Though oddly enough the zombies were still ‘alive,’ but clearly trapped in their new hell until likely something disturbed the wobble. However even more interestingly enough, the explosives on the zombies did partially detonate within the wobble, but were also being subjected to the suspended animation, therefore appearing like a fireball within the wobble cloud.

It can only be assumed that if the wobble were to be disturbed by some means, those subjected to its suspended animation will end being allowed to ‘resume’ being in real space, with burning corpses allowed to drop to the ground and explosions going off fully and all.

As was intended by Kingly, the wobbles were quickly doing their work by creating another no man’s land in the field between his forces and the Zeeks to replace the landmines that were used up. This time using the undead’s own weapons against them as their AT units were being ‘repurposed’ by Wilhelm Imperial forces.

With the new wobble field set up roughly where the recently used minefield was, Kingly made an additional note that the forest outside of town had to go if they were to get a good read on the advancing zombie hordes coming in. “Zulu-Niner, that forest ahead of us needs to go up in flames pronto, we just set up a wobble field in front of them and us, better we convince them to all go forward towards our guns and wobbles to be the best chance they have to avoid getting burned to oblivion then.” Kingly amused himself over the catch-22 scenario he was giving to the zombies to Artillery Command in order to effectively ‘trap’ this segment of the horde and make them commit to ineffectual charges towards his own lines.

“Orders received, Lieutenant, forest will be reduced to an environmental PSA. Zulu-Niner out.”

Within several moments, more jet CAS delivering napalm, phospex, and other incendiaries then made strafing runs over the forest ahead of the field and first line of defense, reducing much of the hit areas to ash and black smoke as fires quickly spread all around as more Hell on Earth was created to combat the undead.

The wobbles were quite effective at stopping the Undeads’ advance, suiciders being caught in them at just being stopped, their immense payload ineffectual. The intelligence behind the Horde seemed to realize the same thing, or it just noticed that the enemy armour had moved beyond the effective range of the Suiciders, the stream of suiciders lessening to a trickle before ceasing completely.

Kingly’s plan went off without a hitch, the CAS getting to drop its payloads unmolested and setting the forest afire, the flames spreading incredibly quickly with ever greater amounts of the forest going up in flames...in fact, it appeared to work almost too well, the forest burning faster than it had any right to do.

A chorus of roars and tormented screams arose from the hellfire they had created, the sound of thousands screaming agony that would make mere men’s blood freeze...and the screams did not let up, in fact, they were rapidly coming closer.

It didn’t take long for the Zombies to appear, bursting forth from the walls of flame that had been set up. Yet something was markedly different about them...the first and most important part in that being that their speed had suddenly increased greatly, the burning Zombies quickly making ground. They screamed at the top of their lungs too but something was odd about them...that being that they did not seem to have any flesh upon them. No blood, no rotten meat, no, they appeared like ghosts, ghosts made out of flame.

They reached the wobble field line within a very short time, their heat and presence likely upsetting it, creating a massive series of explosions across the entire minefield which immediately made a lot of the screaming, flaming Undead disappear with a small flicker of flame in the air. But it was not enough as there were still countless of the flaming creatures streaming out of the forest, bathing the former minefield in a sea of fire.

In the back, coming at a much slower pace, actual Zombies started stumbling out of the forest, their bodies black and charred, embers still glowing on them and just a few, more fire resistant parts of their uniforms still hanging off them. They slowly continued their advance, more and more of them appearing, mixed in with the stream of yellow flame that was continuing to pour out of the forest.

“Looks like we’ve upset them, men.” Kingly smirked upon sighting the mass of burning vestiges of zombie-kind charging through his line of armored vehicles. “Tell Artillery Command to order another strike where the trees once were, I want them peppered with shrapnel and lead again.” He then told his Officer a few feet below him in the vox compartment of the turret. Who only nodded and shrugged, “And the burning corpses charging at us, Sir?” His Officer then questioned, somewhat concerned.

“Leave it to either our tanks here, or the men in the trenches.”

A long line of rank-file firing came from the armored line towards the rushing flaming Undead, with flechettes and high explosive rounds being shot through the air to pound the charging targets before them, with coaxial and remote control pintle mounted machines reducing what survived the main gun rounds to mulch as many of the burning Undead were cut down in an instant. But more and more kept streaming in, actually smacking into the front of the tanks and bursting into a puff of flames upon impacting the armored fronts of the vehicles. Not long after, from what Kingly could only assume to be from their enemies’ realized ineffectualness against his armored wall he presented to them, he noticed right away that a lot of the undead started to push through the gaps his unit didn’t manage to cover, bum rushing towards the trenches of the first defensive line where his less protected infantry laid in wait for them.

Back at the trenchworks, a certain Colonel Konrad observed the flaming Undead running past Kingly’s line of tanks ahead of them that were now charging directly towards his own line. Gritting his teeth underneath his helmet and sighing, the 8 foot tall behemoth of a man in a suit of Powered Armor got up and on top of the earthworks to face the charging Undead head on. Carrying a modified M61 Vulcan rotary cannon while doing so.

The more regular soldiers of both the Canadian Garrison and the 78th Legion Luistania stood behind the Colonel in the trenchworks, carrying and employing more appropriately sized weapons as they waited for the man’s order to unleash a wall of lead onto the charging Zombies.

The giant of a man first waited for his targeting computer to give him the green light to go first however, waiting for the first of the advancing undead to reach his men’s effective range. Once he got the green light from his suit’s computer however, he finally gave the order to his men on the ground as his Vulcan’s barrels started to spin rapidly. “UNLEASH HELL! Exterminate all the Brutes!” He then ordered, over a loudspeaker emitting from his suit no less.

Immediately a mass chorus of rapid firing hot lead was fired from a series of thousands of barrels, tearing the first layer of Zombies to absolute shreds before they poofed into black smoke and firey embers. The constant rapid firing of small arms fire continued for what seemed like literal minutes as what must’ve been thousands of Zombies were gunned down, as the repeatedly drilled soldiers were seemingly firing nonstop, with each weapon that ran dry of ammo getting quickly replaced with one that was already prepared in the back by a dedicated team of logistic troopers.

However the defensive line wasn’t without fault, as some weaker points were successfully exploited from the mass wave charges of the Undead, with some instances of them getting into the trenches and initiating themselves into a melee combat with soldiers, being met with some more ‘mixed’ results. However what was more concerning were some explosions at the trench points from some stray ammo dumps getting ignited by some lucky flaming Zombies, creating a dazzling display of a munition fireworks show across the defensive trenchline.

“Shit!” Konrad muttered to himself as he saw the explosions, Kingly wasn’t going to be happy with him upon seeing that, that’s for sure. “Reserve units Kilo and Lima, we have some holes to plug up ASAP at point Zero and Seven… And will someone get me my Jump Pack, I need my Captains at once!”

He ordered over the Vox, returning to the trenches and dropping his pretty spent Vulcan cannon off to trade for his Jump Pack and power axe, he was quickly met with three of his captains who were also similarly massive and in powered armor too, and in much of the same equipment as he was.

“You know the drill, time to relieve our weakest links with our strongest mettle, in the name of Wilhelm and Maccabees!.” He raised his power axe that thrummed with potent otherworldly energy, ready to slaughter for Emperor and Imperium.

“In the name of Wilhlem and Maccabees!” His crack team of men similarly said as they raised their weapons in anticipation for the slaughter. They then broke off from one another and started to quickly rush to the defensive points in most dire need of support, using their Jump Packs to respond in great haste. Within moments, they all landed from what looked like the heavens, smacking into the ground in front of the advancing flaming Zeeks, their heavy armor seemingly impervious to their attacks.

Colonel Konrad gripped his power axe upon his explosive entrance, and with a silent rage like from a violent storm, proceeded to rip and tear the Undead apart that were unlucky enough to be within his sights. His power axe cutting swaths of them like a hot knife through butter, and his fists beating them similarly to death like hardened stone to wet sand. They were no match for him on the ground, as he sought to purge them from this world and the next, the Colonel having resorted to almost primal savagery in his counter assault as he cut through scores of Undead to defend his more vulnerable soldiers.

A series of similar scenes played out across the trenchworks as other responding Powered Infantrymen committed similar acts of brutality to smite the Undead that had made it too close to the trenchline, wiping many of them out that they could reach, it was a sight to behold.

Kingly looked through the carnage happening behind his wall of tanks through his scope, pondering whether to pull out of his tanks for now to let the Powered Infantrymen do their work, as the sight amused him somewhat. But alas there was very much the real possibility of bigger threats left to contend to then these burning sprinters. He thought to himself as he turned to scope back to the main front ahead, seeing explosions from responding artillery and airstrikes that rocked more of the Undead advancing forward. “This battle is only just beginning after all.” He muttered to himself.

Kingly was right for while the Undead assaulted the city from the front, an insidious plan was already in motion. Both to the south-east and the north-west new Zombie Hordes were approaching Saguenay along the primary streets which connected it with the rest of northern Canada. They were aided by dozens of armoured vehicles, driving in a column down the roads inbetween the walking abominations, likely to fan out and assault Wilhelm positions as a spearhead which would allow the slow undead to break through.

Yet at the same time the assault from the north picked up in intensity, the stream of fiery ghosts not letting up though the Wilhelm artillery had torn great holes into their numbers so there would be open space between the lines of fire that kept approaching the frontlines. What truly made the assault more threatening though was the appearance of new Undead which seemed to be clearly inhuman. Of course, they still boasted the same, rough physiology as a humanoid, two legs, two arms, a torso and a head, but their bodies had seemingly been mutated by unnatural energies, making them stand taller than 2 meters and in some cases further changes had appeared.

There was a tall yet lanky, charred kind of trooper. It barely wore any clothes and its face was hidden behind a gasmask. A tank was strapped to its back and what appeared to be a flamethrower was in its hand. There were a great deal of those and they sprinted towards the frontlines almost immediately, their bodies seemingly capable of tanking quite a bit of small arms fire. Then there was a different kind of trooper, one that appeared far less human or undead than the prior one. It too was barely clothed but where the Flamethrower Elite was lanky, this Fire Demon seemed to burst with muscles. Muscles which glowed from the hot embers all across them, the Undead seemingly filled by an inner fire. Its face too was anything but human, looking more like the face of a carved pumpkin, its mouth impossibly big and impossible formed to be still normal and human, with fire raging in its throat. They walked forward slowly, their hands engulfed in balls of fire as they did so, much of the small arms fire they received seemingly being melted even before impact, the Demons’ innate heat apparently serving as their shield.

Yet even with the multi-pronged assault the Undead were now launching, they were far from revealing all their hands. Further upstream the Undead had started to cross the river, leaving the Horde that was going down the road in alone or in pairs and walking straight into the river. Some were caught by the currents and swept down towards the city where they would possibly manage to get out again, some were unlucky and were swept all the way out the Saint Lawrence and into the Atlantic. Their numbers were small however and could be easily attributed to Undead falling into the river by accident. Most of them managed to cross the river upstream, one way or another and were starting to amass a small horde in the forests on the other side of the river. A horde which eventually started moving southwards to grab the city from behind.

A growing intensity in the combat involved with the first line of defense grew rapidly as the stalwart Imperial defenders held their best and damndest against both a growing and evolving horde of Undead, with heavier and more gnarly weapons being brought up quickly to the front, such as more heavy machine guns and autocannons firing state of the art modified .50 caliber BMG, and 40mm high-impact shells on high priority targets respectively. In an effort to prove once again as Wilhelm Imperial doctrine has always successfully dictated, that mystic occultist magic was no match to a reliable anti-material round with tungsten and depleted uranium cores firing at ridiculously high rates of fire.

In quick order though, the weak points of the defenses that were exploited earlier by the Zombies were quickly plugged by both reinforcing soldiers entering the fray en mass in full force, and the valiant efforts of the quick actions of the Powered Infantrymen making short work of the Zeeks caught in their violent path of destruction. However the struggle to maintain the defense was still ongoing, but no Imperial or Canadian soldier were willing to dare back down quite yet from the defensive position, their resolve still remaining high and confident despite previous shortcomings that had made themselves known. They knew already what was at stake, and were stanched enough to maintain the line until further orders would deem it unwise for them to do so. But such an order had yet to come, so as far as they were concerned, they were still ordered to hold until further notice, until the time came that they were ordered to fallback to another position to repeat the same process all over again.

As more concentrated gunfire and cannonfire were spewed forth in bursting fire across the whole line, it proved more than a match against many of the advancing elite Undead that had made their presence known to the Imperial defense. Kingly however was more concerned now with the enemy armor that had made itself known to him as they appeared on his flanks.

“Finally, a worthy target for our sabot shells, tank units break off for current position and move to intercept the enemy armor from afar.” The Lieutenant then ordered to his armored unit, to which the unit then proceeded to split up to face the two converging fronts. Some already readying APFSDS shells to target the incoming enemy armor, seeking to get the first strike on their lumbering counterparts that from the looks of it had to set up position first after coming to a complete stop. The MBTs neither heeded them, nor gave them warning as they fired upon them while on the move once they were in effective range of their stabilized main guns, unleashing armor piercing darts traveling at incredible speeds to puncture right through their hulks and deliver terrible damage upon them.

The Undeads’ plans clearly weren’t working out quite as well as they had hoped, the Wilhelm defense remaining staunch in the face of their relentless onslaught, the sheer amount of ammunition pumped into them quickly thinning their ranks before they managed to reach the lines of the infantry, if they reached it at all. The armoured units they brought in were also getting decimated with little opportunity of fighting back, the Wilhelm armour remaining out of range and on the move, not allowing the unstabilized and comparably inaccurate, short range cannons of the Undead any way of fighting back. Even the masses of Zombies around them, which had clearly been meant as some form of meatshield to possibly slow incoming shells a little, offered little to no protection, the advanced shells piercing straight through the soft organic matter and then through the poorly maintained armour of the tanks...in some cases so easily that it apparently left little to no damage on the tank, some tanks continuing to operate even after having been shot.

Still, it was a rather one-sided trade and before long most of the armour at the front had been reduced to burning wrecks, their crew stumbling out and joining the horde on its advance, having turned into mere Zombies as well. The remaining armoured assets on the other hand, primarily in the backlines, saved from the Wilhelm Tanks’ wrath by line of sight/fire constraints, turned around and started their retreat. The Undeads’ master would not show his hand that soon anymore, instead continuing to press the assault with hordes of Zombies. Suiciders were mixed into the Hordes, together with occasional Elites now that the stream of burning ghost-like Undead was beginning to thin. Occasionally enemy artillery would strike the defensive perimeter, however, the shots were few and far between, suggesting that the available number of enemy artillery pieces was fairly low.

The Undead instead sought new, tried and tested tactics. Wearing the defenders down, logistically, mentally and physically. The scenic backdrop of hellfire tearing the forest apart, the endlessly appearing Hordes advancing from all sides, the screams and explosions, the need to keep firing and firing and firing would likely have been more than enough attrition for those already present. The first time a defender was mauled by the Undead and would later rise again among his peers, his eyes sporting the same glow as those of the Zombies would likely still be a surprise and stress their mortal minds even more. And as the attrition continued, whispers seeped in. Voices calling to them. And they never ceased, they whispered and tore at their psyche, demanding their attention, demanding their action. The Undead knew how to wear their prey down and eventually...eventually they would make headway beyond the blasted minefields they were being decimated in.

by **Sudbrazil** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 1:14 pm

Foul Magick!
In collaboration with Exilvania (The Eternal Reich) and Laiakia (Skynet)
Northern Amazon jungles,10:00 January 11th, Year 0

Shaman Jaílson Pele-de-Jacaré was a wise and respected elder among the tribesmen. When the Southern men had come to preach the word of the Dead Jew, his grandfather had cast them out of their ancestral lands. When the Southerners came back with their thundering lances from days of yore, his father made alliance with the Great Nomad King and repelled them. But when they had come back with iron-shod beasts and the metal birds, he had fled in shame. A hundred moons, perhaps much more, had passed since that day. Pele-de-Jacaré’s bones had grown old, his skin was wrinkled and yet, his wisdom had surpassed his ancestors. They had abandoned the old ways of the Forest for the goods of the Southern Men, but he remained steeped in tradition.

Today, his Great Tribe would begin a war against the Southern Man, today they would regain their past lands and their honour, with the spirit of his ancestors. As the men danced proudly around the Obelisk of the Ancients with their rifles proudly at their shoulders, fumes rose from the burning of the Sacred Plants. He could feel the voices beyond the veil, calling out to him again. A Great Evil approached…

At first it seemed as though it was but the flight of the embers from the sacred plants, tiny glowing orange dots flying through the air and landing on the ground. But unlike true embers, they did not cease to glow, nay, in fact it seemed their glow spread, forming lines on the ground, connecting the dots between each other. Before long the strangely glowing, orange lines had formed what could be considered two circles around the obelisk and within that circle was a 5 pointed star, the obelisk rising from its center. Between the two circles, writing suddenly appeared. Yet strangely it was within the language of the Southern Men. It glowed fiercely as it manifested itself in the space between the two circles, the voices growing ever stronger as it started to seemingly move, taking new shapes, new words and moving in the space between the circles.

A wind picked up, cold and coming from the north as the flames started to flicker and then die, fumes still continuing to rise from the ashes of the Sacred Plants and being caught by the wind, blown away as though their holy presence was being removed. A cracking sound, coming from the Obelisk would draw attention to it, with small cracks appearing all over it and the voices from beyond the veil of reality seeping in from these cracks, crying, promising, shouting, begging in an endless cacophony for those gifted enough to hear them.

The Evil was about to be unleashed yet there was still a sliver of hope. The actions of one who knew what he was doing could still stop the unholy forces gathering here, could reverse a nightmare before it even began.

“The Obelisk!” cried the men, stopping dead in their tracks. One of the bolder warriors attempted to stamp out the holy incense, but the Shaman knocked him out cold. In truth, Jaílsson was as unsettled as his followers – he had never seen such powerful magic, nor did the manuscripts describe this. But, if the Obelisk had to be shattered, if the voices should haunt him, if maybe, whispered a thought creeping into his mind, he should have to perish that day so be it! The Farque people would avenge their loss from beyond the grave!

“Fear not, brave men! This is our instrument of vengeance! Only the Southern Heathen needs to fear it!”

With an explosion sending razor-sharp fragments of stone flying like the shrapnel of an artillery shell, the Obelisk burst apart. The symbols on the ground glowed one more time and all of a sudden the fires burning the Sacred Plants were reignited...but their flames were of a cold blue colour and gave no more warmth. Bodyless, creepy laughter seemed to come from nowhere, seemingly from just behind each of the gathered men, a presence seemingly there yet when someone looked there was nothing there.

”THANK YOU, MORTAL..”

Something was there and now it showed itself, rising out of the ruins of the Obelisk like a fish being pulled out of the water with a fishing pole, rising into the air above the gathered men. It appeared to be a skeleton with a strange blue hue to it, clad in black clothes more fitting to the Southerners than anyone up here. Multiple skulls rose together with it, floating around the skeletal creature that had now risen above them all and looked down upon them.

”NOW FOR WHAT PETTY LITTLE GAME DO YOU SEEK TO INVITE DEATH INTO YOUR MIDST?”

, the unnatural voice, overlaid by multiple other voices all saying the same, asked. It was clearly coming from the skeleton, given that its jaw had moved. None dared speak for an awkwardly short eternity, but the Shaman regained his composure.

“O-oh great ancestral spirit, we have raised you to wage war to the Heathens that now occupy our lands.”

The skeleton remained silent, cocking its head slightly to the side as it looked over the Shaman, the man feeling its malicious gaze on his body, goosebumps and a feeling of cold trailing across his body wherever it went. When it finally spoke, the Shaman would have the odd feeling that the skeleton was...amused?

”I DO NOT BELIEVE MY FAMILY TREE INCLUDES YOUR SORRY MORTAL SHELL. NOW PER-”

The skeleton lifted its arms, a great number of glowing circles appearing on the ground surrounding it, at least three dozen of them, the stars within them spinning slowly. But then, as though something had come to its mind, the skeleton hesitated...and then lowered its arms again, the circles disappearing.

”PERHAPS WE CAN COME TO AN AGREEMENT STILL. I MAY NOT BE THE SPIRIT YOU WISHED TO CALL BUT IF YOU TELL ME WHERE YOU BROUGHT ME AND WHO YOU AND THE HEATHENS ARE, I COULD BE CONVINCED TO AID YOUR CAUSE.”

“The Southern Men preach the word of the Dead Jew. We are at the edge of the Great Amazon, the heart of the continent which they wish to tear apart for money. Please, great spirit, you may not be of our lineage, but surely you empathize with our-”

Shots rang out from the jungle. A sentry cried out in pain as the war cries of a rival tribe approached. The men who hadn’t been wounded by the stone shrapnel sprang to their feet to meet their foe, but Pele-de-Jacaré couldn’t take it anymore.

“The Comcap, those barbarians dare attack a holy site! Damn you! Half our men are unable to fight because of you. Is this how you repay our offerings?” With these words, he threw his ceremonial club at the skeleton in frustration.

The skeleton didn’t even bother avoiding the club, the thing being repelled by an invisible force before it could even hit the skeletal body. The skeleton seemed annoyed, tsking somehow despite its lack of...well...tissue to facilitate such a sound...granted, it was also speaking without vocal chords or a tongue or anything.

”TSK! SO YOU ARE BUT A BUNCH OF WORTHLESS SAVAGES? IN THIS CASE I SUPPOSE THE FÜHRER’S DEMAND FOR RESTRAINT DOES NOT APPLY. AIDING THE CHRISTIANS IN TEARING THIS LUSH PLACE APART SEEMS MUCH MORE IN LINE WITH THE PATH TO OUR NEW WORLD.”

Once more the skeleton raised its arms but this time just a single circle appeared between it and the Shaman...and this time the circle didn’t disappear again, nor did the skeleton lower his arms again, its skull cackling as it shouted:

”ARISE! ARISE AND EXTINGUISH THESE PESTS!”

And from within the circle something rose, seemingly being quite literally spat out of the circle. A massive, brutish creature of a ripped human build...but seemingly skinned, with all its muscles out for the world to see. Yet that was already all the similarity it had with a human, its face having more in common with a carved pumpkinhead, featuring an impossibly wide and impossibly fanged mouth with an unnatural fire deep in its throat. All along its muscles and tendons embers flared up, glowed with unholy hellfire as the Fire Demon straightened itself to its full height before the Shaman and roared into the sky, flames starting to engulf both of its hands.

As the rival tribesmen vanquished their Farquense enemies, they saw the hulking abomination in front of them. Reluctantly, they brandished their Kalashnikovs and charged in to take its head, spraying it down with their old rifles, but their archaic blackpowder and lead ammunition didn’t seem to be very effective, the bullets seemingly disappearing with a fizzling sound even before they hit the massive abomination.

It laughed a deep, guttural laugh before it extended its massive paws and grabbed the Shaman’s head, unimaginable pain making the man scream in agony as the fire ate away at him and the Fire Demon held his head in place. His agony did not last for long, his body breaking quickly, his screams and spasming ceasing as his skin darkened and shriveled out, his flesh soon turning to ash and his bones falling to the ground below him when the husk that remained could not keep them together any longer.

Only then did the Demon let go of the head, laughing again at the horrified tribesmen before waving its hands in the air, a great deal more of the dreaded circles appearing on the ground as it did so. Shortly after an entire platoon of men, seemingly made from flame just popped out of the ground, a sight that would’ve been comical if it wasn’t for the dire situation.

Almost immediately the newcomers engaged in high pitched screaming and agonizing as they started to quickly race towards the tribesmen, wildly waving their arms as though trying to grab them. Any plants on their path were set on fire, a fire that would likely quickly get out of control, especially with the big guy, the Fire Demon standing where he had summoned his small legion of friends, hunched over and his flames extinguished, still out and about

Unlike the Fire Demon though, the Flaming Ghosts proved to be much easier to eliminate. Bullets made them disappear in a small flicker of a flame, leaving nothing behind but some smoke and whatever they had set on fire. Even when they reached their victims, the tribesmen, they did little more than embrace them in their fiery limbs, setting them and their clothes on fire before disappearing themselves, gone as though their sole purpose had been to set someone or something on fire. Soon the agonizing cries of the ghosts ceased, replaced by the screams of the burning tribesmen.

In the aftermath of the battle, only a few men managed to flee. But the story they lived through is still told today around tribal campfires and esoteric circles.
Amongst the noise of the jungle, came a steady march of triple footsteps, which were only interrupted by snapping twigs, leaves and branches. Out of the shadows of the trees stepped three masculine figures in a wedge formation. The men were clad in what appeared to be animal skin-clothing and animal skin-boots. Each of them had a bandana of different color over their head, so that just their eyes were visible. In their arms they held machine guns and on their shoulder sat a long, attached strip of ammunition.

Their heads moved slowly and deliberately, like they were examining the area and focused mostly on the various dead humans scattered about, but also seemingly ignorant to the Fire Demon and the skeleton, like it was a normal sight to them.

Both the skeleton and the Fire Demon stared at them as though they were an odd sight. And an odd sight they were indeed for the three men looked like...well...men but both of the infernal creatures could easily tell they were not. They did not...they had not that warmth, that presence of a soul that drew the Undead like moths to a flame. No, they were cold, lifeless, soulless men.

After staring at the men for a while, contemplating their presence, the skeleton finally asked:

”IDENTIFY YOURSELVES.”

The three ‘men’ all slowly moved their heads towards the skeleton, still seemingly emotionless. The lead ‘man’ seemed to look up and down at the skeleton, almost like it was describing it to someone not currently present.

Finally, the man spoke with a very emotionless voice, though it had a bit of an Austrian accent to it.

“I am George Lucas. Zhese are my friends Dick and Richard. We were lost in ze jungle. What are you?”

If the skeleton still had eyes, it likely would have rolled them in annoyance. Instead it just ground its teeth before stating:

”WHAT IS THIS? ‘MASTER OF THE WORLD’? YOU ARE ABOUT AS MUCH A GEORGE LUCAS AS I AM A MAO ZEDONG. NOW DELIVER THE INFORMATION I SEEK BEFORE MY CURIOSITY FOR A CREATURE SUCH AS YOURSELF RUNS OUT.”.

The man stared blankly at the skeleton and tilted his head slightly. In the meantime, the two other men moved over to the tribesmen that had been killed by the Southerners and started examining the skin.

“Master of the World? We have no idea what zhat is. Zhe information about our mission is however.. classified. Our mission cannot be compromised. It is simply too important.”

The Fire Demon moved in the way of the two examining the charred corpses, the heat radiating from it shrivelling up and darkening vegetation nearby as it loomed over the leather and fur clad men, grinning with its inhuman face.

”UNKNOWING, UNCULTURED INGRATES. I CARE LITTLE FOR YOUR MISSION, YOUR IDENTITY IS WHAT I REQUIRE. I DEMAND TO SPEAK WITH A SUPERIOR WITH A SUFFICIENT SECURITY CLEARANCE TO DECLASSIFY YOUR ‘MISSION’: ELSE I BELIEVE SOME FIRE WILL DO YOU JUST AS MUCH GOOD AS IT DID THESE WORTHLESS SAVAGES.”

Still keeping a poker-face, the man looked between the Fire Demon and the skeleton.

“Very well. You shall be acquainted with our...superior. And your threats are empty to us. Fire, for us, is nothing..”

With that, the two men examining the charred corpses stood up, staring blankly ahead at the Fire Demon.

”I WOULD BEG TO DIFFER BUT WE HAVE NOT THE TIME TO WASTE. SOME MORTALS WILL EVENTUALLY FIND OUT THAT SOMETHING HAPPENED HERE AND BY THAT TIME, IT IS BEST NONE OF US IS MET AT THIS SITE.”

The skeleton stared once at the Fire Demon, the Demon immediately getting a move on as it began to break apart the remains of the obelisk, turning what was left of the Sacred Plants to ash and setting the forest around them alight simply by touching the plants. The skeleton merely added:

”THIS ONE WILL ENSURE THAT NONE FIND OUT WHAT TRULY HAPPENED HERE. AND IT WILL KEEP ANY PURSUERS OR INTERLOPERS AWAY. NOW LEAD.”

The man nodded and turned towards the jungle with his two other compatriots. He looked back towards the skeleton and began walking into the forest.

“Affirmative. Come with us.”

by **The V O I D** » Thu Oct 08, 2020 6:12 pm

ROYAL PALACE
HONG KONG
THE CHINESE UNION-IMPERIAL

The Royal Palace was designed by the Tinker known as Jia to be able to preserve and protect the Royal Family at any cost. In the event of a serious set of attacks against the CUI, the Royal Family and the Yangban Headquarters would both be moved out of the way utilizing some of the more... esoteric technologies Jia was able to make, albeit it was slightly out of his specialty, when integrating the right tech, it was possible.

In the Royal Palace, there was a conference room - one where the Emperor, the Prince, Shen Yu, One, and the Ministers of State, Defense, and Civil Affairs could meet on short notice; they were the core pillars of the Chinese government and military, from which modern Chinese society sprung. And now, they were hosting an urgent meeting - to question just why the Royal Palace was moved to a preset location in Hong Kong, of all places, as well as the state of the CUI.

“It appears, based on the powers of those Thinkers under the Yangban's control, that we have been displaced dimensionally. What's more, not all of our China came along with us. To the northwest is a state potentially hosted in Mongolia, but to the northeast is... apparently, an Imperial Japan that, based on what the Thinkers are reporting, did not lose the War,” One reported to the table. He was the only member of the Yangban who was not brainwashed - impossible, considering he was the one who held the Yangban together and constructed their ideology to brainwash them with. To some extent, One even exerted control over the Ministers, and exerted massive control with Two's assistance in boosting his power to create Chinese society as it was today.

“I suppose that explains the... potentialities my power has warned me of,” Shen Yu said with a frown as he looked over at One. The Minister of Defense - a man called Xi - also seemed unsettled at that.

“Do we inform the people?” asked the Minister of State - a man known as Tang - spoke up. “I feel it could be prudent, especially along the borders.”

“No,” One replied immediately, “the societal structures we have in place would cause... problems with such an unruly and sudden shift in perception. Although, perhaps... with the right wording and motivation, we can blame this on America. It's probably true, even; they have always felt threatened by our power, and what better way than to prevent our invasion of New Siam than to remove the entire southern half of our empire. Especially considering that it took us along with it, whatever they did.”

“Americans,” Minister Xi said the word as though it were a curse, and there was a general sense of agreement at the table.

“What are our options?” The Emperor finally asked.

“We should contact this world's Japan,” Shen Yu said immediately, “it likely has some of the greatest power regionally, not to mention some of our lost... territory. If we can give them the right incentives, combined with impressing them with the might of our parahumans compared to whatever they may have, I am certain we can impress upon them the importance of an alliance. Eventually, once we have a more stable situation, we can retake our lost territory in a... well, mostly bloodless manner.”

“The Russians could prove useful as well,” Minister Tang commented, “surely they wouldn't have been our enemies in this world? I could scarcely imagine such a scenario.”

“I shall consult the Thinkers,” One responded, with a soft nod after the Emperor gave his assent to the idea.

“There is some good news about this situation,” the Minister of Civil Affairs - the only woman on the council, called Jiang - as she finally leaned forward in her seat and folded her hands together, “there is a distinct chance this world has no Endbringers, and what's more, no Golden Man. Without those, we can reexplore... alternative options. Right, Minister Xi?”

“Of course,” Minister Xi said, a slight smirk curling on his lips, “with the Emperor's assent, I can begin working on some of the Special Projects immediately.”

“Do so. It is better to have than need,” the Emperor said, looking to Shen Yu and One, “will this be a potential problem?”

The two men looked at one another, before nodding slightly. The Emperor raised his chin, indicating Shen Yu first.

“I will merely need to run more simulations and consult the Yangban's thinkers as the Special Projects are completed,” Shen Yu answered the unasked question, “but other than that, I believe the Imperial Military's forces are well prepared for anything this world can offer, barring any... monstrosities.”

“I can contact some of our Tinkers, as well as consult with Null and Two on how best to ensure our Tinkers can help prepare Minister Xi's projects,” One said, once it became apparent that Shen Yu was finished.

The Emperor nodded in understanding, before looking to his son and heir. The Prince looked back at his father.

“You will oversee the government, my son, ensure that things run smoothly. One has prepared you for this; Thinker plans are not too much like tinker technology, and so you should be able to assist in maintaining things for a while as we prepare for what may come,” the Emperor intoned.

“I will not fail you, Father,” the Prince acknowledged his command.

With that, the meeting moved on to various minor matters about what questions needed to be asked of what Thinkers, and the like. Soon enough, the meeting was adjourned, for now, once it was firmly decided that messages would be sent to this world's Japan and Russia.

by **Mirial System** » Sat Oct 10, 2020 2:38 pm

A Certain Maintenance Hall, Negotiator

"Why the kriff are you so damnably chipper today-?"

Gliding down the maintenance area of the Venator-class Star Destroyer with a sharp smirk gracing her face, Seventh considered telling the clone sergeant the real reason. A moment of contemplation led her to believe that it'll most likely fly over his head, so why bother.

Instead, she simply threw out why she was currently walking down a maintenance hallway this early in the morning.

"I locked a bunch of droids in a supply closet last night, to work out their unresolved sexual tension. Let's go check on them." Without making sure her parole officer was - ironically - following after her, she headed on further into the twist and turns of the engineers' domain.

"... but droids can't... do that... right? What the hell..." Sighing, Sergeant Punchy rubbed his eyes and marched on - bucket tucked under one arm. Kriffing dar'jetii waking him up before dawn- hold the kriffing holocomm.. Steps faltering slightly, the clone trooper narrowed his eyes at the (still) black-clad figure - except she had ditched her usual bodysuit for some rather Jedi-like robes in some rather un-Jedi-like colours - leading the way in front him as a realisation dawned on him.

Jetii could sense life and death, couldn't they? So if she can too... maybe...

Shaking his head firmly, Punchy vowed to never contemplate this question ever again in his life. He did not need to know what that eternally smug and utterly creepy Mirialan got off on, no sir.

The pair stopped before a rather nondescript door, with Seventh's fingers dancing lithely across the keypad in a pattern way too long to be a passcode. Which, the clone supposed, was how she had managed to enter command deck last evening, stroll unopposed into the officer's mess, and gleefully raided the General's tea stash - along the already impressive list of places she had managed to get into that the sergeant was almost but not quite certain she wasn't supposed to be able to.

At last, the door slid open - and they were immediately assaulted verbally by a pair of angry-sounding beeps and whistles.

"What."

No, Sergeant Punchy of the 212th Attack Battalion did not understand, at all, what he was seeing. For within the supply closet was two rather familiar astromechs - his subconscious supplied their identities as R2-D2 and R4-P17, Generals Skywalker and Kenobi's personal droids respectively. And placed on a metal stepladder at 'eye'-level to the two temperamental 'mechs was ... an odd droid head. One that eyed them with an almost malicious look in its glowing visual sensors finally speaking to two newcomers with an oddly familiar speech pattern.

"Query: What exactly was your purpose in locking me with these two glorified datachips, pallid-green meatbag?"

"For laughs.", Seventh replied plainly, watching with no small amusement as the complaints from the two astromechs directed to her - sprinkled with varied aspersions towards HK-47's manufacturing plant, designer, and his entire production line - quickly regressed into a three-sided screaming match between the three droids. Well, two-sided - HK was rather content with calmly sniping both astromechs verbally.

Then the self-proclaimed assassin droid blurted out something about the two R-series droids blocking his signal transmissions - earning confused bleeps from the two astromechs in question even as the ex-Inquisitor properly lost it and started cackling.

Punchy was, in the meantime, becoming increasingly concerned at this turn of events.

Explanation, however, came swiftly as the Mirialan grabbed his shoulder to prevent herself from doubling over in laughter. "I... didn't install a transmitter in HK- pfffffft!"

That didn't go unnoticed by the three robots, with HK-47 making his opinion of that revelation markedly clear. "Expletive: Damn it you double-dealing, dishonourable, licentious organic trash-compactor-"

"True, very true, I don't do droids, and that was a surprisingly concise summary of my last job."

Punchy recalled what her last job was, and visibly blanched at the implied insult towards the entire Jedi Order. The assassin droid-head, on the other hand, somehow managed to acquire an air of ... admiration. "Declaration: You are a delightful personification of a random cruelty generator, and a testament to all organic meatbags everywhere. I'll be honoured if I may be granted the chance to work alongside you-"

"And let me guess... to do that you need a body?" The smirk on Seventh's face widened a tiny notch.

"... Affirmation: That would be correct. Query: How did you accurately identify my motive?"

"Who knows?", she replied airily, giving the disembodied head a pointed look. "Well, you're in luck, HK-47. I'm in the mood to make you a deal - serve me, and I'll make you a body."

"Query: Why should I trust you to deal in good faith, meatbag, when you lied to me once already? Recitation: 'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.'"

"I guess you just have to trust me then. Unless... maybe you don't want a body that much." Shrugging, she spun around and made to leave. "Come on, Sarge - I'm sure we can do with some breakfast now..."

"Request: Wait! I... I'll do it, damnable meatbag!"

Tilting her head back to eye the droid head, Seventh arched an eyebrow imperiously. "Changed your mind, HK?"

"Query: You don't suffer from hearing loss do you, meat-"

"Ahem."

"... mistress?"

Twirling around, the utterly delighted ex-Inquisitor stalked past between the two uneasily beeping astromechs and picked up the bodiless head assembly. "Wonderful. Glad you come to appreciate my offer. Now... in a show of good faith, why don't you help me with figuring out what exactly your new holo-pal SKYNET is up to?"

"Query: Why am I the one needing to show good faith when you're the one who cheated me the last time... mistress?"

"You answered your own question, darling HK~"

Still standing stock frozen by the door of the supply closet, Sergeant Punchy could only stare in mute horror as he witnessed the birth of a new partnership of terror. R2-D2 beeped out similar sentiments in far greater eloquence, prompting the clone to nod numbly.

"Yes indeed - fuck us."

---------------------

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Main Medical Bay, Twilight

For close to an entire morning since... whatever in the seven hells that was, the Jedi masters had been crowding around - juggling theories as to why one Barriss Offee was affected that severely by the Force disturbance, to the point of flat-out losing consciousness. Oh, they knew it was due to the sudden exchange of weapons to their northeast, and the resultant massive loss of lives. However, Jedi generally don't react that badly to death - if they did, they wouldn't had been able to fight in the war for two years... and counting.

As if they had nowhere better to discuss this, one rather annoyed Togruta sniped mentally. Master Unduli, in stark contrast, was nowhere to be seen.

"It's almost like a healing trance." Master Kenobi commented, from his position at the end of the bed.

"Didn't know people screamed like they're being torn apart when going into a healing trance...", Ahsoka muttered sourly, eyes fixed on the occupant of said bed. Perhaps it was because of her own status as a rather runty Togruta, but she never did realise how absolutely tiny Barriss was. But there she laid, appearing terribly washed out against the white bedsheets that threatened to engulf the petite Mirialan.

"Ahsoka! Mind your manners-"

"It's alright, Anakin - I'm sure she's just distraught-"

"Distraught? Me?! Oh no, you've not seen distraught. She-" The padawan gestured sharply towards the bed. "-was distraught - comparatively, I'm a kriffing font of calm and tranquility."

"Language, Ahsoka!", her master snapped in return.

Between Skywalker and Kenobi, Master Dooku simply made a disproving sound - his gaze heavy with judgement.

"Fine!" She sprung from the chair, glaring at the three Jedi clustered in the medbay - as clone medics flowed past them like water, bringing spare supplies out. "Clearly, I'm just interrupting your debate. I wish you all the best, Masters, and hope your headaches improve soon. I'll excuse myself."

Sarcasm thick in her words, she stormed out of the medbay.

"Oh, dear." Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, catching sight of the tears staining the young Togruta's face.

Beside him, Dooku gave a frustrated Anakin a thoroughly unimpressed look. "I see you taught your Padawan well-"

"Not. The. Time.", the Jedi Knight growled out, "...Master Dooku.", before taking off after his apprentice. "Ahsoka, wait!"

---------------------

She had barely stepped out into the hallway - ignoring the way the vode around her tried their best to not stare as she angrily rubbed the moisture from her eyes - when she was waylaid by a tiny Senator.

"P-Padmé? I mean, Senator Amidala-"

"Come on now, Ahsoka - let's get some tea." With an understanding look on her face, the older woman grasped the padawan by a wrist and guided her gently towards the guest accommodations on the ship - while subtly exchanging a speaking look with her husband, who had halted his bullrush through the medbay right at the doorway.

"I'll handle this, Ani."

"But... fine. Take care of Snips, Angel."

Guest Suites, Twilight

Curled up against one end of the couch, Ahsoka took a sip from the warm mug she cradled in her hands - trying her damnest not to start sniffling.

"W-what is this?"

On the other end of the couch, Padmé shrugged and gave the steaming teapot sitting on the coffee table a curious glance. "Something my mother used to make for me when I get headaches - I keep some on hand wherever I go." Strictly speaking, it wasn't tea - being closer to a herbal infusion made from various medicinal plants found in Naboo. "How's your headache?"

It was actually getting better, and Ahsoka told her as much. "Thanks a lot, Padmé." It did lead her to wonder, how did the Senator - whom the Togruta was certain wasn't Force sensitive - know of a brew to relieve Force-induced headaches?

"Wonderful. I'm glad to hear that, Ahsoka." A comfortable silence came to rest upon the two of them, as they enjoyed the tea wordlessly for the next few minutes.

"So, do you want to talk about... what happened at the medbay?"

Not particularly, Ahsoka thought. But she knew the Senator well enough - hard to when she kept on having to visit her in order to retrieve her master - to know that the other woman wouldn't just let it go. May as well get it over with. "I... lost my temper. At Skyguy... well, at Master Kenobi and Master Dooku too." A hint of contrition tinted her voice.

"What's the matter? Sure, you two have your arguments from time to time - but I've never seen you go off on Anakin like that."

"I don't know... All the things happening in the last few weeks, it just all piled up. And now... I'm-" She paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm scared，Padmé."

"This is about Knight Offee, isn't it?"

Ahsoka nodded, her countenance downcast. "It's not as if we've never been injured before, but this is different... I've never seen her react to all the death around us like this, and we've been fighting for more than two years. What if... what if she doesn't wake up?

"Ever since we first met, it just seemed like everything was doing their best to take her from me - Geonosis, that medical frigate, Umbara... now this. I know what the Order says about attachments, but... I... I just couldn't take it anymore. It hurts so much, having to second-guess fate like this all the time."

What she just heard definitely lent credence to some of Padmé's suspicions about the relationship between the two young Jedi. Still, this definitely wasn't the time to tease the younger girl about it.

"This certainly sounds very difficult for you, Ahsoka." Sighing, she took a sip from her somewhat-forgotten mug. "I won't say I know exactly how it feels, for our experiences do differ. But everytime Ani heads for the frontlines, even watching Holonet news broadcasts fills me with trepidation - one never knew what headline would accompany his portrait this time.

"But I have to remind myself that I am not helping by sitting there and fretting. Instead, I do what I can to help him - and for me that'll be politics. Working to prevent more systems from joining the Separatists: every world that stays with the Republic is one less that Anakin has to potentially fight on."

The Togruta listened, taking quiet sips of the herbal brew. "Perhaps you're right... but I'm no healer nor a seer. I just feel so... helpless, watching as things unfold. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do-"

"Of course there is." The retort was sharp and, unless Ahsoka was imagining it, tinged with the understated annoyance Padmé usually reserved for her political foes. "Find out why this happened, and work towards preventing a recurrence." She was starting to think that the Senator wasn't just drinking tea with her out of politeness, but out of necessity - perhaps a necessity resulting from a headache of her own.

"... you're right! Thanks Padmé!" Before the younger girl could hop off the couch and straight into action, a gentle hand held her back.

"No hurry there, Aksoka. You'll need the Tiny Council to make a decision-"

"Is that what the rest are calling that bunch- I mean the Masters, now?"

Oops, that was awkward. 'Damn it, Sabé.', Padmé mentally grouched at her Handmaiden who came up with that nickname. "... perhaps. Now, do you want to help me with the missive I need to send to the Empire? Why not consider this an impromptu lesson on diplomacy?" She was, after all, still a conniving politican and plotting was her day job - even if the plot was to make sure her little sister in all but name was more politically savvy than her dear husband. Seriously, how Anakin managed to befriend Chancellor Palpatine the way he was... she'll never know.

"Of course~" And oh dear, that expression gracing the Togruta's face was looking rather feral, wasn't it?

Main Hangar Bay, Twilight

Stepping into the Twilight's main hangar bay, Ahsoka was greeted with a hive of activity - LAATs being loaded up with medical equipment and supplies, whole impromptu platoons of medics forming up and being briefed by their leading medical officers, and- there's Masters Obi-Wan and Skyguy, along with Rex.

"Hey!" Waving at the clone captain, she headed their way - spotting the rest of Torrent Company at parade rest as she weaved through the current of men and materiel. "Is Torrent going too?"

"Commander.", Rex nodded, stepping back from the argument that the two older Jedi were brewing up. "Security force, for the op. Not that our medics can't fight, but they won't be in a position to given what their taskings would be."

"Makes sense."

That was when the pair of Jedi beside them finally noticed the interloper among them - or at least, decided to postpone the rest of their argument to address her. "- again, she's not going to an active combat zone, Anakin- oh hello there."

"And again, as her master I'm saying I'm vetoing her deployment to Europe and I shall aaaaaaah." Took him long enough to notice her standing here, giving him a firmly unimpressed look.

"Hello, Master Kenobi... and hello to you too, master." Shaking her head, the still rather compact Togruta thrusted two insulated flasks to the two men. "With complements from Padmé, helps with the headache." Skyguy took his and sniffed the contents with a querying look, while Obi-Wan simply took a sip of the herbal brew.

"Hmm... lovely. Do give the Senator my thanks later, Anakin, when you visit her. Now, Ahsoka, I'm sure you received the mission brief?"

"Sure- HEY! I said she wasn't-"

"I need to, Master."

That drew Anakin short. "But... it's not safe, Ahsoka. You know there's a war out there - and they're even using nukes."

"Last I checked, we're helping the hospitals, not setting up shop right behind the frontline. On that note, it wouldn't even be my first time in a field hospital under fire at that - remember Umbara?"

"... I really wish you won't mention it again, Snips." Beside Skyguy, Obi-Wan grimaced - that eternally night-clad world was practically a curse in GAR parlance, what with the friendly fire between the 501st and 212th, the dreadfully casualty-rich atmospheric battle, and Master Pong Krell flat out Falling there. "But ... fine, I see your point. This is practically cushy compared to what we've done in the past, isn't it?"

Ahsoka merely nodded and hummed, mildly smug. "I'll be careful, Master - first signs of rads and I'll hop into a suit. I've talked to Kix on my way here, he's got a set for me."

"You better." Then, "Come back in once piece, alright?"

"Gotcha, Skyguy."

Shaking his head, her master took a fortifying gulp from his flask before walking off, leaving Obi-Wan and Ahsoka standing in the busy hangar space alongside Rex.

"So, who's actually leading the deployment?" She had read her orders after all - Torrent was on protection detail for the medics, but she had been tasked to assess just how bad the fighting was. Preferably without having to sneak up to the frontline, just quiz the incoming casualties and whatnots. Or get her vode to do it - a human might have more luck. "... please tell me it's not Master Dooku, that'll just be awkward."

Extra awkward, given what took place earlier today.

"No no, he's tasked with keeping an eye on the north - we're still not sure how refugee movement might go, or whether the local European government in New Carthage might be opportunistic enough to act up. Master Unduli is leading the deployment-"

"Right." The joking tone was instantly extinguished, just flat disapproval. "Because that makes sense, to send the master off when her Padawan - ex-Padawan I suppose - is comatose from Force backlash. Definitely."

Obi-Wan sighed. "She requested the deployment - mind not biting the messenger here, Ahsoka?"

"Fair enough - apologies, Master Kenobi. For earlier today as well."

"Apology accepted. This can't be easy for you-"

Hold up, now just what was her grandmaster implying? "W-what do you mean? She's my friend, yes, but the way you're putting it..." Yeah, she could definitely feel her lekku blushing.

"Nothing at all, nothing at all. It's normal to be concerned when your ... friend, is this severely unwell."

"... r-right." She still didn't like that twinkle in Obi-Wan's eyes, like he knew something she didn't know he knew. "I'll get going then, Master Kenobi."

"You go ahead - be careful!"

Nodding, she trotted off - subconsciously trusting Rex to lead her to her assigned transport while her mind twisted itself into a pretzel trying to figure out one Obi-Wan Kenobi. Like many others, she was quite less than successful at that endeavour when she habitually folded herself into one of the seats in the LAAT and strapped herself in.

And finally dragged her attention back to the present, finding that she had picked a seat opposite one Mirialan Jedi Master.

"Master Unduli."

"Padawan Tano."

Take-off was awkward in the supposed "command" LAAT that the command staff - and one questionable Handmaiden, as official Senate liason - was accorded, but soon enough they were airborne - a flight of six LAATs loaded with supplies and personnel, headed for Europe.

---------------------

"Why did you ask to lead this mission, Master Unduli?" Finally, minutes after take-off, Ahsoka couldn't take it anymore. She certainly didn't approve of the older Jedi's decision, seeing it as abandoning Barriss when the younger Knight was vulnerable. To her, it was another repeat of what happened at Geonosis - Skyguy pushing for the two then-Padawans to be rescued while the other Master simply distanced herself. "Don't you think Barriss needs you, at this time?"

She wasn't there for the argument the two had, but the 501st was - and word travelled fast.

"She doesn't, Padawan Tano."

That only earned a frown from the Togruta - one that quickly turned into confusion at the Mirialan's next words.

"What she needs is good medical care, at this time. And that's something I cannot provide, not with my abilities - I'm not a healer, staying by her would only put me in the way of those who can help. What I can do, is find out what brought her into this state, and to prevent it in the future - if at all possible."

A pause, as both Jedi contemplated their conversation thus far, before Luminara concluded with almost surprising wryness - for the younger Jedi who wasn't as familiar with her. "Let's not have the same conversation as the one your master had with me two years ago, thank you very much."

Saché - the Handmaiden-slash-Senate-Liason - took a look at the two Jedi, snorted out loud, and popped some pills into her mouth. An act that earned a look from Clone Lieutenant Jesse seated opposite her.

"What? I have a pain problem.", the woman snapped.

"Right."

At that ice-breaker, the four settled somewhat more comfortably for the flight ahead...

---------------------

Point of Divergence 3.0 : The Return of Madness (IC)

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