Fall of a Republic (Civil War, Semi-Closed, Attn. GD)

[Independent Hitmen]

IHAS Eidos, Conway Class Roll-on/Roll-off transport ship
1056km South West of Athiesism

Colonel Lord Woodrow “Woody” Stone was violently sick into the small plastic bag reserved for such occassion’s. He wondered which staffer had decided that the command element of his regiment needed to travel on the ships rather than being flown down south like most of the men. That man or woman was sure gonna be in for a rough time when he got back home and identified them. Recovering for a moment he casually threw the bag over the rail into the churning sea and adjusted his uniform before reaching into his breast pocket for another of the bags.

The large transport crested another large wave as the Regimental Sergeant Major walked out onto the deck and towards his commander. A burly man who had seen action just about everywhere over the course of his career he sympathised with the Colonel who was new to the rigours of sea travel military style. He suspected that his commanding officer was more used to sedate evenings on the family yacht at one of the exclusive harbours seemingly reserved for the rich and famous than on a twenty-nine thousand tonne military vessel in the middle of the Southern Sea’s. The two exchanged greetings before the Sergeant leaned up against the rail as well. He moved with the ship and didn’t seem worried at all about the sickening motion that had paralysed the Colonel and several of the other troops of the headquarters company.

With at least another week to go it was sapping the morale of the men to be stuck in such confined conditions, they had an exercise programme but their fitness was suffering and they had enough of going down to the hold and turning the engines over on their vehicles or rotating turrets and checking seals to keep the equipment in working order. Sergeant Major Jenns was making his daily equipment report.

“.....and the Horus battalion reports that two of their Cheetah’s refused to start. Mechanics are working on them. Total Regimental strength is at 88 percent sir.”

“Good. Thank you Jenns. Have our colleagues in the navy advanced our arrival time or managed to speed this tub up?”

“I’m afraid not Sir. They report that the sea will be calm by morning though.”

“Good. Thank you again Jenns, dismissed”

The Sergeant Major came to attention and saluted before spinning and walking back towards the armoured hatch that he had come from. Once inside he paused to wipe the spray from his uniform, taking care to ensure the Regimental patch was dry and untainted. The yellow and blue quarters background covered with three swords was a famous emblem, that of the Battle Guards Regiment. It was one of the most honoured of the Hitmano forces and had fought in every conflict that the country had been embroiled in, it had been established over four hundred years before and had been the elite unit of the fledgling state guarding its rulers in battle and often turning the tides of battles and wars. During the wars in Talaax seven years earlier they had savaged an entire division and stoutly defended ground when others would have turned and fled but courage and superior tactics had won the day. The men were understandably proud of their traditions and they were chosen from the best volunteers that joined the Army, recruiters scoured the training depots whilst others applied directly to the Regiment from civilian life. Often those with family ties to the Regiment were often given initial interviews at this stage but still only the best were allowed to wear the swords into battle.

Lord Stone of Blackheath was the third of his family to command the Regiment in recent times, his father and grandfather before him. Though his father was only shortly departed from the world he had lived long enough to see his son rise up through the ranks and take command of his prized regiment. Unlike the rest of the army a promotion kept officers and men in the same regiment, not moving them around and developed a strong sense of loyalty to Regiment as well as country. He knew that they would be in the thick of the fighting because that was exactly where he wanted his troops to be, winning glory for themselves and the Regiment at every turn. In a week they would be on the peninsula, within ten days they would be in battle.


IHS Silence, Vanguard II Class Attack Submarine
Near Urak-Natal

Since the attack on the two ships trying to flee the blockade the crew of the Silence had been in high spirits. Two more warships sunk didn’t make them the highest scoring submarine in service but it moved them up the list. They had moved closer inland to look for more targets but there were none to be seen, the passive sonar array did however pick up the explosions of ordinance as a seemingly continual stream of aircraft and missiles attacked the colony again and again.

At sea the carriers were launching and recovering aircraft almost twenty four hours a day as Admiral Callf determined to keep up a constant wave of attacks against the military facilities on land. The rest of the carriers that had been en route to his command had been sent westwards to bottle the bulk of the Republican fleet up in port as the transports carrying the first Army units approached the mainland. Already a stream of transport aircraft was delivering some personnel and sensitive equipment to the peninsula, mostly Special Forces and UAV drones but a few regular Army planners and staff officers had also set up a working group with the emplaced forces.


Southern Peninsula, South Western Military Air Force Base

Two of the huge transport aircraft stood at an isolated part of the base with two large tents set up behind them. Inside several technical specialists were putting the finishing touches to some of the larger UAV’s in the Hitmano arsenal. A pair of unarmed Hawk recon drones were the first to be wheeled out into the bright sunlight, four armed Hunter drones were still awaiting their weapons to be affixed and would not start operating for some time. One of the Gordonopians accompanying the Hitmen had a radio link to the air control tower and upon confirming that there wasn’t any aircraft on approach they pushed the first drones to the end of one of the runway’s. A pair of technicians started the engine and then stepped back as the pilot at the control console in the back of one of the transports took charge.

As the UAV climbed into the sky it turned north towards the front and its internal transmitter sought out an orbiting communications satellite and began streaming live data to different terminals. IH military intelligence and 3rd Army planning staff each had a receiving terminal as well as the pilot on the ground in Gordonopia. The Hawk’s were part of a concerted effort to increase the intelligence and also targeting information for a massive strike that would accompany the attack that was being planned to break out of the bridgehead and hopefully finish the war quickly with one massive attack.

[United Gordonopia]

Urak-Natal-Kjeldor Combined Territorial Naval Base, Urak-Natal

With the hard tap of the 'enter' key, the surrender offer was finalized. The forces had fought hard, but with the Navy in Urak-Natal all but wiped out after losing one carrier and sustaining heavy damage on the other, and having the air forces reduced to a mere 10% of their former capacity, it had become evident to the military commanders in the territory that there was no hope of holding out without costing the lives of every soldier in the territory, a needless waste.

Field Marshal Packer scanned through the treaty a final time, before softly giving an order to his subordinate.

"All right, send it. Let's just pray to god that they accept our terms."

The offer was detailed, not unconditional. The entirety of the combined territories would be turned over to Hitmano forces on the conditions that they agreed to turn the lands over to whatever government held power in United Gordonopia once the war was over, andthat surrendering soldiers and civilians would be treated with respect. Additionally, Captain Winstrom, who had been the leader of the Third Independent Carrier Group when it had attacked the Hitmano fleet, would be personally handed over to their forces for whatever punishment they deemed fit. Although it had no tactical meaning, it was simply icing on the cake to entice the Hitmano into accepting the surrender. With the fall of the territories, the Republic's power would be diminished even further. Only part of the mainland was still in their control, and much of that was effectively under martial law and facing practical warfare in the streets, and a few outer colonies had managed to thwart pro-Monarchist mutinies. The Republic was coming to an end, Packer knew that. All he could do now was save the lives of the men who had attempted to defend it.

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

Kyjiv, Key Penninsula, Cairn Province
December 20

"Captain, Reichfield just fell. I thought you'd want to know."

Captain Goodman looked up, face covered in grease smudges from the tank he was helping repair, and solemnly replied.

"Oh. Thanks Lincoln."

For a moment, he sat in disbelief. Yes, he had been in Reichfield only a couple of weeks ago, but there was a more personal reason. Goodman had a younger brother, Solomon, who had been commissioned just before the war and who had been given command of an armored squad. His had been at Reichfield when he had been transferred. With the utter breakdown of all but the most essential communications, personal letters and the like where out of the question. Chances were, he would likely never know his brother's fate. But now he had a renewed reason to fight. Even if the Republic fell, he would kill as many Monarchists as humanly possible before that day. Just then, Captain Ohoku walked in.

"Sorry to bother you Danial, but we need to get going. The Monarchists are mobilizing for another assault, and we need every last man on the front."

"Yeah. Let's go." He replied, unable to say anything more.

Soon, Goodman's company was moving out, supported by Ohoky's SPARTANs. Since arriving, they had made a formidable team, but it seemed all they could do was stem the tide.

[Independent Hitmen]

IHS Peacekeeper, Isomer Class Assault Carrier
Task Force 291, The Southern Sea’s

Admiral Callf had retired to his private quarters for supper with the carriers commanding officer and the CO of Periocles who had come over by helicopter. Callf had dismissed his personal steward and the officers were helping themselves to a platter that sat at one end of the long wooden table that dominated the dining room in the Admiral’s suite. Soft classical music drifted across the cabin and was only interrupted by the thud of an aircraft landing somewhere above and the arresting cables taking up the tension to slow them down. The officers were so used to it that they barely heard it and took the chance to relax over their meal.

They had received the message from the republican commanders in the colony an hour beforehand and Callf had read it disbelievingly and quickly had it forwarded to the Naval Department in J City. He had sent back an initial acceptance of the terms and ordered the planned operations cancelled and for the fleet to adopt a defensive posture. They still had a large amount of aircraft in the air in case it was just a ploy, initial battle damage assessments had pointed to a destruction of a sizeable amount of the aircraft and most of their known military facilities in the territory but you could never be too careful with men’s lives at stake.

In all the campaign had gone well from Callf’s point of view. The taskforce had suffered a few casualties but the shortness of hostilities meant that they were well below estimates. The only trouble he faced now was that the landing forces were not due off the coast for at least another week and he had only a light battalion of Marine’s onboard. He had communicated his personal feelings to Fleet Command along with the Gordonopian offer and didn’t expect a response for some time.

The officers continued to make small talk about the war, invasion and occupation as they ate. When they were done they drank a toast to a successful operation, draining their glasses of port in the time honoured fashion. As the Admiral refilled their glasses the officers retired to the lounge and sat into the comfortable leather recliners as they continued their discussions. They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door as a messenger entered and handed a printout to the Admiral who quickly scanned it before handing it to the nearest of the two officers.

“Seems we have an accord with a few minor alterations. Commander, please send these terms on to the Republicans.”

Fleet Command had hastily forwarded the message to the Presidential Offices where it had been agreed and sent back. On the way back Fleet Command had added some clauses that would then be given to the Republicans. They stipulated that all Republican military forces would stand down and return to their barracks where they would await further instructions, all military aircraft and heavy machinery was to placed in the open where it could be monitored. The civilian authorities were urged not to disband any vital services and to maintain life as normal, police and other emergency services were encouraged to stay at work and police officers could retain personal weapons. When these terms were adhered to then a small amount of IH forces would begin landing to ensure security.

The government had agreed that all those in the territory would be treated humanely, food and medical supplies would continue to flow and there would be no initial restrictions on movement or basic human rights. In addition the territory would be handed over to an established government at the correct time. The only delay would come from the time it took for more Marines to arrive to fully secure the territory and decide what to do with the soldiers stationed there. All ships and military hardware would be taken into IH care to be returned to a united Gordonopian military once it was reformed.

Admiral Callf took this new information onboard as he drained his glass of port and considered his next actions. His copy of the dispatch told him that a fast formation would be breaking off of the convoy to bring a Regiment of Marines to him quickly. He was ordered to prepare his light battalion for an insertion to the main airbase to begin rounding up the equipment and keep it under tight guard to prevent any particularly vehement Republicans getting their hands on it.


Sometime later
557th Parachute Infantry Regiment Command Post,
Latimere Territorial Capitol, Latimere Islands

Colonel Benson had been in discussion with a senior Gordonopian officer for sometime before he emerged from his makeshift office and ordered his subordinate to get his fourth Battalion commander to the CP. A while later he arrived, having been busy sorting out his command that had newly arrived on the island. Benson gave the normal introductions and got straight into the briefing.

“Jense, your battalion is the best organised one i’ve got at the moment and you’re going to take it right against the best troops the Republicans have left. You need to be aggressive and work closely with our Gordonopian friends who will be going in hard and strong on their base at Wolf Mountain. They will be sorting out transport and you will have the Regiments UAV’s and mortar sections accompanying you as well as direct CAS links. Once we get the rest of our airlift capacity the rest of the Regiment will join you but until then our friends will be moving you to the target. Any questions?”

“Too many Sir. I’ll get the answers from these boys on the trip. How long do I have to get my men ready?”

“Half an hour Jense. Birds will be on the tarmac then. Dismissed”



IHAS Eidos, Conway Class Roll-on/Roll-off transport ship

Lord Stone watched from the quayside of the small port as the first of the armoured vehicles from his 1st (Horus) Battalion gingerly rolled down the ramp and onto solid ground for the first time in weeks. Already squads of infantrymen were forming up on the quay waiting for their vehicles to alight so that they could mount them and get ready for the short journey to the front.

All around was the evidence of war, high concentrations of SAM’s and military personnel littered the quays and surrounding streets and boxes of stores and equipment were everywhere. Above the contrails of fighters could clearly be seen whilst out at sea a destroyer patrolled the entrance to the port.

Stone had more armoured vehicles than he had men at the moment, most of his infantry were still being flown into nearby airbases and wouldn’t link up with their IFV’s until the next day as the Regiment began to move towards its staging area. Already the planning staff were at work with their Gordonopian counterparts, examining the best place to smash the fragile republican line and begin the drive that would decisively end the war.

In the air high above IH AWAC’s and TWM-1 aircraft were watching for aircraft and land movements respectively. Similarly UAV’s were hunting out supply depots, refuelling points and other logistical choke points that could be effectively targeted by a massive wave of airstrikes once the attack began. Fresh IH fighters and fighter-bombers were coming into the country every day, threading a careful course to keep them away from known republican concentrations and setting up their operating bases at Monarchist held airfields and any particularly favourable stretches of highway. Meanwhile on land the slow process of landing much of the equipment of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Division had been nearly completed. Lord Stone’s Regiment was the last of three to be unloaded from several of the small ports in the area.

It had been decided that they wouldn’t wait for the Corps to be assembled let alone 3rd Army before the offensive began. As they landed the IH troops would move into reserve and then into the line as and where they were needed.

Lord Stone was supervising the unload, glad to have his boots dry land again and even more glad that the nausea had stopped. He had seen all of the armoured vehicles off of this transport and now just a few soft top trucks carrying supplies remained. He was about to turn away when he heard an engine being gunned and looked back at the ramp as a 5tonne truck appeared at speed. Almost in slow motion he realised what was going to happen as the front left slipped from the ramp as the driver slid the vehicle on the metal surface. The truck hung in the air for a moment before it struck the quay wall square on and jumped a little in the air. The rear left tires followed the front and the truck lurched before the floor ground out on the ramp as the truck seesawed a little, its whole left side hanging over the side of the ramp. There was nothing stopping it from plunging into the sea below but somehow it stayed there for a moment as the careless driver jumped out and stood aghast at the vehicle that was now blocking the way off the ship for the rest of the supply platoon.

Exasperated Stone ran his hand through his hair and stood looking at the scene for a second. Shaking his head he started marching towards the ramp, already yelling for the combat engineers. This would put them at least two hours behind schedule.

[United Gordonopia]

Outskirts of Kyjiv, Key Penninsula
December 21

Shells fell around, tearing the ground apart, as Private Erich Ritzner dashed into a nearby cellar. Several bullets whizzed past him as he hurried through the door. Safe underground, he adjusted his newly issued 'Stahlcoth' helmet, before finding his Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant Gable, sir." He saluted, awaiting his platoon's commander to give him an 'at ease'.

"Private." The wiry, intelligent looking officer addressed him. "At ease. Give me their reply."

"Sir, I reached battalion HQ, and they gave the order to press the attack."

"Thank God. Dismissed Private."

The Private saluted once more, before breaking off into the small crowd of men. Hastily, Lieutenant Gable ordered attention.

"Second Platoon, form up."

In the cramped cellar, there was just enough room, but the thirty men assembled made it work. The order to fight on would have come earlier, had it not been for the Republican's tricks. For the first time in the war, an Electro-Magnetic Pulse had been used, and it had served to royally trash the Monarchist, and Republican, communications and computer systems. Thankfully, it had not been a nuclear generated EMP. Only God knew what kind of hell would have been brought down then.

"Men, we've received orders from battalion. First Squad, you're with me. We'll move fast, and take the hostile structure on the other side of the street. The rest of you, be on the lookout. As soon as we've captured it, you'll need to move out and join us. From there, we'll make the decision on where to move to next. Division wants this town clear by Christmas. I'm sure you'd all enjoy the break that'd entail."

Low murmurs of agreement met the Lieutenant's last statement, and once they had settled, the Lieutenant gathered his First Squad, and headed to the entrance of the cellar. The door was carefully opened, and the men rushed out. After tossing several grenades, and shooting off suppressing fire, ten men maneuvered into the building just across the shell-scarred road. Inside, the darkness quickly engulfed them as they searched for the staircase. Low voices coming down at them signaled the enemy approaching, and the squad quickly ducked into cover.

Moments later, the shadow of a pair of Republican soldiers could be seen, and they were quickly dropped by the intense fire coming from the squad. As soon as the two were taken care of, the squad headed over to the staircase just behind them, and slowly ascended to the top floor. Hand signals told the point man to move into the adjacent hall, and luckily, no gunfire greeted him. The team hurried to the door at the end, and after a barely visible countdown on Lieutenant Gable's fingers, tore it open and tossed in two grenades. After hearing the high crack of the grenades exploding, the men kicked the door in and quickly opened fire, taking out the surviving hostiles. The building was clear.

Lieutenant Gable rushed over to the window and signaled to the men still in the cellar to cross over. Kyjiv would be a long hard battle, but a small part of it had just been won. Soon, the Republicans would be forced out of the city, followed by the peninsula as a whole. After that, all that remained was the country itself.

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

C-217m Transport Aircraft, Over Plains Province

Inside of the massive transport aircraft, 10,000 meters above land, a briefing was taking place for an operation only hours away. The aircraft and several others carried over 4,000 elite soldiers chosen from the Monarchist and Independent Hitmen forces. Soon, they would be landing, and the march to their destination would begin. These men would do what no force had managed to attempt. They would take Wolf Mountain.

In the aircraft's meeting room, the commanders of the various units had assembled under the direction of Ernst Meyer, the Chief of Security for Raleigh himself.

"Gentlemen, at 2200 hours, we will be landing at Fort Ascension, 60 kilometers away from Wolf Mountain's outer defenses. On the ground, we will meet up with the 8th Mountain Infantry regiment. Two companies from the eighth, along with two companies of our forces, will set of in vehicles to a designated point six kilometers from their defenses. That point is just outside the limit of the mountain's defense systems, and without satellite information, that is all they've got. From what we know about the base, and believe me, that is more than many of you think, we will be able to slip past their seismic sensors if we dismount from our transports at that point and spread out on foot.

Each platoon will become independent, but will meet up with its respective company at one of our four first objective points. Surrounding the mountain are four heavy SAM batteries. The mountain's terrain prohibits aerial insertions on the mountain itself, and these batteries prevent them in the area surrounding its base. These batteries are well defended, with a full platoon of SPARTANs guarding each one at any given time. Although we will have the numerical advantage, I'm sure all of you here know not to underestimate a SPARTAN. It is essential that we hold the element of surprise at this phase, so that we may eliminate the batteries quickly, and with minimal casualties.

As soon as the batteries are eliminated, the go signal will be given to the remainder of the forces at Fort Ascension. At this point, you will already be in transport aircraft, from which you will conduct a HALO drop. The mountain itself will obviously be alerted to our presence at this point, so we will not be able to attack until our reinforcements have arrived. From the base defenses, it is a two kilometer run to the base. One batallion will split off on arrival to take out the airstrip, while the remainder of the force will assault the base itself. Based on numbers we have of how many SPARTANs are in the field, there will only be around 350 at the base, however all of the 1600 support personnel are highly trained as well. This will be a hard fight, however at this point we will have air support in the form of attack helicopters, gunship ground attack aircraft, and other forms of air support, as well as light artillery. It will be a hard fight, but if we can be successful, we will all but wipe out the SPARTANs. The only remaining units will be those we are fighting in the South, and a single platoon in the Thacu Islands which we will deal with at a later date.

As for the two companies from our forces in the initial assault, I'd like to bring the Second Athenian Mountain as well as one of the Hitmano companies. Make sure you've got your winter gear set. This is the heart of the Northern Mountains in the middle of December. Most recent forecast from Ascension puts the temperature there at -30 Celsius, and it'll be at least 5 degrees colder on Wolf Mountain itself. Just don't die of frostbite. Dismissed."

Normally, it would be odd for a leader to send his chief of security for an operation such as this. However, in the case of Ernst Meyer, it was not so strange. Not a single SPARTAN had joined the Monarchist cause, and Meyer was one of only a half-dozen former SPARTANs to do so, as well as the youngest. Meyer had been honorably discharged a mere two years ago. That short time ensured that he not only knew many of the men in the unit very well, including most of its commanders, but he was familiar with its current doctrine, tactics, and technology. Add on to that the simple fact that he was one of only a handful of Monarchists who had ever even been to Wolf Mountain, let alone lived there for eight years, meant that he knew the terrain better than virtually anyone. However, his selection for the assignment was not all knowledge based. The assignment held a deeply personal reason. Ernst Meyer needed revenge.

[Independent Hitmen]

C-217m Transport Aircraft

Major Jense had had most of his questions answered by the briefing that had been given on the plane and the few questions he had managed to ask beforehand. His battalion, 4th/557th was strung out in the airspace behind him. They had brought their light vehicles with them, mostly modified HMMWV’s with a smattering of smaller quad bikes for the long range recon squad and the men were crammed around them in the holds of the big cargo aircraft.

Jense had been expecting cold but not that cold. Survival would be paramount and fighting would be particularly difficult, especially if the wind chill picked up as he expected it to. As the briefing continued he had his Sergeant typing away on the laptop to access the latest thermal imaging satellite pictures of the area to try and discern the strength of the opposition. There hadn’t been time to synch all the communications gear to each other so the Hitmen and Monarchist forces were operating almost independently, with only a few shared frequencies on which to communicate at battalion level. The plan turned that weakness into a strength by using company sized units at first to neutralise the outer ring of defences.

Jense’s 1200man battalion had been augmented with the Regimental mortar sections and a pair of extra unarmed surveillance UAV’s that would be used to provide real time battlefield intelligence to the company commanders on the ground. There had only been enough room on the transports for the combat troops, very few logisticians had accompanied the force anyway so they would be using their standard three day deployment kit and then scrounging anything they could off of the Gordonopians. The snow and freezing temperatures would be an added pain; the men of 4th Battalion were equipped with cold weather gear and had the appropriate snow white smocks and trousers to cover their standard uniforms but they had very little personal gear that could withstand the predicted temperatures. A few of the officers had combed the camp back on the islands in search of gloves, thermal underwear, socks and other essentials and had a good haul particularly from rear echelon types who were used to their creature comforts on deployment.

Jense himself was wearing his full gear, including body armour, combat vest and sky blue beret, as he stood for the briefing. His pistol holster on his right thigh was proving troublesome and he had to adjust it again to try and make it comfortable over the balky snow trousers he wore. As the briefer began to sum up Jense moved a bit further forward and approached him when he was done, not knowing how to address Meyer he went with the standard Sir.

“Sir, Major Jense commanding 4th Battalion, 557th Parachute Infantry. Pleasure to meet you. Sir I was wondering what information we have on the enemy’s equipment, weapons and entrenchments. Are we likely to be facing armoured vehicles or will this be a predominantly light infantry skirmish? Do they have advanced body armour that we need to know about? I don’t want my men running into surprises, especially not in this inhospitable terrain.”

Further back in the same aircraft one of the IH platoons was getting to know its Gordonopian counterparts. For the most part the men were mixing and talking the talk of normal soldiers apart from one who sat apart from them meticulously cleaning his custom built sg550 sniper rifle on his fold down seat. The rifle was in pieces as he finished cleaning the two different optics he carried for it; one a 50x magnification sniper scope and the other a small AGOC that he carried for closer range engagements. When he was finished he ignored the conversation and focussed on the rhythmic humming of the engines and carefully put the rifle back together. The scope went on its mount and he flicked the two rubber covers down over the ends before fitting the silencer over the protruding barrel, sliding it down and locking it in place at the hand grip. He cocked the rifle and clicked the trigger and then quickly checked that the laser/illuminator unit at the front worked, shining a beam of light and then red dot laser. Satisfied that his rifle was in full working order he set about doing the same to his sidearm. Sniper Sergeant Hens wasn’t a complete loner but he found solace with his rifle and often volunteered for the lone sniper roles spearheading the force spending days or weeks at a time by himself and returning just the same. He had even been trapped behind enemy lines in the Great Western War but had survived and made his way in the ravaged countryside before rejoining his forces just after the ceasefire. He had been shortlisted for a Pathfinder team for that endeavour and would have been at the training and selection course even now if he hadn’t volunteered to stay with his unit for one last war.

A subtle change in the aircrafts angle indicated that they were beginning their descent and many of the soldiers drifted back to their allocated seating area, those that didn’t have their full kit on started to dress and prepare themselves for battle. Here and there men could be seen clipping rounds into magazines or taping the pins into grenades for that extra bit of security whilst one was sharpening his combat knife on small stone he kept in his pocket, the well oiled blade slid back into its scabbard as he repacked the thick durable sleeping bag he had been sitting on to alleviate some of the cold through the transport aircrafts floor.


The Battle Guards Regiment,
12 miles from the city centre of New Bellum, Southern Gordonopia

Lord Stone watched the battle begin on a computer monitor at the Regimental CP. He felt the rumble of artillery through his boots as the batteries of Roundhead 203mm self propelled howitzers began their assault. They were firing three quick rounds and would then move to alternate fire locations to avoid counter battery fire, another battery was set up and waiting to counter any counter battery fire with its decimetre band radar sets tracking the location that the shells were fired from even whilst they were in the air.

First targeted were all identified enemy command posts and outposts to decapitate their leadership and remove their eyes. Time-on-target barrages would give them little time to hide from the high explosive and shrapnel shells that would tear their targets apart. The single battery of Grendal Multiple Launch Rockets Systems volleyed off their charges which were aimed at the defenders of New Bellum. Lord Stone watched the rounds begin to fall, obliterating the command targets his UAV’s camera’s were slaved to whilst he waited for the advance of his troops.

Nearer the village the Iron Cheetah tanks and Shadowcat IFV’s of the Horus Battalion waited with their engines running as the shells and rockets arched overhead. As the explosions began so the vehicles received the order to advance towards the low ridge the republican defenders held. Passing through the dug in Monarchist forces that had hitherto held the front the line began its advance as the enemy opened fire. A flight of ground attack aircraft swooped overhead, releasing cluster munitions and thermobaric bombs onto the defenders even as SAM’s arched up towards them plucking a warplane from the sky.


A day later

First Sergeant Davies was not happy. The Captain was not happy and had given him a bollocking for not advancing quick enough. The Captain had been given a bollocking by the Major and so on up and down the command chain until it became the problems of the First Sergeants and men of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Division and in particular Sergeant Davies of the Battle Guards Horus Battalion.

They had punched through the first ring of defences around the city in their first set piece attack but they had been slowed by ferocious resistance from the republican defenders who defended every structure almost to the last. His unit was one of the furthest into the outskirts of the city, they were trying to clear it up to the ring road to enable more forces to push around and begin an encirclement of the remaining defenders.
Finding his platoon stacked up against a wall two streets from where he had left them he sprinted across the road using the charred remains of a civilian car for cover half way. Further back down the road he could see a Shadow Cat IFV sitting back waiting for the infantry to clear its path, he couldn’t see behind it but knew that the other four would be strung out along with some armoured up HMMWV’s. The lieutenant who was supposed to be leading the platoon had been hit the previous day, foolishly standing up to look at the area he had been hit in the neck by an enemy sniper. Quick responses and hard work by the medics had saved his life but he had been evacuated by helicopter and wouldn’t be recovered for some months and so Davies had command of the platoon.

After cursing at the Sergeant in charge of this advanced squad he ordered them to advance up and start taking some ground. He used his personal comms gear to tell the first Shadow Cat to move up in support and a few seconds later the clanking of armoured tracks on tarmac announced it was moving, its turret and 25mm autocannon scanning the buildings in front. Another squad of infantry moved up with it and behind them Davies expected the rest of the column to be moving. They had flank guards out and the men were painstakingly searching most of the buildings they passed by. UAV’s were circling high above, using thermal imaging camera’s to try and pinpoint areas of resistance but with so many civilians still in the city it was difficult to pick them out and each concentration had to be examined carefully by the operators at HQ and then forwarded to the displays in the vehicles in the field and then to the boots on the ground.

One such report came through Davies earpiece from the operator in the third Shadow Cat. One block ahead, two buildings to the left of our route. He communicated this with the point squad and ordered another one up to reinforce them. The heavily armed men went down either side of the street, a foot or so away from the wall, weapons up at the ready. They wore their cold weather gear that made them look larger than life, the thick boots and thinner gloves protecting them from the cold and wind that rushed around the buildings. Davies followed them down on the left side, as ordered the squad paused before they were visible from the suspected building and Davies poked his head around the corner very briefly before turning back to his troops.

“Plenty of gun barrels round there lads. Let’s get inside this building and set up an obo point.”

One of the Corporal’s let his BA-12 Assault Rifle drop onto its sling and casually knocked on the door. After a few seconds when there was no sign of movement he stepped back, took a run up and kicked the door in. The rest of the squad followed him in whilst the other stayed outside and motioned for the Shadow Cat to move up. The driver and commander had their hatches unbuttoned and were looking around nervously as unbuttoned tankers tended to.

Upstairs Davies looked at the building across the small square. It commanded good fields of fire and he could see several armed lookouts on watch. Too strong for my boys was his first thought and he summoned the platoon radioman.

“Echo Four One, Echo Four Four come in.”

“Go ahead Echo Four Four.”

“Fire mission, danger close.” He unfurled his map and with gloved hands began to get the coordinates. “Target House, Two two one one North, Two four eight West.”

There was a slight pause as the Company Commander looked at his map and evaluated the situation.

“Roger, CAS on frequency three. Call sign Bear Two”

Davies acknowledged the call and then flicked frequencies to call in his airstrike. One of the men got his laser targeting system out and set it up on a high table pointing out of a shattered window before ducking back out of sight. It was possible that the Republicans might have seen them but it wouldn’t matter.

High above and several miles away a Hitmano fighter bomber dropped a single thousand pound laser guided bomb that opened its fins and became a small kamikaze plane, constantly altering its trajectory against the wind as it descended towards a small dot that was placed in the middle of the roof of the suspected enemy building. In their observation post the Hitmano troops ducked down and awaited the inevitable destruction.

Their method wasn’t exactly the quickest for advancing but it was certainly effective, destroying building after building and then overrunning the defenders. He knew that soon they would have to start taking buildings by assault as other advancing units were, but he was determined to get as many of his troops home as possible, sod the expense of firepower and collateral damage.




Floor 129, Argonaut Tower,
J Corp Global Headquarters Building 2
Business District of the City of Gillen, South Western Independent Hitmen

The billionaire club was meeting again. Hollingsworth, Chandler, Littlewood and Rush were all seated in their usual chairs high above the city of Gillen. As it was a Saturday they all wore casual clothing, some more casual than others, whilst several staffers brought in a tray of refreshments and then left them to it. Once the last of them had left Chandler’s bodyguards also withdrew to leave the four men alone once again.

They chatted amicably for some time before a loud knock at the door and one of Chandler’s bodyguards entered with another man before stepping back outside the thick wood panelled door. The new arrival wore a suit with no tie and smart shoes. His thick black hair was well kept and he had a couple of day’s growth of stubble that tried to hide a small scar on his left cheek. The new man took the seated offered to him by Hollingsworth and waited for his cue to talk; it wasn’t long before he got it.

“...and Mr Hendrix here has a report for us. Mr Hendrix please continue”

As a professional go-between Hendrix was often used to find solutions to problems that the Corporation wasn’t necessarily involved in, at least in the public’s eyes. Very often that included the shareholders as well. Hendrix had been used directly by Hollingsworth’s office several times before and now he had been tasked with monitoring developments in Gordonopia and ensuring that the J Corp was the first on the ground once the war was over and placed highly in reconstruction contracts. During the conflict he also had an advisory role with J Corp security contractors who would be covertly deployed near the warzone, sometimes to seize competitors technology or key infrastructure sites that J Corp wished to acquire in the defeated power, other times in more direct roles as ‘change facilitators’ or assassins as they were often known.

Had the J Corp board been able to research fully into Mr Hendrix’s past they would know that he was actually a high placed asset of the IHIA, Independent Hitmen Intelligence Agency. His role was twofold; he gathered information on the company’s plans and methods whilst also extending a modicum of government control and oversight to those activities. In addition he could undertake acts that the IHIA theoretically couldn’t through the private J Corp assets available to him. It was a tricky game to play, but he had played it well for ten years and was going strongly. As a bonus he was allowed to keep all the money they paid him in consultancy fees, a sum amounting to over twenty million standard dollars so far and always rising. He adjusted his shirt collar before extracting a small notebook from his jacket pocket and began to recite to the four men, occasionally looking at his pad for a figure when he needed it.

“.....the revenues from our arms sales to the fighters in the forests of Kilrany are continuing to increase. A new order for a shipment of antipersonnel mines has been met and the payment received in raw diamond as requested. And last but by no means least my contact within the Monarchist regime informs me that certain mining companies will be regarded more favourably than others when it comes to time for bidding on reconstruction and continued exploitation of the fields in Gordonopia. I am reliably informed that a major military push is underway at the moment and there should be the possibility of getting some surveyors into the northern mountains sometime next week, all things considered.”

Littlewood’s ears pricked at this last statement. Of all the covert mining operations the company ran he was least comfortable with one right under the noses of literally a thousand reporters all there covering the biggest Hitmano military deployment for some time. All it took was some local guides to spill a few details and the investigative reporters would be digging deeper into just who was running around sizing up mineral deposits while the shells continued to land nearby. Depending upon how it was spun the shareholders would be upset at causing such waves or ecstatic at the company being the first to make inroads into potential new markets. As Chief Operations Officer it would be his responsibility to exploit it either way. He had contacts in the Monarchistic cause, thoughtfully provided by Hendrix some time before. Word of friction had reached the company through its commercial agents who had often bought minerals from Gordonopia before the conflict had boiled over and prevented a large portion of the trade from the country. Mines were one part of his plans for Gordonopia, for every shell, bomb and bullet launched into the country there would need to be reconstruction; new infrastructure, houses, civil buildings and such. The beauty was most of the weaponry the IH forces were using had at least in part come from or through J Corp factories, whether it be shell casings, propellants or even just transporting it was all counting towards the company profits. Now they would hopefully be leading to yet more profit.

“What of the war itself? There has been precious little from out sources, there must be a large scale attack underway for them to go so quiet.”

“Indeed there is Mr Littlewood. I cannot get the exact details but I understand Hitmano forces are beginning to engage the Republicans and aim to push them back quite significantly whilst our troops are still fresh. Veteran units from the western war are expected to lead the assault in tandem with Gordonopian Monarchists. I also hear of a special operation designed to strike the heart from the Republican cause, the target is not clear but I believe it may be targeted at their political leadership and aim to bring the war to a quick close. I fear they will not be successful, my agents have tried to locate the Prime Minister but to no avail.”

“I trust that your sources were covert. It would not do us good for Raleigh and his lot to find us hedging our bets in case it all goes wrong.” this came from Chandler, the richest and most powerful of the four.

“The agents do not know who their employer is. As usual I have built in security to ensure that the company cannot be implicated.”

That brought satisfied grunts from the board members apart from Chandler who maintained his impassionate stance and merely dismissed his employee.

“Good. Make sure it stays that way. I want to have the reports on minerals and deposits as soon as they are made. You may leave Mr Hendrix.”

[United Gordonopia]

Prime Minister's Mansion, Gordonopia City

He had been reduced to this. The Prime Minister of what had once been one of the strongest capitalist nations on Earth was now forced to lead the remnants of his supporters from a bunker. The dark structure had not been used in decades, however, thankfully, it was still usable. It's age, however, showed in many ways. The dark concrete walls provided a sharp contrast to the grand mansion above, and many of the systems essential for both life and leadership were terribly obsolete. A noisy, fossil fuel generator powered the complex, and water recycling was sorely inefficient. Because the systems that had been in place for communications when the bunker had been built were long ago scrapped, a patchwork communications setup had been put in place, though it was lacking many essentials. Thankfully, however, Jonathon Brown's office in the labyrinthine fortress provided some quiet.

It had only been a few weeks since even the capitol devolved into war. New Kjeldor had kicked it off, however conditions had since worsened. Northern Command was in full retreat; sometimes organized, other times, not. Hopefully, it would be able to make a stand at the hastily erected 'Hoffstein Line' twenty kilometers from their current position, but even then, there was still the South. With the Key Penninsula soon to fall, there was no telling what was next. Worse still, Hitmano support in the region virtually guaranteed the success of whatever drive the Monarchists were planning.

The tired man's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. A quick 'enter', and he was face to face with William Orens. Sadly, he asked the High Marshal to sit down, knowing that the news he was about to give only served to reflect the pitiful state of the Republic.

"Sorry to bother you Johnathon."

"It's no trouble, Will. I was merely reflecting on this... this situation we're in."

"Yes, I understand John. Anyway, I was going to say that preparations for the transfer of High Command are complete. We'll be leaving tomorrow. This is your last chance, though I know you'll stay."

"Will, you know I can't leave. Even if the Thacu Islands are still Gordonopian territory, it's not the same. This is our homeland, I am the elected leader. I can't simply pack up and leave at the eleventh hour. I have to see this through to the end, no matter what happens to me afterward."

The High Marshal's face expression saddened. The two had been friends since Imperial University, and now, it was likely they would never meet again. Finally, Orens Dismissed himself.

"I understand." He said solemnly. "Sir." He gave a stiff, respectful salute, before turning and leaving the room.

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

C-217m Transport Aircraft, Over Northern Province

"That's definitely important, Major. As for weapons and equipment, the SPARTANs are armed with basically the best possible. The R2 serves as their primary weapon, with its various models accounting for their assault rifles, carbines, sniper rifles and machine guns. The gun is a hell of a weapon, trust me. I retired from the SPARTANs maybe six months after they came into use. As for equipment, their standard loadout is typically five days worth of ration, Dauntless Body Armor, a BALCOTH helmet, somewhere in the neighborhood of 500-600 rounds, etc. As for communications, we won't be able to hack them, unfortunately. The SPARTANs use a proprietary com system known as the HTC-3, that's virtually impossible to hack without getting hold of one, and even then, they can still change the code sets.

Thankfully, they aren't as well armed in terms of vehicles. As the SPARTANs are an infantry unit, the only vehicles they have are light multiroles like the LY83, and some transport aircraft. They'll have some mortars, and a few pieces of artillery at their base, but other than that, it'll be an infantry fight.

Entrenchments are a little more complex. The AA batteries will likely have a few of their guards directly in bunkers surrounding them, however they will also have guards posted in the trees. These bunkers would be susceptible to air-strikes, were it not for the guns. The airstrip is fairly lightly guarded, with only a few bunkers, however their primary base is far tougher. The base itself isn't designed to resist a nuclear strike, but it is built in the mountain's caves, so conventional airstrikes will have little effect. Blast doors exist throughout the facility, however, they are fairly old, and shouldn't be to difficult to hack. Once inside, it will pretty much be a fight throughout the base's vast network of hallways, so your men will have to watch for ambushed from side rooms.

That about sums it up. I look forward to working with you Major."

A short time after finishing the conversation, the aircraft began its slow descent. Soon, the massive aircraft came into contact with the runway, and skidded along before finally coming to a stop on the tarmac. Before opening the doors, several Gordonopian officers made their rounds, checking on their subordinates, and then informing the Hitmano commanders that if any supplies, especially winter gear, was needed, it could be picked up in building 12 to the right of the aircraft. Finally, the door was opened, and immediately, it felt as if hell had frozen over to the men inside. As the men exited the aircraft out the large door in the back, two Captains on each side told them that any men assigned to participate in the first strike in the AA batteries needed to head directly to building 14 after getting any necessary gear. After a short equipment check, they would be leaving in 45 minutes.

[Independent Hitmen]

New Bellum

First Sergeant Davies ducked down just as the rocket hit the structure behind him, showering the men of his squad in small chunks of debris as a wave of dust rolled over them obscuring their view of the enemy. One of the men cursed as he yanked a small piece of razor-sharp masonry out of his shin, slapping a small bandage onto it as he did so to stem the blood flow. Another of his squad mates helped him back into a firing position as they waited for the smoke and dust to clear enough for them to resume shooting.

A crackle of fire from in front announced that the enemy thought it had and the bark of the squads machine gun announced that the gunner had a target. Davies squeezed a couple of rounds down range and then ducked back behind his bit of cover and flicked up his tactical display attached to his wrist. The manoeuvre squad was working its way to flank the dug in defenders whilst his squad provided a base of fire to keep them pinned down, by the increased volume of fire he thought that the defenders had been reinforced and had ordered move men to join the flanking group whilst a team of snipers set up on the third floor of a building behind them. One of Davies men had a thermal scope and he peered down this as he fired a burst, the rounds striking the walls around the target but doing no perceptible damage to the thick stone and concrete. Reconnaissance drones showed enemy engineers had constructed even more formidable defences in front of them to try and prevent the troops moving into the city centre, already Davies had lost a dozen men dead and the cost was beginning to rise.

They had secured part of the ring road the night before and small armoured columns were now ranging around the city to cut the defenders off from the rest of the Republican lines. The fighting was fierce and where Republican armoured forces were encountered the heavy Lyran built tanks extracted a deadly toll on their less advanced CSJ supplied adversaries manned by their Hitmano crews.

Davies could see the smouldering wreck of an Iron Cheetah halfway between his squad and the strongpoint in front of them. The tank had been ambushed as it got too far in front of its escorting infantry and immobilised by anti-tank weapons before it had started to brew up, two of the crew had made it back to Davies squad and he had sent them to the rear, taking most of their ammunition for his squads small arms. The First Sergeant loosened his helmet chin strap and heaved himself back up into a firing position, unleashing a five round burst as a helmet appeared at one of the barricaded windows. The helmet disappeared but Davies had no idea if he had hit it or not.

Above the din of the battle Davies could hear the sound of heavy turbine engines and inwardly sighed as another Iron Cheetah and squad after squad of infantry rounded the corner where he and his squad had come from. Bringing the new arrivals up on his radio net the First Sergeant gave them instructions and watched as they peeled off to begin attacking the left flank of the strongpoint. The Iron Cheetah stopped for a moment as its main gun fired a heavy 125mm round over the top of its wrecked cousin and into the top storey of the enemy strongpoint. The explosion made half of the roof collapse but the structures defenders stubbornly continued to fire back, an anti-tank rocket narrowly missing the tank as it manoeuvred out of sight to support the infantry. Davies yelled at his squad through their personal comms gear as he heard an officer further back request a heavy artillery strike. When the 155 shells screamed overhead the troopers pressed themselves into their cover as the heavy rounds impacted the ground and buildings in front of them causing another wave of dust to flow over them.

When the dust cleared Davies peered over the top of his makeshift revetment where he could see the shell of the ruined strongpoint. Rounds kicked up dirt just in front of him so he ducked down and signalled at the machine gunner to open up again as a body thumped down beside him, several others followed the armoured figure into the shell hole and Davies was surprised to see the Horus Battalion Commander, Major Humphrey Paine smile up at him from the bottom of the hole.

“Davies, good to see you again old boy!”

The Major crawled up next to the First Sergeant and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Whats the situation here?”

“Sir we are encountering a heavily dug in enemy, they have anti-tank support and we are receiving periodic mortar fire. I have two squads on the right who have flanked the building and are preparing an assault as we speak. A further platoon has moved off on our left but is encountering sporadic resistance on their advance parallel to our position.”

As if to add to the Sergeants briefing there was an eruption of machine gun fire from their left, punctuated by the heavy rounds of a big tank machine gun ripping through the adjoining wall and roof of one of the houses further along the street. The large calibre rounds would travel through the house and explode against the opposite side of the street unless they hit an unfortunate individual on the way through. The tanks machine guns had been designed to pepper armoured vehicles or unbuttoned enemy tanks with 12.7mm rounds and would rip limbs off of any human target they hit.

Major Paine watched the rounds explode and gave a short sharp laugh that startled those nearest to him and caused them to view him warily. The Major was wearing a normal set of armour complete with arm, thigh and shin plates but had shunned the standard issue protective helmet for the blue beret of the Battle Guards and a comms earpiece on his left ear that connected to the radio pocket on the left breast of his armour. Peering over the top of cover he could see the men of the flanking squad in position to storm the remains of the building so he turned to his small entourage of guards and smiled, his blue eyes flaring as he did so.

“Time to go boys! Follow me Davies!”

The Major leapt up from cover and scrambled over the rubble followed by his entourage and then by Davies squad. The flanking troops saw the Major begin his crazed dash and in a state of disbelief they too charged into the structure they had worked so hard to outflank.

Rounds kicked up little spurts of dirt and concrete where they hit around Paine as he ran, using the smouldering tank as cover from the worst of the remaining enemy fire. The crackle of small arms fire behind him, along with the deep scream of his charging men made him run faster towards the structure to ensure he had the honour of being the first to reach the defenders. They must’ve been shaken because none of the rounds they fired struck the Major as he drew his combat sword and allowed his rifle to rest on its sling before plunging into the depths of the ruined building.



Battle Guards CP
Outskirts of New Bellum

Lord Stone sat on the back of one of the headquarters vehicles looking towards the city. Columns of thick black smoke drifted lazily up into the sky, turning the cold blue into an apocalyptic scene. The weather was chilly, -5 degrees according to the instruments in some of the vehicles and Stone had to rub his hands together to keep them warm. The crunch of boots on snow announced the arrival of someone else to break his quiet contemplation so he turned to greet the newcomer.
Sergeant Major Jenns stood to attention as he waited to be addressed by his commander. The quiet was shattered as the battery of artillery half a mile away opened fire, the sound passing over and through the camouflage netting that was stretched over the vehicles to break up their outlines and hide the Regimental CP from prying enemy eyes. The battery fired a brief salvo before returning the suburbs to their unnatural quiet. No electrical light was on, the local power station had been knocked out by fighter-bombers some days before, leaving an eerie gloom over the city as night began to fall. Finally Lord Stone spoke to his subordinate and then waited for the report.

“Sir, the Horus Battalion has advanced several hundred yards past the main ring road. Two companies have penetrated a built-up residential area and are encountering civilians, the third is being held on the edge of a light industrial complex. Regulus Battalion reports that it has lost three Cheetah’s to enemy fire this afternoon, infantry strength is at 82 percent but they hold objective delta and have pushed a company two klicks around the ring road to link up with the 263rd Regiment on our right. The Sigmar battalion has been halted by a counter attack from the Republican 14th Regiment but they have it contained and will exploit a weakened left flank to push forward with the 261st.”

“Todays casualties?”

“Horus reports fifteen dead, thirty five wounded. Regulus has four dead and eighteen wounded, Sigmar has felt the brunt of the attack......thirty one dead and sixty wounded.”

“They are bleeding us dry in this bloody town. Get my helicopter ready, I’m going to division.”

“Sir”

Stone was infuriated with the strategy to try and take every last piece of the country. His troops were not urban warfare specialists; they excelled in meeting the enemy in the open field and smashing them at range before advancing to finish off the survivors. The Divisional CP just wanted to keep the lines straight on their maps he was sure. The Battle Guards were fearsome fighters but even they had limits, using them on narrow streets and built up environments negated their tactical advantages. He jumped down from the roof of the vehicle and began walking towards the makeshift helicopter landing pad as Sergeant Major Jenns jogged off to call in one of the circling helicopters. There was a pause before the helicopter came in as a flight of fighter-bombers screamed over at low level, Stone could see them heavily laden with rockets and bombs for another CAS mission in support of the forces heavily engaged in the town. Time to get a fucking move on, there’s a war to win!



Building 14, Fort Ascension

Major Jense stood near the door of the well heated building with one of his company commanders. Every time the heavy door was opened a rush of freezing air came through the corridor and chilled the men to the bone despite the thick winter weather gear they were wearing beneath their armour and vests. Jense wouldn’t be accompanying the initial wave of men, he and his headquarters troop were coming in with the later drop as they had been through the HALO jump training most recently. Seeing the Gordonopian troopers beginning to file in Jense extended his hand to his subordinate and gave him a nod before pulling his balaclava down over his face and heading out of the door onto the freezing base to make his way to the follow up troops who were busy checking their gear in another heated building.

The company commander, Captain Jacob Coleshill, watched his commander leave and felt the icy blast on the back of his neck as he walked away to where his troopers were loading their equipment onto the vehicles they would be using for the journey. Each had a Gordonopian driver who was familiar with the type and the Hitmano troopers were storing their gear and weapons wherever they could before maneuvering themselves, complete with winter gear, armour and tactical vests along with white camouflage jackets into their places eager to begin the mission.

Captain Coleshill watched them for a while before he was joined by his command section; a radioman, two guards and two runners. They exchanged pleasantries before setting off in search of their vehicles. Coleshill fiddled with the cold weather gear he had borrowed from the Gordonopians and clipped his lightweight helmet onto his belt so that he could get his balaclava on properly. When suited up the Hitmano troopers looked like ghosts in white disruptive pattern uniforms, where possible their gear had been coloured or else wrapped in camouflage netting so that nothing would give them away. Here and there troopers adjusted their night vision/thermal goggles and generally made themselves comfortable in the last warmth they would experience for quite some time.

[United Gordonopia]

2 km East of Kyjiv, Key Peninsula, Cairn Province
December 22

"Damn it all to hell Vonn." The intense fighting Captain Goodman had come through with his SPARTAN counterpart, Captain Vonn Ohoku, had finally resulted in the use of first names. "Three days 'till Christmas and we're preparing to pull out of the whole damn penninsula. How long will this go on? Is High Command ever going to come back to reality and realize we've lost? I have no problem with tearing the Monarchist bastards and all their friends to pieces, but what about the rest of the line? How many millions are going to have to die until this ends?"

"The common saying for all losing forces. 'How much longer?' You are as much of a soldier as I. You know the answer. It's never over until there's no one left with the will to fight. The real question is how long will that will last?"

Ohoku's words resonated in Goodman. How long would the will last? It was already obvious that the Republican loyalists had lost, and yet more fell on the fields of battle every day. Although he couldn't answer for others, he could at least speak for himself.

"Good point. In this war, it's impossible to say. We can't surrender, you and I, or we'd have a noose drawn around our neck or else find ourselves facing a wall with a blindfold on. We've done to much to fight them for them to allow us to end it peacefully."

Silently, Ohoku nodded his agreement. Since the fighting began, both men had led two of the only Republican units that hadn't been utterly decimated by losses. Not only that, but they had destroyed numerous Monarchist formations in the process. Surrender would only mean death by execution. The only choice was to keep fighting. Or was it?

Ohoku was unable to finish his thought as small arms fire opened up all around. The two companies had been resting, but that didn't mean they couldn't fight back. Mere seconds after the firefight started, the air was split by the roar of several Wolfhounds' guns, and in between, the methodical fire coming from Ohoku's SPARTANs downed more of the attackers. In only minutes, it was all over.

"They though they could surprise us. To bad for them, they might have succeeded if they'd chosen another unit."

Goodman smiled grimly, knowing that it was all to true. Even if this attack had been forced back, how many other surviving Republican units were being destroyed by similar offensives. Before he could think of a number, Ohoku reminded him that it was time to move out. He pondered the destination for some time, realizing that if High Command was transferring them there, it meant that it would soon come under attack. Why else would they be heading to Fusba?

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

Base of Wolf Mountain, Northern Province

Massive evergreens covered in and surrounded by undisturbed snow gave no indication of the violence about to occur. Only a highly skilled observer would notice the camouflaged men slowly moving through the terrain. In minutes, they would reach their destination. These two platoons of the Second ATHENIAN Mountain Company were absolutely focused on their goal. Their actions would clear the way for fall of the SPARTANs.

With radio silence in effect, hand signals were all that remained to communicate. As a gloved hand with three fingers up was raised by one of the men in front, the platoons quickly dispersed. A low thump seconds later indicated that it was time to move fast. From personal experience, Ernst Meyer knew that SPARTANs on outer recon reported back to base every five minutes. He had waited until one of these reports was complete before killing the man in the tree in front. Five minutes until his formidable foe gained knowledge of his force's presence. Quicker then before, Meyer led his men to the edge of a white field. On the open field was his target, still completely unaware of his presence. He looked around to be sure that his men were prepared, and raised a balled fist. Instantly, a storm of suppressed gunfire opened up on the SPARTANs guarding the Anti-Aircraft battery that Meyer needed to eliminate. Several fell, dead or dying, from the initial fire, however Meyer knew that this was only the beginning.

Rather than call attention to himself by usual means of ordering attacks, Meyer preferred more unorthodox methods. Reaching into his assault pack, Meyer pulled out a fragmentation grenade, which he soon tossed at one of the bunkers. A scream let him know that he had hit his mark. It also let his men know that it was time to move in. The first squad rose into a low crouching position and zig-zagged toward the enemy bunkers. Two of them fell, however the squad as a whole reached its destination, the first of three bunkers. With one of their fortifications eliminated, the SPARTANs were in a poor shape to fight back. Surprisingly, Meyer watched as half a dozen moved slowly out of their bunker and headed towards several disguised LY83's. Rather than let them escape, he drew a bead on the who seemed to be in charge, and pulled the trigger. Silently, the man fell to the snow, blood flowing from a hole between his eyes. Meyer was satisfied with the hit, more than he could have expected without a scope. In these temperatures, however, glass-based optics were unreliable, and he was forced to resort to simple iron sights.

With the SPARTANs pulling back, Meyer was free to eliminate the guns he had been sent to destroy. He searched for a moment, until he found the signal receivers in one of the bunkers. As they were controlled remotely from the mountain's headquarters, they would be useless without something to receive attack commands from, and keeping them intact would allow them to be used in the future.

His objective completed, Meyer could finally resume communication with Fort Ascension.

"Command, this is Forward Alpha. Objective completed."

"Roger that Alpha. Reinforcements are en route. You are the first to report, so sit tight until all Forward objectives have been reached. Overlord out."

It was only a matter of time until the full force arrived. Then the real fight would begin.

[Independent Hitmen]

The Foot of Wolf Mountain, Northern Province

Coleshill crouched in the snow as the loose column of his troops passed him by. They had left the vehicles a couple of miles back and were proceeding on foot, using large snow shoes to speed their passage. Progress was slow, they had barely covered two miles in an hour and it would be exhausting if they had to go much further. Luckily their objective was not too far ahead.

Private Ben Horillo was the pointman for the company. He was advancing slowly but steadily with his suppressed rifle firmly planted in his right shoulder and balaclava and hood firmly up. His goggles would frost up occasionally so he would pause and wipe the snow from them, checking the small aperture on his rifles rear sight at the same time. His R4 carbine was covered in white cloth and netting to disrupt its outline and camouflage the gun metal grey in the snow. Visibility was poor so Horillo was watching a 360 pattern, using his radio comms sparingly to give the all clear as he approached the expected motion sensors that demarked the first perimeter.

It would have been relatively simple for a couple of armed UAV’s to have snuck into the perimeter, pinpointed targets and launched a salvo of missiles against them, but the speed with which the operation had to be melted meant that there simply hadn’t been time to get them in theatre and operational. So high above a single Overlord type stealth UAV watched the whole area with its high definition thermal imaging camera. The pictures were beamed back to the command centre at Fort Ascension where they were selected and the most useful images and information was passed to Coleshill on his tactical wrist display. He could tell that Horillo was closing rapidly on the motion sensors and hoped the young private had listened intently to Meyer’s quick explanation of how to disable them.

Some time later....

Captain Coleshill stood looking at the smouldering remains of an LY83 and several charred bodies that lay about it. The jeep had taken a direct hit from a shoulder launched anti tank rocket that one of his men had fired to stop the SPARTAN’s falling back. The warmth of the fire had attracted the company medic to set up his field station nearby as the last bunker was neutralized by Coleshills men. Several of those men were sprawled in the snow where they had fallen. A squad was moving slowly through the snow to collect them and the bodies of their adversaries as Coleshill moved nearer to the one bunker that still held out. His men had made it to the rear door and two had managed to attach a satchel charge before being gunned down by the occupants with brutal efficiency. The Captain watched from a distance as another one of his men leapt up and quickly fired his rifles under slung grenade launcher at the thick steel door. The 20mm grenades explosion itself was not large but it detonated the larger satchel charge that blew a gaping hole in the thick steel. As the smoke cleared and the damage became apparent another man jumped up and launched a shoulder fired missile at the shattered door whilst two others threw smoke grenades to obscure the bunker defenders fields of fire.

Men darted forward as the smoke began to settle and the sounds of automatic gunfire echoed in the night sky once more. Before long more of his men had made it to the bunker door and they stacked up, careful to spray the murder holes with fire before tossing in explosive and concussion grenades and them plunging in themselves.

As Coleshill expected the small complex was virtually under his control albeit later than scheduled and at a higher than anticipated cost. Now they had access to the command bunker they could disable the anti aircraft guns and call in the troops above for the next stage of the assault. His subordinate officers could handle that aspect; he decided to enter one of the other bunkers to inspect the quarters that these SPARTAN’s lived in.

Outside the bunker Private Horillo stood guard as his CO entered. Though thermal imaging said that all the defenders were dead or injured the men were still in a high state of alert. The fighting had been hard and bloody from the moment Horillo had had to drop a curious guard investigating the loss of their motion sensor network. The man had taken two rounds to the head but his finger had caught the trigger on his rifle, sending a warning to the rest of the defenders before the Hitmano infantry were in position. A messy fire fight had broken out and lasted over half an hour before its brutal conclusion at the command bunker. Horillo could see two of the SPARTAN’s being treated by the medics but doubted either of them would make it. The Hitmao wounded were being moved into the third bunker to give them some shelter from the cold until they could get evac’d for treatment whilst a full platoon was performing a perimeter sweep. Two of the more technically gifted troopers were looking over another LY83 that had been captured intact; they unceremoniously hauled the dead body of a SPARTAN from the gunner’s turret and began checking out the machine gun. Horillo didn’t feel any sympathy for the dead gunner; the same man had sent a burst through one of the troopers best friends before a barrage of LMG fire had left him slumped over the weapon. It was interesting that despite being one of the last left alive the man had not even tried to flee but had manned a weapon to try and hold back the advancing Hitmano soldiers. Bravery that had cost the man his life. It was unlikely that many would even know what he had sacrificed his life for; the war was all but over and once this fortress was neutralized there would be no fall back point for the Republican leadership.


Fort Ascension Air Base

Major Jense had barely had time to strap himself into his parachute harness before the aircraft was rolling down the runway. The freezing temperatures didn’t seem to bother the big plane as it rose to join its comrades heading towards their designated drop zones. Jense checked that his RC2 carbine was strapped securely to his right side and then purposely shrugged his shoulders to try and move the harness. It stayed put so he turned his attention to the oxygen mask and tanks that would soon be strapped to his back ready for the descent.
Throughout the aircraft Gordonopian and Hitmano infantrymen did much the same as they awaited the green light for their insertion. If the transport had had enough windows they would have been able to see the looming shape of Wolf Mountain in the distance.

New Bellum

Major Paine stood outside the building he had just taken and wiped the blood from his combat sword with a piece of rag torn from the uniform of one of the dead defenders. He had holstered his sidearm to allow him to clean the ceremonial sword that was rarely carried into battle so he didn’t see the wounded Republican soldier just inside the doorway reaching for a grenade from his webbing. The first he knew of the movement behind him came when First Sergeant Davies casually fired a burst from his R2 into the man’s body, stopping him from pulling the pin from the frag. The Sergeant studied the other four bodies in the room before grunting in a satisfied manner and moving to join his CO on the street.

“Building is secure Sir. Jenkins found some bodies of soldiers dressed as civilians with weapons. Not sure if they are irregulars or trying to blend in with the populace.”

“I’m not sure it matters First Sergeant” replied Paine as he gestured to the street where the lifeless body of a young woman lay. No doubt she had been caught in the crossfire while trying to flee the city; two small patches of red around her stomach denoted the fatal wounds. The two men looked at the corpse for a moment before the officer spoke again. “Get a couple of men to bring her inside and flag the position for the follow up echelons.”

“Yessir. What are our orders?”

“Keep up the pressure until nightfall. I will tour the units again then to ascertain our progress. Keep up the good work First Sergeant.”

The officer gave him another light punch on the shoulder and then moved off to find the rest of his small group. First Sergeant Davies took another look at the body in the street and slowly shook his head before he turned away to issue his men with their orders.

[United Gordonopia]

Wolf Mountain, Northern Province
December 22

When assaulting Wolf Mountain, one needed to watch all sides. Potential ambush sites where everywhere, ranging from natural hiding places such as the deep snow, or tall trees, to man made defenses such as small dugout bunkers. This ensured that although Ernest Meyer's company needed to reach the SPARTAN's fortress as soon as possible, they needed to take their time so as not to be destroyed before even reaching their objective.

Thankfully, it was a fairly clear day. Overhead, Meyer could just make out an AGA-110 Ground Attack Gunship.

'Give 'em hell.' He thought to himself as he saw shots rain down from the massive aircraft. With any luck, the aircraft was eliminating targets. Each SPARTAN down meant a slightly lower risk of casualties for Meyer's men.

Closing in on the entrance to the base, Meyer finally encountered resistance. Fire opened up from a snow bank, and immediately he dived to the ground to prepare for counter-fire. He barely noticed as the blood from the man next to him soaked through the snow under him. With the reflexes he had hones over years of training, he quickly assessed where the fire was coming from, raised his weapon, and pulled off three shots in quick succession. As more suppressed guns fired around him, he began to switch to targets as they opened fire, so as not to give them time to move position. While doing all of this, he still managed to shift his position after each burst. He knew all to well that the SPARTANs he was engaging had had just as much training as he.

Several minutes later, it was over. A quick count revealed eight SPARTANs, all dead, and twenty-two of his own men dead or injured. Tracks leading away indicated that another four SPARTANs had pulled back. Worse than he was hoping for, but when attacking some of the most elite soldiers in the world on their own turf, one has to expect high casualties.

"Move on men." He said over his radio. "We can't afford to sit around here while the SPARTANs are preparing. The sooner we get there, the better. Just watch your surroundings. Any shots are fired, drop to the ground immediately."

The company continued on towards the base of the mountain. When they reached the entrance, they would have to wait for the rest of the assault force. In an effort to prevent SPARTANs from escaping, the force had spread out into companies for the trek to the SPARTANs actual base. When the whole force was assembled, several thousand men would be massed. For now, all that was hitting the base itself was the fire from the gunship overhead, and now the shells from light artillery that had been moved up after the infantry had landed.

A second minor encounter on the way up to the base resulted in the death of another three SPARTANs, but also the loss of a further 12 of Meyer's men. No matter how carefully they advanced, the skill of their foe ensured that the losses incurred in any encounter would be heavily weighted in the SPARTANs favor. Even with the MACEDONIANs, a highly selective special forces division, fighting for the Monarchist cause, the SPARTANs still outclassed them in skill as warriors. Still, it was better to eliminate them here than allow them to cause havoc as Meyer had heard a platoon was doing down in the South.

Although it seemed to take ages, the company finally reached the edge of the clearing that lead to the SPARTAN's base. Three companies had already arrived.

"Captain, status report on casualties." Meyer said as he found one of the company's commanders.

"One man to the cold, sir, but none from battle. We got lucky, no resistance on the way. Yours is the first unit to arrive that's actually encountered any fighting."

"Thank you Captain." Meyer replied. Bad luck for his company that they had caught so much resistance, but at least the fact that some units hadn't was good news. If the SPARTANs truly had only 350 men at Wolf Mountain, plus support personnel, he couldn't forget, it would be impossible be able to engage each and every unit that tried to reach their headquarters; they simply wouldn't have enough men. All that aside, it was now only a matter of waiting. Today, the SPARTANs would fall.

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

Bolsom Pocket, Cairn Province
December 24

Although it was obvious the Republicans preferred evacuating the Key Peninsula to spending precious manpower defending every last inch, some units refused to go without a fight. Before the war, Bolsom had been a regional hub for transportation and commerce. Located on the edge of what geographers considered the Key Peninsula, its strategic location at an important bend in the Dalan River that ran the length of the nation, as well as at the intersection of the Peninsula's major roads, it now found itself to be the most important objective for the Monarchist forces in the South. Controlling Bolsom would give the Monarchists easy access to Tolten, one of the largest cities on the continent, and the industrial center for all of South Gordonopia. The fall of Tolten, coupled with the planned capture of Fusba in the South East, would all but seal the Monarchist victory. Today, Christmas Eve, the newly promoted Captain Warren Gable would command the vanguard company for the assault.

Much of the city had been pulverized by a combination of artillery and bomber strikes. Although drones were still unusable, thanks to the significant time it was taking to repair the logistics systems that had been lost at the start of the war, a squad of four RH-77 attack helicopters, as well as a squad of intimidating LY4A2 Wolfhounds, had been assigned to support Gable's men. It was a powerful combined-arms force that would hopefully be able to penetrate the first line of defense: a fortified hill overlooking Provincial Highway 24 leading in to the city. With the hill taken, additional forces would have a clear path in to Bolsom where the real battle against the city's 25,000 defenders could begin.

Finally, after waiting for several more airstrikes to take place against the hill, the assault was ready to begin. Moving out of cover of the woods nearby, the small force would need to move fast to minimize the time the hill's defenders would have to recover. With the tanks in front, the company began their advance. Overhead, the attack helicopter made a pass over the hill, targeting firing holes and other openings. Soon, Gable's men entered the range of the mortars predicted to be located in the hill, and sure enough, several explosions tore the ground apart around his company, hitting two of his men in the process. Immediately, the tanks opened fire, and after only a few shots, the mortars were silenced.

Just as they entered the range of the Republican small arms, the RH-77's made another pass. As he raised his weapon to fire, Gable was surprised to see a laser guided rocket shoot out from the hill, and land a direct hit on one of the helicopters.

"Shit." He said to himself. "That's the third one I've seen go down this week". Before the war, laser-guided MANPADS had been ignored in favor of infrared homing missiles. However, after the loss of Deska, the location of the primary manufacturer of the weapons, several thousand AAD-97 laser guided systems had been brought out of reserve. Since then, the Republicans had turned them into one of their few success stories. Over 150 helicopters had been destroyed, with many more damaged, a significant blow. Thankfully, however, it wasn't enough to counter Monarchist victories in other areas.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the force reached the base of the hill. At least twenty men had been killed or wounded on the way, but the suppressing fire coming from the tanks and helicopters had helped to keep the casualties from rising high enough to compromise the mission. Before entering, First Squad's point man tossed a grenade 'care package', consisting of two fragmentation grenades and a flash grenade, through the entrance to the bunker. After the explosions went off, the squad rushed in, firing several shots at the defenders inside. Behind First, Gable lead Second Squad in, where they veered off to the left down a dug out passageway. Several men came out of doors at the end of the passage, but were quickly dispatched. Reaching the end, they found themselves at a fire hole, with a pair of already dead Republicans who had been manning a machine gun. One had his face nearly torn off, while the other's head was completely disfigured by burns; yet another image that would likely be permanently seared into Gable's mind.

As his company radioed in their progress, Gable realized that the hill was secure. Only a platoon had garrisoned it, and yet they had put up one hell of a fight. Eighteen of Gable's men were dead, and a further thirty were wounded. Only four of the Republicans had surrendered. Nevertheless, Gable radioed command.

"Battalion, Battalion, this is Kodiak Company."

"Roger, Kodiak, report."

"Objective achieved. Hill 17 under control. Repeat, Hill 17 under control."

"Roger that. Stay in position until relief arrives."

The real battle could now begin.

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

West Tolten, Cairn Province
December 24

He'd grown up here. The bleak factories, the widespread slums, the heavy smog in the air, all of it was an inescapable part of his childhood. When he had been accepted on a scholarship to the National Military College, he had promised to himself that he would rise above his past and never have to live here again. From the ever-present gang warfare, to the seemingly unstoppable spread of narcotics, to the massive black market, West Tolten was one of the very few places in United Gordonopia that would seem right at home in any third world cesspool. Now it seemed that Michael Goodman, now wearing the insignia of a Major, would die here.

As Monarchist and Hitmano lines extended further, it was growing more and more apparent that Tolten was their next target. With the battle raging in Bolsom to the South, there was little to prevent the traitors and foreigners from reaching one of the most strategically important cities the Republic still held. Even if the streets had devolved into riot and violence, the military garrison had managed to ensure that the factories continued to operate.

Since withdrawing from the Penninsula, Goodman, his company, as well as the SPARTAN platoon lead by Captain Vonn Ohoku, had been given a single order: Defend Tolten. The order, when taken in the context of Gordonopian history, meant simply to defend the city to the last man. Although many of the men saw it as a waste to use the most effective units on the entire Southern Front in such a way, neither officer wanted to disobey a direct order from High Command. Obviously, those leading the failing Republic wanted to force the Monarchists to pay the absolute highest price to take the city.

The order that did upset Goodman, however, was the scorched earth order. All units in the city had received direct orders to destroy any factory they had to withdraw from. Tactically, it made perfect sense to deny the enemy the use of such valuable assets. To Goodman, it would only serve to make the hell he had grown up in worse. The only real source of legal revenue the city generated, the only thing it took pride in other than West Tolten FC, was its status as a manufacturing powerhouse. From Tolten Automotive to the largest factories of Gordonopian Arms, Tolten was a titan of industry, and quite literally the Republic's last Arsenal of Democracy. If the factories were destroyed, there would be nothing. In his mind, the only things that would be worse would be outright nuking the city or burning it completely to the ground.

Goodman contemplated all of this on his way back from a meeting with the commander of the brigade he had been attached to. Although he had been granted independent movement and freedom of action, he was still dependent on the brigade for resupply, so it was a meeting he hadn't been able to avoid. Upon reaching his men's camp, Captain Ohoku came up to him to speak.

"I see I'm speaking to a major now... Sir." Ohoku said the last part with a grin.

"How are you doing Vonn?" he replied.

"Good, I suppose. I've never been to Tolten before, so I'm just taking it all in. Honestly, I've never seen someone carjack a pickup while it was moving before." Goodman wished he could say the same. "Anyway, what did General Wolfson say?"

"He just repeated the same orders we already have from HC. 'No retreat' and all that. Do they really need to repeat it so many times? What are we, militia?"

"I suppose so Michael. You'd definitely be able to tell that by looking at my men's R2's, and all those kill marks on the sides of your tanks. You know what though, there might be a different way. Who ever said that they best way to 'Defend Tolten' was to die defending it?" Intrigued by Ohoku's statement, Goodman began listening intently. Honestly, he did have a point. History aside, two words can take on far more meanings.

[Independent Hitmen]

Wolf Mountain
4th Battalion, 557th Parachute Infantry
0435hrs, December 22nd

Major Jense was on the ground with his men now and not enjoying the terrain or opposition one bit. He had several casualties and the drop had cost him several more as the appalling conditions affected his units effectiveness more than he could have imagined. His command section was behind one of the advancing companies and had just come under attack from some SPARTAN’s that had lie in wait to ambush follow up units or the rear of the company that had just pushed them back.

Jense watched one of his aides go down with a round through the shin and squeezed off a burst of suppressed gunfire in the direction he thought the shots had come from. He grabbed his radioman who was furiously reloading his rifle and ordered him to contact the lead company and get them to turn around and trap the bastards.

A fresh eruption of gunfire followed a minutes silence as the SPARTAN’s renewed their assault on the beleaguered command element. Jense squeezed off several more rounds and saw one of the heavily armed opponents drop to the ground. He rolled right and drew a bead on the man with his iron sights, firing three quick shots and seeing at least one hit his opponent before more incoming rounds made him roll back behind the snow covered rocks he and his team were hiding behind. He grimaced as the sound of rounds smacking into the rock became more and more accurate. Two of his ten strong command element were down and the others were struggling to put an accurate fire down on their assailants.

Jense rolled out again and was rewarded with a hail of accurate gunfire forcing him to squeeze a pair of shots off and keep rolling to another rock. He was separated from his command section and went to change the magazine on his rifle as an object thumped down against the other side of his newest hideout. Jense’s brain didn’t have time to process it before the grenade exploded and showered him in a mixture of snow and fragments of rock. He swore and slammed the new magazine into his rifle, peered over the top of his cover and fired off a burst before ducking back down and dropping the rifle so he could pick a frag grenade from his tactical vest pocket. He ripped the tape off and yanked the pin before hefting the grenade over his cover and towards the advancing SPARTAN’s. In one motion he dropped down and picked up his rifle in one motion before popping back up again as the grenade exploded fifty yards away. One of the SPARTAN’s was still in the open and he fired off the rest of the magazine at the highly trained operative before ducking down to change again. A fusillade of fire from the rest of his squad distracted them enough for him to roll quickly back to them.

“Fuck me Sir, we can’t keep this up for much longer” this came from the battalion XO who was putting a bandage onto the radiomans leg with one hand whilst firing his R-2 over cover with the other.

“Golf Company will be here in a moment XO, just keep up the fire. Jenkins call HQ again and see if we can get some fire support, these guys are like ghosts.”

As if by magic there was a loud explosion further up the track from where the SPARTANs had ambushed them and suddenly the gunfire directed at them stopped as they turned to face Golf Company who had turned back to help their commander. Jense risked his head to look at the situation and saw the SPARTAN’s trying to disengage to the right. They moved quickly and skilfully, covering each other as they peeled back their rough line and tried to turn their own flank. Jense got his men to communicate this to the approaching company before tearing off with three of them to try and block the enemies escape.



At the Rendevous Point...

Captain Coleshill led his men into the RV point with the Gordonopians near the SPARTAN’s base. He had been unable to raise the support elements that had dropped in but was grateful to see that Captain Roberts and India Company had already arrived. A quick scan of the assembled men and he saw no Major Jense or Captain Sheen of Golf Company as Roberts approached.

“Stephen, good to see you. Any word from the Major or Martin’s company?”

“Not a peep Dan, guess you’ve had nothing either. These conditions are playing havoc with the range of our comms, I lost contact with my pointman twice.”

“We lost our pointman twice. One of them made it here but the other is MIA. What were your losses at the AA?”

“Too high Dan, too high. Has Meyer made it yet?”

“Yeah, thats him over there with the stocky bloke. He’ll be glad to see more have made it, these buggers and putting up some serious resistance and even the fly boys don’t seem to be able to do much about it.”

“At least you’ve had air support, the thermals on our UAV packed up. Thing might as well be a pancake for all the use it is. I’ll go and report in, what’s the deployment plan?”

“We’ve put up a rough perimeter, my guys are on the south west but let your lot have a rest. We’ve been here nearly an hour now and received only sporadic mortar fire.”


“Roger that, I’ll report to Meyer and get the boys situated. See you in a minute Dan.”

The two shook hands as Coleshill moved over the Meyer to report his men’s arrival and the lack of contact with their command element.


IH Army Group Gordonopia Advanced Command
The Key Peninsular

The IH Army had a knack for acquiring the best buildings wherever they went and a war zone was no exception. The advanced command had found a generously sized mansion not far from their initial landing point and with the addition of some generators and high power transmitters it had made the perfect home for the forward command post. Combat engineers attached to the headquarters unit had taken one of the main ballrooms and with the addition of a lot of electronics, cabling and some minor interior decoration turned it into a nerve centre. All around the makeshift command centre soldiers spoke through their microphones or typed furiously on computer keyboards as the multitude of commands and responses needed to keep an Army Group functioning were undertaken. A network of computer monitors down one wall displayed the locations of units and aircraft on the peninsular whilst a separate display showed their status – combat efficiency, supplies, and manpower, there was a huge amount of data to be interpreted by the high command.

Several high ranking Generals were standing in one corner of the room their voices low as they discussed the situation. The advance had bogged down around New Bellum, an entire Hitmano Division was trying to take the transportation hub on the left flank of the allied advance to open up a logistics highway to Tolten. Once New Bellum was taken the highly mechanized Hitmano forces would strike across country in a wide encircling manoeuvre whilst the Monarchist forces advanced on the city from their existing lines. Bellum was essential as it would be a supply hub for the whole Hitmano advance, logistics were the most important part of the war effort. It wouldn’t matter how hard the troops fought if they had no bullets to fire, fuel for their vehicles or food for their bellies.

The General commanding the IH VII Corps, Lt General Spencer King, stood slightly to one side of the conversation and looked at the display showing his Corps. They were all positioned behind the front, waiting patiently to be let off the leash. The 2nd Armoured Cavalry Regiment was strung out in a loose recon screen to the east of New Bellum, once the 103rd Mechanized Division had cleared out the city the 3rd would begin its advance around the MLR and operate with UAV’s to clear the advance of the 3rd Mech and 8th (Heavy) Armoured Division’s on their encirclement of Tolten. Meanwhile the 33rd Mech and 112th Armoured would cover the right flank, with the 21st (Heavy) Mech in corps reserve to exploit an opportunity or shore up where necessary.

One of the larger maps showed the disposition of all known forces as well as several question marks for guesses of the enemies displacement. The Republican forces were fighting fiercely but losing ground on all fronts as they retreated steadily towards population centres and strategically important sites that they defended to the last man.


2nd Armoured Cavalry Regiment
East of New Bellum
0658hrs, 25th December

Another dawn broke on the armoured vehicles of the 2nd ACR that were strung out in a rough line covering three klicks of country side about two miles north of the nearest road. A pair of Mist Lynx IFV’s stood at the top of a ridge on the left flank watching that road with high powered binoculars and occasionally reporting to the screen commander. For the Steel Horse the war so far had involved driving and looking at roads, rivers and countryside but very little shooting. In fact only the screen snipers had fired rounds in anger, taking out a pair of unseasoned enemy scouts who had tried to ambush the column on its way to their current location.

Second Lieutenant Matt Sherville sat in one of those camouflaged Mist Lynx’s whilst his gunner scanned the road in the distance with his high powered gun sight. In the distance they could see the outskirts of New Bellum and the faint crackle of gunfire and the heavier boom of explosions symbolising the ongoing fight. It was a mystery to the newly commissioned second lieutenant as to why they were sitting there. The ACR units were designed exactly for these situations, to charge into the unknown carving a path through the enemy recon screen for the follow up units to hit the main enemy force at will. Instead of chewing up miles of countryside his men had been chewing through their rations for two days at the same line, he had incurred the wrath of his company commander by sending his sniper team and their two soft top vehicles a mile further forward to supplement the UAV recon the day before. All Sherville could do now was turn to the rear of the vehicle where his four scouts were deployed slightly downhill and leave the relative warmth to wander over to them. One of them turned as he approached the group and addressed him.

“You got any idea when we are getting the order to move on outta here sir?”

“Negative Private. As promised I will let you know the second I do.”

“Roger that Sir. Do we have any orders?”

“New orders came through ten minutes ago Private. You’re to shut the fuck up and concentrate on your objective.” the point was hammered home with a pointed finger stabbed into the soldiers shoulder armour.

“Roger that Sir.”

Sherville looked at the faces of the other three men. They were all bored and bored soldiers were not happy soldiers. Nor were they effective soldiers.

“Keep it up men. The 103rd can’t take all month to clear Bellum, even they aren’t that inept......”

Even as Sherville uttered the last words his radio, linked to the command net, started squawking his callsign so he turned his back to position his microphone by his mouth and listened to his headset.

“Raptor Two Six, this is Rhino actual how do you copy?”

“Solid copy Rhino actual.”

“Roger. The 103rd has secured checkpoint Whiskey Three. You are to proceed to Phase Line Delta. Jump off at 0715. Do you copy? Over”

“Raptor Two Six copies”

“Go get them Raptor Two Six. Rhino Actual out.”

Sherville turned back to his men and allowed the smile to spread on his face.

“Mount up Gentlemen, we have orders to proceed to Phase Line Delta. Sergeant Jeens call in the scouts and position the UAV. We are Oscar mike in ten.” the men started moving off towards their vehicle before their officer spoke again. “Oh and by the way...happy Christmas”

[United Gordonopia]

Wolf Mountain, Northern Province

Ernest Meyer breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he saw the Hitmano units start to arrive at the rendezvous point. Although he couldn't spot Major Jense, the presence of at least a few of his allied officers gave him the confidence to call an impromptu briefing. He called together both his own subordinates and the Hitmano officers and informed them of the updated plan for attack.

"Gentlemen, I've already dispatched a unit to secure the mountain's airfield, so those of us who are here are now tasked with taking the mountain itself. Approximately half a kilometer from here is the entrance to the SPARTAN's base. A small guardhouse defends it, however it is likely that the men typically in it have withdrawn into the mountain itself. When we reach the large doors, it shouldn't be to difficult to breach them via hacking the control line in the guardhouse. Once inside, we will need to split into two groups.

The Hitmano forces will head left down the first hallway. This will bring you to maintenance, the infirmary, the armory, and some of the living quarters. I'll lead the remainder of the men right towards the majority of the living quarters, intelligence, communications and command. We'll station one company at the entrance to ensure that no one slips through, while helicopters are being brought in to search for stragglers who didn't reach the mountain, or else stayed behind.

When we're in the base, be alert at all times; it's a network of tunnels and caverns, so an ambush could be waiting everywhere. Assume all new contacts are hostile, as virtually every man in this base is among the most fanatical defenders of the Republican cause. Even most of the maintenance workers have seen combat before. Good luck to you all, I pray that we won't need it".

With that, Meyer completed a few last minute preparations, and then gathered his force for the final push into the mountain. He took direct command of one of the squads from the Second Athenian Mountain Regiment, easily the best Gordonopian troops under his command. He checked his ammunition one final time, before giving the order to move out.

Swiftly but carefully, the strike force maneuvered through the snow covered forest. Unlike earlier, they encountered no resistance, likely indicating that the SPARTANs had in fact retreated to their mountain stronghold. After around five minutes, the large cave holding the entrance to Wolf Mountain was in sight. Almost immediately, suppressed gunfire burst from small holes in the rock, and Meyer had to drop to the ground to avoid being hit. Quickly getting his bearings, he raised his rifle, sighted one of the fire holes, and pulled the trigger three times. The gunfire from the emplacement soon fell silent.

After a short firefight, the attacking troops pressed on. Finding the entrance to the guard house, Meyer was relieved to find the metal box holding the switch for the control line intact. After one of his subordinates quickly opened it, and hacked the pass-lock, the old metal door to Wolf Mountain slowly rolled open.

Suddenly, a hail of deadly accurate gunfire erupted from the widening gap between the door and the cave wall, and it continued until several tossed grenades detonated, scattering the SPARTANs who had taken up position behind the entrance. Finally, Wolf Mountain had been breached

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

South Tolten, Cairn Province
January 6

Although he'd only been to Tolten once, Captain Warren Gable had never heard of it having a reputation for beauty. Now that the war had entered the nation's industrial heartland, it had achieved the seemingly impossible act of becoming more like a third-world hellhole. The ever-present industrial haze was supplemented by the smoke of fires ignited by a mix of artillery barrage and airstrikes, while older, crumbling factories were joined by their newly flattened younger siblings. Even in its pitiful condition, the Captain, and the Monarchist army in general, had no other option but to take it. The fall of Tolten would be nearly as large of a blow to the fading Republican cause as the loss of Gordonopia City would soon be due to the fact that it would reduce their industrial capacity by a practically fatal amount. It was only a matter of time before Tolten entered Monarchist hands.

Since the attack on the city had begun only days earlier, the Republicans had managed to put up one of their fiercest defenses of the war. High Command back in Latimere estimated that there were at least one million men in the city, and although their morale had been nearly crushed by a long string of defeats, many knew that this was quite literally the last chance they had to win the war. It was the job of Captain Gable and countless others fighting for the monarchist cause to make sure that last glimmer of hope failed to come to fruition.

One thing that had surprised Gable since the attack had begun was the civilian resistance. Most towns they had fought in were either fairly Monarchist friendly, or were in to much chaos to choose sides. However, as waves of men flooded through Tolten's slums, many of the residents who had lived their lives through the endless street violence that was a part of their city now fought to defend it, often more ferociously than the better equipped government troops they begrudgingly fought alongside. Even so, the might of the Monarchist military machine seemed to be prevailing.

Today had marked the reaching of a major checkpoint for Gable's company. Only hours earlier, they reached the end of the South Desoto neighborhood, which meant that any further progress would have them thrusting into one of Tolten's main industrial districts, Forgetown. At the same time, though, they had received troubling news. As one of the fastest advancing units of the Monarchist offensive, they had been marked by the Republicans as a priority for a counter-attack; aerial reports indicated an armored company supported by several infantry units converging on them. Their orders were now to hold their position until reinforcements could arrive.

Crouching behind a smashed concrete wall, Gable checked his ammunition one last time before the engagement would begin. A dozen anti-tank mines, all his company had left, had been placed throughout the devastated city block they had fortified, while his snipers and machine guns covered the narrow street leading up to it. Suddenly, an explosion roared as a tank shell slammed into a nearby building.

"Open fire!" Gable screamed into his radio as infantrymen and tanks came into view. Down the street, the Republican forces sprinted and rolled between cover as Gable and his men picked targets and sent deadly projectiles screaming towards them. Meanwhile, several more explosions took place as the tanks fired their explosive rounds, and as a large Wolfhound ran directly over a mine.

Although incapacitated, the colossal main battle tank had not been completely destroyed. However, thick black smoke coming from its engine told Gable that that would soon change. Just then, he noticed the hatch of the tank being thrown open, and two men crawling quickly out. He raised his AHLAR, and fired off several rounds, killing one, and hitting the other, likely in the leg. Then he realized something strange: the man who he had just crippled had been a black, and was wearing the uniform of an armored officer. Furthermore, when he looked at the side of the tank, he couldn't even count the obscene number of kill decals. In his mind, two and two came together, and he realized that the wounded man only a couple dozen meters away had to be the legendary Captain Goodman. It all fit: the enormous kill count, the fact that Goodman was rumored to be in Tolten, the fact that the black man was an officer to begin with, all of it made sense. Immediately, Captain Gable ducked from his cover, and rushed over to the tank. Several rounds whistled overhead, but he managed to reach the smoking beast unharmed, and found the man lying just out of the line-of-sight of his advancing infantry. Now it was a matter of what to do with him.

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

"Roger overlord, deploying to objective".

As Captain Michal Goodman turned off his tank's radio, he began thinking about his earlier conversation with Vonn Ohoku. Ohoku had opened his eyes, forcing him to look inside himself in a way that had rarely happened. The idea that the best way to defend the city of Tolten, the place of Goodman's birth, and at the same time preserve some remnant of the Republic, was to blend in with the civilians, go undercover, and wait for the war to end before beginning a resistance movement was something Goodman had never considered. However, although he fully understood the purpose behind the plan, he couldn't go along with it himself. He had been born in Tolten, no matter how hard he had worked to hide it, and now he would die here. When he and Vonn had separated yesterday, he had given his men a chance to live, a chance to survive, by going with the SPARTAN Captain. None had taken it, choosing instead to make their last stand with their commander. Now, only God knew when even the tanks of the legendary Ghost Company would be nothing but a collection of burned out shells like so many others.

This next deployment was yet another chance for that to take place. Since the beginning of the battle, several of the traitorous Monarchist units had been tagged as significant threats to be eliminated thanks to their significant gains. Ghost would be the anchor for the assault on one of them. Now, as he lead the remaining thirteen tanks in his command into what would likely be another chance to die, Goodman began something that he only turned to in his darkest hours. The Ghost Captain, killer of countless men, prayed. Closing his eyes in silence, the words flowed through his mind like water through a gentle stream. Rather than ask for forgiveness, however, he asked for strength, recalling a portion of his favorite Psalm.

Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil;
for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

Finally, his mind at peace, he gave the order to move into the enemy fire zone.

Hellfire breathed on his men, as mines, grenades, and bullets slammed into his own company as well as the battalion of infantry accompanying them. After firing several exploding rounds into the numerous hiding spaces of the enemy, he gave his driver the order to advance. His machine gun opened up, likely killing one of the Monarchist soldiers, while the main gun tore a wall off a relatively intact house. Suddenly, a loud explosion erupted under Goodman's Wolfhound. He had hit a mine.

Looking up, he saw that his gunner had been knocked unconscious. The driver, meanwhile, yelled at him that the engine was hit, and a tread had been torn off.

"Son of a bitch, we're sitting ducks here. It shouldn't be to long until the rest of the unit catches up". However, when Goodman checked the rest of his forces, he was horrified to find them withdrawing. With five other tanks in a position similar to his own, and scores of infantrymen fallen, the attack had fallen apart. The morale of these men had finally vanished, meaning the only possible way for Goodman to escape was to make a run for it. He looked at the driver, who seemed to understand, and nodded right before tearing open the tank's hatch. Leaping off the tank, his feet made contact with solid ground, only to have them collapse from under him as a bullet tore into his calf. At that moment, the realization washed over him like a waterfall: this would be where he would die.

He crawled to better cover, and almost instantly, his life began flashing in front of him. He could see his father pushing him out of the way as a local thug pulled the trigger on an SR-45. Bleeding from the head, he cradled the shining knight of his childhood in his arms as the last vestige of life left the man. The first day he left Tolten with a military scholarship to the National University stood out next, while his induction into the Armored Corps followed closely after. At the time, receiving his commission in front of the crowd that included his ailing mother seemed like the greatest moment of his life. His first kill as a gunner in the Second Defese War rushed past, as a succession of other notable kills flashed by. What followed, however, was the day he had been forced to open fire on unarmed civilians at Teva Towe; the greatest regret of his short life. Finally, the day he met Vonn Ohoku, his closest friend during this terrible war, one of the last hopes for Democracy in Gordonopia, and a man he felt he had now failed, topped off the series of flashbacks before his vision came back into focus.

Crouching before him, holding an AHLAR to his face, was a Captain wearing the new Monarchist combat uniform. Quickly, Goodman studied the man's face. The built up grime covering his face looked to be the result of a long succession of battles on the Penninsula; the man was a veteran. A scar on his right cheek indicated a kiss from some random piece of shrapnel. An assortment of wrinkles, a result of the aging effects of hard combat, served to make the man look far older than he likely was. His eyes, however, were what stood out the most. The look in them, a mix of respect, wisdom, and ambition, overwhelmed Goodman. Out of the blue, he found himself saying something most unexpected, as if a higher power was speaking through him.

"Captain, I'm sure you know who I am. If I've killed a friend, relative, anyone you know in this godforsaken war, well, I completely understand why you'd want to kill me on the spot. If I was in your position, there's a long list of men I wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet into. But I'm not, which is why I have to beg you to listen to me. This city, this nightmare, this is where I grew into what I've become, and this is where my end must happen. I can see you've probably seen as much combat as I throughout your life, Captain, so you have to understand me better than most men. You may have a standing order to take a man like me prisoner, but I beg you to ignore it. My cause is lost, let me die with it in the city I'm made of".

The man standing before him, gazed deep into his eyes before responding with a single phrase.

"Captain Michael Goodman, my name is Warren Gable. I understand".

A quick, searing pain washed over the once invincible Ghost Captain.

[Independent Hitmen]

Wolf Mountain,
4th Battalion, 557th Parachute Infantry Regiment
December 22nd

The two Hitmano companies had followed their Gordonopian hosts up towards the base entrance and taken a back seat as the men from the 2nd Athenian cleared the area around the doors. As the fresher of the two companies Captain Roberts lead his men in first, pausing only for a curt nod with Meyer before he followed his pointmen into the cavernous structure and away to the left.

The tunnels themselves were bleak affairs, concrete and steel with very little addition for aesthetic reasons and even less creature comforts. In front of the Captain the two pointmen advanced warily and slowly with their rifles in their shoulders. Their front man scanned the walls, floor and ceiling for booby trap wires whilst the second focussed his rifle down the tunnel towards any potential aggressor. The forward man abruptly stopped, nearly clattering into the second man and raised his fist. Roberts and the rest of the men moved to the sides of the tunnels and into what cover there was as the first two men stepped back a few paces and conferred before the second man came back down the tunnel towards Roberts and the first moved behind a small storage crate that had evidently been abandoned in the hallway.

“Sir we have two doorways, one either side and what looks like a pair of tripwires on each. Andrews thinks there is at least one laser their too, we are going to blow them with a 20mil grenade and flashbang”

Roberts merely nodded to the second scout who moved back up the tunnel. The men of the 557th had done their urban combat training as any other but they were by no means experts and this would be a case of learning by doing. They had a plentiful supply of grenades and explosives and were planning on using them all.

The first scout leant over the crate and loaded a 20mm grenade into his underslung grenade launcher whilst the second came up close behind him and also crouching down took a flashbang grenade from one of his tactical vest pouches. He turned back to the rest of the Hitmano troops and counted down from three on his fingers. At zero he tapped the other soldier in the back causing him to pull the trigger and send the grenade spiralling down the passageway detonating with an unholy noise that was amplified by the close confines of the tunnel system even this close to the large entrance cavern. The initial explosion was followed by a secondary, probably of explosives detonating. Rubble was still falling in the tunnel as the second man tossed his flashbang down the left hand tunnel and the two men dashed forward into the smoke, two more from their fireteam following them past Captain Roberts. In the limited visibility of the dust Roberts keyed up his personal radio to communicate with his platoon leaders, one of whom he vaguely recognised running past him with a second fire team to clear the other side of the passage way that the advanced men had just disappeared down.

Private Dale Littlewood was the first man into the tunnels and had fired his 20mm grenade at the suspected booby traps before following the flashbang into the left hand entrance with his three team members. He knew the other two would be joining him and his partner as they moved forward and stacked up against the wall, he only had to wait a second until he was tapped on the shoulder as a signal that they were ready. It was then that he realised that his ears were ringing and that he could not hear another sound apart from that high pitched squealing and something similar to waves lapping at the coastline. Without thinking his training took over and he removed a flashbang from his pouch and flicked it around the corner exposing only his wrist. He didn’t hear the detonation but a flash of light in the dust that was lingering in the corridor indicated the grenade had gone off so he moved round following it. As his training told him he moved into the room and immediately went left, the next man in followed with his weapon pointed towards the centre of the room whilst the other two did exactly the same on the other side. Private Littlewood could not make out much in the room until he walked into a table mounted machine that nearly floored him; evidently he had found one of the maintenance rooms. As shouts of “Clear” came from around him he couldn’t answer because of his impaired hearing and it took the approach of his team leader to knock him out of the trance he was in. A simple light shove sent the Private falling to the floor next to the mangled body that he had been staring at, only for him to struggle to his feet and lean against a wall as the now understanding Corporal looked at the remains and casually kicked away the rifle that lay nearby.

“Must’ve been isolated from his lot and decided to give us a warm welcome....well we spotted it this time, well done Dale.” would have been what he would have heard if he could do so. He simply gave the Corporal a thumbs down and pointed at one of his ears. The Corporal nodded and stepped closer to examine the Privates injuries as a flurry of gunfire and explosions erupted elsewhere in the facility.


Twenty minutes later...

Steve Roberts had followed the forward elements through the first frenzied battles with the defenders as they penetrated deeper into the rabbit warren of tunnels and caverns that formed the maintenance section of the SPARTAN base. By doing so he had lost touch of the bigger picture so it was with some regret that he and his command element retraced their steps back down the tunnels towards the entrance. He was shocked to discover that in nearly half an hour his men had barely penetrated a hundred yards into the huge base. Evidently the SPARTANs liked fighting at night because power to that part of the base had been shut off some minutes ago and the Hitmano troops were now using their night and thermal vision goggles along with IR strobes to mark their progress.

Emerging back into the light of the main entrance cavern he was glad to see a seemingly endless line of men still entering and filing down their respective corridors. Less good news was the casualties who were being collected in the cavern and attended by medics and less badly wounded comrades. As they were in shelter with the expectation of some warmth the medics had removed their patients thermal balaclava’s and helmets and where necessary armour and thermal underlayers. Soon the first MEDEVAC choppers would begin arriving outside to ferry the wounded back to the Monarchist base where they had started the mission from but for several it would be too late.

Continuing past the wounded he took off his battle helmet and clipped it onto his tactical belt and rested his rifle on its sling as he walked to the makeshift command post that had been established in the outside guardhouse, there he would report his troops limited progress. The structure had taken a battering from the brief fighting that had gone on around it, the masonry was pot marked with bullet holes and grenade damage and the door was bent where it had been forced in.

The interior was no better, evidently the advanced troops had tossed a grenade or two in to clear the room and it had worked, blasting the furniture into pieces and leaving the light fitting hanging from the ceiling. That hadn’t deterred the Gordonopian command group setting up a small CP and staffing it with a few officers and men, many of whom were concentrating on talking down various radio microphones that had also been brought into the small room. Whilst he waited the Captain took a sip from his canteen and felt a tap on his shoulder so he turned around, brushing the top of his left hand over his mouth to wipe away the driblets of water that had splashed there. When he had fully turned around he was faced with a familiar face, albeit with a couple of painful gashes on the cheek and forehead. He snapped out a quick salute.

“Major Jense Sir. Glad to see you.”

“And I you.” Replied his CO before continuing. “I’m glad to see things are progressing well here Captain, whats the situation?”

“Yessir, we are making slow if steady progress. Major Meyer and his men have taken the right hand section whilst we have moved into the left hand tunnels. My company is in the van whilst Captain Coleshill and his men have just gone in behind them. We could certainly use Golf Company in there Sir.”

“I know Stephen; they are on the trail up here now. Shouldn’t be more than five minutes behind me, they have some guides from the original RV point. I’ve got bad news I’m afraid, Captain Sheen was killed by enemy fire when he turned back to rescue my command element”. Jense paused for a moment to allow the news to settle in. His company commanders were close and he knew that Roberts and Sheen were particularly good friends, often to be found playing golf together on days off. He knew Roberts though and he hoped the Captain would be able to put his friend’s demise to one side for a few hours and complete his job. He saw Roberts jaw harden and knew the anguish he had caused but it was right to tell the man straight away and not leave him to find out when Golf Company arrived at the base. After a minute or so of silence it was Roberts who spoke next.

“He was a good man.”

“Yes he was Stephen, yes he was...I’ve placed Lieutenant Jennox in command for the immediate future. Now give me a full briefing on the situation here, do we have any interior maps of this place...........”


2nd Armoured Cavalry Regiment “The Steel Horse”
16km Northeast of Tolten city limits, Cairn Province
January 5th

Lieutenant Sherville was riding at the front of his small column of vehicles as they approached the bridge over the main river that flowed westwards from Tolten. The Steel Horse was using a well maintained yet small road for this part of its advance and Sherville’s squadron was tasked with securing the bridge until a battalion taskforce from the 3rd Mechanized Division arrived to relieve them and allow the ACR to continue northwards. Other squadrons were seizing the main highway bridge several miles East to facilitate the crossing of the majority of the Corps.

Two days earlier the “Steel Horse” had engaged a sizeable force of Republicans dug in around a small village, they were amply equipped with Lyran weapons and supported by a pair of the feared Wolfhounds and a dozen or so other armoured vehicles. But the “Steel Horse” had learnt the lesson of the 103rd in New Bellum and kept their Mist Lynx IFV’s back whilst a squadron of fighter bombers pummelled the approach to that small village and a pair of attack helicopters had sought out the Wolfhounds and attacked with AGM’s. One of the monsters had been utterly destroyed by this means whilst the other had been incapacitated by a shell from the Steel Horse’s own artillery firing from ten or so miles behind in support of the advanced squadrons. The use of UAV’s for targeting and reconnaissance had helped the Hitmen endlessly whilst also hindering the Republicans attempts to ambush the comparatively lightly armoured recon screen. With the destruction of their Wolfhounds the Republicans had been vulnerable and the squadron had made short work of clearing the village engaging in sustained close combat. Many of the survivors had surrendered, exhausted by weeks of fighting with little relief, reinforcement or support and they claimed to be the only survivors of a battalion sized task force sent to secure the south western approaches to the industrial city.


New Kjeldor
6th of January

IH Marines from the 9th and 52nd Marine Divisions were now firmly in control of the territory of New Kjeldor. They had been ashore for many days and the arrival of additional forces, originally tasked with invading the small colony, had helped them to intern the Republican forces present and begin compiling an inventory of equipment seized during the peaceful takeover.

For the most part the occupation had been going well. The majority of the inhabitants seemed grateful that they had been spared the destructive last stand fighting that was increasingly gripping the rest of Gordonopia. There was evidence of resistance movements but they had only acted twice so far, destroying a remote police station and attacking one of the main power stations for the area. They had succeeded in damaging the power output but it had not hindered the Hitmano plans and additional Marine units were scouring the countryside to find and kill if not apprehend the resistance units.

The former Republican airbase had been turned into the Marine’s principle base and also the centre for storing and processing the captured equipment ready to be turned over to the Monarchists when they appointed a governor and could spare enough troops for a garrison. In strict secrecy a J Corp technical delegation had removed several items of interest via specially chartered military cargo aircraft and these would be removed from any previous inventory before it was handed over to the Gordonopians.

Though the existing civil infrastructure and government had survived intact, for the most part the Marine General (Mj General Douglas B Ellis) in charge was free to operate the colony as he saw fit and only inform the civilians of his decisions so they could disseminate the information to the populace. A temporary curfew had been imposed when the first Marines had landed but it had been gradually rolled back and then removed entirely, apart from around restricted areas such as armouries and military bases where night time access was strictly controlled to prevent former Republican soldiers getting hold of weapons or equipment to support the resistance.


Monarchist Main Command Facility
The Latimere Islands

The unexpectedly quick capitulation of New Kjeldor had left the Hitmen and the Monarchists in a quandary as to what to do with the significant concentration of IH Marines, naval and air power that had been designated to fight for the territory. Whilst some elements would be used to garrison and secure the area until Monarchist forces arrived a significant majority were now en route to the south of the region with little immediate purpose. High level staff talks were now underway to ascertain what to do with them.
One school of thought, predominantly Hitmano, called for the Marines to be used for an amphibious landing near the strategically important port of Teva where the majority of the Republican Navy was stationed. The formidable assortment of ships constantly menaced the supply convoys that brought vital materials and manpower south from the Hitmen to sustain their war effort and subsidise that of the Monarchists. An amphibious landing would either force the fleet to sail, allowing a decisive battle to be had, or capture it in port. Either course would nullify the threat but the Gordonopian command was unwilling to sanction such an operation because of the danger to the vessels which the monarchists hoped to form the nucleus of their own navy once the war was over. If possible they wanted to avoid fighting in Teva completely so as to also inherit the vast dockyards and support systems that were vital to the modern navy.

Alternatively the Marines could have been landed to support the IH 3rd Army and the Monarchist ground forces fighting their way through the mainland and this was the view championed by a minority of both Hitmano and Monarchist headquarters staff. The addition of some 100,000 further troops, complete with vehicles and airpower, would further speed up the conclusion of the war and allow the naval elements to maintain a blockade around Teva to prevent any last Republican sortie for the relative safety of the Thacu Islands. A third strategy involved using the Marines as well as some Gordonopian units to strike directly at the Thacu Islands and sieze them to prevent any such last stand from happening. All of the options would be debated by Field Marshal Raleigh and the newly appointed Commander of IH Forces (Gordonopia) Field Marshal Charles Lothian at their first extensive meeting.

[United Gordonopia]

Latimere Territorial Capitol, Latimere Islands
January 6

Chairs were pushed back along the ground and men stood to salute as Field Marshal William Raleigh VII entered the meeting room. This high level meeting consisted of the top level commanders from both the Hitmano forces in Gordonopia, and the Monarchist's own military. The subject was broad, but important: the next step in the war against the Republic.

With Tolten likely to fall very soon, and the Gordonopian forces in the North advancing at a steady pace, a comprehensive plan was needed for what to do with the significant assets that the Hitmano forces had brought into the region, as well as the sizable reserves the Monarchists had managed to build up. With several options on the table, there would likely be a heated debate, though Raleigh himself was already known to favor one of the options.

"Welcome Gentlemen, please take your seats. I'm sure we're all aware of why we're here, so let us move straight to the point. Before us, we have several options on how to proceed in this conflict. In my view, and the view of several of my advisers, we are split into three camps. The first of which is a direct assault on the Port of Teva using a combination of Hitmano and Monarchist marines. There are significant benefits, but also serious issues with this strategy. Obviously, the taking of Teva would put the very sizable remnants of the Republican fleet out of the picture, and give us yet another one of the nation's primary population centers. However, a full scale battle such as what we are encountering in Tolten would set us back perhaps worse than that conflict. Not only would that existing fleet, which has the potential to form the core of our future navy should we be able to peacefully capture it, risk being destroyed either defending the city or attempting to break out, but the port and logistics facilities in the city would be decimated.

The second major option would be to simply use our reserves to strengthen our forces in the South, as well as reinforce those in the North. This could possibly allow for Fusba to fall earlier than anticipated, which in turn may force the Republican government to negotiate surrender, as the loss of the entire South and North of the nation coupled with the loss of the colonies might put some sense into Old Brown. However, this would keep us moving on our current path, and it may be advantageous for us to open up a third front.

This gets us to the third option, and the one that I currently prefer. As we know, much of the Republic's military and political command has moved to the virtual fortress of the Thacu Islands. Intended to be able to stall or hold even the mighty Golden Throne, we estimate that with the addition of new troops from the mainland and colonies to the existing garrison, there may be as many as half a million men in this small island chain, including the sizable naval detachment, which we estimate to include almost two full fleets, with seven aircraft carriers between them. It has become obvious that many of those at the top of the Republic's chain of command intend to make Thacu a kind of last stand, or even a home for a government in exile, in the event of either the fall of Gordonopia City or the capitulation of Republican forces on the mainland. Launching a massive amphibious invasion of the Thacu Islands would not only prevent this from happening, it would also secure these highly strategic islands. The quicker we can win this war, the better, and the few contacts we have left in the Republican government have informed us that even if the mainland itself surrenders, the Thacu Islands will not go down without a fight, and the forces there are a dagger we do not want pointed at our backs.

With those three options on the table, I'd like to turn it over to Field Marshal Lothian. Marshal, has the Hitmano military come to a consensus on what their desired plan of action would be, or are you divided? If so, what is your assessment of our options?"

As Raleigh shifted the conversation to the Hitmano commander, he slowly leaned back in his chair. Although he already supported what to him was the third option, he was fully open to arguments that would change his opinion. Although he would soon be an absolute monarch, he was not a foolish man, far from it. He knew that a dissenting opinion, at least among his inner circle, showed back bone, and served to make planning all the more in depth.

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

Monarchist Forward Assembly Center, Tolten, Cairn Province
January 12

"Jesus fucking Christ, Cap... I mean Major! How long has it been since we had hot water?"

As one of his subordinates delighted over the fact that the company's first shower in weeks was not only taking place now, it was taking place with water that could go above the outside temperature, Warren Gable, now sporting the subdued-color wreath signifying him as a Major, could only think about one of the many men he had killed during the nearly-completed Battle of Tolten: the legendary Michael Goodman.

The man had been one of the greatest hero's in the nation before becoming one of the few bright spots in the rapidly retreating Republican military. Now he was dead. Although Gable didn't know him personally, he had heard the numerous stories of his battles throughout Gordonopia's recent conflicts, and had even seen him in person when Goodman had been a Fourth Year during Gable's First Year at university. What chilled him most, though, and what prevented him from moving on from the event, was the fact that the man had seemed resigned to death. That in and of itself was not a new occurrence to Gable, it had been taking place more and more frequently as Republican morale slowly withered away. It was the words that the Major had spoken before he died, 'my cause is lost, let me die in the city I'm made of,' that Gable could not get out of his mind.

In the middle of his meditations, however, Gable was interrupted by a man wearing a uniform he had not yet seen. The short, stocky man wore a black, tight fitting tunic and trousers, with a black peak-cap. The cap itself had a white band and a symbol, matching the one on the armband the man was wearing. Immediately, he recognized it as the Raleigh Coat of Arms, and realized that the uniform had to be something important.

"Major Warren Gable?" the man inquired, sounding very confidant with himself.

"That would be correct... sir?" Gable replied, unsure if the man was an officer or not, due to the fact that he had no insignia indicating rank.

"No need to address me as an officer Major. As a member of an Arbitrat, I have no rank. Please take this letter, and read it thoroughly." While he was still speaking, the man handed Gable a large white envelope, bearing a wax seal with the same coat of arms he was wearing.

"Um... thank you. Can I ask, though, what an Arbitrat is? I'm guessing it's not a military unit if you don't have a rank."

"The letter explains everything, and more, Major. In fact, I probably shouldn't say this, but since I was sent to hand deliver this, it is likely that that letter will earn you a personal audience with his majesty himself, and a position under him as well... provided you survive the war, that is."

Thoroughly confused, but also intrigued, Gable looked down at the letter, and then back at the man, only to find that he had already turned and was presumably leaving the camp. Immediately, he ran quickly to his tent. What was in this envelope?

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

Wolf Mountain, Northern Province
December 22

In the chaotic fighting that had evolved in the living quarters/command wing of the SPARTAN base, a company commander had finally been able to find Ernst Meyer, the only man who knew the base's full layout. "Sir, how much further? We're taking heavy casualties, and if we don't reach command soon, we'll have to pull back."

"Captain," Meyer calmly replied, "this is our only chance to eliminate the SPARTAN organization. If we withdraw now, they will disperse and in all likelihood we will never see them again until they are stabbing us in the back. We can bring up reinforcements if we need to, but we will not retreat. We are less than fifty meters from our objective. Your concerns are unneeded."

As the officer saluted, then left to rejoin his command, Meyer ducked into a very familiar room. Had he not been in the middle of a heated firefight, he would have taken the time to reminisce about the years he had lived in this room while serving as a SPARTAN. The cold, gray room had changed little, with the same metal bunks and seemingly paper thin mattresses standing along the walls. However, his concentration only strayed momentarily, and the instant a grenade went off just outside the doorway he snapped back to attention.

He crouched low next to the entrance to his former home, and peeked slightly into the hall, where he saw three of his former comrades rapidly pulling back to where they would likely make their final stand. Instantly, he drew a bead on the one facing his general direction, and pulled the trigger, resulting in a clean head shot. Without stopping to think, he repeated the feat twice more before the other men had a chance to react.

He signaled for his squad, which he had left in last room, to advance to his position, and from there, they continued down the passageway. Thankfully, the only room that contained hostiles was covered in their remains after some explosive had gone off in the middle of them.

After using his radio to inform units further back that his hallway was clear, Meyer signaled for his men to advance. He tossed a pair of grenades, one a flash, the other fragmentation, around the final corner before the command room. As soon as the two detonated, he whipped his gun around the corner, and fired on a single SPARTAN who had been caught by the blinding flash. Hastily scanning the hallway, he waved for his squad to move in, and advance to the door that lead into the command center.

He made sure that the only other room off the hallway was clear before setting it up as an impromptu forward command post. Over his radio, he called up units that had been kept in reserve and ordered them to assemble at his position. The SPARTANs were trapped between a rock and a hard place, but even a soldier with no prior experience with them knew that fact wouldn't deter them from tenaciously fighting to the last man after witnessing their die-hard resistance up to this point.

Within minutes, a full company had been assembled, and Meyer had received word that the only other entrance to command had been reached. His men took up positions around the door, as a pair of explosives specialists set up breaching charges on the heavy door. Letting out one last deep breath, he nodded to one of the specialists, who turned to the detonator in his hand.

With a ferocious explosion, the door was ripped from the rock that held it in place, and immediately, grenades were flung and gunfire roared. In the chaos, Meyer could see several of his men fall, however he could not be sure of how many men inside were encountering the same fate. As it seemed that the SPARTANs were pulling back from the doorway itself, likely to use it as a choke point, Meyer gave the order to slowly advance in order to open up the field of fire. The firefight soon heated up, but through the smoke and fire, Meyer noticed a man rush into an office at the edge of his peripheral vision. Suddenly, he realized that he would need to advance quickly, and ordered the men to move directly into the command center itself.

Although several men went down in the advance, the majority of his men moved into cover thanks to the well-timed breach of the second door on the other side of the massive room which split the SPARTAN's attention. Ducking behind desks, and firing his AHLAR at any hostile he could get an accurate shot at, Meyer hastened towards the office he had was trying to reach, determined to get there as quickly as possible.

As he rolled behind a metal desk, he found himself face to face with Colonel Andrew Raik. Raik, the SPARTAN's head of deployment and a former subordinate of Meyer, turned immediately, and looked at his ex-commander with wide eyes. Suddenly, he lunged at Meyer, who was to close to take him down with his rifle. The 100 kg man slammed into him with brutal force, laying him flat on his back. As the Colonel pulled his fist back to take a punch, however, Meyer executed a Judo move, thrusting his hips upward and pushing off with his legs, and managed to roll himself on top. He quickly pulled out his combat knife, and prepared to go for the kill.

"Traitorous bastard. I didn't think you of all people..." was all Raik managed to say before 16 cm of steel cut his carotid artery, covering Meyer's blade with crimson blood.

Meyer re-sheathed his knife, before picking up his rifle again, and scanning for easy targets. He fired on three men, two of whom went down, before diving to the final desk before his objective. Crouching low, he shuffled to the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, and swung the door open.

Seated at the desk, Meyer found the man he had been looking for. Major General David Milan, commander of the SPARTANs, was sitting calmly with an old SR-45 handgun resting on the desk in front of him.

"Come in, Ernst," he said casually, much to the surprise of Meyer. "I hear you're working with William now. I can't say I expected it, personally, but hindsight is always 20/20, and looking back, it's not difficult to see it coming."

Meyer shut the door, making sure to lock it so as to make sure his business wasn't interfered with, before turning his attention to his former commanding officer... and former friend.

"It's all over David. Everything. The SPARTANs have fallen, the Republic will soon collapse, everything you've ever lived for is finished. Now I have you at my mercy."

"Mercy, Ernst? Look into my eyes and tell me I'm afraid to die. A SPARTAN is never afraid of death, he's afraid of the war coming to an end."

Ernst couldn't help but give a quick grin at the use of an old phrase, one that brought back so many memories. However, the momentary easing of tension didn't distract him from his intention. "Then why meet me in here? Why not die with your men, or even take the easy way out. You have that gun in front of you, and if I know you, it's got a single chamber."

"Isn't it obvious? I wanted to talk to an old friend. Explore your mind, your intentions, your... motivations. Tell me Ernst, why did you choose to take this path? Why lead William's pawns into the lair of the men you once called friends? I have my own theories, but before I go, I'd like to know the truth."

"Isn't that even more obvious? I recall another old SPARTAN saying, what was it... oh yes, a SPARTAN is Gordonopia. We were always the right hand of the body, always obedient to its will, yet necessary for its survival. Even when that body grew ill. I committed many things in my time that would drive a sane man to madness, David. However, I'm not a sane man, and you know it. Neither are you, nor was Andrew, nor Ohoku, who seems to have become the last in an endangered species. David, I'm a born killer. Only you, me, and God know what I did in the Defese war, or in the Austro-German War, or in any of the numerous black operations missions around the world that the citizens of this nation couldn't imagine taking place in their wildest conspiracy theories. But even a killer has a limit, and you know very well when I hit mine. A SPARTAN is Gordonopia, but is Gordonopia the Republic? For a brief moment in the history of our nation, only a century and a half, it may have been. But does that make another Gordonopia unjust? It was common knowledge that I was born and raised a Monarchist, David. If I hadn't been quite possible the best damn soldier in the entire armed forces, there would have been no chance in hell I would have received the Thracian Helmet Patch. I was willing to fight for my country, but when I had to kill one of my political brethren, a man who you yourself discovered was innocent a full hour before the deed was done, something snapped. That's why I resigned my post, why I went dark for two years, why I decided to serve the standard bearer for my beliefs. Now I understand. The idea of a SPARTAN in the Republic is inherently unjust. To hide behind the veil of Machiavelli, simple acceptance that what we did was right no matter the consequences, is contrary to the very principals of that system of rule. That is why I struggled so deeply with the fact that I had to kill that man. Under an absolute monarchy, there are no such qualms; the means are justified simply because they are the will of the Emperor. As an Arbitrator, I will have that will behind me as my true nature shows itself once again to future enemies of the state. On the other hand, David, you are now one of the last remnants of a failed system; an obsolete machine. Your time has come."

David Milan looked Meyer squarely in the eye, and a look that almost seemed to be pity came over him. Unfazed, Meyer pulled out his own SR-45, the handgun he had been handed personally by Milan upon his induction into the SPARTANS, and pulled back the hammer. Slowly, Milan picked up his gun, causing Meyer to aim his own pistol directly between the old general's eyes.

"Relax, Ernst. I know my fate." As the last word left Milan's mouth, he quickly raised his gun to his temple, and fired off a single shot.

David Milan was dead. The SPARTANs were dead. The Republic itself was dead.