Vadim sighed inwardly, realizing he had misspoken in his haste to beat the President in. Saying something more was out of the question, he concluding, and ran the risk of potentially suggesting something that lied between the lines. As if everything everyone said didn't already come with similar connotations. Instead, he reverted back to his old strategy, that of being the stone-faced Falkasian General staring down the monsters his men were doing battle with.
"Yes Mr. President," he spoke, softly at first but gaining in strength, "something needs to be done about Hespatu's address. While I have no doubt in the resolve of the Cardwithians and their desire to purge the occupying forces from the islands... the fact remains that the seed of doubt has been planted. And from experience, I know very well how even the smallest of cracks can grow into the most menacing of fissures."
He paused momentarily as the roar from a massive cargo plane caused the room to shake and lights to flicker.
"What I find most disconcerting is the fact he's playing on our weakest link..." Falkasian heads around the room were already nodding in acknowledgement, knowing full well what he was about to say. "The weakest link... is us. We're foreigners, and I realize we're fighting the same battle shoulder-to-shoulder... but I'm also sure that such creates some degree of animosity. We may not be seeing it outwardly, but I do not doubt it is there, in some form, some where."
The lights began to flicker again as another cargo aircraft tore past, its destination likely somewhere near the supply depots dotting southern Gragastavia which had sustained their involvement in the island chain thus far.
"I'm sure your associates have already told you the urgency of what is happening. Whether the enemy chooses to believe it or not, we've got them on the ropes..." He motioned to the VICE feed with an outstretched palm. "But the one thing we can't account for is what happens after. My recommendation Mr. President? Play things cool... Hespatu has already shown his hand as melodramatic and hotheaded. His aggression may be appealing to some, but I've found that coolness under fire if a far more desired quality especially for a leader. Be the bigger person, show strength, but be humble. Make him out to be less of a ruler, less of a man, and ultimately less mature. I have a feeling you'd be surprised the kind of reaction his own men would give."
There was a commotion outside, followed quickly by staccato bursts and muffled explosions. Vadim's face, which was already pale to begin with, became drained of whatever color was left.
"Fuck..." he mumbled under his breath, eyes wide as they darted rapidly trying to figure out what was going on. "Captain! Major! We need to get Nellis out! NOW!"
The General was already reaching for his sidearm, drawing it before quickly checking to make sure it was loaded. Several of the other officers were doing the same, pushing crates and equipment against the canvas walls to act as barriers. Two others, the Captain and Major, had seized AK-113s from a rack nearby and were already trying to shuffle the President out. Naturally, the old man was having nothing of it.
"President," Vadim conceded as he took up position behind a photocopier blocking the front entrance, "We are under attack... I have no idea how they got this far... or why our patrols weren't able to detect them... but the truth of the matter is, YOU are far more valuable than any of us. Captain Numminen and Major Sharonov are going to get you to the bunker, and they will seal it shut until we give the all-clear. You can make your address there in the Press Room, and we'll send it through the Schechtmann for broadcast across the island. If there's anything I need to know, now is the time!"
The gunshots grew to a fever pitch.
======
Mossview Park
He did not enjoy being back here. Not one bit. But there was something odd about the whole thing, approaching the old camp from the standpoint of a conqueror as compared to the conquered. From his post higher up along the hillside, he had watched as his FSIS friends cut through the garrison like hot knives... although with many of the older guards their surrendering on sight it was hard to call it such. Still, he assured himself, if any of the soldiers he faced looked familiar their time left on Earth would be cut abruptly short.
The barbarity of the camp still echoed off the walls. For what had been a place of amusement, an old sports complex, something far more vile had taken place. Like many children, he had been educated in the atrocities of previous empires, and was hard-pressed not to draw comparisons. There was something about Mossview though that led him to disregard his preconceived notions of posterity. They, he, needed to unearth the demons hidden within.
He checked his watch as he walked, his heavy boots sinking deep into the wet mud and making quiet slurping sounds with each step.
And they were right on schedule too. He, like his FSIS counterparts, knew that the recovery of material was essential for Nellis' speech. Or, the two were planned to conveniently coincide with one another and thusly provide yet another blow to the Hutanjians and their allies. Some of it would need to be fabricated to add extra emphasis, but for any onlooker that basic material would be both gut-wrenching and career-breaking.
Trucks tore past him as they ferried in the last of the assault group. They had offered him a ride, but inwardly he needed to make his way back under his own power. Once inside their job was to hold for as long as possible, under the assumption that the entire Hutanjian contingent on Nesselberg was bearing down on them. With Yuri's VICE down, there was no way to know if a transmission had been sent out or not, or even if the localized jammers they had been supplied with worked.
For Illyich, all he wanted to do was get the trip over with. His telltale smile was gone, replaced with a look not all to dissimilar from that of Vadim's. His combat tunic was pulled tight around his frame, as if it offered some defense against the abundance of ghosts which bared down on him like a caustic swarm of hornets. He approached the barracks, where most of the surviving camp guards were being held, and ducked inside without a flourish.
======
Battleground Between Jalakra and Palegata
"GET IT SET UP PRIVATE!"
A hail of bullets whizzed overhead, slamming haphazardly into the jungle fauna. Bark and charred insects sprayed everywhere as the rounds found their mark. Small fires erupted all along the lip of the crater as tracer rounds made contact with dry grass. A thick haze of smoke hung low to the battlefield, acridly reeking of a mix of ash, hydraulic oil, and burnt flesh.
In the bowels of the crater, what remained of Beta Squad was busy preparing Firefly. Essentially, it looked like a mortar... and it was, at least in theory. The shaped charge it fired however, had a compound air-burst munition that would erupt several dozen feet above the ground. It wasn't that different from a man-portable cluster bomb, except for the fact it could be guided by laser input or remotely by a VICE operator. That, and it was also thermobaric, hence the overly pretty poetic name.
"NOW WOULD BE NICE PRIVATE!!" The sergeant screamed as he continued to lay down covering fire with his AK-113 from the lip, occassionally sliding back down to avoid return fire.
"ITS SET! ITS SET!" Came the earnest, frantic reply. "I'VE GOT THE FIRST ROUND IN THE TUBE! WORKING ON GETTING THE AUTO-LOADER SET UP!"
"FORGET IT PRIVATE!" The sergeant ordered, scooting down the embankment to help out. "IS VICE BACK ONLINE?"
The private shook his head, checking the micro-tablet attached to his wrist. "NEGATIVE SIR! ITS GOT TEN SECONDS UNTIL REBOOT!"
The sergeant nodded, reading lips at this point. The chaos of battle had rendered him temporarily deaf, and he suspected the Private was approaching that point too. A massive artillery round ripped into a tree above them, cutting it cleanly in two. On instinct, the Sergeant grabbed the Private by the britches and dropped him into the dirt. The trunk crashed harmlessly above them, balanced precariously on the edge of the craters. Its boughs were splayed out providing them with concealment, but also prevented them from firing at excessively low angles.
"NO BIG LOSS!" The sergeant reassured his few remaining men, despite the fact he knew that most of their shots were supposed to be from lower azimuths.
"VICE IS UP! VICE IS UP!" One of the privates screamed.
He wasn't heard as the round belched out of the tube, punching a hole clean through the tree and sending a cascade of broken twigs and leaves down below.
======
Kasyanov was in a flurry, trying to help in any way he could to get the Behemoth back online. It had suffered some glancing blows while the Data Ping came down, but most of the pressure had died once the Edomites found their systems inoperable. Despite the fact that the Falkasian vehicles were more or less unaffected, they had used to short period of uncertainty and brief calm to maneuver through cover and reposition. While ideally they should have continued firing, they were under strict orders not to reveal their immunity to it out of fear of the enemy finding an unforeseen crack in the operating software.
"Let's go... get this baby operational... we've got a small window to hit them where it hurts!"
The interior compartment was slowly coming alive as the sensitive systems rebooted. Meanwhile, outside, he could hear and feel the reverberations of the Dire Wolves as they sent shells down range at any exposed targets. Enough of a window had passed to emulate a forced reboot, so now they could start laying it back on them. A few Werewolves added to the fury, the sound of their massive guns much deeper in pitch than their counterparts. No doubt they were punching holes in the opposing line, but the real fear was the dismounted infantry. While weaker, once they managed to catch up to the armor, any corner could and likely would turn into ambush central.
As the Behemoth rumbled back to life, he began receiving positive connections through VICE. Firefly had been set up, and the computer systems were requesting fire-missions. Kasyanov checked his VICE console as the vehicle began to back up out of its protective layer wedged between the two tank hulks. The battleground was hazy, but upon switching to thermal, he was able to see a great deal of the damage his forces had wrought... and the damage that had been wrought on them by the Edomites.
"Ok.... let's get down to business," he mumbled, squatting awkward on the metal floor. The stool was lost, likely upside-down in some corner of the vehicle lodged in a position that the laws of physics and gravity would have otherwise prevented it from achieving had a war not been going on outside. "First things first... ok..."
He adjusted the controls, trying to stabilize himself as the driver seemingly drove reckless across the charred terrain.
Flipping through channels, targets were marked and delegated. In the same instant, he confirmed them and locked in the coordinates, before sending the fire order. Immediately his thermal feed erupted with flashes as the tubes fired remotely, coupled quickly by foot-mobiles scrambling for cover away from the crater amid the fear of expected counter-artillery fire.
"…oops I did it again...I played with your heart, got lost in the game..."
Kasyanov perked up. Where the fuck was he hearing music from? He turned, and saw his driver bobbing his head as he drove.
"NOT NOW!" Kasyanov screamed. Did this guy understand the gravity of the situation? "TURN THAT SHIT OFF!"
======
Panto Leto
Kuznetsov nodded to himself as they bumbled along in the tiny, late-model hatchback. ""We are about 80% secure, Comrade..."
Despite the good news, he was still determined to maintain radio control and replied only with a series of clicks and beeps similar to Morse Code. Not that he could have operated the bulky field telephone one of his troopers was wearing whilst driving. That, or the fact that behind him in the backseat four men were wedged into a space designed to hold only two. Getting in had been difficult, but getting out would probably destroy the car.
As far as the Major was concerned, the island was their's. Once he managed to get to the airfield, hopefully dodging stragglers and the like still trying to hold out, he would be able to assess the situation better. Casualty reports would be first, followed shortly there after by mop-up activities and reinforcing the island. Counter-attacks, regardless of how unlikely, were still possible. No doubt they had caught the attention of local forces who might not necessarily be predisposed to the notion of having one of Astyria's more silent powers running amok off their shores. If need be, he could play diplomat just as easily as soldier.
Driving through the town was eerie at best. As a young officer, Kuznetsov had experienced ghost towns before. In Gragastavia, the surest sign of an impending ambush was the sudden disappearance of everyone. No one on the streets, no one in the market, all doors and windows were shuttered and locked. It was the same feeling, one of approaching doom, that struck him. What was odd though, this time he felt it not in regards to himself but in regards to the forces they had just overtaken. Between tall apartment buildings, no doubt residences for the lower-ranking enlisted men, were the charred remains of armored vehicles juxtaposing harshly the otherwise provincial and suburban atmosphere. Here, there was no air of hatred, but one of panic and fear.
"Any idea where we are?" One of the Marines tentatively asked from the back, the car bouncing slightly as it hit a dislodged rock.
"I haven't a clue," Kuznetsov replied, turning the wheel to execute sharp and sudden 90-degree turn. "I'm following the signs... or at least I think I am..."
He pointed out the window to a panel which hung suspended from several poles. Despite everything being in Frandit, the word airport was at least remotely similar in both sound spelling to that of the German word Flugplatz.
"Guess we continue straight for two kilometers..."
"Or we need to U-Turn and go back for one and a half..." the front passenger suggested, noticing that the sign was hanging upside down.
A few dozen yards away, the smoldering fuselage of a fighter jet laid crumpled into a slight embankment.
"Guess he was looking for the airport too, but hit the sign instead?" A fourth Marine offered, trying to lighten the mood.
No one was having it, being both cramped in the rear and covered in both blood and dirt.
======
Task Force Khariton
"We're down another five," the Flight Chief reported. "Still above acceptable rates, but every time the flights return, there are fewer and fewer coming back."
"Any idea if there are survivors?" The Admiral asked.
"Well sir, SAR is conducting sweeps of the waters surrounding the island. We've got a few possible EPRB signals, but nothing concrete. We don't have air superiority yet, so any efforts run the risk of being intercepted... and last thing we want to do is sacrifice additional personnel for a single man."
Yashin nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. "I understand Commander. Make sure our teams are available once we do secure control, so we can pluck as many of those men out of the water as possible."
The Commander nodded, turning and leaving. A loud crack reverberated off the walls as Slava himself turned, facing once more out over the flight deck. Launching and recovery operations had ceased temporarily while CASEVAC crews were being prepared to head inland. From below deck, an armada of transport helicopters were being brought up while the runs already fueled were beginning to spin-up and go through their pre-flight checks. At the far end of the deck, towards the stern, the ship's Chaplain was conducting burials at sea. A wave of red and blue adorned the otherwise gray surface as caskets draped in colors were rolled onto the deck from the morgue below, and in quick succession were catapulted over the side. He stared intently, wincing every time the rifles cracked in salute. It continued on and on for what seemed to be an eternity, until the train grew depleted and the small crowd which had gathered began to disperse. Outwardly, he knew it shouldn't affect him, but inwardly he took comfort in knowing that it did.
Whether or not there were actual casualties inside each casket remained to be seen once the casualty reports arrived, but at the very least, the symbolic gesture was well-received by the crew and would serve to memorialize those who had voluntarily committed themselves to the Sea.
"Admiral, we have a reply from the unmarked contact idling near the island," a voice announced from behind him.
"Really Lieutenant... you should know not to sneak up on an old man!" The Admiral half-chided.
"Sorry sir, but I figured it was urgent," the Lieutenant responded in suit, ignoring the feigned plight of his CO. "They're still squacking, but we have it on play back."
Slava followed him back inside the bridge. Sure enough, as his eyes adjusted to the electric lights and tinted windows, he could hear the playback with its distinctive accent.
"This is the Commanding Officer of Crossbow...Seven of the USG Command. We Copy, Battle Fleet Khariton. You are conducting an illegal raid and do not have permission to be in these waters. Aid is on the way from the GHawkinian and Gaulic mainland to drive you out..."
"Interesting..." he mumbled, scratching absently at hist stubble-encrusted cheek. "That sounds strangely familiar..."
"Sir, their channel is open. How do you want to play this?"
"Its surprising the accent is natural Frandit... Neu Engollian, or what have you..." Yashin began, inwardly to himself, "But most of the upper echelons of the Uli are not native speakers. The accent should be different... But its not..."
He nodded his head slightly as he came to a conclusion.
"Bullshit." He stated flatly. "Lieutenant, bring me my log book!"
"What is it, sir?" The operator asked.
"We may be looking at a bait-and-switch. I've heard plenty of Frandit-speakers between here and back in Ekaterine decoding both Hutanjian radio chatter and Yellosian transmissions. You may not be aware of it, but the Neu Engollians have a massive intelligence factor in the YSR to our North."
"Aren't the Uli-Schwyz the same as Neu Engollon?"
"No!" Slaval snapped harshly. "They are about the same as we are to the Gragastavians... or the Edomites to the Ralkovians. The USG is a mercenary outfit, independent from the Neu Engollian nation. Although much of their manpower does come from the ranks of said nation's military, the two military groups are distinct and different."
"Sir, your logbook!" The Lieutenant interrupted, shoving the tome into the Admiral's hands.
"Thank you," he offered, hastily flipping through the pages looking for something. "There we go!"
He traced the page for a moment.
"While this book is from the 1990's, ancient stuff for you kids... it does contain a list of suspected Uli-Schwyz members..."
"I don't think you can call five names a list..." the Lieutenant joked.
"No, but its this name... this name right here that matters." He pointed to the top-most one on the page, which itself was yellowing with age and tattered at the edges. "Nelson Tell, NEDM Alpen Regiment. Could be the guy we're talking too... and what's more, he's their Number One."
"Why not this guy?" The Lieutenant asked, pointing to the name below it. "Rene Welt? Is that how you pronounce it? He's a native Frandit-speaker too."
"We have reason to believe he's on the island, given chatter we've been able to intercept..." The Admiral slammed the book shut. "Anyone feel like gambling a bit?"
General Tell, it is nice to hear you! I am Admiral Yashin of Task Force Khariton. You may be curious as to how we were able to identify you, but let me assure you one old soldier to another, its really of no matter. What is is ensuring that you make it back to your men in one piece. As you say, we may have only hours before your local neighbors bail out the island from us, but I highly doubt once their own casualties begin to stack up that they will continue to be sympathetic to your plight. Now, as I don't really have any desire to delve into the supposed legality or illegality of our invasion, I will cut straight to the point. We are offering you, and all those onboard your aircraft safe haven aboard our ship until a ceasefire can be reached. We will not interrogate you, we will not harm you. You may move freely as our guest, but we need your help in stopping this endless slaughter... both in Hutanjia and here. As one veteran to another, I'm asking on my honor to trust me.