The Frontier (New Garrack Bush War, Attn GD, Semi-Open)

[Morrdh]

"This is the MBC World Service.

Here is the news at midday; As the so-called 'Frontier' region in northern New Garrack continues to destabilize, Prime Minister Sarah Gibson has informed parliament that units of the New Garrack Army will be deployed to 'help restore law and order'.

The PM went to state that the ongoing situation in the north of the country was strictly an 'internal affair' and 'a test of the strength and unity of the country'. Mrs Gibson was also confident that the region would see stability again 'within a couple of months'..."

"Change the station or turn that damn thing off!" Growled Brigadier Vimes from the back passenger seat of the car. "Heard all I can stomach of that harlot."

"Yes sir, sorry sir." Apologized the driver. "General Mannerwaig likes listening to the World Service."

"I'm not the General, so turn that blasted thing off before I start putting rounds into it!"

"Sir!" The driver all but yips as he mashes the buttons on the car radio, succeeding on his second attempt to switch it off. The sounds of the city streets of Gormanville now flowed in through the partially open windows of the car; jousting traffic as well as the hustle and bustle expected of a small city. Military vehicles and soldiers were everywhere. Gormanville served as the main hub for the New Garrack Army in the north of the country and, due to the closeness of the Lyran border, was able to host a sizeable military presence. Now with the influx of troops due to help stabilize the security, Gormanville's facilities were going to be stretched to the limit.

Thankfully, none of that was going to be Vimes' concern.

As C/O of 4th Brigade he simply had to attend briefings at the HQ in Gormanville, other matters concerning the New Garrack Army were to be dealt with by the staff of HQ (Northern District). As a senior field officer, Vimes had been given the use of General Mannerwaig's staff car for the ride from the airport. It was a courtesy on the General's part, Vimes would be making use of an army Land Rover for his needs after meeting his new boss. HQ (Northern District) was as he'd expected; a monolith, grey concrete building with barred windows and piles of sandbags round all the doors. He also noticed strings of bard-wire along the walls and on the roof, plus the SLRs carried by the sentries. The situation in the north was known to be deteriorating, though this was Vimes' first glimpse at just how bad it was. He had to suppress a shudder when he realized that hidden among the pile of sandbags was a heavy machine gun emplacement.

Inside was only less stark than the exterior, the walls were painted in the off-white colour that the army seem unhealthily obsessed with and every person Vimes saw carried a sidearm. Vimes had to stop and present his ID papers at three checkpoints, everyone was manned by MPs armed with SMGs. At last he arrived at General Mannerwaig's office, who bellowed cheerfully when he saw him. "Vimes! Get ya bally arse in here! Take a seat!"

"General." Vimes nodded and did as instructed.

"Drink? Whiskey perhaps?" The General asks, heaving himself to his feet and stomping towards the nearby drink cabinet.

"No thank you General."

"Suit yerself..." The General grumbled, poured himself a glass and then slumped back down in his chair. "Pleasant trip I trust?"

"There were no incidents if that is what you mean General."

"Yes...things have been getting rough up here lately."

"Certainly seemed like it sir."

"Oh you had it easy Vimes, think the locals are taking stock of the PM's announcement earlier."

"You think deploying the army will quieten things down?"

"Far from it, I suspect the locals are gearing up for a showdown once our lads are out on the streets."

"Our own version of the Mordent Troubles I'm guessing?"

"Still early days but its a strong possibility." The General conceded. "The locals haven't exactly been all that co-operative since we first moved into this area."

"I see..." Muttered Vimes. "What would you have me do?"

"I need yer lads to secure the coast, making sure gun runners and the like can't get through." General Mannerwaig answered, waving a hand at a map on the wall behind him. "A hotel in Port Alfred has been commandeered fer yer command, in addition to a few billets in some of the coastal settlements. Recommend keeping a company here at Whitton's Creek, its a small mining town on the Gormanville to Port Alfred road where it cross the Shay River. That road is the only link 'tween here and Port Alfred after those damn militants took out the railway line, so its vital that you keep it open."

"I understand sir, though will I have any support?"

"Sorry, ya on yer own I'm afraid." Answered the General. "The government down in Derry is dragging its feet and so tis an army show fer now."

"Blast, I was hoping the air force would be on hand with a few helicopters." Grumbled Vimes.

"Thats Derry fer ya, though I'll speak to the local airbase commander."

"Thank you sir."

"Now clear off, you've still got alot of work ahead of ye."

[Morrdh]

Whitton's Creek was, until the present troubles broke out, a small mining town notable for the road bridge over the nearby Shay River and for a freight-only railway line. It had a population of a few hundred, though that had dwindled down to a handful of police officers and a few residents who were too stubborn to leave. Now the town's small population was about to receive a boost in the form of 'B' Company, 12th Battalion, New Garrack Army.

Top and tailed by a pair of armoured cars, a convoy of a single Land Rover and four trucks approached the town along the long dusty road from Gormanville. As the convoy approached the town, the two armoured cars sped on and took up sentry positions either side of the town whilst the trucks rolled to a halt in what passed for the town square, a large and duty open area in the heart of the settlement. Much of the town was made up of single story buildings, though the 'square' was where the main two story buildings such as the old administration office and police station could be found. These main buildings had been turned into lightly fortified outposts, mounds of sandbags had simply been piled round the ground floor of the buildings and spaced planks of woods nailed over the windows of the upper stories.

Major Yorke, C/O B Coy, had been briefed that things but rough but hadn't he hadn't imagine that it would be this bad. Even more disconcerting was the bullet holes in some of the buildings that necessitated the fortifications. Thankfully the town proved to be far from deserted as some police officers emerged from the police station, though all wore bulletproof vests and carried SMGs.

"Major Yorke," called out Yorke after he'd step out of the Land Rover. "New Garrack Army."

"Sergeant O'Hare, police." The leader of the policemen called back. "Boy are we glad to see you!"

"I imagine." Nodded Yorke. "Looks like a warzone."

"We regularly get the insurgents raiding the town, heck they hit us last night." O'Hare explained. "Driven out most of the folk that used to live here, just me and my constables plus some of the town's more stubborn folk...even that's barely a dozen."

"Yes, I'd been briefed that most of the civilian population had left."

"Meant a huge drop in the crime rate." Grinned O'Hare. "Come, let me give you the grand tour."

"Later perhaps, I see to see about billets for the rest of my company."

"Pick your pick, most of the town's empty...though theres a few bunkhouses that'll be suitable for your needs."

"Good, I'll detail some of my men to check them out." Yorke nodded. "Though I'd be grateful if you could spare some of your constables as guides."

"Sure, I can spare Jones and McMurray." Answered O'Hare. "In return I'd like your medics to check over the wounded."

"Wounded?"

"Three of my men have taken gun shots, others have various cuts and bruises." O'Hare explained. "Nothing vital seems to have been hit, but all the same I want 'em checked out."

"Noted, I'll see to that straight away." Yorked promised. "Though I'm surprised that they haven't been rotated out."

"Us boys in blue are stretched pretty thin up here, which is why your lot are here." Replied O'Hare. "Though we've been lucky enough to avoid any deaths."

"I hope that we prove just as fortunate."

[Morrdh]

The ceiling fan squeaked once every lazy spin, barely moving the air in the room and utterly failing to provide any respite from the humidity of the midday sun. Guy Godwinne, Deputy Managing Director of Sebiestor Mining Ltd, desperately wished that he was back in his air conditioned office at the company's offices in Derry rather than stuck in the arse end of nowhere. It was too damn humid, too damn hot and too damn dusty. The needs of the Hegemony needed him here to oversee operations; the excuse of a company director being on hand to manage the safety of company assets was a useful one. Though least they had ice and fresh, clean water.

Godwinne wandered how the man sat opposite him coped, dressed as he was in black combats and baring shiny new rank pins that denoted him to be a colonel. Midular was the man's name, one of a sizeable contingent from one of the PMCs based out of Tarn. Godwinne didn't know the man's country of origin or much of his history save that he'd been in New Empire at one point. Midular, with his scarred weather-beaten face, was another reason why Godwinne wished he was back in Derry where company security guards would be on hand. Yes they had security here, but they were all Milduar's men and they all scared the crap out of Godwinne. Though Midular alone he considered to be absolutely terrifying.

For his part, Midular always seemed to regard the company man with disgust. Something that suited Godwinne fine as it meant the few meetings they had were all mercifully short and he never had to bare Midular's company longer than was necessary. Generally Midular sent an aide in his place for most meetings with Godwinne, though it did irk Godwinne to be dictated by what amounted to a lackey. Though in this instance, Godwinne had asked for Midular himself to come.

"Our mutual benefactor." Godwinne said, watching for the slight twitch on the mercenary's face. "Wants Operation HERALD to begin within the week."

"A week?" Growled Midular.

"Yes, a week." Replied Godwinne. "Your men will be ready?"

"Of course they will be!" Midular snapped back. "They're professionals!"

"What of the...ah...recruits?" Godwinne asked, referring to men hired 'officially' part of the company's expanded security force but were to form the militant Jagada Nationalist Front. In turn, the JNF would help feed the insurgency that the company could then use as an excuse to recruit more men for 'security'. Far as Godwinne was aware, the goal was the downfall of the government in Derry to allow the Hegemony to take charge. Sebiestor Mining, and the rest of the consortium of mining companies in the north, had little love for the administration in Derry that had heavily regulated the mining industry and was now pushing for nationalization of the whole industry. So it was no surprise that the consortium had signed up for the Hegemony on the promise of greater autonomy.

"A rabble, but my men will have them whipped into shape." Answered Midular.

"Good, HERALD is considered vital to our benefactor's plans."

[Mokastana]

Fort Veracruz
PUF External Military Installation
New Garrack

Fort Veracruz wasn't exactly just one Fort, instead, it was the general command listing for the series of supply bases the Federation had set up in New Garrack. From the military port supplying the local troops, to the numerous airfields that supported bases in Greal(and formerly the deployment in RSU), Veracruz was just one stop of many between the far East homeland and central GD. The bases themselves were rather simple, authorized personnel only areas with warehouses and airfields and a few secured barracks, with a civilian sector for more relaxed style housing for families deployed here, complete with a few shops and local restaurants. Of course, tall fences and security surrounded the bases, it was a Federation deployment after all, but mostly the bases operated more like a small town, that happened to have military jets landing at the local airfield all the time, given the local economy a boost in the form of bored servicemen and their families with foreign deployment money to spend.

Like most foreigners in country, the trouble brewing in New Garrack had concerned military commanders in Fort Veracruz. So far, the rebellious forces hadn't done anything major, still acting like a minor nuisance more than revolt, but the Federation knew well enough from their early lessons in Greal to prepare for the worst, just in case. With warehouses full of ammunition and weapons, spare parts and even logistic vehicles, any Veracruz Station could become a potential target for a guerrilla force looking to up their game. When 150 thousand troops and families in Greal rely on your shipments to survive, it was important to ensure those shipments went out.


Over the course of a month, two regiments from the 54th Air Cavalry Division were deployed to reinforce Veracruz. One a ground defensive focused regiment, with IFVs and Lyran “light" tanks to back up current Ironheart Division maintaining the security of Veracruz. While the other was a Helicopter Infantry Regiment, complete with Marshite designed ATH-30 Roc Attack Transport Helicopters to quickly deploy troops between bases in case of an attack. With the sheer number of transport planes and aircraft the Federation already flew over New Garrack, they figured a few more transport helicopters would be fine.

As for day to day operations, locals who were employed on bases might notice the gates they entered by would actually be fully manned, with searches and dog checks becoming mandatory. A few keen observers would notice the IFV parked behind the guard buildings, but mostly the base would just be a little more green, a few more soldiers walking around with HILARs over their shoulders. Beyond that, it would continue to be business as usual for the civilian side of the bases.

[The Macabees]

CAMP HIDDEN HAMMER, NORTHERN NEW GARRACK



Colonel Sebastiaan Midular strolled along the path behind the shooters, slowly making his way to the other side of the range while he observed the local boys shoot at targets 300 meters out. "Piss poor aim," he said, speaking through a headset, as an adjunct next to him wrote down notes. They bore no patches on their uniform except that of rank. "What do they have going on tomorrow?"

The adjunct, a major by his rank patch, flipped a few pages on his notebook. "Uh, looks like they have classroom time in the morning, then drill."

"Cancel that," said the colonel. "I want them on an eight-mile run tomorrow morning. Have them ready muster at 0400 hours in full battle rattle. Do what you must to ensure that our dear rabble here is assembled on time, or I will not be happy, do you understand, Major Nienhuis?"

"Yes, sir," answered the major. "My methods are...persuasive."

Midular nodded. "Good. Discipline them as needed, I trust your judgment. Make sure to run them back here to the range. I want to keep them shooting."

"Agreed, sir," said Major Nienhuis.

The colonel stopped to observe one of the recruits laying prone across the green grassed firing point. He took a pair of binoculars from the major and looked for the targets. The soldier squeezed the trigger another three times, sending three rounds down range. Only one of them hit. Midular tisked, startling the recruit to look up at the tall Guffingfordi man looming over him. A fly buzzed around annoyingly, traveling near their heads, until it passed the colonel's left ear and he squashed it with his hand, wiping his palm on his jacket.

"C-c-colonel?" stammered the recruit.

Midular's eyes narrowed. He took a knee by the shooter. "Keep your goddamn eye on the target, soldier!" he barked in his ear. "You gonna be surprised every time a superior walks up to you? You just might get yourself and your whole damn squad killed. Great God, what are your men teaching this sorry bunch of fuggin' lemons? Be one with your rifle. Keep your eye on the target! Do you have your target in sight? Breathe. Relax. Good, take another breath. Do you have your target in sight? Good, inhale. When you release your breath, squeeze that trigger." He held the binoculars up to his eyes.

The soldier fired three times. All three rounds struck the target, one of them near the center. "Excellent," said the colonel, patting the JNF recruit on the back. "You've done well. Remember to breath when you fire, follow your rhythm. It will help you in battle, trust me."

Standing, the colonel rose to rejoin the major. "What are your other men doing, major?" he asked, curtly.

"Two companies are on field training exercises, I want them to know the land. Another one is at the barracks, in reserve. I have one whole company here," answered Nienhuis.

Midular looked around. "One whole company?" He sounded doubtful. "I see eight men here."

"This is only one group, sir. There's a lot of them and I only have so many men," said the major. "We're stretched thin, colonel."

The colonel squared on Nienhuis. "You need more men here doing training, period. That's what we're here to do, gettin' paid quite generously for it, actually. You only need a platoon on reserve. You get one company on training exercise rotation and you have some of our JNF friends here tag along. It'll do 'em some good to be out on the land with the big boys. Scale, major. Scale. It's a business term. It means doing more with less, with what you've got. So figure it out, understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Major Nienhuis.

Pulling the major by his sleeve, Midular took him aside and in a voice that could not be overheard, he asked, "Have any more deserters been found?"

"Indeed, colonel," replied Nienhuis. "The chopper found 'em, dropped a retrieval squad to pick the runners-up, had our fifth company bring 'em in this morning. 'Splains part of the shortage here. They're under guard at the barracks cells, awaiting punishment. I can have them executed by firing squad before my men escort the recruits back."

"Prepare the firing squad for this evening." His words sounded bittersweet. But his next ones were hard as stone. "Deserters will be executed before their peers. I want them all to see the price of disloyalty."

Major Nienhuis nodded in determined ascent. "Yes, sir. Before chow, then."

"Good," said the colonel. "I will be there to witness proceedings."

"Magnificent, sir." The major turned to face the range lanes again. "I will do a better job at training these men, colonel. If I can keep the chopper I can do 'search and retrieval' with a platoon, maybe two. Maybe you can finagle another helicopter out of HQ while you're at it, we could use it."

"Yea, well, don't hold your breath," said Midular.

A low, loud noise grew from the horizon, suddenly. It became louder and louder until two heavy built aircraft flew overhead, at low altitude and with a high-pitch wail. A four-barreled gatling gun emerged from under the cockpit of each of the aircraft, and each carried two pods along with an assort of missiles on their broad, metallic wings. Its two powerful engines made the air vibrate with their thrust, causing waves in the ears of those below. They flew past in a heartbeat or less, toward a small airfield which sat near the southwestern edge of the company's base complex.

"It seems our gifts have arrived. That, major, is the new GLI-23. How the company men in Tarn got their hands on 'em I can't tell you. I guess the Macabéans really do sell pretty much everything," said the colonel, with a hint of a smile. He turned to Nienhuis. "I'm afraid must leave you to it and go south. I'm truly glad we had this tour, major. Much needed, I can see."

"Agreed, sir," answered Nienhuis. "A question, colonel, if I may."

"Of course," nodded Midular.

"Do you really think that this JNF force can be trained?" The major's face did not twitch.

With a flat stare, Midular replied, "Major, you will train these men to the standards that I require, or I will find someone who can. Do you understand me?"

Nienhuis looked down. "I do, sir."

"Good." Midular turned and walked away. He had hardly realized he had yelled that last part. An open-top four-wheeled military utility vehicle, devoid of any and all markings, was waiting for him. It drove the colonel along the long, winding dirt path toward the cluster of low-rising buildings toward the center of the base. Along the way, Kreijenveld mulled in his head the final question Major Nienhuis had asked him. The truth was, he had his doubts too. He had only a few more days before these young JNF insurgents were thrown into the cauldron to fend for themselves.

[Morrdh]

Whitton's Creek

The police detachment were more than relieved when B Company had established itself in the town, O'Hare and his fellow constables were free to join their fellow policemen elsewhere. It was the whole point of the army deploying units to the regions, it allowed the beleaguered local units of the New Garrack Police a chance to catch their breath and then concentrate their strength in the larger settlements like Gormanville. The army would occupy outposts like Whitton's Creek to help restore and then maintain law and order whilst the police rebuilt its strength.

With the policemen gone and with B Company in position, Major Yorke had the task of deciding where to position the units under his command and how best to prepare his defenses. His orders were to keep the Gormanville-Port Alfred Road, in particular the bridge over the Shay River, open so that it could act as the lifeline of the rest of 4th Brigade. Each day he sent out a section of riflemen to guard the bridge during the hours of daylight as the various trucks convoy rumbled through carrying the rest of the brigade to the coast. The parent platoon of the 'bridge guard' section of the day was kept ready as a response force in case the section experienced trouble.

The rest of B Company kept round-the-clock watches with the entirety of the company 'standing-to' at dawn and dusk, a practice copied from the Morridanes. During the day the other two platoons were kept busy, one manned and improved the trenches round the town whilst the other dealt with the other needs of the company. B Company had made itself quite comfortable in the town and the few civilians that remained, once they'd gotten over their initial wariness, proved eager to help with the daily chores for the promise of money or food.

But Yorke was still worried.

Stretching for a good few hundred yards in all directions round the town was flat grassland, though there was also a few treelines and low hills (plus a ridgeline to the north of the town) that could mask the approach of a hostile force. The long grass in particular, that surrounded the town, offered concealment for possible infiltrators to sneak up close to his defences. Worse, he was certain that somebody had an OP up on the ridgeline watching the town. Though as of yet things have been pretty quiet, chances were it was just the calm before the storm.

---

Gormanville

You could almost taste the tension in the air as the town waited with bated breath for something to happen. What it was, nobody knew but they all agreed that it would be happening soon. Military intelligence was getting anxious, the insurgents had effectively vanished into thing air and all anyone could unearth was the rumblings of something big like the rumble of distant thunder. Something big was about to hit and it would be happening soon.

Gol Oktar knew for certain what was about to unfold and when.

He'd served in the military when this land was still known as Jagada, made it as a scout and was pretty darn good at it. He and other ex-military types proved to be ideal as much needed specialists for the JNF who were that much cheaper than what the PMCs had to offer. It made him important to the cause, which meant he had a bit of say over what he did and how he operated. Right now he was doing a last minute recce of one of the JNF's key objectives; the Gromanville commercial radio station.

Capture of the radio station would be a huge boost for the JNF, proving that it was a force to be reckon with. Oktar was aware that other efforts were being made to help with the radio station's capture, there was a plan to cause gridlock on Gormanville's roads to impede the military in addition to attacks on out-country outposts. The PMCs would be involved as well, but officially a JNF show. Though Oktar had to admit it was one that was looking to be ridiculously easy, the radio station only had a handful of security guards armed with handguns and would be no match for hardened PMC soldiers. The issue was going to be how quickly the army responded and whether the joint JNF-PMC force could secure the radio station.

That wasn't going to be Oktar's concern, his next mission was to do a recce on the nearby airbase. A dedicated PMC force was going to handle that one, the task of knocking out the aircraft stationed there was deemed too difficult for insurgents to tackle.

[Morrdh]

It began innocently enough.

The trucks and vans drive by JNF drivers went unnoticed amidst the throng of traffic that poured into Gormanville during the morning rush hour. One-by-one, each of the drivers started carrying out their orders. One truck, a long six-wheeler, pulled into a side-street at a bad angle and got stuck. Another vehicle, a van, stopped at a junction where its driver got out and started unloading boxes to make it look like he was making a delivery heedless of the irate drivers behind him. Then at a number of major junctions some of the vehicles went through a red light and caused accidents that blocked the junction. Within half an hour Gormanville's roads were at a standstill and the police had to resort to sending officers on foot to deal with each incident. The head of the local police district, Superintendent Charles Boyd, submitted a request for help to Gormanville HQ under the purview of 'Aid to Civil Authority' and a number of troops were released to assist the beleaguered police.

A joint JNF-PMC strike team had already been in position when Gormanville became snarled by gridlock, they had driven to the radio station a couple of hours previously and parked up close to the entrance. They were timed to start their own mission at 0830 hours, just as most of the radio station's day staff were arriving for their shifts and to take over from the night staff. This meant that they could maximize the number of hostages and had plenty of the technical staff on hand for the next phase of their mission. The two security guards on duty, armed only with handguns, quickly surrendered at having the barrel of a rifle shoved in their faces by hardened PMC soldiers. The contingent of JNF militants, under the command of a par of PMC NCOs, guarded the hostages whilst the rest of the PMC strike team secured the rest of the radio station.

By the time anyone in authority realized what had happened, the radio station had changed it's name to 'Radio Free Jagada' and was now broadcasting pro-JNF propaganda.

The first broadcasts of the newly rechristened radio station were also the 'go' signal for the other JNF-PMC forces to begin their own operations.

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK



"The heat, it's sweltering," complained Captain Josemar Sajinga, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Next to him sat Sublieutenant Mario Wanga. Their coffee-colored skin may have passed them off as locals if it was not for their obvious health and the equipment they carried. Having served together during the Panooly Civil War and the subsequent War of Panooly Reunification, it was natural that Sajinga had chosen Wanga as his XO. Still, despite their shared past, it was an absolute coincidence that they had found each other working for the same employer. Wanga was known as a good soldier, and a smart one too. "Sloppy," he said, looking at the soldiers crawling through the tall grasses below.

They lay prone atop one of the hills just to the northeast, looking down upon the flat fields that led to the town of Whitton's Creek. Under a camouflaged positioned, they tracked the parting of the tall, wild grasses that covered these flatlands. Two companies attacked here along the eastern edge, crawling through the bush. Some of them were almost in a low crouch, the crest of their backs rising just over the terrain.

A second force, this one composed of a single company, moved in a similar fashion from the south. There were another three companies further to the south, away from the vision of Morridane sentries. This first, eastern, attack had the more generous reserve, including eleven infantry companies. This made for a total army of almost two thousand JNF, with the scattered military contractor qua NCO. Almost all were on the eastern side of the Shay River, which smoothly cut its winding path along the western edge of the town. A single garrisoned bridge crossed the Shay.

In support and hidden behind one of the larger treelines was a four-vehicle squad of self-propelled mortars, 81mm in caliber. Another squad of lightly-armored vehicles carried heavy 12.7mm machineguns. Their commanding officers were all provided by Huron Authority, all from Holy Panooly. Corporate brass believed that their skin-color would allow them to play the role of indigenous rebels. They also performed the role of enforcers well, delivering punishment to the JNF insurgents under their oversight. In the act of this they also formed bonds with the local men, and their loyalty — better than the foreign white man, so the thinking ran.

Of all of these forces, only the 200 or so crawling toward Whitton's Creek were visible to Captain Sajinga and Sublieutenant Wanga. Defending forces within the town were also mostly invisible. The town was made mostly of low-rising buildings, but the newly arrived B Company, 12th Battalion of the New Garrack Army had prepared their defensive positions well. Large-body movements were visible, but hardly in a meaningful sense. No, Sajinga and Wanga could not see all that much, truth be told, but neither did they need to. Their concern was the JNF forces below, who were about to enter their first trial. Instead, a small six-man team of contractors — who wore no patches or identification — and an escort of a company worth of JNF, were dispatched to the heights of the ridgeline to the north. With the militants entrenched in a half-ring behind them, the Huron men operated a small UAV with a mounted camera to direct mortar fire into the town.

Most of the more valuable intelligence, though, came from the inside. The scarce local to Whitton's Creek not loyal to the Morridanes was courted as an intel asset, a small handful taking up the offer. They provided essential information on the day-to-day routines of the garrison. It was because of this HUMINT that they attacked when they did, while much of the garrison was away at service.

When they were just three hundred meters from the edges of the town, crawling infantry forces stood up and began rushing toward awaiting defenses. The Morridane lookouts must have been surprised because enemy fire was slow to come. A good thing too, because for the little training they had the JNF advanced like an ill-disciplined mob armed with assault rifles and light machineguns. Mortar fire, from behind the tree line, rained down on Whitton's Creek then, with somewhat dubious accuracy despite the UAV. Little matter, they would adjust fire and for now it was enough that they simply cause some chaos.

"Tell the arkagrup to move forward," said the captain, suddenly. The sublieutenant gave the orders through a small handheld radio. The term arkagrup was borrowed from the Ejermacht, which referred to a small mechanized blocking force used in their typical cordon-and-search operation. Sajinga had picked it up from the wars in Holy Panooly.

A few minutes later, the low rumble of the armored cars' engines could be heard coming from within the copse of trees. Four four-wheeled tactical vehicles soon emerged, presumably purchased surplus from the generous second-hand international weapons market. Most likely one would discover they had come from Tarn if one peeled back the layers of money-laundering and shell-ownership. Their heavy machineguns opened up as soon as they were within range.

Toward the south, there was an eerie silence. Well, not silence, per sé. Rather, there was no gunfire. No battle. The southeastern attack had not begun yet, of course. JNF forces remained hidden there, waiting for the defenders to allocate their strength toward the rising threat. Neither did any of the reserve forces yet stir.

New Garrack colonial forces were firing back now, the see-saw rhythm of the gun battle now in full force. The mobile mortars kept applying pressure, shifting positions every so often as instructed by their Huron Authority advisors.

"How do you reckon they'll do?" asked Wanga, referring to the JNF men.

The captain grimaced. "They'll play their part," he said, ambiguously. "Today we'll lose many men, sublieutenant. Many, many men. Perhaps even most. But today does not the battle make, it is only the very beginning. Already, what a splendid beginning it has been, no? It looks as if we have taken them by surprise!"

"If this is a butchery for them it may have repercussions," replied the XO.

Captain Sajinga frowned. " Butchery? You underestimate them."


Edits
6/21/2018 — changing battle plan in accordance to map update (river runs by the edge of the town, not through it).

[Morrdh]

Whitton's Creek

Today it was the turn of a section from 5 Platoon to guard the bridge over the Shay River, they'd headed out after B Company had stood down from the morning 'Stand-to-Arms' and breakfast rations had been doled out. With the rest of the platoon standing ready as a rapid reaction force, the 'bridge guard' section deployed on the western end of the bridge which put the river between them and the town. The reasoning was to provide better protection for convoys approaching from the direction of Gormanville, which was the whole point of B Company being in Whitton's Creek. If the worse came to pass, it was thought that the section could fall back across the bridge under the covering fire of the platoons in the town.

Of the other two platoons; 6 Platoon had been detailed to the perimeter defence, either manning the few slit trenches round the edge of town or improving them by digging them a little deeper and placing extra sandbags. This left 4 Platoon to deal with admin and other tasks needed to be done by the garrison such as dishing out rations, siting of the company's support weapons, filling sandbags and placing some of them against the walls of various buildings. Things had been quiet for B Company since it arrived in the town, many had begun to wonder whether the soldiers' presence had scared off the insurgents. Major Yorke was very wary, things had been too quiet for his liking and he was surprised if the insurgents had really given up so easily. He was certain something big was going to happen and soon, but he was hamstring by the resources he had to hand. 12th Battalion's commanding officer, Colonel Dornan, had told Yorke that no support for B Company would be available and for the foreseeable Yorke's men would effectively be on their own. It was a situation that York was less than happy with, but his men had been given the important task of keeping the Gormanville-Port Alfred Road open.

There were only a handful of sentries keeping watch, each of the soldiers were taking it turns at going on 'stag' (the Morridane slang for sentry duty) for an hour at a time. It was the turn of 20 year old Private Bowron, a lad who'd joined up because it was one of the few opportunities available to him. He spotted the insurgents rising out of the long grass. "Aw fook...ATTACK! We're under attack!"

It took a moment for the fact to sink in for the rest of the New Garrack soldiers, but it quickly spread like wildfire when the first bullets started whizzing through the air. Soldiers ditched whatever tooks they had to hand and scrambled for their rifles as cries rang out. "Stand to! Stand to!"

There was also cries of pain as the first mortar rounds landed, shrapnel ripping at those unfortunate to be caught by the mortar burst. B Company's own handful of 51mm mortars started firing back, being the company's only form of artillery they were directed towards knocking out their insurgent counterparts. From slit trenches along the eastern edge of Whitton's Creek, rifle and machine gun fire opened up as the rest of the town's garrison manned positions all round the perimeter. Once the attack had been determined to be in the east, Major Yorke ordered the strength of both 4 and 6 Platoons to focus on that part of the perimeter. 5 Platoon was to cover the rest of the perimeter best it could, though it had to do without the section that had been selected as bridge guard for the day. Yorke gave orders over the radio for the bridge guard to remain where it was and dig in, the bridge was his company's lifeline and they needed it in friendly hands as long as possible.

Aside from the usual L1A1 SLR battle rifles and GPMGs, each rifle section also had Carl Gustaf recoilless rifles and M79 grenade launchers to give them an extra bit of punch. The odd round from the Carl Gustafs were loosed off when the enemy armoured cars came into range, the frag rounds for the grenade launchers proved more useful in dealing with the insurgents. There was, however, limited ammunition for both. Expecting to do more than garrison an outpost, in addition to being briefed that the insurgents were lightly armed, the company had elected to carry more ammo for their rifles. Yorke was hedging his bets on a relief force getting through to them before things got critical.

[Morrdh]

RNGAF Station Cairns

Royal New Garrack Air Force Station Cairns was the most northern airbase in New Garrack; with its two squadrons of Rolls-Royce engined Phantom fighters, RNGAF Cairns covered the air defence of New Garrack's northern reaches. To reflect its importance, the airbase had a squadron of Airfield Defence Guards to supplement the base's RNGAF Police detachment in covering its security needs. The RNGAF Police would man the guardhouse and main gate to the airbase, the ADG units in turn patrolled the perimeter of the base in Land Rovers to deter intruders. The arrangement seemed to work pretty well as very few if any security incidents had been reported by the airbase.

Until now.

RNGAF Cairns was considered one of the more trickier targets. The Air Force's presence needed to be neutralised, but the Hegemony wanted to capture the base and its fighters intact. Having the base, and more importantly its fighters, would allow the Hegemony to achieve local air superiority in addition to being a major propaganda coup. The Hegemony already had aircrews standing ready, it just needed to get the aircraft for them to fly.

The assault on the airbase would be a PMC affair led by Midular himself, JNF units would be utilised on roadblocks round the airbase to stop New Garrack military reinforcements from getting through. Other JNF units would follow behind the PMC soldiers, mainly to cover their backs and hold key points after the PMC soldiers had taken them. The guardhouse and the ADG barrack block were the critical targets and needed to be hit quickly, mobility and rapid strikes would be the order of the day.

A heavy truck would be used to smash through the main gates, assault units in the back of the truck would then attack the guardhouse as the rest of the strike force stormed through the shattered gate in lightly armoured vehicles similar to those being used at Whitton's Creek. A good two-thirds of this force had been detailed to deal with the ADG units, the remaining units were tasked with securing the airbase's ops center and control tower.

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK



The rocket struck one of the armored vehicles on the side, the heat slowly intensifying around the magazines and stowage compartments holding thousands of machine gun rounds. They cooked off and a ball of fire exploded through the vehicle's roof and erupted in a plume overhead. One of the other vehicles deployed a smoke screen, behind which the three survivors moved positions back into the wooded area and out of direct line of sight.

Laying on the hill overseeing the battle unfold, Captain Sajinga cursed, "Damn it. And on the first bloody day, too."

"Don't worry, sir, I'm sure the company will expense it," said Wanga.

Sajinga chuckled, but only for a second. "Remember sublieutenant, they'll expense us too if we lose," he said.

Huron Authority certainly paid well, but nature always finds a way to tax wealth. The company specialized in secretive, clandestine operations, taking contracts many others wouldn't have accepted. Failure, especially that of the dramatic kind, was penalized. Oftentimes, with your life. It would take a catastrophe for Sajinga and Wanga to suffer that fate, but the loss of an eighth of their mobile firepower was a bad omen.

The raw sound of battle intensified as the Morridanes began seeking the attacking mortars with their own. Sajinga's men led the mobile mortar team, ordering JNF commanders to move positions after every other round. Sajinga would have preferred for them to change after every firing sequence, but the JNF did not have the Macabéan-made mortars they had equipped the PRA during the War of Panooly Reunification. These pieces could not land several rounds simultaneously. No, these pieces were antiquated and simple. It would have to do.

Captain Sajinga looked down as rocket flew out of the tall grasses, leaving behind it a billowing plume of smoke. PLR-4s and, in fewer numbers, PLR-8s had been imported from Holy Panooly. Shoulder-launched and reusable, the light tubes were scattered among the companies to provide heavy fire support against armored fighting vehicles or fortified targets. Each company attacking now carried 4 PLR-4s and a single PLR-8, with the PLR-8 distributed every other company. The rocket crashed into a building, sending up a cloud of smoke dust, and debris.

Sublieutenant Wanga was masticating on a wad of gum like a dog would on a bone. "Wish we would have had more time to train them with the PLR-4s," he said. "I suppose we should be happy the man struck a building, it could have been a far greater waste." Below, the clatter of Morridane machineguns came paired with the cries of insurgents as they were maimed.

"It's better than nothing," replied Sajinga, grimly. "At the very least, it'll keep the Morridanes on their toes."

As the eastern attack continued to pressure Morridane defenses along that side of the perimeter, the JNF forces amassed to the southeast waited to allow Moridane soldiers to continue reinforcing against the other attack. One hundred men suddenly rose from the grasses there and began moving toward the southern perimeter. A heavy machine gun opened up from somewhere in the bush, suppressing Morridane positions directly facing the new advance. The sound of rocket fire reached the northeastern hills on which Sajinga and his sublieutenant, Wanga, lay on.

Despite the pressure, the New Garrack perimeter continued to hold strong. Even the second, southern attack had not seemed to too terribly affect Whitton's Creeks defenders. It was the eastern attack that began to waver first, the discouragement among the JNF militants growing quickly. Out in the open, urged forward by their commanders and the Huron Authority cadre, their ranks were quickly thinning.

The sun was coming down to the west and a sliver of a shadow began to crawl over the folds of the land. "Should we move more men forward, Captain? We have time for one more big push before night fall."

"No," answered Sajinga, "we must conserve men and ammunition. Order G and H companies forward to the edge the copse of trees protecting our armor. It is time to withdraw for the night. Have F company form a perimeter at six hundred and nine hundred meters from the town. I want to know anything and everything that goes in and out."

"Yes, captain," replied Wanga, who then issued the orders through his radio to Huron attachés to the individual companies.

The two companies formed up at the edge of the treeline relatively quickly, deploying from their rear-area bivouac where they were on reserve. By then, the sun's light was dim and darkened by a rapidly encroaching night. Under covering fire, the remnants of the two companies who partook in the eastern attack began to wearily withdraw. They left behind them many dead, over 50 bodies laying limp on the dry bush grasses. To the south, the single company that had launched a secondary attack, hoping to catch a weaker sector of the defending perimeter, also withdrew — this one in a more orderly fashion.

It was C company, one of the two committed to the opening attack, that had taken the worst casualties in the assault. Survivors well enough to fight were reorganized in B and D companies, which had approached from the south and from the east, respectively. The wounded were treated as best they could be.

That night, further down the river to the south and well out of sight, two companies worth of JNF soldiers crossed the Shay. With them were any extra PLR-4 RPGs dropped by C company's dead, giving them six total and an additional PLR-8. They made camp wherever they could find sufficient enough cover before they would move out again in a few hours. A few scouts ventured out to see their target for the next day: the bridge over the Shay.

On both sides of the river, small three-man teams broken off from their companies and an attached Huron Authority PMC buried a series of IEDs along the road that met the bridge and continued on the other side. Made from whatever had been on hand, including old artillery shells, these IEDs ranged in size, some large enough to trouble a large armored car. This would be a nightly routine so that if the New Garrack Army, the Morridanes, or any of their allies decided to reinforce the town, they'd be met by a nasty surprise.

All the while, the JNF waited for the sun to rise again.

[Morrdh]

RNGAF Station Cairns

The airbase proved to be one of the easier objectives to take; its personnel simply weren't prepared or equipped to deal with a determined ground assault. Most of the airbase's defences were geared towards defending it from an aerial attack, which meant a Rapier SAM battery and a light anti-aircraft gun operated by the Airfield Defence Guard unit. The only concessions for ground combat was to defend against the more likely envisioned threat of raids by enemy special forces teams. It would be a cakewalk for the PMC forces attacking the airbase.

Almost.

The Airfield Defence Guards had a flight of four FV107 Scimitar light tanks, which took a fearsome toll upon the trucks and armoured cars used by the PMC strike force. For a time it looked like the strike force was in danger of being mauled by the airbase's defenders until a lucky grenade, thrown more out of desperation, got jammed in the turret ring of one of the Scimitar and prevented the turret from being rotated. Unable to traverse its gun, the light tank ended being an easy target and swiftly dealt with. The other three Scimitars were also dealt with in short order when RPGs were brought to bear against them. The ADG unit's billets would be the last stronghold of defence until the PMC forces breached the walls and stormed the building, bitter and brutal close-quarter fighting followed before the building was finally taken.

RNGAF Station Cairns and, more importantly, the fighter aircraft based there had been taken. At a stroke, the balance of power in the Frontier had tipped into the hands of the Hegemony. PMC aircrews would be brought in to fly the fighters and form the nucleolus of a fledgling air force. Other aircraft and additional defences would be brought in as well to bolster the airbase against attempts by the New Garrack military to retake the airbase.

In the meantime, Midular would go to Whitton's Creek to see why it hadn't fallen yet.

---

Shay River Bridge

It was settling down to be a tense night for 5 Platoon's No.2 Section, stuck out on the Shay River bridge. The ten man section had been forced to watch on anxiously as the militants launched their attack, though relief came when the attack was driven off. Though that relief was short lived as the section realized that it was effectively cut-off from the town and vastly outnumbered. The section commander, Corporal Sean Rourke, had ordered his men to dig in and wait further orders. Fortunately they hadn't been attacked yet, but that could change at any moment. Matters weren't helped much by the intermittent contact the section had had with B Coy HQ since the town first came under attack.

"Sunray, this is two-two." Rourke called out over the radio. "Do ye read? Over."

"Two-two, this is sunray."" The radio crackled. "What's your sitrep? Over."

"Peachy, just peachy." Answered Rourke. "Multiple tangos in our area, we've spotted movement further down the river bank. So far, no contacts. Over."

"Roger. CSM* Tanner will attempt to bring some supplies out to you within the hour, any requests? Over."

"So ye want us ta sit tight? Over."

"Yes. Over."

"Roger." Sighed Rourke. "Just rations will do. Over."

"Roger. Sunray out."

---

"Let Tanner know to take three days' worth of rations." Yorke ordered an aide, who nodded and hurried off. With a moment to think, Yorke sighed and ran a hand down his face. He then turned to the radio operator. "Alright, get me Gormanville."

"You're through sir." The radio operator said a few moments later, handing Yorke a microphone.

"This is Yorke." Said Yorke.

"Yorke," Replied a voice through the static. "This is Colonel Howard, speak your piece."

"Sir, earlier today my position came under heavy attack by insurgents with light armour support. We repelled them at the cost of several men wounded and at least a third of our munitions expended. Requesting reinforcements soon as."

"Negative on that request, reinforcements unavailable at this time." Colonel Howard replied. "The insurgents hit multiple locations, the Cairns airbase and Gormanville radio station have both been confirmed as captured. Fighting still ongoing at other locations."

"Feck...that bad?"

"Yes, that bad. But we'll try to send help soon as its available." Answered Colonel Howard. "Until then your orders are to hold your position, even if its down to the last bullet. Understood?"

"Crystal." Yorke said dryly. "Yorke out."

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK


I.

Many men had died from the wounds in the night. Some had been badly injured and their screaming had been haunting. There was little to be done for them, many were simply put out of their misery with a knife.

Still, when the sun was barely a burning orange ball peeking over the horizon, JNF forces formed on the eastern side of Whitton's Creek in preparation for another attack. This time the enemy would know they were coming. As the first birds barely squawked awake in their little nests, mortars shuddered in the close distance and four shells landed scattered along the southeastern and eastern edges of the town. A thick fog of smoke began to permeate the battlefield from them until the haze was so dark that one could hardly see a thing.

One hundred men crept up under this cover as the mortars repositioned themselves. They moved quickly, covering ground while keeping low. For most men down there, the run's end would come sooner than wanted. And just as they emerged from the other side of the black cloud that hung across the land, JNF mortars struck perimeter defenses along the arc defending against the renewed assault.


Chineye Abunto had lost his father before he had known him. Torune Abunto, his father, had died in his mid-20s in the mines. His mother died during childbirth. The second he was born, Chineye's destiny had already been shaped by forces outside of his control. It was perhaps this feeling of a lack of control that made him into the violent person he had become. Perhaps violence was a means to taking the reins.

But now he found himself in the web of outside forces, advancing along with 200 hundred other men through a black, impenetrable smoke. He decided to, once again, try to define his future for himself. He wouldn't be cut down in a hail of bullets, empowered by the lack of training and discipline Chineye's comrades suffered from. He wouldn't die a meaningless death like them, at least not that easily. He crawled through the tall grasses, spots on either side of him as he moved forward black and burned out from the previous day's fighting. He crawled until he came to a spot just on the edge of the smoke cloud. Flipping the bidpod of his machinegun down, he aimed through a small opening in the defenders' blockades and defenses and pulled the trigger.


II.

To the north, the JNF company the UAV team it was escorting had been awake for most of the night, taking turns at sleeping until each man got perhaps three or four hours worth of shut-eye. Three or four hours if the man was lucky. Their small unmanned aircraft had circled Whitton Creek's perimeters, passing over the town at times, collecting whatever intelligence they could on the disposition of the defenders.

This footage and data were passed to commanders using simple wi-fi and cellular technology, giving JNF forces and their mercenary leadership rudimentary communication and battlefield network capabilities. Prehistoric when considered relative to the technology of the world's best armies, but still an incredible asset in the hands of irregular forces like these.

As the sun continued to climb in the sky, they continued their duties with persistence and vigor, helping to guide JDF mortars and heavy weapons down on the defenders.


III.

While the eastern edge of the town lit aflame with the renewed sound of war, some 200 JNF insurgents crawled into their advanced positions. As their brothers to the east died to pin down the enemy garrison, these men were tasked with taking the outpost on the western side of the bridge that crossed the Shay River. They had six lighter PLR-4 rocket-propelled grenade launcher and a single more powerful PLR-8.

Counting down, the minutes before the attack seemed eternal. To the east, dozens were probably dying all the while. Here, the two JNF companies waited anxiously until their Huron Authority attachés ordered them forward. The call to advance came perhaps forty-five minutes into the eastern attack, and it opened with a rocket that slammed into something outside the reinforced outpost. A second rocket struck soon after, then a third. Finally, with a terrible yell that sounded across the JNF lines, half of each company moved forward to overrun the Morridane position.


IV.

Not wanting to be a predictable bunch, Captain Sajinga and Sublieutenant Wanga had occupied a different height this morning. Still, they found a place with ample coverage of the eastern side of the battle. This time, they had installed themselves on a hill further to the south, giving them some visibility over the Shay River and its western bank.

Sajinga was speaking over a small radio. "Negative," he said.

There was a pause, then he sighed obviously not liking what he was hearing from the other side. "Negative, Oscar Five-Two," he repeated, "the enemy is well-entrenched in Whitton's Creek. I request reinforcements or fire support. I repeat, I request reinforcements or fire support. The enemy position is strong."

He went silent to listen for a while and then threw the radio into the ground in frustration. "Damn it all," he growled, "damn it all to hell. 'No reinforcements are available,' they said. 'Cairns and Gormanville have fallen,' we need to accomplish the mission on our own."

"It's not like they gave us the cream of the crop, exactly," said Wanga, referring to the JNF forces at their disposal.

"No," said Sajinga, "but I suppose it will have to do. If we can take the western side of the bridge, we can further isolate the garrison, cut them off from supplies. Maybe then we'll have a chance to penetrate the town's defenses, reduce the garrison. Perhaps by then they will be starved enough, whether for food, water, or ammunition, to surrender. All a subject of probabilities and chance. Not a game I like to play, but the one I seem to be in regardless. Maybe we can take control. Continue to have our reserves deploy IEDs along the road and have them scout ambush points in case the Morridanes decide to send a relief force. And tell our Huron boys in the weeds that they are greenlit to engage. It's time to put in some muscle."

Wanga whistled. "Roger that," he answered, "I'm sure they'll be excited."


V.

Eight hundred meters from the northeastern edge of Whitton's Creek there stood a copse of trees atop a squat hill. Laying prone beside the thick truck of one of those trees was Vorhees van der Leuke, the butt of his 13.3mm sniper rifle firmly against his shoulder. The rifle was supported by a short bipod toward its front-end.

Van der Leuke was not just Guffingfordi, but also from Cerfonlande. His first language was Pantocratorian and his second Guffingfordi. His father spoke Plánol, but he remembered little of it. Only enough to pass as one if he said little enough. Díenstadi he learned much later by necessity, although this language too he only he knew enough to get his by. Having no desire to die in some distant land for some foreign ideals, he emigrated soon after Cerfonlande's occupation by Stevid. When it was absorbed by the Golden Throne after the Treaty of Hoogensbosch, Van der Leuke still felt no true necessity to return. His homeland was no longer the same. Besides, was it truly his homeland? The color of his skin had seemed such a concern to such a great many of his neighbors and nationals. But his parents' Holy Panooly seemed no more so a home than any other place, both under Templeton's brutal regime and now as the Plánol nation slowly died.

War gave his life meaning. The contractors in Tarn seemed divorced enough from foolish ideology to be acceptable to a man who stood for nothing. War helped fill a void. Vorhees found peace in conflict, certainty in the face of death. War gave him something to live for.

Looking through the scope of his rifle, he adjusted its position until his sights fell upon a foe's head.

He breathed in as everything around him went silent as if in a vacuum. His mind and body were one. And he pulled the trigger.

[Morrdh]

The Last of the Mohicans - Promontory (Main Theme)

"STAND TO! STAND TO!"

Cries of alarm went up amongst the defenders of Whitton's Creek as the new JNF attack started, they were soon joined by the snap of rifle fire and the rattle of machine guns as the New Garrack soldiers jumped into their trenches to repel the latest assault. The whistle and bangs of mortar rounds soon added to the din along with cries of pain and shouted orders.

Amidst the smoke and whizzing bullets strode Company Sergeant-Major Tanner, a giant of a man who bellowed commands as he walked unflinching. He was seemingly unfazed by a JNF mortar round that landed mere feet away, only pausing to adjust his beret before striding onwards again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a bad day.

News of events at Cairns and Gromanville had broken...badly.

Through the wooden doors of her office, Sandra Gibson could hear muffled but angry voices shouting. Some were reporters, some government ministers, some civil servants. Her secretary was doing her best to field them off and manage phone calls as it seemed like the entire world wanted to hound the New Garrack leader. She already told the Mokans, politely, where to go stick it. And the baying cries continued, her government appeared to be deteriorating even faster than the situation in the north of the country. She knew that unless, by some miracle, she turned things around she was staring oblivion in the face.

Her phone rang and she snapped an answer. "What?!"

"Sorry to disturb you mam," Apologised her secretary. "But I have the Taoiseach of Morrdh on line three..."

"Alright, fine...put him through..." Sandra sighed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was chaos.

A maelstrom of noise, a chorus of gun fire, screams and explosions as the battle for Whitton's Creek raged onwards.

JNF mortar fire had managed to start a few fires round the town, but the Commonwealth defenders were more concerned with beating off the assault than dealing with the flames that burned unchecked. Yorke had ordered the company's munition stores to be dispersed to reduce the danger of them being hit by enemy fire and cut down on the time it took to resupply his troops. The defenders had also used the cover of darkness well and positioned improvised claymore mines round the perimeter of the town, effectively ammo boxes stuffed with explosives and spent rounds. These mines were wired into small groups and connected to a single detonator, mainly to help stagger the explosions and not waste the whole lot in one go. The first batch of mines were detonated when the JNF soldiers got close, clouds of shrapnel flew in all directions and caught the enemy soldiers off-guard.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"First Minister..." Said Ger George Whittleton, the Taoiseach of Morrdh, with very little warmth in his voice. "There is a great concern that ye are losing control o' yer country."

"I understand how it may seem, but we have the situation under control."

"Ya lost an airbase, a major city is contested and yer forces are being assaulted on all sides." Replied Ser George. "Not exactly what I'd call 'under control' First Minister. I've had ta spend the past two hours trying to convince the Mokans to no immediately launch an invasion o' New Garrack, so ye better have something ta address the situation before everything collapses."

"I have a plan of action that's being put into action right now."

"It better be, ye have twenty-four hours before the situation gets taken out o' yer hands. I bid ye luck, ya gonna need it." Said Ser George before he hung up.

"...Shit." Sandra said a moment later. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Since the attack began on the town, Corporal Rourke's section guarding the Shay River bridge had been waiting anxiously. CSM Tanner had managed to come out to their position during the night with supplies to last them another day, though it was looking less and less likely that they would see another day out on the bridge. Curses rang out as the first of the rockets were fired at their position, followed by the loosening of bowels as the yell of the militants charged forwards. A desperate fight broke out as the ten man section found themselves outgunned and outnumbered, it quickly devolved into a brutal hand-to-hand brawl. Knives, rifle butts, ammo crates and anything else that could be used as a weapon was used as such. The section knew it was cut-off and doomed as it dawned upon them that this was one fight they wouldn't be walking away from, all they could do was to give as good as they got and hold the bridge for as long as they could.

The last stand of Corporal Rourke and his men would be a side-show to the Battle of Whitton's Creek, but they made the JNF pay dearly for taking the bridge. Perhaps someday in the future somebody in authority would look at the action and award a medal for bravery for a footnote in history.

Regardless, by nightfall the bridge had fallen.

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK


I.

Akili Njinga peered over her shoulder to look at the stranded JNF contingent on the other side of the bridge. There were perhaps twelve men there in all, holding whatever defensive positions they could to keep the New Garrack garrison from retaking the point. On her side, she had another twenty-two under her watch. Perhaps another ninety were scattered about, hiding in the bush as best they could.

Other than the party inside the town, she and her band of militant fighters were perhaps the most exposed of the entire JNF contingent besieging Whitton's Creek. She turned to either side of her to inspect the three machine guns that were guarding the approaches to the river's banks on the opposite side. Most of the remaining rockets were with her, as well. Some of the New Garrack bodies still lay where they had fallen. And around them, the ground was littered with the corpses of dead JNF riflemen. Their stench traveled in curling tendrils that sought the nose.

She sniffed hers. "We will clean these in the night," she said to the militants around her.

They looked at her with strange eyes, but nodded.

Akili's path was one beset by obstacles. She had provided children at a young age, many times over many years as she grew up in rural northeastern Holy Panooly. Most of the men in her life would die in the battles and cullings of the Templeton regime. She lost sons too, all of them when the Great Sickness came. KN755 she knew now. A rage roared within her, a storm difficult to quell. So many millions, hundreds of millions, had died. And for what? Holy Panooly now crawled with armored imperial soldiers who hailed themselves as liberators. With nothing of her homeland left to stay for, her path led her to Tarn and then to here, at this bridge in faraway New Garrack, well away from the bodies of the boys she had left behind.

With hard set jaw and gritted teeth, she gripped her rifle as she attended to the JNF contingent with fierce shouts and a flurry of commands, keeping the men awake and alert. In Plánol, she murmured under her breath, "Kibuji save me, take my eye off of them and they'll fall asleep."

She had seen better men die in their dreams by the blade. She had done it herself.

The JNF fighters, they obeyed her begrudgingly and with mixed vigor at first. But she had quickly built her reputation before them, always exploiting an opportunity to enforce her authority, to prove it. And now they did as she said without second thought, although the stray look of fluster still came her way as it did with any officer. She was not their friend.

As the sun came down all the way they had hunkered down, waiting for the sun to rise again.



II.

Van der Leuke surveyed the field below him. Men were crying, begging for someone to come. Their comrades had left them to suffer, their wounds slowly bleeding them from life. They would all die throughout the night, listening to each other go as they sometimes screamed out in pain. Surviving JNF had withdrawn back to the eastern treelines, bivouacking for the night again.

He slung his rifle around his back, carrying it close his chest. The barrel extended well beyond his knee, hidden in the tall grass that sometimes came up to his waist. He had moved often, shifting from position to position to avoid being found and killed, and now the sun was coming down for the second night and it was time to go back into hiding. Tomorrow promised another long day, so best he got whatever hour of sleep he could. But if he slept it would be alone, separate for all others, alone and in control. Perhaps he could find a place far enough where the wails of the dying were at least muffled.


III.

When the sun rose again, JNF forces assembled at the edge of the treeline just east of Whitton's Creek. The Morridanes were already awake and prepared. They knew the routine by now. The heat grew as the sun rose, and beneath the violet rays of a birthing star Captain Josemar Sajinga waited in the open as a runner returned from the edge of the town.

"They have rejected the offer, sir," said the rifleman, panting with hands on his knees. And off of his rifle. Disgusting.

"Stand up straight, soldier!" he barked. "Always. Always, be in control of your weapon. Do you understand?"

The JNF soldier tried to look defiant, but he gave way. "Yes, sir," he said, finally.

Sajinga chewed his lower lip. He had the men for another assault, but he could not sustain this rate of casualties for much more. Soon enough he'd have little force left. Truth be told, the garrison was well ordered and well trained, holding their own against superior numbers. Sajinga had nothing but respect for that, but the company had tasked him with taking the crown.

"Should we call for air support, sir?" asked Sublieutenant Wanga.

The captain nodded. "Yes, we should."

For almost an hour JNF forces maintained themselves along the treeline, the edge teeming with men anxious to go into battle again. Whether it was for the thrill or to simply die sooner rather than later one could never know, but the captain's company men were marching up and down the line to hold the men in place.

A rumble came suddenly from the distance. Whatever it was must not have been coming from very high, because even as it got louder it remained out of sight. Finally, there, close by, one finally made out the silhouette of an aircraft approaching Whitton's Creek. As it came closer one could make out its wings as wide for its length. Whatever it was, it looked a bulldog of an aircraft. Its first fly over the town was terrifying, strafing garrisoning positions below with its 33mm gatling gun that roared in ferocious spurts. It flew off to turn for another run.

As it left, the battlefield fell into an eerie silence again. JNF forces held tight where they crouched.

As the aircraft shrieked in for another run over the town, Sajinga ordered his men forward with a growling bellow. Maybe this would be enough. He did not expect the Morridanes to be overrun, but perhaps, just maybe, he could persuade his commanding counterpart inside Whitton's Creek to surrender the town.


Edit 8/30/2018: Corrected 'continent' to 'contingent.'

[Mokastana]

7th Army, 3rd Corps Command
PUF supply base
Central New Garrack

In villages and towns across central New Garrack, locals would begin noticing something strange from the PUF military bases. While security had tightened, making access onto base all but impossible, requirements to leave the base seemed to be laxing every day. It started with a squad of Mokan soldiers driving a PPMV to a local ice cream shop in town. Their uniforms were stripped of identifying information, minus a velcro strap on their left shoulder revealing the PUF flag. As for their vehicle, the pattern of three red stars marked it property of the People's Federal Army. Though they had pistols on their hips, they only came in to order a few cones, make a few jokes, and enjoy the weather while chatting by their vehicle. If a constable came by, they would be polite, and inform the officer they were on half day leave. The weapons were merely a secutity measure given the situation in country, but they would leave if requested. After a pleasant ice cream stop, they would hop back in their PPMV and visit one or two more stops in town before returning to base. Over the next few weeks, similar stories popped up in towns nearby every Federal installation. Some stopped at fast food joints, others visited shopping centers. There was even a story of a Mk.3 supply truck, loaded with a full platoon, that visited a nearby park for a pick up game of football.

Inquiries into the surge of visitors would be given the generic answer that due to the terrorists attacks in country, more troops were in country. More troops meant more troops with leave, and more leave meant more soldiers in town spending money. Each group would always be polite, respecting the wishes of the establishments they visited. Although most civilians didn't get close enough to see, some began to claim that the PUFs vehicles carried rifles and armor in the back seats. After a time, the soldiers visiting the local shops would even begin wearing the armor, or visiting friendly locations with their rifles over their shoulders, rather than leaving them in the car. It seemed that every group of soldiers on “R&R” was at least at squad strength, and most, if not all, refrained from visiting drinking establishments. If they did, no soldier ordered anything alcoholic.

It wasn't long before full armored convoys were commonplace on highways and roads between the bases. Routine supply and reassignment, was the official story. Heavy vehicles were just ‘escorts’ and rumors of unauthorized anti aircraft weapons being set up in the woods was just examples routine drills by the professional army units in theatre, more than likely exaggerated. They were simply drills to keep the army sharp in case things got worse. COs were more than happy to visit local police and city governments to keep them informed of Federal activity in the area, and inform them, as allies, that Federal soldiers would respond to any calls for help. Officially their job was to protect Federal supply lines, but they would always stand by thier allies, if they ever needed any help.

[Morrdh]

Northern New Garrack

Operation HERALD had succeeded beyond the Hegemony's expectations, considerably beyond those of Godwinne, and many within the group had already started acting like the country was theirs. Godwinne had to shake his head in disbelief, they may have been over the first hurdle but there were still a great many obstacles in the way before they reached the end goal. Thankfully it seemed the Hegemony's benefactor realised this and had called a meeting to announce the next few steps, or so Godwinne hoped. There was, at least, a silver lining in the fact that Midular had sent along one of his lackeys.

Right now Markus Zachary, CEO of Republic Ores and de facto head of the Hegemony, was addressing those assembled. "Gentlemen, our sweat, blood and toil is almost at an end. We have achieve so much in a short space of time, but we're on the threshold of tasting the fruits of our labours. Our stars are well and truly in as-...."

Just then the doors were thrown open and the room fell silent, Zachary's speech abruptly ending mid-sentence and vanishing into nothingness. All eyes were on the doors as a figure, a man, walked slowly into the room. None dared speak or even challenge the newcomer, but Godwinne quickly realised why when he saw who the man was.

Him.

The Hegemony's benefactor, a man that Godwinne had only seen pictures of until now. The man stopped and glanced round at those assembled, his eyes boring into them before he spoke. "You know me, you are beholden to me."

"The Hegemony only exists thanks to me, do not forget that." The man said sternly, staring at Zachary. "Now if that is clear to everyone here, I'll outline the Hegemony's next few tasks."

"Thanks to our...associates in the Reich, ten thousand or so Scythian fighters will be joining our cause. They'll require billets, arms and food...resolving that will be your task." The man stated. "Additionally, the Hegemony must be prepared for a change of government in this country."

"W-what about the Mokans?" Godwinne asked.

"An annoyance, but if they're given reassurances then I do not see them being a problem...thanks for volunteering to be envoy."

"...Envoy?"

"Yes, envoy." The man answered. "Envoy to the Mokans on behalf of the...Viktorite Dominion."

---

Derry,
Capital of New Garrack

After Whittleton's phone call, Sandra Gibson put forth a call for an emergency session of parliament. There in front of parliament, and the rest of the country via TV, she would declare her plan to address the situation in the north. She would invoke the Emergency Powers Act, bypass the Ministry of Defence and appoint a war council. It was a drastic course of action to take, but she didn't want to go down in history as a leader who stood idle whilst her country slipped away from her. She collected her things and headed outside to where a car waited to take her to parliament, though she stopped when she saw the man in the driver's seat. "Wait...you're not my normal driver, where's Richard?"

"Get in and don't make a sound..." Another voice said behind her as she felt the muzzle of a gun against her back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Robin Flinch, the Minister of Civil Affairs, heard a beep and pulled out his mobile phone to read the newly received message. Around him was a chorus of noise as the other parliamentary members filled the chamber with the sound of countless conversations. Notable was the glaring absence of the Prime Minister, though that suited Flinch just find as he stood up and called out. "Mr Speaker!"

"Mr Speaker," Flinch said again as the noise in the chamber quietened down. "For a long time now, despite the urging of her ministers, the Prime Minister has sat idly by and done nothing as the northern reaches of our country descend into anarchy. An air base lost, our brave soldiers besieged and a major city torn apart by chaos."

"To add further insult to injury, she called us all here for an emergency session and then does not show." Flinch continued, raising jeers and cheers from all round the chamber. "It cannot be denied any longer that she has failed in her duties as Prime Minister!"

"Therefore I ask this chamber to consider a motion of no confidence in the Prime Minister so that a more capable leader can then be elected. For the good of our fair country, the premiership of Prime Minister Sandra Gibson must be ended!"

[Morrdh]

Siege of Whitton's Creek

During the course of the second day's events, it had become clear to the defenders of the town that an enemy sniper was active with deadly effect. This didn't do the soldiers' morale much good, especially when coupled with the news that the section defending the bridge to the west had been wiped out. Things would only get worse as munitions and rations started reaching critical levels and the casualties mounted up, it was clear to Major Yorke that something had to be done to address this.

He sent for CSM Tanner.

The Company Sergeant Major, given his full rank, had shown a knack for marksmanship during recruit training and served for a time in the army's sniper cadre before climbing the ranks. Tanner's old man had been a wilderness tracker and hunter, imparting many skills to his son which had served him well in the army. During the night, Tanner had settled in along the northern edge of town with a scoped bolt-action rifle. The rifle hared the same round 7.62mm round as the SLR, had wooden furniture and a free-floating barrel. Though an old design, it was a rifle that Tanner entrusted his life to and wouldn't accept any other weapon for this particular task.

As the sun rose on the third day, Tanner laid in wait peering through the rifle's scope for any sign of his prey. There were a great many places to the north of Whitton's Creek where the enemy sniper could be lurking, Some obvious, some not so obvious. Tanner had to figure out just where exactly his prey war, snapping the scope onto every single trace of movement and squeezing the trigger before gently releasing the pressure. "C'mon, where are ya ye bally bastard?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dawn came with the cry of "Stand to! Stand to!"

Though the vast majority of his men were already manning the trenches, some having slept the night in them, York knew it paid to ensure that his men were alert and ready in case the enemy decided to attack as first light. Minutes passed as the night chill was burnt away by the heat of the new day, but it otherwise remained quiet. A shout ran out as a runner, carrying a white cloth as a flag of truce, came out from the enemy lines. York made his way cautiously to the edge of town to meet the runner, though he made sure the soldiers nearest to him were ready with their rifles. Once the runner got close enough, Yorke called out. "What the feck do you want?!"

"M-m-my..." The enemy runner stammered, taken aback by Yorke's blunt question. "My commander asks that you consider surrender and avoid further bloodshed."

"Tell him..." Yorke began, looking round at his men as he weighed his next few words. "Tell him....he can go feck himself!"

The runner opened and closed his mouth a few times, then turned and headed back to his own lines. One of Yorke's men asked. "Sure that was wise sir?"

"Probably wasn't." Answered Yorke. "But expect an assault any minute."

Men set about preparing their weapons, loading fresh magazines, checking belts of ammo and taking gulps from their water bottles. An hour passed with no sign of movement on the enemy's behalf, though that suited Yorke fine as he'd received confirmation over the radio during the night that the rest of the battalion was making its way along the road from Port Alfred in the east. It was Yorke's hope that by the time the enemy forces attacked, the rest of 12th battalion would be able to attack the enemy from behind. His hopes were dashed when a sudden rumble was heard in the distant, the source of the sound was confirmed a short while later. "Aircraft!"

Yorke dived for cover as the aircraft made its first strafing run, earth and men were torn apart as the rounds from the aircraft's gun struck the ground with explosive force. Screams of wounded men and cries for a medic called out as the aircraft circled round for another pass, Yorke staggered to his feet and forced his leg to move. Yorke half-ran/half-staggered towards the relative safety of the nearest building and shouted out, "I need a gimpy! I need a gimpy NOW!"

The aircraft had made its second pass when somebody gave Yorke a GPMG and then helped him carry it to the police station that bordered one side of the town's square. Yorke couldn't remember who the soldier helping was, though truth be told he didn't really care at that moment in time. He simply shouted at the soldier to keep an eye out for the aircraft as he setup the machine gun, he was barely ready when the soldier cried out. Scanning the sky, Yorke quickly spotted his foe and opened fire with the GPMG. He kept a steady stream of machine gun fire going, using the tracers to help him aim ahead of the aircraft in hopes of hitting the damn thing.

[Solisian Union]

Sardis Bluff

---

Encarnación Tasis

Agencia de Observación y Seguridad Extranjera


Foreign Security and Observation Agency

FSOA

---

"Demasiado interesante ..." Spoke out Tasis as she looked at the various articles, books, papers and other documents detailing the history and the monarchy of the state of Morddh. She moved on to reading about the ongoing New Garrack Bush War and then placed all the documents she was in the middle of reading on the mahogany table and went out of her office like she was on fire. She moved into another room that was named Cámaras de fotografía and then spoke out "Lacasa! ¡Conseguí un trabajo para ti! Job for you in another country! Lacasa!"

And the reply came roughly and angrily as a woman with wild black hair, dressed in a khaki skirt and orange shirt, went out of digging through some boxes. She told the visitor "Sí, sí, ¡te escuché, puta voz! Entonces, ¿a dónde voy? Where?" And Tasis told her. Then it took only ten minutes for Tasis to tell her everything she wanted her to do. At that point, Lacasa nodded and said in the end "Está bien, señora, lo abordaré. El boleto está en usted, esta vez. Me pondré en contacto con el jefe azul al respecto?" To which Tasis told her Sí, adelante con eso. Solo vete ahora con tu equipo. Tendré que ver el Centro Nacional de Inteligencia."

The two women said their goodbyes to each other as Tasis took a cab to the CNI while Lacasa hurried to get her camera, her pistol and her ID.

---

Treinta minutos más tarde...
Thirty minutes later...

Encarnación Tasis finally reached the headquarters of the CNI just as she bumped into...Rut Soledad Socorro, the very Deputy Director of the CNI. She hurried to bow to Lady Socorro but the superior shook her head and made her stand tall as she said "Nothing to forgive. Anyway...Deputy Assistant Director Tasis?" The woman nodded "Necesito que escolte al Sr. Sidney Warren porque él será nuestro representante para nuestra nación interesante muy pronto. Ya me han informado que el gobierno saliente y los candidatos quieren abrir relaciones con este."

Before Tasis could speak, Socorro told her "¿Aceptarás? Will you accept?"

Tasis just nodded.

[Morrdh]

OOC: Much of this post is related to this news post.

Morrdun,
Commonwealth of Morrdh

Ser George Whittleton paused for a moment and looked at the door in front of him. There was fresh varnish, more of a finishing coat on a recently cut oaken door rather than decades of layers piled on top of other layers. The plaque on the door shone, as did the screwheads that sat perfectly in their holes as opposed to be warped and chewed up. It was the plaque in particular that he looked at, a plaque that bore the legend 'Cabinet Office Briefing Room A'.

The COBRA Room, as it was sometimes called, hosted the meetings of the various committees of the Cabinet Office of the Morridane Government. These so-called 'Cabinet committees' were split between standing committees with a broad remit and ad hoc committees to deal with specific matters. The latter type are generally given a prefix of Gen and a number, but were typically short-lived. Such a committee, Gen 319, was about to be convened for the first time and had specifically been formed to deal with Her Morridane Majesty's Government's response to the insurgency in New Garrack. In his former role of Minister of Space, Ser George had chaired a handful of committees that were related to his department and now he was going to chair a committee as the Taoiseach of Morrdh.

The room had recently, under Ser George's orders, been refurbished and redecorated. The task had been long overdue, nearly every time it'd been signed off for in the past some crisis flared up that required the room's urgent use. It had been an unusually quiet period and so Ser George finally had the job pushed through and the walls were almost back to being a creamy white rather than a nicotine stained off-brown. The air was also much fresher, gone was the stale tobacco smoke and it meant that Ser George no longer had to worry about having a coughing fit every time he walked into the room. A topic fever contracted during the Mokan Intervention had left him with weakened lungs, something that wasn't common knowledge.

Waiting for him was the Chiefs of the Staff Committee, made up of the Chief of the Defence Staff and the professional heads of the three services of the Morridane Armed Forces. Another person was suppose to be present in the form of the Minister of Defence, though that position was currently vacant following the death of its last post holder and Ser George had yet to pick a replacement. Ser George nodded to the four men before taking a seat and addressed them. "Gentlemen, I thank you all for coming."

"The deteriorating situation in New Garrack requires action from ourselves, hence why this committee has been formed." Explained Ser George. "I have read the latest intelligence reports, as I'm sure you all have as well, so I need a plane of action to address the current situation. Field Marshal Norton, your thoughts please."

"Sir," Replied Fiedl Marshal Edward Norton, the Chief of the Defence Staff. "The New Garrack insurgency looks like it could potentially escalate into a full-blown civil war. But various threats and defence commitments around the region requires us to marshal our forces correctly. Whilst we have an army in New Garrack garrisoning the Wanderjarian border, we cannot risk weakening this force to the point where it would entice the Wanderjarians to attack."

"Is there anything that we can work with?" Ser George asked.

"We could detach a division from both the aforementioned border force and from the Norgorkan relief force, that would give us forces in-threatre until additional units are shipped out."

"Worth asking the Mokans? Do recall them having a base in New Garrack."

"That is certainly an option sir." Agreed Norton. "But we'll still have the issue of protection of air assets, demonstrated by the loss of the Cairns airbase."

"The Fleet Air Arm could provide the answer here." Replied Admiral John Keating, the head of the Royal Morridane Navy. "A carrier task force would be a difficult target for the insurgents to take out."

"As much as it pains me to say it, but I have to agree with the Admiral." Said Thomas Salmond, Air Chief Marshal and head of the RMAF. "Without secure airbases in-theater, we're looking at either the tanker fleet being tied-up or try to get access to airspace in Greal."

"Hm, the carriers sound like they would be the short-term solution." Commented Ser George. "Though might be an idea pursuing the possibility of operating our aircraft from a neighbouring country, the Lyrans perhaps?"

"Certainly a possibility to explore." Agreed Norton.

"Right then gentlemen, I believe thats our immediate response to the situation in New Garrack hashed out." Ser George stated. "Now it needs to be turned into reality, so lets adjourn for a couple of days and get these plans into action."

---

HMMS Wiseman
Audacious-class aircraft carrier
Sea of Tranquility

Captain Arnold Gearwood was in his sea cabin, adjacent to the ship's bridge, plowing his way through the paperwork that required his attention. Most of it just required his signature, though one or two items warranted more than a courtesy glance. There was a knock and Gearwood turned to glance at the open door of the cabin and saw one of the ship's radio operators. "Sir, we've received an urgent message from FOAC*."

"Lets hear it."

"They want an inventory of our war stores within twenty-four hours."

"Seems like they have a flap about something." Muttered Gearwood. "Go and fetch Mr Wilson."

"Aye sir."

*Flag Officer, Aircraft Carriers - Senior Royal Morridane Navy post and military command responsible for the command of aircraft carriers in Morridane service.

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK


I.

The GLI-23, built to withstand small arms fire and even small caliber anti-aircraft ordnance, circled overhead taking automatic fire from below in stride. It made four passes in total, splitting the ground with its heavy gatling gun again. Dirt and dust rose like two parallel walls that preceded the fighter in its attacking runs. The pilots were told to look for the garrisoning mortar positions, which were better trained than their JNF counterparts and raising hell.

As suddenly as the aircraft had come, after a fourth pass in which it expended its dumb munitions — Huron Authority theater headquarters in New Garrack had not been able to secure guided munitions for the contract —, the GLI-23 roared off again, this time not coming back for another run. It flew back to its base, where it would refuel, rearm, and wait to see what kind of response the New Garrackian garrison could produce. Although there was good reason to suspect there were no major air forces in the colony yet, intelligence was not good enough to confirm the presence of an aircraft carrier or the possibility of some other sort of unexpected interference.

It landed in a long dirt airfield some 48 kilometers to the south. The installations had been hastily prepared, that was clear, but security did not look like your typical JNF forces. These were professional soldiers, well-armed, well-fed, and obviously well-trained. That much was clear, despite their lack of patches and their use of JNF uniforms. A small crew rushed out to meet the plane when it finally came to a stop near an open wooden hangar that looked more like a large barn. They inspected the aircraft's armor, replacing damaged plating on the field with surprising efficiency.

When they were done, they all went into the hangar for a game of cards. The GLI-23 waited, the teeth painted on its nose hungry for more violence. It would not attack again for as long as day still reigned supreme over New Garrack. Instead, it would wait for night to come. And when the shooting died down again and as men believed there to be a respite before the next morning's attack, the Teotl would return to rob the garrison of even that brief moment of peace and security.



II.

Captain Sajinga had picked out another hill to observe the third day of battle from. He saw the aircraft make its first run over Whitton's Creek, then its second. By then, gunfire had picked up on the western side of the town again. Sergeant Akili Njinga had made contact with him during the night, informing the captain that the bridge had been taken and that a foothold had been established on the interior end of the bridge, just on the inside edge of Whitton's Creek. When he heard the news, rather than elation he chewed his bottom lip, wondering if he even had the manpower to exploit the opening. He had come with 2,000 and his Huron soldiers, but hundreds already lay dead or wounded.

Neither did the garrison seem near a breaking point. Their refusal to surrender in the morning was a setback. Hopefully, the aircraft's presence helped reduce their spirits even further, but the truth was that they were well entrenched, well disciplined, and well trained. UAV footage that continued to stream in confirmed as much. Sajinga knew better to expect a decisive victory on the battlefield. This was a game of morale and, in the worse case, running the garrison's supplies down before they could be reinforced or resupplied.

The sound of a rocket striking some target could be heard off in the distance. The fighting on the other side, around the bridge, was swinging into full force.

Below, on the eastern edge, four hundred men were amassed on the edge of the forest line. They waited for the GLI-23 to return for its second pass. When it came, their Huron Authority NCOs shouted for them to rush forward and all together they launched their third frontal assault of the town's perimeter. They used the tall grasses to obscure their approach as best as possible, but there were many of them and the grasses had suffered their own punishment during the combat of the preceding days. Much of it was scorched and bodies still littered the ground, forcing men to jump over or file around them.

The remaining self-propelled mortars were active as well, but their fire was more sparing and came in intervals. They moved almost constantly, wary of the more accurate enemy counter-battery fire. But Wajinga considered the lack of more consistent mortar support a small price to pay for the survival of vital equipment. One had been knocked out already. There were three left.

The three remaining armored cars, armed with 12.7mm machine guns, crept out of the tree line again, daring to show themselves only because the GLI-23 was counted on to suppress enemy fire. They had already lost one of their kind to an enemy rocket. With their machine guns, they suppressed the enemy along the perimeter in support of the advancing forces.



III.

Van der Leuke, the sniper, took up high ground north of the town. He set up his heavy 13.3mm sniper rifle on its bipod, covered himself in camouflage, and laid down with his eye glued to the rifle's scope. The position gave him a view of the many bobbing heads along Whitton's Creek's eastern edge, where the garrison was preparing to repulse the renewed JNF assault.

He slowly surveyed the targets available to him. There were riflemen and other soldiers, although their officers and NCOs were well protected. Their leadership had surely been trained to deal with a rogue sniper in such a situation, and they would protect their most important men first. Van der Leuke grunted when he did not immediately find a worthy target, but he settled in and continued to survey the unfolding battle.

He took his eye off the scope to see the attack aircraft make its third pass. The GLI-23 raged down from the sky, flying low, strafing the lines below with radical impunity. Any garrison forces in its way would have to move and that was the opportunity that Van der Leuke waited for. Eye went to scope again. There, a sergeant appeared from behind a wall of sandbags. Crosshairs floated over the man's head and Van der Leuke squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out, bouncing off the hills and amplifying across the land. He looked to see if he had struck his target, but the GLI-23 had raised too much dust for him to confirm the kill.

Collapsing the bipod, he moved positions again.



IV.

The lucky few who were brought back to the rear after being wounded on the field were laid down behind the copse of trees in front of which the eastern attacks were being assembled. Jaquelin Gomara was moving from patient to patient, attending to their wounds and prioritizing those who still had a chance to live. These were relatively few if any at all. Most would die of their wounds, even from otherwise treatable ones. There were simply not enough antibiotics and other medications to go around and more died of infection than from the bullets they were struck by.

Men wailed. Men cried. And, finally, when their energy was expended, their eyes closed and men died.

She had seen this kind of horror before, many times. In Holy Panooly, it had been worse, especially during the tragedy of KN755. So many had died then that even today's horror seemed a blessing in comparison. Still, she looked around her, distraught about the little she could do to help. Even if victory was achieved at Whitton's Creek, it would be a phyrric one indeed.

[Morrdh]

Siege of Whitton's Creek

CSM Tanner laid in wait on the northern edge of the town with his rifle, eye peering through his rifle's scope as he searched the high ground to the north for any sign of the enemy sniper. This was the most lightly defended flank, the enemy forces seemingly intent on focusing their strength on the eastern and southern flanks of the town. The single section of rifleman had split into two fire teams, each one manned a sanger to help them defend this part of the town's perimeter. The greater part of the company's strength was deployed to the eastern and southern flanks, thus was the focus of the enemy aircraft's attack with the north side barely being touched. So far the two sangers had fended off probing attacks, but Tanner had no doubt that a determined assault would smash its way in through the north end of the town.

So far his prey had, frustratingly, been too shy to reveal themselves. Whoever the enemy sniper was, they seemed to be selective by only targeting officers and NCOs. It meant that the enemy sniper was at least clever enough not to be trigger happy, those that were didn't last long as a sniper. It also meant that Tanner's task was that much more difficult and he would have to be more alert in order to catch when the enemy sniper fired. The only bit of good news was that Tanner had figured out what sort of rifle the enemy sniper seemed to be using, a large caliber heavy rifle going by the thunderclap of a report compared to the rattle of the rifles used by the militants.

Tanner's patience was rewarded when he heard the distinct report of a certain rifle, the sound like a thunderclap bouncing off the hills to the north of the town. He watched through the scope of his own rifle for any sign of movement, any sniper worth his salt would relocate rather than fire a repeat shot from the same spot as his last shot. Though the enemy sniper had one disadvantage; he was in the full glare of the sun and would have to worry about trying not to reflect the sunlight whilst Tanner was in deep shadow without such worries.

There!

He spotted movement, briefly as a figure moved across the gap between a bush and a boulder on one of the lower ridge lines. Tanner gently follow the ridge line through his scope, lingering on likely spots that he would choose as a sniper. Then the enemy made their second mistake; a glint of light flashed for a second from one of the likely spots. Tanner wondered whether the enemy sniper was starting to get too cocky, by remaining unopposed for so long, and thus started making rookie mistakes. Regardless, the enemy sniper gave Tanner a window of opportunity as the Morridane CSM took aim with his rifle in an almost ritualistic fashion.

Deep breath...

Aim through the scope...

Breath out a little...

Check aim...

Finger on trigger...

Squeeze gently...

The bolt-action rifle jolted from the kick of the recoil as the shot rang out, Tanner then laid dead still for a few moments whilst peering through his scope for any sign of reaction from the enemy sniper. Had he hit? Had he missed? There was little way of knowing for sure, even if he did see movement in the spot he'd fired at. If he had missed then it was a real possibility that the enemy sniper had him in their sights, though long minutes stretched past without any shots nor sign of movement. Then very carefully and very slowly Tanner began to move, it was still possible that the enemy sniper was still alive and was covering the area where Tanner was with their scope. So Tanner had to plan out his movements two steps in advance and where possible keep them to a minimum to avoid giving himself away.

---

Nightfall

Dusk gave the garrison of Whitton's Creek some respite, the JNF seemed shy when attacking in the dark and possibly meant either superstitious fear of fighting at night or a lack of night vision equipment. Either way, Major Yorke wasn't complaining as gave the garrison a chance to catch its breath and take stock of its losses and supplies. Neither were particularity good for the garrison, over half the men were wounded and most were down to less than a magazine's worth of ammo. Another determined assault and they would be finished, they were long past any hope of winning this fight. But Yorke wasn't just about to roll over and surrender...least not whilst there was still a chance to inflict some hurt on the enemy.

Couple of teams of volunteers were picked and then briefed; under the cover of darkness they would sneak out of Whitton's Creek and head respectively for the enemy's armoured cars and mobile mortars. Between them they carried the garrison's last few Carl Gustav rounds and a few hand grenades, in effect what explosives that the garrison could scrape together. This 'commando' raid may not win them the battle, but it would help prove that the garrison didn't give up without a fight.

So with blackened faces, twenty men crept out of the town split into two groups. All had knives or bayonets to hand, ready to silence any enemy sentries they came across. A brief struggle, a muffled cry and a sentry was lying in a rapidly expanding pool of their own blood. The militants remained blissfully unaware of the raiders in their midst right up until explosions ripped through their lines.

[The Macabees]

SIEGE OF WHITTON'S CREEK



I.

He was sitting by the stubborn stump of a felled tree, preparing to stay there for quite some time. Van der Leuke inspected his rifle, looking at every sudden imperfection in the steal, then the wood. It was a fine weapon. He had killed a great many men with it, men of all races, religions, and ideologies. The bullet did not respect this fantasies of man. It knew only the reality of death.

For a while, he lost himself in thought. The sun was coming down and the fighting below was dying known. He decided to leave it all for a moment as he gazed up at the sky. Vorhees wondered whether his father could see him. He wondered if his mother was up there, too. One day he would see her again, he thought. If she was alive. Truth was, after leaving for Holy Panooly he left his past life behind. And life...became hectic: the warring against Templeton, the civil war, the tragedy. Fleeing to Jumanota amidst rampant disease and through closing imperial lines, the next two years were of hardship and gritty adventure.

It was getting darker. He let out a long sigh. How much longer could he live on like this? He was getting older. He could still go on warring but for how long? Five more years? Ten? Would he live that long if he continued to fight? Sometimes he wondered whether he even wanted to live. It seemed like civilization and whatever benefits it bestowed upon the rest of his people were not for him. What life was there for him other than this one?

Vorhees opened the flap to one of his jacket pockets, retrieving a cigarette from a small rectangular box. He placed it in his mouth, holding it there between his lips. From another pocket he withdrew a lighter which he brought up to his face and sparked afire, lighting the cigarette. It took only one drag for him to realize his mistake.

As the light lessened, the red burn brightened.

A shot rang out.

At first, he felt nothing. But then Van der Leuke felt a sudden, expanding warmth near his abdomen. He looked down to see blood flowing out of a large wound, spilling onto the dried grass he was sitting on. Looking at his lower back, he saw no exit wound. Rolling his head, he fell back flat.

Slowly, the wound opening with every stretch, he turned himself on to his belly and began to crawl. He headed away, in the opposite direction of the town. The cliffs were near and somewhere there their were friendly troops that would perhaps see him and retrieve him, before he died. With this thin, vain hope he struggled on, using weakening hands to pull on clumps of dirt or long blades of tall grass so that he could inch himself forward a little at a time. But he grew slower and slower, more and more ponderous, and finally his arms gave up. He lay there hopelessly for a few minutes.

Blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth and, finally, he died with eyes wide open.



II.

Caluga looked at the JNF soldiers with disdain. They were a lazy bunch ill-suited for war. The captain had posted sentries for the night, but half of these were not at their post and most of the rest were asleep. Those that weren't were busier distracting themselves through the long hours rather than focusing on the quiet expanse beyond the camp.

He was tasked with policing the guards, waking them up if need be or even forcing them back into their position. But he had learned in his time here that this task was almost hopeless. Sure, the JNF personnel listened to him — unless, when in big groups, they felt strong and safe enough to risk insubordination —, but as soon as he turned his back on them they were back to their usual antics. It was a frustrating job, although that didn't stop Caluga from completing it with vigor and aggression. From the corner of his eye he saw two guards slumped against trees, their eyes closed rather than open and alert.

Marching up to them briskly, he pulled one up by the back of his jacket's collar, dragging him up to his feet. "Get up, swine," he growled with a voice that sounded as if it were made from gravel.

The soldier looked up at him with half-closed, tired eyes. He said only, "I slept only for a little, sergeant."

"Get up!" Caluga bellowed with crossed eyes. "Your comrades could die because of you, you fool!"

The man was about to say something back and, as his mouth twitched, the urge grew in Caluga to slap the bastard across the face. Only the sudden sound of explosions stopped him from doing so. Behind them, a ball of fire rose into the air. "Gods damn it," cursed Caluga. "What now. Did some fool set off one of the mines?"

But then gunfire opened up and the shouts of men filled the empty night sky. People were getting up then from where they were sleeping, picking up their rifle, and looking around. The JNF moved lethargically as was expected, but the Huron Authority personnel were already active, moving about with intent. One was coming up to him now. It was Master Sergeant Jerome Anglou, a peculiar kind of Panooly whose great-grandfather had been a Stevidian landowner who had come down to the country from Adaptes Astrates on a business expedition during the Templeton regime. The darkness of his skin was tempered, then, with white. The master sergeant did not wait to get close before shouting, "Sergeant Culaga! On me now. We have some colonists to hunt down...and kill. Come." He waved at Caluga to head over and then turned toward another group of mercenaries who were helping rally the locals toward the perimeter.

He did as told, walking over to where a group of eight Huron Authority personnel were congregating. Whereas the JNF looked underfed and underarmed, the mercenaries looked like true soldiers. One looked solemn, and said, "They blew up some of our mobile guns. The mortars seem to be okay, they were more to the rear, guarded by our own men, but the mobile guns have all gone to shit. I don't think any of them can be salvaged on the field here."

"Son of a bitch," said a voice from behind. It was the captain, Sublieutenant Wanga by his side as usual. "Son a gods damn bitch."

"Don't worry, we'll get the bastards," said Anglou, who was approaching again with another two Huron Authority men.

The captain grimaced. "Don't be a fool. Whoever did this is long gone by now, probably already sipping hot cocoa in town. Besides, the last thing we want to do is let these idiots" — referring to the JNF — "alone, lest the enemy come back and rout them all in one fell swoop. Hell, I don't even want to know what harm they could do to themselves on their own without our supervision. No, return to your units and make sure the men are awake and alert. Our attack on Whitton's Creek will start earlier than expected this morning." Turning to Wanga, he added, "Get me on the phone with HQ."



III.

The sun had not even come up yet when the JNF arrayed themselves at the edge of the forest. Lights from Whitton's Creek sparkled opposite them. Somewhere there, the colonist garrison must have been smugly waiting for the JNF reaction. They knew the damage they had done, they knew a response was coming.

Captain Sajinga wanted them to suffer.

In the distance, the sky rumbled. It was hard to see visually, but a small black dot against the horizon gradually grew larger and larger until the GLI-23 from the previous day could be seen in full splendor. Any damage it had received the day before had been dealt with by replacing the affected armored panels. It flew low, roaring over the town while its gatling gun tore through any buildings and flesh that may have been in its way. As it pulled back up, a bomb fell from its wing and struck a garrison position just behind the eastern perimeter. Then it disappeared again, but its engines could still be heard.

It made a second pass, doing much of the same, although this time dropping two bombs. Then it flew back to its impromptu airfield. As soon as its job over Whitton's Creek was done, Sajinga sent out a JNF runner to the colonial forces arranged along their perimeter, offering an opportunity for surrender.

"Tell them," said the captain to the runner, "that we will accept their surrender and, to show our mercy, we guarantee the wellbeing and safety of all their men. Furthermore, we guarantee that all prisoners will be returned to the New Garrack government within three weeks of the surrender. Tell them that I will only make this offer once."

[Imbrinium]

It had been a long few days started in the crown and slowly moved to Lyras. The first team of OAH SAD-SOG personnel where packed in a fully loaded C-17. This aircraft wasn’t military in fact it had no markings what so ever just a tail number.

It was early in the morning the sun was just peeking over the mountains of eastern Lyras close to the border with New Garrack, the airfield wasn’t much yet just two runways and some abandoned buildings that had been left lifeless for almost ten years. Just days before a leaders recon along with some lyran military officers had cleared the site for the OAH occupation of the base for operations in New Garrack.

Some hundred kilometers from the border it was a prime site for a base for the Crown’s secret hands-on activities in New Garrack. The MOD had just sealed a deal to use two other bases for intelligence gathering and to base fighters and bombers if and when they would ever be needed. This was the first step this was the secret steps into the dark world of black operations.

The incursion into New Garrack wasn’t with permission, the crown had approached the commonwealth with intelligence that something was going on in New Garrack and it was told it was an internal issue and to stay out. Well, the crown has never been good a listening to others.

The aircraft made its final turn toward the runway and lowered the landing gear, the plane bounced and everything was pushed with the negative Gs from the braking and reverse engines. The plane slowed and then taxied to the front of the remaining buildings and hangers and stopped. The ramp lowered and the personnel walked off the plane putting their sunglasses on.

“Well, Val the office couldn’t have picked another shit this bad unless they really hated us or is it you they hate?” Said Angelo Li Fonti to senior operations commander Valerio Calabresi

“You know they hate you Angelo, not me they just can’t understand why I hang around you” Val laughed

Everyone was dressed in civilian clothing with the exception of tactical vest and weapons on their side. Val told everyone “Ok guys lets get this plane unloaded we’re on the clock now”. The guys started by unloading two SUVs and two sides by sides along with a generator to power the building. Along with ammo, communications gear, personal gear, the next flight would be arriving sometime in the afternoon and things had to start to look like something before then. The Tech geeks and commo gurus worked on setting up the network and getting communications the home office.

13:30 Site R4

The second cargo aircraft could be heard in the distance when the pilot came over the radio.

“Shepherd this Clark 22 you guys awake down there?”

“Roger Clark we got you five by five you cleared to land”

The second cargo aircraft brought more operatives and support staff with more kit to get started. The next forty-eight hours would bring more flights as the base would grow some but more operational. Drones would be arriving soon so the two support trailers and radar systems were flown in.

Site R4 would home to close to 300 personnel from the OAH and MOD. This base would be the tip of the spear for a black operation inside New Garrack to gather intelligence on what's going on in the country.

Later that night the heads of the sections on the ground had a meeting. The commander of the group Samuele Onio pointed out that this was a black operation and it was against the wishes of the Morrdh government to get involved operations where to focus on what's going on in the country, the first thing was to get into the country.

[Morrdh]

It was long after nightfall when Tanner made it back to the command post, though that was a deliberate choice on his part as he couldn't be certain of the determination of the enemy snipers. He'd spent considerable time alternating between slowly scanning the ridge-line through the scope of his rifle and carefully changing positions. A few times he'd spotted movement, though it was hard to tell whether it was just wildlife or an enemy soldier. As the last rays of daylight disappeared and the twilight gave way to the deep dark of the night, Tanner finally decided to call it quits.

"Good hunting?" Yorke asked when Tanner found him stood outside the command post slipping a mug of tea.

"Maybe sir..." Answered Tanner. "Might've just scared the bastard enough to lay low."

"Well, I guess we shall find out in the morning." Shrugged Yorke. "But yer just in time."

"In time fer what sir?"

"The fireworks." Yorke replied as explosions ripped through the enemy lines, sounding like a series of thunderclaps. Soon distant cries and shouts of alarm could be heard as well as panicked gunfire. "Well thats put the wind up 'em."

---

The night passed with the odd angry shot as JNF soldiers jumped at their own shadows and were lambasted by their Huron superiors. It seemed part of Yorke's ploy had worked, though there was no true way of knowing what damage his raiding party had caused there was still a measure of satisfaction of knowing that your enemy was spooked. It had an effect on the morale of the garrison, raising the soldier's spirits despite the pitiful situation regarding ammunition and other supplies. There was an anticipation in the air that this day was going to be the day that decided the siege.

Question was who was going to break first?

It was at first light that the garrison was able to get in radio communication with the Gormanville HQ, though damage sustained during the fighting for the town had meant the radio signal was lousy with static. General Mannerwaig himself was on the radio. "Glad to hear yer still holding on. Over."

"Only just sir, things could be better. Over."

"Understood. Help is on the way. Relief force due ETA four hours. Over."

"Roger. Be advised bridge is in hostile hands. I say again, bridge is in hostile hands. Over."

"Roger, bridge in hostile hands. Over."

"Affirmative. Out."

"Will inform force commander. Gormanville out." With that, the radio channel went dead. Yorke sat back and sighed, his mind wrestling with a complication that he hadn't considered over the past couple of days; Hope.

He'd been so focused on doing his duty and ensuring that his company gave the enemy a bloodied nose, hitting them where it hurt and making them pay for their effort to take the town. The cold, hard facts that his company was cut off from support and outgunned had made him realize early on that there was a very slim chance of actually winning the battle. He hadn't been fighting to win, he fought to ensure that the enemy's cost of taking Whitton's Creek was as high as he could humanly make it.

But that concept again; Hope.

Instead of hurting the enemy, his company's goal now was to play for time. Hold on until the relief force arrived, bringing much needed supplies and fresh troops with it. There was still a pretty wide margin for things to go wrong, especially with the bridge being in enemy hands. Gormanville said that they would be passing that bit of intel onto the force's commander, least the relief force could prepared accordingly and able to fight its way to the town. Yorke did consider launching an assault on the bridge in concert with the relief force, though with his defences just barely holding and the garrison's ammunition situation critical he decided against it. The best he could do, he decided, was to provide support fire with what was left of the company's heavy weapons.

---

"Air raid!" Came the cry, followed by other shouts and curses as men dived for cover in slit trenches and foxholes before the ground attack aircraft made its run on the town. This time no return fire met it, part of Yorke's orders to conserve ammo, as the men focused on putting as much hard cover as they could between them and the jet's lethal munitions. Once it had completed its attack runs and it was certain that it had gone, shouts arose from NCOs and officers alike. "Stand to! Stand to!"

As the men of the garrison hastened to their positions in order to repel a potential assault, some newcomers arrived on the battlefield as a Sebiestor Mining Ltd Land Rover pulled up behind the JNF positions. Out of the vehicle, along with his Huron Authority minder, climbed Godwinne who'd stopped off to see first hand how things were going whilst enroute to go meet the Mokans. He wanted to witness the end of the siege and the defeat of the town's garrison, he reckoned it would help lend weight to his argument with the Mokans for them not to get involved in the conflict. Mokan non-intervention was seen as critical as the aid of Mokan companies would be sought once the new regime was in power.

"What's going on?" He asked of his minder when he saw a JNF soldier walking across the grassland towards the town, holding a white flag high. His minder checked over his radio and answered that the man had been sent to parley with the town's defenders to offer them the chance to surrender on favourable terms. Godwinne nodded and stated that he wished to view the proceedings from a better vantage point.

---

"Boss!" A soldier cried out as he sought out Yorke. "They sent somebody ta parley!"

"What do they want?" Asked Yorke.

"The guy says his commander has offered us the chance ta surrender." The soldier replied. "Said some shyte 'bouts showing us mercy."

"I see..." Muttered Yorke, feeling the glare of those present upon him. They all knew how desperate their situation was with both ammo and rations almost out, as well as men needing medical care that they couldn't give. They'd given the enemy a bloodied nose and then some, though none wanted to be the one to speak up in support of accepting the enemy's offer. The decision would come down to Yorke and Yorke alone, the fates and lives of a hundred or so men rested on his shoulders. As tempting as it was to accept the offer, he recalled the relief force was due in less than an hour.

"Tell him..." Yorke began. "Tell him...that his commander can go feck himself!"

A shock looked appeared on the soldiers face before a grin slowly spread across it before the soldier threw a slaute. "Will do boss!"

---

Understandably the JNF soldier hesitated before he turned and slowly walked back to his own lines, the white flag cradled in his arms. Yorke and some of his officers watched as the man made his way like a condemned man being lead to the hangman's noose. One of the officers commented. "Oh I wouldn't want ta be in his shoes...but ye sure ye did the right thing sir?"

"We'll soon find out." Yorke said dryly as he scanned the JNF lines through his pair of binoculars. The enemy soldiers were crouching amidst the treeline, partially obscured by the long grass, but Yorke saw a great deal more than he'd liked. Curiously, he spotted a man in a white suit stood by one of the trees with a well equipped soldier hovering close by. Yorke strongly doubted that the suited man was the enemy commander, but he seemed important enough to warrant what appeared to be a bodyguard. He thought for a moment before calling out. "Tanner!"

"Sir!" Replied the Company Sergeant-Major, already positioned on the roof of the few remaining buildings with rifle ready.

"In the treeline, few hundred yards ta the left...what ya see?"

"...Some fool in a suit." Tanner answered. "Think he's important?"

"Bet a bottle o' whisky on it." Replied Yorke. "Do the honours please CSM."

Tanner didn't reply, instead a moment passed before a single rifle shot rang out.

---

There was a sudden sharp pain in his chest and Godwinne felt himself gasping for air like a fish out of water. There was a warm, wet spot on his shirt that rapidly grew as the ground rushed up to meet him. He could hear his minder and others nearby shouting in alarm, though their cries seem strangely distant and were getting ever fainter as though they were slipping out of earshot. His vision grew darker and darker as though night was falling, but he knew it was a scant few hours after sunrise.

From the direction of the bridge came the sound of heavy gunfire.