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Chapter Text

"... The attack on the Coalition base containing members of the United States Marine Corps was confirmed to be an act of aggression by an unknown entity, not associated with the former Saddam government. It is unknown who these soldiers were, or who the new enemy faction is, however it would seem the Coalition is set to face a new Conflict within the coming weeks. This has been James Andrews reporting for BBC One, on-site-" The TV Cut off, turned off by the Lieutenant of HITMAN.

Nathan Fick looked to the gathered NCO Cadre, beside him being several of his fellow officers. The First Lieutenant was given permission to run this briefing, so he was going to do it by the books. He began firmly, "One week ago, our base near by Abbas Al 'Abid was hit by an unknown foe. Approximately a hundred soldiers hit the FOB where about sixty of First Division's men were stationed. No casualties were sustained on our side save for a very pissed-off officer's meal tent being hit by a rifle grenade."

He tapped his foot, lifting up a clipboard with information as a few of the men let out a laugh, then continued, "Four days ago, Command called up the DOD from within Baghdad itself and got word that an Egghead team was set to arrive from DARPA to look at the enemy and their equipment, not to mention how they came about. With the help of a Predator drone, they found a strange artifact nearby the Tigris riverbed a few dozen klicks from the base... And the enemy wearing Knight armor and carrying firearms you'd see back in World War 2."

Fick noticed several of the men ahead of him tense up, including one of his best men, Sergeant Brad 'Iceman' Colbert. The Marine Sergeant, clad in their slowly-phasing-in Desert camouflage equipment, took notes and peered from the notebook every so often. Fick continued, "General Mattis already asked the eggheads to rush their research along after our boys got hit. We have images of the artifact..." He pointed toward a whiteboard where a Projector started displaying the images, one of which depicted the item in question. A strange circle, glowing bright white in the middle and bearing azure spiral patterns and motifs.

Whistles escaped the mouths of the Marines, several mocking the device or item as something kitsch that the Saddamites would do, while others remained focused on the task at hand. Fick continued, "And of our enemy..." and switched the image over to that of a corpse. A dead male, maybe aged twenty, laying sprawled across a tarp with all of his equipment, metallic armor resembling that of an ancient knight's included, sat to his right in neat rows from the armor itself at the top to the gun and ammo at the center and various other equipment at the bottom. Fick stated, "This is believed to be an enemy assault unit. SMG-armed, more lightly armored. M249s lit them up a good bunch."

"However, that brings us to what Coalition Command just rang for," Fick added, then stepped up in front of his men with a serious look, "They'll want the Coalition to move in. The fact that we're all still here after Saddam's little regime crumpled like wet paper should tell you all that you need to know, but in case you can't figure it out yourselves, our contracts have been voluntarily extended. Command is already preparing for operations beyond this gate thing. It's big enough to fit a goddamn Abrams, so we'll have our Victors as we roll in. We've not received a timeline for when we'll be deploying, but command wants us all to be ready. That'll be all..." And he gave a nod, "Dismissed."

As the Marines stood to their feet, Brad walked up to Nathan and stopped him before he went to join the Seniors at the big kids' table, telling him, "I gotta tell my team we're rolling back into the shit, sir?"

"Afraid that's what command wants us to think, Brad," Fick replied with a deep sigh of annoyance.

Brad hummed, "A couple of'em won't like it, but..." he thought for a moment of Ray and of Rolling Stones, before adding, "I guess we can deal with it. These fucks have any identifying documents to tell us who we're dealing with?" before Fick shrugged. Right, Eggheads and the CIA were probably keeping this as hush-hush as possible. The sheer dumb luck of the attack being caught on camera was because of a Reaper drone surveying the area just as some of Rolling Stones's friends had entered the command center back in Italy or some bumfuck Euro country like that.

"Yeah... I'll see you whenever command wants us mounted up again. Going by early Recon reports, the drones sent in are showing green lands and forestry beyond the thing, so..." and he offered his old comrade a 2003-2004 Veteran's smirk. It took a moment for it to register for the Marine, who shifted and scratched his chin as the other officers seemed to look expectantly at Fick.

Brad smirked when he realized, though, "So our Green Cammies, Mopp suits and Pasgits are finally gonna make sense, eh?"

"Yeah. Unless some fuckup happens with acquiring kit, we're rolling with our old stuff from the Invasion. MOPPs, camouflage, PASGT Vests. Keep your gear together. Marines make do, but it never hurts to actually be prepared..." Fick nodded, then turned to his fellow officers and said, "Dismissed, Brad. Get moving back to your vic and let the others know."

"Sir," Brad replied, shifting his M4A1 with an M203 and NV scope onto his front via the strap. He walked out into the wider area of the Airfield base, noting that several of the Marines, Rudy included, were playing soccer. Rolling Stones himself, a fancy reporter by the name Evan Wright, sat at the side of the Humvee, wearing your usual Press vest and helmet and jotting down notes. He raised a hand, "Sergeant Colbert," and offered his usual friendly smile.

"Stones," Brad replied with a nod, "Take it they re-embedded your ass with us?"

He shrugged, "I came back as soon as I heard the news."

"Well, we all missed your venereal lies about the military," The Sergeant quipped, grinning, which got 'Stones to laugh a bit. Fast asleep in the back of the Humvee was Trombley, unsurprisingly. Their old Whopper Junior had fallen asleep with his M249 in his arms and thankfully on safe. Kid might've been a cold, dead-eyed killer, but he sure as shit was smart about his guns.

"Man, can you believe this shit...?" They all turned as they heard a familiar voice complaining. They all turned to see the life of the party aboard the vehicle with a half-grin despite his seemingly sour, annoyed speech, "These motherfuckers up and extended our contracts, yo! I didn't know they can legally do that! And I was looking forward to heading home for some well-deserved rest!"

"Ray," Brad nodded, smiling at his old friend, "If some hicks in Knight armor hadn't shot up our base, we'd all be on our way home, but, sadly, seems like the Weird of Iraq is kicking in."

Josh Ray Person rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Fuckin' A... Wait, Knights?" His brow shot up. Brad nodded, to which the man asked, "You gotta be shitting me. Are we the Dragon from the commercial now?"

Stones laughed and replied, "Seems like it. Guess I got one more book to write."

"Well, ain't that some bullshit," Sighed Ray, though he was not really good at containing his excitement, "Least they die easy enough, right?"

"As the Fob near Abbas Al 'Abid can confirm," Brad replied as he set his rifle down on his Humvee seat. He looked to Garza just as he appeared with a new forest helmet, before telling them, "Good news is, our old gear with the green cammies is finally gonna get some proper use. Turns out whatever's beyond the shit that brought that company of enemy troops over to our FOB is greenery. Forest, plains..."

"Oh, fuck yeah. Finally," Ray smirked happily, "Won't have to stare at sand for twelve fuckin' hours a day. Maybe we'll finally get some good pussy, too. Hajis ain't doing it for me."

Garza snorted and patted Ray on the back, "Like your ugly ass gonna score anything better..." before he climbed into the Humvee and started checking the Mark-19. He hummed and asked, "Hey, Sarge... Any chance we can get some oil, or does command not think we need the stuff if we're gonna go over into the Green?" to which Brad shrugged. Garza swore quietly in some Latino language, then said, "Usual 'Marines make do' bullshit?"

"Afraid so," Brad gave a nod.

"Great..." Garza spoke mockingly, rolling his eyes as he continued his checkup. Brad looked back at Ray and saw him giddy. He knew that his trailer-park sister-fucking buddy was a bit out there after the Invasion ended and he was coming down from the Adrenaline High. Brad gave him a bump on the chest with his fist and looked around as the rest of 1st Recon was reforming, their NCOs and COs finally moving up to give the same briefing Brad had attended.

Fick approached Brad and said, "Seems the Coalition got a couple more members to deal with now. You folks remember Russia? 1993?"

"The Constitutional Crisis..." Brad nodded, "When Yeltsin was talked down by his ministers from doing something dumb."

"Mm," Fick nodded, "Turns out we did have a hand with preserving Russia's democracy in that case. The Federation just finished up in Grozny, with the city still standing surprisingly. They wanna send a representative Battalion to work with us while the UN's already discussing the new findings behind closed doors, so..." which caused the entire Corps to pause.

Ray balked, eyes shooting wide open, "Wait a fuckin' minute, they wanna send Ruskies to us? The fuck... Err... Sir?"

Fick shrugged and sighed, "Their new president, Pomorenka, is trying to warm relations with us, so... Don't tell their moms they're in Afghan, I guess..." Which got a few snorts out of the people who've heard Russia's proclivities for sad songs about war. Fick added, "I know our Eastern Coalition buddies aren't going to be happy about it, considering the history they share with the dead Soviet Union. Ukrainians are already filing a petition against the deployment of Russian forces to the area, so are the Poles and Romanians."

"Like someone's gonna listen to a couple Eastern Commie Fodder countries from the ass-end of Europe..." Murmured Trombley as he stirred awake. A few more laughs escaped the mouths of his comrades, even Fick's. The Lieutenant shook his head with the laugh then looked to Rolling Stones, who was grinning ear-to-ear, presumably eager to write about the Russians.

"Until further notice, the Poles and Romanians are NATO, with Ukraine seemingly in the ballpark to join within the next five years, too, so they do have some say as new members," The Lieutenant shot back at Whopper Junior, who nodded and gave Fick a lazy salute. He told them, "Try to play nice. I hear they're sending their own Recon Battalion over with some of their new tech."

Brad looked to his vehicle mates and hummed, then replied, "We'll do our best, sir. If they tag along."

Fick gave one of his professional nods and dismissed them with it, before stepping off toward the RV point with the rest of the officers. Ray rolled his eyes and said, "Well, this job just got a hell of a lot more fun. Ain't the Ruskies the bastards who sold Saddam the T72s and T64s that shot at us during our little Road Trip? Sure, their tanks were shit, but-"

"Ray..." Brad sighed, "Shut up."

Nascar boy sighed, crossing his arms to his chest and checking their Humvee, murmuring something about 'needing woodland cammie nets now' as he did so.

Three weeks later...

An Il-76 bearing the colors of the RuAF began its descent toward the airfield as the radios played news of the UN reaching a consensus. It was the fastest the damn Security Council had moved to approve anything since Operation Desert Storm, including the deployment of the Russians' own Recon Battalion here. Approximately a thousand soldiers and their equipment had been shipped over by sixteen separate flights of Il-76s and other allied transport aircraft, with the BTRs of the Russian Armed Forces neatly lined up on the tarmac.

Kalashnikov AK-74Ms and AK-74s, with both plastic and wood furniture, Chechen War uniforms with woodland camouflage, steel helmets and the usual faces of the young Slavic man, impassive, listened to the briefing of their commanding officer, a Colonel belonging to the Russian Armed Forces' 105th 'Guards' Air Assault Division, spoke to his men(and some women) with a voice of steel and the usual Slavic bluster of 'pride in the nation' and 'serving the New Russian Federation after Yeltsin'.

The sole difference between the dumbfucks who went into the First Chechen War without proper gear and with the usual tomfuckery of corruption and these men was that these men were all volunteers that had presumably received some degree of proper training. Russia had been transitioning to a Volunteer-only corps as they rebuilt their economy through the '90s. Sure, there was corruption, but that was pretty standard for Eastern Europe. At least, the First Recon Marines could presumably count on these VDV bastards to do their jobs with some professionalism.

"Can you believe this?" Ray asked, motioning to a trio of Mi-24 Hinds being unloaded from the maw of the latest landed transport. Brad stared with a hint of fear at the 'Crocodiles' as their engineers reassembled them, noting to himself that they'd found some in storage here in Iraq. Russian Logi was bringing out more ammunition crates and supplies, as well, including Ataka ATGMs and the usual missile pods one would see on the Hinds.

Garza said, "Rumor is they've been training for 'off-world Operations' like we have."

"It's a lot of firepower," Ray added, "Gonna be weird working with'em, though I guess the Poles are not so different, considering the kit they're carrying is basically identical..."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Laughed Trombley, "Nearly got punched by one for saying how their buddies are coming over." and that did get everyone, Rolling Stones included, to laugh. The pride with which this newly-minted Guards unit stood at attention told them that, perhaps, they could in fact rely on their age-old enemy to at least cover their sectors properly.

After the briefing was done, the officer dismissed his men with a salute and walked to meet General Mattis on the tarmac. The two men shook hands, though not even Mattis was particularly happy about their presence, before they went to meet the other officers of the Coalition. Plans had been prepared in advance, of course, with the Russian colonel presumably here to iron out the kinks of their unit's place.

A pair of Russian NCOs began approaching them. Garza murmured, "Oh, boy, Vodka, twelve o'clock..." and a few of the men let out more discreet laughs. The two, a man and a woman, walked up to Brad and his team and gave them salutes. Brad saluted back and waved it off, as if telling them there's no need to salute each-other. The woman herself seemed to be examining the Marines.

"Welcome to Iraq, I guess," Brad told them, "I'm Master Sergeant Colbert, with HITMAN 2-1."

"Junior Sergeant Kozlova, 105th Guards medical unit," The woman in front of him replied with a smirk and a nod. She then motioned to her partner and stated, "This is my comrade, Junior Sergeant Pomorenko, Recon... And yes, believe it or not, his wife sent him out here with us..." stunning the Marines. Pomorenko grinned, hands rested on the butt of his rifle, which mounted an underbarrel grenade launcher.

"She said I needed the experience of American NCOs in order to help rebuild our own Army," The man replied with a heavy, clearly Muscovite accent.

Brad nodded, still a bit surprised, "A pleasure..."

"Guess you guys are serious," Garza stated from aboard the Humvee.

Pomorenko nodded, "After the First Chechen War? Yes, we became serious..." and he watched as their vehicles rolled off to the assembly line, "Guess we're preparing to go within the next week, eh?" to which Brad nodded. The two NCOs of the Russian Airborne saluted, then smiled at their American counterparts and departed for their units. Another week of training, this time on cooperating with the Ruskies...

... Well, Brad had to admit he had been pleasantly surprised by the exercises. Turned out that the Reds knew a bit more than they let on. Sure, there were still plenty of kinks to iron out, but that just meant they'd have some time to deal with it instead of... Just... Well, leaving them hanging, even out in combat. The week itself had passed terrifyingly fast, with HITMAN and the Russian contingent, callsign SOKOL, already set up in front of the Gate.

Ray hummed a tune as he prepared himself mentally to have to drive through the thickets, all while crew inside a command tent were still checking over Drone footage being beamed back through the Gate. Some nerd had suggested calling the damn thing a 'Stargate' on live goddamn Television. He had to admit, it had a funny ring to it, but that was an Air Force show.

Garza stood up top, on the gun, murmuring something to himself as he saw a slew of other Marine vehicles, including a pair of LAVs, around them. BTRs were lined up to their immediate left in what was now a rather large procession courtyard with actual concrete built around the strange gate itself. Dozens of allied vehicles from all units, nearly a thousand men.

Biggest 'scouting force' ever deployed anywhere and, of course, 1st Recon would be at the front courtesy of one General Mattis and one general 'Stormin' Norman' Schwarzkopf. Speak of old Norm, the men watched him march between the procession of vehicles, each of them offering him a quick, respectful salute. Garza watched the man step up to the gate while wearing a grin, then murmured, "Gulf War 2, here we go."

"Isn't it three at this point?" Trombley shot back.

"Be quiet. General Schwarzkopf's about to speak..." Brad shot back, staring ahead.

Schwarzkopf climbed to the top of the podium ahead, tapped the mics to check if the sound was working and, upon receiving a light bit of feedback, cleared his throat and said, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to keep this as brief as possible, considering we have matters pressing enough that the UN Security Council pulled its head out of its ass thanks to them."

Mirthful laughs, both Coalition and Russian, echoed through the air. Norman continued with a smile on his face for the cameras, "As it stands, it seems I, General Mattis and Colonel Smirnoff have been given overall command of this little clusterfuck of a foray onto what may as well be an alien world. Let me make this clear:The bastards who walked through this hole in the wall," he jabbed a thumb back toward the strange alien gate, "Shot at our boys and injured a couple. Even if they're Marines," which got him a snort from Mattis, "We'll be going in to punch them right back for it... And see what the hell their place is about."

"They're human like us and that's the good news, kids..." He smirked, "You'll get to shoot the shit out of'em. We expect to hear great news from First Recon and the 105th. Give'em hell and come back home alive. That's all. Godspeed..." And he gave a quick salute to them. The standard Marine cheer of 'Oorah!' came from the Marine side, while the Russians let out an 'Ura!' as they readied their weapons.

And, with that, the procession ended and the vehicles began to roll. The first in the lead was an LAV-25, its 25mm Bushmaster ready to let loose. It rolled forward with its front half disappearing through the gateway first, before the transport loaded with troops fully vanished inside. Brad hit Ray in the shoulder and said, "Get ready, Ray. We're Oscar Mike..." And he plucked up the radio, using it to transmit to Company net, "This is Hitman 2-1 to all Hitman elements, we are rolling."

He picked up his rifle and racked the bolt, letting the dust cover fall and arranging his dark-green PASGT camo uniform, vest and the MOPP suit parts, before poking his rifle out through the window to his right. Garza, Trombley and Rolling Stones braced themselves as Ray gently eased the throttle forward, the Humvee rolling behind one of the four tanks that they sent with them, Warhound-1-1.

Entering through the gateway was like going through a veil of sick. All five men on the Humvee felt their guts turn inside out for a moment, before being reassembled the proper way. When they reappeared through to the other side, in the midst of a forest with a single beaten dirt path leading toward them, Trombley had already poked his head out of the Humvee and barfed his guts out, while the Reporter had done so on the trip over.

"Fuuuuuck..." Ray groaned, rubbing his face.

They looked ahead, watching the squads of Marines aboard the LAVs quickly dismount, rifles in hand. Some were wobbly, too, but they seemed to be doing better than the average Marine in a Humvee, Ray thought as they rolled their vehicle off to the right to form a perimeter and clear a path. The M1A1 that was ahead of them, meanwhile, had taken forward position in the clearing, its turret scanning for targets.

Brad groaned, rubbing his eyes, then radioed, "Hitman-2-1 actual... We're through the gate, out..." and grabbed his canteen, pouring water down his own throat and swallowing it in big gulps as the replies came in. He shook his head and grunted, then said, "Alright, I want checks on all equipment and ammo... Keep your eyes open for hostiles. Garza, you good?" before watching the Latino dip down and give a nod, eyes wide and rather pale. Brad replied calmly, "Good... Back on the gun..."

"God, man..." Trombley groaned annoyedly, "Fucking Alien bullshit..."

"With Trombley on this one... Fuck..." Ray replied, wiping tears out of his eyes. He breathed in, then out, and looked around at the tree-line around them, rifle at the ready just in case. Brad gave him a pat on the shoulder as he jumped out of the vehicle to get a headcount and see just how many people they had to bring up to speed and give anti-nausea medicine. More Humvees and transports rolled in through the gate, including Russian vehicles and Fick's and the leadership's transports. Fick himself poked out of the Victor and barfed, before sighing and noticing his Master Sergeant

The two men gave approving nods to each-other, before the other vehicles went and parked themselves, forming a perimeter around the gate itself. Tanks, armor, BTRs, Humvees and infantry had set up. Brad stood in the middle of it all, listening through the roaring of many engines and hearing the thunder of gunfire. As Fick joined him in the middle, the two men noticed plumes of smoke from up ahead and a Predator drone orbiting the area, with Brad stating, "I don't think we're in California anymore..."

"... No," Replied Fick, "We aren't..."

Chapter Text

The heavy-duty recon battalion rolled forward, weapons at the ready. Infantry dismounted from the LAVs and BTRs pushed together through the forest, while the tanks, trucks and IFVs rolled through. A leading tank with a bulldozer tore down trees to open up a path for HITMAN, SOKOL and their buddies in the LAVs, Callsign CLEAVER. The sound of gunfire grew louder from ahead of them. The Russians themselves seemed tense, holding close their Kalashes as they pushed through the trees.

Meanwhile, Trombley had woken up and was already prepping to waste someone. He spoke, "Barely got to shoot this shit back at home. Maybe I'll finally get my chance to waste a motherfucker or two..." to which Ray and Brad both laughed, shaking their heads. Some of the Russians marching in the middle of the convoy looked to Trombley with a hint of worry, while Garza simply showed them to settle down. 'It's just Trombley' he'd have told them if they spoke English.

One of their own gunners, a woman, grinned much like Trombley as she racked the bolt of her PKM. Garza was about to make a comment about that, before the first shot rang out overhead. Once the vehicles breached the treeline with the platoons of infantry behind them, they caught sight of a village with a massive mill in the center, heavily damaged by the fighting and missing several chunks.

Brad radioed, "All Hitman Victors, stop!" then turned to Ray and said, "Stop, stop, stop!" which caused the man to suddenly brake. The Sergeant got out of the Humvee, utilizing the NV scope on his rifle to scout out the targets ahead. The distant gunfire suddenly made sense as he spotted a group of civilians armed with rusty old rifles fighting it out with platoons of the same enemy units they saw before. He showed Ray to hand him the radio, which his RTO did, to which the Sergeant called out, "All convoy Victors on this net, be advised:Unknown Civilian Militia troop is taking fire nearby a gate on..." He pulled out his compass, "The southern side of town..."

Multiple dismounts appeared next to Brad, with Lt. Fick among them. He took a knee and pulled out a pair of binos, before humming and telling Brad, "We got PID on the hostiles. Knight troopers and..." they paused as a cannon thundered. Fick looked with disbelief at what he was seeing, before murmuring, "Is that a French tank...? Looks like something from World War 1..."

The tank that rolled forward was a lightly-armored, fairly long battle vehicle armed with what seemed to be two low-velocity 75mm guns, one mounted in a rotating single-man turret, while the other lay beside the Driver's viewport. It also had a ram at the front, probably to smash through defenses. Brad looked, stunned, too, before shaking his head and radioing, "This is HITMAN 2-1 to all HITMAN Victors. Someone get us an AT4 up front. Actually, get the tanks..."

"We got the permission to go in..." Fick said as he shouldered his own rifle, "We can take the Humvees and an Abrams in while the LAVs and the rest of the tanks form a perimeter, help with EVAC..."

"Sounds good," Brad replied, thumbing the safety of his M4 to off. He stood to his feet and nodded to Fick, who also stood up and marched out toward his Humvee. Brad entered the vehicle and said, "We're gonna be rolling as an assault force, helping the people down there..." before looking to Ray as he was about to comment on it, "Listen, they didn't shoot at us while the bastards wearing tin cans did. I'm not letting them kill a bunch of civvies."

"... Fair enough," Ray shrugged, then turned the wheel of the Humvee as the radio crackled to life. He handed Brad the radio, then said, "Alright, Hitmen, brace for the funvee to start rolling..." to which Trombley let out a short laugh and prepped his LMG. Garza gave a thumbs up and swung the turret of the Humvee about, readying himself to fire the main gun.

"... Roger, Hitman 2-1 will be leading the formation. Requesting aid from Wardog 1-4 and CLEAVER 2-2 to clear the target..." Brad spoke over radio. As the reply came, the turbine engine of the Abrams roared and two BTRs filled with troops also joined in. The dozen Humvees of HITMAN rolled over the berm and down the hill at maximum speed, stunning several civilians that were in the evacuation line as they rolled forward.

In fact, most of the civilians stared with eyes wider than saucers at the advancing brigade of allied vehicles. The BTRs rolled in beside the Humvees, while the tank pushed to the top of the hill and aimed its main gun. The tank commander radioed, "This is Wardog, rolling to engage enemy tank... Sabot, up," and the tank's main gun roared like a starving lion on the hunt.

The high-velocity, fin-stabilized submunition first pierced the wind while the two pieces of its 'container' separated from its body. It flew through the air, over the top of the gate, and hit the enemy light tank straight down the center. The submunition pierced, punching through thin armor plating and exiting out of the rear of the vehicle before slamming into the paved road.

The enemy tank was dead for all intents and purposes. It was a metallic husk without power, its rear engine and radiator blown out by the over-penetrating round. The tank commander gave the order to move and the tank rolled forward off the hill, the coaxial machine-gun letting loose. Red tracers took the attention of the young woman commanding the defending troops, before her eyes shot wide open.

The slew of allied vehicles descended upon the target area, with the Russian paratroopers jumping off their vehicles first to meet the enemy company of infantry. 5,45 bullets zipped through the air as the two Lieutenants commanding the platoons advanced forward, joining the defenders. A rifle grenade thunked out of the barrel of the launcher mounted to one rifle.

Two Humvees followed them in through the gate, rolling in to cover the retreating Civvies. A Mark-19 auto-grenade launcher let loose toward where he saw an advancing enemy platoon, the 40mm rounds blasting apart the enemy as they detonated. Meanwhile, Marines dismounted from the vehicles, with a reporter civilian jumping out as well. Brad ran to the rear of the Humvee, poked up and fired from behind the engine block, while Ray and Trombley set up positions next to the girl and her comrades, one of which was wounded.

Ray paused upon seeing the group of survivors and smirked at the women, one of whom was a curly-haired blonde, before calling out to Brad, "Ey! Brad! Hot ladies at our six o'clock!" with a grin. Brad snapped back at him inaudibly, then ducked as bullets sparked off the front of the Humvee. The Sergeant snapped something back at him again as Trombley set up his machine gun from a prone position and let loose.

Louder still was the fifty-cal machine gun mounted on the other Humvee and the Kord 14,7mm MGs on the two BTRs. The two women and their compatriots seemed a tad too dumbfound to even register the statement of Josh Ray Person, with the leading one simply asking, "Who are you people...?" as she held close her rifle, brown hair flowing in the wind.

"Us?" Ray smirked as he poked up, aimed and put two rounds into a bastard's chest, dropping him. He ducked back down and replied, "We're the cavalry, pretty girl..." and he winked, causing the blonde behind the lead to blush. The two watched Garza fire the Mark-19 again. More 40mm frags spun through the air, detonating upon impacting the walls of houses and the ground, or even the enemy themselves, turning a pair into chunky red paste.

The Marines and VDV advanced together, the drivers of the Humvees mounting back up into the vehicles to slowly drive them forward under infantry support. Outside, LAV 25mm Bushmasters spat out hell, the radio chatter travelling between the various Allied troops filtering into the ears of Captain Alicia Melchiott, of the Town Watch. She and her teammates watched with muted awe while their newfound escort slowly pushed the Imperial forces back.

"Wow..." Alicia murmured as she stood to her feet, holding her rifle close. A pair of Russian female soldiers pushed through in front of her, with one bearing a red cross on her shoulder. Her teammate motioned to her to jump over and start checking the people, getting a nod of approval. A tank cannon echoed from the rear and, in the distance, an Imperial tank burst ablaze.

"They're incredible," Murmured Susie, the young friend of Captain Melchiott and a fellow Bruhl town watchwoman. Seemingly, a pair of the reinforcing units' leaders also approached from another of their vehicles. Both wore the same outfits and seemed to carry the same equipment, though with wildly different modifications. The leading man, a fairly handsome one, nodded to the girls.

"These're the locals, sir. We didn't get names while the Company was fighting out here," The leading man said, "We're still waiting for Godfather to catch up to us, too."

"They'll be a while, I guess..." His assistant replied. He turned to the woman and her compatriots and said, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Sergeant Brad Colbert, Marine Corps, and this is my CO."

"Lieutenant Nathan Fick," He replied, "What are your names?"

"Sir..." Alicia blanked for a moment, then shook her head and saluted, "Town Watch captain Alicia Melchiott. This is my friend and second-in-command, Susie." and to that, the shy blonde with curled hair and a pink bow waved. The two men looked them over, noting the Town Watch uniforms:Bright cyan with red accents and shoulder covers, plus helmets for some of the men that more-so resembled firefighters' ones.

And the rifles they carried... Fick hummed and said, "What town are we in exactly, captain Melchiott?"

"Bruhl..." She paused, "Uh... You guys don't look Imperial... or Federation, for that matter."

"If by 'Imperial' you mean the bastards we just started killing? Then, I guess we aren't," Fick stated, then explained, "We're going to need a brief on where exactly we are and we'll need to be able to talk to your other officers. Someone from up top, if possible. Leadership," And he shifted his rifle forward as he heard a callout. The two men tensed as they heard someone call out another enemy tank coming in.

"We'll tell you everything you need..." Alicia replied, before lifting her rifle, "After we-..."

She paused as she saw the Tank turn the corner. It was blue, much larger than the wreck laying in the middle of the road. She yelled, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Toward a man with a tube launcher in his hands, "That's a Gallian tank! It's one of ours!" before she jumped over the cover and ran toward it. The Lieutenant and Sergeant exchanged looks, before following her toward it.

First to appear out of the massive vehicle's front hatch was a young woman with dark-blue hair and a strange shoal draped over her shoulders. She gasped, wide-eyed, as she saw the US and Russian military assets ahead. The rumble of gunfire grew all the more distant, muffled by the roar of both the tank's and the various IFVs and trucks' engines as they all rallied around the gate.

"Gallian, huh...?" Whispered Brad while tensely fiddling with the safety on his M4. The second figure to appear out of the top of the tank was a boy with platinum-blonde hair who wore a brown jacket. His eyes were wide, too, much like those of the girl in the tank's driver seat. The trio of men looked at one-another as the artillery in the distance seemed to die down, before Brad waved at the young man.

"Welkin!" Alicia smiled, bug-eyed, "You have a tank!?"

"Heh..." The boy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Yeah. I'll explain later. What about you, Alicia? You and Susie seem to have found some friends..."

"More like they found us..." Susie murmured, awkward, as she walked up with them. Fick hummed, then waved to the man on the tank and shifted his rifle onto his back, to seem as non-threatening as possible. He walked up beside Alicia, with Brad standing in the rear as Ray and Garza dismounted. The Russians were also aiding some of the Civvies still moving through, surprisingly.

"Good afternoon," Fick greeted Welkin and his 'friend'? Sister? He didn't know, "I'm Lieutenant Nathan Fick, US Marine Corps. We came under attack from the same enemy your country is fighting. Our commanders have asked us to get an audience with the local leadership now that they've learned we're not the only ones fighting in this undeclared war with what's tantamount to a hostile Empire."

Oh, well, that uh... Welkin didn't know how to take that. He saluted and said, "A pleasure, Lieutenant. We were actually just preparing to help escort the townspeople of Bruhl to our capital as refugees. If you don't mind helping us do that, it should be a good way to get your leadership an audience with ours..." to which Fick looked back just as Godfather's vehicles rolled in.

The American Lieutenant showed Welkin to wait a second. He walked toward Godfather, causing the rest of the group to turn toward the Marine lieutenant-colonel 'Godfather' Ferrando, a Marine with a strong jaw and a stronger commitment to his job. The Lieutenant saluted and got a salute back from the man as LAVs started rolling into the town and the two started talking. The Lieutenant pointed to Welkin and the others, while Brad was tapping on his rifle with his fingers away from the trigger. He looked to the girl in the tank's driver seat, smiled and gave a wave.

She blushed a little and waved back, smiling, too, before dropping back into the tank. Ray marched up to Brad and said, Guess we're gonna be rollin' as Civilian escort for the day, right?" and got a nod from Brad. He turned to Welkin and the blue-haired girl as she reappeared from the hatch and said, "Nice tank!" with a smirk. The two replied with half-mouthed affirmations of thanks.

Fick now walked back with Godfather, causing all of the Marines in the area to straighten up their postures, saluting as the Colonel passed by them. He gave a calm nod of the head to each Marine, before stopping in front of Welkin and greeting him, "Good afternoon, mister Welkin. I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Ferrando, USMC First Recon," his voice rough, quiet, "We would appreciate a tour guide for the meeting, of course. And we are willing to provide security for your convoy of civilians. Any wounded that need medical care will be taken care of by our Corpsmen."

"That's much appreciated, sir," Welkin replied, clearly wary as not to offend the man, "I'm Welkin Gunther, by the way. This is my sister, Isara."

"Hello. A pleasure to meet you, Colonel," Isara greeted with a kind wave. Ferrando replied with a calm smile and another short nod, before motioning to the rest of the Convoy to form up around the civilians. Before long, he had returned to his own vehicle and radioed in their findings. By the time the sun began to set over Bruhl, the United States Marine Corps and the Russian VDV loaded the injured and various walking civilians onto their transports, with some riding atop the BTRs of the VDV.

Alicia watched from atop the hill with muted awe, the leaves of the tree beside her rustling in the wind. She held her rifle by the strap, watching as even more allied reinforcements of the Marines' seemed to appear, these ones trucks with supplies meant to aid the refugees of Bruhl that were set to be displaced deeper into the country. She hummed and sighed.

"Hey, Alicia..." Welkin's voice came from her left. She turned toward him and smiled.

"Hey, Welkin," She greeted, "... Odd day, huh..."

"Yeah," He nodded, crossing his arms to his chest and watching the unfolding proceeding ahead, "How many of the town guard are left?"

"Me, Susie and a few others. Barely enough for a whole squad," She replied with a deep sigh, "We were lucky these folks appeared. They saved a lot of lives, though... I can't for the life of me understand where they came from with all this gear... You don't think they're Vinlandians, right? They haven't even gotten involved in the war on the Federation's side, yet."

Welkin gave a negative answer, before his gaze shifted over to Isara, who was at the edge of the hill and nerding out over one of the US's battle tanks, an 'Abrams'. He spoke, "Whatever they are, they spared us a lot of trouble. Their stuff's pretty advanced. Last I hear they knocked out a whole company of enemy vehicles heading toward us just North of Bruhl..."

"They could win the war for us," Alicia murmured, "... And that might mean we get to come home sooner."

"Let's hope our leadership sees it that way," Welkin smiled, "I wanna come back to help rebuild Bruhl ASAP..." and he paused again as he watched Isara climb onto the tank and let out a laugh. He rolled his eyes and said, "Gimme a sec. I'll go get Isara," while wearing the biggest smile on his face. Alicia chuckled, facepalmed and shook her head, before turning back as other footsteps came to her.

A Russian soldier, as she'd called herself, approached. She slung her rifle onto her back and said in her heavy accent, "This place looked beautiful before this mess started, wasn't it...?"

"Yeah," Alicia replied, hands behind her back, "Thanks for saving us, by the way."

The Russian shrugged, "We were just doing the job we were sent out here to do. Your enemy declared war on us as well, by firing at our allies' men..." before she paused, smirked and snorted, covering her mouth, "Ah, blyad, never thought I'd be calling Americans 'allies', considering the bad blood between our people..." and looked to Alicia, who was confused. She waved it off and said, "You'll get context, soon, I hope... By the way, my name is Sergeant Maria Ivanova, Russian VDV."

"Alicia Melchiott... Captain of the Town Watch and, honestly? I don't know what rank I'll get in the Militia," She extended her hand. Maria shook it, still holding the smile. She was a beauty with short, raven-black hair and a rare trait of lilac eyes. There was a small mole on her cheek and Alicia soon noticed some kind of tattoo on her neck, though it was concealed by the woman's scarf.

"A pleasure, captain. And... Militia?" She raised a brow.

The young lady nodded, "Yeah. Beside the regular Army, Gallia relies heavily on locals picking up weapons to defend home. Our defense industries can pump out the guns we need fairly quickly, if needed, so... Yeah..." words which caused Maria to smile. She nodded approvingly, before looking down to see Welkin holding a pouty Isara under his arm, the girl's arms crossed. He chuckled awkwardly, then greeted Maria and Alicia with a wave, making both women giggle.

Russia's soldier hummed, arms crossed, then offered, "We should join the Convoy. I'm sure Godfather and Sokol will want us departing soon for your capital and we will need you to lead the way, mister Gunther."

"Right," Welkin nodded, "Guess we'll introduce ourselves later down the line, too, right?"

"Sure," She offered a curt smile that garnered a light blush out of the man and a seemingly awkward reaction out of Alicia that she couldn't quite make out. With a light giggle, the Sergeant descended toward the convoy, where she met Sergeant Colbert. She spoke to him in a most friendly tone, "Turns out the locals have a Militia to supplement their army. Think Armed Neutrality."

"So, Switzerland?" He quipped, the woman letting out a short laugh. He smirked and said, "Surprised to see you here, honestly. We were pen pals a while back, weren't we?"

"Da. Good to see you in real life for once, Brad," She snorted, then looked over to see Ray bobbing his head to a tune. She chuckled and added, "I see Corporal Person's like you described him..." turned to see Garza on the Mark 19 and Trombley entering the vic with his LMG, "And those must be the others of Hitman 2-1... Well, best to get moving, eh, Brad?"

"Yeah. We'll probably talk when we're at their capital. General Schwarzkopf and General Mattis should be trailing along with their company by the time we're supposed to reach the halfway point, too, so..." The man replied, then paused to watch the 'Edelweiss', Welkin and Isara's weird tank, rolling onto the field and driving up to the front of the civilian and military-laden convoy. Above them, another Reaper drone and, beside it, an indeterminate Russian UAV, flew over. The Reaper had Hellfires on its wings, too, so air cover was somewhat present.

The two sergeants bumped fists, then both went to their respective vehicles. Ray grinned and turned down the volume on their radio, which was playing 'Everybody Wants to Rule The World' as Brad entered the transport. He looked to Brad and told him, "Now that is a country who knows how the pussy industry works. And they managed to combine it with the military!"

Brad snorted and shook his head as he sat down, "She's an old pen pal of mine, Ray. Get us rolling and be quiet for the night. I wanna take a nap..." unclipping his helmet and setting it aside. Ray gave a nod of approval and started rolling as the Convoy's engines revved, entering the formation with the rest of Hitman and their comrades in arms. As night set, the tune of the song filled the air among the ranks as everyone tuned into Hitman's radio.

Even the Gallians did, with Susie, who was sat atop the truck, bobbing her head with a smile. She looked back at the troops and the people on board their transports, some of the Russians smoking cigs while the troops riding atop LAVs were exchanging jokes. Some times, the two sides would look at one-another, exchange a few words in English, then turn back to their own.

Then again, and again, and again, until both sides let out laughter in unison, with one of the Russian troopers tossing one of the Marines a bottle of some clear liquid. The Marine barely caught it and Susie heard the Russian call out, "President Pomorenka restricted our access, haha! But we got our ways! Enjoy!" in what she was assuming was a probably historical event of thawing relations. The American soldier lifted the bottle in a cheer, then popped the cap off and took a swig, before a violent coughing fit came, much to the laughter of his buddies and the Russians.

Susie smiled and giggled, listening to the tune and tapping her foot. She mumbled the lyrics to herself, 'All for freedom and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever... Everybody wants to rule the world...' And pondered just how fitting the lyrics were to their current situation. Truly, everybody did want to rule the world and with the ongoing conflict...?

Perhaps destroy it...

Chapter Text

The early morning sun broke through the clouds, lighting the world in a fiery orange. As the convoy advanced, escorted by about three dozen allied vehicles, HITMAN had taken lead with the Edelweiss and an allied BTR from the Russian Military. A classic Rock road song played from a portable CD Player that Trombley had managed to somehow scrounge up and hide from his parents and the PX. 'Self Esteem' by The Offspring rumbled over the airwaves, the heavy tunes of the guitar intermixed with the hard beat of the drums and the loud vocals.

Ray bobbed his head to the song, surprisingly quiet for this trip. Garza was swiveling the turret left and right. Beside them, the Russian escort of BTRs kept their turrets scanning the trees of forest patches farther away. Brad yawned, rubbing his eyes, then stretched as much as he could in the vehicle. The VDV riding on top of one of the BTRs gave a wave to the vehicle, to which Brad gave a quick wave back.

He murmured, "Ugh. How long have we been on the road...?" as he woke up.

"A few hours," Ray replied, "Could'a been worse. We got bumpin' tunes and actual food. Seriously, they snuck us actually good MREs on the road." And he grinned as he saw a couple of the Russian chicks blow kisses his way. He gave a greeting wave to the girls and snorted, "Man, I'm so getting laid with one of'em Ruskies," as he kept them on the road. The Reporter snorted, while Garza gave the man a side-eye with a smirk, before popping back up onto the turret.

"In your dreams, Ray," Brad murmured, putting his kevlar helmet on and clipping it into place. He checked his rifle and said to his old friend, "You'd be suicidal to try and bang one of'em. Russians ain't anything to scoff at when it comes to women. Seriously, word is they make ours look like cats playing in the sand... Even the Marine girls barely catch up to'em."

"I already decided I wanna get laid, Brad, you don't have to sell'em to me like some Mail Order Bride bullshit," Snorted the guy. Brad gave a snort and shook his head, then poked his head out and looked back at the convoy behind them. Scores of civvies rode on top of LAVs and even the couple Abrams they had with them, not to mention aboard a few LMTVs and MTVRs.

The villages on the side roads gave waves to the advancing allied force, while some of Gallia's Army elements seemed to be shadowing them. Brad lifted his M4 and shouldered it, then peered through the NV scope at the light scouts wading through the fields to keep tabs on them. He murmured, "I wonder if the Gallians realize we're on the same side, or if we can at least see their scouts..."

"Want me to lay into'em?" Trombley asked, "Send a few bursts of 5,56 and they'll get it in their heads."

"That's the opposite of being friendly, Whopper Junior," Ray partially joked. A good part of him was worried the kid was gonna cause an international incident in another nation. He handed Brad a bag of beef jerky and said, "Pop me a couple pieces, Brad. Can't open it while driving..." before he scratched beside his right ear, right under the strap to his helmet. He kept bobbing his head to the tune, singing quietly, "... I wait 'till two, then I turn out the light. This rejection got me so low. She keeps it up, but it's my kinda show..."

Brad opened the bag while Ray was singing, then handed him two pieces of jerky. He poured some into his own hand, then into the Reporter's, Trombley's and, finally, Garza's, before packing the bag and sliding it folded underneath the radio. He bit down onto his piece of jerky, then clicked his tongue. Looking around at the countryside, head leaned on his hand, he stated, "Gotta admit... Nice to not see just sand every goddamn inch..."

"I know, right?" Garza snorted.

"Reminds me a little of back home," Trombley stated.

"Not gonna lie, it's better than we thought. Half expected we'd be getting shot day in, day out..." Wright stated as he leaned back into his seat, arms crossed to his kevlar-covered chest. Trombley seemed to scoff at the idea, probably wanting the fight now, after getting a taste of laying into the bastards they fought. Understandable, quite honestly, but...

Eh, whatever, Ray thought as they kept on rolling. He looked up to see Isara poking her head out of the driver's hatch to probably get some air. He gave a wave to the girl and said, "Hey, kid!" which seemed to get her attention. The curious young lady turned toward him and he yelled to her, "At what age do Gallians teach ya to drive a tank anyhow? That thing looks like something outta the last wars we fought!"

"I learned through a school course I enrolled in! I also maintain the Edelweiss!" The girl replied, smiling.

Ray blinked, then balked, "You keep that thing in working order!?" And she nodded. He whistled and said, "Goddamn, okay. If we get NASCAR in Gallia, I'm getting her to be my pit crew..." which got a few laughs out of everyone and a chuckle out of the sixteen year old tank driver. Welkin looked at Ray, who gave a wave and a thumbs up. The man replied with a smile and a nod, before humming and pulling out a pair of ancient binoculars.

Ray looked forward and blanked, then tapped Brad on the shoulder, "Dude. Twelve o'clock..." before pointing ahead. The city ahead was terrifyingly massive, the tall, garrisoned walls, lined with guns and manned by troops of the city's defense corps, standing as testament to its supposedly-impregnable status as the capital. And a garrison unit of half-a-dozen tanks and a hundred or so infantry stood before and between them and the main gate.

The Convoy let the Edelweiss go forward, revealing the Gallian flags. It was followed by civilian evacuees who waved and greeted their forces while the Marines and VDV dismounted on the sides of the road. Fick walked up to Brad and the others, rifle slung over his shoulder, then told them, "Generals are catching up as we speak. Seems like Congress is already considering War Plans for the war we encountered here."

"Congress moving fast when it comes to declaring a war? Say it ain't so," Ray snorted as he leaned against the Humvee, grinning, "Didn't know they want us kickin' ass this early, El-Tee."

Fick replied, "Thought you'd figured out that's what they want us in the moment we were given the ROE of 'shoot anything that looks like our attackers', Person," before stopping and turning as he saw the other Marines dismount, too, grabbing food and supplies to hand to the Refugees before sending them off toward the Gallian capital's front gate, where the Gallian Army, soldiers clad in dark-blue uniforms, steel helmets and carrying wood-covered weaponry, were already filtering through them.

The Russian that'd spoken to Brad stepped up, cradling her AK-74M as she did so. She said, "Seems like the Army's surprised to see friendlies... Overheard their chatter while on my way over."

"Hey, Ruski," Trombley started. The girl looked toward her and he asked, "Didn't they usually send VDV with BMPs?"

She hummed, then snorted, much to the relief of Ray and Brad. They'd thunk that Trombley was about to say something stupid to her. She replied, "They'll be shipping BMP-2s over soon enough. Don't worry, you'll get to see them in action, bratukh..." Before turning to Brad and telling him, "Most are still undergoing some degree of refurbishment to be brought up to standard..."

Brad nodded, "Hey, no comment from me, long as we get rapid-fire 30mm cannons as support..." And he looked over to Ray, who was grinning still. He shook his head, before both him and the Russian soldier turned to see the Generals, Godfather and Sokol rolling up in their Humvees and even the newly-built TIGR MRAPs of the Russian Military. So fresh off the assembly line they may as well have been new, the TIGR MRAPs supposedly provided better protection and acted more like the US's currently up-armored Humvees.

The two vehicles stopped at the front of the column, with the officers dismounting under the armed escort of a dozen or so men from both unit groups. The entire forward section of the column, Brad and the others included, snapped to, giving crisp salutes to general Norman Schwarzkopf, his Marine counterpart, General Mattis, and their Russian liaison, Colonel Smirnoff.

Schwarzkopf lead the group, approaching the line of the Gallian defenders that were filtering the crew with his two comrades and their escorts. He saluted the woman in the lead, a blonde-haired one with red eyeliner. She gave a quick salute back and spoke in clear-cut English, "Business in Randgriz, mister..." her voice a hint dismissive, disrespectful. Mattis was stopped from saying something by Norman giving a low chopping motion to him.

"Norman Schwarzkopf, ma'am. General for the UN Expeditionary Corps deployed to your country," He had then turned toward her. Speaking with as clear-cut a tone as possible, he told her calmly, "The soldiers you're fighting shot at our men and we want to know what we're dealing with before we throw ourselves into whatever this hellscape of a conflict is."

"... You want to talk to our leadership, then?" She asked, turning to him. He nodded, to which she said, "Give me a moment..." before turning to one of her men and ordering, "Get me a Wireless forward and a direct link to Generals Damon and Siegfried, then to the Prime Minister. They'll want to know about the... UN, you said?" As she looked between Norman, Mattis and Smirnoff.

Norman gave a nod, "Yes. The United Nations."

Indeed, the woman looked to see two different flag patches among all soldiers, though of similar colorings. The soldier ran up to them and handed her the radio set and mic. She showed the three officers to wait and stepped back, to which Mattis asked sarcastically, "Ain't she a ray of fuckin' sunshine...?" before turning to Smirnoff, who sighed and shook his head.

"I have a nagging feeling we'll be fighting our hopeful allies as much as we'll be duking it out with these Imperial bastards..." Norman murmured, arms crossed to his chest just as the woman turned toward them and gave them a nod to follow her as she boarded a jeep. The men entered their Humvees and Tigr and drove after her, machine guns aimed at the sky not to scare the crap out of the population.

The officers looked around at what seemed to be a city both advancing with and stuck in time. Paved roads made for a slightly bumpy ride aboard the Army's Humvees and the Tigr, but all houses had electricity, between the main boulevard's lanes ran a tram with electric lines and several intersection points between it and various other lines and the many districts were split evenly between the city's wider roadways, with smaller one and two-lane roads leading between various city blocks.

The most imposing sight, however, was the royal palace dead ahead of them, a tall structure, wide as well, built at the rearmost part of the city. With blue roofs and spiral motifs spread evenly across its architecture, the opulent royal habitation stood as the stark reminder of what this place was:a presumed Kingdom run by Kings and Queens and perhaps elected government officials.

"Seems a tad overkill," Commented Norman as he looked at the spires. He gripped his own M4A1 rifle close, just in case, but he saw that the people around were waving at the arriving vehicles with surprising calm, some even going to assist the Civilians in need of help. He hummed and motioned to his RTO to hand him the radio, before calling, "All HITMAN elements, assist with triaging the civilians if you can. We'll tell the Gallian locals to expect that."

Affirmative replies came from HITMAN, Godfather included, which allowed Norman to sigh in relief as he handed the RTO the transmitter back. He told Mattis, "Can't believe we're about to deal with this shit again, honestly. What's this, like the third time we went into a country that we were friends with because some bigger enemy invaded them?" and sighed.

"Sounds about right, though we're not really friends with the Blues just yet," Mattis nodded, "Remember Gulf One?"

"Yeah," Norman gave a nod, then pulled out a thermos full of coffee and took a sip. He offered some to Mattis, who refused, then capped the hot beverage container and set it aside, adding, "Commanded a good chunk of it. 73 Easting's still one of my favorite bits from that show..." and he hummed. He looked around at the civilians, guards and Police marching around the place and stated, "These people are armed with equipment that looks like it came straight out of the Interwar era..."

"Public Opinion about this is bound to skyrocket, though. Wonder if that means the new Admin will give us some fucking funding to deal with Iraq, too, considering the absolute shitshow that's been," Mad Dog added, then looked over at the Marine manning the turret up above, MG pointed up at the heavens. He was waving back to the people who waved at them, a little bit of nice PR.

Arriving at the front of the building, the group was met by what seemed to be the royal guard, their uniforms bearing gold stripes and inlay, strange ceremonial-looking lances lifted up to greet the Generals and their escort. As they exited the vehicles, the young woman that led them here showed them toward the door and said, "Follow me, please..." as they walked.

Entering the wide halls of the palace, the group was met by Royal Guards standing at attention, their ancient-looking blue armors complimented by assault weapons that looked out of the very early post-war, almost prototype-like. Some carried more standard bolt-action and semi-automatic rifles loaded with magazines, kind of like the M14s they had as DMRs nowadays.

They arrived at the central hall and it almost resembled a cathedral, its many columns filled with a spiral motif and the glass, tinted. Sat in the far back, on a raised throne, a young woman with a strange hat and a spiral motif scepter was sat, surrounded by three arguing men. Well, a pair arguing with another of the gentlemen, all three of them clad in fairly opulent clothes.

Mattis snorted derisively, seeing the supposed Prime-Minister, a man with a blonde wig, before commenting, "Bastard's dressed like a fucking drag queen..." in a whisper, which garnered a snort out of Smirnoff, while Schwarzkopf tried to contain his own little bout of laughter. Mattis then scanned the second man, a fat bastard with a slimy beard and oily hair, clad in what looked to be an officer's uniform. He rolled his eyes and murmured, "Oh, Christ, not this fuckery, too. Nepotism and I'd stake my balls on it."

"Let's not make bets yet," Smirnoff snorted.

The last man looked more well-kept and clean, shaven brown hair and blue eyes, a few scars and some medals. Not as many as the fat tube of lard, but still just about enough. The young woman seemed to have noticed them first, her eyes lighting up as she stood to her feet, to which the three men ceased their argument, with the premier turning to face the gentlemen and stating, "Ah! Of course, the representative officers we were told about from this... UN. Welcome to the Royal Palace of Randgriz. I am Prime Minister Borg, Regent until Her Highness, Princess Cordelia, comes of age. These men are General Damon," he motioned to the fatass, "And general Siegfried. Some of our best, so to speak."

The Generals looked to one-another and gave nods of greeting to the men, before stepping up and apparently having the same common thought of taking a knee in front of the Princess. The young lady blushed, then quickly bowed back and stated, "Please, by all means, stand to your feet. No soldiers need bow in front of me..." to which the three did as asked.

"A pleasure meeting you all, then," Norman nodded, "I am general Schwarzkopf, overall commander of the UN mission to your world and country. The men beside me are my associates. Fellow countryman and Marine general Mattis and Colonel of the Russian Armed Forces, Smirnoff. We're here to discuss matters pertaining to our common enemy and, if possible, the participation of the UN Task Force in this place's war, to bring it to a swift end and bring the Empire to the negotiation table."

"You seem cocky, general," The fat man, Damon, said, his voice gruff, "How do we know you can help us fight this war?"

"You havent' seen our tech, general Damon," Voiced Smirnoff, "We made short work of the enemy company sent after Bruhl. We will make even shorter work of whatever enemies you face, especially when our air assets are brought to bear."

"Air assets... Aircraft?" Voiced Siegfried, "You actually managed to get the concept of an Air Force off the ground?"

The three men took a moment to register the sheer shock in both general Siegfried's voice and the faces of all of the people around them. Smirnoff blinked rapidly, dumbfound, then asked, "You did not...?" as he looked around the room. An audible snort echoed from one of the Guard officers in the room. She covered her mouth and excused herself, before the audible noise of laughter echoed through the halls.

"All countries considered the matter too expensive, what with the re-tooling of factories and the money being spent on the rebuilding after the First Europan War..." Offered Borg, though he seemed a bit less than happy that the generals were all containing their own laughs.

Mattis burst first, hollering and stating, "Oh, this is gonna give the A10 pilots fucking hard-ons!"

"Mattis, control yourself..." Schwarzkopf chuckled, "We're still in the presence of a royal lady who's, what, sixteen?" and he got a nod from the girl, who giggled with them as well. Siegfried, meanwhile, stifled his own laugh while Damon seemed to glare at them. The American general couldn't contain himself either, "Oh, God, the Apache and Hind Pilots, though! Hahaha!"

"This is going to be a fucking cakewalk compared to Chechnya!" Smirnoff snorted.

... Meanwhile, outside, Ray hummed to the tune of 'Break My Stride' as he watched Russian girls strutting their stuff while carrying AKs. He grinned and gave them waves, with a few replying with smiles as they strode around. He walked up to the Gallians next, offering them Earth candy. Skittles, more specifically. One of them, a seemingly confused young woman, extended a hand. He poured some of the skittles into it and gave a nod and a thumbs up, before walking back to their Humvee.

Inside, Wright was doing exactly as his family name implied;writing. Ray poked his head in and said, "What lies ya telling this time, Rolling Stone?"

"Just writing out the fact we're interacting with humans from what's tantamount to an alternate reality," He quipped as he wrote on in his little notebook. He looked to Ray and asked him, "How're you so calm about this, man? It's actually kind of exciting! This might confirm a few theories we have about the world and how the universe as a whole works!"

"Damn, dawg, didn't know you're a nerd, too," Ray commented, grinning. Wright snorted and shook his head, then turned back to writing just as Brad was heard to be coming from the right. Ray gave him a wave and said, "Hey, Brad. Check it," while pointing at the one chick he gave Skittles to, "I made a big ol' PR move and shared some of my Skittles with that chick."

She looked their way while chewing on one of the candies, then smiled and waved at both. He waved back and grinned at his friend, "And that's how you score a little with the good people of Gallia, eh?" to which Brad snorted and shook his head. He walked over to his side of the Humvee and climbed aboard, taking his helmet off and pulling an MRE out, only to pop it open and start preparing it.

Trombley also returned to the truck, hauling his LMG and a pack of wet wipes. Ray offered him candy, but Trombley refused, simply climbing back aboard and murmuring, "Well, I shat in an alternate reality now, so that's pretty cool..." before setting his weapon aside and asking, "Sarge, when're we gonna move from this shithole?" to which Brad cast a glance back at him.

He turned back to preparing his MRE and said, "Whenever the Generals and Godfather deem it fit to move our asses out of here and to a decent staging area, Trombley..." before letting the chemical heating pack work its magic on reheating whatever the fuck was in the bag. He looked up and slapped Garza's leg, causing the man to whine and stir, before murmuring something in his sleep. He sighed and called out, "Garza, wake up."

The man murmured something again, then dipped down into the Humvee and said, "That was the worst fucking night of my goddamn life..."

"Shit sleep?" Trombley asked.

"No... Stayed up all night with Ray. I'm the gunner after all, have to keep all of us idiots alive for the most part," Garza sighed and rubbed his face. He looked to Brad, who was giving him the stink eye, before asking, "What did I do? I was doing my job... Experienced a goddamn crash now, though. That's why I was flat on my gut on the turret, so... Yeah..."

"Tell me you didn't take anything to stay awake..." Murmured the Sergeant, words to which Garza said nothing. He turned to the window and called out, "Ray! Ray!" to which his friend turned around. He tilted his head toward Garza and asked, "Did you bring more Ripped Fuel? And if yes, did you give some to our gunner, causing him to have a caffeine crash worse than that one time back in Basra?"

"... No...?" Ray hummed. Lies.

Sleepy Garza admitted, "He floated me a couple to keep me up, but that's it..." which got Ray to glare at him and Brad to glare at Ray, like a trio of fuckery. Wright snorted, while Trombley chewed on his cold food and shook his head. He looked over to see a Gallian soldier passing by, then gave her a tilt of the head. The crazy-eyed girl gave a nod back, though she maintained her composure, before walking past them. With a hum and a shrug, the gunner went back to chowing down, then looked to the Reporter.

Rolling stones was up to his usual, so Trombley didn't say much. He was just wondering when their Air Support was gonna be coming. He had a fairly nagging feeling they were gonna go straight into a fight after this whole negotiation thing was done. Suited him just fine, honestly. He wanted to go back into the shit with the boys, light someone up with his SAW. Take into account he needed to rest properly...

That and maybe get some break from everything else...

Chapter Text

Alicia and Welkin strode the halls of their new home for the foreseeable future. Fort Amaranthine was abuzz with activity as the Third Regiment of Militia was activated. The two, a Sergeant and Lieutenant for the Seventh Platoon of the Regiment, marched toward their barracks as they prepared for their first operation. Word had also spread fast among the crowds of Militiamen about the UN, their new arrivals.

Alicia murmured, "Talk about quick-travelling news..." as she slung her Gallian M4 Rifle over her shoulder. The M4 was a semi-automatic, magazine-fed rifle firing 7,92mm rounds. It had the usual wood stock you'd expect out of weapons born in 1935, unlike their allies' counterparts which seemed to use a lot of plastic in their designs. Polymers, they called them.

Welkin hummed in agreement, then added, "When an alien force arrives and offers to help, it's all the buzz..." as they walked with personnel files for 7th Platoon in hand. Their squad had gathered outside, by the Edelweiss, it seemed, a group of about 20 infantry for now. Their platoon's size would apparently vary for day-to-day operations, but they'd never go below twenty people unless someone died.

Walking out into the courtyard of the administrative building of the massive fort, the pair saw the group already chatting amongst themselves as Isara tended to their tank. One of the people in the crew, a tanned older man with the build of a bear, looked over to them and scoffed, scratching his strange facial hair as he told a redhead older woman beside him, "Pair of greenhorns, huh..."

"Hoping they won't get us and the other kids killed," The Redhead shot back, arms crossed to her armored chest. She added, "Then again, they're the ones who first met these new allies we keep hearin' rumors about. Could pay to ask'em what we should expect out of the new allied force... Been a month since they've been in country as it is and they're barely now mobilizing..."

"Chunks of their troops were already engaging around the southern front, as rumor has it. Held back a thousand Imps with just five tanks and about a hundred infantry," The man snorted, then slid a cigar between his lips and said, "I'll believe their bullshit when I see it..." as he lit said cigar. The redhead turned to the other kids around them, all of whom were seemingly cleaning up their newly-given equipment.

Good. Least they were professional. She cast a sideways glance at the Darkie working on their tank and murmured, "Hope she won't be a bother..." before the entire group stood to attention. Their two officers stared at the group of gathered troops, whom Isara now joined by standing in-line with the younger kids, with Welkin snapping a quick salute. The group saluted back, some of them warily.

And Welkin began to speak, "Good afternoon, folks. I'm Welkin Gunther and I'll be your Lieutenant for the next few months. This beside me is Sergeant Alicia Melchiott, one of my executive officers. We're just hoping to get through this war with everyone in the squad alive, so let's make sure we watch each-other's backs out there, alright...? If you have any questions, feel free to ask'em now, then I'll do a quick roll call."

The buff man raised his hand and Welkin gave him a nod. He spoke to them, "Afternoon, El-Tee. I'm Largo Potter. The other Sarge in the unit. Hope you kids know how to fight if shit hits the fan..." with a bit of a challenging tone. Welkin didn't fall for it, simply nodding, while Alicia seemed to glare at him. Largo, for all his credit, ignored it. His friend then raised her hand and Welkin gave her the word.

"Corporal Brigitte Stark. Call me Rosie if y'wanna. Hope you kids know this ain't a play or a game. We're not here to have fun or be chatty, we're here to win a war," The girl spoke with a similarly challenging tone.

"We know," Welkin nodded, "We've seen what happens in war firsthand at Bruhl... We'll be ready for whatever comes."

"Sure hope so, kid," Rosie replied with a murmur. Alicia was about to step in and demand something from them, an explanation for the behaviors, but the distant, loud roar of engines filled their ears, with the drone of air assets to boot. Everyone jumped to their feet, then scrambled out toward the front of Fort Amaranthine, only to spot it:A Column of armored fighting vehicles rolled in.

Main Battle Tanks led the procession of several hundred vehicles, their 120mm cannons pointed up at the sky, the woodland camouflage paint barely drying in the heat of the Spring sun. Behind them, smaller tanks with surprisingly thin cannons rolled in as well, mounting boxes to the sides of their turrets that looked like they folded outward, not to mention armor that looked tough as hell.

Next in the procession came four-wheeled armored cars with men mounting heavy weapons on an unprotected top turret, followed by ten-ton trucks with tarps covering tonnes of supplies on their backs, or carrying infantry platoons, or even fuel in heavy-duty tankers. Last in the ground procession were massive self-propelled artillery pieces and what looked to be even more trucks, though these ones had a multitude of barrels, plus other models of armored vehicles, cars and trucks, capped off at the end by more tanks that looked different from the leads.

What was more terrifying than the allied ground force's arrival, however, was the dozen aircraft flying overhead. Their quad-rotors chopped through the wind, kicking up dust clouds that mixed with the clouds. Some where black and sleek and others, fat and tough, both carrying troops. Others were heavily armed, pods with missiles and rockets hanging off wing mounts and heavy cannons mounted just below the nose. Yet more were two-rotor, heavy-duty, bus-looking and carrying even more supplies or troops.

As the vehicles veered right, Captain Varrot walked out, eyes wide. The woman, a veteran of the First Europan War, arranged her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she watched the first tank roll through Amaranthine's gates. On one of its mud skirts was painted a triangle emblem with yellow, red and blue, with a 1 in the middle of the yellow part and, below, a cannon and lightning crossed.

The armored vehicles and their supporting logistics elements rolled into the courtyard and parked themselves to allow for a quick exit, logistics going to the rear of the assembly area. Helicopters touched down, disembarking the troops they were carrying, or just landing to reload and refuel. Finally, the four-wheeler Humvees rolled forward, dead ahead of the assembled Squads of the Third Regiment, stopping in front of captain Varrot.

A single man, clad in M81 PASGT woodland camo, descended from the middle, unarmed Humvee. He bore rank pins on his collar denoting the rank of a colonel and had the face to match it. Marching up to captain Varrot, he received a salute from the woman and, in turn, he saluted back and spoke, "At ease, Captain. I'm Colonel Tom Harris, here under orders from Major General Sanchez, First Armored Division. We also have elements of the First Marines and allied troops from the United Nations Mission for Gallia."

Russian troops dismounted from their transports and lined up, reporting in front of Colonel Smirnoff, who gave them a quick examination. Varrot noted the other allied countries by their flags, though she knew none of them. She calmly replied, "It is our pleasure to have you in Fort Amaranthine, Colonel. General Schwarzkopf sent ahead to tell us you'd be arriving."

"Glad to see we're expected," He replied jokingly, then told her, "I'd like an office to set up my own command. Adjacent to yours if possible, so we have an easier line of com."

"Understood. Right this way, sir," She motioned to him to follow. The man then waved to the rest of his command staff, which dismounted from Humvees and HEMTT trucks with their weapons slung over their shoulders. As the rest of the crew went to park the vehicles closer to the door, two very familiar faces came toward Welkin and Alicia, one of them with arms open wide and a grin.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Ray Person greeted, grinning ear-to-ear, "What's good, homies?"

"Ray," Alicia snorted.

Welkin smiled, "Been a while, guys."

"Certainly has been, Lieutenant," Brad snorted. He noticed some of the local Militia troops staring at them, including the other Sergeant and that Stark girl, before turning back to Welkin and telling him, "So, First Recce's being stuck with you guys for the time being. Third Reg's apparently gonna go for a combined arms approach with the rest of the First Armored and a few other units."

"So, we're working with Armored elements from the US Army," Alicia hummed, "Considering we saw what an Abrams tank can do to an Imp Light..."

"Oh, just you wait, girl," Ray smirked, "One of'em's gonna put the fear of God and the United States Armored into even the heaviest tank those knight faggots got out there," and he hefted his bag, "Anyway, you guys know where we're camping? Command wasn't very forthcoming with info about where barracks are in this big-ass Fort of yours, at least not for us."

"You forgot that the SeaBees are building up infrastructure," The Sergeant sighed deeply, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey, look, homes, I don't keep tabs on the 'Bees like you do. They at least building Highways?" His RTO replied, crossing his arms to his chest. Indeed, in the distance, another small convoy arrived with construction equipment on HEMTT trailers and started rolling said construction equipment out near an unoccupied area of the Gallian Fort, beginning their construction work there.

"Uh, guys?" Alicia started, "What are Sea Bees?"

"... Oh, you sweet summer child," Brad voiced jokingly, then explained, "CB. Construction Battalion. Navy's own engineers, designers, demolitionists, electricians and the likes, all of which carry machine guns into battle," before motioning to the site they were using as a construction area. Everyone looked over to where the men were working to see them all hauling gear alongside their gear. That gear being construction gear and military gear respectively.

"Wow..." Welkin hummed, then snorted, "Good to know..." before he turned back to see Isara staring at the flying vehicles they brought in. It took him a moment to remember that, yes, they had just seen vehicles that could take off and land vertically and that were toting armaments and transport capabilities. He looked over to the rows of landed vehicles in the courtyard, then asked, "For my sister's sake, what are those...?"

"Apaches, Black Hawks, Chinooks," Ray said, "Attack and transport helos, to be exact. Hawks and Nooks transport the boys and gear. Apaches make the enemy think some sorta angels are coming down on his ass with all the hellfire and brimstone you can think of," And he looked toward the others. He hummed as he saw Garza, Trombley and even Rolling Stones disembark.

The reporter seemed to surprise everyone, clearly, though it wasn't just him that stunned the group. The other men and women of the Marines approached, rifles slung over their shoulders as they carried provisions to their own little corner of the fort, preparing to build their barracks and tents. Honestly, were it not for the fact Ray knew that the First Div would also be arriving soon(First Marines, not first Army) they'd be going to help. But several thousand extra hands were bound to be givin' the boys exactly what they needed.

Another pair of helicopters rolled up to the FOB, with Brad murmuring, "Oh, fuck's sake, here we go..." as he watched them swing in for landing. They bore a star between two scarlet stripes with gold outlines, alongside a Chinese character in the middle, not to mention the dark-blue spot camo of a certainly-familiar Communist unit. Brad looked to Ray and told him, "Tell everyone else to be ready... The Chinese Delegation is here."

Just as he said that, Lieutenant Fick marched up to the group, looking at the helicopters as they unloaded a platoon's worth of People's Liberation Army Navy Marines(Fucking mouthful, that one), then said, "Well... Took them a while to get up to the FOB, didn't it...?" as he turned to face the Gallians. He saluted Welkin and said, "Lieutenant Gunther, Sergeant Melchiott. Congratulations on your promotions. Hope HITMAN and the Seventh are going to work well together."

Welkin and Alicia both saluted back, with Welkin stating, "Likewise, lieutenant Fick," and smiling. He motioned to the Chinese troops and said, "They familiar to you?"

"That would be the People's Liberation Army Navy Marines," Fick stated, to which the entire group of Gallians stared at him, dumbfound. He looked to them and said, "The PLA is the Chinese Military's all-encompassing term. I don't know why they could not go with just calling them the Liberation Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines, but at this point in time, nobody wants to know what's in the Chairman's brain."

"Hopefully, a bullet," Trombley murmured as he stared at them approaching. Their officer, a young woman, stepped up to them like she was on parade, QBZ-95 Assault Rifle slung over her shoulder. She and Lieutenant Fick met midway and gave each-other a curt, respectful salute. The Marine Gunner looked to Rosie and Largo in the meanwhile and asked both of'em, "Did you fuckers come out of a Dutch escort catalog or some shit?"

"What?!" Both of them balked.

"That was outta pocket," Snorted Alicia. Well, if she couldn't snap back at them just yet, at least seeing a Yank do it would help.

"One of'em's got his chest puffed out and looks like some jackboot retard you'd find ploughing the fields in Russia and the other looks like a bimbo in a uniform," Trombley commented, garnering glares out of both of them. He said, "Then again, not like much of your Militia looks any more normal, considering your chicks are wearing skirts instead of actual pants. These two just stand out."

"Listen here, kid-" Largo started.

Brad stepped up in front of him and asked, "There gonna be a problem, Sergeant? Because if yes, you can take it up with me, rank to rank," before turning back to Trombley and telling him, "Stow the remarks for now, Trombley. We're not here to cause a fight with the people we're gonna be working with..." even if some of them look like they deserve a good punch, was what the good Marine sergeant wanted to cap it off with, but he was here to mediate. Noting that they, too, backed off, he sighed deeply.

"Yes, sir," Trombley replied with a quick salute, then turned to check his LMG. Ray worked to stifle his laughter beside him.

"Your men really aren't well-mannered, Sergeant..." One of the Gallian snipers remarked coolly, a girl with short black hair that had a fringe over her left eye. She stared at the man with dark, cold eyes that betrayed some hint of amusement at the quips, but kept it well-enough hidden not to cause their NCOs' attention to be diverted her way. Combined with a face that resembled a mask of stone, it made Brad feel like he was looking at a robot.

He replied to her, "We're Marines, shooter. Manners ain't in the playbook."

She huffed through her nose, though it sounded more like she was amused. She gave a nod and turned back to checking her rifle. Isara, meanwhile, jumped off her tank and walked up to the Sergeant, a smile on her face as she asked, "Sergeant Colbert, can I please go see those 'helicopters'? I've been interested in flying since I was a little girl, but never got to!"

"Provided your eltee is cool with it, I can take you to see them and talk to the aircrews," The man nodded, causing the girl's eyes to light up. While Welkin offered a kind smile, Rosie scoffed and rolled her eyes, which caught Brad's attention, but he didn't comment on it. The group then watched the Russian VDV roll in now on BMP-2s, BRDMs and BTR-80s, alongside the rest of the Eastern Militaries' detachments.

Welkin hummed and stated observantly, "There's bullet marks on some of the vehicles..."

"The VDV and the Eastern Corps actually had their first taste of combat in the South, too. Pomorenko and his men told us about it. Turns out their cooperation with their former Allies never really faded, but there's a history there that those 'allies' were more-so puppet states," He explained, "Now, we have a couple who're adhering to our own alliance, NATO."

"Your people sure have colorful histories..." Alicia stated, crossing her arms to her chest.

Brad snorted, "If only you knew how colorful, Melchiott..." words which made Alicia pause for a moment. He explained, "Just the last 200 years have been probably more littered with industrial-scale mass warfare than you've had in these past decades. We had two World Wars, just like you guys have right now, a Cold War between us and the aforementioned 'allies' of Russia... And now, Wars on Terror and Wars against Dictators..."

"Makes you really think just how fucked the sitch is, eh?" Ray commented, "Iraq, Afghan. Really feels like we ain't really doing shit."

"We're trying," Brad sighed, then, while holding onto his vest as his NV-scoped M4 with a grenade tube hanged off his shoulder, he added a jovial, "But, whatever. New prerogative and we ain't invading a sandy shithole, this time. We're helping defend a nice country with somewhat nice people and apparently beautiful scenery." all while grinning. He was really thankful their woodland cammies were getting proper use for fucking once.

"Dawg, the chicks ain't half-bad either," His friend shot back, grinning. He gave a wink to one of the girls in Squad 7, a blonde with glasses, who blushed and immediately hid her face. He then checked his M4 and watched as Fick was coming back with the Chinese Lieutenant, asking, "What're we lookin' at in terms of support from the Chinese, eh, El-Tee?"

"An IBCT, in your terms," The Chinese Lieutenant responded in Fick's stead, her accent heavy, "I am Lieutenant Xiu-Yan Zhao, PLAN Marines Tenth Company. An honor to work with First Recon and our newfound comrades in arms," before she gave a nod to Welkin and Alicia. She then straightened up and added, "I'm rather new to the command role myself, so I will entrust Lieutenant Fick and you all to help us."

"Hey, any extra guns are welcome," Ray commented, "Just make sure you don't shoot us in the back, comrade."

"Would not dream of it," She snorted, "We'll be bringing up rearguard most of the operations that follow, anyway."

"Gotcha," Ray nodded, then whispered, "My point exactly," to Trombley. That made him grin. More supply vehicles arrived, these ones KAMAZ, with the Yankee from the South noting, "Goddamn, is this place getting a lil' crowded. Those are Ukrainian trucks," as he shifted his kit a little, "Eh, fuck it. Brad, I'm going in the Humvee. Gonna take a nap before they give us the order to deploy to whatever op they want us in."

"Alright," Brad gave a nod, then looked to Fick and asked, "Sir, we got an MO?"

"Free-fire zone in most of the AO, according to general Schwarzkopf. Anything that's hostile gets pre-emptively slapped around by us and the Army's tanks," Fick stated, then clarified, "Only places we're not allowed free-fire unless we PID the targets is cities. Risk of Civvie Casualties is a little high... Oh, by the way, Fallujah 2 started, since we're on city talks."

"Shit, seriously?" Trombley commented, "That's gonna be a fucking pain in the ass to clear."

"Command agrees, but they're still trying. We got Marines who're getting issued new scopes now. ACOGs from Trijicon, apparently," Fick shrugged, "Maybe we'll get some, too, for ops here..." then he turned to the Reporter, to see him writing. He asked, "Mister Wright. Find our conversations interesting enough to stay quiet?" to which the man gave a smile and a nod.

"That's a reporter?" Rosie scoffed, then snorted, "Damn, guess every military unit gets stuck with babysitting duty, eh?"

"Rolling Stones ain't bad when you get to know him," Brad shot back, "Problem is getting to know him..." and he grinned at the man, who chuckled and shook his head as he wrote in the details. The group was about to start up another chat, but all paused and turned to salute the Colonel and Captain as they walked out. He seemed serious, as did captain Varrot.

"First operation is up. 1st Armored and 1st Marines will be supporting Gallia's 3rd Regiment and the Army in retaking an important city with a major bridge. Said bridge acts as an MSR for the Southern Front and a straight shot toward the capital city of Gallia," The colonel stated, "We'll be preparing a briefing and departing by tomorrow at oh-six hundred hours. Callsigns, troop disposition and targets for each unit will be assigned as we move. Colonel Smirnoff's deploying their Separate Reconnaissance Battalions ahead to scout out enemy positions."

"Time to get back in the saddle, then, sir," Fick stated, "First Recon gonna take point on this?"

"You and Seventh Platoon will be the first ones in the shit, Lieutenant Fick. Make it work," The man replied with a nod, then saluted and told them, "Dismissed. Get some shuteye, get some grub and start preparing," and he and Captain Varrot walked off to inspect the rest of the Regiment. Welkin hummed, then nodded and turned to start the roll call for the 20 people they'd called up to the Platoon. He gave Brad the go-ahead to take Isara to see the Helicopters, which he took by leading her there.

The crews were unsurprisingly friendly, especially to someone as giddy as Isara. A very young prodigy engineer who wanted to learn all there was about this stuff, looking over the weapons, the engines and even getting to sit behind the flight controls for one. A young co-pilot/gunner suggested, "Maybe we'll give her a quick flight when we're back from the op we've got."

"I'm sure she'd like that," Brad snorted, watching the girl examine the displays with the widest smile on her face. It was literally like a kid in a candy shop, the way she acted. Some part of Brad wondered why the hell they never developed viable aircraft, then the thought switched to something else. Little Sis probably didn't know that they even had satellites, or stuff in space. If a helicopter blew her mind this much, that would probably cause her to need a reboot. The pilot and co-pilot watched the girl jump out, while Brad considered what sort of story to tell first. Yuri Gagarin? The Moon Landings? Columbia, Enterprise and Challenger?

Something to tell tales about when they'd be back.

Chapter Text

The convoy, half a Brigade Combat Team's worth of soldiers and vehicles, rolled through the basin around river Vasel, toward the city they were set to target. Rotor-blades overhead chop-chop-chopped as the Apaches sent in as escorts flew at around the same speed as the rest of the convoy. In the front vehicle, Brad peered through a newly-mounted scope on his rifle. He zeroed it in, murmuring, "Had to give me the ACOG..." before pulling the radio off the top of the box and calling out, "This is HITMAN-4 to all HITMAN and LUCKY elements, maintain dispersion. Don't wanna test if the bastards have mortars or if they've seen us."

'LUCKY' had been the callsign assigned to the Third Regiment, Gallian Militia, by the joint command of UN and Gallia's military back in Forth Amaranthine, with LUCKY-7 being the tag for Seventh Platoon, Welkin, Isara and Alicia's unit. Affirmative radio replies echoed, with SOKOL and other Elements also replying in kind, the vehicles rolling down paved road. As they crested a hill, Ray exclaimed, "Holy shit..."

Ahead it lay. The city of Vasel, its eponymous bridge and river. The city itself, a gathering of medieval-style houses, burned, many of its structures collapsed or collapsing due to the presumably continuous exchange of artillery between units. A pair of M109 SPGs rolled off to the side with support vehicles and the rest of the artillery company, preparing to set up a base of fire against the enemy's positions. They moved right next to the towed artillery of the Gallian Army.

"Goddamn, Brad..." Murmured Ray, "We're really about to turn that town into an even bigger clusterfuck, aren't we?"

"Howitzers from the 1st's artillery company are gonna be on-station to provide support to us, Ray, we're not going in to level the rest of the city..." Brad replied as he shouldered his rifle and peered through the ACOG. He murmured, "Y'know, maybe the scope ain't a bad replacement..." before turning around and hitting Garza in the knee, asking, "The gun all oiled?"

"All in the green, Sarge," The man replied as as he peered down the sights of the Mark 19. He looked up, watching the Kiowas ascending a little. The Scout helis rolled in, flying in with their camera pods, FLIR and the likes to mark enemy units. Behind them, Apaches continued their escorting flight, while the radio report came in. Brad listened and motioned to Ray to take the vehicle to the right, toward a small operations base where the Gallian commanders were billeted.

Disembarking, the members of HITMAN, GODFATHER and LUCKY marched up to the woman in charge of liberating Vasel. The woman, with dark-brown hair caught in a bun on the back of her head and soft blue eyes, turned to the men and gave them a salute. She greeted, "Hello, gentlemen. You must be the officers of that new allied army my father spoke of..."

"Father?" Fick, several other Lieutenants, Captain Varrot and even Godfather himself asked.

She nodded, then winced, "General Georg von Damon... The man who, I heard, annoyed the life out of a pair of your generals to the point they nearly walloped him over the head..." which caused several of the present men and women to furrow their brows. Godfather hummed, scratching his chin, then nodded, with the woman sighing and turning fully to face them. She spoke, "Alas, ignore that little tidbit. I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Amelia von Damon and I'll be your liaison to the Regular Army here... Captain Varrot."

"Ma'am," She nodded, "Lieutenant-Colonel Damon is the sane one of the family, gentlemen..."

"I bet..." Godfather whispered, his voice low due to the throat issue. He turned to the Sergeants and said to them "Form a perimeter and stand by. Lieutenants, on me..."

... Brad and the other Sergeants of the Platoons had done as asked, setting up small OPs around the camp through which they looked at Vasel as it was being hammered by friendly arty and the random Apache. He listened to the radio of his humvee lighting up with chatter from the latter, with one of the pilots calling out, "... Green Zone is cleared for fire. Confirming, one company, infantry, advancing down the main boulevard. GODFATHER Actual, this is EASY Six Actual, engaging enemy with Thirty Mil, stand by."

Ray jumped awake as the rattle of a 30mm echoed from the distance. The Apache closest to the group let loose with the high-caliber autocannon on its undercarriage while another provided target spotting for the M109s in the rear, out of which one fired at a time and about a shot every twenty seconds as counter-battery fire against mortars that landed way too far to do any damage.

"Jesus Christ," Ray murmured, rubbing his eyes, "I'm awake, Army Air Command, fuck off..."

"Flyboys are basically in a turkey shoot right now," Brad commented as he peered through his ACOG at platoons of the armored fellas retreating into the cover of house ruins and rubble. House ruins and rubble that were being hit by Abrams 120s with HEAT. Some times. Other times, it was an M109's shell crashing through the roof and causing the house to implode, or it was Mark 19s from the closer Humvees, or the 25mm Bushmasters from the Bradleys.

"Boring for us, good for them," Trombley shot back, then scratched his cheek, "Think we'll be going in soon, Sergeant?"

"Soon enough, Trombley... Godfather just has to hash it out with Lieutenant-Colonel Damon," Bradley replied calmly, humming and noting that a Sniper was looking back at them. He aimed and was about to take a pop, before the snap-crack-pop of a friendly rifle beside him rang out and the Knight's helmet was flung off his head. He looked over to who took the shot and saw a young woman with short, raven hair was sat down, rifle stabilized on a set of sandbags.

She lifted and pulled back the bolt of her rifle, letting the spent 8mm casing eject off to the side. She slammed the bolt home and slung the weapon onto her back as she stood up, before looking to Brad. He lowered his rifle and quirked up a brow at the sharpshooter, who gave a nod to him, dark eyes filled with a kind of determination and killer instinct the likes of which one would only ever see in crackshot snipers.

"Hot damn," Ray whistled, looking at the girl as she walked away, "Not only is she hot as fuck, she's a badass..."

"Lucky shot," Trombley disregarded, grinning, "Don't tell me you're falling in love with her, Ray."

"Ya kidding, Whopper Junior?" Ray grinned, "No way, Jose. I just wanna get some of that... Though, then again, maybe not a good idea," He winced, "Who knows what kinda shit she's into..." to which Brad and Rolling Stones both laughed, while Trombley shook his head, grinning as he shouldered his 249. Garza, meanwhile, hummed a tune as he quietly lobbed a grenade or two with the Mk. 19.

"Wouldn't recommend going for Marina," Joked a familiar voice. The men looked over to see Alicia had walked up to them, rifle slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face. She told them, "Apparently, the girl really likes going at it alone."

"Damn, solo, huh?" Ray sighed, "Shame, but oh, well. What about ya, Sarge?" And he wiggled his eyebrows.

Despite the slight blush, the girl chuckled and replied, "I'm alright for now, Ray. Don't know if the military allows it anyhow and you're not my type..." Which caused Brad to burst into laughter. Trombley let out a holler himself, as did Garza and Rolling Stones, while Ray rolled his eyes. Alicia chuckled, a little awkward, and said, "Sorry about that..." before humming and turning as she heard footsteps.

"Brad, Ray, your radio," Fick spoke as he marched up to them. Brad nodded and handed him the transmitter. Behind him, Welkin was present. He gave the boys a wave, to which they nodded back welcomingly. He joined Alicia while Fick called in, "Actual to all HITMAN Elements, prepare to roll out into the city. Strategy is as follows:Two Bradleys and two Abrams will be covering us as we enter the town, column, same way we went through Ramadi. Guns up and waste anyone popping out of a window. Meanwhile, LUCKY-7 will be hitting the enemy's flanks. Vehicular assault to the main town square. Remain mounted 'till we hit the Square and then dismount and swarm them. We deal with the troops there and we've knocked out their forces on this bank of the Vasel river. ACTUAL Out."

He looked to Brad and told him, "Keep your eyes open and hit'em hard, Brad. You and your victor are leading," before patting him on the shoulder and racking the bolt of his rifle. Brad sighed and gave a salute to the man, who then walked away. Alicia looked apologetically to the Sergeant and his friends, before she and Welkin waved and walked back to their tank.

"Garza, keep your head down and fire at anything that so much scoffs wrong at us. I want those rounds on target," Brad stated as he pulled on the charging handle of his rifle and looked into the chamber. He let the bolt slam forward after confirming he had a round and prepped. The group watched the Seventh Platoon moving around the side, toward a side road of the city. Meanwhile, the frontal assault meant that the Humvees would have to punch clean through while their supporting Abrams, helicopters and the two Bradleys leading.

The Abrams pulled up to the edge of the hill and opened up, fifty calibers and 120mm cannons letting loose. The Bradleys took the tip of the spear, while another Bradley moved to join Squad 7 on the assault. The M109s continued firing sporadically toward the enemy, whose mortars had already been silenced, with Brad bracing. He told Ray, "Keep us as steady as possible, Ray! All Hitman Victors, we're moving in!"

The staggered column formed behind the two IFVs whose 25mm cannons let loose in bursts that shook the very ground. HE rounds struck facades, tearing what was left of concrete and brick that hanged by a thread as they entered the town. The Humvees rolled in behind them while the forward lines of the Imperial defense poked out, firing rifles and machine guns at them.

Bullets sparked off the Humvees' hulls, while Brad scoped in and fired at the enemy. Moments later, distant gunfire echoed just across from them as the Seventh Platoon presumably engaged in its assault. Garza swiveled about and fired the 40mm, while Fifty-cal MGs roared from the other Humvees. The Abrams' shells tore through buildings, levelling various cover positions around the US Assault Unit.

Above, Apaches rolled in while Kiowas scouted out targets, thirty-millimeter autocannons and Hydras laying waste to the areas a few blocks over on each side of the convoy. A bullet sparked by Rolling Stones' ear and he cried out, "Jesus fuck!" as he ducked. Trombley, to his left, laughed a little as he fired his Two-Four-Niner, his rounds tearing apart bricks and enemy units that poked their heads out of the doors to fire at them.

Ray ducked as a bullet sparked off the hood of their Humvee and said, "This is worse than Ramadi!" before watching one of the Bradleys turn its turret fully to the left and fire a burst. A side street exploded and a hint of red mixed in with the smoke, presumably from the men that it'd killed. Another round struck and partially cracked the windshield while Garza swiveled about, his Mark 19 thunk-thunk-thunking.

Walls blew out as the Imps tried to take cover behind them, Garza noting, "Ain't no way this is normal! These guys don't look like they even got AT!"

"Thank fuck they don't!" Ray snapped back as he looked to his left. He called out, "Trombley! ROOF!" to which the gunner swiveled his LMG up and let loose a burst. Blood spewed out of wounds and what was now a corpse fell over the edge with five bullet holes clean through his armor. The usual joker called out, "Good shit, you fucking psycho! Keep it up!"

"Keep up the assault! Steady as she goes!" Brad yelled, then pulled a 203 round from his belt and slotted it into the launcher, slammed the tube closed and fired it at a building. The Mark 19's thumps were deafened by the cannonade of mixed automatic and semi-automatic firearms, grenades, explosives and various other roaring thunder types. A hiss-pop-snap echoed and a TOW Missile on a wire screamed out from the tube of one of the Bradleys.

Something exploded up the main boulevard from the impact, with Garza calling out, "Holy fuck, they just busted a barricade with that TOW!" then ducked as a bullet rang his bell by hitting the top of his helmet. He swore to himself as he dived under the roof of the Humvee and checked his helmet, with Brad turning toward him while wearing the concern he felt on his face, the adrenaline making him unable to keep a straight face.

Garza gave his Sarge a nod and said, "I'm alright! Just rang my bell hard! Kevlar took it!" before he slapped the helmet back on, made sure to clip it shut and stood back tyo his feet. He racked the bolt of the Mark 19 as they advanced past the burning wreck of the hastily-erected barricade:A destroyed Imperial Light Tank. He had no time to stare at the corpses or the burning husk, turning the Mark-19 onto one house and letting it rip. He cratered the facade just as an Apache swung in above them, its 30mm firing ahead of the convoy and joining the Bushmasters.

Hydras also left the tubes, a wall of detonations causing a smoke-screen ahead. More corpses piled on the side of the road, fifties tearing Imps in half while 40mm grenades broke their cover and forced them into the open. One Imperial Soldier stumbled out of cover in front of their humvee and was promptly run over, a sickening crunch echoing below the wheels as the vehicle jumped like it went over a speed bump.

"Jesus fucking Christ! And this is the shit our boys are dealing with in Fallujah?!" Ray yelled as they passed through the impromptu smoke screen, letting out a cough the moment they breached it.

Brad replied, "Nope! In Fallujah, the enemy's not uniformed! Insurgents of some kind! The poor bastards don't have a fucking clue who they're shooting!"

"Lucky fucking us!" Trombley snapped as he ducked to reload his MG. Garza dipped into the hold as well, grabbing a box of 40mm grenades to swap out with the empty one, which he threw inside with a clang. Rolling Stones, meanwhile, held onto the vehicle's crash cage like his life depended on it. Which it did, in truth. He watched Brad drop a spent magazine to the floor, only to slap in a fresh one and hit the bolt release before wasting another bastard.

As the vehicles reached the end of the road, the Bradleys swiveled about, one covering the entrance into the town square, while the other turned to cover the main road. Apaches overhead fired Hellfires toward the other side of the river and also fired their thirties to dissuade the Imps from trying to support their comrades on this side with mortar fire.

As the first Humvee reached the front, Brad called out, "First HITMAN Victors at dismount point! OUT!" As he propped open the door and utilized it for cover. Bullets sparked off the armor as the men piled out, with Rolling Stones diving behind the car and using his camera to photograph the engagement. The town square up ahead was a wide open affair, split by a park area, benches, makeshift sandbag fortifications and the likes.

The group dismounted alongside the infantry from the Bradleys, whose 25mms still let loose. Taking cover behind the transports as the rest of HITMAN dismounted, Brad and a couple of other Sergeants were met by Fick, who took cover behind the Bradley and peered past it. A bullet struck and ricocheted too close to his face, the copper jacket leaving a scratch on his cheek. He looked to Brad and said, "I want a base of fire! Brad, get ten men and push around the Bradleys and into the Town Hall! Everyone else, keep your eyes peeled so we can hook up with the Gallians!"

A thundering roar from a main cannon echoed and a Light Tank burst into blue flames. Fick peered over and radioed, "Lieutenant Gunther, that you!?" only to see the tank cresting the ramp and entering the park area, under cover by half a Platoon's worth of infantry. Brad snorted and shook his head, a smile on his face. He rallied up Ray, Trombley, Garza and another few men, before they moved to the right of the Bradley.

A pair of Imps, one of which was manning an MG, were taken by surprise by the Americans advancing into their cover and doming them. Brad jumped over their cover as Alicia, Rosie and another pair of Shock Troopers made it up to them. With a few chops of his hand, Brad signaled for the group of 10 he had selected to form a perimeter, Trombley engaging the enemy in the square. It was a pincer worthy of praise.

Rosie took the other side of the door with Alicia to breach, while Brad and Ray were on the other. Brad gave a quick three-two-one countdown with his fingers, then kicked the door open. Ray pushed in first, rifle already ringing, while bursts of automatic fire left Rosie's SMG as she went in. Alicia fired from behind her, the two units crossing each-other as they entered.

Ray called out, "Rooms! Right!" as they pushed. He kicked one door open, took cover as bullets rang out from it and threw a frag inside. The thump muffled the scream of the enemy inside as he and another Marine pushed in, while Brad and Garza took the next room, another pair of Marines took the next and so on and so forth. Surgically, the platoons cleared the place as the gunfire outside began to die down.

Alicia had watched the entire engagement. Watched. She couldn't really intervene and stop the Marines from doing their jobs. The efficiency with which they cleared house had left even Rosie and her Shock Troopers, the close quarters specialists of the Gallian military, stunned. And they were supposed to be able to do this type of thing rather easily, or so they thought as they watched the Sergeant and his men file out into the square.

Alicia told Brad, "You guys are scary. You know that, right?"

"Efficient, too," Brad nodded, "Move fast and you can clear out an area. It's why we negotiate most of our engagements with fragmentation grenades when it comes to buildings..." then turned and gave Fick a salute as they met. He told the man, "AO is clear, sir. I heard over radio that the stragglers around are getting wiped out now by the Army infantry."

"Accurate," Fick answered, arranging his uniform as his RTO moved up and handed him a map. As he looked over it, he told them, "Command will want us finding a way to ford the river soon, clear out the other bank and take the control shed... Push the Imps out with armor afterward," only to look to Alicia, "Lieutenant Gunther's already thinking of a plan he's going to relay to Command when we get a chance to. Radio orders are to hang tight and dig in."

"Aye, sir," Alicia replied, "I, Rosie and the others will go join the Platoon."

Fick gave her a nod of approval. The two saluted each-other, with Rosie and her Shock Troops still seemingly surprised. Fick turned around to face the area as the RTOs and Drivers moved the vehicles into the square, before asking Brad, "Was it bad in there? You guys expended all of your grenades..." as he shifted his own M16A4 onto his back after setting it to safe.

"Honestly, sir?" Brad snorted, "Could've been worse... A bit too close quarters for my tastes, though."

"Get used to it. Apparently, the other side's worse," Fick told him, then hummed and said, "Dig in for the day. Have some chow. Dismissed."

"Sir, yessir," Brad sighed.

Chapter Text

Brad was stood by the edge of the water, peering through his ACOG as the Helicopters above pounded the enemy on the other side of the river. Hellfires and 30mm autocannons continued to rain down hell on distant enemy artillery and machine gun positions, while infantry seemed to only sporadically fire back at them with machine guns that didn't hit anything or fell just short of hitting the Helis.

God bless Precision Guided Munitions(PGMs), Brad thought to himself as he lowered his rifle. Fick walked up beside him, stating, "The going's tough in Fallujah," as he looked over the water, too. The hiss of a HELLFIRE flying off one of the racks of the Apache above them filled their ears, with the Lieutenant also noting, "We'll be out of a job by the time we figure out a way over that doesn't involve the bridge."

"Sir, ROE says we shouldn't light the building with the controls up, right?" Brad asked as he tapped his fingers rhythmically against the magazine of his rifle, which he cradled like a baby. Fick affirmed that with a nod, looking past Brad at the shack that contained the controls for the intricately-made bridge. The Sergeant of HITMAN sighed and said, "So that leaves the option of fording the river with local boats at the lowest point, or praying that the idiots inside the control building wade out into our line of fire."

A pair of Marine Snipers sat themselves down by the edge of the river wall, with one of them shouldering his M40. His spotter looked back and smiled, the handsome bastard that was 'Fruity Rudy' Reyes. He nodded to the Sarge and Lieutenant and said, "El-Tee, Sarge. Sorry if we're obstructing the view, but we got word from the Russians in the North of town that they got shot at by Snipers."

"It's fine, Reyes," Fick replied, "Eyes open. I'd rather not lose my head."

The Spotter gave a thumbs up, then set up his ranging scope, table and everything else. Brad sighed and told Fick, "I'm gonna go down by the water, see if there's any way we can ford this shit without having to call up a pontoon unit..." to which his LT nodded. Brad took a step down the stairs, rifle slung over his shoulder as the chopper up above waved off and turned to probably rearm nearby.

At the edge of the water, the young Sergeant caught a glimpse of blue hair and the shoal covering a blue uniform. Isara was sat by the river, seemingly watching the flow as it was right now. He took a moment to decide if he should approach or not, then decided it was best to. Walking up beside the kid, he sat himself down next to her and asked, "Any ideas for crossing this damn thing?"

Despite the slight twitch, Isara replied, "Thinking, Sergeant... I mostly came down here for some peace and quiet."

"After a fight like that, I'm not surprised," He shot back as he set his rifle down. He reassured her, "Hey, at least this place ain't like Iraq."

"Ray did mention you all came from another war. Some dictator running a country that was a threat to world security, or so the propaganda went, he said," The girl replied with a chuckle. She then asked, "You guys aren't afraid to comment on the affairs of your world, eh?" while looking to Brad like a curious little sister would look at an older brother from the military.

Brad shrugged, "The benefits of living in a free country, even as a Marine. We'll follow our orders, but at least we're allowed to ask the whys and hows. Not like we'll get answers, though. Word of mouth is, though, that we were looking for Chemical and Biological WMDs that were apparently used on the dictator's own people, so..." He then looked up, watching a UAV do an overhead flyby.

She chuckled as she thought of what to ask next, simply commenting, "Hey, if the goal was good..."

"Yeah... Hopefully, this whole clusterfuck with Gallia's also gonna bring in actual work to help fix Iraq. It's a mess back there, too," He told her, then tapped his fingers and looked up at the sky as a second pair of helicopters flew overhead. Mi-8s, one of which bore a fairly familiar signage on its engine cowling as it swung in for touch-down. He stood up and watched it land, grinning, "And there's Bratishka."

"Bratishka?" Isara asked, looking over at the fat Russian helo.

"Mi-8 Helicopter that worked as Search and Rescue in the war one of our 'allies' was fighting. They're basically the ones who get the wounded out alive and back to base for treatment," He replied, then told her, "You seemed interested in helicopters and stuff. I'm gonna ask if it's because this entire world stupidly decided that aircraft would be a waste to research and produce?"

The girl nodded, "Yeah... I've wanted to fly ever since I was young, so..."

"Hopefully Brass finds a way to get our Jets up for combat duty. It'd be nice to have air support ringing bells in the Imps' backyard," The man shot back, before looking to her and stating, "Jets are basically planes powered by turbojet engines. Trust me, it's fairly cool, even if I don't know the full details. You'll probably be able to ask the Air Force engineers about it when they land."

She beamed at that, thoughts probably wandering to exactly what questions to ask about these 'Jets' and all that. Brad had to admit, the kid was just a friendly face in a country that was hopefully happy to see them around, unlike the Iraqis. He was glad he was no longer in that shithole, or so he thought as he simply stared up at the helicopters coming back on-station. Looking down upon the river, he saw reeds and other small plants growing by the side, here on this bank and on the opposite end.

His brain had a flash of inspiration. He then radioed, "Hitman Actual, interrogative. Can't we get some Russian victors here, sir?"

"What for, Two-One?"

"They can potentially ford this spot..." He replied.

"... Roger, stand by."

... Somewhere up top, Rosie and Largo both watched their Lieutenant, Gunther, engage in small talk with the two reporters present:'Rolling Stones' from the American side and someone from their own side, a blonde-haired woman with glasses and the standard attire you'd actually expect out of a reporter instead of military gear like on Rolling Stones. Largo scoffed, taking a puff from his cigar and watching the US Marines mixing in with the corp of staff from Seventh Platoon and the rest of the Luckies, as they'd been nicknamed.

"Can't believe this," Rosie murmured as she chewed some gum and glared at Welkin and the reporters. She turned to her newfound buddy and said, "Shouldn't you be in charge of this mess, Largo? You're the one with seniority among these kids. I'd bet my ass they'd follow you over some green kids fresh out of goddamn boot..." only to pause as they saw Fick staring at them with the blankest face in the world.

"What?" Largo asked, "Something the matter, kid?"

"While I don't care about the internal politics of the Gallian Militia, Sergeant, I'd expect at least a modicum of respect toward officers from a foreign army trying to keep your land free from what seems to be a warband in knight armor," Fick replied in a deadpan as he took a couple steps forward. Largo stood to his feet, towering a bit over the young Marine, who was only staring back at him like gum he'd scraped off his shoe.

Largo grinned, "Oh? Whaddaya mean?"

"Not calling a Lieutenant a 'kid', for one," He shot back, then added, "For two, what you and your compatriot here are suggesting is nothing short of mutiny. I could report you to your Captain if you'd like, though I'm not sure how she views these types of spats, nor do I think I should resolve other Platoon Commanders' issues. Three is I'd rather know I have a functional squad on my ass, covering my men if we're gonna go over that river with you. Understood?"

Both Largo and Rosie paused, watching the man as his expression didn't shift or change one micrometer during that exchange. He still stared at the two of them like they were below him. Even the grip on his strange rifle was somewhat looser than it would've been if they faced enemies. Largo, however, was about to snap back before Fick gently tilted his head. He showed them to wait by lifting one finger to Largo's face, then clicked his radio's transmit button and said, "SOKOL, this is HITMAN, send traffic." Only to turn and walk away.

Largo was about to go give the kid a piece of his mind, but Rosie put her hand on his chest and shook her head, "Not worth it... Little shit thinks he's hot stuff... C'mon, I wanna solve one issue before we're done tonight," and she walked toward the stairs, down to the bank of the river. Largo scoffed, then followed along, noting that a Marine was sat with the kid they were targeting, teaching her to skip stones while the Snipers of the Corps covered them. And Marina, of course.

Brad pointed at the sky as night began to fall and told the kid, "... Going past Jets and into rocketry was probably the harder bit for all of us. Seriously, though, we do have satellites in Orbit that provide everything from access to the Internet to global positioning systems that power both civilian travel of all kinds and our own. We used GPS in Iraq in order to know our position from allied troops."

"That's awesome!" Isara beamed. The more she seemed to hear of the technology of Earth, the more enthralled she became. Yet again, Brad felt like the adoptive older brother here, much like Welkin had probably felt when she came into the Gunther family. She asked, "Did you or any of your fellow Marines ever actually go up there...? I mean, is it possible?"

"Us? No," He snorted, then joked, "You need to pass actual proper tests. Plus, they mostly select the assholes from the Air Force. G-Resistance or something, what with them flying sixteen-million-dollar death machines that carry enough bombs to level a small town twice-over. Then there's further training and stuff ASVAB and Boot Camp just won't cut when it comes to being able to fly a rocket."

The pair stopped chatting, however, when they heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. Brad turned around and stood to his feet as he saw two Gallian troopers marching to them and asked, "Anything we can help you two with, Sergeant?" as he held his M4 by the grip. The Sergeant shook his head before Rosie sidestepped him and walked up, pointedly glaring at Isara.

Brad stepped between them, much to both Rosie's and Isara's surprise, then asked, "Okay, hold. What is this about?"

"... Want to get straight to the point, there, Sarge?" Rosie demanded, fury behind every word. She pointed at Isara and snapped, "Fine. I don't work with Darkies. Don't matter what the hell's going in in your or the Lieutenants' heads, I don't like their type."

"Oh, brother," Brad sighed deeply, pinching the bow of his nose. He looked her in the eyes, wearing a glare that could melt tanks as he spoke, "This is what this shit's about? Racially-charged bullshit like this shouldn't even be a goddamn issue when the freedom of your fucking country is at stake," his voice showing the fury that welled in his chest. They had no time for petty disputes like this.

Rosie grit her teeth and snapped back, "You don't know the kind of shit they put me thr-"

"Do I look like I give a damn, corporal?" Brad barked back, which caused Rosie to balk. He glared at Largo and said, "This isn't the moment for petty bullshit. There's an enemy battalion across that River, probably watching you throw around slurs like they're candy, you magnanimous retards. The kid's probably worth more to this fucking platoon than either of you combined, considering she keeps your tank in working fucking order." Words which surprised even Isara.

"Listen here, you foreign bastard, I swear-" Largo started, but Brad marched up until he was literally an inch from the bulky man's face.

"I've dealt with enough bullshit from Upper Echelon Brass during the early days of Iraq. Bogus fire missions, stupid decisions and crap that nearly cost me and my friends our lives a few times. I could stomach it because we had a good El-Tee on our ass. As young as Lieutenant Fick is, he got us through hell and even stood up for us when he needed to. Isara's brother seems like a stand-up kid. If your real problem is with him, you should take it up with him, because I can tell by one look you don't give a shit about the kid like Stark here does..." Brad snapped back at him, his voice ice cold, "But if you're coward enough to go after the guy's sister instead of straight-up talking to your CO about your frustrations like a sane man, then maybe you shouldn't even be a Militia member."

"Alright, I've had about enough of your bullshit, Foreign boy," Growled Rosie. She was about to pounce on him before two gunshots rang out. All four members present swiveled about as they saw Captain Varrot, Lieutenant Gunther and Sergeant Melchiott, with Fick beside them, his 9mm Beretta raised into the sky, barrel smoking. The Marine El-Tee looked over to Varrot and Gunther as he stowed his pistol.

"Warned you something was gonna go," The man replied, then walked to meet Brad and said, "Sergeant Colbert. Report. Be as concise as you can."

"Sir," The Marine nodded, "I and the kid were just having a chat about the technological advances of our world compared to theirs, since she seems to enjoy hearing about it. We were also trying to figure out a way to ford the River with as much equipment as possible. Then, these two come in and try to start something with the kid based on simplistic bullshit like racism toward the Darcsen."

"Now, hold on a-" Largo was about to snap gain.

"Enough!" Varrot barked as she stepped up beside Lieutenant Fick. She looked to the two and demanded, "Is what Sergeant Colbert said true or not, Sergeant and Corporal?" only to watch the two of them hesitate to confirm or deny anything. With a sigh of annoyance, she looked to Fick and said, "Apologies. We'll deal with them once we're done with this mission."

"It's fine, Captain," Fick replied, "This isn't even about corporal Gunter being a Darcsen, I'll bet. I caught these two staring at Lieutenant Gunther answering some questions for our two reporters back there..." He then told Welkin and the Captain. He then continued, "Much as I somewhat dislike the idea of a second civilian newscaster embedded within the ranks of active-duty military personnel, I don't get why the officer of the unit wouldn't answer questions, Sergeant. This was a cooperative effort and he was the mouthpiece, much like I, Sergeant Colbert and Private Person had to be mouthpieces for the Marines in Iraq."

Largo blinked, then said, "It's not even that. You guys are basically kids compared to us... I've seen the First Europan War, I've seen how bad things can get out there. This isn't a damn game, or just something we do for fun. Even with your support and the crap you brought into our world, like those," And he pointed up at the helicopter coming on for a landing to drop off supplies, "I don't think I can trust someone with a face as young as yours or the Kid's to be in charge."

"Ah. Standard 'old versus young'," Fick replied, then sighed, "Can't help you with that, I'm afraid. You either learn to trust someone who's already led you and your troops through one part of the mission, or you ask to switch squads to someone closer to your age. It also doesn't excuse both of you ganging up on a kid instead of coming and talking to the Lieutenant himself."

The two seemed to take a moment to ponder their actions, while both Lieutenants went on to reconvene with each-other. Brad sidestepped Largo and Rosie, with Isara close behind him. She rejoined her brother and Alicia, while Brad shouldered his M4 and peered through the ACOG, partially wishing he had his IR scope with him for the night that was coming. He eyed a target moving in the windows, then gasped and yelled, "SNIPER!"

Pappy's M40 rang out like a dinner bell, its echo reverberating across the place. Rudy radioed, "HITMAN Echo-Four-Romeo, target down-" only to cut off as a flurry of mortar fire soon roared, machine gun muzzles flashing from the windows. The roar of tank engines filled the air as explosions suddenly cracked the air. The Net crackled to life as the Marines and Militia led the Captain into cover, bullets zipping past them.

A round snapped and Brad yelped, then grabbed his ass cheek and started hobbling on one leg. He called out, "BASTARDS SHOT ME IN MY FUCKING ASS!" as he knelt into cover behind sandbags. A pair of Humvees rolled up, fifty cal and and 40 mike-mike roaring, spitting out high-caliber rounds and grenades that detonated across the river. Brad called out over com, "Need a medic up front!" As he snapped off a shot.

Overhead, 30mm autocannons and even Cobra 20mm Gatlings barked and burped, mixed with the hissing roar of ATGMs and Hydra rockets leaving their tubes. A flurry of explosions destroyed the facades of buildings across the water, the Marines, Militia and assisting Army units engaging like bats out of hell. Pappy and Rudy spotted and shot snipers that tried to aim for them, while Marina beside them fired off without a need for a Spotter, her bolt clicking back and forth like it was the Mad Minute.

As Doc Bryan rushed forward with a medical kit, he asked, "Where're you hit, Sarge!?"

"Left cheek! The bastards caught us full tilt with our pants down!" The man replied, popping off shots toward an enemy silhouetted by explosions. A squadron of four armored vehicles rushed the bridge, machine guns and hull-mounted heavy mortars firing, their radiators glowing an eerie blue in the encroaching darkness of an approaching night. Two BTRs rolled up and disgorged Russian VDV and regular motor rifles from their hulls, sergeant Pomorenko rushing up to join Brad and company with his platoon.

Pomorenko snapped off a burst from his AK, telling Brad, "Our men got hit across the pond, too! VDV Platoon took some casualties, but Bratishka evacuated them without issue!" and standing back up to fire again. He loaded a grenade into his GP-25 and fired it off, the grenade leaving the barrel with the standard and ever-satisfying thunk. It hit short, digging a crater into the opposite side's flood barrier and probably scaring the everloving life out of some Imp shock trooper.

"I don't think any of us expected them trying a counterattack, Pomorenko!" Brad replied. He grit his teeth as Doc pressed a bandage down onto Brad's leg. He leaned his rifle against the concrete and put one hand against that as support, telling doc, "Go! I'm hearing more wounded over the net, Doc! Keep your head down!" as Fick pushed up to them with reinforcements, Ray and Trombley included.

Fick ordered Trombley, "I want a base of fire! Shift your aim constantly and keep those bastards suppressed!" before radioing, "Lieutenant Gunther, you and your tank are gonna be needed forward ASAP!" as the Imperial tanks ahead rolled forward. Largo grit his teeth, rolled off to the side and grabbed his AT lance, shouldering the weapon and squeezing the trigger at the base. The AT round launched off the tip and arced toward the target, but handily missed it, striking the water. He swore to himself, while Fick looked at him with disbelief. He asked, "Is that a LANCE?!"

"Our AT weapons!" Alicia told him as she joined the fighters, firing at the bridge as Imperial infantry advanced behind the tanks. She waved to the Shock Troops and Rosie, telling them, "Enfilading fire! Support the machine gunners and let our Lancers hit the tanks on the bridge!" only to watch as the guy manning the Forty-Mil on the Humvee swiveled the weapon about and lit up the bridge.

Fick scoffed and said, "Garza! Shift your fire back and don't damage the damn bridge!"

The Marine on the gun sighed and did as ordered, bringing about the weapon and engaging the targets over the hill. Fick then patted Ray on the shoulder and changed positions with him, before running toward one of the Humvees and radioing, "HITMAN Actual, we're on station and requesting Anti-Armor rounds! The Helos up above are busy dealing with enemy infantry! Roger, sir!"

He then ran back to Brad, dropped onto his stomach beside him and started shooting on semi. He told Brad, "We're gonna get AT4s up! Sergeant Melchiott, keep your Lances down! We'll get some real AT weapons soon enough!"

"I wouldn't diss these things, kid!" Largo laughed, "They're quite good when they hit!"

"Keyword being 'when'!" Ray snapped back, much to Largo's chagrin. He ducked as his ears started to ring, before taking his helmet off and taking cover. He looked at the helmet, to see damage to the top of it, then swore, "Holy fuck! I just took a headshot!" before starting to laugh with the other Marines. Brad murmured something along the lines of 'lucky fucker' as he popped off rounds at the enemy.

Alicia was about to comment something, but she watched the Edelweiss rolling up, escorted by two Bradleys. It fired its main 88mm cannon at the enemy tanks, nailing the lead in the driver's port and blowing it out, a geyser of blue fire pouring out from both guns and the hatch on the turret. The Bradleys continued the onslaught with 25mm autocannons while the infantry that dismounted from them shouldered tubes of some kind...

Tubes that spat out missiles. Alicia tracked two such missiles leaving the tubes and smacking into the fronts of the tanks still on the bridge, while Bradleys and a pair of Cobras lit up the infantry. The missiles had hit with enough force and explosive charge to send the turrets on the enemy's tanks flying into the waters of the river below. She murmured, "Oh..." then looked to Fick.

A bugle called and Brad stated, "They're pulling back!" as he peered through the scope. The gunfire began to die down as the Imperial troops across the river, several dozen men short, began retreating into cover. Trombley grinned as he sat there, beside his buddies and the Gallians, switching out the half-empty box of rounds for a fresh one and chewing some gum. The Marines cheered, before Brad sighed and radioed, "HITMAN 2-1 to all HITMAN, SOKOL and LUCKY elements... Hostile's retreating. Cease fire..."

What a mess...

Chapter Text

"Run this by me again. You did what to your tank?" Fick asked as he looked Isara in the eye. Behind the girl, Lieutenant Gunther and Sergeants Melchiott and Largo, the Edelweiss, the Seventh Platoon's battle tank, had had pontoons installed onto its sides. Angular pockets full of air, they were apparently based on what Isara had seen on the BTR-60 and BTR-80 amphibious personnel carriers the Russians had brought over into the American sector. The man also noted a pair of propellers on the back, with most of the attachments being removable.

"I made it amphibious," Isara smiled rather brightly, "Sure, it's untested, but I'm certain it'll work, seeing as I based as much of it as I could off the BTRs you and the Russian platoon that's coming with us will be using to pass over the shallow area of the river," and she took a step back toward the vehicle. Gently tapping the metal braces and additions that would allow the tank to cross alongside the transport vehicles, the girl smiled again. Brad, Ray and the other Marines also seemed completely dumbfound, while Squad 7 was... Well, the stares many of the Militiamen had gave off the vibe of uncertainty so common amidst the ranks.

Fick blinked, then grabbed Welkin by the arm and dragged him off to the side, stating, "I don't want to sound like a pessimist or insult your sister's knowhow, seeing as I know she's the one maintaining your tank, but do you trust her building an amphibious device like that within the span of five hours?" as he stared the older brother in the eye. This was, by all accounts, insanity. If it worked, Fick swore to himself he'd eat his boot, but didn't voice it.

Welkin, however, smiled and nodded, "I fully trust Isara's capabilities, Lieutenant. She's done more than a few impossible things with technology when we were kids and she knows every bolt on the Edelweiss better than anyone. If there's anyone that can modify it to cross the river, it's her."

Fick narrowed his lips, partially in disbelief at the shit he was hearing, partially worried. He asked, "And if the device fails, or there's a burst somewhere, or if you start sinking? It's still several tons of steel, armor and ammunition in that damn thing. You would both be stuck at the bottom of the river, with our nearest recovery vehicle a good ten minutes away at the FOB outside of town."

"I know," He replied, confident.

The American Lieutenant licked his own dry lips and said, "Guess it's the best we have for heavy armor support," before nodding and patting Welkin on the shoulder. He then said, "We've secured some rowboats for inserting the rest of your Platoon with us. Everything else will have to be done under cover of Darkness... Not to mention under heavy smoke. Leave that last part to our artillery."

"Roger," Welkin nodded, "The operation'll begin soon, then. See you on the other side, Lieutenant."

"See you there," Fick sighed, then marched to Brad and a confused Ray, who was back on Ripped Fuel. He told them, "Looks like we are going to wade across a pond with a tank on our asses. Pomorenko confirmed their BTRs should be able to handle the crossing no problem and we'll get smoke cover as we cross onto the other side. Keep us safe from the enemy for at least a bit."

"The Lieutenant is batshit, ain't he?" Ray hummed, "Like, not to talk shit about his sis or anything, but I wouldn't climb into that thing, even with all the prep she's done," and he offered Brad some. Brad waved it off, then checked his NVGs and the IR scope, which he'd reinstalled onto the rifle. Ray shrugged and took another pill, stopping when Trombley pushed his hand away from it and shouldered his MG.

"Thanks, Whopper Junior," Joked Brad. He looked over to Fick and asked, "We gonna be riding on top or are we going to be inside the BTRs, sir?"

"Inside," He replied, "Don't want any of you falling into the water with the gear you're carrying, no matter how shallow the water here is," only turning to watch as Pomorenko and his staff were doing the last checks on the BTRs' seals and shit. He breathed a sigh, then told Brad, "To be fair, trusting in the Edelweiss's ability to float is about the same as trusting these BTRs being maintained enough to cross without taking on water, but..."

"We're Marines," Brad quipped, "We can swim."

"Not like we wanna," Ray murmured. He peered behind Brad as he noticed a little white in his green cammies, then asked, "Brad, did you take one in the ass?" which got a few snorts from the other Marines. Brad rolled his eyes and nodded, to which Ray snorted and said, "Why does it feel like taking it in the ass is gonna become a common thing for HITMAN?"

And that caused both Marines and Militia to burst into laughter. Brad snorted and replied, "Ray... Shut up," as they turned toward the BTRs. Another half-an-hour later, the Marines had boarded the BTRs and were waiting with their Russian counterparts for the signal to go. That would be the deployment of smoke shells onto the other side of the river, all while Helicopters would prosecute targets farther in the rear with cover.

Fick held a portable radio between his legs while his rifle lay on the floor of the BTR. He radioed, "All HITMAN and LUCKY elements... Stand by," then leaned back and turned to one of the drivers. He asked, "This thing is sealed tight, right?!" all while his thoughts wandered to the possibility of sinking. He genuinely didn't know if Pomorenka managed to fully clear out corruption. Or at least enough for the seals of the amphibious transport to hold.

"Tight as virgin nun, Lieutenant!" The man shot back with a grin, "Don't worry. Mama Lyuda is fine! You just stay nice and cozy!"

Ray murmured, "So brace for a little bath, noted," as he racked the bolt of his M4. A few nervous laughs were all that came as a reply this time, only for silence and the simple idling of the engine to fill the hold, alongside the turret traverse mechanism's shifting gearbox. Distant thunder echoed as Brad checked his wristwatch. He nodded, all while the reports came over the radio.

Smoke shells detonated in airburst above the AO, a curtain of smoke suddenly obscuring the Imperials' LOS. The engines of all vehicles revved and, aboard the Edelweiss, Isara secretly prayed that the tank's modifications would withstand. She looked back at Welkin, who simply offered a kind smile of reassurance, before breathing in and out. In the lead of the procession of armored vehicles and rowboats, the Edelweiss rolled forward as the chop-chop-chop of heli blades filled the air, followed by the hiss of rocket pods letting off volleys that detonated with muffled, distant thumps.

As the Edelweiss rolled into the water, its flotation device activated. The vehicle bounced upward at first, unsteady in the water... But it slowly adjusted, beginning to float. Isara beamed as she saw her vision port stabilize, even on the running water. Welkin gave a nod of approval as the vehicle's propellers kicked into gear. He then looked up as the Radio played cheers in English and Russian toward Isara, watching the BTRs roll into the water next to the rowboats of Gallian troops.

Back inside HITMAN's BTR, a slight puddle had started forming at their feet, causing Fick to have to lift his M16 onto his legs as he spoke over the radio, "Minor water leak in Lead BTR. We'll make it, though..." while he watched the crew in their black hats roll them over the water. The whirr of the water jet filled the compartment with noise, but the Marines still braced.

Ray murmured, "Hell of a fucking day I picked not to keep my floaties with me!"

"Don't get your ammo wet!" Brad barked back at his friend, then looked at Garza and Trombley. He spoke, "At least we left Rolling Stones behind on the other riverbank! No need to worry about a Civvie taking a bullet! All Marines, brass check! Eyes open! HITMAN 2-1, we're rolling in to kick some ass, oorah!?" all while giving a quick once-over of his M4 and the IR scope.

"OORAH!" Replied the man's fellow Marines, Fick included. The Russians shot back with their own 'Ura' as the turret swiveled, the 14,7 KORD MG letting loose through dissipating smoke as the Russian crewmen called out targets. Even as water slowly filled the compartment, Garza remained steady, murmuring to himself, "This shit reminds me of Nasiryiah, man!"

"Don't lose your Kevlar this time!" Trombley shot back as he checked his M249.

The roar of engines powering over the water filled their ears. Following up, the tank rolled first over the embankment, much to the surprise of Imperial troops. The 88mm cannon snapped off a shot at the targets ahead as flames began to burn, an AP round punching through the wall of a building as the tank rolled onto one of the roads by the side of the embankment. The BTRs followed soon, disgorging two platoons' worth of infantry, including Russian paratroopers.

Assault weapons fire filled the air as the rowboats also got up, with Alicia running up to join Brad and the others. Overhead, the Helicopters moved in, the smoke dispersing under the whirlwind caused by their Rotorblades. The BTRs' guns fired, streams of tracer fire filling the area ahead as the Sergeant, her scouts, Rosie's Shock Troops and Largo's AT teams moved up.

Brad sat behind rubble, ordering his side of the platoon forward while Fick and a few other men moved for similar positions. He looked and watched as Alicia dived into cover beisde him, firing from her magazine-fed Gallian-2 semi-auto rifle. Ducking back into cover as bullets whizzed over her head, she said, "We really stirred the Hornet's Nest on this one!"

"Better kill all the fucking hornets!" Brad shot back, a hint of Deja Vu hitting him. He looked over to Ray and Trombley as both engaged from behind the Edelweiss, which quickly detached its flotation device and rolled forward, coaxial MG loosing volleys of bullets to suppress an enemy counterattack. Trombley squeezed off bursts, a murderous grin on his face as the Shock Troopers advanced beside him, Rosie firing her SMG at the enemy with impunity.

The BTRs rolled forward as mobile cover, bullets ringing off of their hulls as they supported the Edelweiss with anti-infantry fire. Bullets snapped from rifles and snipers like Marina and Pappy popped off round after round, taking out the enemy's own supporting elements. Fick told his men, "Enemy tank depot up ahead! Looks like we caught'em with their pants down! Lieutenant Gunther, I want AP fire on these things! Anyone with AT rounds or charges, destroy them! Everyone else, on me! We're making a push for the enemy's Command Post near the bridge controls!"

The roars of affirmative replies came back as the infantry followed the BTRs. A pair rolled off onto a street to the right, firing machine guns and acting as mobile cover for the Russian platoon. A sniper round snapped past Pomorenko's ear, but he ignored it, firing at the enemy furiously. He dipped into cover and reloaded the AK, before watching one of his own men take a bullet to his steel helmet and collapse to the floor. He called out for a Medic in Russian, then poked out and fired a GP-25 grenade at the Sniper's housing.

Espera let out various swears in Spanish as he pushed forward, with Brad telling him, "Poke, settle the fuck down! We've got no time for Illegal Language!" as he snapped off a shot at another Sniper. A Cobra overhead swiveled about, its 20mm gatling letting loose a volley of rapid fire at the husk of a building in the rear. Brad cheered at that, then turned back and barked something to Trombley.

The Machine Gunner ran up to them and ducked into cover beside another collapsed building as the Edelweiss rolled over onto the street, its cannon firing. The MG Gunner covered his ears and complained, "Fuck, that was loud...!" while Brad zeroed in on another target. Seeing that, Trombley ceased his complaints and set up on a collapsed wall beside him, bipod on and MG already roaring.

The Imps returned fire, snipers and their own Scouts shooting at the group. A pair of Imperial Anti-Tank Lancers, clad in some of the goofiest armor to date, turned toward the platoon of BTRs and the Edelweiss and hefted their own Anti-Tank lances at the team, while a manned Light Tank rolled up from the rear. The latter was destroyed by a Hydra rocket from the Cobra above.

The former were engaged by Marines and VDV, AR-caliber bullets puncturing their armor plating and spraying blood all across the floor as the men collapsed. Behind them, Shock Troopers replied as another tank rolled forward. It was destroyed by a side shot from the Edelweiss as the modern infantry and the Gallians pushed forward, the latter barely able to keep up with Brad and his men.

Ray patted them on the shoulder with a laugh as he ran past, firing his M4 before taking cover beside the husk of a tank. Brad turned toward Alicia and Rosie and reloaded his rifle, then said, "Racist Rita, on me with your shock troops!"

"It's Rosie, Sergeant!" She shot back, though she still followed orders. Alicia, meanwhile, joined the Marines and VDV on a flanking movement. Brad snorted and loaded an HE frag into his grenade launcher, then fired it, the impact and subsequent detonation kicking up a cloud of dust and cratering the husk of a building at the rear. She knelt beside him with the rest of her squad, then asked, "What's the game plan!?"

"Trombley's gonna cover our asses! We're bounding across to the other square, calling out targets for the Cobras and Apaches! Lieutenant Fick, Sergeant Pomorenko, Sergeant Melchiott and the others are already moving to flank the bastards left over on the right! I think the BTRs are providing them support while we got the tank!" He shot back, then scoffed as bullets scraped the burning armor plate of the tank husk they were taking cover beside. He fired back.

Rosie sighed and said, "No better plan!?"

"Afraid not!" He replied as he watched Trombley running toward them. He dropped onto his stomach, shouldered the LMG and opened fire, small puffs of dust marking where the bursts struck. Rosie scoffed, annoyed, then looked back to her fellow soldiers, many of which were younger than her. She turned to Brad and gave a wary nod of approval, before Brad yelled, "BOUNDING!" as he surged forward under cover from Trombley and the others.

Rosie rolled her eyes and followed along with the rest of her platoon, all of them firing their SMGs on the run to keep the enemy suppressed, even as bullets whizzed over their heads. The Edelweiss's main gun roared again and a new crater appeared on the facade of the building they were engaging. Reaching some rubble they could use for cover, they were met by two extra enemy platoons.

Ray also joined them now, noting, "Well, we got a situation!"

"What is it, Ray?!" Brad barked as bullets zipped past them.

Ray winced, "Whole new company of enemy Armor's rolling up on us. El-Tee and the Scouts spotted it rolling up, so we're gonna be knee-deep in shit unless the Birds turn and engage," which caused Brad to let out a sigh of desperation. There was always something, wasn't there. The group watched the helicopters wave off and open fire with guided missiles toward the enemy tanks that were moving.

"Guess that means we're going forward alone," Rosie murmured, "On your marks, Sarge."

Brad sighed, loaded grenades, hefted the launcher and fired at the gathered platoon of enemies. At least they had the Edelweiss and a pair of BTRs supporting them, or so he thought as he heard the vehicles roll over. Their snipers took out enemy anti-tank units while the tank and IFVs rolled forward, the former's main cannon roaring. An HE shell detonated amidst the ranks of a platoon of Imps trying to reposition.

Allied infantry pushed forward, Brad radioing, "This is HITMAN 2-1, advancing on target building! Stand by!" before leading the assault toward the entrenched enemy position near the lever house. The armored vehicles pushed forward slowly, supporting the infantry advance, Rosie and her shooters gunning down a platoon of hostiles combined. The second imp platoon saw the approaching enemy units and, without a second thought, threw their weapons down.

Brad pushed up with his unit, Ray putting the barrel of his rifle to the head of an enemy AT lancer. The Sergeant then turned toward the rest of the allied troops as they advanced and radioed, "Hitman 2-1 to all HITMAN and LUCKY elements... Gatehouse secured. Moving in to ensure the controls are still fine," before he moved past their new POWs. He turned to Rosie and said, "Not bad."

She nodded, "Ain't so bad yourself, Sarge..." and stopped to watch him enter the building. She sighed, scratching the back of her neck and murmuring, "Swear to God, we could do without you guys being this cocky..." then turned and walked toward their unit. As the groups rendezvoused near by the bridge, they cleared the path for US Armor and other support elements to roll over.

Brad was sitting on the sandbag wall that had been built around the control house, drinking from his canteen as Fick approached. The Lieutenant said to him, "Good work, Brad. We might get put in for commendations for this one," as he sat down beside him. Brad looked him over and saw a few new scratches and a couple bullets stuck in his vest. Nathaniel looked at himself, sighed and said, "Took a couple of SMG rounds while we were clearing the buildings. Should see the other guy, though."

Brad snorted, then said, "Well, we took the infrastructure back without losses, at least... Locals are gonna be pissed about having to rebuild their homes, though," as he capped his canteen. Fick replied with a nod, looking toward where Squad 7 and the rest of the platoon were sat. Espera himself was exchanging some words with Isara, which Brad commented on by saying, "We need to keep that guy away from minorities."

Fick actually let a short laugh slip at that, then said, "Poke's hopefully just joking."

"Isara's laughing, so there's that," Brad shrugged, "Her brother, though," and pointed at Welkin, who sat there with his arms crossed, "Doesn't seem to happy about it," then watched their Humvees rolling over. The RTOs had gone over the bridge with trucks to retrieve their transports, setting them up beside the road, with Ray being the first to disembark. He gave the LT a quick salute and looked around, which made Brad quip, "Most of them are underage, Ray."

Ray snorted at that, then narrowed his lips. He looked at his friend and replied, "Not looking for pussy, Brad. Just... Fuck, man..." and waving his hands around at the damaged and destroyed buildings, the wrecks of the tanks in the depot and even the dead enemies being piled up on the side of the rubble-laced road ahead. There were certain layers of fucked, Ray thought to himself, and this seemed to be up there with some of the worst.

"Alternate universe World War 2 playing out before us hit you too?" Brad asked, well aware of what Ray was hinting at. He sighed as his friend nodded in confirmation, then patted him on the shoulder and told him, "Don't think about it too much, Ray. Gotta keep our heads in the game if we wanna win whatever's coming up... And I think things are bound to get weirder."

"Speaking of," Fick replied, "Command got our early reports. They're going to start shipping our old stock over immediately..." Only to see clear-cut confusion on his Marines' faces. Though Brad seemed to realize, going by the widening eyes, Fick still clarified to them calmly, Meaning we'll need to train these people on how to use LAWs, M16s and M60s soon enough. We're back to babysitting duty like we were in Iraq for a little while until the next operation. Think of that what you will."

The concern that now filled the air was sort of palpable...

Chapter Text

A tune played over the radio within the confines of the ever-expanding Fort Amaranthine. US Marines and Army personnel milled about their vehicles and interacted with the local Militiamen and Militia women. Deuce-and-a-half trucks rolled through the gateway, loaded with crates of weapons. HEMTTs moved in with them as well, carrying food, supplies, extra ammo for the guns they were carrying and spare parts.

Kneeling in front of a target, Corporal Marina Wulfstan tested one of said new guns. The M14 rifle was a weapon loaded via a twenty-round box magazine. It had what seemed to be NATO's standard general purpose high-caliber round, the 7,62x51mm NATO. Shouldering the weapon and peering down a branded sniper scope of some kind, the woman hummed, utilizing her left knee as support for her left hand. Elbow to knee, one leg folded under her providing stability and the only floating thing being her right elbow, the woman zeroed in on the target's center.

She squeezed and felt the rifle kick. The 7,62x51mm round zipped through the air and struck the intended target with a ring. She'd hit the center-point of the armor. Lowering the rifle and setting the safety on, she hummed and nodded approvingly. Looking over the weapon, she murmured, "Good DMR..." before setting it aside and going prone. In front of her resided another rifle, the Remington M40 bolt-action. Loaded with the same rounds, the weapon had a slightly longer barrel and a bipod attached.

It was the Marine variation of the rifle. It had a green polymer body, a 12 times zoom scope and looked fairly good. Shouldering it and utilizing the bipod to steady her aim, she loaded a first round by pulling the bolt up and back, then slamming it forward and down. She pushed the safety to off, aimed and steadied her breathing, aiming for the head of the target this time, an Imp helmet.

Squeezing the trigger, the rifle kicked hard as the bolt slammed forward. The bullet shot out and struck, flinging the helmet off of the mannequin. Nodding her approval, she looked at the M40 and pulled back the bolt, ejecting the spent casing. That one felt more at home with her, so she picked it up, sent the bolt home gently and set the safety to on, before approaching Ray.

Person, to his credit, remained composed even as his voice cracked, "So... Keeping the boltgun?"

She nodded, to which Ray signed the specific requisition form and handed her some 'Nam-era gear rigging, as well as the extra magazines for the rifle. She nodded in thanks and walked off, slinging the weapon onto her back via its leather strap. Ray shook his head, murmuring, "Scary as fuck. Stay away. Noted..." as he jotted down a note, then called out, "Next!"

Brad watched as the next member of the team stepped forward. Sergeant Melchiott herself was there, wearing M81 woodland camo and PASGT. Ray handed her an old M16A1 model rifle, the one with the triangular polymer handguard, as well as several 20rd magazines for the weapon that were loaded with 5,56 ammo. He pushed his helmet back off from his eyes and heard footsteps. Looking back, he saw El-Tee Fick approaching, cradling his A2 with the 203 tube.

He asked, "How's the training going? Kids liking the new guns?"

"Seems like it," Brad replied with a snort. He pointed to Ray, who was checking gear, and stated rather bluntly, "Wulfstan scared the crap out of Ray, I think. Girl's got one hell of a skill with bolt guns. More-so than even with the M14, even if other snipers picked that one out..." and he looked to watch the woman walking away, rifle in hand. She was something else, alright. Clad in M81 like Alicia, though in a much lighter kit that included a boonie which was hanging off her backpack.

"About 97,5% Accuracy rating according to some of the sniper school members here," Fick told him, "She's basically our new Hathcock."

"I'm waiting for her to snipe an Imp with a fifty-cal," Brad quipped, causing Fick to let out a short laugh. The man continued, "You hear we might be heading out to some forest nearby? Imps have set up resupply camps for the Central Front there, which is commanded by some guy under the name of Jaeger. Lots of German names here... Makes you wonder when we might see a Leopard 2 rolling in toward us."

Fick shrugged as he scratched his forehead, "Any backup's welcome when we've got a country the size of the Soviet Union to deal with. Command's already considering plans to push out from Gallia and toward the enemy capital, end the War with a blitzkrieg. Several officers warned that we wouldn't be able to do that without Sat cover and GPS and Godfather took it to heart."

"He bring it up with the Staff? Y'know, the Generals and Colonel?" Brad raised a brow. The two heard the ringing of a 5,56 rifle and looked ahead, watching Alicia firing from a kneeling position. The girl laughed heartily, her accuracy heavily improved by the smaller round's lack of kick. She was hitting center mass in groupings like the average Marine, really, which was impressive.

Fick nodded, watching the girl shoot and then switch to full-auto to empty the last 10 rounds of her mag. She nearly fell backward, surprised when the gun went off like that, before laughing. Looking at the weapon under the care of an instructor, the girl hit the bolt hold-open release, sending the bolt home, then flipped up the dust cover and thumbed the safety. She beamed and saluted, then walked over to Ray to sign off on the gun.

There were a few people in the ranks with Russian Kalashes, too. They soon noticed the Lancers, including Sergeant Largo, hefting M60s. Brad asked, "They switching over to Auto-riflemen now...?" with a little worry. Fick shook his head and pointed to the tubes on their backs. Each man and woman carried two LAWs on their back. The Sergeant blinked, confused, then said, "Oh. We're making them the heavy weapons people."

"Potter and a few others grumbled about it," Fick shrugged, "Said they can do just fine with their AT weapons."

"They'll say that until those dick-to-ass, Close-Quarters rocket slingshots go wide while they're in front of an enemy tank with its MG trained on them," Brad murmured as he tapped his own gun's polymer body. Trombley was stepping up now to teach the new MG Gunners how to use their newfound gear, which was gonna be funny. Seemed like the kid was enjoying berating Largo and two other gunners that were joining him on the range.

The guns began to ring through belts, AT launchers sat beside the men and women. The two began walking away as Trombley was yelling at the new gunners to 'straighten their shoulders', 'aim properly', 'short bursts' and so on and so forth. Brad snorted and spoke, "Trombley's getting way into being a DI for the locals. Then again, the kid got yelled at and fucked-up enough in the middle of Baghdad."

"Heard they nearly wanted to Section Eight him," Fick spoke, "Wasn't going to let one of my most enthusiastic gunners go out like that, though."

"Eh, kid's alright," Brad snorted, "He just needs someone throwing hand grenades at him for the rest of his life," and that actually got a rising laugh out of Fick. The reference alone was worth its weight in gold to some Marines, considering that was one of the hallmark movies about them. Part of them wondered if Largo or the others would become anything close to Animal Mother or Rambo.

Some hours later, however, Alicia didn't really care about that as she crawled through the newly-upgraded obstacle course in full gear. The Marine Drill Sergeants that had been brought in to supplement their own DIs yelled at them, calling them out with, "MY FAT MOTHER COULD CRAWL BETTER THAN YOU, YOU LITTLE SHITS! MOVE, MOVE, THROUGH THE MUD LIKE THE LITTLE PIGGIES YOU ARE! C'MON, C"MON, YOU DUMB FUCKERS! YOU WANNA DIE!?"

"C'mon, Potter, you fat piece of shit, MOVE IT! YOU AIN'T MAKING IT THROUGH THIS COURSE ON VETERANCY ALONE, YOU SHITBOOT!" Another, a woman, yelled at Largo, much to the quiet laughter of a few of the Darcsen around. The same woman pointed at Rosie and barked, "And you, PRETTY GIRL! I DON'T CARE WHO THE FUCK YOU SANG FOR, IF YOU DON'T MOVE THAT DYED-ASS HEAD OF YOURS UNDER THE FUCKING RAZORS, I'M RIPPING YOUR HAIRS OUT MYSELF! GO!"

Alicia swore to herself, feeling her muscles burning as she pulled herself forward in her full equipment. US Military kit was no joke, especially in the weight department. Even if the M16A1s and M4s were more lightweight, the rest of the kit compensated for it by the sheer amount of crap they were hauling. She stopped as she heard Homer, one of their engineers, whine, then she grabbed him by the strap of his vest and pulled him up, stating, "Don't slow down. DIs are gonna have our behinds..."

"I know," he replied quietly as they crawled forward. He was carrying a Carbine M4 alongside a pack full of engineering supplies, extra ammunition, grenades and medical packs. The group, which was mostly 7th Platoon, was crawling underneath a barbed wire 'roof' that would scratch the top of their heads and rip their helmets off if they made a mistake. Alicia was thankful her baker's scarf was stowed in her vest right now. She didn't wanna rip it.

Rosie murmured, "I swear to The Valkyria, these guys are trying to kill us...!" in a murmur. She was carrying an M60 as well, having decided to be a support element for Largo and his boys and girls. Behind her, the others hauled M4s and M16s of various models. All of them were wearing older M81, stuff probably pulled out of the National Guards' reserves to replace current gear.

If there was one thing the Americans had done, it was move fast to replace Gallia's equipment. Of course, the Army wasn't exactly accepting this new deal, so the Militia was stuck as guinea pigs for them all. Marina was probably the sole member of the squad who wasn't whining, even with Welkin and Isara crawling beside them. She carried on her crawl like a hunter on the move, like one would expect out of the Sniper.

Crawling out of the entire muck some time later, Alicia took her helmet off of her head, sweat draping her from head to toe as she sat down on a nearby bench. She doused her burning throat in water from her canteen, coughed, wiped her mouth with her muddy sleeve and said, "That's the sweetest-tasting water I've ever had..." before looking around at the tired members of Squad 7.

"American DIs scare the living hell outta me, man," Vyse, one of the team who wore goggles, spoke as he leaned his back against the bench, being sat on the floor next to his ginger friend, Aisha. The girl herself cradled her M16, head leaned forward and staring down at her helmet as she was slowly fading, ready to fall asleep at a moment's notice. Sweat pooled at her feet, mixed with dirt and mud.

Largo scoffed, wiping his face of mud, then replied, "I'm more scared of their damn logistics. To be able to ship this gear in 48 hours from some depot in the middle of their country to us? Holy hell..." and he pointed at the cars still travelling down the main road between their base and Amaranthine, only their headlights visible as the sun began to set behind the trees and mountains.

"I heard one of the other support element troops say, and this is a quote," Catherine OHarra, another Sniper, one that had picked out an M14 as her rifle, spoke in awe and with a heavy accent, ""The Amis have such a robust logistics system, they could start wars on two sides of the planet and win both'... Honestly, I believe them. Isn't the whole thing about their arrival here that this is basically an interdimensional war...?"

"That's the rumors," Alicia nodded, "And I'm willing to believe them..."

Everyone hummed in agreement, looking above as a pair of American 'Super Cobra' Helicopters that'd taken off from a nearby annex to the bases went to the battlefields farther part Randgriz, their blades chopping through the dusk air. She listened in on the radio pack she had on her to the chatter, hearing, "... Eagle Six, this is Sokol Six, thank you for having your birds on station. Small enemy assault at Grid 105-105-221 Zulu is being repelled. See you back at home."

Hill 1213

Sokol Six, a battalion of Russian VDV, positioned themselves in an all too familiar terrain feature with their weapons and tanks pointing outward. A concentric ring of defense had formed around the HQ of the patrolling unit as they prepared for the advance of enemy troops, an enemy attempt to take an important flank to the city of Randgriz, opening the place up for possible bombardment. Sokol Six-Actual, a Russian Captain, peered through his binoculars at the incoming wave of bandits. Amidst the treeline, their own thermal scopes and NV sights spotted maybe six platoons' worth of enemy forces, plus more per Drone footage.

Versus about 200 Russian troops armed with some of the latest available gear and with vehicle reinforcement. Two BMP-2s trained their 30mm cannons on the treeline, ready to fire. The Russian officer radioed, "Position nine, Sokol Actual, you have incoming on your nine o'clock. Shift your cannons right and engage at will. Twelve and Thirteen, Grozny protocol, Shmels and HE shells in the Trees, flares in the sky. IF tanks appear, you are cleared to fire ATGMs."

In the hastily-dug trench at the base of the hill, Sergeant Pomorenko shouldered his rifle and looked over to his PKM gunner, speaking to him, "The moment the first knight wannabe pops his head through that treeline, hose him. I wanna see trees uprooted if you have to, Arkhipov..." before checking his own 74M over. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked over to see a certain black-haired Sergeant with her 6B7 helmet on.

"Tak-toychna, serzhant!" The man replied, holding onto the rifle's wooden stock as he peered down the sights. The two Sergeants nodded to each-other, the man tightening the straps of his own helmet and peering down the sights of his rifle. First to fire were Mortars, he soon realized. The distant thump of enemy 80mm Mortars echoed, shells arching high and landing right in front of and around their trenches.

Thankful for being in the cover of a dug-out fighting position, the Sergeant and his troops ducked to avoid any oncoming shrapnel as their own Mortars replied. 120mm towed mortars in pits at the top of the hill lobbed back shells into the forest clearings in the distance, the explosions, though far away, blossoming with flashes visible through the treeline. Flashes that illuminated silhouettes in the darkness.

Two grenadiers farther behind them fired up 40mm flares, the sky lighting in a blaze of white, flickering phosphorus. As the flares slowly floated down, they lit more of the area around the hill, providing clear lines of sight for the soldiers carrying SVDs and for everyone else. Those with night optics had switched over to the AK sights below, ranging them for 200 meters.

That was the approximate distance one Laser Rangefinder found from the base of the hill to the treeline.

... The silhouettes drew closer, until, during the second volley of flares, steel armor reflected the flashing light. The Sergeant nodded to his gunner, who aimed at bush-level... And squeezed. Seven-six-two by fifty-four rimmed rounds spat out of the Pulemyot Kalashnikova at a rate of 250 Rounds per minute, catching the first of the men to step out from among the fading shadows in the chest.

The Imperials, now knowing they'd been spotted, affixed glistening bayonets, some of them drawing swords as they lumbered forward in heavy armor from the trees. Like over Hill 776, where their comrades in the Pskovian Unit fought to the last six, Sokol Six engaged the enemy with automatic fire. The 30mm cannons of the BMPs spat out High-Explosive hell against the treeline as the Mortars seemed to intensify their rates of fire.

Tracers lit the night alongside the simmering fire of the Willy Pete flares. The Sergeant aimed his shots carefully, his thoughts going back to home and his wife, who had elected him to be a soldier amidst the ranks of those sent to support the Americans for two simple reasons:To prove Russia's rebuilding Military could stand the test of time and to show their Western counterparts they were willing to change... Regardless of how hated they were by their former Eastern peers.

He domed an enemy heavy weapons specialist, then turned his rifle about fifteen degrees left and fired a burst at a man that looked high out of his mind, charging in thick steel armor and with a massive blade at the ready. He'd read some briefing or other from the Gallians saying that these guys were called 'Fencers', basically heavy-duty melee units meant for close-quarters shock work.

By the way he dropped to the floor from a couple of 5,45 AP rounds, it was shocking alright. Shocking the Imps still bothered to use such inefficient methods of warfighting. Then again, a nation wearing knight-like armor was probably still stuck in tradition. He blinked as a man ahead of him exploded in a flash of fire from a 30mm autocannon round, but another came up right behind him, bayonet glowing.

He lifted his rifle to parry the strike and deflected it to the right, into the dirt. He then drew his pistol as the man fell upon him, put it up under the man's chin and shot twice, splattering his brains in his own helmet. He tossed the corpse aside, lifted and quickly reloaded his rifle, then shouldered the weapon and switched to fully automatic. Beside him, his gunner let loose another belt after reloading, corpses piling high in his arc of fire.

This wasn't six damn platoons, this was an entire army. He heard the kachunk-thwoosh of a rocket motor igniting, then looked up as a Metis ATGM lanced forward, the wire trailing behind it. The rumble of the tank it was going for had been completely obscured by the sounds of the gunfight around him. Still, the man watched the HEAT Warhead impact the enemy tank, puncture through the front armor in a massive explosion and cause the tank to split in half, only to further go another few meters behind, nearly piercing a second tank's hull.

"RPGS MOVE UP!" The female Sergeant barked. She hefted her AK-74M, which also had a bayonet now, up to greet an incoming Fencer. Her blade let out a sickeningly sharp noise as it pierced the man's skin. She held him up like a pike, firing a burst of automatic fire into his belly, then letting the corpse fall. Drawing her pistol as she worked to withdraw her blade and weapon from the corpse, she fired.

Pomorenko shifted his fire left to assist, watching as an enemy officer was domed by a one of their Designated Marksmen, head exploding, red helmet flung off of his head. He collapsed, missing half his head, right in front of the trench. Pomorenko's gunner cried in pain as two men had gotten into the trench, one stabbing him in the side. He shifted his AK toward them and hosed them in gunfire, before calling out, "MEDIC!" as he took the man's gun and held the belt up, firing.

The female Sergeant spoke to him, "This is fucking nuts! There must be a thousand of them!"

"The Captain called for air support from the Americanski air assets nearby! We can hang on for a minute more!" Pomorenko shot back as the Medics jumped into the trench and started tending to his gunner. One paused, then sighed and shook his head. He tapped Pomorenko on the shoulder, causing the man to turn around. He saw the bone-white face of the young man, his eyes rolled back into his skull. The Medic shook his head.

"300, blyadh! Cargo 300!" He called it, angry, almost apologetic.

"Fuck..." Pomorenko swore to himself, then nodded for them to get him out of the trench as the enemy's own fire seemed to intensify. He shifted fire right, toward an advancing platoon of enemy Lancers trying to take potshots at their BMPs. The BMPs themselves didn't much seem to appreciate this, 30mm HE and 7,62 from their PKTs welcoming them with extreme prejudice, to mystifying results. That being, turning the enemy into red mist.

The Sergeant ducked and dropped the spent box, lifting the last ammo box in the counter as he heard another of their men get shot to his right. The female Sergeant and the Medics rushed over, with her covering while they pulled him out of the line of fire. Pomorenko managed to fit the 200rd box into its slot, put the belt in and slam the damn top cover home, shouldering the weapon again and opening fire as he slowly-traversed left-to-right and back.

"One belt!" Pomorenko callled out as the barrel of the weapon started smoldering with heat.

"Half a mag here!" The female Sergeant shot back, racking the bolt of her AK after checking the ammo count. She peered out and watched the enemy charging with their third wave, the largest yet. Tanks, infantry and even mortars opened fire again, a flurry of fire washing over their positions, injuring and rarely killing Russians in dug-in cover. She was about to speak again, but she heard a transmission over the radio she carried on her back.

Pulling it off her back and listening into the microphone, she heard, "Sokol Six, this is Eagle Six, choppers are in position and we're ready to assist," as the chop of Rotorblades filled the air. US Marine Supercobras swept in into the darkness, their 20mm maw-mounted Gatling cannons suddenly lighting the darkness in scarlet tracers. ATGMs and unguided Hydra rockets hissed and shot out, detonations blossoming across the battlefield ahead to the cheers of Russian troops, many of whom raised their AKs to the sky.

A battalion of American troops, Marines, pushed forward and up the road as well, with support from a platoon of Abrams Tanks that laid into the enemy with HEAT rounds, flashes lighting the darkness. Pomorenko grinned and spoke to his friend, "Never thought I'd be glad to see American choppers..." as he watched the attack helos strike with ATGMs. She nodded, grinning as she watched the enemy scramble for cover.

The American task force rolled in, bringing in ambulance vehicles to evacuate the wounded to the common base of the UN Force as the Choppers turned around for another run. Distant 155mm cannons echoed as M109s situated farther in the rear lines engaged enemy artillery. In truth, what had just been shown here was a willingness for both sides to cooperate... Much to the chagrin of the Imperials and the surprising, yet restrained jubilation of their new allies.

Pomorenko thought so upon seeing Ukrainians and Romanians with the American troops that had come to relieve them...

Chapter Text

"ROCKER-1, this is DESK JOCKEY you are clear for takeoff, mark 0-4-0, Angels 3. Be advised:you will be acting in support of Operation GREENVILLE, so keep HITMAN and LUCKY in your sights at all times. Good hunting."

"ROCKER to DESK JOCKEY, copy your last. We're in the pipe, Five-by-Five. Godspeed. Out."

The Construction Battalion had taken 'building an airfield being a logistical clusterfuck' as a challenge from command and gotten it done in a little under three days, just in time for the Operation to have Air Support beyond rotary. Brad watched as two F-16s, sleek, single-engine, silver birds with yellow cockpits, powered their afterburners. Gouts of orange flame exited in a cone out from the aircraft's behind as they finished their final checks. Each jet was armed with six thousand-pound JDAMs, three on each wing pylon, plus air-to-air missiles and guns. They also had fuel tanks on their under-bellies.

As they let go of the brakes, the two jets jerked back, then sped down the tarmac of the runway before lifting off via the use of their ailerons and tail wings. Their noses lifted off the ground as soon as they'd gained enough speed and the twins soon sped up into the heavens at a near-fortyfive degree angle before turning to their designated target area. GREENVILLE was the nickname of the operation to assault the enemy's resupply bases deep within the Kloden wild woods, a thick virgin forest that acted as part of the massive natural border between Gallia and the Empire.

So, to put it shortly, they would be their support. He nodded to a grinning Ray to start the truck and form up with the convoy heading toward the Wildwoods. He could hear Isara sort of freaking out over the com in one of those cutesy 'kid in a candy store' kind of ways as she saw the US Fighter Jets of the Air Force flying overhead as their support. Rolling Stone joked, "To think the girl hasn't seen what we take for granted nowadays in her life..."

"Flying's her passion," Brad replied as he shouldered his rifle. The vehicles began rolling down the dirt road toward the target area as he told them, "She's an egghead. Probably would've built a plane for cheap if we didn't come about first," to which Trombley let out a laugh. He shrugged and told them, "Keep your heads in the game, boys. We're going into the hellscape of a Forest fight. Ambushes can come from anywhere."

"Hell yeah, baby, Vietnam time," Joked Ray.

Rolling Stone replied, "Would call it Fulda, but, yeah, fair," as he jotted down stuff in his little notebook. Ray muttered a 'nerd' under his breath as the Humvees, supporting elements and tanks rolled on through down the main highway. Espera started speaking over the radio to command, while Captain America was simply told to mumble a little less loudly.

Garza stood silent, holding onto the Mark-19 while looking back at the rest of the convoy of mixed troops. The drone of the overhead jet engines also kept him steady and alert, causing him to look up at the Air Force birds every-so-often to make sure they were still with them. No GPS in the general area of operations meant they were basically rolling in blind with only laser-guided bombs. He could see the aircraft had their targeting pods, at least, meaning thermals from above.

And pinpoint accurate bomb drops.

GREENVILLE rolled on, the convoy of HITMAN and LUCKY driving to their designated target areas. Largo poked his LMG out from the Jeep and scanned the area ahead. Sighing deeply, he looked back at Rosie as the woman manned the vehicle's fifty cal. The US Army had wiped their insignia off the transport and painted a crude blue, white and gold roundel on the front to denote that it was now Gallian property.

Alicia, who was riding with him and Rosie, checked her M16. She mumbled, "Just a crash course and suddenly they expect us to use this stuff like it's second nature..." before shouldering it and checking the sights to make sure they were aligned. Rosie let out a snort, gripping tightly onto the handles of the Fifty and looking around, before the brown-haired rifle girl looked over to Largo and asked, "Fancy the new gear?"

"Ain't so bad, I guess," The man shrugged, cigar between his lips, "They did outright make me and the other Lancers the heavy weapon teams."

"General purpose machine guns and single-shot anti-tank launchers," Homer, the driver of the vehicle, a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, shakily said, his voice obviously still undergoing puberty. He said, "We took extra ammo, just in case..." while turning the wheel to slowly veer left onto the road toward Kloden, as per the crossroad sign to their left.

"Heaviest damn thing in the LAW is the rocket," Largo said, scratching his cheek.

Overhead, a pair of American Cobra helicopters sped past, their blades causing the air to ripple, gusts of wind and dust being kicked up and caused the grass to bob and weave. The pilot of the lead chopper, a woman, spoke over the radio, "This is BAKER-1-1 to LUCKY and HITMAN. Sorry for the low buzz, but we took AA Fire from the forest below, probably MGs. We're gonna haul it back to rearm and we'll come support."

"Roger, BAKER," Godfather's RTO replied, "Looking forward to having even more firepower."

Rosie quipped, "I heard what those Anti-Tank missiles can do from the Russians and a few Army groups. Apparently, they'll peel an Imp tank wide open like a can of sardines," while watching a slew of Mi-8 Helicopters, several marked with the red cross, flying back toward Fort Amaranthine, the Home Base of this entire mess and 3rd Regiment's own personal house.

"Feeling ever more useless," Largo quipped as he gently turned the wheel again, keeping in line with the convoy. The others let out a couple of awkward laughs, with Alicia herself cradling her M16 as they moved on. The Forest was starting to grow around them, isolated pockets of shrubbery soon forming into massive, all-obscuring treelines, canopies providing shade to the plant and animal life below.

Despite the forces on board the transports quieting down into even more basic small-talk, their eyes still scanned the area around them for hostile contact. Squad 7 and HITMAN had only participated in one operation so far. The Third Regiment and First Recon were barely starting to get acquainted with one-another while the groups underwent joint training, the Gallians slowly being trained to be a Motorized Infantry Regiment with Mechanized backup.

And airpower, obviously. The drone of the F16s' single engines still caused the group's teeth to chatter in their heads. Most of the 3rd Militia that wasn't driving was staring up at the single-engine multirole aircraft with a degree of reverence, honestly. Alicia herself looked up at the Jets like they were their two Guardian Angels. And they might as well have been, with all the stuff that was supposedly stuck onto them.

Sighing, she leaned back into her seat, cradling her M16A1 as her gaze swept left. She looked at the distant shrubs, shaded by the crowns of the forest's trees ,then paused as she saw one shuffle. She blinked, pulled her binoculars off her belt and looked over. She swallowed as she saw one shift again, then spoke quietly, "Rosie, shift the gun left... Everyone else, be ready..." before she pulled the microphone of the radio off and clicked the transmit button, speaking, "This is LUCKY-7-4 to LUCKY and HITMAN Actual... I saw movement to our left."

"Seven-Four, this is HITMAN Actual. Interrogative:Can you confirm you've sighted possible hostiles?" Captain Schwetje's RTO inquired, calm.

"... Negative for now," Alicia replied, though the hairs on her neck stood on-end. Something was coming. And she could see it in the eyes of the other people aboard that they agreed, Largo shifting his own LMG to greet the incoming. She spoke, "Might just be an animal, but I and my crew are keeping our eyes on it..." before she shifted her rifle up and thumbed the safety off. She let go of the mic's transmit button and said, "Homer, you keep driving no matter what happens..." with an almost uneasy tone. She watched another shrub move, closer to them this time.

... A momentary pause and dead air from the radio, followed by the RTO of Godfather speaking, "This is HITMAN Actual to all HITMAN and LUCKY Elements. GODFATHER and LUCKY ACTUAL have issued the following order:Continue with caution. Rules of Engagement have been relaxed. Be advised:Air Support is on tap to engage and aid us, so feel free to make use of them. Just make sure to lase it properly. Remember standard procedure for Ambushes."

Alicia blinked as affirmatives echoed over radio, then looked down at the radio. She smiled a little, while Rosie said in a murmur, "Good thing they listen to us country bumpkins, eh, kid?" as she checked to make sure the MG had a round in the chamber. Homer tensed, his hands gripping the wheel so tight the leather creased and creaked against it. Largo gently grabbed the boy's shoulder and squeezed, causing him to yelp a little as he grew pale, but he nodded. Rosie hummed, then peered down the peephole sight of the weapon right at the moving shrubs. The group looked back, hearing the whirr of the Edelweiss's electric turret motor as the tank's gun shifted.

In the lead vehicle, Garza had already traversed the Mark-19 left and racked in a round. Brad was tense as all hell, while Trombley wore a well-concealed grin, his cheek pressed against the skeletal stock of his SAW. Ray murmured something to himself as he eyed the treeline, his helmet on. He slapped it twice for good luck, then looked over to see where his rifle was. Rolling Stone was practically shitting himself, too, Ray noticed. He told him, "Relax, homes. You know we ain't gonna let your ass die..."

"Yeah, I know," Wright replied, holding onto his kevlar and the top of the vehicle.

"So, why so tense?" Brad asked, though his voice was ice cold.

Wright swallowed empty, then replied, "These guys feel a little more motivated than the Iraqis..."

"They've got shittier weapons, though, meaning they can't exactly punch through good armor," Trombley almost seemed like he was trying to comfort wright. He looked back and said, "Relax, Reporter. Shit's about to get fun and you just get to watch. No need to stain your pretty little hands with anything but ink," before grinning properly and then sighting back down his LMG. Garza mumbled something from

"Y'know, I was joking about the Vietnam parallel," Ray murmured, looking up at the ceiling of the Humvee in what seemed to be a pseudo-vain attempt at talking to what a couple of people on board might've seen as a non-existent God. God probably did exist and had an obvious sense of humor. Ray, however, racked the bolt of the M4 that sat by his side and put his hand back on the stick.

The men aboard the transports noted the shifting shrubs now, all of them. It wasn't long then, many thought as they thumbed the safeties off of their firearms properly, shifting their weapons to meet the incoming threat. It seemed to be a standard ambush. Brad poked his rifle out through the window and looked forward down the ACOG on his rifle, noting distant humanoid figures running between the two sides.

An L-shaped ambush. The front would blunt their advance and the side would hammer them. He told Ray, "Get ready to blow through them," as he zeroed in on the leading target. He then picked up the radio and said, "All convoy vehicles, be advised... Engaging hostiles ahead," before receiving an affirmative. He zeroed in on the silhouette that wasn't moving, aimed, steadied his breath...

... Then he squeezed and felt the gun gently buck in his arms, kicking lightly into his shoulder. The spent casing fell. The figure fell.

All hell broke loose. Gunfire raked the Humvees, bullets causing sparks as they shattered off the armored doors, Ray crying out, "FUCK! TAKING FIRE!" before shifting the vehicle to full gear and slamming the accelerator. The engine revved and the wheels screeched, the vehicle lurching forward just as one of the enemy's Anti-Tank rounds shot out from the Lance.

The Mark 19 thundered and the fifty-caliber MGs on the convoy's hulls roared, followed by the chit-chatter of machine guns, SAWs and the single-shots of rifles. Intermixed with them were various callouts and mixed explicit swearing from the various crews aboard both armored and unarmored Humvees. Brad fired his rifle, aiming for head and body-shots that would kill the enemy. He saw their armor glinting in the darkness as rays of sun struck from amidst the imperfect cover of the canopy, lighting tiny patches of grass and bush. He fired at those.

On board Alicia, Homer, Largo and Rosie's Jeep, Rosie had opened fire. She felt the heavy machine gun rattling her arms, shaking the living fuck out of her, her arms feeling like noodles that barely held the gun on-target with each burst. Largo barked, "FASTER, KID! FASTER! KEEP US WITH THE CONVOY!" at Homer, who nodded and yelled something unintelligible back. Alicia pushed herself slightly back and aimed her rifle, firing over the boy's head at silhouettes.

"Ain't this some hell!" Rosie barked as she shifted her fire, her teeth rattling in her mouth as the vehicles sped forward. The Edelweiss's main gun roared and a round skimmed through a tree, exploding in the second behind it and spraying shards of steel and wood around that caught advancing enemy shock troops and scouts in the back. In a truck behind that, the rest of the squad fired their rifles.

Marina scoped in the first man she could see, a Lancer aiming for them. She zeroed in on him, then shifted her aim left by a few mil dots and squeezed. She watched the bullet 'curve' in, striking exactly at the point the man was as he was taking aim. The round punctured the helmet and threw it clean off his head while the black-haired Sniper pulled back the bolt and slammed it back forward, feeling another round feed into her rifle.

She fired again, nailing a second man, an officer going by the red outfit, right between the eyes, killing him on the spot. She aimed again, but didn't fire, a thunderous explosion sounding in the distance. A cry over the radio echoed, "HITMAN-2-4-Actual to all Elements! HITMAN-2-4 is immobile! Bastards dug a ditch in front of us with a bomb, but we're fine!" that being Brad's voice. She shifted her gaze and peered past the tank, to the sight of one of the humvees in the distance. They were stuck in a ditch, stopping the whole convoy.

"GODFATHER to all elements, shift your positions and take cover past the berm. Leave only your turrets exposed," The RTO of Godfather spoke, still terrifyingly calm despite all the roaring and worry going on around him. Marina could respect the RTO being so calm, so, kneeling, she tapped their driver, one Lynn, on the shoulder and showed her to shift the vehicle past the berm of the raised road so they'd be in defilade. The RTO then spoke, "ROCKER, BAKER, we will momentarily begin lasing targets. Prepare your payloads."

The Pilots replied positively. Marina looked up as the vehicle rolled down the slope of the road and into cover. She saw the two planes bank left, then pull the turn, entering standard flight pattern for payload deployment. She jumped off the truck as their gunner, one Edy Nelson, swung the MG about and let loose again. Mark 19s and tank guns thundered, followed by the 25mms of American LAVs and even Bradleys.

A HEAT round from a Lance arced above them and struck a Bradley's front armor plating. The subsequent explosion left nothing but a mark and a possibly rattled crew inside as the strange, brick-like armor plates on the front of the transport took most of the molten jet's heat. Marina hummed, nodded approvingly, then crawled up the berm, joining a bunch of other riflemen and snipers. She told them, "Officers are dressed in red. Easy to spot. Aim for them and enemy morale will break..."

The prattle of the Helicopter blades overhead echoed as the two-gunship flight shifted into position, their rocket pods and cannons immediately roaring. To the soldiers of the United States, it was proof of either blind courage or cockiness on the side of the imperials that they did not retreat the moment air support started laying into them with their payloads.

The rockets screamed out of the pods, the 20mm gatling cannons ripping through the treeline and cutting down trees in volleys alongside any Imperial unlucky enough to be caught in their bursts. Marina shifted her aim and fired, picking off the officers, exactly as she said she would. She watched a soldier wane as he aimed his SMG, aimed for his head and shot him with little remorse.

A round skimmed over her head, one of thousands of enemy rounds, obviously, but that felt like a little reply for killing what seemed to be a man ready to surrender. She sighed, then slid down into cover and reloaded her rifle, watching as Corpsmen and Medics rushed back and forth between the allied units, dragging wounded out of vehicles that had been damaged or hit with precision under the cover of a hail of lead.

Ahead, Alicia rushed forward toward Colbert and the others' vehicle, watching them move to cover as the 'ditch' dug by the enemy bomb held onto their humvee. Brad helped drag Wright out of his seat, with Alicia noting the man had taken a round in the shoulder. She asked, "You guys okay?!" only to get a thumbs up from everyone. Trombley scrambled for cover over the metal separating his seat from the Reporter's and jumped out of the reporter's door, before diving into cover beside them and immediately returning fire with his SAW.

"My bad!" Trombley patted the reporter on the shoulder in a break between gunfire while Brad tied a bandage around the man's arm. Wright simply laughed it off, though it was probably trauma response. Ray, meanwhile, fired his rifle from cover underneath the humvee, with Alicia watching him. The RTO seemed a little pissed that his truck got hit like this.

Brad said, "Bastards had probably hopped we'd roll over the mine," in a murmur as he moved over to Alicia, "I dropped the guy with the detonator. He still hit it and we rolled into the ditch just as the explosion hit," before motioning to the Humvee, which was covered in dirt and debris. He looked over to his left, to the sight of Garza sitting down, a bit dizzy. He then said to Alicia, "We got lucky, though..."

"I can tell..." The girl replied. She ducked as an enemy burst zipped over her head. She poked out with Brad and both of them fired single-shot at the enemy, cutting him down on the spot. As they dipped back into cover, letting Trombley and Ray deal with the enemy, she told him, "Can you guys call in one of the birds from above to drop a bomb or something? Scare them!?"

"Already did," Brad replied, "I didn't do it, but the JTACs attached with the Bradleys did. They'll hopefully be painting the bastards with a nice, big dot for the bombs to drop on," only to shift his position. He saw Fick running over toward them by the berm and with a platoon of Medics on their asses. The young Lieutenant knelt beside Alicia and looked between them, then at Garza. Brad told him, "Easy, sir. We're fine. Just a bit shook up."

"Good," Fick replied, just as calm, "We've got a tow coming up to get you out of that ditch and a Bridgelayer moving in to..." he then noticed the width of the ditch and murmured, "The hell kind of explosives did they pack under that part of the road?" before sighing. He heard a call from the F16s overhead, then said, "Sounds like our birds finally got confirmation!"

... Aboard the F16 'ROCKER-1', Flight Captain Jacob Rawley shifted uneasily in his seat, peering at the thermal feed from his SNIPER Pod. Almost a hundred enemy combatants still remained, engaging the allies with no seeming desire for retreat, their guns flashing. He sighed and radioed, "ROCKER-1 to BAKER, HITMAN and LUCKY, be advised:Upcoming strike is DANGER CLOSE. Keep your heads down unless you wanna lose'em..." then he switched channels over to his buddy, "ROCKER-2, be advised:Ground team requested two thousand pound JDAMs, forty meter dispersal due North-East of the Convoy, distance is 180 meters from friendlies."

"Roger. Tracking enemy movements. Permission to drop first JDAM," His wingman requested.

Jacob replied, "Granted. We'll drop at the same time," and he shifted his weapon selection, peering at the camera as it panned. He radioed, "Three... Two... One... Pickle," then thumbed the trigger. The aircraft shook a little as the bomb decoupled. He saw it leave the wing and tracked it on the SNIPER Pod, veering straight for the enemy. Heh, this was gonna be an easy job.

Down below, Brad tracked the bombs as they fell, murmuring, "Here they come," as the exchange of gunfire around them continued. The group watched the two bombs glide in from the aircraft that were supporting them while BAKER was waving off to rearm and to avoid the blast. The others ducked, with Fick pushing Alicia down into cover as well. The two bombs soon disappeared behind the canopy...

And, moments later, the ground around them rumbled and shook twice, the two explosions roaring in unison, the combined shockwave shaking leaves off of the canopy of the trees and nearly cutting down several. The infernal thunder filled the consciousness and ears of the Gallians for two more very, very long seconds, the group looking at the rising clouds of dust, debris and dirt ahead with fear and awe.

Fick put his hand up to his radio and transmitted, "... ROCKER, BDA incoming:Good effect on target. Targets destroyed. Thanks for the support," before shifting uneasily and looking to Alicia. He told her, "Welcome to the Twenty-First century," before the cheers of both their people and their allies filled their ears. Fick sighed deeply, then radioed, "This is HITMAN Actual to all elements, stand-by to mount up..."

Ray sighed deeply, dropped the spent magazine into his dump pouch, then asked Trombley, "Had some fun?" to which the MG Gunner grinned and nodded. The two helped Wright up to his feet, then went to help Garza, who had thankfully recovered his mental faculties by now. Alicia, meanwhile, still stared ahead. As the dust settled, she saw nothing but craters. No corpses, no blood or other signs of their enemy. All was either hidden by the bush or gone thanks to those bombs.

... It was honestly terrifying. How quickly it happened and how quiet it all had become...

Chapter Text

The convoy had halted in an opening not far from the base, their air support having turned back to rearm. One of the main things coming the squad's way, however, was a platoon of VDV deployed on their BMP-2s, meant to reinforce the unit against the targets spotted defending the Supply Base up ahead. HITMAN-2 had set up a defensive perimeter ahead of the formation, while the rear was brought up by Godfather's supporting element and the sides, by the Army troops present and Gallian Militia.

Walking past a platoon of Army riflemen positioned by a berm, M16A2s aimed outward and into the forest, Welkin, now cradling his own new weapon, an M4A1 meant to better fit into the tank's hull, walked over toward Alicia while the girl held her M16A1 close, eyes scanning the terrain like a Scout's should. Beside her, Marina and her M700 were hidden in a ditch with a ghillie suit.

"Tension's running high," Welkin spoke, taking a knee beside Alicia, too, all while cradling his M4. She sighed and nodded while the man fumbled around with his uniform's pouches, trying to grab his binoculars. Ahead of them lay the broad opening that would be their target:A massive compound lay at the far back of the clearing, surrounded and covered by foliage.

Three enemy encampments were visible:A checkpoint guarding the central approach that they'd need to storm through to get to the base, an anti-tank position and a tent on the far left manned by maybe half-a-dozen enemy soldiers with the AT gun visible, a low-velocity 75mm cannon, and finally a Sniper's perch that Marina must've sighted already, sitting on an outcropping of dirt and grass far to the right.

In the middle of all of this was a small lake. It reached, from what Welkin could tell, around neck height for him, meaning it depended on the height of the people if they'd drown falling in or not. Finally, the AT position was already sighted in on the road they were gonna be moving down for the assault, alongside a few MG nests in the fenced-in checkpoint.

"We got ambushed once…" Alicia replied, lifting her M16 and shouldering it. Most of these guys' weapons were intuitive, easy to understand, especially since they'd had a couple days' training to get used to them versus the standard Gallian-4 semi-automatic high-caliber rifles. These things somehow hit haredr, too… She continued her train of thought, "I guess people are worried."

"Yeah," He affirmed, finally pulling out his binoculars and adjusting them. He looked at her and asked, "Are you gonna be okay?" just as the rumble of engines filled their ears, the trio of BMP-2 combat vehicles disgorging a platoon-strength Russian force, all of them armed with RPGs and assault rifles from Kalashnikov.

"We're gonna be assaulting an enemy base frontally. I don't think any of us are really okay with that," Alicia replied, her concern audible in the way she pressed her words. She looked at Welkin, who smiled a little awkwardly, thinking to herself that they only got lucky in Vasel. Here, they were taking on an enemy base head-on with little cover.

"It's a good thing we have reinforcements, then," He joked, peering through the binoculars at the defenses.

"Yeah…" Alicia sighed. She grabbed the rifle by the handguard, looked at him and leaned it against her shoulder, black barrel pointing up. She asked, "Did you hear the air units, though? Imperials have that base locked down tight," as her sharper eyes allowed her to see the machine-gun nests that had fired up at the allied gunships.

"A few of them took heavy machine gun fire on the way over," Brad added, causing both members of the Seventh Platoon to turn and face him. He greeted them with a gentle nod, hauling his own binoculars and his M4 rifle with a UBGL and ACOG, "El-Tee, Sarge. Godfather just asked for a forward team to confirm the sightings. Guess I don't need to report anymore, eh?"

"Thankfully, no," Welkin smiled upon seeing Brad. He was still fairly thankful to the man for protecting Isara.

"Lieutenant Fick concerned at all about the fact we have a lot of hostile targets ahead?" Alicia asked, turning to face him as she stood up. Beside them, the IFVs of the unit moved up and aimed thermals at the enemy bases. A few good bursts, Alicia thought, and they could rip through the place easily. That was if the Imps didn't have any other aces up their sleeves.

"Decently, though Nate isn't one to get cold feet easily," Brad quipped as he re-confirmed what Welkin had already seen and what the Super Cobras had reported. The enemy was dug in like ticks and it'd take one hell of a feat to get them out while minimizing casualties. At least Brad thought so, all while he heard Largo and Rosie approach.

"You're lucky to have a level-headed boss," Largo himself spoke, a bit more restrained and calm. It was a mostly obvious sideways jab at Lieutenant Gunther.

"Lieutenant Gunther's the same from what we've seen of him," Brad defended Welkin, to nobody's surprise, but much to both his and Alicia's joy, his voice a little lower. He lowered the binos and turned to face Largo, shifting his rifle onto his back and sliding his binoculars into their container. He crossed his arms to his chest, staring the man and his newly-arrived buddy, Stark, down.

"Just saying," Largo replied, raising his hands defensively.

"Give'em a break, Largo. They don't like us," The redheaded singer stated rather brashly, cradling her own M16. She stared at Brad and the man stared back, completely and blatantly impassive toward her while she seemed just angry right off the bat. She cast a glance at Isara and scoffed while watching the girl make sure the tracks on the Edelweiss were tight.

"You haven't given us a reason to, homes," Ray answered rather bluntly, though with his usually cocky voice as he strode forward. He'd left the two writers/reporters behind with Fick and the others so he could join in on the chat and added with a hint of hostility in his laid-back tone, "Seriously, y'all can stand not to be such dicks to us, or to the kid," tilting his head to Isara.

"Gotta shut up about things you don't understand," Rosie snapped back, angry.

"Enough," Welkin cut the conversation off and slid his own binoculars into their specialized bag. He told them all, "Fighting won't solve anything. What we need to do right now is cooperate," before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and putting his hands on his hips. This kind of stuff got people killed.

"... Yeah, that's gonna take some time," Brad replied after casting a short glance at the two Gallians, causing them to growl.

"Oh, a lot of time," Ray snorted.

"Guys," Alicia sighed deeply, mildly annoyed.

"Sorry… Not particularly fond of people who pick on ki-" Brad had started to reply, but the crackle and pop of leaves and a twig snapping caused both him and Ray to immediately train their weapons toward a bunch of tall grass off to the gathered units' left. To go along with that snap of weapons being aimed, a loud, frightened animal noise echoed from that shrubbery as it moved.

It took a hot second for both Marines to process what the hell they were seeing as they pushed the grass aside. They'd thought it was some Imperial Scout that had come around to listen to them chat, but instead they found the strangest possible sight in the world. It looked like a piglet at first, a small, wild piglet, probably drawn here by the noise.

Then the two men saw the wings on its back, tiny as they were, and almost had a joined conniption. A winged pig.

"Oh, wow! A Porcavian piglet!" Welkin gasped, then smiled as he lifted the little critter up, causing it to oink in fear at first. Alicia approached, smiling a little while Largo and Rosie stared. Both previously hostile Gallians settled down and folded in with the group looking at the winged pig in Welkin's hands, watching it struggle a little. It started to settle down, though, when Alicia pet it.

"... Porcavian. As in 'a pig that flies'," Brad stated, almost in a deadpan as he looked at the critter. Trombley had also joined them, staring at the pig with wide eyes and an otherwise purely confused face. The Machine Gunner simply sat there, wondering what godforsaken magic this place used to spawn a freakin' winged pig…

"What the hell, dude! It looks like a mutant!" Ray demanded, throwing both his hands to use them as indicators toward the Piglet.

"It most likely is," Brad stated in a deadpan, thinking to himself, 'well, that's a lot of people with promises they need to keep now', before shifting his rifle uneasily forward. Beside him, Largo and Rosie, probably aware of these creatures, chuckled at the sheer dumbfound reactions of the Americans. Alicia also tickled the piglet, seemingly calming it down.

"Oh, this little guy isn't gonna hurt anybody. And he can't fly… I think," Welkin chuckled awkwardly. The little guy let out an 'oink' almost like he was confirming what Welkin had just said, all while his beady black eyes looked around at all the people. Brad shifted uncomfortably, while Trombley blinked and threw his hands up, mumbling something as he walked away.

"Why the fuck is he kinda cute, dawg," Ray whispered, leaning forward and tickling his belly, causing the little piggo to squeal a little in delight. Brad also joined in to pet the creature, stunned that a pig was having this effect on him. He wasn't sure it was even kosher, though he wasn't raised in Islam, so pigs didn't really bother him.

"I don't know…" Brad mumbled, giving the pig a boop on the snout.

"Where's your mom, little one…" Welkin asked, gently cradling the little guy. He oinked sadly, turning his head toward congealed blood and the corpse of a Porcavian sow, riddled with bullet holes. Alicia gasped, covering her mouth, while Welkin bowed his head and looked at the pig. Even Rosie and Largo seemed to show a degree of remorse for the little guy.

"And yet another poor kid loses family in a war," Brad mumbled, playing with his rifle's safety.

"... At least, her sacrifice wasn't in vain," Welkin commented. Upon noticing the looks of confusion, he pointed past the sow and said, "Look. An animal path," as it all opened into a small pathway between the trees. He added, "The grass is a bit more thoroughly trampled here, meaning there's a way around the small lake that's separating us from the base. A small strike team should be able to flank around, help save the main force a headache."

"Clever, El-Tee," Brad quipped, moving past the corpse and gently pushing it aside to allow the others to pass. He looked over the path, peered past a few trees and saw that it lead straight behind the enemy gun emplacement that would fire upon them from across the pond. He smirked and gave a thumbs up.

"Yeah…" Largo shifted uneasily, hefting his M60, as if he wanted to volunteer.

Rosie thought for a moment, looking at the foot path, then sighed and scoffed, racking the bolt of her rifle. She glared at Welkin, dead serious, "... To hell with it. I'm going. If you're wrong, you're payin'," before gently taking a step forward. She checked her rifle again, making sure it wouldn't jam on her. Thing was a bit more complicated than a Gallian-4 or her SMG.

"I'll take the Strike Team in. Can't go in with a thin-skinned humvee right now," Brad quipped, taking a step forward and causing her to blank. Largo walked forward as well, hefting his LMG, only to pause as he saw both Ray and Trombley stepping up, rifle and SAW respectively at the ready. They weren't gonna let Brad go at it alone.

"Coming with you, too, Brad," Ray stated, leaning his rifle on his shoulder.

"Great…" Rosie huffed, then turned and called out, "Nelson, Peron, Landzaat and Wulfstan, you're with us then," only for the chosen elements to follow in, Marina seemingly eager, but quiet as she readied her Sniper Rifle. Edy, Homer and Karl beside her were a little less excited to make the breach, the lattermost carrying an M14 as his choice weapon.

"Everyone else is supporting the forward push, then," Welkin nodded to the team. He ordered, "Mount up, we move out in two minutes," over the radio before marching to his vehicle. The Infantry and IFVs prepared as the allied units took positions to strike at the enemy. Brad took a knee as they reached the end of the footpath, right next to the tent where the AT ammo presumably was, then he thumbed the safety of his rifle off.

The others followed suit as the timer counted down to ten seconds. When the first engine, that of a Bradley leading the formation, revved loudly, the countdown hit zero. The 25mm bushmaster of the leading vehicle ripple-fired, high-explosive shells raking the fenced-in checkpoint and detonating against the buildings.

Alarms started to wail from the base, the Garrison scrambling with anti-tank weapons and assault guns. The Bradley rolled forward, tracks grinding against dirt as the first AT shot was fired from the position Brad and his team were about to assault. The shot struck one of the slabs of reactive armor on the Bradley's side just as the Sergeant, with his two MG boys taking point, led the squad forward.

Trombley and Largo both turned the corner to the sight of the gun crew loading another shell, cordite fumes blowing out of both ends of the gun. One of the three men present noticed them as the thumping of the distant autocannon continued, but too late. Both of them lit the men up, raking them with 7,62 and 5,56mm rounds.

Brad and his team pushed, the man calling out, "CLEARING TENT!" before pushing the flap aside and seeing all the ammo in the dump, plus two more men armed with pistols. He aimed and fired, doming both of them with his rifle. He pushed out, motioned to Marina to take position and told her, "Back up the guys crossing that way, now!"

The Bradley was followed by Edelweiss, then by the two BMPs. The BMPs opened fire on the forest, 30mm rounds rapid-fired into the treeline, ripping and tearing bark and killing infantry. Their escorting VDV fired, too, grenade launchers and Kalashnikovs raking the treeline, turning anything that moved there into corpses.

Marina's rifle barked and a red-clad enemy officer's head exploded in the distance. The Edelweiss fired at the outpost, destroying the facade of a concrete guardhouse that had been raked by the 25mm autocannon moments later. The BMPs continued advancing, firing into the treeline while Alicia lead the infantry and the rest of Squad 7 across toward the checkpoint.

She saw the flashes of gunfire on the other side, pausing to peer through her binoculars and watch Brad, Ray, Largo, Rosie and the others engage in a firefight with a platoon of enemy infantry moving through the treeline toward them. She called out, "CATHERINE!" and watched as the Edinburgh-born sniper with black hair turned to face her. She chopped a hand toward the treeline and the girl nodded, lifting her M14 with a scope and firing.

Brad shifted aim, hefting his M203 and firing the 40mm HEDP directly into the trees. A flash, a thump and shrapnel followed. Two men were eviscerated and a third lost his leg, but still could fire his gun. He aimed and shot the man in the head, while Marina continued assisting their allies, sniping enemy gunners trying to man gatling/MG turrets.

Bullets still raked the allied line from both sides, though Marina soon took care of the sniper. The armored vehicles grinded down the road and toward the checkpoint, infantry advancing in columns and firing beside them, 7,62, 5,56 and 5,45 meeting 8mm rounds from the Imperial Military's rifles. A Russian Paratrooper took a round to the armored vest, falling backward, then took a bullet clean between the eyes.

His buddies pulled his corpse to cover, only for an American Army rifleman to be turned to swiss cheese by a pair of machine guns repositioned in the treeline. The 30mm autocannons of the BMPs replied, ripping apart the men and the guns in a bloody show of violence. Alicia grabbed the man's corpse and moved it to cover, then breathed a heavy, shaky sigh and grabbed his ammo.

She then straightened up and fired into the treeline, crying out to their Lancers-turned-MG Gunners, "WE GOT IMPS IN THE TREELINE!" and watching as they shifted their M60s to open up. The column continued advancing, Edelweiss gently scraping by the side of the lake and firing its own machine gun, hearing rounds scrape against the armor and even hearing the impact of a Lance shot at the front of the tank.

He asked, "You okay, Isara?!"

"Yeah!" She replied, driving as gently as she could behind the allied IFV, "The Bradley's taking most of the fire!" only to yelp as another Lance shot, this one from the trees, struck the Edelweiss's top and skimmed it, landing in the water. She spoke, "Of course, I'd like not to take any shots at all, but…" she stopped herself and continued driving.

Alicia and Juno Coren, another scout, pushed forward into the fenced-in encampment, both of them gunning down a pair of men and even taking shots in their armor vests, but surviving. A pair of US Army soldiers moved up to support them, followed by members of Squad 7. One of the Shock Troopers, who had a grenade launcher mounted on her rifle, fired it into the Imperial-occupied concrete guardhouse. The following explosion destroyed whatever was left of the windows, killing the men inside.

The grenadier then dumped the spent shell, slammed in a fresh one and followed up with rifle fire. She then took a shot in the throat from a sniper trying to get to cover, but was still alive. Alicia gasped, running over to the black-haired girl and calling out, "MEDIC!" as she dragged her behind cover, letting Bradley and the tank advance.

She put a hand over the wound and saw it wasn't that bad, then said, "It's alright, you're gonna make it. You hear me, Jane?" only to get a quick nod from the girl, who grit her teeth, a little blood seeping through courtesy of the wound. The two heard one of the medic triplets of the squad rush in. She took a knee beside Jane and nodded to Alicia.

The girl nodded back as she and Juno kept up the push, leading the squad forward just as Susie also joined.

On the other side of the pond, Ray fired from behind the cover of a berm at the Imp platoon, stating, "This is fucking nuts! I miss my Humvee already!" before ducking and barking, "RELOADING!" as he dropped a spent mag and slammed home a fresh one, thumbing the bolt release and continuing to fire, gazing through peep-hole sights at the enemy.

Brad replied, "You're not the only one! Potter, Trombley, target right!" as he domed an enemy Sergeant.

"Shifting!" The two replied, laying down hell from two different caliber machine guns while Rosie herself reloaded her rifle and nursed a shrapnel cut on her thigh with some disinfectant. Largo said, "I agree with Ray! This is batshit insane! How many troops did these Imp bastards shift here!?" as he swept the trees, hitting several rounds into the trees and forcing the enemies behind them to hide.

"It's a supply base!" Rosie answered, standing up and opening fire with her rifle. She ducked as a round zipped by her ear and watched Marina immediately return fire, re-chambering the bolt like a pro. She then took cover and started loading in fresh 7,62 by 51mm rounds into her rifle, to which Rosie said, "Covering ya, Marina!"

"Homer, I need more," The girl stated, with the young man firing his rifle and yelping as several shots scraped by his feet as he ran. He knelt beside her and handed her another bandolier of rounds. She nodded in thanks, slammed the bolt home and shouldered the rifle, slowing her breath and sniping another officer.

Brad swore as he ducked, a round scraping the top sandbag on the wall he used as a shield. He dropped his own spent magazine and put in a fresh one, stating, "We can't stay here! Trombley, shift left and help Ray! Potter, covering fire! Landzaat, Stark, on me! Homer, keep Potter and Wulfstan fed!" then he pat Marina on the shoulder and told her, "You keep taking the heads of those MG Gunners!"

The girl nodded without even taking her eyes off the scope. She snapped off a shot clean through the vision slit in the mounted MG's shield, then quickly rechambered and fired at the next man. She swept her gaze right, watching the shadows in the trees beside the Convoy move as 30mm cannons tore through their cover. They were trying to put up another AT Cannon.

She sniped one man, watching the silhouette drop as the other was stained by blood and brain matter. She chambered another round and, when her heart beat, she sniped his head clean off, too. She slid the bolt back and forth, then repositioned, turning to watch Sergeant Colbert and Corporal Person lead the assault forward.

A grenade was launched, order was barked and 5,56 began to fly against Imperial 9mm and 8mm rounds. A pair of Shock Troopers attempting to flank were gunned down by Trombley. Two shooters fired at and even hit Corporal Stark, causing her to fall to one knee, but still waste them both with two bursts.

Homer went over to help her, activating a Ragnaid canister and healing the woman while Karl fired his rifle at the enemy. Brad and Ray both threw fragmentation grenades over the cover next, charging the moment the two explosive thumps were heard with Rosie, Karl, Largo and Homer not far behind. She stood up, moving to join them…

Only to pause as her ears picked up a different grind of tracks…

She turned about, aimed her rifle at the treeline beside the advancing convoy, watching the BMPs keep up their slaughter, only to see a green thirty-mil tracer flash by the frame of a massive fighting vehicle. She gasped, lifted her Radio and barked, "Convoy, convoy, be advised:Enemy armor to your immediate Three O'Clock!"

Just as she finished her sentence, the vehicle stopped, turned its massive turret toward the allied Bradley… Then fired… Leaves flew off the trees, the shockwave rippling through the forest and causing even some Imperial soldiers in the area to go deaf. A massive high-explosive Anti-Tank shell lanced out of the maw of the tan's gun…

The flash was blinding, sound deafening even from this far away. The IFV rocked left, causing Alicia to nearly trip into the pond. One Russian soldier did fall in. The Bradley itself? It was damaged, de-tracked, but functional. Even if the crew inside heard heavy, heavy ringing in their ears. Marina scoffed, aimed at the tank and loaded a tracer round. She fired.

The round struck the front of the tank, but gave just enough of a hint for the disoriented crews to return fire. 30mm rounds, the Edelweiss's 88mm and even the Bradley's 25mm opened fire on it. It began to roll back as the allied formations advanced past the Bradley, some even pulling out AT weapons.

Inside the Bradley CFV 'Grey Lady', the commander, even as his ears rang, barked, "HIT THAT FUCKER WITH A TOW!" toward the Gunner. The young man, though a bit shaken by the blast, complied, keeping the trigger squeezed on the Bradley's 25mm cannon as he unfolded the twin TOW-2 launcher on the left side.

He aimed, settling the crosshairs of the missile on the burning-white silhouette of the enemy battle tank as it retreated with a dozen men around it. The Radio crackled to life as the commander watched infantry stream past them toward the base. He also saw trucks moving away from the place, too, meaning the enemy had grabbed some of the supplies.

The TOW-2 was an old missile. It was dangerous, though. Guided-by-Wire, SACLOS, High-Explosive Anti-Tank, she lanced out of the right tube, its motors engaging, winglets expanding as the spool of wire allowing it to track began to unwind. The enemy tank, probably seeing the fast missile coming toward it, powered its Ragnite-based engine at maximum…

The gunner had to jink the missile left, disorientation and the speed at which the enemy tank managed to reverse(very unlike standard Iraqi tanks) caused the missile to strike a tree, detonating, shattering it and sending the jet of molten metal flying all-over the place. The gunner swore, barking, "MISSED! REACQUIRING!"

"Negative, negative!" The commander replied, "Airpower will take care of the fucker…" as, overhead, the muffled roar of rotorblades filled the air. Two Apache gunships and two Crocodiles, the famed Mi-24s of the Russian military, moved in with Black Hawks and the likes not far behind them… They'd won the day, luckily.

Chapter Text

Kloden had been cleared relatively quickly, what with US Airpower providing a pivotal and necessary means to destroy the enemy’s supply bases in the AO. With that in mind, Squad 7 and First Recce were now back home, watching the Fort grow in size, still. The Airfield from which the strike fighters were being launched was being expanded, with the addition of Radars and an actual ATC Tower.

Sat on the front of their Humvee after having scrubbed out all the dirt from the previous mission, Ray was watching Black Hawks and Venoms landing and taking off to deploy troops into battle. Some were evacuating the wounded, bringing them over to the Fort and letting them be carted off by the medical staff at the nearby hospital.

The sun of an early summer beat down on the camp, causing the concrete and even the steel of the Humvee’s body to basically reach a boiling point, which forced the young American joker off. He sighed, picked up his M4, which was also burning hot, causing him to slightly burn his fingers and let out an annoyed ‘Ouch’ before he slung it over his shoulder and looked around at the goings-on of the base.

While Rolling Stones was writing away on his next book, presumably telling the start of the tale of this weird-ass nightmare, Brad was listening to radio calls about the battles going on at the Front Line. Apache Gunships and Cobras were laying down the hate on some sort of enemy tank force, with the Russians themselves not far behind. The Chinese and other smaller members of this little coalition were maintaining OPs on or near the front, so that Paladins and other towed and tracked artillery pieces could pound the Imps.

Trombley was sitting on the ground, cleaning his SAW as he spoke, “Sixta’s on a rampage again,” with disinterest, eyes locked on the spring of his MG as he wiped it clean of gunk. Ray snorted at that and shook his head, trying to think of a time when Sixta wasn’t on everybody’s ass. Though, this time, the good old Major Asshole seemed to be targeting a specific group of people:The Gallians.

He saw Largo was now at his mercy and said, “Keep an eye on the ride, fellas,” as he walked parallel to where Sixta was roasting Largo, but just close enough to intercept it and hear it. The radio on the Humvee was still playing music, too. It was technically a CD Player placed on top of the com system itself. Some old rock tune all of them were fairly familiar with.

Brad watched Ray walk away, then looked over to the right, watching Isara sitting alone, cleaning stuff up nearby the Edelweiss’s hangar. He hummed and noticed several other Darcsen folk around her, male and female alike, getting side-eyes from the locals. He scoffed and said, “Garza, Trombley, keep the truck safe.”

As he opened the door, Garza poked his head down and asked, “Where ya going?”

“To read,” The Sergeant replied, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Noting the confusion in Wright, Garza and Trombley’s looks, with even the machine gunner looking up at him from cleaning his gun, Brad opened his arms and shrugged, “I’m gonna find out just what the hell this whole Darcsen mess is…”

“Ah, that stuff,” Trombley spoke. He turned back to his gear and said, “Keep us updated, Sarge,” as he scrubbed down the tray where the bullets would be placed, removing some carbon fouling with a special brush. Brad snorted and nodded, then walked off toward the main building of the Allied military fort. Some more NATO troops were also slated to arrive pretty soon. 

“You look like you’re thinking about joining him, Stones,” Joked Garza as he lubed up the Mark-19, racking it a few times to make sure the gun cycled smoothly. He looked at the Reporter and knelt, before saying, “Figured it might be good for your book to get some context about the folks here, right? Go on.”

“I’ll probably ask him the name of the stuff he read later,” Wright replied, scratching the back of his neck, “I’m still trying to figure out how I’m gonna slot all of this stuff in. Seriously, if it didn’t instantly become public news, nobody would believe even a letter of what I’m writing here. My editor barely believes I got stuck with an actual combat unit.”

Garza snorted at that, then descended into the hull of the vehicle, looking at the man as he told him, “Everybody expects war to be like in the movies. All shooting, all the time. Action, badassery, getting shot. There’s never any actually good depiction of the shitty reality of war:Waiting,” then he shrugged, “If you’re actually gonna write a second book while they’re approving the first one, you’re the first non-com Civvie man to actually see how bland it is.”

“I don’t know,” Trombley spoke as he approached the truck with a reassembled MG, “Was pretty action packed here, too.”

“We’re fighting an army that’s equipped worse than even the Ruskies at the start of World War 2, man,” Garza quipped, taking his helmet off and then his glasses. He removed a napkin of some kind out of his pocket and started wiping them as he continued, “Not even Saddam’s boys were armed this badly. Hell, if you saw a T55 you actually got scared.”

The Gunner nodded, stating, “Meanwhile, these guys got tanks from back when vehicle designers were crazy about having several guns strapped to one vehicle and the only sensible vic in this place is Squad 7’s supertank,” as he leaned against the truck, then immediately detached himself from it as he felt the burning steel. He scoffed, “We should really roll this thing inside one of the hangars. It’s gonna melt.”

“Wait ‘till Ray gets here and we’ll move it then. You know how he is about people touching his and Brad’s ‘baby’,” Garza offered as he climbed out of the vehicle, too, then watched Sixta still ripping into Largo. A few Gallian Militia folk laughing in the background. The ever-awkward Homer, the more peppy and friendly (presumably Irish) Sniper, Catherine and the weird Shocktrooper, Jane.

Ray, meanwhile, approached somewhere close-by, walking up to a Chinese soldier and showing him to stay calm as he listened to Sixta ripping into Largo. The Major, with all his pomp and weird-ass accent, spoke, “... An’ I’ll be damned ta the ninth circle of hell if I let one o’ this unit’s supposed Battle Buddies slip the Groomin’ Standard! I Don’t even let Godfather’s own Marines loose in that regard! PO-LEECE THAT DEAD BADGER ON YOUR FACE! And you! Redhead!” he then pointed aggressively at a surprised Rosie, “CUT THEM STUPID BUNS OFF! YOU’RE A SOLDIER, NOT A BIMBO!” 

The man then stormed away, all angry and red-faced, while Largo stared at him like he’d just grown a second head. Ray laughed as he approached, before stating, “I see you met Major ‘Stick Up Ass’ Sixta. He’s like that with everyone from Battalion down to our level,” as he approached, watching the man march with a purpose toward the command building.

“What an asshole,” Rosie murmured.

“That’s Sixta for ya,” Ray nodded as he walked over to them, “Trust me, he gets a lot worse on us and our NCOs. Least Brad doesn’t grow enough of a beard to get that guy’s ire,” before he laughed and sat down as he saw them wrinkle their noses slightly at the mention of Brad. He joked, “Model Marine, that guy. Even joined because of the whole knight v dragon commercial.”

Largo blinked and asked, “You guys have recruiting commercials?”

“Duh? We’re a volunteer-only military. Only the badasses sign up,” The RTO of the Humvee quipped as he leaned forward, watching a dismounted unit of PLA fall in with their Lieutenant before marching out toward the PLA’s barracks. He whispered to himself, “Man, what a fucking timeline. PLA, Ruskies and us Americans working together.”

Largo scratched his chin, then asked, “Guessing there isn’t a lot of warm, friendly feelings between you all?” while trying to process the fact that a bunch of foreign militaries, well, foreign as they got with not being from their planet, were currently assisting them in fighting the Imperials, who were at a clear military disadvantage now.

“Roll back a second, you guys volunteer to fight?” Rosie asked as she stood up.

The American nodded, stating, “Yes. Damn, girl, it’s like I didn’t just explain that,” before he pulled out his canteen and took a sip. He continued, “See, the point is the Military figured out that, during peace time, having a small, professional military to keep that peace was a good idea, so they took out the whole conscription and draft business and left it for if we ever need it during any big wars we fight.”

“Aren’t you worried that’s gonna come back in full swing now that you’re fighting the Imps here?” Largo asked, leaning forward. Ray snorted, to which the Gallian Militia Sergeant continued, irritated, “Kid, they’re an Empire spanning two freakin’ continents. They’re nothing to laugh at with all the manpower they have.”

“Sarge, all due respect to ya,” Ray turned to face him, then he pointed toward the Airfield, “Once the Airmen over there start orienting themselves properly, either via GPS or learning the landmarks, they’re gonna drop something so hot on the Imp capital, the bastards are gonna be prayin’ for winter up North. Of course, the Air Force is basically a shitload of Lieutenants. No LANDNAV without the GPS.”

Rosie blinked, then asked, “What’s a GPS?”

He looked at them like they’d grown a second head each, then mumbled, “Christ, man, I keep forgetting we’re basically back in the stone age,” while a few Army members rolled past in a Humvee. Seriously, the place was overtly active again, a lot of people on the move for what must’ve been the oncoming operation. He told them, “GPS, or Global Positioning System. Basically a self-updating map pointing you the way you gotta go.”

The anti-tank man of the trio spoke, “Sounds mighty useful,” as he looked over to the Airfield, watching a pair of American F-15s lift off and power through, taking a turn to the East. A nearby radio from a vehicle crackled to life and the Air Fore pilots reported an AWACS was gonna be taking off with them to provide guidance.

Ray nodded at that and at Largo, then sighed and asked, “Hey. Gotta ask, what’s your deal with Isara?” before pointing toward the girl as an Army Apache pilot, a woman, was showing her around the Army’s premier attack helo. Rosie’s gaze darkened a little and she avoided meeting Ray’s, while Largo sighed. The American spoke, “Okay, yeah, I get it… Your beef was just with your El-Tee, Sarge. Yours, Red?”

“... None of your business,” The redhead replied with half a mouth, lifting up her rifle and walking away. Her buddy sighed deeply at that, then looked at the American with some sense of wanting to apologize for her. Ray wasn’t stupid enough not to guess her hatred was somehow more personal than just whatever shit was spewed about Darcsen on live radio or by the public criers here.

Still, it must’ve sucked, having to work with so many of’em if you hated them. Ray had no real problem because he didn’t have the context these people had. Largo, however, by the look in his eyes, decided to give him the explanation of, “... Normally I’d say it’s the Darcsen Calamity that causes this kind of hate, but… Rosie’s is really personal. I think.”

“Darcsen Calamity?” Ray blinked, “The fuck kinda Apocalypse is that?” all while he sat himself down on a box in front of the Old Man before him. It was usually the interpreters’ and officers’ job to learn about the clusterfuck of a location they were working in, not the random Marine’s. Not enough of’em had the IQ to process this stuff, Ray thought.

Largo hummed, then said, “You guys should at least bother to learn the places you’re working in if for nothing else than to get the locals,” as he leaned his M60 on his shoulder and continued, “The Darcsen Calamity’s one of the big ‘draws’ of the local religion, Yggdism. Basically the belief that a bunch of godly women known as the Valkyria saved us from the Oppression of the Darcsen.”

“Huh,” The Marine, slightly confused, could only blink again, “Okay…?”

“Valkyria are, or were, basically walking Goddesses,” The Sergeant quipped, gently pulling at one of his beard hairs to straighten it. He continued, “Clad in a blue flame and wielding lances and shields… Kind of the reason our AT weapons look like old knight lances from back in the day. Homage to the Goddesses.”

The Marine started, “That’s the stupidest fucking reason to shape your weapons as-” before pausing as he remembered the amount of swords in Europe with cross-shaped guards. And that meant actual CROSSES, not just the standard sword with a handguard long enough to protect the user’s fingers from slipping. He sighed and said, “Okay, so maybe it ain’t so stupid, but they’re still spring-launched, minimally-assisted HEAT warheads per the Nerds who started examining them.”

“Yeah, well…” Largo shrugged, “Worked for us in EW1.”

“Okay. Darcsen Calamity?” Ray asked as if trying to avoid going into detail about their World War 1. The man nodded, then took a moment to consider how to best put it. Ancient lore and history pertaining to the local religious symbolism meant there was a need for tact, even if Largo wasn’t particularly a devout Yggdist.

… Meanwhile, Brad had found the Holy Book itself. And reading through it, he wasn’t particularly impressed. Within the library of base, the Sergeant was sat at a table, peering through all the legend and bogus data that the usual human belief system was born out of. Though his own Talmudic beliefs and him being raised in a Jewish household meant he had a certain view of God, he wasn’t particularly sure of what to make about this kind of paganistic bullshit. 

Magical lances? Blue flames? And the blame was put on the Darcsen for a Calamity that presumably ‘happened’ here in Gallia, where the home of the Valkyria was. Seriously, this read like bad fan-written fiction for old shows and modern video games, but replace the show or game fandom with the beliefs of the Nordic peoples in terms of Valhalla, Gods and magical ladies on horseback taking them to the great halls of Thor to fight and drink and party eternally.

Marines made jokes about going to that place. Valhalla. Was it this? He sighed and closed the book, rubbing his eyes and mumbling, “I swear, if Rosie’s hatred for the Darcsen is based on this asinine religion, I’m gonna kill someone…” only to pause as he heard footsteps. Opening his eyes, he looked to the right and saw Welkin picking out books, then called out, “El-Tee.”

Welkin turned his head, then smiled and nodded. He walked over with his three retrieved books, then sat down in front of Brad, saying, “I’m surprised to see you browsing our Library, Sarge. Did something hap-” only to pause as he saw the book he had been reading until just recently. The young Lieutenant let out an “Oh…” of concern, then looked at the Sergeant, “I see you found the most prominent religious text in the world…”

“I’m gonna call bullshit on it,” Brad replied with a sigh, pushing the book aside, “Seriously, if the flimsy writings of some weird supposed living ‘Goddesses’ are all that people need to hate the Darcsen, I’ve got some real news for them:It’s impossible for creatures like that to exist. And Isara and her peers are getting all the hate for something that didn’t even happen.”

“The Calamity?” Welkin sighed deeply, then leaned his head on his hand, “I’m afraid there’s actually some proof of that here in Gallia. You know deserts are nominally closer to the equator of a planet, specifically due to the Sun’s heat and a lot of other geological factors, right?”

“Yeah, we have plenty of Desert where we came from, too,” Brad replied, then explained to a surprised Welkin, “They sent us to invade one when we discovered the Babylonian Stargate that led us to this batshit insane place. Hell, there’s a desert back home, very close to where I was born and raised. Arizona… Anyways.”

The Gallian sighed and straightened up in his chair, stating, “Well, you’ll be rather unhappy to hear that there’s a Desert in Gallia, near the North-Eastern Border. One that was presumably caused by the Darcsen Calamity. We call it the Barious Desert,” to which Brad blanked, staring at him as if he grew a second head. Welkin nodded, “I know. It’s strange, but there is evidence.”

“That’s…” Brad sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I hope we never have to go there.”

The sudden dip in Welkin’s usual expression of calm told Brad that they might. When he was about to ask what that meant, the Gallian Lieutenant told him, “... Captain Varrot called in a meeting at 13:00 hours with the platoon leads. Advance scouts belonging to the Gallian Army spotted some activity in Barious that’s related to the Imperials. A dig site of some kind.”

“Are they trying to unearth relics from the Calamity to prove it or something?” The Yank asked as he leaned forward. Welkin shrugged, unsure. Obviously, NATO and the UN would probably send their own drones and scouts over, considering command was continuously rotating air assets for deployment to contested areas.

Welkin told him, “I think the Captain’s in a meeting with your units’ officers right now to discuss how we’re gonna deploy and verify the AO.”

“Godfather must be having the time of his life,” Brad remarked sarcastically. His Gallian pal smiled a little awkwardly, then sighed and remembered what they were originally talking about. The American did, too, then said, “Sorry… I figured I’d look into what the hell everyone has against people with literally just dark-blue hair and eyes. It’s weird to think how similar our worlds are…”

“People judge each-other there like this, too?” Welkin raised a brow.

Brad nodded, “Skin color, hair, religious beliefs. You name it, we probably shot each-other for it,” and he shrugged. The Gallian let out a slightly sad sigh at that, to which his American buddy told him, “We’re all humans on both worlds which…” he paused, blinked as he realized that, then mumbled, “... The Scientific community must be in a frenzy back home.”

Lieutenant Gunther was about to crack a joke, but he paused as the click of a camera shutter and a flash surprised him. Both men turned their heads to where the flash had come from, only to see the blonde-haired reporter, Ellet, smiling. She said, “Apologies for the surprise, boys, but I figured I’d catch this little talk on the go. It’s gonna make for a great photo for the current edition of the Wall.”

Brad’s shoulders sagged as he sighed, then said, “Right. We’ve been warned you keep asking Coalition forces for interviews, miss Ellet,” to which the woman smirked. He sighed and said, “And I’m pretty sure we told you why we can’t all just answer that many questions. You’re the second reporter my team has to deal with.”

“Oh, I know,” Ellet chuckled, “I met mister Wright. Nice fellow. If his book becomes available here after the war, I might buy it so I know what he went through with you. He said he’s thinking of doing the same for my paper, but I told him he can buy a radio and tune in to the GBS if he wants to hear me report.”

“You’re probably going to experience something similar to him,” Welkin stated, then looked at Brad and said, “Considering War isn’t always just an exchange of bullets, but the waiting times for the fights and all…” and the two paused as a pair of Jets roared overhead. Looking out of the window, they saw a Su-25 pair heading out.

“That reminds me I should try interviewing the Air Force pilots!” Ellet perked up. The two officers, American and Gallian, exchanged one look that simply said ‘she’s not listening’, before they turned back to their chats about Valkyria, Goddesses, falsely blaming an entire race for a Calamity that wasn’t their fault and the whole desert debacle.

Ghirlandaio Fortress

Imperial-Occupied Gallia

… Although the situation had somewhat deteriorated with the arrival of this strange, new and hostile Coalition of highly-advanced enemies, the Invasion of Gallia continued almost on-schedule. Within the main meeting room of the former Gallian border fortress, the gathered officer cadre of the Empire’s Gallian Invasion Force stood around a table displaying a large map of the horse head-shaped country they were invading.

Amongst the crowd, four figures stood out, looking over the ever-updating battlescape of the Gallian Front. One man, clad in white armor with gold details and a lot more flair and flourishing trimmings and patterns sat above all others on a throne, raised on a platform. He stared, bored, at the squabbling and discussions of the Invasion.

His Three Generals, the Triumvirate or, in a long-forgotten local dialect, The Drei Stern, were the only ones retaining some degree of professionalism, despite the brown-haired, tan-skinned and rowdy Fhiraldian General Radi Jaeger’s concerns being voiced rather loudly, with him wiping the stag skull on his left shoulder and stating bluntly, “... One of their infantry transports nearly had us dead to rights with a guided weapon. Their lead unit survived the IED we placed and the Ambush.”

“They must have gotten lucky,” The pale, glasses-wearing and black-clad officer Bertholdt Gregor, a high-ranking, high-born General of the Imperial Army, stated rather simply, hands behind his back, “What I am more concerned about is the presence of actual airpower among their ranks. From hovering attack craft to fast-moving strikers… Therein lay the tactical advantage our friends from the other side mentioned.”

“They are relegated to the rear line for that specific reason,” The female, silver-haired and red-eyed General Selvaria Bles stated, leaning onto the table. She continued, “Their troops and equipment are invaluable in ensuring that we secure a hold on what we have so far. Their training will be required, too…”

“I’m telling you, people,” Jaeger spoke, “This new force isn’t some backwater country you can just take over by force. Even with our new buddies, I don’t think we’ll be able to beat them that easily,” and he seemed steady on his heels, though he had been visibly shaken by fighting in Kloden. One of their transports had taken a 122mm AP-HE round to the side and still fired back.

“We shall deal with it,” A very cocksure voice replied. The young man on the throne, sixth in line as heir to the Empire’s holdings and son of the Emperor and Reginave family, Prince Maximilian Gaius von Reginave, offered calmly as he stood to his feet. “Our victory will come once we find what we seek and not even this new Coalition, whomsoever they may be, will halt our ascension. Your pointless bickering aside, we seek to know updates.”

The three Generals exchanged looks, with Selvaria being the first to bow her head, stating, “Your Grace. The first few reports in regards to the Barious desert seem promising. Our archaeological corps has discovered the ruins of an ancient city mentioned in the Scriptures as the epicenter of the Calamity, meaning we aren’t far from the Temple.”

The Prince nodded his head in approval, then said, “Then it is best if we prepare. Have the Batomys loaded and prepared for transport to the Desert. We desire to be there when the Valkyria’s secrets are unearthed,” his voice calm and level. “We move with the Honor Guard to the Barious Desert… And meet our foes there.”

Chapter Text

The Humvee formation of HITMAN rolled ever-forward. FORCE RECON had been requested to deal with enemy outposts in preparation for the Gallian Army, Militia and the rest of their allied forces to advance down the dirt highways and to the Desert. Ray himself sighed deeply, turning the wheel slowly as they followed the path assigned to them. They’d also left the Third Regiment behind for now, to rest.

It was dark out, meaning they were wearing monocular and binocular NVGs. Ray himself said, “You took my goddamn Ripped Fuel, Ray. How the fuck am I suppos’ta be awake to drive?” to which Brad sighed, rolling his eyes. He wanted to tell Ray to be quiet in the standard Marine way, but found zero strength to do so at the moment, his mind still stuck on the bullshit with the Darcsen Calamity.

He’d switched out his ACOG for the old Night Sight he’d had on his trusty rifle since the start of the war. Checking his ammo count, he nodded approvingly, then lifted the monocular and asked, “You heard about the whole Calamity BS, too?” as he realized his buddy had gone uncharacteristically quiet. Ray nodded, then sighed and lifted his goggles off his eyes, blinking repeatedly and wiping the corners.

The young NASCAR boy then replied, “Yeah… FUBAR if you ask me,” in a murmur. 

“I spread the ‘Good book’ among the guys,” Brad commented, then looked back at Trombley, who was shouldering his SAW. He’d recently received an ELCAN SPECTRE sight for it as a testbed, like most Marines. Recon got the new toys the Marines received first specifically because of the Current Clusterfuck. 

Garza poked his head down into the compartment and said to Brad, “Nobody in the regiment likes it, man… Too little in there that isn’t a vague ‘yeah, they did it and we beat them, now worship us’ kind of BS,” and he sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. He yawned and stood back up, manning the turret and checking over the Mark-19.

“Good to know everyone agrees,” Poke said from behind Brad, “Ain’t right, man. Skin and religion’s bad enough already, but just the damn hair color? What’re we dealin’ with, some ginger motherfuckers with no souls?”

“That’s stereotyping, Poke. Is it only okay when it’s about the white man?” Brad replied, partially glad, partially annoyed they had to leave Rolling Stones behind to sleep. He and Ellet had gotten into some sort of ‘engaging’ (according to them, at least) discussion about the ethics of posting photos of the dead. Morbid discussion, Brad thought as Poke laughed behind him.

Sergeant Espera then happily continued, “I’m just sayin’. Same thing, right?”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Brad mumbled. Poke never really made normal points, much less good ones, but at least this time it made some degree of sense to be as racist as he was. He loaded a fresh grenade into his M203, then slid and locked the tube and barrel neatly into place, before pausing.

The radio crackled to life and the lead vehicle’s RTO spoke in a whisper, “ All HITMAN victors, we’re approaching enemy OP. Prepare to dismount in five hundred meters. Captain’s orders , Actual out ,” before the team sighed collectively. A little shuffling had been done and Captain MacGraw, less fondly referred to as ‘Captain America’ by many of the men under his unfortunate command, had been given command of the Platoons for this operation. Schwetje had been left at base after sustaining an injury pertaining to a bullet during another morning scouting operation.

“Ho boy,” Ray whispered, “Wonder what good ol’ Captain America’s gonna have us do,” a bit sarcastically. The vehicles soon veered right and left off the road behind a small berm that provided them defilade cover. The outpost they were supposed to be taking out was still a few hundred meters forward in an abandoned village.

As the vehicle crews dismounted with their gear, they met behind the command victor where MacGraw was waiting for Team leaders. He pulled out a map of the local area and pointed out the berm and everything else to himself, mumbling quietly as Fick and company gathered, with Brad not far behind them. The team examined the map, too, noticing the town was relatively small, maybe a few hundred inhabitants when there wasn’t a war on. It was a T-shaped crossroad, one road splitting to the east while the highway they were on led further North.

Noticing the Lieutenants and Sergeants had formed up, he spoke with only a slight shake in his voice, but tried to play it off, “Just in time…” before pointing at the map, “The enemy OP is past this berm, in that village. Objective GHOST. We’re gonna move in on foot with the Platoons. Leave a few men to guard the vehicles. I want the Mark 19s manned, too…”

Fick asked, “We’re going platoon level, sir? Was that the plan?”

“I discussed it with Godfather and Captain Schwetje. They approved it,” The man replied and continued, “We stop the vehicles behind this berm so the enemy doesn’t hear us, then push through on foot, take them out when we reach the village. After the first shot goes off, confusion should help us smoke most of’em without any casualties… Keep light and noise discipline and engage only when we open fire,” before looking back at his stunned officers and asking, “Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, to which Dave MacGraw nodded and said, “Alright, get into position. Nate, you and your squad strike first, fast and hard,” to which Fick nodded. He and Brad exchanged one glance as they walked back over to where their Platoon had parked, looking out toward the village. Craters made the area look almost like the lunar surface, while the houses in the background looked worse for wear.

Brad mumbled, “A mission where the good Captain doesn’t throw us under the bus for a medal,” before pausing and looking at Fick. The Lieutenant nodded, amused, but approving of the message. If there was something MacGraw was known for, it was show-offishness and some relatively decently-annoying failures of command.

“Awe inspiring change,” Fick stated as he cast a glance back, then added, “He must’ve really been spooked by that IED near Ramadi…” as they walked. Reaching their unit, Fick raised his hand and rallied everyone up, stating, “Garza, you, Doc, Halsey and Stafford are staying behind with the victors. Everyone else, prep. We’re going in.”

“What’s the plan of action, sir?” Garza inquired, holding his own M4 close.

Brad requested with a raise of the hand to say it and Fick gave the go-ahead. Brad then turned to the group and said, “In a fun twist of fate, we’re going on foot not to wake the whole damn garrison up. Victors stay at the rear, guarded and with Garza on the launcher to provide us cover if we need it. Rest of the platoon advances to the edge of town in silence… We take the bastards out the moment we’re in close.”

“And I gotta, what, lob forties like mortar rounds if you guys ask for it?” Garza asked, only to sigh in exasperation as he got a nod from Fick. The man said, “All due respect, sir, that thing’s got one hell of a dispersal. I’d be better off as a rifle on foot with you all, otherwise I risk getting my ass pinned to a wall thanks to a Blue on Blue.”

“You won’t be firing that Forty,” Fick spoke calmly, “If everything goes well, we’ll be done in five minutes. The town’s small.”

Garza sighed deeply, “Alright, sir. You’re the boss,” before turning to the vehicle with the guys and mumbling, “Semper Gumby,” only for the other guys to quietly chorus, ‘Always flexible’ beside him, garnering a quiet laugh out of the man. Fick and Brad rallied the others, Ray and Trombley included, before the teams moved up to their respective positions, as elected by the captain.

Fick’s Platoon was sat right beside the edge of the berm and by the side of the road. From this distance, the sprint looked dangerous. All it’d have taken was one Imperial flashing a light at them as they booked it across that crater-filled field to give them away and get them all laid-out and spread out across the field.

There were, however, no watch-towers. The OP was too new for those, even if the troops could see the construction material. Fick and Brad peered through their respective sight apparatuses at the enemy’s positions, with Brad saying, “I’m seeing some light in the town… Shadows and silhouettes. Looks like guards…”

“As expected,” Fick noted, “Your 203 loaded?”

“Yeah,” Brad replied. Fick was about to ask for something, but the young Sergeant pulled out one of his own HEDP Grenades and handed it to his Lieutenant, who nodded in thanks, opened his own tube and slid it in, before pulling it back to lock it. Brad asked, “Remind me why we ain’t taking the town at day with arty and helicopters, though?”

“Command wants to minimize damage to an already war-torn country. That and there’s possible civilians inside. Flattening the town with Paladins and Abrams tanks isn’t on the docket anymore when we know Civvies are around,” Fick quipped, taking a knee though he fidgeted with his NVGs, which seemed to be having slight issues.

Trombley whispered, “Hearts and minds, boss. Usual BS,” as his belts clinked together in the box of his MG. He was grinning, visibly ready to go to town on the bastards. He added, “Don’t worry… I’ve got a clean sight picture on who’s a civvie and who isn’t, unlike the poor bastards in Fallujah…” before he knelt down and seemed to try and calm himself.

“Rudy,” Fick called out, ignoring Trombley as he looked over at their Sniper. He crawled up the berm and set up his rifle with his spotter, which had pretty much been what Fick had wanted to ask him to do. Reyes looked at him and Fick gave a thumbs up. The Sniper smiled and turned his eyes back down the scope. Nate then turned his head toward the Captain, noting that he was carrying his standard issue rifle.

Ray asked, “Hey, El-Tee? The hell happened in Ramadi?”

“IED ambush… Captain lost a pair of Marines right in front of him,” Poke replied, “Got shaken up by that shitshow into a no-nonsense guy since, or so the rumor goes,” and he watched Nate cast a glance back at him that pretty much said ‘don’t spread that rumor’, while the other Marines in the platoon shifted uneasily. He shrugged, “Relax, dawg. If it’s true, this might mean we ain’t gettin’ shot at.”

“We wouldn’t be anyway,” Brad replied, “We have NVGs. They don’t,” and he tensed as he saw MacGraw lift his hand. The team listened in on the radios, hearing whispers from the rest of the Recce and assault units, which included Russian and Romanian infantrymen. Preparations for the assault were almost done.

The entire force fell quiet, dozens of Marines preparing to assault a position filled with hostile elements and holding possible civvies inside. A couple of the Marines had anti-tank launchers at the ready, just in case the enemy had any sort of armor positioned within the town, while the rest simply prepared for door-kicking duty.

When MacGraw stood up, he chopped an open palm forward and the entire Marine force sprung into action, sprinting across the field between the berm and the hamlet, jumping over craters and moving past overturned vehicles of both sides’ make, their boots thumping against hardened dirt mixing with the chirping of crickets in the night.

As the teams approached the edge of the hamlet, they began seeing more clear silhouettes and shadows. The patrolling elements, armed with rifles and SMGs, did not catch sight of the troops pushing toward them in the middle of the night due to the lack of night-fighting equipment. In the distance, the first crack of gunfire echoed as another Outpost was sieged by their allies, the radios singing with staticky activity.

The Marines made it to the edge of the town, taking cover behind damaged houses with caved-in roofs or jumping into the irrigation ditches and shell holes left by earlier bombardments as they sighted in the enemy forces. There were a few small campfires burning around the town and some of the houses had lights on inside, visible through the windows.

The Marines were still hidden in the darkness, picking their targets as the patrols converged in the center and continued about their routes. As they sat in their respective cover positions, with their Sergeants in a shell hole, Brad’s radio crackled to life and Captain MacGraw spoke, “ Hitman 2, prep GLs. You’re doing the wake-up call for the entire hamlet, ” to which the Sergeant suppressed a grin.

Beside him, Fick checked to make sure his launcher was properly seated and loaded, then shouldered it and clicked his radio on, “Copy all, Actual… On your go,” as he aimed toward the center. The command wasn’t that far behind, with Captain America barking out a quiet ‘EXECUTE’ on radio. The grenade launchers thumped.

They had a perfect line of sight to see their enemy be struck by the realization a second before the impact. When the Forty-Mike-Mikes struck, they struck like hammers, washing the Patrols in shrapnel as the shockwave of the blast killed several of the men in the impact. Groans of pain and screams of despair filled the air, only to suddenly be muffled by the roar of gunfire.

The Marines pushed through, Trombley and a Breacher in the lead. Trombley’s SAW barked repeatedly in short, controlled bursts as he cut down any of the surviving enemy soldiers. Some managed to turn and return fire with their SMGs and rifles, while others still fell, cut down by the wave of bullets fired by the Marines.

Brad advanced beside Trombley with Fick. Both men fired their rifles on semi, picking out headshots while captain MacGraw and his platoon struck from another side. Sandbag walls that’d hastily been erected on the sides of the road became the enemy’s defensive positions as anyone who survived the initial volley took cover behind them.

A door got kicked open to their right, which Trombley immediately turned toward. He saw men clad in dark-red uniforms and armor step out, weapons drawn, and hosed them down with the M249. The bullets ripped through the plaster, through metal and flesh and through the walls of the house, cutting down several more men.

Brad called out, “RAY, CLEAR THAT HOUSE!” as he chopped a hand toward the same one Trombley had fired into. His RTO nodded, lifting his M4 and dragging several Marines over with him. They primed, pulled the pins on and threw three grenades inside, hearing the screams of the men, followed by the muffled thumps that quietened them all down.

Then, Ray pushed in first, carbine raised. The first man he saw get up, he put down with two shots to the head as his heart raced, firing off like a machine gun. He heard another coming down the stairs to the left and swiveled on his feet, aiming up and firing a burst clean through the banister. The man tumbled over the cover and fell to the ground, dead, while the rest of the team pushed to the stairwell.

He pulled a grenade out of his vest, pulled the pin and waited two seconds, then let go and threw it. Moments later, the detonation echoed all the way down to them, with Ray leading the team uphill every way, rifles ringing loudly as they engaged the enemy to try and suppress them. When they made it up the stairwell, however, Ray felt his head snap back with a lot of force, only to fall over backward as he lost balance.

Two of his buddies caught him while Poke, the third one in line, pushed past them and switched his rifle to full-auto, wasting the bastards inside. Gently bringing Ray down, one of the other Marines barked, “MEDIC!” and looking down. He slapped Person on the cheek twice and said, “Ray, wake the fuck up, man!” 

“Ow, fuck…” Ray mumbled, eyes wide, “The hell just happened…?”

Poke ran down the stairs and knelt beside the man, checking him over and stating, “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Ray. Kevlar fuckin’ took an 8mm round and bounced it,” before taking his helmet off and checking him over. He looked fine, if a little bumpy and loopy. The helmet itself had been canoed by the round, the Kevlar fibers poking out at the top like frizzled hair.

Ray blinked, shook his head, then said, “Fuck, I’m good-” only to pause as he saw just how close he’d come to death. He took the helmet and examined it while the others covered the door, then sighed and said, “I’m good, Sarge! I’m good!” As he took Poke’s hand. The man stood up and ran over  to the door, too, calling out, “EXITING!” 

They ran outside, to the sight of a stunned Brad and Fick. Brad asked, “You good, Ray!?” and received a thumbs up from his buddy, before both of them took cover as bullets rang from the caved-in roof of a building, a machine gun of some kind laying down suppressing fire. Fick loaded a frag grenade into his launcher, aimed and fired it, blasting the MG nest apart.

A Marine rifleman ahead of them tried to cross to another position with his team, only to take a round to the neck from a distant sniper. Brad barked, “FUCK!” and grabbed him by the strap of his vest, pulling him behind the cover of a wall. He radioed, “DOC, RUDY, WALT, WE HAVE A CASUALTY! GET A TRUCK UP!”

He felt Captain MacGraw take the wounded Marine deeper behind cover, then looked at the man. MacGraw put his hand up to the transmitter and said, “Make it fast! He got hit in the neck!” before moving up to Brad’s side and firing his rifle. A muzzle flash appeared from a window and a round snapped by their ear, to which MacGraw said, “Farthest building, window on the right…”

“He’s gonna be repositioned by the time the guys get here with a Humvee,” Fick stated. He told the Captain, “Permission to take a team and hit the house we’re taking cover beside from the rear. We’ll suppress that bastard from inside,” and got the wordless permission of the man to do so. The Lieutenant patted Brad on the shoulder and rallied Trombley as the sound of an engine echoed over the gunfire.

The teams pushed to the rear of the house, listening to the firefight going on as they approached one of the rear doors, crouching underneath the windows. Brad showed Fick to wait, primed a frag and prepared to throw it, only for Trombley to grab his hand and show him to wait, much to his surprise. Trombley then poked up slightly, peering over the window’s frame to see the Imperials holding a young family hostage, baby and all.

He scoffed and said, “Kids inside, Sarge. No way we can throw a frag in there without killing’em all,” before trying to lift his gun over the edge. He dropped back down and shook his head, “And the fucking windows are too tall to fire from without risking injury…” before rubbing his eyes. Brad gave him a light pat on the shoulder, lifted his rifle and looked at Fick.

“Taking point, rog,” Fick replied, gently approaching the rear door. He reached out for the handle, then paused as it turned. He watched a brown-wearing Imp soldier step out, rifle at the ready, then grabbed him by the throat, pinned him to the floor and, with a quick hand and professional movement, he slit the man’s throat, bleeding him dry.

“Holy shit, El-Tee…” Trombley grinned, “Metal…”

“Yeah,” Fick replied, much less enthused about having just bled a man like he was a pig. He cleaned the blade of his bayonet and grabbed his rifle again, then stood up and chopped a hand toward the door. Pushing inside, the team moved inside, down the main hallway, Fick barking, “DROP YOUR WEAPONS, NOW! NOW!” to the men holding the family hostage. Trombley was right behind him, SAW raised.

Much to their joy, the soldiers, two men who looked haggard, dropped the weapons while the family, half-Darcsen, half-Europan, greeted the Marines with what could only be described as shock and happiness, tears streaming down their faces as they stood up. Fick showed them to hold on by raising his hand, then moved up to the two men and said, “On your knees,” while kicking the guns away. When they took a knee, hands behind their heads, he ordered, “Trombley, secure them… Brad! Status!?”

Two gunshots echoed and Fick immediately turned, ready to run, only to see Brad walking out into the hallway, holding one of the imps’ AT lances in one hand and his rifle slung over his shoulder. He said, “All clear. Stairwell collapsed, but the front of the place had one of their AT launchers. He didn’t wanna surrender. If I’d let him live…”

The sound of Humvee engines followed, muffled by the walls, but accentuating the point nonetheless. His Lieutenant slightly tilted his head forward, a nod of approval. Trombley, meanwhile, had zip-tied the enemy soldiers and lifted them to their feet. Fick ordered, “Let’s go…” as the thunderclap of a fifty-caliber MG echoed.

They exited out into the street, spring in their step as they went to rejoin the rest of the formation. Brad paused mid-run, however, as he watched Doc put a white sheet over the body of the Marine. The man looked up and sighed, shaking his head. The Captain, meanwhile, stood over the doctor and the Marine, whispering a quiet prayer.

They approached them, with Fick asking, “... What do we do with the POWs, sir?” as he tilted his head toward the two men Trombley was urging along with the barrel of his SAW. MacGraw turned and pointed toward the Humvee with the truck bed covered by a tarp and the Marines moving to secure it. Fick showed Trombley through a slight wave of the hand to go and the gunner nodded.

Brad looked at the dead Marine and sighed, “Any other casualties, sir?”

“Sniper hit a couple others in the vest and arm, but they’re walking,” The man replied, eyes locked onto the dead Marine. A hint of shame played across his face as he stared at the white tarp, which was slowly being stained by the blood of the Marine exactly at neck level. He whispered, “I probably shouldn’t have left Doc behind…”

“He wouldn’t have made it anyways, sir,” Doc replied, “Shot severed his carotid… Bled out in minutes,” then he stood up. He looked at Brad and Fick and told them, “Rudy took the bastard out with a burst from the Fifty. Narrowly missed a family below, too,” as he pointed to the team sniper, who was leaning against the gun in the turret, barrel pointed at the sky. Papi gave him a pat on the back, then scratched his own chin, mildly miffed.

“I’ll write the letter to Combs's family,” Fick murmured, looking at the tarp, too, “With your permission, Captain.”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” The man answered solemnly, “Everyone else, rally up. Battalion just tasked us to hold this position. We’re bringing the Humvees up, setting up a perimeter and digging in for the night while we wait for the Third Regiment and a ChiCom PLA unit to catch up with us so we can advance into Barious. Get the Civvies in the houses some supplies, too. And play nice… Looks like they’ll have to put up with us a little longer.”

“Roger that, sir,” The present members of HITMAN quietly answered, fatigue slowly setting in…

Chapter Text

It hadn’t taken long for First Recce to settle in at the village. Alongside platoons of VDV that’d taken out the other enemy outposts and a battalion of Marine and Army troops, the group waited for the arrival of their comrades from Gallia to proceed deeper into the Barious Desert. First Recon’s annoyance was kind of palpable, considering the shit they were about to wade into was basically Iraq Two-point-Oh. Just sand as far as the eye could see.

Ray sat on the front porch of a house. To his left, their parked Humvee stood, waiting to be turned on to further travel down the dirt roads into sand. He bit down on an MRE Cookie, sighing deeply as he’d run out of all the stuff he needed for his favorite brew a long while ago. He looked at himself, tugging at his woodland MOPP Suit, then mumbled, “Fuckin’ A…” sarcastically.

His gaze locked onto the horizon, at the distant, arid blaze of another sandtrap to fight through, of yet more deadly heat and freezing nights and more sand sticking into every fucking crack. He understood when that weird space wizard from Star Wars had said he hated Sand. That shit was coarse, rough and got everywhere. 

… Flashes of what little combat they’d seen in Iraq came to him. The corpses littering the sides of the road, the fuckups in Command’s bomb drop orders. Hamlets destroyed, lives ended in a flash, people gone whose deaths could’ve been avoided with sane officers in charge of the job instead of bureaucrats and Trust Fund babies-

“Ray?” He jumped a little, looking to his left. Within his visual, appeared Isara. She looked at him, mildly worried, then crouched and asked, “Ray? Are you okay?” and lifted up a basket, “I brought some fresh bread,” to which the Marine looked down. A second later, a smell like no other hit him right in the face. Sweet, fresh dough, baked and right out of the oven.

That got him back to reality. He breathed a sigh, then said, “Hey, kid. Sorry, I just…” before he gave a broad motion of his hand to the right, “I’m just worried we’re gonna have to fuck around in a desert again. We just got outta one not too long ago,” and though he tried not to show it, he was sure the kid had seen him frown upon mentioning the desert. He wasn’t a hardass like Brad or a (supposed) psycho like Trombley.

“Oh…” She hummed, then nodded and still offered him bread. With a grin, he took it and mumbled a quiet ‘fuck yeah’, before giving Isara a thumbs up. She smiled and replied in kind, then walked off as the man examined the fresh roll of bread. He sniffed it, feeling that nostalgic-ass scent of homemade bread, then sighed deeply, taking a bite out of it.

… If Welkin didn’t wife the girl up, Ray might actually attempt. The bread tasted absolutely divine, a meal unto its own that beat any baker he’d ever found at home. Hell, the roll felt just the right blend of fluffy on the inside and crispy on the outside. It wasn’t long after that Ray, without so much as a breath, scarfed the entire thing down.

“Ray?”

Only to almost jump out of his skin. He looked over to the source of the sound, crumbs still on his face, gaze locking onto Lieutenant Fick. Nate hummed, then smiled and said, “Take it Sergeant Melchiott makes some fine loaves,” before approaching him. Ray stood up and saluted, but Fick waved it off, then sat down next to him, asking, “You alright?” and pointing at his own mouth.

“... Yeah…” Ray replied awkwardly, wiping the crumbs away. Damn, he made himself look like a fool in front of the El-Tee. Today was already off to a great start, he thought to himself, only to pause as he saw the man sit down next to him. Fick then offered him his canteen, staring at him with a softer expression than usual.

The Hitman RTO nodded in thanks and took the water can, uncapping it and downing a swig while Fick said, “Y’know, it’s not good to hold stuff in,” to which the man blinked. The El-Tee continued, “What I mean to say is that I can tell something’s bothering you. I’m not gonna press you on it, but we’re gonna need to move out and I want to be sure our lead victor is still in good hands.”

“Thanks, El-Tee. I’m gonna be alright,” Ray replied, then sighed and said, “Just pissed we’re going back into a desert with green cammies.”

“That’s a very common complaint,” Fick replied, then clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Let us know if anything’s going wrong, though. Hell, get some rest and let Brad drive a mile or two if you want,” before standing up, hefting his M16 with him and saying, “That’s all,” to which Ray stared. Officers that gave a damn were few and far between. Fick was one of the finest men he’d had the pleasure of working under and damn if he wasn’t glad the man was still with them.

As the Lieutenant went on to make the rounds, Ray had finally decided to stand up and march to their Humvee, where Brad, Trombley, Poke and Garza. Garza leaned against the forty-mil, looking out at the road as the roar of engines filled the air. Ray approached Brad and asked, “Yo, Brad, the fuck did I miss out here?”

“The PLA unit’s arrived early…” Brad replied, tilting his head toward a Type-95 MBT and a trio of WZ-551 type IFVs, each with Chinese troops sat among them, cradling their bullpup QBZ-95 assault rifles and derivative weapons systems. The Sergeant then tilted his head forward and said, “And we got a unit transferred to us from Fallujah. LAV-25s. C-Company, 1st LAR Battalion…”

“Jesus,” Trombley murmured, cradling his SAW as he watched the wheeled scout vehicles armed with 25mm Bushmaster autocannons approach, their angular turrets and hulls bearing the marks of bullet impacts and shrapnel from what one was to assume were RPGs. The men aboard said vehicles looked no better, some of them staring grimly ahead as they held onto the M240s mounted on pintles, or the sides of their vehicles.

The LAVs rolled down and parked off to the side of the road, dismounting squads of Marines that all looked worse for wear. Brad approached one of the men, whom he soon realized was a Sergeant like him, then asked him, “What the hell happened to you guys?” as he saw the sunken eyes. The Sergeant stared back at him, visibly thinking of how to reply best to such a question. Brad told him, “I know Fallujah’s bad, we’re still getting reports, but…”

“... Bad?” The man blinked, then rubbed his face, eyes wide, “You guys are extremely lucky… The fuckers you’re fighting have uniforms and don’t get to hide among crowds…” then he looked around, noticing some of the enemy bodies stacked on the side, too, ready to be shipped off and processed for whenever they’d be able to send them home. Noticing that Brad was still confused, the man continued, “Every house is a bomb until we’ve cleared it. Every Haji Civvie could be carrying an AK under their pajamas, or firing an RPG at us from the window… Army and Coalition troops are still stuck knee-deep in the shit there…”

“Did you lose anyone?” Trombley asked in an uncharacteristic moment of kindness and concern.

The man nodded, then pulled the door of the LAV he and his boys rode in on slightly. A photo of one of the crewmen, stained by blood and with a barely legible name written below it, lay taped to the door. He continued, “Good men… A few of’em,” before clearing his throat and sighing, “And then command transferred us here after some RnR.”

Brad nodded, “You’re the forward scouts for the Forward Scouts, then,” and extended his hand, “Welcome to Gallia…”

“Thanks. We’re the Warpigs,” The man said, “Same radio freq as everyone else,” before he cast a glance off to the side and blinked, mumbling, “Forgot we’re working for a real multinational formation today. PLA Ground Forces,” as he saw the tanks and IFVs belonging to the Chinese. Brad nodded awkwardly, then looked at the vehicles of the 3rd Regiment, Militia, being brought up to the staging area.

Brad nodded, watching the Marine units’ officers, PLA, Army and Gallian Militia rally up to discuss their upcoming job:Breaking into the Desert and ensuring that whatever the enemy was searching for in a sandy shithole like this wouldn’t be theirs, no matter what they tried to do to them. Attack Helos flew overhead, a formation of four AH-1Z Vipers whose twin engines whined and rotors chopped through the air. Their underslung armaments included the usual setup of twin Hydra rocket pods, one on each end of the wing, plus two racks of four Hellfires each.

The briefing was relatively short. Each unit from the villages surrounding this section of the Barious Desert would roll in under the cover of airpower while reserve units from the Russians, Romanians and Ukrainians would follow close behind to occupy the defenses. The spearhead would be made up of US 1st Armored tanks on the right, with the middle pooling a battalion of PLA armor, Marine 1st Recon and 1st LAR and the 3rd Regiment and the left being taken up by elements of the Russian VDV.

WARPIG led the formation as they began their advance just before noon, followed by the Edelweiss, then by HITMAN-4 and all subsequent elements. LUCKY and the Chinese, funnily named ‘DRAGON’, moved in a loose formation behind the armor, with Brad already seeing signs of the 1st Armored advancing on their far, far right, in the form of dust clouds the tanks were kicking up.

The choppers overhead ripped forward like bats out of hell, trailing right behind the LAVs as the grass around them began to fade, turning from fields into patches of sand and grass, then only into wide, broad flatlands of sand. Brad murmured, “Holy shit…” as he put his goggles on and poked his head out. Garza had long put his own eye pro on, while Poke held firmly onto his weapon and leaned his head against the forward seat, keeping his window closed.

Garza  yelled, “There’s actual fucking sand as far as the eye can see!” in complete disbelief. Mounds of sand soon appeared, slowly taking the shape of dunes so familiar to the Marines. Ray breathed a deep, annoyed sigh while Poke rolled his eyes, with Brad mumbling something to himself in mild annoyance as they kept moving.

Clouds of dust rose high into the sky, forcing the Squad Seven members and just about every other member of the Third Regiment outfitted with old US Vehicles to ‘batten down the hatches’, taking cover behind the windshields of their Jeeps and trucks and older generation armored vehicles, Largo held onto the front dash of their Jeep with Rosie driving. He spoke, “I forgot how much I don’t like visiting this place! No offense, Freesia!”

Freesia York, a Barious Native, belly dancer, dark-skinned beauty and a forever-peppy girl, laughed and said, “None taken!” as she pulled her scarf over her mouth and nose, making sure her goggles were on straight. She looked back at the others, noticing the massive dust cloud they were kicking up, then she yelled to them, “This reminds me a little of how we used to change locations around the Desert! Big stampede, lots of dust kicking up thanks to the horses!”

“Sounds like fun!” Rosie called back as she shifted gears, then she blanked, watching tracers appear ahead. She gasped as tracers ricocheted off the forward armor of allied vehicles. She barked, “SON OF A BITCH!” as mortars started landing around them, before their radios crackled to life. The Chinese armor rolled out from the group, forming into a claw with the tanks at the front.

Brad spoke over the com, “ HITMAN-4 TO ALCON , AN ENEMY FORWARD OPERATING BASE IS DEAD AHEAD OF US ! WE’RE PUNCHING CLEAN THROUGH TO THE RENDEZVOUS SITE ! GODFATHER AND LUCKY ACTUAL’S ORDERS, DON’T SLOW DOWN FOR ANYTHING !” only for the thundering chugging of the 25mm Bushmasters to ring loud in the desert. Stabilized battle tanks and Infantry Fighting Vehicles opened fire, tracers lighting the air ahead as the vehicles formed a wedge.

American Abrams tanks’ 120mm cannons roared in the distance, shells tracing arcs in the sky before striking enemy positions up ahead. As the 3rd Regiment’s vehicles formed into the proverbial shaft of their spear, guarded by the armor of their comrades, Rosie finally caught sight of the enemy’s base:A sprawling area filled with tents on flattened sand, mixed with old ruins from what looked like an abandoned dig site.

Walls of old brick and mortar exploded repeatedly as if hit by sledgehammers. The 25mm autocannons on the LAV’s fired high-explosive ammo while the leading Humvees armed with Mark-19s let loose volleys of forty-mil ammo. Overhead, the attack helicopter formation reported in, then spun up their own guns. Volleys of scarlet tracers cut through the sky, rippling explosions greeting the enemy as their own armor tried to counter.

A Chinese transport opened fire with their own twenty-fives. APDS rounds tore the frontal armor of the enemy’s light and medium tanks, followed by the roars of their ZTZ-95s’ and 99s’ main guns. HEAT round impacts sent molten metal jets flowing clean through the enemy armor. Infantry carrying the enemy’s infamous anti-tank lances appeared out of ditches and hastily-dug trenches, trying to aim for their allied transports, but Humvees and transports armed with fifties ripped clean through them.

Hell, Rosie heard the chug of the M2HB mounted on their Jeep, only looking at the mirror to her left once to watch Freesia swivel the gun on its mount, red tracers spitting out of the barrel once every third or fourth shot as the belt rung and clinked. Largo fired his own M60 GPMG from the side seat, screaming battle cries she barely understood in the fussilade.

M16s and M14s barked behind them, Alicia leading the Scouts, Engineers and even Shock Troopers into firing at the enemy. The Edelweiss’s main gun roared next, drilling a crater into the front section of an Imperial Light Tank as blood began to stain the sand. The vehicles didn’t halt or slow down, pushing right down the center of the enemy encampment.

The Helicopter formation split, the two helos on the side soon turning about and engaging enemy stragglers with their 20mm cannons while the mounted motorized infantry continued to engage. At the front, Brad, Garza, Poke and Trombley hadn’t let off their triggers since the moment the trucks punched through the first line.

Brad poked out and shot a man that was aiming a lance at them, spraying blood and steel onto the ground. Moments later, the Humvee rolled over the corpse with a sickening crunch, bouncing slightly. WARPIG Actual spoke calmly through the com, “ We’re about to breach to the other side of the Encampment ! Keep up the fire !”

The MBTs at the flanks of what was basically an impromptu armored cavalry charge fired again, HE-FRAG rounds digging deep craters into the soil, charring the enemy’s corpses. LAV Commanders poked out of their vehicles in the meanwhile, manning the M240s and letting loose bursts of 7,62x51mm ammunition at anything that moved and wore knight armor.

Ray screamed, “I THOUGHT THE THUNDER RUN THROUGH VASEL WAS BATSHIT INSANE!” as he firmly gripped the wheel. Trombley laughed a surprisingly nervous laugh as he kept laying down the hate from his M249, while Poke swore rapidly in a language the boys couldn’t tell. Was it English? Was it Spanish? Was it something else?

Brad dropped his spent magazine and slapped in a fresh one as they reached the edges of the base, using his scope to snipe at the enemy as he called out, “HITMAN-4 to ACTUAL, we’re nearly through the worst of the base! Interrogative:Do we proceed or hold!?” only to immediately hear the reply of ‘Proceed’, an indelible calm in the officer’s voice.

Brad looked to their right as a Chinese IFV pulled up next to them, with the officer on top waving to them and WARPIG and pointing ahead. Brad blinked, paused, then peeked through between the LAVs ahead. He blinked as he saw black dots appear, then immediately grabbed the mic and tried to cry out a second too late. A LAV rolled over the first black dot… And nothing happened.

The Chinese officer stared in disbelief for a moment, then sighed in relief and… Well, Brad could almost swear he swore, but he was smiling. He gave a quick salute to him, then slid back down into the turret and closed the hatch. Ray mumbled, “Good on the Chinks for trying to let us know. My fucking heart jumped outta my chest.”

“You’re telling me,” Brad sighed in relief as the gunfire began to die down. He flicked the radio on and said, “HITMAN-4 to ALCON… We’ve cleared the base,” before looking back at the pillars of smoke rising high into the sky, fires still burning from the camp they’d just run down like a cavalry formation in the Napoleonic Wars.

Trombley laughed, then said, “That was fucking awesome! One hell of a payback for Combes!” 

Poke shook his head, rubbing his face, then mumbled, “My trigger finger hurts, you psycho white boy,” before laughing and giving him a slap on the shoulder. As the Adrenaline began to fade, all of the men on the Humvee began to laugh heartily. Brad sighed in relief, shaking his head while Poke continued, “Fuckin’ A!”

“Let’s not get Delta on each-other,” Garza spoke, though he had an ear-to-ear grin, too. They got a lot more than ‘some’ that Thunder Run. Christ, Ray thought to himself, they’d gotten blooded worse than when they had that run-in in… Was it Basrah or somewhere else? He couldn’t remember it, but they’d nearly lost their first gunner to a fucking wire that was hanging low.

A few miles farther down the road, the units converged and coalesced into a larger formation of armor and troops. Army Engineers and even British Royal Engineers dismounted from their vehicles to begin building a small FOB as the sun began to set over the desert. The main armored arm set up a perimeter around the base, layering the defenses with the Paladin artillery and M270s that had been sent to support them in the operation to drive the Empire out.

The group had finally gotten to settle down for the evening, with sentries picked and security details matched. Sighing deeply, Ray watched as a pair of Mi-8 HIPs took off from the area, carrying the wounded from the short blitz across the desert. They flew through the smoke pillars left behind by the previous fight, blowing rings through them to pass through safely thanks to the rotor wash. 

Meanwhile, overhead airpower flew reconnaissance missions through the use of thermals and night vision, trying to pick up any further enemy targets. Person listened to the distant drone of the jet engines, mind wandering while Trombley cooked them all their MRE dinners. Or, well, lunches, considering the packages.

He looked up as soon as he saw Brad approaching, then watched him sit down by his side. The American Hebrew offered Ray a pack of cookies which his best buddy took, then told him, “Looks like that thunder run we just did got us just close enough to the objective we’re supposed to hit. Some sort of temple that the Imps have dug up.”

“Knights digging up a temple,” Ray snorted as he undid the package of the cookies, sliding one in his mouth and speaking with his mouth full, “pwetty shure i heawrd hat one befow” with a cookie-filled smirk on his face as he chewed. Might as well try to make Brad feel fun if he couldn’t. Might help, the young man thought.

Brad punched him in the shoulder and said, “Chew, dammit…”  though he was grinning. He looked at the Seventh Platoon, watching them exchanging small-talk, only to see Welkin, Alicia, Largo and Rosie approaching. Isara stayed behind with the Edelweiss to clean out the filters, clearly, while Brad looked up and said, “Sorry if I’m not getting up, El-tee… Today’s been a fucking day…”

“Yeah,” Welkin nodded as he sat down, “I have to say, it’s… Surprising to see how you all fight your wars,” only for that sentence to be punctuated by unintelligible radio chatter and the distant thunder of a bomb falling on some poor, unknowing Imperial schmuck. Alicia snorted, while Rosie shook her head, the sync feeling a bit too perfect.

Ray answered, “Yeah, well… When the Chair Force gets up off their asses, they can do some scary shit,” before he slid another cookie into his mouth. He extended the package to Rosie and to Largo, who shook their heads, Largo looking a tad horrified. Ray raised a brow, chewed and swallowed, then asked, “Who the fuck looks like that at cookies, man?”

“I’m trying to eat healthy, kid,” Largo quipped, then pulled out his own meal:Fresh-looking vegetables. He offered, “Want one? It’ll help you live longer,” as he lifted up a carrot. Alicia, Welkin and Rosie started to laugh, while Brad looked at Ray, expecting some sort of snide response for Sergeant Know-It-All.

“Dude, not even my mom forced me to eat my veggies. Don’t think I’m gonna start now,” He warned, having delivered exactly what his buddy was expecting out of one like him Largo seemed to take that as a challenge, simply retracting the food for now and taking a bite out of said carrot. Something told Ray he was about to face some issues regarding lunch later down the line.

“Disregarding the food discussion,” Brad leaned over, “What’s going on, Ray? Fick told me he found you moping.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, El-Tee,” He whispered, looking over at Fick as he sat with some of the other Marines. He turned to Brad and very much lied through his teeth as he replied, “I’m perfectly fine, Brad. Just some bad juju from being back in the sandbox is all…” to which Brad furrowed his brows. Ray knew he knew he wasn’t doing so hot, but at least they were getting an outlet to vent their frustrations now.

The Sergeant sighed deeply, leaning his back against their Humvee, then replied, “Alright, if you say so,” with a shrug. Turning his head and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the back of his head, the good man continued by asking, “So, Sarge. Isara handed us some bread you apparently baked… That what you worked as a civvie?”

“Yep! Proud helper at the bakery in Bruhl. We made bread from the wheat we churned at the…” The smile that had lit up her face a moment ago faded as she recalled, “At the mills… Sorry,” She  shook her head, “I’d like to get back to it as soon as this war’s over and we retake Bruhl, but… That seems far away for now,” and what with the mills having been heavily damaged, things weren’t exactly looking up. 

Ray frowned. Right, these people had a lot of shit to deal with beyond just being out of one Sandbox and into another. He replied, “Hey, Sarge, chin up. The way things are going, we’ll probably be back in Bruhl by next week with Iceman over here planning your and the El-tee’s wedding,” and he grinned, pointing at Welkin. Both the Lieutenant and his second-in-command blushed and the latter began to stammer, playing with her hair. Brad, Rosie, Largo and even Garza(Who’d overheard this) began to laugh.

… Well, mission accomplished and spirits lifted, Ray thought. What now?

Chapter Text

Over the Barious Desert

Aboard the Mil Mi-8 Helicopter 'Bratishka'

Hovering gently over the sand, a fat-bellied transport helicopter glided toward its intended target, a veteran of two long wars in the mountains. Its crew was well-seasoned in counter-insurgency operations, so an all-out war with an enemy that didn't hide among crowds or use civilians as their cover was an eerily refreshing one to be in. From Bamut to Tskhinvali and from War to other Wars, the proud crew of the Helicopter flew on.

The 487th Separate Helicopter Regiment had been refurbished some years prior to their second foray into Chechnya as part of the new Army Programs slated into work by the new President, Pomorenka, and her cabinet. They'd received new crew to train, new helicopters fresh out of the factory and parts for their older ones.

Sat at the controls of his heli, which had taken him from Georgia to here, Sergey Palagin, Lieutenant-Colonel in the modern Russian Armed Forces, hummed a tune as his gaze swept over the sprawling desert ahead. Allied troops fought on the distant dunes against an enemy that dared show his face. For that, Sergey could only respect these Imps. They weren't cowards even in the face of a technologically superior foe.

He heard radio chatter in English that his co-pilot quickly translated, "Allied force at Grid 2-2-3 by 3-3-1 reported CARGO 300 in their area. Two wounded from mortar fire," as he looked at the map they were handed by command mid-flight. The officer nodded, gently tilting the stick of his trusty bird to the right. They banked and turned just as a pair of Su-25s pounded some enemy position in the distance with rocket pods.

Bratishka took sporadic fire from nearby enemy positions, fifty caliber bullets zipping past the hull of the transport helicopter. No member of the crew flinched, their door gunner immediately returning fire in bursts with the mounted PK while Sergey looked over the map. He said, "We're going into the Ukrainian sector."

"This ought to be interesting, then," The Co-pilot stated, watching the dunes moving below them at breakneck pace. A metallic clang echoed as a bullet struck the side of the heli, doing no major damage while their gunner returned fire. The medic aboard also prepared to receive the Ukrainian wounded as the Heli tilted back.

They approached the combat area where BMP-2s of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, right alongside a T80. Palagin lifted up his radio and said, "Oplot, Oplot, Bratishka. We're landing at your rear, prepare your Cargo-300 for delivery to medical," as he glided down onto the flattest patch of sand he could find. He felt his wheels dig into the ground and watched as a squad of Ukrainians carried three stretchers over.

The Medic called out, "I thought you guys said two!" as he saw the two men that'd taken shrapnel from Mortars, one of them in critical condition. The third had two bullets in his chest, one of which had pierced his body armor, and another shot in the hip. The Ukrainian rifleman shrugged as he slid the stretchers in.

He jumped off the Helo and waved at Palagin, who gave a nod. The rear doors of the Mi-8 closed as the Doctor got to tying down the stretchers and tending to the most injured of the guys. Beside them, the UAF troops began firing back at the Imps located nearby some fortified wall of rock that resembled the Grand Canyon, at least from pictures.

The Helicopter lifted off the ground the moment the Lieutenant-Colonel got the confirmation from the doctor, the blasts from the rotor kicking up waves of sand around it. It turned on its axis and flew toward the bases set up at the southern perimeter of the place, bullets still ringing around them like the enemy was trying to shoot a medical chopper out of the sky.

Bratishka shrugged off the gunfire with the crew smiling. They waved to Blackhawks and the Marine Cobras milling about in the same airspace and providing their boys and girls joint cover with Hinds and Havocs. Vehicles that would have once faced each-other in open combat on the plains of Europe now flew together in an alternate timeline's version of the Old World, hammering away at people armed with guns from World War 2.

If Sergey had an inkling of his old sense of humor left after the two Chechnya Affairs, he'd probably be laughing his ass off at the impossible humor of this kind of alien alliance. The Helicopter tilted back under the Lieutenant-Colonel's guiding hand and gently glided onto the makeshift landing pad, where the Medical Division's people were helping get the wounded.

Junior Sergeant Kozlova boarded the Hip with a smile on her face and a pen and clipboard in hand. She said, "Welcome back, comrade Lieutenant-Colonel! How are things on the Bratishka?"

"Same old, same old, comrade Junior Sergeant," The old man smiled, watching as members of Pomorenka's VDV boarded the heli, cradling rifles. He said, "This is the Short Bus to the Front, comrades! Taking a trip over?" only to hear the gentlemen cheer, raising their rifles high. Kozlova gave another quick smile to the man and tipped her own helmet before helping the other medical staff unload them troops.

Rows and rows of tents waited behind the closing door, where medical staff of all members of this odd Alliance cooperated to keep their own from dying. As Bratishka lifted off the ground and turned back to the battle zone, Sergey flew parallel to the tents and the villages, watching more convoys of armor rolling into the place.

Two Chinese Choppers followed him in, pilots speaking in their Broken English. Sergey replied with his own and they understood each-other much to his joy. He watched the two helis, both bearing red crosses on their sides, trail behind him in a wedge formation. The Co-Pilot and the bow gunner hummed the same tune the good old Leytenant-Polkovnik hummed while flying.

The very song written for Bratishka, as it seemed. Returning into the fury of enemy gunfire, where enemy riflemen and machine gunners tried to shoot them down, Bratishka and its brave crew flew with disregard, the machine guns on the vehicle's sides chattering as the choppers moved to a rendezvous location.

The PLA choppers peeled off one after the other, each landing troops at the farthest staging areas of the Ground Forces, where tracers flew while makeshift barriers were erected to stabilize the front, the sandy dunes glowing scarlet under the surprisingly hot sun of a Northern Nation like Gallia. Palagin's forward machine gunner raked an enemy squad in a truck that tried to flank an American platoon and they all heard cheers in perfect hillbilly English from them all.

Such an odd feeling, being pals. But appreciated. He was glad he didn't have to go up against Stingers anymore, just idiots firing machine guns from the ground floor at them, he thought. The Lieutenant of the Platoon clambered up from his seat and toward the Cockpit, snapping a salute to the Polkovnik, then pointed at a firebase set up by Russian mortar teams and said, "We were ordered to reinforce that place, Tovarisch Leytenant-Polkovnik."

He gave a thumbs up and a smile as he rolled the bird toward the LZ. The Firebase was made up of makeshift-built HESCO Barriers, a new American replacement for sandbags, or at least an improvement upon them that they'd been using in Forward Operating Bases in the Middle East for a while now.

An American support truck stood side-by-side with a few KamaZes, showing proudly the Crane on its back that it used to fill the mesh and fabric with the sand and dirt. And they were working, if the holes the man saw as they were descending were anything to go by. Upon descending, the gunner on the door moved the PK mount out of the way and allowed the VDV Troopers to pile out, the hymn of enemy gunfire, mortars and cannons being sung in tune to their own.

Palagin lifted off again as the Co-Pilot began to translate a message in English. He looked at the Lieutenant-Colonel and told him, "Americans requesting MEDEVAC for one of their own Cargo-300. First Reconnaissance Marines and the Third Regiment of Gallian Militia," and he pointed at the map, "Near these coordinates. They're the deepest units in this shitshow right next to the Gallian Army and other Militia Regiments."

"Heh. The Yankees owe us," Smirked Sergey as he turned his heavyset helicopter and departed for the area. A missile flew below, striking an enemy medium tank and causing such a fancy blue-tinted explosion that the crew was able to see it before the shockwave shook them. Palagin laughed, then said, "Tell that Apache pilot to make sure he calls out Danger Close next time!"

The Co-Pilot radioed and spoke to the Pilot that had shot something below them. A female voice replied, kind and apologetic, with the Co-Pilot quickly giving a thumbs up. They dodged more rounds, some of them scraping parts of the armor. Their gunners returned fire as they flew over, a rippling rain of 7,62 by 54mm rimmed rounds striking the enemy back.

They saw the advanced Convoy of allied troops down below, tanks of Yank and Chinese make, Russian and Chinese IFVs and American Humvees with dismounted troops engaged in a firefight, grenades exploding. A pair of Cobras flew in, firing their maw-mounted rotary cannons to suppress the enemy infantry. One called Palagin's chopper and his Co-Pilot replied.

The intensity of shots striking the plate of the heli began to intensify to the point it sounded like the cymbals of a drum set repeatedly being struck. The door gunner of the bird opened fire, covering a pair made up of the Marines' medic and a blonde-haired beauty with green eyes as they ran with the stretcher.

The medic opened the back door and the American and Gallian piled in, placing the stretcher with a young man on it down onto the cold floor. The American doctor asked the girl something to which she nodded, activating the weird device she had on her back and starting to stabilize the young man through the glow of a blue device:A Ragnaid canister.

She looked up at the Russian doctor, smiled, then at Palagin, who was staring back at them. She gave a chop of the hand forward, which Palagin understood. He gave a thumbs up, spooled the engines and took off under fire once more, rounds striking the glass and the armor while their own gunners replied in kind.

As they took off, Sergey cast a glance back again, noticing the young man was a little shorter than one of the youngest in the Heli Regiment and he was gritting his teeth and fighting like a real pro. He wanted to tell the kid that everything was gonna be alright, but he saw some of the injuries. Shrapnel and like four bullet holes that were staining his OD Green uniform a strange shade of red.

He was gonna be fine, though. None of it looked particularly lethal and the Ragnaid, whatever the hell that thing's properties were, seemed to be sealing the injury quite well. Behind them, the rest of the Seventh Platoon and their First Recon comrades continued to fight for every inch, their air support continuously sending rockets and missiles down-range to stave the enemy assault off.

… With Squad 7 and HITMAN-4 on the ground

"Hope Vyse's gonna be alright!" Alicia spoke as she shouldered her M16, firing it on burst toward the enemy positions ahead. A sprawling dig site stood between them and the massive structure that the Imperials had been working to unearth. An Abrams tank bucked, main cannon roaring as it sent a HEAT Shell clean through the front of an Imp Light Tank, this one painted jet black.

Rosie ducked in cover, dropping a spent mag from her gun as well, then replied, "This is fucking batshit!" just as a Humvee rolled out from cover and opened fire with its top-mounted fifty cal, raking the area ahead and tearing an Imp's arm off with the burst. The Imperials had troops scattered between several trenches, all hidden among the ruins. Sandstone blocks arranged in what used to be walls stood, taking bullets instead of the soldiers hiding behind them.

Some had near-perfect holes drilled into them, as if something had cut them with a plasma torch, or a diamond drill had punched through them. Largo was using a hole low to the ground as a murder hole for his M60, mumbling and grumbling angrily at it as it jammed every once in a while. Spent casings piled beside him with broken links while other lancers, including the weirdly effeminate Jane, engaged enemy armor with the LAWs they'd been gifted.

A Bradley's TOW hissed, then lanced out from its tube, the twin wires connected to it unfurling behind like a string. It struck another tank, cooking its ammunition upon impact and sending the turret and front-mounted mortar flying in different directions as the crew inside cooked alive. Its 25mm Bushmaster followed, chugging loudly as it tore through one of the walls in a full burst, explosive ammo detonating and gibbing several Imperial troops.

Trombley sprayed an enemy position with his SAW, covering Iceman, Fick and Ray as they bounded across to another trench. The middleman, that being the Lieutenant, loaded a 40 mike-mike into his tube and shot it at a squad of the bastards trying to advance. It spun, hit the necessary distance, then detonated upon striking the ground between the Imps.

Brad watched another jump out of the cover and put two shots into his chest, then a third in his head while Ray moved up, switching his carbine to full-auto and spraying down another bastard. They jumped into cover, Ray crying out, "Son of a BITCH! These pussies are really pissing me off!" before ducking as a Hind of all helicopters flew overhead, firing its nose-mounted gatling gun and missiles at the enemy that was hiding deep within the Trenchline.

"Stay focused, Ray!" Brad ordered, aiming through his ACOG for a target and doming it. A Sniper that had taken up position on what must've been a stone house that was still somewhat whole despite all the holes drilled through it fell and landed behind the house. He didn't move anymore after landing while Brad followed up by doming a second guy just as he was aiming one of their silly-ass lances.

Ray dropped a spent magazine and slid in a fresh one, sending the bolt home just as Trombley jumped in. He joked, "Nice of ya to join us, Whopper Junior!" to which the SAW Gunner gave a friendly bird flip to the joker of the team. Person laughed, poking out from behind cover and firing his rifle wildly at the enemy. He scoffed, "Didn't switch it off fuckin' auto," thumbed the switch, "There," and then aimed down the Irons and fired again, two shots striking a wall and sending dust and debris flying.

He complained, "This is some bullshit. When are we all gonna get ACOGs?" before ducking as The M249 barked again. Trombley held down the trigger to suppress five enemies attempting to flank them, cutting one down and hitting several others with the burst. He ducked behind cover just as a round skimmed the edge of the wall, sending dust flying overhead, then started reloading the SAW.

Brad replied, "Hell if I know, but it better be soon, Ray! Your aim's shit with irons!" jokingly. Ray laughed a mock laugh, mildly annoyed, then gasped as he heard a much heavier MG barking in front of him. Two Russian Motostrelki, one of them carrying a PKM, jumped into the ditch with them. Brad looked at one of the two rifles and saw Maria toting the AK-74. She grinned, to which he said, "Welcome to our side of the world!"

"We dropped off behind the lines and Captain Varrot pointed us here!" She quipped, then tilted her head to a platoon of VDV moving up to assist Squad 7's members. One of them dragged Rosie into cover while Largo moved up into the ditch, too, maintaining a degree of distance. Cathy O'Hara, one of the team's other snipers, jumped in as well with her M14, blasting away at the enemy.

"God bless that woman," Fick quipped, finally speaking up from the trio as he fired his rifle. He told Maria, "If you don't mind taking your platoon for a flank, we've got the front here!"

She grinned and nodded, slapped the back of her PKM Gunner and showed him to follow. He nodded and lifted up his bipod just as the rest of the Marines and Squad 7 joined them. Edelweiss's main gun roared, sniping an enemy tank just as it tried to push up to them, then took a Lance shot and a tank round to the front armor plate.

The Abrams that was providing them cover rolled forward, too, providing cover for PLAN and US Marines. Aboard the Edelweiss, meanwhile, Welkin said, "Keep going forward, Is. Make it steady," before he lifted up his Radio and said, "Alicia, take a pair of Engineers and your scouts and go with the Russian troops to flank!"

"Roger!" Alicia replied, slapping the side of the tank as she rallied her team. Marina's sniper barked from a dark corner somewhere nearby the rocks and an Imperial officer fell dead, blood painting the armor of several of his boys. She rebolted the sniper and provided cover to the Sergeant and her advancing fire-team as they joined the Ruskies on a flank.

She aimed, fired, then felt a gust of wind. Lifting up her own radio transmitter, she spoke, "Sandstorm coming in," as a warning.

Rosie scoffed, looking toward where Marina was and saying, "Oh, ya gotta be kidding me!" before gasping as she took a shot clean to her body armor, causing her to stumble back. Brad barked her name aloud, but she could barely hear it over the ringing in her ears. She felt herself get dragged back by the scruff of her neck as the sandstorm rolled toward them, then grit her teeth as she heard the loud crack of a tank's gun firing, watching the Abrams roll forward.

Brad stood beside Rosie and asked her, "You good!?" as he looked over the damage. She blinked, stunned by the fact the Sergeant would be helping her. She shook her head, clearing her mind, then nodded before noticing the Abrams tank hose down a squad of enemy troops with its coaxial. She gasped, drew the sidearm she was handed, namely a Colt-1911, and snapped off a shot just as one of the Imps tried to round the corner and dodge the tank.

Brad helped her to her feet and she told him, "We're even now, Yankee!" to which Brad gave a thumbs up. He and the others then used the momentum the tank was giving them to push to the next trench just as the roiling clouds of the sandstorm fell upon them. Each Marine donned their goggles and pulled up scarves over their faces, while Rosie began to sneeze uncontrollably. She saw Brad looking at her and yelled, "I HAVE A DUST ALLERGY!"

"..." The Sergeant snorted, then led his Marines forward with Fick beside him. Rosie almost doubled over with anger, then yelped as she heard the Abrams fire again. She went bug-eyed, then suddenly felt the sand entering said eyes and put on her own goggles. Jumping into the next trench and stumbling over an Imp corpse, she turned to Brad and pointed at their tank. He told her, "It's got Thermal sights!"

"... Oh," Rosie huffed, "Jesus, you people…"

"Tech represent!" Joked Ray, though he coughed from the dust, too, "Fuck, I hate sandstorms…"

"Xiu-Yan!" Fick barked, waving the PLAN Marine Lieutenant over and motioning toward the overall location of an enemy MG Nest. He told her, "Have your men frag that location! Three, maybe four grenades! There's an enemy emplacement there!" To which the woman nodded quickly. She balled her fist, then made the motion of throwing toward the position and raised three fingers.

The Marines nodded, three of them immediately priming grenades and pulling their pins before waiting two seconds and long-arming them toward the enemy's position. Three muffled thumps echoed, with Xiu-Yan stating, "Thank you," and nodding to Fick. She stood up and pushed out with her team toward the position.

Alicia reported over com, "We seized one of their positions! Storm's also subsiding!" as the gunfire began intensifying again. It was a stunningly quick sandstorm, thought Brad, which was a mercy. Having to wipe sand out of their guns was the last thing they wanted a repeat of right now, especially with Ray around.

As the dust began to settle around them and the cloud of sand faded into nothingness, Ray commented, "Oh, thank fuck, man!" as he shot another Imp. Fick agreed quietly, firing in short bursts while an Imperial Formation charged to try and retake the outpost Alicia, Maria and their respective fireteams had taken from the Imperials' flank.

Two attack helicopters flew in again, dumping their payload of rocket pods at the enemy and mixing it in with some high-caliber action from their nose cannons. Thirty-mil high-explosive rounds exploded all across the Imperial line, suppressing the Eastern troops and giving the allied formation time to close the gap and engage up close.

A couple dozen more dead Imps, several allied wounded and multiple prisoners seized later, the allies stood triumphant. Bloody, battered, but alive, they pushed the Imp troops that had surrendered over to nearby trucks, loading them up and sending them off with an escort of BTRs and BMPs. Maria and Brad met in the middle, with the latter looking at the massive structure the Imperials had unearthed.

She whistled, looking at the spiral motif of the building's construction, its ornate, hand-carved blue marble walls and pillars and the general design of the building. It almost looked like a giant conch shell of some kind. It even had a plaza leading up to it from the main excavation site. Scaffolding had been built around it to help with the dig and seeming cleanup.

She told Brad, "You know? I never thought I'd see an ancient structure being unearthed like this…"

"Me neither," Commented the Marine, "Especially not an alien world."

"It is something," Alicia quipped as she approached, leaning her own M16 on her shoulder and looking up, "Jeez… You seeing this, Welkin?"

"Yes," Welkin spoke, looking at it.

Brad quipped, "Wonder if this is gonna prove anything about that bullshit Calamity legend or not…"

"Oh, I'm sure it'll give us the insight we need," A smooth young man's voice echoed from behind them. The group all turned, only to come face-to-face with a young, handsome guy with slicked brown hair and a sharp jaw. He spoke, "I don't think I've had the chance to meet the people that were assigned to help Squad 7, there, Welkin. Care to introduce me?"

"Faldio!" Welkin smiled. Brad, Ray, Trombley and just about every other Marine blinked, with the Sergeant noticing that Alicia and Maria both stared at the young man, the former with some degree of innocent desire shown in a blush, while the latter was… Outright grinning, her eyes narrow, pale cheeks a terrifying shade of red.

Brad's eyes went wide as he looked at 'Faldio', the Lieutenant of Squad 1, and whispered toward him, "God help your soul, you poor bastard," while Welkin and Faldio both went on a tangent about how they met in university, with Faldio studying Archaeology while Welkin studied like… Fauna? Plants and birds and stuff?

Ray noticed the Russian girl stare, too, then mumbled, "Lucky son of a bitch…" toward Faldio.

Chapter Text

The Temple

The temple was… Opulent, to say the least.

Their flashlight beams cut through the darkness, illuminating the rising dust and the spiral motif columns and the hieroglyphs on the walls. The arched roof almost swallowed the beam of Brad’s rifle light in its blue-tinted darkness as he scanned it, noting more and more grooves meant to resemble spirals. He mumbled, “Least these ‘Valkyria’ are consistent as shit with their decorations…”

Ray mumbled something in agreement, crouching beside one of the columns and blowing the dust off  with a breath. He started coughing, speaking to himself with, “Jesus fuck…” as he waved his hand in front of his face and eyes, “I get Racist Rita’s reaction to dust and sand, fuck this shit. Not to mention it’s in a creepy-ass temple or tomb or some shit…” and he stood up. 

“Whine more, Ray,” Alicia grumbled, sounding mildly scared, “Wake up the sleeping Valkyria in here, why don’t’cha,” as she passed by one of the walls. Ray replied with a distant snort and a short ‘FU’ gesture involving a specific finger being lifted. A faint, azure glint caught her eye and she swiveled about toward a series of carvings on the wall. She called out, “Hey, guys! Over here!” her voice echoing all the way to a talking Faldio and Welkin.

The two moved up to the girl, with Brad shifting his rifle toward them while making sure to keep the barrel pointed away and keep the safety on. Ray continued to look around, asking Brad, “Hey, Brad, you think that motherfucker’s handsome?” which caused the man to raise his brows. Ray looked back at him and said, “No homo, dude. I won’t tell Trombley or the rest of Battalion, so… Answer.”

“... I mean,” His ol’ pal shrugged, thought for a moment, then nodded “Sure? Like, he seems like your standard university jock,” before grumbling to himself, “ And he reminds me of a certain ‘best friend’ from back at home, ” while he turned away and examined more of the wall carvings, the ‘basrelief’. He continued, “However, Ray, such homosexual discussions shall cease immediately, for… Y’know. We ain’t gay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ray quipped, grinning, “Was just askin’ cuz a lot of the girls looked like they liked him,” as he shifted and felt his foot sink. He took a step back and looked down, eyes wide as his mind raced to the usual stupid stuff, like booby traps set up by the local Valkyria. As he and Brad waited with baited breaths, nothing happened.

Brad sighed in relief, then told him, “We’re not in Indiana Jones,” sounding almost relieved.

“The Jew would know. No Ark of the Covenant here,” Ray quipped, then breathed a deep, deep sigh of fucking relief. He took a step back from the walls, then said, “Let’s just go join the gagglefuck over there, see what they’re so wooed about… Hell, who knows, maybe El-Tee Landzaat can give us some actual intel on the Calamity bullshit.”

The Sergeant gave a nod, with the pair of HITMAN Marines taking a few steps to reach the other side of the archway-like ‘lobby’ of the temple. Faldio looked back and smiled at the guys, saying, “Oh, perfect. Welkin was just wondering what was taking you so long,” before he pointed at a series of carvings ahead of them. He said, “I think we might’ve found something important here. These writings seem to detail the Calamity!”

“... Called it,”  Brad mumbled, “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Faldio pulled out a notebook and opened it, taking a knee and asking, “Keep a light on them, please,” as he looked at Alicia. The girl, though she blushed a little, gave a nod of approval and lifted her personal flashlight up to light every crease and carving on the wall. He started reading it, then started, “Well… We have the standard story here,” and pointed at it.

An image of a Darcsen man, recognizable by the shoal he wore with the inscriptions at the edges, very much like Isara’s, ruling over the destitute populations of the North appeared, with Faldio explaining, “The legend of the War of the Valkyrur as it’s been known across history. The Darcsen ruled from within these lands before they were a desert, actively oppressing the populations of Europa and waging wars of Conquest to bring more slaves to their lands, both to work the Ragnite mines and for other purposes…”

“Until the Valkyria arrived,” Brad commented with half a mouth, noticing the lower depictions of a goddess of some sort, her hair flowing in the winds. She was surrounded by some sort of Aura and wielding a shield and lance with perfectly-carved Spiral Motifs within the form. The rest of the images depicted the Valkyrias’ fight to liberate the Servants of the Darcsen, finishing with the death of the personification of the entire Race via his heart being pierced by a Lance.

Welkin spoke, “You said ‘the standard’...” before eyeing one of the other bas-reliefs within the place, just beside this one, hidden out of sight and out of mind. Faldio nodded, showed Alicia to pan the light over and led the guys toward it. Crouching beside it again and starting to read the script he had on his page…

Brad furrowed his brows, then said, “Ray, you got a camcorder or something?”

The rifleman paused, then shook his head, “No, but… One of the guys from Sarge Espera’s truck should have one,” and he waited for Brad to give the order. With a nod and a finger pointed at the door, Iceman told his buddy to rush out and bring it. Ray grinned and immediately bolted out the door to grab the camera, probably thankful to be out of this dusty, cobweb-infested hole in the sand.

He turned his head to the left and lifted his rifle up, noticing a wall covered by Valkyrian script with what looked like a central, round ‘door’ in the middle, looking like an Iris. He whispered, “Oh, great. Stargate,” in a murmur, “As if we weren’t close enough to that with the way we arrived here,” before he knelt in front of the ‘true’ story’. It had been hidden incredibly well behind the walls and layers and layers of cobwebs and dust, barely visible.

As he and Faldio wiped it away under Welkin and Alicia’s flashlights, he watched Faldio translate more and more of the information, eyes slowly going wide. He asked, “What is it? You’re leaving us hanging over here,” before fully turning to face Faldio. 

The man spoke reverently, “... It seems that History really is written by the Victors,” which caused mild confusion with his pal and the American. Faldio turned toward them, smiling a half-smile, then told them, “... This is a completely different account, buried in the dark. The writing here is much more jagged, probably due to whoever wrote it being in a hurry.”

“Care to enlighten us to its contents?” The Marine Sergeant inquired, staring at it.

Lieutenant Landzaat calmly collected his thoughts as he finally, mentally translated the last lines, then began, “... The Valkyrur came here as conquerors, not liberators. The War of the Valkyrur was a war of conquest against the Darcsen. Countless battles were fought, but the Valkyria and their weaponry, their Lances and Shields, proved to be too much for all Europan peoples. Their conquest of all Europa started here, in Gallia…”

“And they wrote themselves out to be ‘liberators’,” Brad growled, then shook his head and stood up, “This is fucked. And this is the reason people treat the Darcsen like shit nowadays?” only to get nods of confirmation from both Welkin and Faldio. He whispered, “The self-important pricks… And the calamity? What happened?”

“I’m guessing a Valkyrian weapon was used to scour this place,” Faldio shrugged, “Again, whoever wrote this version of the story was in a hurry… If we could find some sort of confirmation-” only to pause as he saw another line carved on the floor, just below his boot. Pulling his foot back and grabbing a flashlight, he read it quietly, “ They sealed the Truth in the Deep. Open the Door to see it… ”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The Sergeant demanded, feeling anger bubbling up in his chest. He looked back and asked, “Hey, Melchiott, what do you make of-” only to pause as he saw Alicia was gone. He called out, “Sarge!? Sergeant Melchiott!” as the other two men drew their guns and flashlights. 

They froze as they heard stone scraped against blue stone. The three immediately turned to the source of the noise, with Brad gasping aloud. He walked up to Alicia, rifle drawn and light on as he scanned the newly-opened Iris. His light, however, barely pierced the darkness of the antechamber. He turned to Alicia and asked, “How the hell did you do that?”

“I… I don’t know! I just got close to it and it opened!” Alicia defended herself. 

Lieutenant Landzaat almost didn’t buy it. He looked at Alicia with a mild degree of concern and suspicion, before approaching the door itself and pulling out his own flashlight. He scanned the scripts on the wall, then looked into the hole with Sergeant Colbert, stating, “... Well, looks like we’ll have our answers here, eh?”

“Sure seems that way,” Brad spoke. He heard footsteps matching the pace of someone running, then looked back and saw Ray lifting up the camcorder. He pointed at the exact thing and said, “Record everything, then join us down here, Ray! Eyes peeled!”

“Aw, man, c’mon! Don’t leave me alone up here!” Ray replied.

Alicia spoke, “Relax! The Valkyria Ghosts are nice!” and he shot back with a roll of his eyes and a smirk before flipping the camera on. Brad, Faldio, she and Welkin then climbed inside, with Welkin helping her cross the surprisingly large threshold. She saw Brad staring back at her with a grin, then shrugged and asked, “What? I’m serious,” while wearing a light, warm smile.

… A spiral staircase surrounding a massive, central pillar delved deeper and deeper down into the Earth. Brad poked over the edge and spoke, “OSHA’s gonna have a field day here,” before getting a few concerned looks from the three Gallians. He explained, “No safety railings…?” and only got more confusion.

He sighed, took a step back and started looking around at the Northern Script while they descended down the massive steps. Faldio began to look over the Script and the drawings while the others examined the place. Indeed, the Archaeologically-inclined Gallian began to translate the information, finding exactly what the writer of the outer script had mentioned. The Truth…

The Darcsen Calamity was a sham. Perpetrated by the Valkyria, with mentions of a traitor Darcsen family, the War of the Valkyrur had been a war of Conquest by the so-called Goddesses of Yggdism, one that was both successful as it seemed to encompass most, if not all of this half-assed version of Europe, and rewritten to be the war fought by Savior Goddesses that came down upon the Earth to free the oppressed peoples of this world.

Brad swore he felt like a vein in his brain was about to pop. Half of him wanted to run outside and show this shit to Rosie and her other racially-charged pals. He spoke, “Maybe this’ll finally get that redhead off of Isara’s case,” which caused all three Gallians to turn around. Both Welkin and Alicia smiled, while Faldio took a second to register it.

He smiled next, asking, “Oh. Yeah. How is Isara with you guys? I’d assume her technology and engineering-inclined mind must’ve loved seeing all of your flying vehicles.”

“She’s awed by just about every single one of them, yeah,” Brad smiled a little, “Like a little kid in a candy store… If the kid knew the entire process to making the candy just by looking at it-” freezing the very next second as he and the others heard footsteps approaching. He called out, “From below,” quietly, raising his rifle just as Ray appeared behind them with the camcorder.

The Sergeant balled his fist up and then pointed forward with two fingers. Ray nodded, drew his rifle and slid the camcorder into a pouch, aiming as he pressed himself against the wall. The five-man fireteam waited, holding their breaths to see just who the hell would emerge out of the darkness. Alicia raised her M16A1 and Welkin, his Colt M4, while Faldio drew a 1911 pistol off his belt.

Two figures approached:A man clad in an incredibly ornate white armor with gold accents and a fluffy cape that was red on the inside and white out. His handgun was just as colorful, a semi-automatic blowback pistol of Imperial make with engravings on its frame and slide, the grips looking like they were made with pearl and stamped with a family crest. He had extremely short blonde hair, deep blue eyes, makeup on and a golden laurel wreath.

Behind him, clad in a dark uniform bearing some medals pinned upon an incredibly well-developed chest, with gold lattice and chains and a sword clipped to her belt, a silver-haired beauty with burning scarlet eyes stared at them, carrying what looked to be a spiral lance in one hand and a spiral shield in the other.

“... It seems we have guests,” The man in white spoke, sounding like the single most pompous bastard alive to the untrained ears of the two Marines. The man continued, staring dead on at the four, unblinking, careless, “... You sully this holy place with your filthy footsteps. You and your foreign invaders.”

“Fuck you, too,” Ray replied bluntly, eyeing the bastard through the peephole of his M4, “I got him dead to rights, Brad.”

“... He’s the commander of the Imperial Invasion Force,” Faldio told them all, causing the group to pause, “Prince Maximilian Gaius von Reginave.”

“Someone who knows of our greatness,” The Prince spoke, gesturing to Faldio with his right hand, “At least one educated Gallian exists within your ranks,” before he eyed the Marines, “And you… You do not belong in this world. Leave ! ” his voice bellowing with a rage someone of his stature and frame should not have been able to express.

Brad scowled and replied, “You and your army first, Pillow Princess,” as he aimed for the bastard’s head. The others aimed their weapons, too. The man rolled his eyes, then waved his aide forward. He took a few steps up the stairwell before both Marines’ guns rang loudly behind him. A whirr, the roar of an azure flame and a light that bathed the entire room flared.

The spiral shield spun in the woman’s hand, flaring with the marks of the 5,56mm rounds from the Marines’ guns, while the two of them stared, dumbfound. Looking back with a side-eyed glance filled with disregard, the Prince told them, “... We shall see each-other soon outside the walls of this holy site. Selvaria, let us leave. No need to further disgrace this site with their blood.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” The woman spoke, stowing her weapons and following the man out.

“... What the fuck…?” Brad and Ray both said at the same time, while Faldio, Alicia and Welkin all looked completely terrified. The Sergeant shook it off first, lifting up his radio and barking, “ALCON, ALCON, ALCON! ALCON, ALCON, ALCON! THE COMMANDER OF THE ENTIRE HOSTILE INVASION FORCE WAS INSIDE THIS BUILDING! BE ADVISED:UNKNOWN HOSTILE IS WITH HIM! EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN ENGAGING!” Then he looked at the others and barked, “RAY, GUNTHER, MELCHIOTT! SNAP OUT OF IT! WE HAVE TO MOVE!”

“R-Right,” Welkin shook his head, then grabbed Alicia’s hand. The group ran outside, leaving Faldio behind as he processed what they’d just seen.

The Exterior

… The Sergeants, Lieutenant and Ray scrambled outside, only to suddenly wake up to the roar of gunfire. Tracers made wide arcs around them as Imperial Army Troops met with NATO and the Gallians. A swarm of enemy armored fighting vehicles drove over the dunes to their left. They were colored black with gold marks. The enemy was attempting to pincer them in the courtyard and ruins, but the American, Allied and Gallian troops were quick on their feet.

“BRAD, RAY, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING IN THE OPEN!?” Trombley demanded from a nearby trench, the barrel of his M249 turning a warm shade of red. He waved them forward and said, “GET YOUR ASSES IN HERE!” before he ducked as a burst of automatic fire from an enemy machine gunner struck over his head.

Brad and Ray nodded to one-another before they, Welkin and Alicia bolted it toward the trench, diving in just as a Bradley opened fire beside them, its 25mm cannon chugging along toward the infantry and advancing armor. Ray poked out with Trombley and fired at the enemy troops, while Brad asked, “What the fuck happened out here?!”

“Bastards hit the moment that blonde twink and his wife walked out of the same temple you guys were in!” Trombley replied as he knelt to reload his MG. Also in the trench were Garza, Poke, Fick, Rosie and Largo, with Racist Rita quickly reloading a fresh magazine before poking the gun up over the lip of the trench and firing semi-automatic toward the enemy units. Trombley slid the belt in, slammed the cover shut and racked the bolt back, telling Brad, “I think they’re some kinda royal guard! We got your message, but it was distorted as fuck!”

“What about the rest of the units! HITMAN?” Brad asked.

“Rolling around to hit the bastards from behind! MGLs and the LAR’s Bushmasters should be opening up any fuckin’ minute!” Garza answered that for them. Brad paused as he noticed a bullet hole in the man’s shoulder and suddenly got concerned, but Garza raised a hand and said, “Could be worse, Sarge! Could be much fucking worse!” 

“Don’t invoke Murphy, you stupid fuck!” Trombley answered as he laid down several more bursts from his SAW. Brad looked toward where the rest of Squad Seven was, noticing that the Edelweiss remained unoccupied, save maybe for Isara, who was standing in the hatch with a tank helmet on, looking around. When she noticed Welkin and the others, she waved before ducking into cover as a round ricocheted off of the front armor of the tank.

Brad spoke, “On your feet, boys and girls! We’re providing covering fire to the Lieutenant! He neds to get to his tank!” before standing up and shouldering his rifle. He peered down the reticle of his ACOG, then called out, “GO, GUNTHER! GO!” as they all started firing in various directions to suppress the enemy. The Royal Guards, the black-clad soldiers of the East Empire, scrambled for cover while Welkin and Alicia made a mad dash for Edelweiss and the Trench near the edges of the cliff face.

They jumped into cover, with Welkin immediately scrambling up the side of the tank. He waved to Captain Varrot, who was situated across from then and holding close to her her own personal M4 Carbine and a radio with which she’d contacted command. Beside her, officers from the 3rd Regiment’s other units held back the enemy.

She raised her fingers in increments, showing numbers, then mouthed ‘FREQ’ toward Brad. He nodded, then flicked around the com switches and said, “Battalion net, com check!” 

“ We hear you loud and clear, Sergeant. You and your unit are the farthest ahead, ” Varrot spoke as she lifted her rifle and fired up the slope of a sand dune, nailing a Guardsman in the chest for three bullets. She radioed, “ Command elements from HITMAN have ordered half your unit to flank the enemy assault… ”

“Roger that, LUCKY Actual!” The Sergeant replied, then he radioed, “HITMAN ACTUAL, this is HITMAN 2-1! We’re out of the Temple and currently exchanging fire with enemy units! Interrogative,” he lifted his rifle and shot a burst toward a four-man enemy fireteam as the Edelweiss’s engines roared to life. Its tracks creaked while Brad asked, “Do we have any backup incoming!?”

“ ACTUAL, 2-1, affirmative. Air assets are vectoring in from Randgriz AFB and should be here in ten mikes ,” The man replied, his humvee’s engine muffled by the background noise. The man continued just as an M2 chugged, firing at enemy teams on their side, “ Be advised:CAS Mission may be danger close. Use colored smoke to mark your targets. Battalion net will be our link to the flight, Callsign:METAL. HITMAN Actual, out. ”

“Good to know they had the fucking foresight to call in for backup!” Ray cried out as he returned fire. He ducked, hearing a distant, quiet ring in his ears as he saw a sniper shot meant for his head land in the ruin wall behind, drilling a neat little hole in the sandstone. He covered his mouth, feeling his heart begin to race, before whispering, “Fuck,” as his voice cracked, “Shouldn’t have taken that Ripped Fuel…” only to yelp as a machine gun volley sent dust and sand kicking up in front of him.

“Ray!” Brad called out, but his voice was muffled. He felt the man’s hand grasp his vest as he yelled at him. Ray could see Brad’s lips moving as the two looked each-other in the eye, but he couldn’t hear him. Had he been hit again? That same kind of ringing only echoed in his bran after that bullet to the helmet.

He felt Brad shake him, grab him by both of the straps of his vest and scream at him, but Ray couldn’t hear a damn thing. Only an annoying-ass ringing . Brad grit his teeth, shook his head, mumbled something, then cocked his hand back and… Much to Ray’s surprise… Slapped him clean across the face. 

Reality returned, the scream of gunfire, the barking of orders over the radio, the wounded and his buddies returning fire. Brad cried out with a cracking voice, “RAY! RAY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT, YOU STUPID HILBILLY FUCK!?” but there was no hatred behind those words. Ray watched Brad look at him like he’d just seen a ghost.

“I…” He uttered out, voice cracking, then swallowed and said, “I’M UP! I’M ALRIGHT!” as he grabbed his rifle. He whispered, “ What the fuck happened to me …?” 

“Something the Shrinks are gonna check up on,” Brad replied quietly, giving him a pat on the shoulder before turning back to open fire at the enemy’s troops. Rosie stared at Ray as he started sending shots down-range, too. Beside them, a Bradley’s tracks grinded as it reversed. The ‘Grey Lady’ from before fired its 25mm cannon, laying into an Imp Light Tank. Its APDS rounds punched hole after hole in the center of the tank, effectively mulching the crew inside into a paste.

The destroyed tank rolled over the slope and down the hill, the plow mounted at its front digging it a nice trench to stop into as it brewed up, fuel and ammo cooking off. The Bradley’s turret traversed, gun elevating toward infantry as the gunner switched to High-Explosive. It opened fire right at the feet of a platoon of enemy units, spraying a mist of blood and severed limbs high into the clear sky.

A pair of Lancers aimed for the tank, but two loud shots rang across the small valley in front of the excavation site. Pappy and Marina chambered rounds into their M700s at the same time, spent casings piling high beside them in their double sniper nest, with Rudy acting as their spotter on top of the rocky sandstone cliff face. He told them, “Redirect to targets with AT, thirty degrees right, five up. The wind is the same.”

The two Snipers turned, settling their crosshairs on the black-clad lancers’ heads. Both called out, “On,” with Marina being surprisingly more quiet. Rudy grinned and gave them a pat on the back each, quietly humming his mantra to even their breathing. Both Snipers let loose, rifles ringing among the chaotic firefight. Two more men dropped dead, one of them firing his lance into the sky in an arc.

Garza groaned as he felt his shoulder, then watched Doc and one of the triplets acting as the Seventh Platoon’s medics. The girl jumped in right beside him and said, “Apologies for being late! A couple of Marines and members of 1st and 5th Squad got hit near my and my sisters!”

“It’s alright, pretty girl,” Garza sighed, moving his hand to let her and the Doc tend to his wounds. She smiled at him, then activated the Ragnaid device, a medical system that worked based off of the weird properties of Ragnite to heal all wounds. It patched up his gunshot wound as he looked down, stunned. He turned his head toward the Doc and asked, “When the hell we gettin’ some of those!?”

“The moment I can send the request form to the Pentagon,” The man replied as he looked over the wound. He blinked, now looking at the bloody bullet on the floor with concern. He looked at the girl and asked her, “How the hell does this stuff even work?” to which she shrugged. Oh, great. Well, if he ever went back to med school, he could write a paper on this stuff.

They helped Garza to his feet and let him continue fighting. Fick called out, “We’re repositioning and tightening the defensive perimeter! Trombley, Brad, Ray! Cover Doc, Garza and the Gallians’ Medic! They’ll cover us when they’re in the rear trenches! GO!” before he stood up and fired a grenade from his underbarrel launcher. The blast struck and caused a geyser of sand and shrapnel. It suppressed the Royal Guardsmen, but the bastards moved like hammers.

Welkin’s tank gun roared next, the Edelweiss rocking back as it fired a high-explosive shell at an Imperial armored car. The blast struck the vehicle, crumpling it like a soda can in front of the Marines as they jumped and bounded, leapfrogging from cover to cover and providing cover for their other troops. 

Reaching the members of Seventh Platoon, Fick jumped in last and reloaded his M16 and his M203 before poking out and firing just as more shots zipped over their heads. Alicia pounced up and fired a burst before dipping back into cover and grumbling, “They couldn’t have picked a better moment to attack us.”

“ ALCON, MASSIVE ARMORED CONTACT INCOMING !” Godfather’s RTO warned over the com just as the Marine LAVs and Humvees rolled around behind three platoons of Imperials. A thundering roar echoed behind them and the Grey Lady’s rear exploded from the impact of a massive shell, the IFV catching ablaze in the hit.

The crew dismounted, piling out of the vehicle as it began to burn. Brad’s eyes went wide as he turned his head toward where the shot had come from… He saw a massive, decorated Land Fortress of some kind rolling forward, the muzzle of its massive artillery piece of a cannon. Their radios crackled, airwaves hijacked by the Prince as he boasted, “ Behold, the Empire’s finest war machine, The Batomys ! Stand ready to be crushed under its tracks !”

“... How the fuck did we miss THAT !?” Brad demanded.

Chapter Text

The Marines and Squad 7 peeled back and away from the Batomys, AT launchers engaging the Prince’s tank while their Humvees and the Edelweiss laid into it with whatever they had on hand. Brad took cover behind the standing wall of ruins, dropping a spent magazine from his rifle and growling, “Where’s the God damned TOWs or Abrams when you need’em!?” before he poked out of cover and put several rounds out. 

“Bradleys are trying to shoot the son of a bitch with their TOWs, but something’s keeping them pinned!” Ray answered. He put two rounds into one of the royal guards trying to flank them, then nailed another with a headshot, watching the corpse spin twice before landing, right-side-first into the sand. The Batomys’s massive main gun roared again and an armor-piercing shot the size of Ray’s head punched a hole through their cover, embedding itself into the sand.

Alicia sighed deeply, changing out her own 20 round magazine from her M16A1 and slamming in a fresh one before she hit the bolt release. She hit the forward assist twice, then looked at Ray and Brad, asking them, “So, air support!?” as Largo and his fellow Lancers laid down the hate with the M60s of their section.

“Coming in, but they’re still a couple minutes out!” Ray replied, ducking as a burst of machine gun fire ripped through the upper section of their cover. Ray spoke, “Brad, we oughta reposition before that fucking thing rolls us over!”

“Right!” He nodded, then looked at Fick, who was across from them. The man gave a nod, then pointed back with a full open palm. Trombley soon switched positions with him and joined the Squad 7 Machine Gunners in outputting lead to keep them covered. Brad barked, “ALL UNITS, ON ME AND MELCHIOTT! WE’RE PULLING BACK! LEAPFROG!”

The others replied quickly, several standing up and beginning to move back as fireteams opened up on Imperial troops trying to advance on them. Bullets zipped past their heads and ears as they pulled back, while the Edelweiss put as many hells as it could into the Batomys. The superheavy tank fired again, however, with the shot hitting something in the distance, presumed to be another Ruin. It slowly rolled forward, treads grinding the sand beneath their weight.

A TOW-2 hissed as another Bradley rolled out from cover and struck the side of what appeared to be some sort of radiators the cannon used to cool down. The radiator detonated in a flash of azure flame, which forced the crew to fold them down. The Bradley followed up with a TOW aimed at the vehicle’s track links, but struck armor instead, nailing whatever crew was inside while the vehicle turned.

The Bradley rolled back, firing its 25mm cannon while doing so in order to suppress or destroy enemy Infantry. And Destroy it did, as one of the Infantrymen exploded in a shower of gore thanks to the APDS, while a pair of Humvees rolled forward in its stead, one firing a fifty caliber machine gun while the other laid down more heavy fire with its 40mm grenade launcher, the HEDP rounds striking and rattling the Batomys’s hull while Edelweiss continued to roll back and away.

When Largo’s belt ran dry, the man withdrew a LAW from his back, popped it open, stood up to a crouched position and shouldered it. He aligned the crosshair and sight to one of the Machine Gun ball turrets that were keeping other AT Infantry suppressed and squeezed off the shot after making sure backblast was clear.

The rocket streaked forward and struck the Ball Turret, visibly detonating the ammo belt and shattering the turret itself, the barrel going flying far and away and embedding itself into the sand. He grinned and dropped the spent launcher, then called out, “REPOSITION AND HIT THOSE GUN PODS! WE GOTTA KEEP MOVING!”

The other Lancers nodded, grabbing their gear. One held his MG up under his arm and opened fire with it as they ran. He felt a tap on the shoulder, with Largo saying, “Keep hosing them, Jann!” and watching as the gentle giant’s lipstick-covered lips curled into a proud grin. The two nodded to one-another.

And Jann replied, “Ya got it, Handsome!” before tracing an arc with his MG while moving. The other Lancers laughed as they moved. A female Lancer withdrew her own LAW off her back, slid into cover, aimed and fired at another of the MGs as the Batomys continued to roll forward, hitting just above it. The HEAT jet penetrated and presumably made short work of the gunner as the weapon station went silent.

As they pulled back to the upper reaches of the Hill, watching the enemy tank rolling over their previous cover and burying the trenches, Brad grumbled, “Where the Hell is that air support?! We should’ve had at least a couple of Cobras on station by now!” and looked down the chevron sight of his ACOG at an Imp sniper. He saw the man’s head explode, then looked to the left and watched Marina pull back on the bolt of her still-smoking rifle, ejecting a spent shell. 

“Uh, Brad?” Ray asked as he reloaded his rifle, thumbing the bolt release only to hear a click. The Marine looked at his pal, who then told him, “They’re apparently a bit busy. Something’s going on due North-East of this fuckin’ temple we’re using as a beacon… Even our Abrams tanks are stuck fighting whatever it is.”

“Hope it’s not the ‘Valkyria’,” He answered, before firing a short burst from his rifle at a hostile attempting to charge them with his team, sending the black-clad Imperial falling to the floor, blood spewing from the bullet hole in his throat. Sergeant Colbert watched an Imp medic try to pull their wounded back and into a trench while under fire. Lucky for the bastard, they did manage to.

Ray lifted up his radio and called in, “HITMAN, METAL, interrogative, where the fuck are you guys?!” 

”We’re over the Desert now, should be there in two,” The Pilot answered past the muffled whine of their jet engines, ”Mark your targets, boys!”

“You heard the lady!” Brad called out, loading a colored smoke grenade into his launcher, “SMOKE THE BATOMYS!” before he fired. The grenade landed by the track and the colored smoke, a hue of deep red, rose like a pillar into the sky as the drone of Jet Engines filled their ears. Two A-10 Warthogs rolled in toward the target.

On board METAL-1, the pilot, one Flight Lieutenant Mary Doherty, locked onto the smoke pillar and panned down her camera toward the massive advancing tank. She whistled and said, “Ain’t that a beautiful target. METAL-2, this is METAL-1, follow me in, missiles hot…” and she started selecting her weapon payload through her Multifunction Display. She thumbed the selection to her MAVERICK missiles, then called out over radio, “ALL ALLIED UNITS, METAL IS ON-STATION! DANGER CLOSE! RIFLE, RIFLE, RIFLE!”

The missile’s engine roared as it slid off the guidance rail at the nine o’clock position. From a trio of missiles, one streaked out toward its intended target, laser-guidance and IR taking over as it screamed forward, fins adjusting its trajectory toward its intended target. As it screamed overhead of the allied force, the entire crew saw it come in.

The following impact was deafening and terrifying. The AGM-65’s penetrating warhead struck the very bow of the Superheavy Tank as it’d made its turn toward another allied position. The Jet boiled through the main driver’s area, melted through into the lower autoloader section and caused a secondary explosion within the ammo.

The tank visibly peeled open at the front, effectively immobilized as its cannon blossomed like a flower (or looked like a peeled banana, depending on whom one might ask) and whatever survived of the crew from the rear began to bail out, several of them missing limbs. METAL-1 cheered loudly, “FUCK YEAH!” as she saw the explosion through her MFD’s connection to her targeting pod. She radioed, “HITMAN, METAL! Target destroyed!”

“GOOD EFFECT ON TARGET, METAL, THAT WAS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!” Ray replied, laughing heartily. The Imperial Forces that had so far been focused on trying to press the advantage now moved to try and evacuate the survivors of the Batomys’s destruction. Ray called out, “Who’da thunk the Warthog pilots can hit anything but friendlies, eh?”

Brad let out a short laugh, looking through his scope as the Warthogs’ engine whine filled his ears. Three hundred meters ahead, the ground exploded from repeated impacts, followed by the roaring howl of the A10’s Thirty-Mil GAU-08 Avenger. Infantry platoons of the Empire dispersed as the second A10, METAl-2, came in with its own gun.

The good Sergeant paused, however, looking through his scope and watching with wide eyes as the Imperial forces managed to pull Maximilian out of the fucking destroyed vehicle’s rear hatch. The man was bloody and burnt, his face was soot-covered and his left arm hung limply by what looked like a thread of muscle, but he was alive.

“How the fuck…?!” The Sergeant demanded. He looked through his scope, tracking the bastard through the smoke, then squeezed off a shot…

… A blue blur appeared in front of Maximilian, deflecting the bullet. He went bug-eyed as he saw the woman lower the shield, glaring at him. Radio warnings echoed with, ”ALCON, THIS IS ACTUAL! HVT VALKYRIE IS ON THE FIELD! I REPEAT, HVT VALKYRIE IS ON THE FIELD! BRACE FOR COMBAT ENCOUNTER!”

… Selvaria glared at the Gallians and their Alien Allies. She listened to the buzz of their annoying fighters, growling at them, ”Petulant mosquitoes, daring to harm My Liege…” as she watched them flying around, trying to turn and perform another gun run. She barked at the Troops carrying His Highness’s wounded frame to a vehicle, “GET HIS HIGHNESS OUT OF HERE, NOW!”

Then she pointed her Lance forward and cried out, ”SOLDIERS OF THE EMPIRE! THERE STANDS GALLIA! CLAIM HER AND AVENGE YOUR PRINCE’S WOUNDS!” her voice filled with the kind of vitriol that only gave way  to a brighter-burning azure Flame. She watched one of the enemy bombing craft turn toward her, spinning up its gun, then snarled and raised her Lance.

In half-a-second, a burning beam of blue energy tore through the heavens toward the aircraft. METAL-1 gasped, then yanked hard on the stick. Too little, too late, however, as the energy attack struck the aircraft’s tail dead on, melting through everything from the outer aluminum layer to the internal hydraulics.

The tail ripped off, leaving the girl with no control surface. She gasped, starting to panic and breathe heavily into her mask as she called out, ”METAL-1, GOING DOWN! I REPEAT, METAL-1 IS GOING DOWN! I’M EJECTING!” before grabbing onto the ejection seat’s two yellow-black cords and yanking them hard.

On the ground, the team watched the burning wreck of the A10 slam into the ground, now pilotless. The pilot had managed to eject in time, her chute visible against the blue sky. Ray radioed, “METAL-2, WAVE OFF!” and watched the other A-10 immediately bank hard left and fly away. He panickedly called out, “Jesus Christ, man, what the fuck!?”

“This is fucking insane,” Brad replied quietly, then ordered, “Ray, get SAR on the line! Bratishka or one of our Black Hawks or Venoms, I don’t fucking care! And get any vehicle we have to focus that bitch down!” 

Ray nodded, radioing in Brad’s exact words while Fick moved up to them with the Platoon. A pair of their Bradleys and a pair of LAVs rolled in as well, firing their 25mm Autocannons to try and suppress a wave of newly-invigorated, advancing Imperial Troops and their tanks. Thermals were being disrupted by the woman and her Blue Flame, much to the annoyance of every gunner there as pillars of smoke rose into the sky and formed around the destroyed vehicles, obscuring vision.

Their Abrams Tanks had reported they were rolling in to try and support them, but had been held up by a distraction force. Brad watched the woman ahead firing multiple beams from her Lance, then gasped as he felt Fick tap him on the shoulder. He looked at the Lieutenant and asked, “What the fuck do we do against a living, walking tank…?”

“We keep going. Cobras and Hinds are moving in to support us, try to box her and her troops in, maybe end this war quick,” Fick replied as he fired his rifle. Brad and Ray joined him, watching the rest of Squad 7 retreat to the upper area of the Dig Site. Alicia slid in beside them while the Edelweiss fired its MG at the Valkyria. 

She whispered, “Why today of all days?! Why the hell do Valkyria actually exist?!”

“We’re asking ourselves that same thing,” Brad answered as he and the rest of his team shifted position with the Gallians. One of the LAVs beside them tried to engage Selvaria, too, but the woman had already charged another of those large-scale Beam attacks that she’d used to shoot down METAL-1. When it struck, it took the whole front off the LAV, turning the crew inside into ash while secondary explosions ripped through the troop compartment.

The Corpsmen pulled what few wounded they could out of the vehicle, some of them missing limbs, while a Bradley tried to fire its TOW, but missed the moment it moved.  The woman turned to try and engage it, forcing it back into cover. She continued to advance toward the formation, anger fanning the Blue Flame she wielded as her flaming red eyes locked onto Brad and company.

The man gasped, cried out, “TAKE COVER!” then metaphorically buried his head as far down as he could. A volley of energy blasts tore through the air above their heads, one shot nailing and popping the tire off of a Humvee. It skidded to a halt, but the gunner on it returned fire, raining scarlet tracers onto the woman with the fifty-caliber MG.

The Mi-8 of Bratishka landed and retrieved METAL-1’s pilot, before lifting up off the ground, all within the span of ten seconds. Two other Helicopters streaked by, firing Hydra missiles toward the advancing platoons of enemy infantry and Medium Tanks. Twenty-mil autocannons ripped through the infantry and a couple of rounds seemed to strike close enough to the Valkyria to stagger her.

Largo and his team, though they looked just as terrified as everyone else, immediately lit up the stumbling Valkyria, forcing her to raise her shield as 7,62x51mm rounds hit both the flame and the refined Ragnite shield, shattering against it. The whittling firepower was meant to keep the woman pinned, however, forcing her on the backfoot while her infantry was dealt with by their IFVs.

She saw through the plan, however, jumping back and protecting the vehicles that were helping evacuate the wounded, the Prince included. She sent another volley of laser fire toward them, her shots melting sand and turning it into glass. A volley from one of their infantry transports struck around her, but she managed to deflect several rounds away. One of them, however, fell at her feet after impacting the shield and she saw it was a dart of metal that hadn’t even bent.

She blinked, stunned, then grit her teeth as she dodged a guided missile. Said missile then struck a tank behind her, coring it and melting the crew inside before the ammunition and fuel ignited and violently exploded. Their weapons were advanced and terrifying, including their flying machines. She watched one of their ‘Choppers’ stop in front of her and trace a nearly-perfect straight line with the rotary gun in its maw, before peeling away.

She tried to shoot it, but a round finally passed through her barrier and managed to scratch her hip, leading to very slight blood loss. The enemy’s own tank traversed its turret toward her next, then fired, the APHE round screaming through the air as time slowed around the Valkyria. She glared at it, grit her teeth and met the shell herself.

She angled her shield, pushing one foot forward and turning the other to be perpendicular to its axis, then she visibly stopped the round with her shield, deflecting it away from the evacuating Imperial Military vehicles and stunning everyone. She scoffed as she also heard the distant whine of the Aliens’ tank engines, before ordering, “WITHDRAW! WE’VE TAKEN WHAT WE CAME FOR! MOVE!” 

… It was when they started to retreat that Brad realized they’d actually won that engagement. The Witch and her troops were falling back, carrying a very wounded Maximilian out and away. A few birds attempted to pursue, but they’d stopped when they’d realized that, not only would they be Bingo for Fuel if they chased them halfway across Occupied Gallia, but that the Task Force had more pressing matters to attend to.

Ray swore up a storm about having to engage an actual Valkyria, while the rest of Squad 7 stared at the dead the Witch had left behind, both Imperial and otherwise. Alicia cradled her M16A1 with wide eyes locked onto the charred corpses of the Warpigs that’d died when that beam cut their LAV in half. The crew of the Grey Lady looked over their destroyed Bradley with annoyance, one of them even moving to kick the destroyed Batomys.

Welkin and Isara parked the Edelweiss behind the squad, with the former dismounting and approaching the crew. Largo, who was smoking a cigar, noticed him and said jokingly, “Hell of a day, eh, Boss?” before taking a drag from the little bit of calm he had on hand. Welkin nodded, then sat down beside Alicia as they watched US Abrams tanks rolling in with M88A1 Armor Recovery Vehicles to help drag the destroyed and damaged vehicles of the US Military out.

The young man said to everyone, “Other allied nations of the US have started deploying, by the way… A nation called ‘France’ has reportedly just sent in its own Task Force, mostly made up of light infantry and vehicles, across that ‘Gate’. The Chinese and Russians have also received a few new units to support them…”

Brad walked over as the Army Engineers worked to tow the ‘Grey Lady’ out of a ditch, telling them, “So… I was gonna ask if any of you figured that Valkyria were a real thing, but going by the entire Squad’s reactions, you didn’t…” and he sat down with Welkin, Alicia, Largo and even Rosie. He winced, to which everyone looked at him and he smiled sheepishly, “Ray was right about one more thing… I had a piece of shrapnel stuck in my ass after that LAV blew up.”

“Ouch,” Alicia shook her head, “... How do you think your people are gonna take these casualties?”

“A downed A10 and half-a-dozen dead Marines?” He raised a brow, then shrugged, “We’re losing about as much in Fallujah every day, so…” and curled up, “I dunno. I don’t know if Command even mentioned a peep to this to our population back home… All I know is DARPA’s probably cooking up something already.”

“DARPA?” The others looked at him, confused.

He sighed and waved it off, “Big top-secret weapons development bureau. We’ll talk about it if anything comes of-” and he froze. Jumping to his feet, he barked, “GENERAL MATTIS AND CAPTAIN VARROT ON-DECK!”  which caused several Marines and even the Seventh Platoon members to stand up and salute.

Mattis, who was wearing his combat gear, sighed and said, “At ease. Lieutenant Fick, Lieutenant Gunther, on me. I’m gonna need someone to brief me on this clusterfuck…” and he led the officers out from the rest of the crew. Brad sighed and sat himself back down with the others, only turning his head as he heard the whine of Russian engines approaching.

A few BMPs and BTRs of the VDV moved in, with Maria and her unit rolling up. She jumped down from the BMP-2, rifle under her arm, then ran toward Brad, asking him, “So they’re real?” and receiving a nod. She whispered a concerned, “Blyadh…” before sitting down, too, “So what the fuck do we do, then?”

“I don’t know,” The man replied, then eyed a concerned Rosie and continued, “All I know is that thing can bleed, meaning it’s no Goddess…”

“Don’t let anyone who worships Yggdism hear you say that,” Joked Alicia, though her voice was low, annoyed. Brad let out a snort filled with all the annoyance of today while Alicia simply continued, “I can believe one of them’s siding with the Empire, though, considering the ‘real’ history we read in the temple.”

“Amen to that,” Ray added as he approached, having finally calmed down. He was visibly winded and drawing short, ragged breaths from screaming at nothing just now. He told them, “Ey, Maria,” to which the Russian grinned and nodded to him. He sat with the team, face-to-face with Brad and the others, then rubbed his face and mumbled, “First we travel to an alien planet like it’s that Air Force and Canadian show, then we fight Knights and shit for a while and now a literal blue fire-spewing psychotic bitch tries to roast all of us alive. And last I heard the whole of LUCKY lost LUCKY-3 and LUCKY-4 to the bitch before she came after us.”

“And she only came after us after our downed Bird put a Maverick clean through the big fuck over there,” Trombley gestured toward the wreck of the Batomys, whose entire front was near-entirely gone. They were still pulling corpses out from within the vehicle, which must’ve had an incredible amount of crew.

Rosie whispered, “She looked like she was pissed we wounded her Prince.”

“She’d probably have tried to kill us here and now if he’d have actually died,” Brad suggested, then sighed and said, “I do wonder if this’ll get’em off of Gallia’s case now. We just showed the bastards we have the means of reaching out and touching them, including their highest-ranking Commander…” then he shook his head, “But that’d be way too easy. Especially for someone whose pride I’m just gonna assume we severely wounded.”

“Royalty’s always dickbags,” Maria quipped, watching their friendly helicopters touch down to retrieve the wounded. She asked them, “Do you think we’ll have to deal with her again, considering…?” and she immediately got a nod of confirmation. She sighed deeply and mumbled something in Russian to the effect of ‘Of fucking course’.

Ray said, “Hey… Could be a lot worse,” and got everyone looking at him in confusion. He quickly clarified, “I mean, we’re getting outta this shitty desert for one, right?” and that immediately got Brad to facepalm, while the others let out short, but more mirthful laughs. He smiled, then looked at Brad and asked him, “... What?” as he saw him staring at him.

“... You’re going to the head doc,” Brad declared firmly, watching Ray prepare to respond. He stopped him by raising his hand and saying, “Ap ap ap… No. You’re staring into the void when you think we aren’t looking, you’re dealing with headcase issues and trying to hide’em behind humor… When we get our asses back to base, I’m sending you to the FRENCH Head Doc specifically so you can be cleared for active duty properly.”

“Aw, man,” Ray let out, slumping and pouting like a child. And though Squad 7 and their unit laughed, there was a slight undertone of concern for the younger Marine. Brad himself was genuinely concerned about him, as much as he was for everyone else who’d just had to face a literal, physical embodiment of the local Religion’s goddesses, which must’ve been one hell of a Crisis of Faith for a lot of people.

… It was a bit of a Crisis of Faith for Brad, too, honestly. He’d dismissed them so far, especially because they were lying about the Darcsen. With the confirmation of both their existence and what that entailed, though, the other Older Brother of Isara looked back at the kid as she worked to maintain the Edelweiss and wondered…

What now?