NationStates Jolt Archive

The UC office was in minor chaos when Greg's phone rang, as preparations were made in case the police showed up. Not that anyone was really worried about it, but when the freighter had been boarded, it had spooked the spooks.

Greg ducked into a side hallway, sitting on top of a mini fridge as unlucky operatives carried various computers down to the basement to exchange them with 'clean' machines.

'I'm here, what's up?'

'I'm here, what's up?' Greg's voice said over the phone.

"Just bringing you up-to-date. My people on the scene say one of your choppers finally made it out and is headed for our territory. I've alerted the Commander. They've got his frequency, I presume." Gwen took a deep breath as she heard a large distant explosion. "Hold on."

She picked up another phone that was vibrating on her kitchen table. She flipped it open and read the SMS.

AF just blew embassy! Firing on rioters. Missiles got one, then area blown.

Gwen shook her head and resisted a completely unprofessional urge to throw the phone. Chaos wasn't a bad thing for the revolution, but those ignorant workers dying in the streets tonight were still her people...

"Sorry," she said returning to the other phone, "one of our people just SMS'd. She said the air force just bombed the Panto embassy. Now they're finishing off the rioters. The rioters got a hold of a missile battery and shot down one plane before they got blown up..."

Outside Courtland...

As the sound of automatic weapons fire faded and the grunts of hand-to-hand combat subsided, SSGT Burke picked his way cautiously among the wrecked vehicles of the Army platoon that had stumbled upon his unit. His face was wet with sweat and streaked with mud. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and say a bit of blood as well.

After the Army troops had entered the crossroads the SSS had opened fire on them, catching them off-guard. They had tried to retreat, but the VSF, hidden further up the intersecting road, had caught them in a crossfire.

It had been obvious to Burke that the platoon’s CO had gotten scared and tried to call an unorganized retreat. That had sealed the platoon’s fate. Although, in Burke’s experience, most Army officers never really cared whether their men lived or died; only whether they did.

So, when Burke spotted an officer jumping out of the trailing vehicle, he had taken double pleasure in shooting him. Of course, with his armor, it’d taken quite a few shots to kill the s.o.b. That had put Burke in the middle of the Army troops and led to some hand-to-hand combat. Burke assumed that’s where he’d picked up someone’s blood.

Burke turned and looked back towards his men. The Army unit had been annihilated, and with the SSS’s jammers on, their HQ would never know exactly what happened. But, the SSS had suffered several losses as well. He assumed the VSF had casualties, too, but he hadn’t gotten over to them.

Suddenly, Burke froze. He heard a sound down the path. Not a vehicle. Feet. The platoon had back-up and whoever they were, they were smarter than the dead lieutenant and were sending some scouts ahead of the main force. Burke hurried back towards his own men.

In Courtland...

MAJGEN Becka Harrison sat uneasily in the back of the lightly armored limousine. It was part of her motor pool; it was Altman’s. And it made her uncomfortable. At least, since she was headed back to the R&D center rather than the city center, she didn’t need an armored vehicle and an armored vest.

She looked towards the city and heard the distant sound of jets and bombs. What could Altman be thinking, bombing his own capital! Becka bit her lip and looked at her watch. It was starting to rain outside, making the night even more miserable. But, dawn was coming. And now, she couldn’t wait.

Greg rolled his head back, sighing; you can't predict that actions of someone who bombs his own city. Back to the business at hand, though. 'The helicopters won't be able to communicate with your ground troops without compromising their position. They're communicating with us directly via satellite since the freighter we had in the bay got taken by the navy. Once they're behind FVLA controlled territory they'll put down and proceed on foot, so tell your people to make sure any helicopter they shoot at isn't a Scarecrow.'

Aboard INV Glorious...

VADM Sir Derek Kunle sat in his robe and slippers sipping hot cocoa and doing some light reading. It was his usually late evening routine, and no matter how long the night, he found he needed to follow it in order to sleep. Just as he was sleep come upon him, there was nock on the hatch. “Enter.”

The hatch swung open and a crewman with a signalman’s badge and an armed marine entered. Both bowed slightly. “Admiral, eyes-only message for you from the General Staff.”

Kunle took the message, printed into a sealed container, from the signalman and dismissed him and the marine with a nod.

Kunle dialed the combination to open the box and retrieved the message. He read it and sat it down. He picked up his cocoa and took three quick sips. Then, he rose and crossed to his desk and opened a small safe built into the wall. He pulled out a folder and opened it.

The first page read:

Imperial General Staff
Most Secret – Compartmentalized Information

Operation: Safety Blitz

Kunle was pleased to note that the plan had been updated a year ago when the present crisis had begun. He opened it and began reading Excalbia’s plans for a preemptive invasion of Upper Virginia.

After a few moments, he called his staff aide, who materialized from an adjacent compartment, still in uniform.

“Sir Derek?” The lieutenant commander said with a slight bow.

“New orders for the fleet,” Kunle said sealing the file and placing it back into the safe, “All combat air squadrons are to be ready for immediate launch. Pilots should sleep in shifts with a full squadron in the ready room at all times. Amphibious and air assault craft are to be ready for immediate launch. Air assault troops should be sleeping with their gear at the ready. All training exercises are cancelled. All non-combat duties are cancelled. All ships to general quarters.”

Kunle nodded with appreciation as the aide took everything in without giving away his reaction. Only a pronounced widening of the eyes revealed his emotions. “Yes, Sir Derek.”

The aide retreated to his office and within seconds, Kunle heard the klaxons calling the carrier to general quarters.

Outside Courtland...

SSGT Burke watched from his spot deep in the bush as four regular army soldiers cautiously approached the site of the recent skirmish. The soldiers moved cautiously scouting the wrecked army vehicles and checking the bodies of the dead. Most of the bodies were regular army, but mixed among them, Burke knew were some of his SSS men. Fortunately, in full armor, the SSS looked just like the army. And even more fortunately, no VSF casualties were visible on the field.

Burke heard CAPT Terelson’s voice inside his helmet.

“Hold fast. No fire. Let’s see if we can’t get the whole unit in here…”

After several excruciating minutes, Burke could hear the sound of vehicles on the road. Unfortunately, they stopped short of the crossroads and discharged another half dozen men who moved up to join the other four. One vehicle moved slowly forward, its heavy caliber machine gun swing around to cover the men, who then moved into the bush.

“Captain,” Burke whispered in his helmet.

“Stand-by, Sergeant.”

Suddenly, a single rocket tore through the woods and slammed into the vehicle, sending it up into the air and back down the road.

The soldiers coming into the woods were momentarily stunned. Burke took advantage of that and immediately opened fire.

Soon, the rest of army platoon was moving forward and firing and the remainder of the SSS and VSF joined the fight…

Commander Thrakos paced his office on-board HIMS Imperator Andreus, rubbing his chin as he looked at a bulletin board into which the photographs of three IFIS operatives who worked undercover at the Pantocratorian embassy in Courtland were pinned. This was a difficult decision.

Mater had just made contact with Thrakos and ordered him to assign one of his field operatives to make contact with the rebels and find out where the ambassador was being held. This wasn't an easy task - the IFIS had no operatives observing Free Virginia, and Thrakos had no real idea as to how to make contact. He'd have to leave it all up to the agent... but which agent?

He picked the photo of the agent who had just reported back from the destroyed embassy. She might have been spotted, conducting manual reconaissance. It might not be safe for her to remain in Courtland anyway - if the ambassador was in rebel hands, his "secretary" might be a target. This was how he justified picking her instead of the other two. He walked over to his desk, entered his password to unlock his computer, and opened a secure communications terminal...

Greg rolled his head back, sighing; you can't predict that actions of someone who bombs his own city. Back to the business at hand, though. 'The helicopters won't be able to communicate with your ground troops without compromising their position. They're communicating with us directly via satellite since the freighter we had in the bay got taken by the navy. Once they're behind FVLA controlled territory they'll put down and proceed on foot, so tell your people to make sure any helicopter they shoot at isn't a Scarecrow.'

"Got it, Greg," Gwen said. "I'll pass that message on the commander." Gwen disconnected and closed her phone. She picked up another phone and dialed the Commander to pass UC's message.

Outside Courtland...

As the battle continued, a light rain turned into a downpour. Soon, mud mixed with blood, debris and human bodies sloughed its way down the hillside into the ravine below.

LT Rinde played his hand far more cautiously than Potts, but then, Rinde had taken great pride in being a better officer than Potts.

When his first scouts had found every sign of an abandoned battlefield, Rinde had dispatched a full squad to penetrate the woods looking for signs of the aggressors. He had also tried to signal LCOL Illers, and his failure to get through had concerned him greatly.

When his probe into the woods had exposed the waiting ambush, he had begun a cautious assault on his unknown foe.

Unfortunately for him, he was in a disadvantageous position – his unseen foe held the high ground and had him in a crossfire and he was unable to call for support. However, Rinde suspected his foe had already been bloodied and he had most of LT Haverly’s platoon and some stragglers from Potts giving him a presumed numerical advantage. So, he decided to pursue the battle.

CAPT Terelson watched the unfolding skirmish with tense anxiety. This was, he realized, a huge distraction from his mission and potentially disastrous. The regular army troops advanced cautiously and while his men and the VSF kept the advantage, he knew the army was gradually bleeding his forces white.

Terelson grabbed the corporal beside him and handed him a note and instructions to find LCOL Matthews in the VSF lines. He waited until the message should have been delivered and signaled his men to advance.

* * *

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the crossroads a deep, muddy mess. SSGT Burke again walked among the dead and dying in the pre-dawn gloom. Here and there he spotted a survivor. Those who were regular army he dispatched with a single merciful shot. Those who were SSS or VSF he marked and signaled for those behind him to drag them to the unit’s surviving vehicles.

Hearing movement to his left, Burke swung around and spotted two VSF soldiers.

“Rorke,” the sergeant said nodding to Burke, “this is Vash,” he nodded towards the female corporal beside him. “Looks like more of us survived than of them. Not much of a victory. But better than the alternative.”

Burke nodded. “How many of you left?”

“About half. They had more heavy weapons than the first section. Looked like at least a couple of their chain guns were gats. They did a devil of job on us until we took them out. How’s your side?”

“Down to a third.” Burke shook his head. “They were at more than platoon strength. And they just kept coming at us.” Burke stifled a sigh. “At least they didn’t get additional back up.”

As he spoke, Burke nearly stepped on another body. He looked down and recognized the equipment pack as SSS rather than army and rolled the body over. He muttered a stream of curses as he recognized what was left of CAPT Terelson’s face.

He turned to the VSF soldiers. “You still have your CO?”

“Yes.”

“Better get me to him. We’re under his command now.” Burke reached down and tore off Terelson’s ID tags and ripped open a pocket in his uniform and retrieved a small, flat case.

In Varessa City, Commonwealth of Varessa...

“Very good,” Field Marshall Harris nodded. “We’ll maintain an open link and be in contact as soon as the cabinet makes a decision on prepositioning troops.”

Harris nodded for a technician to mute the audio pick-up and made arrangements to transfer the open link to the military’s command centre.

Afterwards, Chancellor Drake reconvened the cabinet to consider Excalbia’s offer of hosting Varessan troops. It was a fractious and vocal meeting, with several ministers expressing concern about further abandoning Varessa’s traditional independence in world affairs by enmeshing it further in the Excalbian Isles. Foreign Minister Alex Shaw, however, pointed out that the Excalbian Empire was a formidable player in the region’s politics and that, given the Commonwealth’s somewhat exposed position on Upper Virginia, cementing the new alliance with it would be a prudent idea. For his part, Field Marshall Harris somewhat reluctantly admitted that placing some of their forces in Excalbia would certainly allow them to respond more quickly to event in Upper Virginia and might lessen their risk by giving them the prospect of going in with Excalbian forces.

Drake seemed to summarize the position of the cabinet, which finally approved the move long past midnight, by quoting the old adage, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Within the hour, Harris had dispatched orders and VSF troops were assembling for immediate departure to Excalbia.

At a Secret Airfield Outside Courtland...

The rain and gloom of the previous night gave way to a glorious sunrise and a fiery pink dawn sky. MAJ Janet Holmes took a deep breath; the air smelled fresher and cleaner than it for years. Then she slid her faceplate into place.

Janet walked out from behind the short building that housed the ready room and pilot locker rooms and onto the tarmac. No one would have recognized her, or so she hoped. She was wearing MAJ Max Hiller’s flight suit and helmet. Under the flight suit she wore her own suit, some padding and several layers of strategically placed duct tape. LCOL Stepan Paulis had been scheduled to make this flight – which by General Altman’s order was to be Ozymandius’ final test flight – but had come down with a stomach virus, courtesy of the SSS. They had hoped she’d be called to replace Paulis, but Hiller had been next on the schedule. So, now he was peacefully sleeping off a substantial dose of tranquilizers and Janet was here passing herself off as the slightly bigger and far less feminine Hiller.

Janet had, of course, pulled all of the wiring out of her own helmet and placed it in the Hiller’s shell. That would allow her to control the X-9 without risk of dangerous biofeedback.

As she approached the long, sleek black plane, Janet felt a shiver of excitement. It was, simply put, the finest machine she’d ever flown.

She saluted the ground crew and climbed into the plane. Fortunately for her, Hiller was regarded as a bit of a cold fish by the enlisted ground crew.

Within minutes, Janet was airborne and heading towards the frigid North Atlantic at supersonic speed. Once she was going fast enough, the Pulse Detonation Wave engines kicked in and the plane jumped from Mach 3.5 to Mach 13.5. She was nearly upon the target range, when she executed a broad arch and sent the X-9 back into the heart of the Dominion.

A high-resolution 3-D projection of the terrain below played across her faceplate, like a phantom hovering over her instruments. She flicked a switch and brought up the feed from a Dominion National Radio, a commercial station owned by a company owned by Forrest Turley. A banal sportscaster was reviewing the scores of yesterday’s games. In a few seconds, Janet spotted a distant cluster of buildings on the northwest edge of Courtland. She focused on the buildings for a second, which caused the display to focus on them and magnify them. They were clearly Altman’s HQ.

Then, on time, the sports announcer was cutoff in mid sentence and the Old Army March began to play. Janet blinked and the float crosshairs over Altman’s HQ flashed from green to red. With a flick of her mind, Crimson Star flared to life, magnetic catapults sending projectiles hurtling at hypersonic speeds towards the buildings below.

In her display, Janet saw the buildings erupt in plumes of fire, smoke and debris and stream of projectiles tore into them and bored into the ground. As long as Altman hadn’t dug himself a nuke-proof bunker, Crimson Star would get to him.

After one pass, Janet and the X-9 were nearly across the Gulf and into Excalbia. By then, she was a couple of minutes overdue at the target range and ground controllers started calling for her in vain.

Another broad arc and a dozens of seconds brought the X-9 zooming back over Courtland. Another flick of her thoughts and Crimson Star tore in Altman’s HQ a second time. This time, she directed the stream of projectiles towards the buildings not destroyed in the first pass and into the trenches gouged the first time. A burst of explosions from below ground rewarded her, letting her know she had hit the base’s underground infrastructure.

By then, the X-9 was over the northern districts and there she found a larger, wider cousin of the X-9 sitting on the tarmac ready for its flight. The X-10 was a beautiful aircraft and she hated to destroy it. But she also knew it was the only thing that catch her. A quick thought sent it and most of the airfield where it had been developed up in flames.

In Courtland…

MAJGEN Becka Harrison hadn’t slept well and been up early. It had still been drizzling when she had joined MAJ Thorsen in a staff car and headed towards the Directorate of Defense and the National Military Command Centre. The day was dawning bright and clear as she arrived at the massive DoD building. She strode purposefully to the deep basement hub of the Dominion’s massive military. There, she had waiting in small side office listening to a radio tuned to Upper Virginia News Radio. The morning news was unexpectedly cut off and replaced by the Old Army March. Right on time, Becka noted glancing at her watch.

Within seconds, the NMCC erupted in confusion and chaos as their boards started to show that General Altman’s HQ was under attack. From across the room an airman stood and called out that the X-9 was out of contact and apparently over Courtland rather than the testing range.

As the order was just threatening to emerge from the chaos, Becka opened the door and walked into the cavernous command center.

“Who is in charge here,” she asked, looking more official than usual in her dress blues.

“I am,” an army brigadier said rising from his station, “Brigadier Janis Mikelsons.”

“Brigadier,” Becka said swallowing, “I am Major General Becka Harrison, Director of Procurement and Research. As of this moment, under Articles 26, 112 and 145 of the Dominion Code of Military Justice, I am relieving General Altman of command for subversion of civilian authority, malfeasance and dereliction of duty and conduct unbecoming an officer. In order to remove the General, I have ordered the pilot of the X-9 to fire upon and destroy the General’s head quarters.

“I am now assuming temporary command of the armed forces of the Dominion of Upper Virginia until such time as civilian government may be restored under the constitution.”

BRIG Mikelsons was momentarily stunned. Then he rose and signaled for MPs on the upper catwalk to seize Harrison. However, Mikelsons didn’t realize that slowly, over weeks, the MPs assigned to the NMCC had been systematically replaced with undercover SSS troopers.

So, Mikelsons was shocked when the MPs, rather than moving to arrest the clearly insane air force major general, raised their automatic weapons and aimed them at him and his senior officers.

MAJ Thorsen smiled and stepped forward. “I am afraid, Brigadier, that these security officers are under my orders.” Thorsen looked up. “Seal the NMCC.” One of the men on the catwalk nodded and walked to a control panel. Soon, heavy vault-like doors slammed closed sealing in the NMCC.

“Brigadier,” Becka said flatly, “will you relinquish your command?”

Mikelsons looked up at the armed men, sweat forming on his forehead.

Outside Courtland, Near Stonebridge…

BRIG Alex Holmes was relieved to be in camp close to Courtland. They hadn’t crossed any other troops yet, so they hadn’t had to make any uncomfortable explanations. Holmes heard someone entering his tent and looked up to see FSGT Tolliver.

“Sir,” Tolliver saluted, “sorry to intrude. But I thought you’d want to know right away. Commercial radio is playing the Old Army March…”

Holmes jumped up. His instincts had proven right. “Sergeant, let’s get rolling. I want camp struck and everyone loaded and ready to move in 20.”

“Yes, sir,” Tolliver grinned as he ran from the tent.

Outside Courtland, East of the City…

SSGT Burke stared in disbelief at the radio. The timing was either atrocious or providential. His unit had suffered severe casualties and the VSF wasn’t much better off. And, somewhere out there was an army officer of rare intelligence with at least a company of men that would be looking for them as soon as his scouts found the muddy battlefield. Yet, this gave them a mission and opportunity to get away from the cursed park.

Burke signaled for his vehicle to stop and bounded out sprinting to the vehicle behind him. The SSS sergeant saluted the VSF officer in the vehicle.

“Colonel,” they’re playing the signal on the radio.

LCOL Matthews nodded. “OK, sergeant. Get us to Altman’s HQ as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible. We still have a job to do.”

Aboard INV Glorious

Dawn at sea was Sir Derek Kunle’s favorite time. So, while it had been a late night, the first golden rays of the sun found him standing along the railing of the massive carrier. He held a delicate china cup and sipped tea as he watched the sky pass from deep purple to violet to pink to burnt orange.

As the sun was fully clearing the horizon, CDR Tomlinson, one of the admiral’s staff aides, approached. “Admiral?”

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Sir, the comm center is reporting that most of the major Uppie commercial radio stations have started playing the same march…”

Kunle turned towards Tomlinson, carefully balancing his cup and saucer in his hand. “The same march.”

“Yes, sir. On most channels it just cutoff regular programming.”

Kunle sighed. So soon. “Very well. Launch all fighters immediately and get all air assault units moving towards target destinations around Courtland. Signal the General Staff that we are activating Safety Blitz.”

“Aye, sir.”

The commander disappeared back into the ship. Several seconds later klaxons sounded calling all pilots to their planes.

bump?

"My lord!" shouted a communications officer as he ran from his panel towards Phocas' booth. Simultaneously, the door opened as Phocas left the booth, fresh from talking to Mater.

"I know, lieutenant." he said without looking at the officer as he strode across the bridge. He walked to his intercom.

"Comm, put me on fleet." he ordered.

"Yes my lord!" replied one of the comms officers still at his panel, flicking a series of switches. "You're on fleet, my lord."

"Now hear this! The Imperial High Command has authorised the operations on which we are about to commence. The missions you perform will guarantee the security of the region, and the safety of the Empire. Although no formal declaration has been made, you are now to regard that we are at war." Phocas paused to give the men under his command a time to appreciate the gravity of the situation. "Pantocratorian soil has been attacked. Pantocratorians have been killed and taken captive. This was an unprovoked attack on our embassy - it is obvious that the enemy cares little for diplomacy. If they wanted peace, they wouldn't have destroyed the point of contact through which that peace could be negotiated. If they want war, let them have it! Today, we will bring them to their knees!"

"Today you will topple a tyrant and in one fell-swoop, neutralise a threat against our allies, and against our very own people. Your targets have been allocated. I know you will strike swiftly and accurately. I trust in your ability. The Imperial High Command trusts in your ability. Your fellow citizens, at home in Pantocratoria, are counting on your ability. I know you will do us all proud." concluded Phocas. "That is all."

Phocas hung up the receiver.

"Inform Captain Plussiers he may commence his operations."

OOC: The operations I refer to have been assigned to Phocas by the Excalbian General Staff, I'm not embarking on my own little war. ;)

In Courtland, at the DoD...

The brigadier considered his options. He had no love or loyalty to General Altman, certainly. And, a new order would not be a bad thing for the Dominion. Yet, Altman couldn’t be counted out so easily and, if the coup failed, he’d be ruthless in crushing the opposition. Finally, Mikelsons realized that, if a new order were to dig too deeply, they might find a number of crimes in his own records. Crimes for which he’d received many of medals.

Looking up at MAJGEN Harrison, who stood on half a level above the Well – the nerve center of the NMCC, Mikelsons straightened his shoulders. “I do not recognize your authority here, General…”

Beck sighed deeply. “Major,” she said turning to Thorsen, “take this man into custody.”

Thorsen nodded and drew his side arm, directing BRIG Mikelsons up the steps towards a waiting SSS corporal.

“Alright,” Becka tried her best not to sound as nervous as she felt, “who is second in command?”

“I am,” a woman in Army green and khaki stepped forward, “Lieutenant Colonel Beatrix Klotina.”

“Colonel,” Becka said slowly, “will you relinquish your command?”

LCOL Klotina had already run through the same thought process as BRIG Mikelsons, but had reached a different conclusion. With control of the NMCC and with Altman’s HQ already smashed, she figured, the coup was likely to succeed and she should start endearing herself to the new regime. “I relinquish command of the NMCC to the senior officer present, General Harrison.”

Becka felt a momentary surge of relief. “Excellent. Colonel, send a message ordering all units to stand down. Only those units with personal orders from me are authorized any movement.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Klotina turned to communications station to her right just in time to see a junior lieutenant reach across the sergeant at the station and hit several keys.

“Parker!” Klotina screamed, grabbing the lieutenant and throwing him to the floor. She quickly hit a button to kill his message. Before LT John Parker could get back up, MAJ Thorsen was beside him with a gun aimed at his head.

“What did he do, Colonel?” Becka asked, feeling her nervousness returning.

“He sent ‘alpha-alpha-one,’ Ma’am.”

Becka shook her head. Just what she feared – the signal that the Dominion was under attack.

“You’d better get on and countermand that message, Colonel, and get my orders out.”

“Yes, Ma’am…”

Outside Courtland, East of the City...

LCOL Illers had a problem. He knew that there was an unknown and presumably hostile force of undetermined size near the ridge. He had sent LT Potts in to investigate and he’d lost contact. So, he sent LT Rinde for back-up. Now Rinde’s unit was overdue for contact. Additional scouts had been sent out, but hadn’t found anything yet.

“Sir?”

“Yes,” Illers said turning to the corporal that had just interrupted his thoughts.

“Message from NMCC. Alpha-alpha-one. Then it cut off.”

Illers frowned. Now things were making sense. An invasion…

“Sir,” another soldier ran up, out of breath from running in the deep mud, “new message from NMCC. Alpha-alpha-one is countermanded. General Altman has been relieved and a Major General Harrison is now in command. All units are ordered to stand down.”

Illers looked at the soldier skeptically and the soldier handed him a print-out. Illers read it and still looked skeptical.

“NMCC is asking all units to acknowledge and confirm. Sir?”

“Try to raise Brigadier Youst at HQ.”

“Yes, sir.” The soldier saluted and rand back, the corporal close behind.

A few minutes later, the corporal returned. “No reply from HQ, sir. NMCC is repeating request for acknowledgment.”

“Maintain radio silence with NMCC, corporal. Signal all units to get ready to move. We’re going back to HQ to find out what’s going on.”

“Yes, sir.”

In Courtland, East of the Docks...

MAJ Ulanis sat in the former special operations van that was now serving his mobile command center staring in disbelief and the conflicting messages from NMCC.

“Major,” LT Miller, having been pressed into service as the major’s de facto aide, stood beside his new boss reading the same messages, “do we respond?”

Ulanis bit his lip. “Anything from Youst at HQ?”

“No, sir. Just static.”

Ulanis swallowed. “Acknowledge NMCC’s orders. But, on a private channel, order everyone back to the city. We’ll stand down, but we’ll do it a few blocks from the NMCC. At least until this gets sorted out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cockpit of two three was quiet, the pilot and CPG having exchanged few words since they hasty departure from the city. One three had joined them not long afterwards, keeping a safe distance in case one of the helicopters was spotted. After clearing the city, the two helicopters had dropped to just above the treeline, the jockeys in the back tracking and jamming any radar sources that came into range. After some rather loud protests, the Pantocratorian ambassador had his mouth taped by the soldiers who were uninterested in his complaints while they were mourning their fallen comrades. Seventeen dead, plus the freighter crew, who knew their orders if it came to that.

'Two three, one three, we're running low on juice here.'

'One three, two three, we're running low too. You see any landing zones?'

'Two three, one three, are we in friendly territory yet?'

'One three, two three, it was a dotted line, we're not really sure.'

'Confirm, two three, we will keep our eyes open.'

Not long after, their batteries close to empty, the two SC2's set down in a grassy field in the early down glow. The soldiers filed out of the helicopter, two of them carrying the dead, another carrying the plate off his armor. The ambassador, after a very pointed conversation with Zjad, had put on the dead man's armor before having his hands tied infront of him. As the pilots and CPG's stripped down the helicopters, taking what weapons they could, deactivting the ones they couldn't, the soldiers buried their dead, three of the Aperin's singing a song for the fallen as the soil was heaped over him.

GPS in hand, Zjad tried to connect the dots between where they were and potential locations to meet up with the FVLA. An offensive was supposed to be ongoing, but from their current position, it sure didn't sound like it.

'The SC's are ready to blow, sir.' One of the CPG's had approached him, unnoticed, as he tapped the screen with the stylus.

'I'll miss them.'

'I suppose, sir.'

'Set them for remote and let's go.'

An hour or so down the road, which was a deer trail through the light forest, the helicopters exploded, sending a black column of smoke into the air as the composites burned. If that didn't get the FVLA's attention, Zjad thought, nothing would. He just hoped they hadn't lost this territory during the night.

Aboard INV Glorious

VADM Sir Derek Kunle stood in dimly lit command center of the carrier. On a large flat panel screen above a bank of workstations, the admiral watched fighter jets being catapulted off the carrier’s massive flight deck. He turned to a screen built into the flat top of a large table and watched blue icons identifying Excalbian and Pantocratorian air units moving towards Upper Virginia. Another series of icons moved away from moving away from INV Nautilus. They were tiltwing aircraft carrying the air assault brigades of the 3rd Marine Division.

“Admiral,” CDR Blume said walking up beside Sir Kunle, “General Knox on the comm for you, sir.”

Kunle nodded and picked up a commlink from the tactical display table. “This is Kunle.”

“Admiral, all units are now en route,” MAJGEN Harlan Knox was nearly screaming over the sound of turboprops, “but we need more intel on our landing targets. And some clarifications on where the Pantocratorians will be on the ground…”

“Understood, General. We’ll see what we can do.”

Kunle put down the commlink and turned to CDR Blume. “Commander, see what intel has from the latest sat images. And signal Imperator Andreus to confirm their tactical plans.”

“Yes, sir.”

Citadel Mount, Citadel Excalbia

Admiral Lord Yornis Halton paced in front of a large tactical display showing the Gulf between the Holy Empire and Upper Virginia. Suddenly, a young rating stood, listening intently to a headset.

“My lord,” the rating said, “Upper Virginian radio stations are all playing the same march…”

Halton turned towards the rating. “Confirm that with our other listening stations.”

A few moments passed, then the rating looked back to the admiral. “Confirmed sir.”

“Admiral,” an air force sergeant stood at another station, “Glorious has monitored the same broadcast and Admiral Kunle is activating Operation Safety Blitz.”

Halton nodded. “Open the channel to the Varessan military command.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And call the Chancellor.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A few minutes later, a soldier approached Lord Halton. “My lord, the Imperial Chancellor is on the line.”

Halton walked over to the closest station and picked up the phone.

“My lady,” Halton said.

“Lord Halton,” the Chancellor said, sounding slightly out of breath, “there is news from the Dominion?”

“Yes, Lady Chancellor. We’ve monitored the signal indicating that the coup has commenced. Sir Derek Kunle aboard Glorious has activated Operation Safety Blitz.”

“Very well. I was in the middle of a work out. I’ll call the Emperor and change and be there momentarily.”

“Yes, my lady.”

In Courtland…

Gwen Ubrecht sat on the edge of her bed after a few hours of restless sleep. Explosions had rocked the city for much of the night and the wail of sirens from the fire brigades and paramedics had gone into the early pre-dawn hours. Now, looking through her window, Gwen was struck by how strangely peaceful and clean the city looked. It was as if the pounding rains of early morning had washed away the violence and destruction of the night before.

Gwen turned on her radio, curious to hear how the state-approved press would explain away last night’s destruction. Just as the news broadcast started, it was cut-off and an army march began playing. Gwen switched to other stations, but could only find the march. She grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on. All the local stations were playing the same recording of the march accompanied by video of soldiers in dress green uniforms marching in front of the Roger Courtland Memorial.

Gwen jumped up from her bed and ran to the window. Nothing obvious was happening. She reached down into the drawer next to the window and pulled out her binoculars. She scanned the streets and saw nothing unusual until… there. She saw army vehicles moving back towards the city center. Something was certainly up.

Gwen went back to her bed and picked up one of her mobile phones and sent an SMS to all of her people.

Something is up. Be careful, but scope it out and report anything unusual.

Then, Gwen picked up her other phone and dialed Greg.

Outside Courtland, Northeast of Stonebridge…

Commander Lazarus sat at a small camp table looking at a relief map on a notebook computer. His scouts had just reported back that BRIG Holmes’ unit had camped an hour or so ahead of him closer to Stonebridge. That meant Lazarus’ FVLA fighters were just were he wanted them to be. In position to move against the supposed rebel general or to turn and move in the chaos of Courtland.

Lazarus looked up and saw one of his standing in front of him. “What is it Ulman?”

“Commander,” the veteran revolutionary said flatly, “it looks like something is happening. Most radio stations are playing the Old Army March…”

“Hmm. Anything from Gwyneth?”

“We were copied on an SMS sending her operatives out to scout the situation.”

Lazarus nodded. “Do we have scouts observing Holmes?”

“Yes, Commander. They are due back in twenty minutes and we have more en route…”

“Good. And any sign of our friends in their choppers?”

“Something blew up 15 klicks to the northwest. We have men checking it out.”

* * *

The band of soldiers, with another man – obviously not a soldier – in armor with bound hands, walked through a dense and muddy field. After they had passed, a dozen FVLA popped out of the muck, guns raised. The leader of the band called out to strange soldiers. “Stop and turn around slowly. If you’re from UC, you’d better let us know now and prove it to us.”

Hiding in mud, grinned Zjad, very clever. He assumed this was the FVLA because they hadn't fired yet; after the beating Courtland had taken, he dounted the Virginians were giving their soldiers 'ask before you shoot' orders.

'I am Lieutenant Zjad, these are my soldiers, we are escorting the Pantocratorian ambassador to meet with your superiors. Lower your weapons, we are no threat to you.'

+++

Greg picked up the phone, bleary eyed. He'd stopped checking the tv and radio, and wondered if this was an information age parade of the military forces. 'Hello.'

The ambassador made loud noises in protest behind the tape securely affixed to his mouth.

"MMMMM! MMMMMM MMMMMM MMMMM MMMM!"

***

'Jeanne' had received her new orders shortly after she had cleaned up after the embassy explosion. She had groaned in frustration as she had read them, before dutifully gathering her equipment and packing an overnight car and tossing it all into her car. That was hours ago. It was now morning, and she had left Courtland's city limits, and she was coming up on a Dominion checkpoint. She had all her papers ready, saying that she was Joan Peterson, a secretary working for a small bank in Courtland. She had changed her number plates before embarking on the trip so that her car couldn't be traced back to an employee of the Pantocratorian embassy.

The radio suddenly switched from the news flash to which she had been listening to a military march. She didn't have time to think how odd that was before she turned it off so she could speak to the checkpoint operators, however. She pulled up the car and rolled down the window.

"Hello, officers." she said in a perfect Upper Virginian accent, offering her papers.

***

"Confirm our plans with the Excalbian General Staff." Phocas ordered in reply to the signal his communications officers had just received. The operational tactical plans were transmitted.

(ooc: sorry about the long post, lots of things going on...)

Just to the West of Courtland…

FSGT Uldis Mills frowned at pretty woman in the modest car. He took her papers and examined them. With the events of previous night, everyone was on edge and looking forward to peaceful morning. So far, very few people had tried the checkpoint, but Mills had sent most of them back for not having the proper authorization to leave the city during a curfew. And yelling with civilians wasn’t Mills idea of a quiet morning.

However, Ms. Peterson’s papers appeared to be in order. “So, Ms. Peterson, why are you out and about so early this morning?” As Mills spoke he leaned slightly into the car, letting the civilian behind the wheel get a good look at his automatic weapon.

Just to the East of Courtland…

SSGT Burke led the remnants of the SSS/VSF force down the barely marked switchback trail that descended the face of the cliffs. Their vehicles were agile, but it was still a slow going navigating the narrow trails. Finally, once the last of the surviving VSF vehicles had reached the bottom, Burke used the path marked on CAPT Terelson’s map to lead the Special Forces a little over a kilometer to the south, along the base of the cliffs. While their position was somewhat exposed, it was far less exposed than crossing the intersecting highways at the park’s entrance.

Once they reached the point that had been marked by Terelson, Burke found a narrow river. The highway went over the river and the wide swampy plain to either side of it. Going through the mud and muck, the vehicles were able to pick their way along a path under the highway. Once to the west of the highway, they were able to follow a path through some sparsely wooded hills directly towards Altman’s HQ to the north and west.

After a few kilometers from LCOL Matthews, in the lead VSF vehicle, spotted several columns of smoke rising from over a low ridge. Checking his own map, he surmised that the smoke was coming from their destination. “At least one thing went right,” he said to his men, “it looks like the X-9 gave Altman’s HQ a solid thumping.”

Outside Courtland, East of the City…

Even as the furthest-flung squads were still regrouping, LCOL Illers and most of his remaining regiment began making their way back to the park’s main road and to the highway back to Courtland.

In Courtland…

MAJGEN Becka Harrison paced nervously above the NMCC’s Well. “Colonel?” She asked after what seemed an excruciating interval.

“General,” LCOL Klotina said standing, “over 75 percent of our units have responded acknowledging your orders. Several have not responded and a few, most notably our task force commander aboard DNS Devastator, are asking for clarification. General, what do you wish to reply?”

Becka thought for a moment and took a deep breath to steady herself. She wished Shaun Roberts could have been there with her, but there was no telling how the NMCC staff would have reacted if she’d brought an foreign major general along on her coup. She took another breath. “Send a message to inquiring units that NMCC’s orders to stand down remain in effect. Disobedience to lawful orders from the NMCC will be dealt with severely.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Klotina said a little surprised.

Becka felt the response sounded harsh as well, but, unfortunately, such orders were what most of the military had grown accustomed to under Altman.

Outside Courtland, Near Stonebridge…

BRIG Alex Holmes felt buoyant as rode at the head of his brigade as it rolled towards Courtland. He felt pride in his uniform that he hadn’t felt for years. He and his men were headed for Courtland as liberators. He felt as if he had shaken off some kind of feverish delirium. Breaking his bonds of loyalty to Altman and the Provisional Ruling Council had freed him – and his men – to prove their loyalty to Upper Virginia. He found himself suddenly humming along with the Old Army March that playing on the radio.

Just behind the general, FSGT Tolliver watched Holmes disposition and lighten. A cynical part of Tolliver’s mind wanted to imagine Holmes and his unseen, recently discovered co-conspirators as merely the latest in a long line of tyrants coming to power in Upper Virginia by force. Yet, he found his mood lightening and he soon found himself humming along with CO.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

COL Brian Esamies had been out for his usual pre-dawn jog. It had been a beautiful sunrise, coming just after the rains had stopped and the clouds had parted. Then, just after dawn, he had felt the ground quake and seen explosions coming from the HQ compound. Esamies had immediately turned around and started running back to command centre. As he approached the outer perimeter, frightened guards and stopped him and told him the base was under attack from something unseen at high altitude, deploying some weapon they’d never seen before.

COL Esamies had eventually calmed the men and formed them into a unit, which he led back towards the base. As they neared what had once been the HQ for Altman’s personal brigade, Esamies could see that every building had been flattened. The ruins of several were burning, sending columns of smoke high into the skies. Deep trenches had been cut and smoke poured from them where they had crossed underground structures.

A few survivors, who had probably been on the perimeter for PT, were milling about dazed. Esamies and his men began trying to regroup them and search for other survivors.

Soon, Esamies came across what was left of a man torn and pined beneath some rubble. The poor man was still alive and Esamies reached for a side arm he had taken from one of the guards. Before he could fire, the man turned, one eye seared from his skull and one clouded over, and stared vacantly at him. “Who is it?” The voice was feeble and choked with smoke, but Esamies recognized it as his CO, BRIG Youst.

“Sir,” Esamies said dropping to his knees. “Do you know who it was?”

Youst coughed, sending a gurgle of blood tumbling down his blackened face. “Had to be X-9. Air Force. Probably the SSS. Maybe more… Maybe Va…va…varess..ans… Ex…cal…bbb….”

“Its OK, sir.”

“Ff…ff..ind the G…gg…gener….”

Youst’s surviving eyelid fluttered and his head fell back limp. Esamies jumped up and ordered everyone to begin searching for General Altman. He then turned to one of the guards with a mobile radio. “Anything on traffic?”

“Sir,” the corporal, still white as a sheet, mumbled, “NMCC is ordering everyone to stand down. They say General Altman is no longer in command…”

Esamies cursed and redoubled his efforts to find his commander.

Varessa City, Commonwealth of Varessa…

“Field Marshall,” the young lance corporal said standing, “the Excalbians are on line. They say the coup in Upper Virginia has started.”

“Sir,” an officer wearing the emblem of military intelligence stood on the other side of the room, “I have Major General Roberts on the secure line from Courtland. He confirms that the coup is under way.”

Field Marshall Harris nodded. “Very well. Let the Excalbians know that our special forces are en route to them at this moment. Find out from them what their tactical situation is.” Harris turned to the intelligence officer. “Lieutenant, get me the latest satellite images. If we don’t have food images, see if the Excalbians will share theirs.”

Then, Harris picked up a phone. “Transfer General Roberts to this line. And call the Chancellor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant Zjad,” the revolutionary said from behind a black ski mask under a Kevlar helmet, “if you keep your weapons lowered, we’ll lower ours and take you to Commander Lazarus.” As the leader spoke, the other guerillas in his group spread out to ensure that all of Zjad’s men were covered.

* * *

Sub-commander Ulman watched with satisfaction as the last of the FVLA’s camp was struck and loaded on vehicles ready for movement. Unlike the Dominion’s Army, the FVLA wasn’t full mechanized – most of the revolutionary cadres would have to march, but at least they now had enough vehicles to carry all of their gear.

Ulman turned as Commander Lazarus approached. “Commander, the advance units have begun moving out. Scouts are reporting back that Brigadier Holmes is on the move already.”

Lazarus nodded. “Good. Good. And our friends from UC?”

“Our team has radioed in that they’ve located them – along with the Pantocratorian ambassador – and are bringing them in. They should be here by the time the last of our men are ready to move.”

“Very good, Ulman.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

* * *

“Greg,” Gwen said in a calm but urgent tone, “I think the SSS has launched its coup. All the radios are playing some old military march. I can see a few military units starting to move back into the city. And… Hold on.” Gwen picked up another phone, which was vibrating from an SMS. She read the message quickly and pressed the button to forward it to Commander Lazarus. “Greg,” Gwen said turning back to Urban Cool’s special phone, “one of our people to the north of the city reports smoke rising from the north east. There aren’t too many things out that way that could have been hit. And,” Gwen’s voice was growing more excited, “the most attractive target out there is Altman’s HQ. It looks like – somehow – they’ve hit Altman directly…”

(ooc: sorry about the long post, lots of things going on...)

Just to the West of Courtland…

FSGT Uldis Mills frowned at pretty woman in the modest car. He took her papers and examined them. With the events of previous night, everyone was on edge and looking forward to peaceful morning. So far, very few people had tried the checkpoint, but Mills had sent most of them back for not having the proper authorization to leave the city during a curfew. And yelling with civilians wasn’t Mills idea of a quiet morning.

However, Ms. Peterson’s papers appeared to be in order. “So, Ms. Peterson, why are you out and about so early this morning?” As Mills spoke he leaned slightly into the car, letting the civilian behind the wheel get a good look at his automatic weapon.


The agent smiled disarmingly.

"Your guess is as good as mine. My boss got me out of bed with a phone call and told me I had to drive out half the way to Grossepoint to transfer some bonds and stuff to a branch out there. I think he's nervous with everything happening in Courtland." she explained. "Do you need to check them?"

She indicated a briefcase on the seat next to her.

In the Gulf

MAJGEN Harlan Knox sat in the lead air assault transport with a heavy laminated map spread across his lap. “Any word from intel, Major?” Despite being linked by radio, Knox shouted to try to be heard over the propellers.

MAJ Leah Vasarete shook her head. “No, sir. Still waiting for word from Glorious.”

Knox let out a mild curse. “What about the Pantocratorians?”

“No info yet from the fleet, sir.”

Knox shook his head. That was the Navy for you. Probably too busy sipping tea. “OK, Major. Raise the Pantocratorian forces. Try to get whoever is leading their assault.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just to the West of Courtland…

FSGT Mills raised his weapon and took two steps away from the car. On his signal, two of his men raised their weapons on the other side of the road. He watched the pretty young woman for several moments, then nodded to his men.

“Open the briefcase slowly with one hand, keeping the other on your steering wheel,” Mills said as casually as if he’d been asking about the weather.

Aboard DNS Devastator in the Gulf…

RADM Milton Ekis looked a little green. If he hadn’t been a naval officer for almost 40 years, someone might have thought he was seasick. Unfortunately, the cause of Ekis’ distress was far more troubling.

“Are you sure about that message, Commander?”

LCDR Sturman nodded. “Yes, sir. NMCC was very blunt. Failure to follow their orders will be dealt with severely.”

RADM Ekis turned and leaned on the tactical plot. He turned slowly to the CO of Devastator. “Captain, any word from our team that boarded that Excalbian freighter?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Admiral.” Captain Turgman shrugged as he spoke.

Ekis wiped his face with his hand. The conflicting messages from NMCC. General Altman being removed. Courtland being attacked. Being ordered to stand down. None of it added up.

“Sir?” LCDR Sturman looked up from a message handed him by a crewman.

“Yes, Commander,” CAPT Turgman said rising.

“Sir, we have a large Excalbian and Pantocratorian force – fighters escorting a large number of slower moving planes – possibly assault carriers – headed for Courtland…”

Ekis cursed and slammed a fist on the table. Now it added up. Traitors were in command at NMCC. “Tell NMCC where they can go, Commander.” Ekis turned towards Turgman. “Sound general quarters. Attack those invaders. And tell our men to scuttle that Excalbian freighter.”

“Yes, sir!”

In the Gulf, aboard the Considerate…

CAPT Johanis listened intently to the feed on his helmet radio. He tried to maintain an expressionless face as he activated his mic, slid his faceplate closed and whispered his orders. He turned to the commander of the merchant ship, with his faceplate still in place.

“Captain Mendelson, you and your officers will remain here. If any of you step of the bridge, we will open fire.”

Slowly and methodically Johanis and his men made their way back to the railings of the ship and back to their waiting motor launches. Meanwhile, overhead the crew could hear the circling Dominion fighter returning.

In Courtland…

“General,” LCOL Klotina said looking up from her monitors, “Rear Admiral Ekis aboard Devastator is refusing your orders. He reports, and our boards confirm, a large number of in-bound aircraft from the Pantocratorian and Excalbian fleets. Other units are starting to request orders…”

It took every ounce of MAJGEN Becka Harrison’s resolve not to flinch. She had made an agreement with the Excalbians, but she hadn’t known until this moment the extent to which they intended to honor it. “My orders stand, Colonel.”

Every eye turned to look at Becka. Some showed doubt and fear. A few showed anger. But at least one set of eyes – those of MAJ Thorsen – showed a measure of pride and respect.

“The arriving units are expected, Colonel,” Becka said evenly. “Signal the Excalbian forces and transfer it to the private office.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Klotina said, still somewhat stunned.

Becka stepped into the CO’s private office at the top of the Well and closed the glass door. As she waited for a signal from the Excalbian CO, she dialed the Varessan Embassy to talk with MAJGEN Shaun Roberts.

'Very well,' Zjad replied, then turned to his own soldiers. 'Stow your weapons.' The soldiers complied, slinging their guns over their shoulders or clipping them to the sides of their backpacks.

“Greg,” Gwen said in a calm but urgent tone, “I think the SSS has launched its coup. All the radios are playing some old military march. I can see a few military units starting to move back into the city. And… Hold on.” Gwen picked up another phone, which was vibrating from an SMS. She read the message quickly and pressed the button to forward it to Commander Lazarus. “Greg,” Gwen said turning back to Urban Cool’s special phone, “one of our people to the north of the city reports smoke rising from the north east. There aren’t too many things out that way that could have been hit. And,” Gwen’s voice was growing more excited, “the most attractive target out there is Altman’s HQ. It looks like – somehow – they’ve hit Altman directly…”

'Not that it makes a difference, unless the other half of the military decides they want to get onboard the economic justice train. What are the chances of getting those attacking Altman to defect?'

The guerillas, without taking the time to introduce themselves, led LT Zjad and his men through the woods to a clearing not far away from muddy field. There were obvious signs that a large camp had occupied the area and a trail of vehicle tracks led through the woods to the right.

A small number of vehicle still sat at the edge of the clearing. As the guerillas led Zjad towards the vehicles, a man in dirty fatigues with red barret stood and walked towards him.

"You are from our friends at UC, eh?" The rugged revolutionary extended his hand. "I am Commander Lazarus, Chairman of the Free Virginia Liberation Army." He turned to an older man who had followed just behind him. "This is Sub-commander Ulman." The other man nodded.

Lazarus turned and looked at the gagged figure of the Pantocratorian ambassador.

"So, this is what you went to Courtland for? He is the Pantocratorian ambassador, isn't he? Tell me did you find this supposed dossier from our late Attorney General? In any case, we are heading back towards Courtland. General Altman's regime is crumbling and the contest to replace it will finally begin. The information in that dossier would be quite useful, but in order to be of use, we need to get you and the ambassador to safety. Ulman here can secure transportation and lead you to Harrington."

* * *

Gwen sighed. "Well, that's going to hard part. Right now, my guess is that the only thing holding the coup-plotters together is their hatred of Altman. And now that they've moved, their fear of him gaining a victory."

Gwen twirled her hair around her finger as she thought. "Once they are sure they have him out, my guess is that they'll start to fight with each other. I don't who exactly is involved, but my guess is that the SSS and the Chamber of Industrials are both involved. I don't see their goals as being compatable. And as for the military involved, who knows what their goals are. Could be anything from restoring the old constitution to putting themselves in power.

"However, this should give us a chance to turn at least some of them to our side. With the right kind of leverage."

"So, this is what you went to Courtland for? He is the Pantocratorian ambassador, isn't he? Tell me did you find this supposed dossier from our late Attorney General? In any case, we are heading back towards Courtland. General Altman's regime is crumbling and the contest to replace it will finally begin. The information in that dossier would be quite useful, but in order to be of use, we need to get you and the ambassador to safety. Ulman here can secure transportation and lead you to Harrington."

'We didn't exactly have time to root around,' Zjad replied, 'our orders were to keep him-' the lieutenant jerks his head towards the ambassador '-alive. I'm just a soldier.

'And someone get that tape off his mouth.' The nearest soldier fidgeted with the corner of the tape then ripped it off, eliciting a small howl from the ambassador. Zjad turned back to Lazarus. 'Also, sir, our orders, if we were forced to land in Upper Virginia, were not to attempt to leave the country via unsecured means, which is basically anything that can be traced back to our home country. Our first priority, if we can secure some transportation, is to retake our ship, which was captured last night.'

"However, this should give us a chance to turn at least some of them to our side. With the right kind of leverage."

'And what kind of leverage are you thinking of?'

"You miserable sons of Turks!" the ambassador cursed at Zjad and his men when the tape was removed from his mouth. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? I promise you, you WILL be held accountable to what happened to my embassy. My government will not take this lying down!"

He turned to the Chairman.

"I take it, Commander Lazarus, that this little band of criminals is answerable to you? If so, may I suggest that you expel them from your organisation, if you're interested in being better regarded than General Altman's regime." spat the ambassador, calming down by the end of his little outburst. "I would advise you, Commander, to make contact with the Imperial Government as soon as possible. If you can adequately explain your actions and effect my immediate safe return, you can minimise any damage to your international reputation. I might add, incidentally, that until this little episode, the FVLA was viewed in a largely sympathetic light by the international community. You can still keep it that way Commander."

Just to the West of Courtland…

FSGT Mills raised his weapon and took two steps away from the car. On his signal, two of his men raised their weapons on the other side of the road. He watched the pretty young woman for several moments, then nodded to his men.

“Open the briefcase slowly with one hand, keeping the other on your steering wheel,” Mills said as casually as if he’d been asking about the weather.

'Joan' gulped hard. Appearing to be much less calm than in fact she was, she reached a trembling hand towards the briefcase, undid the latch, and opened it. Inside were bundles of bank bonds and legal documents. All fake, of course, but convincing fakes. It would take an expert quite some time to see through the forgery - especially in the chaos in Courtland.

"Is everything.... OK?" she asked, her voice timid from false terror.

"I take it, Commander Lazarus, that this little band of criminals is answerable to you? If so, may I suggest that you expel them from your organisation, if you're interested in being better regarded than General Altman's regime." spat the ambassador, calming down by the end of his little outburst. "I would advise you, Commander, to make contact with the Imperial Government as soon as possible. If you can adequately explain your actions and effect my immediate safe return, you can minimise any damage to your international reputation. I might add, incidentally, that until this little episode, the FVLA was viewed in a largely sympathetic light by the international community. You can still keep it that way Commander."

As the ambassador was ranting at Lazarus, a soldier, who had been standing on the edge of the group, smoking an odd smelling cigarette, stormed towards the ambassador and grabbed the neck guard of his armor, lifting him onto tiptoes. After screaming into the Pantocratorian's face in an unknown language, he threw him to the ground. 'You miserable piece of clay shit! If not for us you would be in one of Altman's torture chambers right now, getting slit and broiled like the pig you are. My friends are ashes because of you, and what gratitude do you have for us?'

Two of his comrades grabbed the shouting soldier, holding him back as he flailed his legs, attempting to kick the prone diplomat. Zjad shook his head and turned back to Lazarus. 'You'll forgive Tian, we lost a lot of people last night.'

"You piece of filth!" spat back Sir Pierre from the ground. "I fail to see how you and the rest of your band of miscreants attacking my embassy saved me from anything! I am His Majesty's ambassador to Upper Virginia, Altman would never have been so bloody foolish as to lift a finger against me, which is a far bloody cry from you lot! How dare you presume to kidnap me and then act like you've done me a favour!"

The ambassador finishes getting to his feet.

"How daft you are if you expect me to be grateful to my kidnappers. The only thing I shall be grateful for is if you send these thugs away so that we can talk, Commander." says the ambassador, fixing his gaze again on Lazarus. "You people say you want to setup an alternative government. It's time to prove it. I presume there is some reason you wanted me here, so let's hear it."

Outside Courtland, Near Stonebridge

Commander Lazarus watched the evolving drama with mixed emotions. The men from UC – whoever they really were, and Lazarus had some ideas in that regard – weren’t as disciplined as he’d like professionals to be. When Tian began attacking the Pantocratorian ambassador, Lazarus nodded to Sub-Commander Ulman, who then signaled for a squad of men to take their positions. By the time the Pantocratorian ambassador was on his feet and ready to talk, the whole group was thoroughly surrounded.

Lazarus stood and walked towards the ambassador. Then he turned and looked at LT Zjad. “I don’t know if your biographies reveal it, but I was once an officer in the Dominion Army. If one of my men back then had done what your Tian just did, I would have had him shot on the spot.” Lazarus smiled. “Fortunately for your man, that’s one of the reasons I turned on the Dominion and started the FVLA.”

Lazarus looked straight at Tian and nodded to his men, guns leveled at the UC fighters. “However, my patience has limits, young man. Another outburst and I will shoot you.” Another smile. “That said, I do grieve for the loss of your brothers and sisters in arms. They died heroes and will be remembered.”

Lazarus turned back to the ambassador. “Your Excellency, I apologize for the manner of your, erm, rescue. You may have your doubts, and I can certainly understand why, but I assure you as a former colleague of General Altman that a little thing diplomatic immunity wouldn’t deter Craig if he wanted to go after you. In fact, I have it from my people in the city that the General’s air force bombed your embassy to rubble after you left. Apparently that was in an effort to cover up the fact his forces were there as well. No doubt trying to acquire you before Lieutenant Zjad here could.

“But, as you said, I don’t expect you to express gratitude.”

Lazarus walked around and leaned over the ambassador’s shoulder, almost as if whispering in his ear. “You asked why you were here, and the answer to that is that these gentleman, the FVLA’s anonymous benefactors, believe you have access to or knowledge of the so-called Silina Dossier – believed to contain our late and unlamented Attorney General’s final confession of her crimes and evidence of General Altman’s crimes and those of his minions. That information would be very valuable to us and, if you are willing to share it, I am certain that we can guarantee your safe passage to Pantocratoria. If you aren’t,” Lazarus shrugged, “we might have to leave to the kindness of Mr. Tian here.”

Lazarus walked back towards Zjad. In any case, I suggest that Ulman here and some of our men escort you back to Harrington. Chairman Marko will be in a better position to offer appropriate hospitality to the ambassador and, if we have any equipment to spare for you mount your rescue of your comrades, it will be in Harrington.”

'And what kind of leverage are you thinking of?'

Gwen chewed her lip and thought. "Well, if you have the Panto ambassador now and he can tell us what is in the dossier, then we may well have some leverage against some members of the coup. I doubt they are all pure, noble and new to the corridors of power.

"And, once we start to get an idea of who they are, I'm sure there are other ways we can get to them. Especially with some of your technical help."

Just to the West of Courtland…

FSGT Mills slowly approached the car and looked in the widow at the open case of bonds and blue-covered legal papers. “OK,” he said finally, lowering his weapon. “Move along.” He waved for the young woman to move forward and a soldier ran out and lifted the droparm that been placed across the road.

In Courtland…

“You’re doing fine, Becka,” Shaun’s voice said reassuringly over the phone. “We’ve heard from Varessa City that additional VSF units are en route to Excalbia and will proceed on to the Dominion from there.”

“Thank you, Shaun.” Becka had decided to give up all pretense of using his rank and surname in private. “I only wish… hold on,” Becka pushed the hold button and then the flashing yellow light next to it. “Harrison.”

“Ma’am. Colonel Klotina. I have the Excalbian assault force on the line. They’ll patch you through to a Major General Knox.”

“Thank you.” The phone clicked. “Major General Knox?”

In the Gulf, aboard the Considerate…

As the last of CAPT Johanis’ men scrambled down the net ladder to the armed motorboats, he gave the signal for the boats to begin moving away. He looked up and saw a Dominion fighter swooping towards the Excalbian freighter.

“Sir,” a young private said, “Wolf flight reports they have a lock on the freighter and ready to fire.”

“Good. Get us out of her full speed.”

“Aye, sir,” the naval rating piloting the boat answered.

The boats zoomed away, their wakes sending ocean spray high into the air.

Aboard DNS Devastator in the Gulf…

LCDR Sturman turned towards RADM Ekis. “Wolf flight is about to fire on the freighter. Our men are safely off.”

“Very good. Have we made contact with Excalbian and Pantocratorian assault forces yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Order our planes to open fire as soon as they are in range.”

“Aye, sir.”

Sturman turned and walked towards the communications alcove, where he met SCDR Robin Hartwell, Devastator’s chief engineer. “Ma’am,” Sturman said.

“Commander. We need to meet with the Captain.”

Sturman looked beyond Hartwell and saw several other officers of Lieutenant Commander rank or higher.

“The captain is on his way to the CIC. This way.”

Soon, Sturman led the group of officers to the captain.

Turgman turned as he heard them approach. “What is this?”

“We need to talk, sir.” Hartwell’s normally cheery face was dark with dread.

“This way,” Turgman said, leading them into an unoccupied compartment.

“Well,” Turgman said once everyone, including Sturman, was inside and the door was closed, “what is it?”

“Is it true than Altman is dead, sir?”

“We don’t know,” the captain shrugged, “his HQ was hit, or so the chatter says, but NMCC says he is no longer in command.”

“Then, sir, why is the admiral sacrificing us for a man no longer in power?”

“Sir,” CDR Albert Toth said stepping forward, “the navy has always taken the hit under Altman. We all know that a disproportionate number of naval officers are among the ‘disappeared’ and we know that it was Altman’s aggression that send the Intimidator into battle against those cursed ghost ships. And when Intimidator was sunk, he blamed the navy and executed even more officers.”

“Exactly, sir.” Hartwell looked at her captain. “And know he’s out. Possibly dead. But, the admiral wants us to take on the Excalbians and the Pantocratorians at the same time in his name. And both of them have ghost ships. Sir, we’ll do a lot of damage to the assault force, but we’ll be sunk as sure as Intimidator was.”

“What are you proposing, Commander Hartwell?”

“That you relieve Admiral Ekis and order the fleet to stand down. Like the NMCC has ordered us to do.”

Turgman chewed the inside of his cheek as he contemplated mutiny.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

Although the base was completely ruined, COL Esamies had found dozens of ambulatory survivors. Like him, they’d been on the periphery of the installation. He’d quickly rallied them and reformed them into a unit. A makeshift, rag-tag unit, but a military unit nonetheless. He posted a perimeter guard and had organized teams to search for survivors. He’d even found a doctor and couple of nurses and had set up a triage unit.

Unfortunately, his efforts to get through to someone on the radio hadn’t been successful. It seemed their large transmitter was out and they only had short-range communications.

It was doubly unfortunate because he realized that the enemy wouldn’t rely solely on the surprise attack to kill Altman – obviously the reason for the attack, so they’d have to send in ground support. Which would probably be there at any time.

“Sir!” Esamies turned to see a corporal running towards him. “We found something.”

Esamies began running towards the corporal, who turned to run back towards a pile of rubble. He stopped short we he saw a corpsman bent over a broken young woman. “Who?”

A wounded sergeant stepped forward. “She’s Lieutenant Uzija, sir. I’m General Altman’s senior orderly,” the man coughed, “I was out in the woods,” the man pointed to pile of smoldering embers, “that used to be over there for a jog. The lieutenant was…um…she was…erm…the General’s guest last night, sir.”

Esamies ran over to the woman. She was badly burnt and barely alive. “Lieutenant, did you see the General this morning?”

“Huuu, huuu, hueee ggggot up earrrrly aaa…aaa”

“And?”

“Wwwweeennnt went ou…”

Esamies looked up from the dying woman. “Search the remnants of the woods. The General might be out there!”

In the Gulf

“Sir,” MAJ Vasarete shouted despite her mic, “we have the Upper Virginian National Military Command Centre on the line. A Major General Harrison. And, the Pantocratorians are standing by.”

“Excellent,” MAJGEN Harlan Knox nodded, folding his maps, “put the Upper Virginians through.”

“Sir,” LT Mullins, the pilot interrupted, “Fleet is reporting that a UV carrier has launched fighters. Appear to be headed our way.”

“Roger. Give me the Uppies.”

“Yes, sir,” Leah Vasarete said over the propellers.

“Major General Knox?” A woman’s voice on the other end of the line surprised the Excalbian marine. The Uppies were known for being far less progressive than the Empire when it came to women in the military.

“This is Harlan Knox, Major General, Imperial Marines. You are Major General Harrison? We are supposed to coming to support your action, Major General, so I’d appreciate it if you ordered your carrier to recall its fighters.”

In the Gulf, Aboard INV Glorious

VADM Sir Derek Kunle leaned over the tactical table in the flag bridge. MAJGEN Knox’s assault force, accompanied by most of Glorious air wing, was approaching the Upper Virginian coast. Fighters from the DNS Devastator were closing on the air armada.

“Captain?” Kunle turned to CAPT Hannah Zerbule, commander of Glorious’ air wing.

Zerbule ran a hand through her thick hair. “Our fighters should be able to hold off the Uppies, unless they get a lot of additional support from ground-based fighters,” the captain, clad in a leather jacket and tan flight suit, glanced at an inset display on the table, “and I don’t see any coming. However, I can’t guarantee that we won’t have loses.”

“Admiral,” CAPT Jennifer Wells, commander of Wraith squadron 34 pointed at the display, “if I move my squadron over there, we’ll be in a position to support the air group.”

“What about the surface fleet?’ CDR Stefan Blume asked from the other side of the table.

“My squadron,” CAPT Mike Graves of the 33rd squadron said, “can reposition to support Admiral Allen in defending the surface fleet.”

“Good, good.” Kunle nodded. “Make it so.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Sir,” CDR Tomlinson said approaching the table, “latest satellite images.” The commander touched the tabletop screen and it shifted to a satellite image of Courtland. “Altman’s HQ has been destroyed, but there is still evidence of troops on the ground. It looks like troops are moving down the highway, here, towards the HQ and, intel thinks, this is a sign of a small number of troops moving through the woods, here, also towards the HQ. Intel thinks that might be the VSF/SSS force we’re supposed to look for.”

Kunle nodded. “And what about the city centre?”

“A lot of damage,” Tomlinson pointed to a spot near the harbor. “Looks like their National Assembly was burned pretty good – though its still standing, thanks to being built out of block. And it looks like the Pantocratorian embassy has been destroyed. A number of other buildings seem to be in bad shape. There are some troops moving back into the area from the east, but not many.”

“Very well,” Kunle said in his deep, melodious voice, “notify the Pantocratorians. Confirm that their target is their embassy – or what’s left of it. Their secondary target is the DoD building and any other government buildings they can secure. They should avoid entering any buildings, just secure the perimeters, and they should not fire unless fired upon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“General Knox should continue directly to Altman’s HQ. His is to contact and assist the VSF, if possible, and, if not, move against any survivors at the HQ on his own.”

“Aye, sir.”

"And, once we start to get an idea of who they are, I'm sure there are other ways we can get to them. Especially with some of your technical help."

'Well you're going to have to be specific, because if you want anything we don't have on hand it's going to take a while to get it here. Erasing a paper trail doesn't happen overnight.'

The ambassador considered for a moment. It made sense that his kidnappers weren't the only ones in the embassy - after all, they were exchanging fire with somebody. He didn't know for sure that it was the Upper Virginians, but they were certainly the most likely attackers.

"May I suggest, Commander, that you contact the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in New Rome in regards to that matter." the ambassador replies. "If that dossier exists, which I do not concede, then it would be in the hands of the Imperial Government. Put me in contact with my Government, and I will see what I can do."

***

"Joan" drove through the checkpoint and kept on driving towards the jungle. She had a fair idea where to go to run into FVLA patrols - she just had no idea what would happen once she did run into one. Nevertheless, she drove on, ever getting closer to FVLA territory.

Gwen thought for a moment. “Well, the first we need to do is to try to get some inside info on the people behind this coup. Off the top of my head, I’d nominate Forest Turley and Graham Yultilde from the Chamber as members of the conspiracy. Also, senior officers in the SSS. And someone in the military has to be involved. Maybe someone senior in the navy or air force or maybe in one of the bureaus, like the chief of research or something.

“If you can think of a way to start collecting information on them, we can start matching some of them to incriminating evidence in the Silina dossier or develop new incriminating information. That way, we can exploit their inevitable falling outs and maybe even turn a few, or at least blackmail them into betraying the others…”

* * *

Commander Lazarus smiled. “We will be happy to put you in contact with your government, once you are safely in Harrington and once you’ve told us what you know about the dossier. And don’t deny knowledge of it any longer, Excellency. The fact that you are so quick to concede that it is in the hand of your government certainly implies that it was you who sent it to them.

“But, have no fear,” Lazarus looked at Zjad and his men and winked, “my people will not harm you.”

With a nod, Lazarus walked away to a waiting vehicle. Sub-Commander Ulman, accompanied by more than a dozen guerillas, motioned for the ambassador, Zjad and the rest of foreign commandos to board a number of trucks that were idling near-by. “Don’t worry,” Ulman said, “we’ll be in Harrington in a few hours; we should be free to openly use the highway from here on. Chairman Marko will get all of you straightened out and on your separate ways.”

* * *

Marcos, an unimaginative nom de guerre but the best Jan Hawkins had been able to come up with, led his troop of scouts cautiously down the country road. Behind them a few klicks was the main body of the FVLA and before them lay the highway to Courtland. Marcos wasn’t sure what Commander Lazarus had in mind, but he knew what he imagined – a triumphal entry into Courtland, with him being hailed as one of her liberators.

Marcos’ daydream was shattered by the sound of a car coming towards him. On the gravel-pack road, the car was audible long before it rounded a bend. Marcos motioned for his men to take position in ditches to either side of the road while he and one of other man leveled their guns and waited to stop the car.

As the car rounded the bend, Marcos could make out a single occupant – the driver – who appeared to be female. Marcos held up his automatic weapon in one hand and held up his other to motion for the car to stop.

'Joan' spotted the commandos. Surely this was the FVLA. She stopped the car.

"Je ne suis pas une Supérieure Virginienne!" she called out to the patrol, raising her hands. "I'm not an Upper Virginian! I'm a Pantocratorian! My government wants me to make contact with the FVLA! We want to help you!"

She prayed that the possibility of Pantocratorian assistance would be enough to convince the commandos not to shoot her.

***

Airbourne commandos attached to the Fifth Provincials sat inside the rumbling transport plane as it crossed into Upper Virginian airspace, joined by its escort from HIMS Imperator Andreus. The nervousness which struck them at take-off was now gradually fading away, the adrenaline from knowing they were about to jump out of the trusty Hercules now taking over.

"Our mission is to secure the embassy grounds!" shouted the platoon's commanding officer over the noise. "We'll be dropping down within three city blocks of the embassy! You will NOT fire unless fired upon, UNDERSTAND?"

"Sir, yes sir!" shouted back his men.

"Peloton Bleu will be in the area of engagement. Their target is the DoD building. We're expecting confused resistance. The enemy is strong but still doesn't know what is going on. Be professional, be fast, be clean, and we will succeed. Be stupid, slow, and messy, and we all die. We will reach the target area in 20 minutes!" he shouted.

“If you can think of a way to start collecting information on them, we can start matching some of them to incriminating evidence in the Silina dossier or develop new incriminating information. That way, we can exploit their inevitable falling outs and maybe even turn a few, or at least blackmail them into betraying the others…”

'Yeah, well, there's kind of a war on out there, and I wouldn't like my guys' chances on the streets. Who the hell is going to beleive that we're cool hunting in the middle of whatever it is that's going on. My assignment, and what we were equipped for, was subversion and reconnaisance, not combat.'

+++

In the gulf, locked in the crew hold, a swift series of kicks were applied to the door.

'No good, sir,' replied a breathless crewman, 'they jammed it shut.'

'Fine,' replied the Commander, 'blow it.'

A rifle with an attached grenade launcher was pulled from inside a locker hidden within a bunk as the mattresses were piled against the far wall in an attempt to protect themselves. Another rifle is passed to a second soldier as they crouch behind the ad hoc barricade and aimed for the door.

'On three,' says the first gunman, 'One, two, three.'

The two men fired, sending small grenades designed to punch through the heaviest personal armor into the door designed to keep out the water. The impact was terrible, compressing the air within the chamber into a shockwave that hit the crouching crew with a thud inaudible beneath the explosion that filled the room.

Stumbling from beneath the barricades, their ears ringing, the crew stumbled from beneat the singed mattresses.

'You okay?'

'What?'

'YOU OKAY?"

'I CAN'T HEAR YOU.'

Giving up on communication, the Commander stumbled towards the door, which now hung on it's hinges, twistered in the threshold. A few sturdy kicks later, several crewmembers were pulling the door open, or at least open enough for the crew to begin squeezing through. The Virginians had left the ship essentially intact, which made their purpose quite clear.

'Get to the bridge,' the Commander shouting, as loud as he could, 'raise the ground units, see what happened to them. Call home, tell them what happened, and you two-' he grabbed a pair of crewmen, pulling them aside '-get the SC's ready for take off.'

The bridge didn't seem damaged, which said more to the haste the soldiers had left than anything else; the Commander's pulse quickened as he checked the sensors.

'We've already got planes incoming sir,' shouts a crewmember, hunched over an array of pulsing screens.

'Go full EDW, prepare to abandon ship.' From several points around the ship, small devices raised from concealed compartments and began jamming nearby radar sources as the crew filed out of the bridge. With everone gone, the Commander took a key out of his pocket and placed the head of the key against a small panel, followed by his thumbprint. He typed a short code into the keypad at the command console and jogged out of the bridge.

Beneath the decks, the SC's were being powered up as the few crewmembers not behind the controls of one of the three helicopter's systems filed into the back of the SC2. After getting an all clear from the pilot of the first SC the commander stepped into the transport compartment and closed the ramp behind him. Above, the deck of the freighter opened up as flight platform, bearing the first SC, ascended just high enough for the propellers to clear the deck. The SC's engines roared to life and the helicopter jumped into the air, hovering before ducking to the left and holding next to the freighter as the platform descended to repeat this for the two helicopters still waiting.

'Flight three, three one, our EDW is hot, but we've got several radar sources in range. Once the ship goes down, we'll be on our own.'

+++

Aboard a truck bound for Harrington, his helmet resting on his knee, Zjad tried to nap after a sleepless night. It was no good, he wanted to be back in Courtland, finishing the job he'd started, rather than living with the fruits of an overhyped babysitting mission. If only the Virginians had stayed out of the embassy, he thought, he could have gone with plan a ...

'Sir,' shouts one of his soldiers, Jansen, as he shackes Zjad from the tiny sleep he'd just entered, 'word from the freighter. They're making a run for it.'

'Stop the truck!' screams Zjad as be bangs on the window into the driver's compartment. 'I need to talk to whoever's in charge, now!'

Marcos leveled his automatic weapon at the young woman in the car and motioned for his men to come out of hiding. They quickly scouted the area and began cautiously checking the outside of the car. Once they were certain no one else was around and that there were no obvious booby traps on the car, they nodded one-by-one to their leader.

Marcos, with his weapon aimed at the young woman’s head, called out, “Use one hand to open your door. Keep the other one up. Step out of the car slowly and raise both hands.”

Once the woman was out of the car, Marcos continued with his instructions. “Get on your knees. Now, lie face down and spread your arms.” With the woman on the ground, Marcos nodded for one of female guerillas to go over and search the Pantocratorian. As she searched her for wires and weapons, Marcos took a cautious step towards the woman.

“So, why is that the great and illustrious Pantocratoria, imperialists and allies of imperialists, suddenly wants to help us? Hmmm?”

* * *

Sub-Commander Ulman heard the banging behind him and turned around. LT Zjad was banging on the window between the troop compartment and the front of the truck. He looked bleary-eyed and upset. Ulman slid the window open. “I am in charge here, Lieutenant. What is it that you want?”

* * *

"Yeah, well, there's kind of a war on out there, and I wouldn't like my guys' chances on the streets. Who the hell is going to believe that we're cool hunting in the middle of whatever it is that's going on. My assignment, and what we were equipped for, was subversion and reconnaissance, not combat,” Greg said.

Gwen silently rolled her eyes at Greg’s condescending tone. Once this was over she’d have to slug him. Or ask him out. Or maybe both. “I realize there is a war going on now. I’m not asking you to go cool hunting today or even tomorrow. But, if we can start seeing what information we already have and whatever information your people – whoever you are – are collecting from your intelligence intercepts, we can start compiling a list of likely targets in the new regime. And, once we have the information in Silina’s dossier, we can start combing it for info on our targets. And, once the shooting stops, we can start directly targeting the key members of the new regime. That does fall, broadly speaking, under the headings of reconnaissance and subversion, doesn’t it?”

* * *

Commander Lazarus sat in his vehicle watching the countryside roll past him. He knew Brigadier Holmes was in front of him, and probably clearing the way of any loyalist troops. That would make his entry into Courtland all the easier.

Depending on how well supported and organized the coup-plotters were, he might be able to sweep in and catch them in chaos and simply establish a new government by fiat. But, he doubted it would be that easy. Rather, he hoped his presence and his willing not to stage a major battle in Courtland – one that he could certainly wage, but probably not win – would buy him a seat at the table and give him and his people, and his UC “friends” an opportunity to subvert the new order from the inside.

In Courtland…

“This is Harlan Knox, Major General, Imperial Marines. You are Major General Harrison? We are supposed to coming to support your action, Major General, so I’d appreciate it if you ordered your carrier to recall its fighters.”

Becka nodded as she listened to the Excalbian general. “General Knox, I assure you that I have ordered all of our forces to stand down. Rear Admiral Ekis aboard Devastator is refusing to follow my orders. I am prepared to act directly against him. In order to reassure you, if you remain on this line, I am prepared to allow you to monitor our further communications.” She swallowed hard. “I would, at this point ask your confirmation that your forces will only be deployed to the vicinity of General Altman’s HQ. Now, stand-by.”

Becka picked up another phone and buzzed LCOL Klotina. “Klotina,” the officer said on the other end of the line.

“Colonel. General Harrison. Keep the line to the Excalbians open – audible to me, but muted to anyone else. Then patch in Rear Admiral Ekis.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Becka returned to General Knox, waiting for his assurances. After a few moments, the other line buzzed. “Harrison,” Becka said picking up.

“Colonel Klotina, Ma’am. I’m patching Admiral Ekis in on the other line, now.”

Turning back to the first line, with the Excalbians still listening, Becka began in an even, strangely calm tone. “Is this Rear Admiral Ekis?”

“It is. And who are you?”

“I am Major General Becka Harrison. I have assumed temporary command here at the NMCC upon General Altman’s removal for numerous violations of the CMJ. I have ordered your task force to stand down, Admiral.”

“We heard your orders, Major General, but I am not persuaded by them. Until I am convinced otherwise, my guess is that you have illegally taken control of the NMCC and are preventing General Altman from exercising his legal authority over the military. And, considering that we have a joint Excalbian-Pantocratorian invasion forces headed for the capital, I can only guess that you are traitor and in league with our invaders. Therefore, I will not obey your orders and will do everything in my power to stop the invasion. Ekis out.”

Becka listened to the dead line for a moment, then buzzed Klotina. “Colonel, get me Ozymandius. Tell her that you have General Harrison on the line, code new dawn 2-26.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A moment later, LCOL Klotina returned to the line. “Ozymandius, Ma’am.”

“Janet?” Becka said, sounding suddenly cautious.

“General Harrison? It is you? Was my mission a success, then?” MAJ Janet Holmes sounded almost giddy on the other end of the line. Giddy, and perhaps a little anxious.

“Major, you did a tremendous job and you got us off to a good start. But, unfortunately, our success is still up in the air. Literally. The Excalbians are en route to support the VSF and SSS in making sure Altman is gone. However, the task forces commander aboard Devastator is refusing to follow orders to stand down and has launched his fighters to intercept the Excalbians. I need you to stop as many of them as possible before the reach the Excalbians and then take on Devastator and her task force.”

After a moment of silence, MAJ Holmes answered, sounding much more somber than before. “Yes, Ma’am. I’m not sure on being able to hit too many of the fighters, going at my speed, but I should be able to disrupt their formations and certainly help the Excalbians target them. Shouldn’t we try to contact the fighters directly first?”

Becka nodded. “We will, Janet, but we need to be prepared for them to follow their admiral’s orders.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be in position in just a couple of minutes.”

Becka flipped back to the Excalbian marine general. “Convinced of my intentions, General Knox?” Then, she turned back to Klotina. “Colonel, contact Devastator’s wings directly and order all planes to land in Upper Virginia without engaging the Excalbians or Pantocratorians.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

In the Gulf, near the Considerate…

The pilot of one of the motor launches moving away from the Excalbian freighter looked back and saw what looked like a helicopter rising from below the deck. “We have choppers,” he called out through the radio. “Radar is starting to act up. Looks like he had hidden weapons systems.”

The guns of each of the motor launches began to pivot trying to track the rising chopper even as the boats continued moving away from the larger ship.

The S-21 closing on the Excalbian freighter couldn’t see the chopper, but he did see his radar lock disappear. “Wolf One to all units, I’ve lost radar lock, switching laser guidance. I have visual. Fox one. Fox two. Two missiles away.”

Aboard DNS Sledgehammer in the Gulf...

“Captain,” LCDR Harrison Karon said smiling, “orders from Devastator. We are to ignore NMCC and engage the Pantocratorian and Excalbian fleets.”

SCDR Jacob Hunt turned towards his XO and returned the man’s hungry smile. “About time! Sound general quarters. Order the squadron to form on us. We’re going after the Pantocratorian carrier. Their fighters are escorting their choppers, so we should be able to get in a shot. And I have a grudge to settle.”

“Aye, sir.”

In the Gulf, Aboard DNS Wolfhound...

“Captain,” LT Guthrie said, sounding confused.

“What is it, Mr. Guthrie?” SCDR Thulesen asked as he watched the tactical display.

“Sir, NMCC is repeating orders to stand down, but Admiral Ekis is ordering an attack on the Pantocratorians and Excalbians. Sledgehammer is organizing the squadron to attack the Pantocratorian carrier…”

Thulesen bit his lip. “Sound general quarters. Signal Sledgehammer that we are moving. But…but, let’s keep our ears open and don’t commit to fire until I give the order.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Aboard DNS Devastator in the Gulf…

CAPT Turgman looked over his senior officers. And it was most of his senior officers. He made his decision. “Commander Toth, get as many security men as you trust and get them to break out the arms locker. Have them take as much as they can carry.”

“Yes, sir.” CDR Albert Toth nodded.

“Commander Hartwell,” the CO said, turning to his chief engineer, “get me as many of your engine ratings as you can spare.”

“Aye, sir,” SCDR Robin Hartwell answered almost breathlessly.

“We’ll regroup here in no more than ten minutes. Then, we’ll send one team to the bridge with Commander Toth. I’ll take another to the CIC and Commander Sturman and Senior Commander Hartwell will arrest the admiral. Let’s go.”

In the Gulf

MAJGEN Knox listened as the Upper Virginian general went to great lengths to persuade him of her sincerity. In the end, he couldn’t be sure – but then there was little you could be sure of when politics were involved. But, he felt it was reasonable to accept MAJGEN Harrison’s pledges.

“Yes, General Harrison, I am convinced. Of your intentions. And I will give your people every chance to deal with the interceptors closing on us. But, I will not put my people in danger based solely on your intentions, no matter how noble, General Harrison. Once those interceptors close to firing range, our escorts will defend us. And the Imperial Navy will respond against Devastator. As for our assurances, General, you have my word that our forces will work solely to secure General Altman’s HQ. The Pantocratorian forces, quite understandably, will be attempting to secure what is left of their embassy and safeguard their people. I hope you will understand that and order your people to cooperate.”

After listening to the Upper Virginian’s reply, Knox turned to MAJ Vasarete. “Major, notify the Fleet of the exchange and coordinate deployment with the Pantocratorians.” He looked at his watch. “I show that they should be over their target in about 16 minutes. We should reach ours in about 21 minutes.”

Knox looked out the window and caught sight of one of their escorting F-22s. “And notify our escorts. Give the Uppies up to the last minute to withdraw, then engage.”

“Yes, sir,” MAJ Leah Vasarete shouted above the noise of the engines.

Marcos leveled his automatic weapon at the young woman in the car and motioned for his men to come out of hiding. They quickly scouted the area and began cautiously checking the outside of the car. Once they were certain no one else was around and that there were no obvious booby traps on the car, they nodded one-by-one to their leader.

Marcos, with his weapon aimed at the young woman’s head, called out, “Use one hand to open your door. Keep the other one up. Step out of the car slowly and raise both hands.”

Once the woman was out of the car, Marcos continued with his instructions. “Get on your knees. Now, lie face down and spread your arms.” With the woman on the ground, Marcos nodded for one of female guerillas to go over and search the Pantocratorian. As she searched her for wires and weapons, Marcos took a cautious step towards the woman.

“So, why is that the great and illustrious Pantocratoria, imperialists and allies of imperialists, suddenly wants to help us? Hmmm?”

"The same reason you're out here." murmured the agent into the ground. "Altman. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"That thing you can feel around my left ankle, underneath the fabric, that's a pistol. I have no other weapons." she murmured to the woman searching her.

“Hmmm,” Marcos mumbled non-committally.

“Comrade,” the female guerilla searching the Pantocratorian woman looked up at Marcos, holding a pistol in her left hand, “looks like the Panto was telling us the truth. About this at least. This is her only weapon and she isn’t wearing any wires or tracking devices.”

“Thank you, Comrade Taurina.” Marcos looked down at the woman for a moment. “OK, get up, Pantocratorian. But keep your hands where we can see them.”

After the woman stood, Marcos took a step towards her. “So, why are you such committed enemies of Altman all of the sudden? I never heard any complaints when your fancy admiral was flying in to swill expensive booze with him.”

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

As search teams methodically moved into the smoldering woods behind GEN Altman’s former residence, COL Esamies deployed as many troops as he could along the perimeter. Mostly, the troops were armed with side arms and small assault weapons. There were a few heavy weapons, but not nearly as many as Esamies would have liked.

Esamies walked up to a young lieutenant. “Any luck on restoring communications, Lieutenant?”

“Not much, sir,” the young man shook his head. “We’re picking up some traffic, mostly NMCC ordering units to stand down.” The junior officer looked at the colonel. “Sir, they’re saying that the General has been removed and that some Major General is in command…”

“Never mind that, Lieutenant. The traitors will pay. The General will be fine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about transmitting?”

“We still can’t get anything out, other than on our short-range radios…”

Esamies nodded. “Keep at it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Near General Altman’s Command Centre…

LCOL Matthews lowered his binoculars and turned to the Upper Virginian sergeant behind him. “Well, Sergeant Burke, as the senior Upper Virginian present, what is your assessment?”

SSGT Burke lowered his own binoculars and turned towards the Varessan commander. “My guess is that the regular army force we encountered in the park isn’t that far behind us. And they’ll have an easier route, since they’ll be coming right down the highway.”

Matthews nodded. “What do you make of their defences?”

“Improvised at best. Unfortunately, we don’t have much left to counter them.”

“We do have the edge on them in heavy weapons, including rockets. I’m thinking that if we edge in closer, we can hit the strength of their defences and them move in amidst the ensuing chaos.”

“Yes, sir,” SSGT Burked lifted himself from the rocky edge of the hilltop. “With your permission, I’ll get our men ready to move.”

“Yes, yes.”

Aboard DNS Devastator in the Gulf…

LCDR Sturman rubbed the palm of left hand on his uniform trousers. It had been a long time since he’d had sweaty palms. But, then, this was the first time he’d ever participated in a mutiny. He looked over at SCDR Hartwell and wondered how the engineer could look so calm.

As they rounded a corner, Sturman found himself in front of the hatch to flag bridge. Now, there was no time for nerves. Sturman swallowed and glanced at the armed ratings behind him. “Ma’am?” Sturman asked, turning towards Hartwell.

Robin Hartwell nodded silently and Sturman opened the hatch. RADM Ekis turned along with the other officers and crewmen in the compartment to stare at the armed arrivals.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ekis demanded, striding confidently towards Sturman.

Sturman steeled himself and raised his side arm, leveling it at the admiral. “I’m sorry, sir, but we are placing you under arrest.”

“By whose authority?”

“Captain Turgman’s,” SCDR Hartwell said, raising her own weapon.

“On what grounds?”

“Disobeying orders from NMCC.”

“That’s outlandish! NMCC is full of traitors! General Altman…”

“Please just shut up, Admiral.” SCDR Hartwell took another step towards Ekis and everyone, even Sturman, turned to gape at her. Hartwell smiled. “I’ve been wanting to say that for a long time. Now, will you come along peacefully or not, Admiral?”

“Hmmm,” Marcos mumbled non-committally.

“Comrade,” the female guerilla searching the Pantocratorian woman looked up at Marcos, holding a pistol in her left hand, “looks like the Panto was telling us the truth. About this at least. This is her only weapon and she isn’t wearing any wires or tracking devices.”

“Thank you, Comrade Taurina.” Marcos looked down at the woman for a moment. “OK, get up, Pantocratorian. But keep your hands where we can see them.”

After the woman stood, Marcos took a step towards her. “So, why are you such committed enemies of Altman all of the sudden? I never heard any complaints when your fancy admiral was flying in to swill expensive booze with him.”

"Altman attacked our embassy. He was developing weapons platforms which could've launched a devastating war against my country." she explains. "We want him gone. We want to help you. I need to talk to someone in charge. Please, things are happening in Courtland very quickly. If you want to remain relevant, you have to move quickly!"

Checkout our NSwiki entry - it links to entries on a ton of stuff related to the Excalbian Isles.

http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Excalbia

Bump?

Bump for Free Virginia

Marcos frowned as he thought. He wasn’t sure that he believed the Pantocratorian, but she had given him an easy way out.

“OK, OK,” Marcos said. He nodded towards Taurina and the female revolutionary walked over to the Pantocratorian and leveled her rifle at her back.

Marcos smiled, momentarily feeling back in control. “You want to see someone in charge and I certainly think I can arrange that.” A few of the other revolutionaries chuckled as if Marcos had made a joke. “And we can wait right here. He’ll be here soon.”

And, indeed, within a few minutes, the sound of heavy trucks began to rumble through the woods approaching the country road. Slowly, a long column of trucks – military, police, commercial and civilian vehicles, all hastily repainted in green with a red star on the front doors – made its way down the road towards the guerillas and their Pantocratorian prisoner.

Marcos hailed the lead truck, a semi-trailer, and pulled himself to the driver’s window. They spoke for a few minutes, then Marcos jumped down and the truck lurched forward. After a while, the last of the trucks passed by and Marcos gave the Pantocratorian a malicious smile.

Just a few minutes after the last truck had passed, a column of SUVs appeared around the corner. As they approached the clearing and the Marcos’ unit, the vehicles came to a halt. A man in a pair of well-worn fatigues and an air of quiet authority stepped out of a vehicle and walked towards Marcos.

Marcos nervously drew himself up to something resembling attention. “Commander,” Marcos looked as if he wanted to salute but didn’t think he should, “this… this woman claims to be a Pantocratorian agent and that the Pantos want to help us… she asked to speak to someone in charge, sir…”

Commander Lazarus nodded. “Thank you, Marcos,” he said to the suddenly beaming guerilla. Lazarus walked over to the Pantocratorian woman. “Ma’am,” he said with a smile, “I am Commander Lazarus. I understand you wanted to speak with me?”

* * *

Meanwhile, on the road to Harrington, Sub-commander Ulman waited for LT Zjad to speak…

* * *

And, in Courtland, Gwen waited for Greg’s answer on the phone…

Aboard DNS Devastator in the Gulf…

RADM Ekis looked scornfully at Hartwell and the rebels. “Everyone should lower their weapons,” he said sternly, “I will not have naval personnel killing each other aboard a ship under my command.” Ekis stepped towards Hartwell, bringing him nose-to-nose with chief engineer. “And, Commander Hartwell, it seems that this is only way to avoid bloodshed, I will surrender peacefully.”

SCDR Robin Hartwell sighed with relief and turned to LCDR Sturman. “Get on the radio and order all units to stand down! Now!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sturman said picking up the phone to the comm center.

Above the Gulf…

“Venom flight, Venom leader. Stand by to engage targets…”

“Venom leader, Venom two. Homebase is ordering us to stand down and return to Homebase.”

“Stand by. Venom flight, Venom leader. Orders confirmed. Disengage. Return to base.”

“Venom leader, Hawk leader.”

“Hawk leader, go.”

“Sir,” CDR Nathan Sterns said in the cockpit of his strike fighter, “the Dominion is being invaded! We can turn back! The Excalbians are invading!”

“Hawk leader, stand down. That is an order,” CAPT Janis Termanis clipped his words as he spoke. This wasn’t the time for this discussion.

“Negative, Venom leader.”

“That’s mutiny, Sterns.”

“How do we know that isn’t what happened on the carrier, sir?”

“Return to base, now, Hawk leader.”

“Negative. Are you going to engage me, sir.”

“Negative. Venom flight, Hawk flight, all units, this is Venom leader. Ignore all orders from Hawk leader and return to Homebase.”

In the skies above the Gulf, a squadron of Dominion strike fighter made a leisurely turn and began heading back towards Devastator. A handful of jets, however, peeled away from the others and continued towards the Excalbian and Pantocratorian assault forces.

In Courtland…

MAJGEN Becka Harrison picked up the phone. “Harrison.”

“Colonel Klotina, Ma’am. Ozymandius is nearing position.”

“Patch her through.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

After an audible click, Becka swallowed and spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Ozymandius?”

“Yes, General. I’ve overflown the target area to map it and am returning. Now in firing position. I’ll go for the carrier first…”

There was a click on the line. “Sorry to interrupt, General. I have Devastator…”

“Put them through!” After another click, Becka continued. “Ekis! Time is running…”

“General,” a strange voice answered, “Admiral Ekis has been relieved. I am Captain Turgman. I have…”

“Captain,” Becka snapped, “have you ordered your air wing to stand down?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Turgman answered sounding confused.

“Major Holmes, hold your fire!”

Janet breathed a sigh of relief over the open line. “Ozymandius copies. Standing by.”

Aboard DNS Sledgehammer in the Gulf...

LCDR Karon frowned as he read the message. With his shoulders drooping, he walked sullenly across the padded metal deckplates towards his CO.

“Captain,” he said softly, “new orders from Devastator. We are to stand down…”

“What?” SCDR Jacob Hunt spun in his seat, glowering.

“Devastator orders us to…”

“I heard you, Commander,” Hunt said through clenched teeth. “I just can’t believe this. Do we know the order is authentic?”

“It is from Devastator’s comm center. Now, sir, who’s in command over there is anyone’s guess…”

Hunt nodded. “It does seem as if the chain of command is collapsing.”

“Orders, sir?”

Hunt’s face twisted into a malevolent parody of a smile. “In for a penny, in for a crown. Order all ships to ignore Devastator and press the attack on the Pantocratorians.”

“Ah.. aye, sir.”

“Time to intercept?”

“Some twenty minutes to maximum range for cruise missiles, Captain.”

“Good, good.”

OOC: Can the agent see the ambassador in any of the SUVs?

OOC from Free Virginia: No, the Ambassador is in a different truck headed in the opposite direction - to the north, northwest towards Harrington; these vehicles are headed east towards Courtland.

OOC: Please go here: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=377989 to record your vote for whether General Altman should live or die. Thanks.

Marcos frowned as he thought. He wasn’t sure that he believed the Pantocratorian, but she had given him an easy way out.

“OK, OK,” Marcos said. He nodded towards Taurina and the female revolutionary walked over to the Pantocratorian and leveled her rifle at her back.

Marcos smiled, momentarily feeling back in control. “You want to see someone in charge and I certainly think I can arrange that.” A few of the other revolutionaries chuckled as if Marcos had made a joke. “And we can wait right here. He’ll be here soon.”

And, indeed, within a few minutes, the sound of heavy trucks began to rumble through the woods approaching the country road. Slowly, a long column of trucks – military, police, commercial and civilian vehicles, all hastily repainted in green with a red star on the front doors – made its way down the road towards the guerillas and their Pantocratorian prisoner.

Marcos hailed the lead truck, a semi-trailer, and pulled himself to the driver’s window. They spoke for a few minutes, then Marcos jumped down and the truck lurched forward. After a while, the last of the trucks passed by and Marcos gave the Pantocratorian a malicious smile.

Just a few minutes after the last truck had passed, a column of SUVs appeared around the corner. As they approached the clearing and the Marcos’ unit, the vehicles came to a halt. A man in a pair of well-worn fatigues and an air of quiet authority stepped out of a vehicle and walked towards Marcos.

Marcos nervously drew himself up to something resembling attention. “Commander,” Marcos looked as if he wanted to salute but didn’t think he should, “this… this woman claims to be a Pantocratorian agent and that the Pantos want to help us… she asked to speak to someone in charge, sir…”

Commander Lazarus nodded. “Thank you, Marcos,” he said to the suddenly beaming guerilla. Lazarus walked over to the Pantocratorian woman. “Ma’am,” he said with a smile, “I am Commander Lazarus. I understand you wanted to speak with me?”

Why is the first one smiling like that... the agent wondered to herself. Suddenly she really missed the reassuring feeling of the metal of her gun barrel against her ankle.

"Yes, Commander." she replied to Lazarus. "My government wants to get rid of Altman. They want to do business with someone else in Virginia. And, you seem to be someone else. There's just one problem. According to our best intelligence, you also seem to be in possession of our ambassador, or at least, you're aware of his whereabouts. We can help you, Commander. We have significant assets deployed in the region, not to mention a close relationship with Excalbia. You would do well to make Pantocratoria your friend."

Roberts heard the old Upper Virginian army march playing. It stirred his soul to hear it. It wasn’t because of the traditional military 1-2 cadence, although that helped. It wasn’t because of the deep, slightly mournful and intentionally rousing orchestral accompaniment, although, again, it helped.

No, he thought. It stirred the soul for what it represented. A brow-beaten, oppressed, broken army finally choosing action in defence of millions of their countrymen. Action both for and against itself. Action that was personally phenomenally hazardous. The potential for failure was very real, and the consequences of that failure were spectacularly dire.

It was the army that was doing it. Again. As it seemed was so often the case. An army that had been moulded as an instrument of terror, turning on the hand that had crafted it.

Armies around the world were paradoxes. Trained, raised and indoctrinated, for the most part, on concepts of duty, honour and self-sacrifice, while simultaneously engaged in developing and practicing skills revolving around murdering the largest number of their counterparts in as short a time as possible. Conditioned to follow instructions to kill people, often in cold blood. Learning the trade of death. Subordinating the fundamental moralities of a human being beneath the hugely reinforced notion of a command structure. Breeding sociopaths, in essence, held from the throats of society by paper-thin concepts of loyalty to the state that many of them despise for the loss of their brother’s in arms.

Who was it that had made that wonderful quote? Edgar, Edward, someone “E”… he’d said, ‘people sleep well at night only because rough men stand ready to do unspeakable violence on their behalf’. The author wasn’t wrong, save that now women were thrown into that basket as well. Violence on behalf of the people. But that was only somewhat true, when one thought about it. Militaries did violence on behalf of the state, rarely the people themselves. Sure, the state was supposed to be an extension of the people, but, especially in states like Upper Virginia, that wasn’t the case. The state existed above the populace. And that, to Roberts’ mind, was a major part of the problem. The state could not exist above the people. The people were the embodiment of everything. “The people” were not a concept to be bandied about as a means for those in authority to achieve acquiescence. The people were real, living, breathing human beings, and they were (should be, he corrected himself) the ultimate jury before which a government should submit itself.

All too often, however, that would be akin to asking a serial killer to turn himself in, and front court. And it was a paradox in itself. The states that governed, in good faith, on behalf of their people regularly did. But they had little to concern themselves with, and need not have bothered submitting themselves in the first place. The conceptual trial need never occur. But where a state does commit crimes against its citizenry, there would be no way on God’s green earth that that same state would allow its victims to become its arbitrators.

Which, in turn, is where an army’s role becomes so vital, and so difficult. As protectors and defenders of the state AND the people, the army ends up becoming caught between a rock and a hard place. And, in cases like this, it has to go one way or other. And, drawn from the people, the army can only go against the people for so long.

It was almost traditional. A couple of lines from a poem put the concept so neatly:
‘For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part… Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.’

So, here he was, doing just that. Being the good little soldier, and fixing up the mistakes of politicians. It was his job, he supposed. But this was the part of the job that warmed the heart and fired the soul. Watching true altruism. Or was it power….. –no, he couldn’t think like that – he couldn’t second guess himself now. Not when so many were relying on his judgement, and his authority. The age old cliché about power corrupting… had it corrupted Upper Virginia’s new leadership before it had even started? There was no way to tell. But, in brutal honesty, could Becka Harrison’s leadership, even if she WERE wilfully malignant, be any more brutal than that of Craig Altman?

Becka… a name that conjured up so much. She’d come a long way from the tired, melancholic scientist-functionary officer that she’d been when they first communicated . She had a spark, a drive that made her come alive and took years off her features. And she would give it her best shot. He knew that for sure.

That was the last reason why the march had almost brought tears to his eyes. That song meant that it had begun. But, unlike most, Roberts also knew what was coming, and turned his eyes to the horizon, in the direction of General Altman’s HQ. The technological marvel of a baby that he and Becka had brought into the world was about throw its first temper tantrum….

And there it was. The first air-to-ground test of Crimson Star. It was truly a sight to behold. For the couple of seconds it took for the kinetic harpoons to travel the 80 kilometres from firing altitude to impact point, the hail of fire looked just like a meteor shower. It was beautiful to watch, the glowing orange-white heat contrails shining out, a beacon of light in the still-dark false dawn sky above Courtland. More irony, he thought. That something so beautiful was so terrible, and yet was starting something else so wondrous.

The crackling whine that the kinetic harpoons made in transit would never be heard by the General. The projectiles travelled many times faster than the speed of sound. The distances covered by the projectiles was thus huge. And time from when they disappeared behind Courtland’s skyline and hit the Altman’s HQ was tiny.

His scientific mind analysed everything he saw. He’d be the best witness to this, if only from a scientific point of view. It was sad, scientifically, that he didn’t have a line of sight to the impact point. But he could still analyse the effects.

The X-9 had not fire a single shot. The system was capable of firing at very high rpm rates. And, with the objective being the total destruction of his headquarters, the Ozymandias had not spared the firepower.

The firepower demonstration was phenomenal. And the kinetic-heat energy exchange once more worked to great destructive effect. Plasma explosions blossomed where the building ought to be, miniature suns rising where they had no right to exist. Roberts felt the wind pick up, and he put a hand to his peaked cap as air rushed to fill the void left by the suddenly-non-existent mass that had been one of the most fortified and sophisticated buildings in the Excalbian Isles. He watched as tree branches tore off trunks and flung themselves at the superheated space. A motorbike nearer the blast sites took off in pursuit. But the sound of the explosion was perhaps the strangest that Roberts had ever heard in his life. A series of thunderclaps, like Thor’s own hammer striking granite, quickly followed by a sizzling, crackling whoosh like nothing else he had encountered before.

Then it was over. The wind had stopped, the light had stopped, and, indeed, it was suddenly exceptionally quiet. Roberts was left more than slightly in awe of his creation.

“And so let us cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war..”

***
Roberts was not simply being poetic. There were six Varessan divisions enroute to marry-up with their equipment in the Holy Empire. Their redeployment into the Dominion wouldn’t be all that long thereafter. They would provide the sword and shield behind which General Harrison could establish government in safety. First to hit the ground would be the 24th (Commonwealth Guards) Armoured Cavalry. A very capable, highly trained division, with attached rotary and artillery assets. Using a combination of V9A3 MBTs and VALAVs, they had a very nasty punch, with the infantry behind it to defend any given location or clear urban areas. And with the VALAVs air-drop capable, they were a superb formation to use in this circumstance. Behind them was the 41st Mechanised, 4th and 9th Infantry, 15th Airborne and 22nd Combat Engineer Division. And Roberts was going to command them…

***

In the Gulf

“General,” MAJ Leah Vasarete screamed above the sound of the props, “most of the Uppie squadron is turning back.”

MAJGEN Harlan Knox spoke through gritted teeth. “Did you say ‘most,’ Major?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many incoming?”

“Fleet says at least a dozen. Maybe a few more. They’re ordering the F-22s to engage.”

Knox twisted to look out the window of the transport. In the distance, he could see two-dozen advanced F-22 fighters peeling away from the assault force to engage the Upper Virginians. He knew more would be joining them. He almost felt sorry for the Uppies. “Poor fools,” he murmured.

* * *

Thirty Imperial Navy F-22s turned in a synchronized wide arc, moving away from the Excalbian assault force and then back across towards the pursuing Upper Virginian aircraft.

“Valliant leader to all wings. Six minutes to intercept. Stand-by…”

Citadel Mount, Citadel Excalbia

“My Lord,” the Marine sergeant snapped to attention as he spoke, “incoming message from the Varessans.”

Admiral Lord Yornis Halton turned from the tactical display and nodded for the Marine to continue.

“The first Varessan units have made contact, my Lord. They are a few hours out.”

“Which units, Sergeant?”

“Their 24th Armored Cavalry Division, my Lord.”

Halton nodded. “Direct them into the Aldheim Imperial Air Base. I believe that is where we put their equipment.”

“It is, my Lord.”

“Good. Have the our forces standing by to refuel them and get them on their way to Courtland.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Commander Lazarus chuckled. “So, you’re prepared to offer Excalbia’s friendship in addition to Pantocratoria! Today is our lucky day indeed.” Lazarus’ face grew quite serious. “Of course, your offers of friendship would have meant more had they come before our forces stood on the edges of Courtland and before our own allies had delivered your ambassador and his knowledge of the so-called Silina File to our hands.”

The revolutionary rubbed his chin. “Nevertheless, there may some measure of truth to what you say. However, I don’t have the time to sift through the lies to find it.”

Lazarus turned to Marcos. “Comrade, take this representative of the Holy and Most August Empire to Harrington. And remember, she is a guest, not a prisoner, and is to be treated as such.”

Marcos looked crestfallen as he nodded acknowledgement of his orders.

Lazarus turned back to the Pantocratorian woman. “Your ambassador is en route to Harrington. He is being treated well. Chairman Marko will take responsibility for him upon his arrival. Since you are interested in his well-being, I will send you to Harrington as well. You may make your case for friendship to Marko. He is fully empowered to do whatever he thinks is right.”

With a crisp nod of the head, Lazarus turns and returns to his vehicle. The column of SUVs and trucks rolls forward, leaving one behind. Marco approaches the foreign agent and gestures towards the remaining vehicle.

“After you, Ma’am,” he says with powerless sarcasm.

The spy looked dismayed, and opened her mouth to protest being put aside for later, so to speak. But when she heard that the ambassador was also in Harrington, she closed her mouth again.

"Merci, monsieur." she replies to Marcos as he directs her to the last vehicle. She gets inside and waits to leave.

***

In the skies over Courtland, the Pantocratorian paratroopers drift gently down towards their objectives in the Upper Virginian capital. They didn't know whether they'd encounter resistance, whether they'd be regarded as invaders or liberators, but in a matter of moments they might have fancied that things would become a lot more clear.

Above the Gulf…

“Hawk leader to all attackers. Here comes the opposition. It looks like,” CDR Nathan Sterns swallowed hard. He knew that he’d be against long odds without most of Devastator’s air wings. But, he didn’t expect it to be this bad. “It looks like 30 enemy fighters.” He had only 13 loyalist pilots with him. Their S-21s were good, maybe slightly better than the Excalbian F-22s, but the gap was very, very small. And there were 30 F-22s coming towards him. And more still escorting the assault force. But, it was too late to turn back. “All planes, let’s go!”

The air battle was short and decisive. The S-21s held their own for a little while, taking down several Excalbian jets. But, before long, the numbers overwhelmed them and it was over.

In Courtland at the NMCC…

MAJGEN Becka Harrison walked out of the office and on to the walkway forming the lip of NMCC’s “pit.” She glanced again at the message from MAJGEN Shaun Roberts, especially the encouraging last paragraph. She neatly folded it and stuffed it into her pocket.

“General,” LCOL Klotina said as she looked up, “Devastator reports that most of its air wing is en route back to the carrier. Thirteen aircraft did engage the Excalbians. We... er… they shot down several Excalbian fighters, but all thirteen fighters were lost.”

Becka nodded sorrowfully. She could hear the strain in Klotina’s voice and see it in the faces around her. Even the SSS guards on the catwalks seemed on edge. Only MAJ Thorsen appeared calm. He was almost in good spirits. Not for the first time, the thought of being allied with Thorsen made Becka’s stomach turn.

Becka took a few steps down into the “pit” and looked around. “I know this has been very difficult for all of you. It is very difficult for me, as well. I mourn all the Upper Virginian lives lost today – the pilots in those planes, the men and women at General Altman’s HQ. But, we need to keep two things in mind – the pattern for this day was laid down long ago when Altman made the decision to rule the Dominion as a tyrant and, those who have died have not died in vain. Their sacrifice – whether for or against our cause – will help build a new Dominion. And, all their sacrifices will be honoured.”

Becka paused and drove her emotions back under control. “I know many of you are nervous about the Excalbians and Pantocratorians. But, I assure you – they are not invaders. The Pantocratorians are coming to secure what is left of their embassy and assist those injured in General Altman’s mad killing spree last night and the Excalbians are coming to help us secure Altman’s HQ. They will soon be replaced by the Varessans, who are our closest and dearest allies.”

Becka drew herself up to her full height – which still wasn’t very tall – and tried to sound as forceful as possible. “These difficult days – and they will be difficult – will pass. And we will emerge stronger and freer than ever before.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the NMCC and Becka caught sight of Thorsen smiling and nodding behind her. She returned the nod but kept a grim expression. She turned back to Klotina. “What is the status on the surface fleet elements moving against the Pantocratorian carrier?”

“Sledgehammer is continuing to lead a small squadron towards Imperator Andreus.”

“Raise Ozymandius.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” After a few moments, Klotina nodded. “Ozymandius, Ma’am,”

“Ozymandius, this is Harrison. What is your location?”

“Over Iceland,” MAJ Janet Holmes replied over the speaker.

“We need you to engage a surface squadron attacking the Pantocratorians. NMCC will transfer the coordinates.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll be there in a minute.”

In the Gulf, Aboard DNS Wolfhound...

“New orders from Devastator, Captain,” LT Guthrie called out from his station.

SCDR Thulesen turned towards Guthrie. “What are they, Lieutenant?”

Guthrie wore an expression that hovered between relief and disbelief. “We’re being ordered to stand down. Just a moment,” Guthrie turned back to his console. “Sir, Sledgehammer is ordering us to ignore Devastator’s orders.”

Thulesen rubbed his chin. “Break off the attack, Lieutenant. Turn us around and acknowledge Devastator’s orders.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

Aboard DNS Sledgehammer in the Gulf...

LCDR Karon let slip an ugly expletive. “Captain!”

“Yes, XO,” SCDR Jacob Hunt said, spinning in his command seat.

“Sir, Wolfhound is breaking off. She’s standing down.”

Hunt cursed under his breath. “Have we lost anyone else?”

“No, sir.”

Hunt nodded. “Good. Press on.”

“Sir!” Radartech 2nd class Benjamin Rozentalis said from his station.

“Report,” Karon said as he jumped up and walked over to the radar station.

“Something is coming up… fast… March 10 plus…”

Karon shot his CO a worried look.

Hunt bit his lip. He had his suspicions, but… “Are we in range?”

“We’re on the edges of maximum range to the Pantocratorian carrier, but still 10 minutes from optimum range…”

Hunt shook his head. If he was right… “It doesn’t matter. Flush all tubes. Now!”

“Aye, Captain.”

Within moments, Sledgehammer and her five sister ships fired 10 cruise missiles each towards the distant Imperator Andreus.

At the same moment the missiles were firing, MAJ Janet Holmes struck out with her mind and Crimson Star flared back into life. Seconds later, Sledgehammer and her squadron were bits of debris in a boiling sea.

In Courtland…

A column of vehicles rumbled passed the burned out hulk of the National Assembly building.

MAJ Ulanis frowned as he surveyed the destruction. It looked different – worse somehow – in the daylight. Ulcers burned in his stomach. He didn’t like Altman – there, he had finally said it, at least to himself – but he liked the idea of being invaded by foreign troops even less.

The column neared the massive, imposing bulk of the Directorate of Defense and Ulanis ordered it to halt. Troops began spilling out of their vehicle and taking up positions, not clear whether they were defending the DoD or attacking it.

HIMS Imperator Andreus' bridge was chaos when the missile alarm started. There had been a great deal of confusion involving two frigates misinterpreting their orders and heading wildly off course, which Lord Phocas had just spent the last ten minutes correcting. The missile alarm reminded everyone that they were in the fight too.

"Countermeasures!" barked Phocas.

"My Lord First Admiral, surface to air missile battery reports they will be ready to fire in thirty seconds. They report positive lock." shouted one officer.

"Very good. Order flight control to intercept those missiles, I don't care how!" Phocas barked.

***

Three Pantocratorian F/A-18s on their way towards Upper Virginia diverted a few moments later. They could get positive locks on the enemy missiles, but their own missiles couldn't hope to intercept before estimated time of impact with the flagship. It was up to the SAMs on-board ship.

***

"All SAM batteries fired, my Lord!" reported the battery control officer.

"Very good." Phocas replied, lighting another cigar.

The missile battery control officer watched his screen, on which there were 12 blinking lights representing the status of the 12 targets. Over the next few moments, one by one, several lights disappeared. Each disappearing light resulted in a cheer from the bridge crew, except for Phocas, who was sucking on his cigar. Before long the cheers stopped.

"There are still four out there...." said one officer as Phocas stepped outside onto the balcony which overlooked the ship.

Then it happened. The first missile landed on the flight deck, obliterating several F/A-18s in a ball of fire. The next missile slammed into the tower itself, which sent Phocas lurching into the rail, his cigar coming out of his mouth and falling down onto the burning deck below. He steadied himself and pulled himself upright again as another missile slammed into the flight deck, leaving an enormous crater in the middle of the landing surface. The last unaccounted for missile slammed into the bow of the ship itself, rocking the flagship yet again. Phocas staggered back into his bridge, which was filled with smoke from some freshly extinguished fires. A young lieutenant stood over a bank of computers with a fire extinguisher, having just put them out.

"Damage report!" Phocas barked.

"Flight control reports we are unable to take off or land any more aircraft, my Lord!" shouts an officer on the phone to flight control.

"Heavy damage to the tower, my Lord. We might want to think about evacuating...." started another junior officer, who Phocas ignored.

"Flight control will order all birds in the air to land at Excalbian air bases if possible, or to bail over Excalbia if not." continues the officer still on the phone. "If an Upper Virginian airfield could be identified as friendly, it would help a great deal my Lord!"

"There has been damage to the hull, my Lord. We're taking on water. Standby to be advised how serious." reported another officer on the intercom to engineering.

"Helm, bring us about, get the hell out of range, we can't to anything more in an operational sense." Phocas snapped, before returning to his office to inform Mater.

Above Upper Virginia

“General,” MAJ Leah Vasarete shouted, “we’ve slashed the Uppie fighters.”

“Excellent, Major,” MAJGEN Harlan Knox nodded. “Have the Pantocratorians deployed?”

“Yes, sir. They’ve just signaled that they're jumping into Courtland near their embassy site. No word yet on resistance.”

“Very well, Major. Signal Major General Harrison at the Uppie NMCC and advise her that we’re just over 10 minutes from Altman’s HQ.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aboard INV Glorious in the Gulf

CDR Blume stepped in front of VADM Sir Derek Kunle. “Admiral,” he said coming to attention.

“Yes, Commander?” Kunle set his cup of tea down on the tactical board, focused for the moment on the area over Courtland. “I see that our fighters have dispatched the recalcitrant Dominion interceptors and that the Pantocratorian paratroopers are headed into Courtland…”

“Yes, Admiral. But there was also the surface squadron closing on Imperator Andreus…”

“Yes,” Sir Derek nodded, a grave note take his deep, rumbling voice even lower, “but that Dominion super weapon disintegrated them, I thought.”

“Yes, sir, but they fired before they could be destroyed. Imperator Andreus’ SAMs took out most of the missiles, but her aircraft and ours – even our Wraiths – were out of range to engage the remainder.”

“She’s been hit,” Kunle said flatly. “How badly?”

“She can’t launch or receive aircraft and is taking on water.”

Kunle nodded. “Send my compliments to Lord Phocas and advise him that we are sending ships to assist. Order Hercules and Compassion to offer all possible assistance. Request that Admiral Allen aboard Citadel dispatch a cruiser to assist and send a Wraith squadron to provide cover for Imperator Andreus.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Blume said coming again to attention.

As his staff aide walked away, VADM Kunle muttered a curse and slammed his first into the tactical table.

Aboard INV Compassion in the Gulf

Klaxons blared general quarters as Commodore Beatrice Melaine rushed to the bridge. “Report,” she said as soon as she cleared the hatch.

CDR Mike Leanis, CO of the hospital ship turned and came to attention. “Imperator Andreus has been hit. She’s turning away from the lines and moving towards our position. Glorious is ordering us to assist.”

Melaine nodded. “Move all support ships towards Imperator Andreus. Get rescue boats into the water and have the choppers standing by. Call all surgical teams to the ORs.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And raise Imperator Andreus and see what they need.”

“Aye, aye.”

"The hull breach is contained to sections four and five, my Lord. Engineers confirm that she'll stay afloat." reported an officer on the phone to the damage control teams seeing to the hull.

"Very good. Advise the Excalbians that their medical assistance would be most appreciated." says Phocas to the communications officer.

A few levels beneath the bridge in the control tower, the radar room looked like a little slice of hell. The missile had blown through the heavily armoured tower. The room smelt of electrical fires and burnt flesh. The fireball had engulfed the room - not even the computer consoles were recognisable. The damage to the levels above and below was bad too, but none of it had anything on the radar room. Damage control teams in oxygen masks stepped gingerly over the wreckage and scorches corpses of their fellow crewmen as they assessed the structural damage to the tower and began propping up the ceiling with extending poles.

Up on the bridge, the floor lurched. Everybody paused nervously, wondering whether it was going to give way underneath them and if the whole tower was about to collapse in on itself. Phocas produced another cigar from his breast pocket. He patted his jacket searching for his lighter, but didn't find it.

"Lighter." he growled, and his aide de camp lit the cigar.

Aboard INV Compassion in the Gulf

CDR Leanis cleared his throat as he approached the commodore.

"Yes, Commander," COMO Beatrice Melaine said as she turned to face him.

"Ma'am, Imperator Andreus reports that they have controlled their flooding are safely afloat. They are requesting medical assistance; they have many injured."

Melaine nodded. "Are the choppers airborne?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Make sure the Pantocratorians know they are on their way. Hmmm. In case they can't clear enough landing space, we should still send the rescue boats."

"Yes, Ma'am. They are en route."

"Good, good."

"Commodore?" Dr. Brian Rainis, wearing a white smock with captain's insignia on the arm, stepped through the hatch onto the bridge.

"Ah, Captain. Are your teams ready?"

"Yes, Commodore. Any idea how bad?"

"Not yet. But it seems they took several direct hits."

Rainis nodded. "We'll be ready."

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

Although Crimson Star had leveled most of the trees surrounding Altman’s HQ, CAPT Terelson’s map had pointed SSGT Burke to a narrow gully – just wide enough for one vehicle to navigate the bottom – that ran to within a couple hundred meters of base. Enough scrub brush had survived to cover the gully and the crest of the shallow ridge than ran away from it to the north and south.

SSGT Burke laid on his belly in the brush on the north lip of the gully. Below him to his right were the last two surviving SSS vehicles with rockets. They were parked one behind the other – with just enough room to fire safely. There would be no way to get them out of there after the fight started, but that didn’t matter. They had only a few rockets left and once they were fired in the first volley, the vehicles would be useless.

The surviving members of the SSS were clinging to the narrow rise to Burke’s left. Somewhere to the right the VSF was ready to begin its assault.

Burke checked his binoculars one last time. The survivors of Ozymandius’ attack were obviously conducting a search for wounded. But, whoever was in charge had been smart enough to establish a defensive perimeter as best as he could. What heavy weapons they had were concentrated just behind their front lines where they could support the most vulnerable part of the perimeter.

Burke double checked his coordinates and motioned for the operators of the vehicles to fire their rockets. A few heartbeats later two volleys of a half dozen high explosive rockets screamed towards the last remnant of Altman’s command.

On cue, he heard the Varessans following the rocket attack with an assault on the – hopefully – weakened right flank of the Army line. Once he could see the Army trying to reform its line after the rocket attack and repulse the Varessans, Burke ordered his men to swarm over the ridge and catch the new line on its flank. If it worked, they would have a greatly weakened enemy force caught between them. If it didn’t… well, Burke didn’t have time to think about that.

* * *

COL Esamies had established a makeshift field HQ in a concrete guard post just outside the smoking hole that had been Altman’s private estate on the compound. Somehow, the small building had survived the inferno that had consumed the base.

Esamies and his lieutenants – and he had found no more senior officers than a handful of lieutenants – were looking at a map establishing search grids, planning for a better defensive line and trying to figure out the best way to get word to LCOL Illers, whose men were probably the nearest friendly forces.

Suddenly, the ground shook. One of the lieutenants turned white and grasped the table. “Its back!” The young man screamed. The others looked nervously to Esamies.

Esamies felt his stomach flip, but he could tell from the sound that it was only – only! – rockets, not the devilish weapon that attacked them this morning. The colonel grabbed an assault rifle and turned to the other officers. “Let’s go.”

Esamies approached the open field near the ruins and saw chaos. All but one of the large caliber chain guns his men had set up had been hit and turned into hunks of twisted metal. Already shell-shocked soldiers were beginning to fall back in confusion.

“Hold your positions! Hold!” Esamies screamed as he ran up and down his lines. Soon the lieutenants and sergeants were repeating his instructions and the lines reformed to meet the approaching enemy.

Near General Altman’s Command Centre…

LCOL Illers shook his head in disbelief as he surveyed the smoking ruins of his brigade’s HQ from a slight rise in the highway. The nearest gates, only a few hundred meters away, were gone. The buildings. The training grounds. Everything. He saw no survivors moving about, only a few bodies in the distance.

“Sir,” FSGT Brogan said pointing to northwest, where the furthest edges of the base had once housed GEN Altman’s personal quarters.

“Yes,” Illers said, picking up his binoculars and swinging them in the direction Brogan was looking.

“Sir, smoke. It just went up.”

“Could be that the blaze just reached some ammo or fuel…”

“Or, sir, it could be a new attack. A ground attack.”

Illers nodded and turned to the driver of the lead vehicle. “Let’s go. As quickly as possible. And don’t worry about trying to follow the roads.”

“Yes, sir.”

In Courtland…

Even as his men were taking up position around the DoD building, MAJ Ulanis’s van was passing the smoldering wreck of the Pantocratorian Embassy. As he looked out at the destruction, his ulcers gave him another whack to the stomach that caused him to take a seat in the mobile command center.

Before he could frame the swirl of thoughts preoccupying his mind, LT Miller looked up and interrupted the process. “Sir,” the special forces man, still dressed in black, said, “it looks like we have an airborne assault…”

Ulanis turned and looked at radar screen that did show planes overhead. “Units are reporting chutes,” Miller said, “and it looks like they’re headed for this location. Um,” Miller touched his hand to the receiver in his ear, “NMCC is broadcasting again. They say that allied forces are arriving in Courtland and no units are to interfere. Sir?” Miller looked up at Ulanis expectantly.

The smouldering ruins of the embassy came into view of the paratroopers of the Fifth Provincials as they drifted down to the earth. Their boots hit the ground in moments, and they untangled their parachutes and started to move in teams of three into pre-arranged positions. Their rifles were ready to fire, but for the moment, the troops just motioned menacingly to every moving thing.

No, they would wait for any signs of resistance before the embassy would be avenged.

As Colonel McMarn’s C130J touched down at Aldheim Imperial Air Base, Excalbia, the commander of the 8th Armoured Regiment, 24th Commonwealth Guards Armoured Cavalry Division, breathed a sigh of relief. He was a tanker at heart. And, like a large proportion of tankers, he hated flying. He liked being strapped inside the armoured leviathan that was his V9A3 command tank. He felt safe inside his tank. He knew, consciously, that flying aboard the Herky-bird was, statistically, perfectly safe. But his dislike of flying was not a conscious sentiment, and the logic of the conscious mind hadn’t helped. But he was, at least at the moment, back on solid ground. And looking forward to this operation, in a way that he hadn’t looked forward to a deployment in a good long time.

Excalbian air-traffic control had handled the massive airlift with their stereotypical cool and collected composure, directing in the seemingly never-ending stream of heavy-lifters and troop-carriers to the jump-off points. The next phase would be harder, getting the Varessan soldiers onto their combat vehicles, then using the para-capable 17th and 19th Cavalry Regiments to secure the arrival points for the follow-on waves. 8th Armoured would be the first follow-on, putting all of the 24th Division on the ground before the rest of the Varessan contingent. Then, 8th Armoured would push to three objectives. Firstly, the Varessan Embassy, picking up the Army Commander, MAJGEN Roberts. Secondly, NMCC, to assist the friendly Dominion units there, and thirdly to the remains of Altman’s HQ, breaking the back of the most obvious form-up point for loyalists, and picking up the VSF unit that was supposed to ensure General Altman’s death was as much certainty as possible.

The hardest part was the combat drop itself, parachuting out the VALAVs, with their troop components already aboard. The concept was old, but the practice very new. The crucial difference was in the time after hitting the ground. Rather than spending up to ten minutes getting the VALAVs prepped and ready for combat, dropping with the crew already aboard meant that the unit was able to operate cohesively from the instant the wheels of the first VALAV hit the ground.

And High Command was expecting a hot drop.

Colonel McMarn wasn’t worried about his own safety. The 8th Armoured would only go in if the two Cav regiments accomplished their objectives. But he WAS worried about the two Cav regiments.

***

As was Roberts. His army was coming to him, in a manner of speaking. But he prayed fervently that it got to him in one piece. He’d seen the airborne forces –probably Excalbian or Pantocratorian units, from how he’d been briefed- hitting the ground. Felt the air thick with anticipation. But could do nothing until a Varessan unit came and picked him up from the fortress-embassy.

He grinned to himself ruefully. At least it gave him another chance to wear his dress blacks, he thought as he laced up his parade boots. Can’t have the senior officer of the Dominion’s liberators walking around in camouflage gear. That would create the wrong impression. But, as he buckled up his pistol belt, and holstered his berretta, he remembered that anyone who looked closely enough would realise that the weapon was not a nickel plated and purely decorative piece of junk.

He wasn’t going to support a coup while completely unarmed.

The thought that, if he was fighting, they’d already lost, occurred to him. But he ignored it. He had to be the friendly, approachable and unflappable face of Varessan concern and assistance for their allies. And he would.

But first he had to go throw up, and then empty his bladder. Otherwise his presentation may not be that expected of a Varessan Major General…

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

The still disoriented troops of Altman’s brigade did their best to hold their makeshift perimeter. With COL Esamies’ encouragement, the soldiers held their positions in the face of the rocket attack and the VSF assault. However, the Varessans, while outnumbered, were unflinching in their attack. Somehow they seemed to make each round count. Both sides suffered losses, but neither yielded.

Unfortunately for the Army troops, as they had reformed their lines to face the Varessan assault, they had left their right flank vulnerable. With his forces full engaged with the VSF, COL Esamies noticed too late the small number of SSS troops flowing over the low ridge towards that weak flank. Esamies tried to get some of his men reposition, but before he could act, the SSS was among his men. The disruption rippled down the line and soon the VSF was advancing.

“Fall back!” Esamies shouted. He turned to a soldier beside him. “Find the search teams, get them back here!” The soldier sketched a salute and ran off.

SSGT Burke couldn’t believe their good fortune as the Army – he had a hard time thinking of men wearing the Upper Virginia eagle as the “enemy” – began to fall back. He turned to and signaled his men to slide to their left to try to keep the bulk of the Army forces between them and the VSF. Meanwhile, Burke could see LCOL Matthews and the VSF harrying the Army and pushing them back.

If this was all that was left of Altman’s brigade, Burke started to think that he and his men just might survive.

The fight had moved back to the edges of the smoldering pit that had been Altman’s estate, when Burke heard the sound of approaching vehicles.

LCOL Illers saw a ragtag band of men from his brigade trying to make an organized retreat in the face of a stiff assault from what looked like SSS and some kind of foreign troops that he couldn’t immediately identify.

“Sergeant Brogan,” Illers turned to the NCO with him in the lead vehicle, “signal all units to engage the enemy. They’re too close to our men, so we’ll have to dismount and wade in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And get someone on the radio to call for back-up.”

In Courtland…

Ulanis looked at the paratroopers falling into Courtland. It was a large force. Not a full division perhaps, but at least as many men as he had in the immediate vicinity, if not more. Ulanis speculated that they were Pantocratorians. He was trying to answer LT Miller’s request for instructions when the Special Forces officer held up a hand.

“Just a moment, sir.” Miller listened intently. “Sir, its Colonel Illers! He is at General Altman’s HQ. It’s under attack. He’s requesting immediate support!”

Ulanis nodded as he made up his mind. If this were an invasion, then as many loyalists as possible needed to make their stand together. And he couldn’t think of any place better than HQ to make that stand.

“Let them have the NMCC,” Ulanis said bitterly. “Signal all units to withdraw to HQ immediately. And signal the colonel that we’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

In Courtland at the NMCC…

“General,” LCOL Beatrix Klotina turned towards MAJGEN Harrison, “we’re picking up traffic between units of General Altman’s personal brigade. They seem to be rallying at his command centre.”

MAJGEN Becka Harrison nodded. She had expected that possibility. “Inform all units that Altman’s Own is acting without authorization and should be subdued if encountered. Also notify the Excalbian forces. And try to raise the Pantocratorians.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Klotina said quietly, still stunned that she was helping the Excalbians attack Altman’s HQ.

The Pantocratorian commandos who spotted the Upper Virginians let them withdraw without exchanging fire. Their orders were not to fire unless fired upon, after all.

Private Pierre Gellos looked up at the ruins of the embassy from his position in a crater in front of the structure to see a soldier from the other squad scrambling up to the top of the ruins. When he got there, he took off his backpack, opened it, and produced the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade, the Pantocratorian flag, on a small pole. With his bayonet he carved a niche into the cement to plant the flag fairly securely. Some of the commandos cheered. Most kept their rifles close, ready to fire at the first sign of trouble.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

Caught between the SSS and the foreigners – they weren’t Excalbians – could they be Varessans, he wondered – COL Esamies felt the resolve that comes from hopelessness beginning to wash over him. If he were going to die, then this was how he wanted to die – on his feet and fighting.

At first the sound of more approaching troops reinforced that feeling – he assumed they were the enemy. When they got closer, however, he and his men could see that it was part of LCOL Illers’ battalion. A cheer went up from the men.

SSGT Burke heard the cheer, then saw the forces sweeping towards him. Suddenly, the tables were turned and the SSS/VSF force was outmanned and outgunned. He guessed these were the same troops that were in the park. He figured at least a couple of companies in the approaching column. At least, Burke thought grimly, they were down a couple of platoons already.

Burke looked towards LCOL Matthews and the Varessan motioned for Burke to move his men towards the Varessans and a somewhat more defensible position on the crest of the small hill from which they’d launched their attack.

As the new Army forces swarmed towards, it seemed all would be lost.

Then, in a day of surprises, yet another one appeared – literally from the skies. The approaching aircraft were pained in drab camouflage colors, but their tiltwing design gave them away as Excalbians. Burke turned towards the Varessan soldier who happened to be next to him – he recalled her sergeant had called her ‘Vash’ – and said, “Did your people know about the Excalbians dropping in?”

Vash shook her head as she continued to empty her weapon into the wall of Upper Virginian loyalists. “No. You?”

“No,” Burke shook his head slightly, “but it’s a good bet they’re not here to help Altman, which makes them the cavalry – for the moment at least.” Burked looked around until he found the corporal with the radio and then made his way towards him.

“Try to raise the Excalbians. Tell them were friendlies and that those guys swarming at us are the hostiles.”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

In Courtland at the NMCC…

MAJGEN Becka Harrison suddenly looked up at the tactical board and looming over the Pit and snapped her fingers. “Colonel,” she said approaching Klotina, “time to start running this like a military operation. Put all the forces in play up on the board. Green for units responding to our instructions, white for our forces that are standing down, red for those forces moving without orders and blue for the… um… allied forces.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Klotina bent over the tactical workstations and began talking with her men. Soon, unit icons began to wink into existence on the board, replacing the previous tracings of Ozymandius and the conflict in the gulf.

Satisfied, Klotina stood. “We have Brigadier Holmes’ mobile infantry brigade entering the city from the West,” she pointed towards a green icon, “and the Pantocratorians in the center of the city. We have the remainder of Brigadier Youst’s brigade rallying at Altman’s HQ,” red icons appeared on the screen, “with the 43rd Armoured Brigade approaching the city from the Southeast,” another red icon appeared, “and the 67th Mechanized Brigade approaching from North to join them. Air assault elements of the Excalbian Marine Division are also approaching the HQ site. Further away, we have the 423rd Mobile Security Brigade of the SSS approaching from the North,” a green icon appeared, “and several Varessan units are en route from Excalbia.”

Becka nodded. “It looks like Altman’s HQ will be the battleground…”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Klotina agreed.

“Get me Brigadier Holmes and the Pantocratorians. Maybe they can off the 43rd and give some relief to our forces at the HQ.”

“Yes, General.”

In Courtland…

“Brigadier,” FSGT Tolliver leaned forward to address the general, “NMCC is advising us that Pantocratorian forces are dead ahead. We are to establish contact and try to coordinate a move to the southeast to intercept and engage the 43rd Armoured…”

BRIG Alex Holmes nodded. The column of his forces rolled through the deserted streets of the city, passed the Catholic cathedral and the burned out hulk of the Directorate of Justice – Holmes shook his head in disgust as he looked at the scarred skyscraper – towards the diplomatic quarter and the Directorate of Defence.

Not far from the DoD, Holmes spotted a high pile of rubble with the Pantocratorian flag flying defiantly atop it. Around the rubble, he could see Pantocratorian troops.

Holmes signaled for the column to halt. Then, his vehicle proceeded forward alone and stopped a short distance from the foreign soldier. With his right hand raised in greeting, Holmes stepped from his vehicle and walked towards the Pantocratorians.

“I am Brigadier Alex Holmes, in command of the 28th Mobile Infantry Brigade, and a member of the armed opposition. I would like to speak with your commander.”

Sub-Commander Ulman heard the banging behind him and turned around. LT Zjad was banging on the window between the troop compartment and the front of the truck. He looked bleary-eyed and upset. Ulman slid the window open. “I am in charge here, Lieutenant. What is it that you want?”

'The crew on our freighter is free and is making a run for it in our helicopters. They're running for the shore but they're under fire.' Ulman gave Zjad a blank look. 'And we need to help them.'

“I realize there is a war going on now. I’m not asking you to go cool hunting today or even tomorrow. But, if we can start seeing what information we already have and whatever information your people – whoever you are – are collecting from your intelligence intercepts, we can start compiling a list of likely targets in the new regime. And, once we have the information in Silina’s dossier, we can start combing it for info on our targets. And, once the shooting stops, we can start directly targeting the key members of the new regime. That does fall, broadly speaking, under the headings of reconnaissance and subversion, doesn’t it?”

'Yes, but what you're talking about would require, well, an inordinate amount of exposure. Right now, my, ahem, sponsors, can disavow everything that I've done here, along with the attacking forces, but if we start using the resources of our home office, they can't explain that. I don't want to disappoint, but no more help is coming, for me or you, so we have to work with what we've got, and what you're asking is out of my capacity.'

'The crew on our freighter is free and is making a run for it in our helicopters. They're running for the shore but they're under fire.' Ulman gave Zjad a blank look. 'And we need to help them.'

Sub-Commander Ulman motioned for the driver to stop the vehicle. Ulman grabbed his map and turned back to LT Zjad. “So, your comrades are headed for the coast,” he said opening the map, “are they being pursued?”

Holding the map up for Zjad to see, Ulman pointed to a road running almost due north from Stonebridge, which itself was West of Courtland. “We’re here. Too far to get to the coast to offer any effective support.” The guerilla leader pointed to the shoreline East of Courtland. “Now, if they’re coming ashore here, I’m afraid they’re in serious trouble. There is at least an armoured brigade and a couple of infantry brigades in that area. And, the armoured brigade is certainly loyal to Altman and will fire on any foreign forces. I’m certain of that.”

Ulman pointed to the coast South of Stonebridge. “Now, if they’re approaching this stretch of coast, we’re in better shape. We have a number of operatives in Stonebridge that could rendezvous with them and put them safely on their way to Harrington. That is really the only way to get you or them out of here safely without compromising your backer’s identities.”

'Yes, but what you're talking about would require, well, an inordinate amount of exposure. Right now, my, ahem, sponsors, can disavow everything that I've done here, along with the attacking forces, but if we start using the resources of our home office, they can't explain that. I don't want to disappoint, but no more help is coming, for me or you, so we have to work with what we've got, and what you're asking is out of my capacity.'

Gwen sighed audibly over the phone. “OK, then, what is possible with the resources you have on hand?”

General Altman’s Command Centre

“Someone on the ground is signaling us, General,” MAJ Vasarete said, turning to look at her CO.

“Has to be the Varessans and the coup-plotters. Answer them, Major. Maybe they can sort out some of the confusion down there.” MAJGEN Harlan Knox looked out of the window of the V-25 assault carrier towards the blackened ruins of the Dominion’s premier military installation. There was obviously a firefight taking place, with a small force being pushed back by a rag-tag group being bolstered by fresh reinforcements.

“Sir,” Vasarete said, “they identify themselves as friendlies. They say they’re falling back towards a shallow gully and that the loyalists are swarming their position.”

Knox nodded. “Have our escorts clear some ground over there, to the east of the loyalists. The ground looks fairly clear, we just need to shoo away any stragglers. Then, have the first and second battalion circle around behind the friendlies and put down there. Third battalion will drop behind the friendlies and reinforce.”

“Yes, sir.”

Soon, the escorting F-29s streaked overhead and executed a sharp turn. Precision guided missiles tore into the terrain behind the Dominion Army forces, scattering dozens of fighters. Additional small, anti-personal bombs dropped on the reinforcements rushing towards the battle.

A large number of V-25s followed the fighters; their propellers turning upward as their wings tilted back, lowering them gently to the ground. With large caliber weapons aboard the V-25s providing cover, Imperial Marines scampered down the back ramps of the flying troop carriers. As each aircraft disgorged its men, it lifted off, flying over the enemy and strafing them from the air.

By the time the first wave was taking off, some of the enemy vehicles were targeting the planes and several took ground fire, with at least one erupting into a ball of fire as it descended.

MAJ Leah Vasarete was among the first troops on the ground. She followed the first platoon out of their transport and joined a squad of Marines carrying communication’s equipment who were led by their company CO. They quickly secured a slight depression – a rut in the road really, and began coordinating signals from all the other company and platoon-level units.

MAJGEN Knox joined his XO and the core of his HQ company in the rut. He could see that, with the V-25’s plowing the way with their heavy guns, the Marines were already advancing on the enemy.

To his left, Knox saw a second wave of transports unloaded the 2nd battalion, which moved to cut the reinforcements still moving forward in a column off from the main battlefield.

As the Dominion relief column began arraying itself for battle, the F-29s returned for another bombing run, followed by more strafing from the now-empty V-25s.

Ulman pointed to the coast South of Stonebridge. “Now, if they’re approaching this stretch of coast, we’re in better shape. We have a number of operatives in Stonebridge that could rendezvous with them and put them safely on their way to Harrington. That is really the only way to get you or them out of here safely without compromising your backer’s identities.”

'So take us to Stonebridge, we'll meet our people there.'



Gwen sighed audibly over the phone. “OK, then, what is possible with the resources you have on hand?”

'Local hacks, and physical sabotage once we can safely leave the building. We're still set up to attempt to hack into the communication infrastructure, if needs be, but at the moment I don't see any purpose to that, unless your leaders want to increase the chaos.'

In the Gulf, near the Considerate…

The pilot of one of the motor launches moving away from the Excalbian freighter looked back and saw what looked like a helicopter rising from below the deck. “We have choppers,” he called out through the radio. “Radar is starting to act up. Looks like he had hidden weapons systems.”

The guns of each of the motor launches began to pivot trying to track the rising chopper even as the boats continued moving away from the larger ship.

The S-21 closing on the Excalbian freighter couldn’t see the chopper, but he did see his radar lock disappear. “Wolf One to all units, I’ve lost radar lock, switching laser guidance. I have visual. Fox one. Fox two. Two missiles away.”

The second SC lifted off as bullets whizzed by, pinging randomly off the metal armor. Both airborne helicopters dropped behind the freighter, putting it's hull between them and the Virginian launch.

'Missiles incoming,' called out the first helicopter's CPG. The seconds ticked by, silently inside the insulated cabins, as the missiles closed on their target.

'Three three away.' The final helicopter lifted off the pad and jumped into the air, evading the few bullets still coming from the increasingly distant launch. The other two helicopters joined the third, banking sharply as they dropped into formation and flew away from the nearby destroyers.

Behind the helicopters, the Virginian missiles hit the freighter, tearing house sized holes in the hull. As the freighter tipped to its side, bending under the weight of the water gushing into its hull, another explosion tore through the freighter as the self destruct reached zero. The cargo hold disappeared in conflagration as the ship split in two, the explosion sending a geyser of steam into the air as the ship disappeared beneath the waves.

'So take us to Stonebridge, we'll meet our people there.'

Sub-Commander Ulman sighed. "It's just not that easy," he said, frustration clearly creeping into his voice. "Things aren't going badly for us right now, but we can't just drive through the middle of Stonebridge. There are still police there and a lot of gated communities with private security. It just isn't practical to fight through all of that."

Ulman's features softened. "Now I certainly understand that you want to help your comrades and that speaks well of you. But, the best way you can help them is to try to get them on the same radio they used to tell you their plight and tell them to ditch on the beach. Don't overfly Stonebridge. On the beach, they should head for Captain Jack's. They can't miss it whether they come down east or west of it. It's a five story Victorian monstrosity that houses an infamous seafood restaurant bar and club. I can have our people waiting for them there."

Ulman shrugged. "With a firefight going on in Courtland and a curfew there won't be anyone on the beach except hardcore surfers and they won't notice your choppers unless they come down on their heads. When your people get to Captain Jack's, our people will get them out and on their way to Harrington. You can hook up with them there and we'll get all of you on your way to where you need to go. OK?"


'Local hacks, and physical sabotage once we can safely leave the building. We're still set up to attempt to hack into the communication infrastructure, if needs be, but at the moment I don't see any purpose to that, unless your leaders want to increase the chaos.'

"Well, I think we have enough chaos for now, but we might want ot stoke the fires a bit if it starts to settle down." Gwen bit her lip. "OK, we'll just lay low for the moment and I'll call you back once the picture starts to shape up."

The private who rose from the rubble with his rifle trained on the Brigadier looked skeptical. He started speaking into the microphone protruding from his helmet.

"Colonel, nous avons ici un homme qui s'appelle Holmes. Je crois qu'il est Virginien. Il parle anglais, je ne peux pas lui comprendre..... oui, Colonel, je vous l'apporte." he murmured into his radio back and forth. Finally he turned to the Brigadier.

"Venez-vous avec moi!" he shouted as he approached the last few steps. He took the Brigadier by the arm. "Venez vous! Le Colonel vous veut. Venez vous!"

He disarmed the Brigadier if he was carrying a gun, and pulled the Brigadier and gestured like he wanted him to follow him, leading him through the Pantocratorian lines and into the rubble to where a tough looking middle-aged man was looking over a map with another man, engaged in a discussion. The insignia on his helmet marked him as a colonel in the Fifth Provincial Legion, and the other man's insignia marked him as a lieutenant. The Colonel rose as he saw the Brigadier.

"Je vous écarte, soldat." he said to the private, who nodded and returned to his previous position. He turned to the Brigadier.

"I'm Colonel Constantine Adriens. You look like an Upper Virginian, so tell me, are you one of Altman's?" he asked.

Zjad shook his head. 'Then drop us off near the town, we'll fight our own way in. We have more than enough ammunition to deal with a few pigs, especially once the helicopters arrive.'

"Well, I think we have enough chaos for now, but we might want ot stoke the fires a bit if it starts to settle down." Gwen bit her lip. "OK, we'll just lay low for the moment and I'll call you back once the picture starts to shape up."

'Okay then, we'll do our best to keep our heads on our shoulders.'

Zjad shook his head. 'Then drop us off near the town, we'll fight our own way in. We have more than enough ammunition to deal with a few pigs, especially once the helicopters arrive.'

Sub-Commander Ulman shook his head. Stubborn and crazy. "We're not talking a 'few pigs,' Zjad. If you turn down the wrong street in Stonebridge you could waltz right into the Chamber's private security. All ex-Special Forces in fully articulated armor - there're rumours that its even powered armor - with assault guns with armor-piercing rounds. Turley lives out there and he's been expecting Altman to send the troops in after him for a while now, so his own people will be armed to the teeth. You think you can take that on alone? I don't think so, and I don't want to risk you and your buddies drawing in the Army and spoiling our operations in Stonebridge. My advice is for you to cool down, Lieutenant and trust our people. We've trusted you to get the ambassador for us, and you did. So, now trust us."

'Okay then, we'll do our best to keep our heads on our shoulders.'

"OK. I'll call you." Gwen hung up and drifted back to her window to see if could watch any of the coup.

'So it's too dangerous for six men to sneak in, but it's safe enough for three combat helicopters to set down, self destruct and not get noticed?' Zjad scoffed, and several of the squad's members shared his hardening gaze. 'I don't know what your battle plans are but I can't imagine how they're served by stranding my comrades in enemy territory. Give us a vehicle and we'll go without you, we're big boys, we can take care of ourselves, but I am not sitting by and putting this in the hands of the gods.'

In Courtland…

BRIG Holmes cautiously approached the French-speaking private. He allowed the Pantocratorian to remove his side arm and followed the young man to his CO.

Holmes saw two Pantocratorian officers conferring over a map as he approached. The senior officer, Holmes wasn’t very good at reading Pantocratorian rank insignia, stood and spoke.

"I'm Colonel Constantine Adriens,” The Pantocratorian said. “You look like an Upper Virginian, so tell me, are you one of Altman's?"

“I am Brigadier Alex Holmes,” he said evenly, “Commander of the 28th Mobile Infantry Brigade of the 12th Division, First Corps of the Army of Upper Virginia.” Holmes smiled slightly. “General Altman was relieved of command earlier this morning. Major General Becka Harrison is now the Commander-in-Chief. General Harrison has ordered that we regard Pantocratorian and Excalbian forces as allies.”

Holmes looked around and the still smoldering ruins of the Pantocratorian Embassy. “I am sorry for the loss of your Embassy, Colonel Adriens. It is yet another of Altman’s crimes, one for which he will hopefully stand trial.”

Holmes turned to look back at the Colonel. “However, before that, we have to worry about units still loyal to Altman’s twisted memory. Our National Military Command Centre, under General Harrison’s command, has informed me that the 43rd Armoured Brigade is approaching the city center from the Southeast. It is loyal to Altman and trying to join with other loyalist units North of the city. It would be in all of our best interests to prepare a mutual defence against the 43rd and to stop it. We understand that shortly Varessan forces will be joining us to defeat the remnants of the loyalists…”

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

With the arrival of Excalbian troops, the tide turned again. SSGT Burke soon found himself advancing again towards the remnants of Youst’s Brigade, this time beside Varessan Special Forces troops and Excalbian Marines. If there had been time, Burke would have laughed at the irony of the SSS relying on foreign forces – especially Excalbians – to oust an Upper Virginian general.

COL Esamies held his ground despite a withering assault by the withdrawing Excalbian transports that doubled as gunships and the advance of the enemy on two fronts. Esamies rallied his men. In a different time, under different circumstances, Esamies would have been remembered as a hero. His men, who already respected him as a commander of genuine compassion and competence – a rare combination of attributes in the Dominion, sensed his complete dedication and stayed with him to the end.

The end came for COL Esamies when several shots from an assault rifle tore into his chest. The colonel collapsed where he had stood, just a few meters from Altman had last been seen before Ozymandius’ attack.

With COL Esamies dead, resistance from the survivors of the first attack quickly collapsed. The SSS/VSF force and its Excalbian reinforcements quickly joined the main body of the Excalbian air assault force and turned on LCOL Illers’ battalion.

Illers quickly realized that the battle was lost. But, he knew that reinforcements were coming. So, his priority became saving as much of his command as possible to join with loyalist units still en route. Illers signaled for his men to withdraw.

Those who had dismounted their vehicles fell back, returning to those vehicles that survived the Excalbian air attacks. As many as possible stuffed themselves into the armoured carriers. The rest fell back on foot.

The retreating troops kept up their fire from both their hand weapons and the chain guns and heavy caliber machine guns mounted to the vehicles. The exchange of fire was blistering and burning vehicles and dead bodies soon littered the road back to the highway.

Illers, however, did manage to get back across the highway and into the deep woods atop the hills on the other side.

For a moment, the guns fell silent and the SSS and VSF led their Excalbian allies back into Altman’s former base and away from the high ground now occupied by the loyalists.

With the respite, SSGT Burke quickly found LCOL Matthews of the Varessans and together they went looking for the Excalbian commander.

Ulman threw his hands up and turned to the driver. "Stop."

The vehicle and those behind it came to a squealing halt.

Ulman turned and look at Zjad through the window to the rear compartment. "The beach is several klicks from Stonebridge. Your choppers could set down there and not be seen. Not with a curfew at least. And, they're much less likely to be seen there than stumbling about Stonebridge with you and your men."

Ulman shrugged. "But it’s obvious that you're not going to listen to reason. So, get out and go. I can't spare any vehicles, but there was a car dealership less than a half-klick back. The trailing car can drop you there. With the shop closed, I don't think you'll have any trouble procuring a suitable car."

"But," Ulman's face turned hard and cold, "now I want you and your people to stay well away from Captain Jack's. I don't want you spoiling our operations there. Now," Ulman pulled a card from his pocket and handed to Zjad, "if by some dumb luck you don't get caught and your chopper friends meet up with you in one piece and you all manage to get to a safe hiding spot in Stonebridge or one of the neighboring blue-collar towns, you can call this number. Tell them you're ordering delivery and want the Extra Spicy Special of the Day. Tell them where you are and our people will make contact and see if - if - there is anything we can do to help you get out of here."

The back of the truck opened and several men leveled guns to make sure that the ambassador didn't make a run for it. A female guerilla led Zjad and his men to a four-door car with a lone occupant. "He'll take you to the car lot," the woman said as she turned to go back to the truck.

In Courtland…

BRIG Holmes cautiously approached the French-speaking private. He allowed the Pantocratorian to remove his side arm and followed the young man to his CO.

Holmes saw two Pantocratorian officers conferring over a map as he approached. The senior officer, Holmes wasn’t very good at reading Pantocratorian rank insignia, stood and spoke.

"I'm Colonel Constantine Adriens,” The Pantocratorian said. “You look like an Upper Virginian, so tell me, are you one of Altman's?"

“I am Brigadier Alex Holmes,” he said evenly, “Commander of the 28th Mobile Infantry Brigade of the 12th Division, First Corps of the Army of Upper Virginia.” Holmes smiled slightly. “General Altman was relieved of command earlier this morning. Major General Becka Harrison is now the Commander-in-Chief. General Harrison has ordered that we regard Pantocratorian and Excalbian forces as allies.”

Holmes looked around and the still smoldering ruins of the Pantocratorian Embassy. “I am sorry for the loss of your Embassy, Colonel Adriens. It is yet another of Altman’s crimes, one for which he will hopefully stand trial.”

Holmes turned to look back at the Colonel. “However, before that, we have to worry about units still loyal to Altman’s twisted memory. Our National Military Command Centre, under General Harrison’s command, has informed me that the 43rd Armoured Brigade is approaching the city center from the Southeast. It is loyal to Altman and trying to join with other loyalist units North of the city. It would be in all of our best interests to prepare a mutual defence against the 43rd and to stop it. We understand that shortly Varessan forces will be joining us to defeat the remnants of the loyalists…”

The Colonel picked up the map of Courtland, and handed it to holmes.

"Show me where you want my men, and I'll consider it." he says.

"Colonel, comment est-ce que nous pouvons savoir que il n'est pas un loyaliste?" asks the lieutenant.

The Colonel doesn't answer, and just waits for the Brigadier to indicate where the troops are to be deployed.

General Altman’s Command Centre

The battle when better than MAJGEN Knox had expected. But, then experience had taught him to expect the worst. Still, their victory was far from complete. Resistance within Altman's HQ had been crushed, but far too many survivors of the relief column had escaped across the highway to the wooded hill beyond.

Once the enemy had reached the highway, Knox had known that a frontal assault was untenable - the hills and the cover would give the defenders too great a tactical advantage.

So, he signaled for his Marines to fall back into the ruins of Altman's compound and consolidate their control there.

Knox knew that much needed to be done, so he immediately set a number of Marines to the task of clearing a landing area. Varessan troops were on their way and he didn't think their transports had the vertical landing ability of the V-25.

The general set others to the task of rounding up survivors and trying to determine the fate of General Altman. Finally, he ordered a few to the unpleasant task of retrieving fallen Marines for transport back to the Holy Empire. Knox shook his head. Many Marines had fallen and he knew more would fall. Yet, he also knew that by any measure being rid of Altman once and for all was worth it. Now, he just had to find a way to convey that to the families of the fallen.

Knox looked up from giving orders and saw a gunnery sergeant escorting two men towards him. Once wore a Upper Virginian uniform with the insignia of the SSS and the other appeared to be Varessan.

The gunny saluted the general. "General, these men are in charge of the Uppie SSS and the Varessan Special Forces team that was on site. They asked to see you, sir."

"Very good," Knox said returning the salute. "I'm Major General Harlan Knox, Imperial Marines," he said. "What can you tell me about the situation here?"

In Courtland…

"Show me where you want my men, and I'll consider it." , Colonel Adriens says.

"Colonel, comment est-ce que nous pouvons savoir que il n'est pas un loyaliste?" asks the lieutenant.

The Colonel doesn't answer, and just waits for the Brigadier to indicate where the troops are to be deployed.

Although Alex Holmes didn’t speak French, he took the lieutenant’s meaning – clearly the junior officer suspected Holmes of being an Altman loyalist. And the Colonel was just as clearly keeping an open mind on the subject. He decided that the best way to drive away the Pantocratorians’ doubts was to simply be direct and honest.

BRIG Holmes walked over to the Pantocratorian Colonel and studied his map.

“If I were the commander of the 43rd, I would come into Courtland straight up the Eastern Expressway. And I do know Brigadier Kehkris and I’m pretty certain that’s what he’ll do.” Holmes traced the line of the express to the industrial area east of the docks. “Now, the question is whether Kehkris is going to continue on to Altman’s HQ to try to join up with other loyalist units or whether he means to enter the city and possibly try to retake the NMCC.” Holmes pointed to an exit on the expressway. “If he does mean to enter the city centre, he’ll exit here.”

Holmes looked the Pantocratorian CO in the eye. “So, Colonel Adriens, here’s my proposal.” Holmes looked back at the map. “I will deploy my men here – after the exit. There, we can block the expressway without being visible before the exit and deploy to both sides of the expressway – here and here. That way, if they intend to continue north, we can box them in with out tipping them off in time to exit. And, I’d like you to deploy your men here – where the exit runs into Industry Avenue. You should be able to set a good ambush in these buildings. That way, if they do exit, you can slow them down while my men come back down the expressway and catch them from behind.” Holmes smiled. “Of course, if they continue north, we’d appreciate it if your men would go up the exit and block their retreat to the south.”

Holmes again looked at the Colonel and stood with his hands behind his back. “What do you think, Colonel?”

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

"Very good," the Excalbian Marine said returning his subordinate’s salute. "I'm Major General Harlan Knox, Imperial Marines," he said. "What can you tell me about the situation here?"

Both SSGT Burke and LCOL Matthews saluted the Excalbian general. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Matthews, Varessan Special Forces and this is Staff Sergeant Burke of the Upper Virginian SSS. Unfortunately, we lost the SSS CO and Sergeant Burke is their senior man.” Matthews nodded to Burke and turned back to Knox.

“May I assume by you presence here, General, that Excalbia has reached some kind of understanding with the new regime here and with the Commonwealth?”

(OOC: Assuming that Matthews receives appropriate confirmation from Knox…)

“Our mission” the Varessan begins, “was to follow the aerial assault on Altman’s HQ and ensure that the job was done. Unfortunately, what we believe to be a battalion of Altman loyalists came upon us by chance. They lost at least two platoons, but lost a good number of men, including Captain Terelson, the SSS CO.

“When we did arrive here, we found that the survivors had established a defensive perimeter and were conducting a search in the remnants of those woods over there. We had just about smashed the defenders when reinforcements arrived – probably the remainder of the battalion we encountered earlier.” Matthews again turned to Burke. “Anything to add, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” Burke said. “I got a look at the officer running the defence here and I believe that it was Colonel Esamies, a well-known and well-regarded officer. If he was in command, I’d assume that both General Altman and Brigadier Youst are dead or MIA. My guess is that Altman is MIA. The search they were conducting in the woods was too far from the buildings to be a general search for survivors and the woods were next to what was Altman’s personal residence. My guess is, sirs, that Altman was last seen before the attack in those woods.”

Burke looked at the Excalbian general. “I’m certain that more loyalist units will be converging here, so I hope reinforcements are en route, sir. Also, if I might, I would suggest sending some men to continue the search of the woods. If Altman is out there, it would be best to find him.”

"OK, Brigadier. We will deploy there as you ask. You better get moving, we'll finish mopping up here and be right after you." said the Colonel. When Holmes leaves, the Colonel turns back to the lieutenant.

"Take a forward reconnaissance squad to this position." the Colonel said in French, indicating the place on the map where Holmes told him he'd like the Pantocratorians to deploy. "Make sure that it isn't a trap. Move quickly. Signal me when you know that it is safe."

"Yes sir!" replied the lieutenant, before rushing out to gather up his squad.

***

Some minutes later, the reconnaissance squad had arrived at its destination, and began searching for signs of a trap.

"Excellent, Colonel," BRIG Holmes said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and handed it to Adriens. "These are our frequencies, so you can contact us. When you are in position, let us know. We will confirm our position and advise you when we see the 43rd."

Holmes cracked a meager smile and turned to go back to his men. As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder. "If it isn't too much trouble, Colonel, I'd like to have my sidearm back; I'm rather fond of it."

After returning to his men, he filled them in on the plan and headed for the expressway."

* * *

When the reconnaissance squad arrives at the T-junction off the expressway they find only empty warehouses, a single seedy bar with no patrons and a few homeless people living in alleyway.

"Understood. Good work lieutenant. Adriens out." Colonel Adriens said into his microphone. He then pressed a few buttons and started speaking again. "Adriens to all units. We're moving out to Industry Avenue, co-ordinates Z9, 3A on your operational maps. Repeat, Z9, 3A. All units to move out immediately, with the exception of Blue Squad, which will remain here at the embassy. All other squads move out!"

The Varessan military had never been subjected to the oft-used civilian assertion that the military were all block-heads. The concept of military intelligence as an oxy-moron hadn’t made its way into the Varessan psyche. Part of the reason for that was that the Varessan military, by and large, was very smart.

Like now, for example. The shortest point approach for the Varessan Expeditionary Force would have been to fly straight over the Gulf, from the bases in Excalbia. Had they done that, they’d have arrived in the Dominion by now. Or, more likely, their very presence would have stirred the uncertain Dominion air defences into action, and thus not actually made it to the coast line.

Hence, the enormous armada of aircraft that was carrying the Varessan 24th Armoured Cavalry Division to Upper Virginia were heading south, towards Courtland, flying over waters that, for the most part, remained uncontested. Their only escorts were a trio of EF-207 Merlin electronic warfare aircraft, designed to confuse the daylights out of any radar to track them. And the electronic defence was simple, and elegant. Given time, and distance, the ground-based radar would burn through the jamming. But the sheer number of dots –aircraft- that would remain on the screen would lead the radar operators to believe that they were still being jammed.

And there were hundreds of aircraft. The largest airborne insertion in history was in the making, dwarfing the cobra-base operation of 1991 by an order of magnitude. More than a decade of rapid-response conceptualisation and was about to be put to the test. 24th Commonwealth Guards Armoured Cavalry was the embodiment of the Varessan rapid response philosophy.

The leading waves of aircraft were about 15 minutes ahead of the bulk of the division. There tasks were, for the pilots, the most challenging. They were going to air-drop their VALAVs onto their objectives. Attempted successfully in training, but never utilised in anything like combat situations, and never so close to an urban area. It was a very tricky manoeuvre for the pilots, who would have to fight to maintain pitch as their cargo rolled out the back of their load ramps. Normally, rolling cargo was an event that aircraft did not survive. The Varessan Air Force and Army had embraced the concept in a revolutionary manner.

Precisely on schedule, the first C130J opened its rear doors, and the first of the VALAVs deployed its exit-chute. With a lurch that was almost breathtaking, the armoured vehicle was pulled out of the moving plane and into the air, quickly beginning its headlong plummet towards the ground 15,000 feet below. When clear of the plane, the exit chute was blasted away, and left to drift to earth without its weighty cargo.

The VALAVs were designed with a very low centre of gravity, and with an underside profile streamlined enough to allow the vehicle some degree of stability through the air and in amphibious operations. As such, the vehicles fell, at enormous and growing speeds, with their wheels downward.

At 6000 feet, the main parachutes fired, looking like so many flowers blossoming from the sky itself. It would have looked breathtaking from the ground. It was even more so from amongst the formation. Rates of descent dropped from six hundred feet per second to one hundred.

One minute to landing.

The crew of the VALAVs began to bring their weapons systems online, 20mm chainguns going active, and engines roaring into life.

At 700 feet, the landing chutes fire, and billow out, clawing the air to slow the vehicles for the last stages of the descent.

The first VALAV touched down precisely on the middle of the main runway of Courtland international airport, before blasting its parachutes off, and accelerating towards the tower. As it roared down the runway, its brethren began to land on and around the tarmac, the vehicles fanning out towards the airfields perimeter, before dismounting the their infantry to secure the line. People in the vicinity of the airfield watched, stunned into inactivity, by the spectacle that was unfolding before them.

CPL Ronczka, section commander of the ComGuards infantry inside the lead APC readied his M8, and grinned maniacally as the driver pushed the VALAV past 120kph down the runway. Tasked to take and hold the tower, with a minimum of casualties, he was supremely confident of success. And the plan so far had gone like clockwork.

He looked to his left, and PTE Murphy O’Cain grinned back at him enthusiastically. Yep, his men were pumped. Maybe a bit too much. But, charging down the road at huge speeds, about to charge a building… well… the adrenaline was most definitely kicking in…

The driver forced the vehicle to a squealing halt just in front of the main control tower, and moments before the four other VALAVs of the platoon pulled up. The vehicle commander hit the ramp release button and screamed out the go signal. They were off.

The scene was again breathtaking. Lines of mean streaming out of their vehicles and into the terminals, weapons at the shoulder, their light-urban camouflage eerily effective whenever one stopped to cover his section-mates. The soldiers quickly found that airport security was intelligent enough to know that it was overpowered. Security guards were standing around with their hands on their heads, and having removed their pistol belts.

Within the first minute, 16 VALAVs had touched down. By the end of the second minute, three full companies had landed on the grounds of the airport, and its immediate surrounds. The handful of Dominion airfield defence guard never bothered to fire a shot. From the touchdown of the first VALAV, it was blindingly obvious that they would not be able to hold their positions.

In less than five minutes, in a manoeuvre very reminiscent of the Entebbe Raid, writ large, Courtland International was firmly under Varessan control.

20 minutes after that, the second wave of the 24th was touching down, and their arrival, while less surprising than the airborne assault by the 19th Cav, was nevertheless still a world first. The air traffic control officers attached to 19th Cav had their work well and truly cut out, as they desperately tried to land the monstrous tank transports that were carrying 8th Armoured, then shuttle them off the runway, and get the tanks off and into position.

Hectic, chaotic, frantic and highly unsafe, but, ultimately, successful. Within an hour of the first 19th Cav units leaving their planes, the first V9A3 MBTs of 8th Armoured were rolling through the streets of Courtland.

The chances of the local Dominion forces taking the capture of the airfield well, were not good. And the chances of a Dominion counterattack were extremely high. But if 8th Armoured could get into position, the chances of the Varessan toehold being dislodged would plummet. Preliminary reconnaissance hinted at a mechanised regiment, at the very least, inbound from the north, moving towards the wreckage of General Altman’s HQ.

If the 24th could hold, then the other five Varessan divisions would have an easy point of access to the Dominion. But they were not due for a number of days yet.

The commander of the 8th watched as the self-propelled howitzers of his unit rolled out and onto the tarmac, as another of the super-lift planes passed Vr and took to the air, headed back towards Excalbia, again by the strung out northerly route. The tanks took priority. With hostile forces presumed to be so close, they had to get the line set up, and quickly. Lest an unexpectedly quick armoured response scythe through the still-tenuous grasp Varessa had on the area.

‘Pity that’ Colonel McMarn thought. ‘I’d feel far, far safer if I had those 155s up…’ Then the man caught himself. 155s in a densely populated, built up area. He shuddered, as appreciation for the consequences of his almost-mistake sank in. Civilian casualties if he used his tube artillery, let alone his MLRS, in Courtland, would be absolutely horrific. It would very, very quickly make conquerors out of the liberators that the Varessans professed to be. And thus was not viable as a tactical concept. Ignoring the ethical ramifications, atrocities like that would quickly turn the Dominion military, which was immensely divided into Altman loyalist and rebel factions, against the Varessans and Excalbians, and would, in essence, lose the war to win a battle.

No. For the moment, those 155s would have to operate as assault guns and tank-destroyers. But there was still the hope that the Dominion army wouldn’t give battle at all. Fingers crossed, the friendlies at NMCC could get things squared away, and pronto…

As one of the 24th’s attached gunship helicopters slowly cruised over his tank, Colonel McMarn broke into a feral grin.

‘If they don’t’, he thought ‘then we’re going to give them an exceptionally bloody nose’.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre

General Knox nodded as he listened to the two men. "Indeed," he said when LCOL Matthews asks about Excalbia's contact with the Commonwealth, "my understanding is that my government has come to an understanding with yours," the general turns to SSGT Burke, "and the leaders of your coup to offer our assistance in return for some future consideration that, frankly, I'm not privy to."

After both men have finished speaking, the general nods. "I agree. We need to hold this spot until our reinforcements - mainly the Varessans arrive - so we can put down the loyalists once and for all. And, we need to find Altman - or his body."

Knox turned to the lieutenant beside him. "Lieutenant Yulans, take some men and go with the sergeant and the lieutenant colonel and form up search teams."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant saluted. "Shall we, sir," he says to Matthews.

As the men walk away, Knox looks at his watch. He turns to another officer. "The first Varessans should be on the ground at the airport by now. Try to get them on the radio and get their ETA; things could rough out here soon."

In Courtland...

Brigadier Rolands Kehkris watched from the turret of the lead tank as his motorized infantry battalion passed the slower moving armoured battalions and roared up the Eastern Expressway. Kehkris didn’t know what to expect in terms of resistance, so he was sending an entire battalion to scout for his tanks. A second motorized infantry battalion passed on the other side, following the first.

Kehkris knew that the loyalist units were gathering at Altman’s HQ to organize their defence against the invaders. But, he had decided it would be better to take the NMCC first – and kill that traitor Harrison – then continue on the HQ. He had reports that paratroopers had dropped into the city, but they would offer no resistance to his armoured columns.

The first motorized infantry battalion reached the exit to the city centre and took up defensive positions. Once they had secured the area, they signaled the second battalion, which moved down the ramp and secured the access road. Then, in a leapfrog strategy, the first battalion left their position on the Expressway and the top of the ramp and rolled past the second battalion en route to the t-junction where the road turned to the city centre.

By then, the tanks were at the ramp and on their way down.

The first battalion approached the junction and spotted signs of an opposition force. The battalion commander ordered his units to halt and for his men to dismount and move to secure the junction.

* * *

Meanwhile a couple of kilometers away, just out of sight north of the exit ramp, Brigadier Holmes and his men waited to see if Kehkris’ 43rd was headed their way or towards the Pantocratorians.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre...

North of the city, a dozen kilometers from the city centre, and more than that from the International Airport, LCOL Matthews and SSGT Burke helped the Excalbians organize their search of the northern end of Altman’s HQ. Matthews exchanged a glance with Burke and looked over their surviving men and the Excalbian brigade. “I’d feel much better if our reinforcements were here, Sergeant.”

Burke nodded. “So would I, sir. Have you heard from any Varessan units yet?”

Matthews shook his head.

In Courtland at the NMCC...

In the ‘well’ deep inside the Directorate of Defence’s fortress-like building in the heart of Courtland, LCOL Klotina turned to MAJGEN Becka Harrison. “General,” she said, “reports from the airport that Varessan troops have landed in force and taken control of the airport…”

Becka nodded. She hadn’t known what their exact plans were, but the move made sense. “Contact the airport authorities and tell them not to resist and to offer any possible assistance to the Varessans. And, try to get their commander on the line.”

“Yes, Ma’am. And, the Pantocratorians and Holmes’ brigade have moved to the Eastern Expressway to intercept the 43rd…”

Becka nodded. The last thing she wanted was a tank battle in the middle of Courtland. She sighed. “Any signs of public reaction?”

Klotina shrugged. “All TV and radio are off the air. Most people are staying inside. I’d say the mood is great anxiety…”

Becka rubbed her chin. She knew this moment would come. She’d hoped to be in a more secure position when she addressed the nation, but she couldn’t wait any longer. And, maybe, just maybe, she could sway some of the units on the fence to her side.

“Colonel,” she said finally, “have them prepare the conference room in the back for a live broadcast.”

* * *

Minutes later, Becka sat behind a desk with two flags of the Dominion behind her. A camera manned by a young soldier focused on her and the red light on the top of it began to blink. “OK, Ma’am, we’re cutting into all civilian and military frequencies now. When the light goes steady red, you’re on live.”

The light held steady red. Becka looked into the camera.

“My fellow citizens of Upper Virginia,” she said calmly and pleasantly, “my name is Major General Becka Harrison. Today, acting under the Code of Military Justice, I ordered the arrest of General Craig Altman for high crimes and treason by any means necessary.

“General Altman’s crime are numerous and familiar to almost all citizens of the Dominion. Of all his crimes, perhaps his greatest was maintaining an illegal state of emergency and an unlawful suspension of the Constitution.

“By removing General Altman and assuming temporary command of the Armed Forces of Upper Virginia, I hope to restore civilian rule and democracy to the people of Upper Virginia. I have called on all units of the military to help me in this task. Most of our men and women in uniform have heeded my call and are obeying my orders, which are intended to quickly restore our country to the world of reasonable, civilized nations.

“Unfortunately, a few units whose misguided loyalty is still attached to General Altman rather than to the nation, are resisting my efforts. In order to suppress these renegades, we have called upon the assistance of our allies and neighbors. At this moment, friendly forces from the Commonwealth of Varessa, along with small contingents from the Pantocratorian and Excalbian Empires are in Courtland working side-by-side with our forces to bring to heel the last of Altman’s loyalists. None of these units will remain in Upper Virginia one day longer than necessary to accomplish our joint task. I call upon all of our people, both military and civilians, to cooperate with our allies.”

Becka looked deeply into the camera, as if willing herself to feel the people on the other side of their televisions. Her face took on a sad, wistful look. “I know many officers before me have sat in this very chair pledging to change things and improve your lives by overthrowing their predecessor. I know that you have no particular reason to trust me. So, I will try to give you a reason.” Becka swallowed and tried to stifle her nerves.

“Therefore, as Acting Commander-in-Chief and Acting Chairman of the Provisional Ruling Council, my first act is…to… cancel the state of emergency and rescind all proclamations of martial law. Further, I hereby declare that the Constitution is restored to full force immediately. In accordance with the Constitution and the chain of succession, I hereby resign my commission in the Armed Forces of Upper Virginia and assume office as Acting President of the Dominion of Upper Virginia.”

Becka stood and removed her uniform jacket, draping it across the desk and sat back down in her plain white blouse. “Those units that continue to resist my orders will be deemed to be in a state of insurrection and will be dealt with accordingly. As soon as order is restored, we shall set a date for elections to the National Assembly. After the National Assembly is in place and functioning, we will set a date for Presidential elections.” Becka smiled warmly and sincerely. “Democracy will be restored shortly. And even while we are waiting for it, your Constitutional rights are restored now. Tomorrow, I will reopen the civilian courts under civilian law.

“Today is a second birth for our nation. I call on all of you to join with me to make it a glorious beginning.”

At Courtland International Airport...

Dainis Repse, Chief of the Border Guard detachment at Courtland International Airport, had watched unknown troops descend on his airport in overwhelming numbers. His men had surrendered without a fight and the occupying forces had taken control of the tower. Now, he had the NMCC telling him to cooperate. He didn’t want to, but it was clear to him Altman was on his way down and this General Harrison, he guessed it should be President Harrison now, was obviously on her way up.

Repse sighed and stood. He walked over to his intercom and spoke so that his voice carried throughout the airport and over the tarmac. “This is Colonel Repse of the Dominion Border Guards. We have orders to cooperate with our Varessan… visitors. All personnel should cooperate fully. Passengers should remain in the terminal and await further instructions. I would like to speak with the Varessan commander. Please dial 55501 from any airport phone.”

Bump to see if people are back from the holidays...

I'm back.

(OOC: I'm back, too. Here's a reminder of where we were before the break...)

In Courtland...

The first battalion of the 43rd Armoured brigade approached the “T” junction at the end of the exit and spotted signs of a foreign force. The battalion commander ordered his units to halt fifty meters from the junction. The hostile force didn’t appear to be Excalbian. He had heard that Pantocratorians were in the Gulf, but he couldn’t imagine that they had landed in Courtland. The Lieutenant Colonel signaled for his men to dismount from their six-wheeled vehicles and move to secure the junction and engage the foreign enemy…

At Courtland International Airport...

Dainis Repse, Chief of the Border Guard detachment at Courtland International Airport, sighed and stood. He walked over to his intercom and spoke so that his voice carried throughout the airport and over the tarmac. “This is Colonel Repse of the Dominion Border Guards. We have orders to cooperate with our Varessan… visitors. All personnel should cooperate fully. Passengers should remain in the terminal and await further instructions. I would like to speak with the Varessan commander. Please dial 55501 from any airport phone.”



Ulman shrugged. "But it’s obvious that you're not going to listen to reason. So, get out and go. I can't spare any vehicles, but there was a car dealership less than a half-klick back. The trailing car can drop you there. With the shop closed, I don't think you'll have any trouble procuring a suitable car."

"But," Ulman's face turned hard and cold, "now I want you and your people to stay well away from Captain Jack's. I don't want you spoiling our operations there. Now," Ulman pulled a card from his pocket and handed to Zjad, "if by some dumb luck you don't get caught and your chopper friends meet up with you in one piece and you all manage to get to a safe hiding spot in Stonebridge or one of the neighboring blue-collar towns, you can call this number. Tell them you're ordering delivery and want the Extra Spicy Special of the Day. Tell them where you are and our people will make contact and see if - if - there is anything we can do to help you get out of here."

The back of the truck opened and several men leveled guns to make sure that the ambassador didn't make a run for it. A female guerilla led Zjad and his men to a four-door car with a lone occupant. "He'll take you to the car lot," the woman said as she turned to go back to the truck.

OOC: DOH! That's my T junction!

IC:

After the first shots are fired by the 43rd, the Pantocratorians start returning fire from the warehouses and from their lines on the street. Colonel Adriens gets onto the radio as contact is made, deep in the cover of the warehouse.

"Legion Command, this is Colonel Adriens. We have come under attack by loyalist forces at co-ordinates Z9, 3A, repeat, Z9, 3A. We are under attack by an Upper Virginian battalion, of the 43rd Armoured Brigade. We have returned fire. Please advise what course of action we are to take." Adriens shouted into the radio.

"Acknowledged, loyalist attack, co-ordinates Z9, 3A." came the reply. "Stand-by."

***

The NMCC received a communiqué forwarded by HIMS Imperator Andreus from New Rome:

To: Major General Harrison, Courtland
From: Imperial High Command, New Rome

With the complements of the Imperial High Command, we advise you that elements of the Pantocratorian Fifth Provincial Legion have come under attack by a battalion of the Upper Virginian 43rd Armoured Brigade on Industry Avenue (co-ordinates Z9, 3A on the attached map).

We ask you to order the 43rd Armoured Brigade to stand down. If those orders are declined, we ask you to reinforce our deployment on Industry Avenue to assist against the 43rd Armoured Brigade. We remind you that if the 43rd Armoured were to get through the Pantocratorian deployment, loyalist forces might soon regain control of Courtland.

In Courtland at the NMCC...

LCOL Klotina looked up from her station in “the Well,” and looked for MAJGEN Harrison. She spotted the general at the top of “the Well” without her uniform jacket. Klotina shrugged. She guessed that maybe Harrison had meant what she had said about being President. “Ge..er.. Madame President,” Klotina said, “we have a communiqué from the Pantocratorian High Command.”

“What did the High Command have to say, Colonel,” Becka asked walking down the stairs.

“They say that their 5th Provincial Legion is under attack by the 43rd Armoured at the exit from the Eastern Expressway. They are asking that we order the 43rd to stand down or send aid.”

Becka nodded. “I would dearly love to be able to order the 43rd to stand down.” She shrugged. “Contact them one last time and ask them to withdraw. Also, contact Brigadier Holmes and the 28th. Order them to move to assist the Pantocratorians.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Klotina bent over her station and gave orders to send the appropriate signals. After a minute or two she turned back to Harrison.

“Ma’am, the 43rd refuses to acknowledge our signals. The 28th is moving to support the Pantocratorians.”

“Very well. Let Brigadier Holmes know that he is free to engage on contact. And send my compliments to the High Command. Let them know that the 43rd is not responding to orders, but that the 28th Mobile Infantry is moving to assist their forces.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Shall I sign it General Harrison…”

Becka sighed. There was no turning back now. “No, sign it President Harrison.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

In Courtland...

BRIG Rolands Kehkris smiled. The first battalion had engaged the enemy. Foreign troops. Undoubtedly they were the paratroopers people had seen dropping into Courtland. They would be no match for his forces. And once they were defeated, the NMCC would be wide open. If he had to, he would smash the DoD to rubble to stop the traitors. And, if it turned out that General Altman was already dead, then, perhaps, he might even emerge as the force to be reckoned with in Courtland.

* * *

At BRIG Kehkris’ command, the second battalion also dismounted from their lightly armoured transports and moved towards the junction. However, instead of moving directly into the area – already jammed with troops and bristling with fire – the second battalion filtered in between the warehouses, looking for cover from which they could support their comrades.

Meanwhile the third battalion – all tanks – waited on the access road while the remainder of Kehkris’ tanks held their positions on the expressway. They wouldn’t be much use in the tight junction and from the elevated highway they could guard against a rear attack and look for clear firing lines so that they could target the hostile foreigners.

* * *

BRIG Alex Holmes was glad he had split his forces. While some of his men waited on the expressway, just out of view from the exit, the rest traveled along an access road to the east of the highway. Holmes led his men as close as he dared. Through his binoculars he could see rows of tanks on the elevated road.

Although his unit was fully mechanized and many of their vehicles were armed with chain guns and rockets, he knew those would have only limited effect on the heavily armoured tanks. He also knew that his own light armour wouldn’t stand up for long in a toe-to-toe fight with the tanks.

So, Holmes ordered his men to target the supports of the expressway. On his signal, a half dozen volleys of rockets slammed into the steel and concrete supports holding up the elevated highway. The chain guns also hammered away at the weakened supports.
As soon as the first rockets hit, the road surface shook on the expressway and tanks began moving, searching for a line-of-sight to whoever was attacking them.

A few tanks spotted some of Holmes’ vehicles and opened fire. The first few rounds well wide, but a second volley scored a direct hit on two vehicles. But, Holmes ordered his men to stand firm and keep up their attacks. A few volleys were diverted towards the firing tanks, but most continued to target the road itself.

Realizing what was happening, BRIG Kehkris ordered his tanks down the exit ramp and on to the already clogged road leading towards the junction. However, the already jammed road could take only so many tanks.

After a surprisingly brief attack, the main supports under the center section of the expressway collapsed with a sickening, scrapping moan. Like a rows of dominoes, supports began toppling to both the north and south. A cloud of dust rose up and swallowed the columns of tanks.

The crash was deafening and when it was done, a large chuck of the Eastern Expressway was gone. And numerous tanks were gone with it.

However, a good size portion of the 43rd brigade remained. On cue, the rest of Holmes’ force moved into position and poured fire on the remaining tanks.

As tanks found their targets, several of Holmes’ lightly armoured vehicles exploded in flames. But, the numbers were against the tanks and while their armour resisted the first several rockets, they couldn’t resist volley after volley. Nor could they cover all of their weak spots and more and more of Holmes’ dismounted troopers found vulnerable spots with their shoulder-fired missiles.

The battle was furious but passed quickly and when it was over, the surviving tanks flowed past the dismounted mobile infantry and into the junction itself. The remaining units of the 28th followed trying to trap the 43rd between them and the Pantocratorians.

* * *

Holmes was sweaty and dirty by the time his vehicle rolled over the ruins of the Eastern Expressway and took up position behind the cover of a ruined line of tanks.

“Tolliver,” Holmes said turning toward the First Sergeant.

“Yes, sir,” FSGT Tolliver answered looking up from the tactical display in the back of the vehicle.

“Try to get the Pantocratorians on the radio. We need to know their tactical position. If we can get the rest of the 43rd trapped between us, maybe we can finish them off…”

“Yes, sir.”

The Pantocratorians were utterly pinned down. The fight between the 43rd and the parachutists was hardly balanced - only the fact that they had been prepared for the attack, and the fact that the dense urban terrain made the 43rd's tanks impractical, had kept the Pantocratorians in the fight so far.

Casualties had been light so far - but that was mainly because the Pantocratorians were firmly ensconced in defensive terrain, and because none of them had tried any heroics. Knowing that they were in a losing fight, the Pantocratorians were sticking to their cover and keeping consistent covering fire up to slow the Upper Virginian advance.

Adriens' helmet radio started buzzing with the sound of an incoming radio signal.

"This is Colonel Adriens here. Who is this?" he asked.

“Sir,” FSGT Tolliver said, looking up at his commander, “I have the Pantocratorian CO on the line.”

“Put through to my helmet radio,” BRIG Holmes said as he pulled out his laminated maps and grease pen. After the audible click of the signal being put through, Holmes said, “Colonel Adriens, this is Brigadier Holmes with the 28th Mobile Infantry. We are moving towards your position. We have already engaged the main tank force of the 43rd brigade and have eliminated a large number of their tanks. The survivors, however, are approaching the junction at your coordinates. If you can hold your position, we can trap them between us. How solid are your defences? What is your tactical situation?”

"We're not a match for them, Brigadier, but we're firmly dug-in here, and they're in disarray." Adriens shouted as he looked out the warehouse window at the fight below. He squeezed off a few rounds into a squad of Upper Virginians. "Unless they start hitting us with artillery, I don't see how they're going to budge us until we run out of ammunition. We can keep them here for as long as you need, providing you keep any artillery off our backs."

“I doesn’t look like they’ve brought along their artillery. Even Kehkris wouldn’t want to conduct an artillery bombardment in the city. So, Colonel, hold your position. We’ll mount an assault as soon as we’re able. Holmes out.”

BRIG Holmes sketched some positions on his map. “If the Pantocratorians can hold,” he murmured, “and assuming the first two brigades of the 43rd are here and that most of the tanks are bottled up here…”

Holmes turned to FSGT Tolliver. “Have the third and fourth battalions move into position up on the Expressway – I want them to avoid any unstable areas too close to the collapsed segment – and fire on the tanks on the access road. And have the first and second battalions follow me around under the Expressway. We’ll hit the armour from their flank after they turn to return fire on the third and fourth.”

“Yes, sir,” Tolliver said as he keyed in the appropriate orders.

Major-General Jeff Halloran had mixed sentiments about this operation. He wasn’t concerned for the ethics or morality of the action. That wasn’t his call to make, and he knew that so long as he followed his orders, his conscience would remain clear. No, Halloran was far more concerned with the feasibility of the operation than he was about the ums and ahs that civilians loved to bandy about as a means of showing off their enlightenment. Halloran was a career officer, and thought by the book. Which was part of the reason why he’d been given command of 24th Armoured Cav. Because command knew that they could count on him to operate as they expected.

What command, or, more particularly, Field Marshal Harris, thought of Major General Roberts was also fairly plain to see. Harris had given Halloran written instructions to relay to Roberts, but which Halloran had been made privy to, in general terms. Roberts’ stint as at 2 star rank was coming to a close. That 3rd star, and the corps command that it included as part of the package, was even now on its way to him, by way of Colonel McMarn. Not that the colonel knew.

Having said that, neither did Roberts.

His signal corporal stuck his head around the corner of the mobile comm centre.
“Sir, lead elements report that the airport control officer is attempting to contact you.”

Halloran tapped out the last of his cigarette, and then turned to the corporal.
“Is he now? That’s a little unusual.”

But, on the balance, probably a good thing, he thought.

“Get him on the line, if you could, corporal.”

“Yes sir” And the head ducked back out of sight.

The general took a swig from his canteen. Securing the airport intact had been vital. But he’d refused to allow himself to hope to do so without a shot being fired. The worst injury they had was a sprained ankle. Textbook. So much so as to defy belief.

But his division was just the leading edge. An overstrength corps. That was what was coming. The largest overseas deployment Varessa had ever fielded. And for just cause. Make the idealists, like Roberts, salivate. He could see their point.

But that, as far as he was concerned, was pretty much a mute point. He’d do his job.

But he still wanted to hear from that Airport Control Officer.

***

8th Armoured had piled out of the airport terminal very quickly, upon deployment. The regiment was the heaviest single formation that the pro-reform forces had at the present time, and its MBTs were the single most potent combat vehicle on the ground in Courtland, even more so with the absence of most of the Upper Virginian army’s major combatant units. With the element of surprise on their side, and the sheer size and firepower available to a Varessan tank unit, chances were good that 8th Armoured would be able to bludgeon a path through whatever had foolish courage enough to stand in its way. McMarn was co-ordinating his forces from his command tank, and was immensely thankful for the two-way information transfer and GPS units installed in each tank. It made command and control a joy, rather than a chore.

And, as he stood up and looked around from the top hatch of his command tank, the wind rushing past him, his cap pressed down firmly on his head, he came to a familiar conclusion.

There was no equivalent feeling in peacetime. The adrenaline wasn’t the same. The tension, and the excitement that went with it, wasn’t the same. McMarn, although he would never admit it, probably not even to himself, loved what he did. Leading a tank regiment was his dream. And, like all commanders, taking their unit into combat was the culmination of that dream.

His sub-unit commanders, leading the battalions under him, were reporting their status crisply and efficiently. Smooth as clockwork. A fact that un-nerved him. It was almost surreal. Here they were, having just flown into the capital city of one of the largest military powers in the world, and now they were driving along its streets, and not a shot had been fired. Not one. A rumble in the distance, followed by a rising cloud of smoke, brought him out of his reverie though.

He spoke into his vocaliser, the first word being the channel selector.

“Command net. Pronto, this is Ironside-Sunray, connect to Sunray-Major.”

The response, while instant, suffered just a little from static. The built-up area that was Courtland was interfering with radio traffic.

“Ironside-Su**ay, this is ***nto. Stand-by”

Connected to the command net was every battalion-level commander, and above, and, importantly, that included Roberts. Although it wasn’t known from Colonel McMarn’s tank, the signal was routed back through the airfield comm-centre, then over to the embassy. Roberts had been expecting it, and answered himself.

“Sunray-Major to Ironside-Sunray, go ahead, over.”

“We are inbound, ETA two zero minutes. Request uplink to NMCC for phase 3 movement orders”

“Acknowledged, Ironside-Sunray. Will advise. Sunray-Major out.”

Roberts had both the easiest, and the hardest part. He was going to be the boss, as far as the Upper Virginians would be concerned. He had all the responsibility. All the authority to go with it, but, like those who got anywhere in the profession of arms all over the world, his sense of responsibility was far more developed than his sense of authority. And he felt the full weight of that responsibility very keenly.

He pressed a series of buttons, buttons which put him through to NMCC, where President Harrison had her command centre. And he just knew that she’d like this bit of news.

She’d just gone and found herself an over-strength regiment of main battle tanks…

The remnants of the third and fourth battalions of 28th mobile infantry rolled into position atop the weakened span of the Eastern Expressway. A barrage of rockets descended, like a fist full of rocks dumped into a bucket, upon the tanks crowded into the narrow access road. Even as secondary explosions echoed from some of the tanks suffering direct hits, the remains of the 43rd armoured turned their own guns now on the Expressway and the vehicles atop it.

The exchange of fire lasted for several minutes, just enough time for BRIG Holmes to lead the first and second battalions under the Expressway and into position to fire on the flank of the armoured unit.

A barrage from the flank quickly drew the attention of the remaining tanks. Both sides suffered from a narrow field of fire, until several individual tank commanders in the 43rd turned their guns on the warehouse to the north and blasted through it to get at Holmes’ men.

No one in the 43rd had received any orders from BRIG Kehkris since the highway had collapsed. Eventually, COL William Wilde, CO of the 43rd’s third battalion, realized that he needed to assume command or else they would begin to lose any semblance of order. Wilde activated his helmet radio and ordered his third battalion to drive directly on the foreign-held positions at the junction and to disregard damage to the buildings. Meanwhile, he ordered the fourth battalion to hold the rear guard against the traitors.

As most of the tanks turned and rumbled towards the junction, all too few survivors from the fourth – most of the battalion had been on the now-collapsed expressway – tried to hold back the traitors.

Seeing most of the tanks moving towards the Pantocratorians, Holmes ordered his men on the bridge to keep firing on the rear guard as long as possible while he led his own men around their flank – through part of now ruined warehouse that had been beside them – towards the junction.

By the time his men approached the junction, the rear action was finished – the few surviving tanks of the doomed battalion were trying to withdraw and the elements of the 28th on the expressway were too few in number and too low on rockets to challenge their escape.

The final showdown would be at the junction…

Now pinned down by the heaviest fire yet, the Pantocratorians stuck close to their cover. With the bulk of the 43rd seemingly focussed against them, the fighting was desperate and intense, but discipline held nevertheless. There were no heroics - the parachutists were content to hold the 43rd's advance for as long as possible, relying on their allies to deal the knock-out blow.

At Courtland International Airport...

COL Repse picked up the phone. “Yes?” On the other end of the line a soldier, he identified himself as a corporal, with a foreign accent asked him to stand-by for a MAJGEN Halloran. Soon, Repse heard the line click.

“Major General Halloran? This is Colonel Dainis Repse, in command of the Border Guard detachment here at the airport. President Harrison,” Repse’s voice caught just a bit as he used the long abandoned title for a Dominion head of state, “has directed that we cooperate fully with the smooth arrival of your forces into Courtland. Is there anything we need to do to be of assistance?”

In Courtland, at the NMCC...

Becka – she still had a hard thinking of herself as President – nervously watched the tactical display in the Well of the NMCC. LCOL Klotina looked up. “Gen…er Madam President, Major General Roberts from the Varessan Embassy is on the line…”

“Put him through,” Becka looked down and found a phone on one of the consoles, “to this line.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Moments later the phone next to Becka rang and she picked it up.”

“Shaun, I’m glad to hear from you. Is there any news from your forces at the airport? Brigadier Holmes is reporting that he and the Pantocratorians have engaged the 43rd Armoured brigade near the Eastern Expressway. They’re holding their own, but they’re being hammered. And the Excalbians are on site at Altman’s HQ. Not much was left of our VSF/SSS force and there are still loyalists near-by and more en route. We could use a bit of good news about now…”

In Courtland...

COL Wilde directed his diminished forces to press the attack against the Pantocratorians – or whoever they were. Realizing that the foreign paratroopers were entrenched in the surrounding warehouses, Wilde ordered his tanks to open fire on the buildings. Courtland might burn, he figured, but he wouldn’t let it easily go into the hands of the rebels.

* * *

The first and second battalions of Holmes’ command moved as best they could into flanking positions to the rear of the heavy armour. The vehicles fired until their rockets were exhausted. Chain guns were turned on any tank crews and dismounted mobile infantry in the area, but they did little to the tanks’ armour.

Soon, Holmes had no choice but to begin dismounting his men and having them use should-fired weapons against the tanks. Holmes nodded with grim satisfaction at the courage and tenacity of his men. He also noted that he incapacitated the bulk of the 43rd. Yet, he knew that the odds were against him. Still, there was little choice but to press the attack…

(OOC: Changes in my government are taking place here: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7972048#post7972048)

The tanks of the 43rd had reduced the warehouse in which Adriens and thirty of his men had been taking cover to rubble, killing all of them, including the Colonel. The men taking cover in the other warehouses around the junction were no better off. Those few Pantocratorians still in the fight took cover in the rubble. Their communications totally cut off, their command structure obliterated, the remaining soldiers remained little more than an inconvenience for the 43rd.

Cut off, isolated, and huddled amongst the stones of the decimated warehouses, the remaining parachutists were out of the fight. Some fell on Upper Virginian soldiers as they picked through the rubble, although they didn't know whether they were friend or foe. Others surrendered to whoever would accept their surrender. And the rest just huddled there, hoping to remain unnoticed.

Near General Altman’s Command Centre…

The column of armoured vehicles slowly approached the ridge from the southwest. They made their way up the ridgeline on an old dirt road used to fight occasional forest fires. As the vehicles approached the remnants of LCOL Iller’s battalion, they came to a halt. An incongruous delivery van continued on and stopped closer to Iller’s position.

MAJ Ulanis, accompanied by a man in black fatigues, emerged from the van and approached LCOL Illers. Ulanis saluted.

“Good to see you, Major,” Illers said as he returned the salute. “I see you brought more substantial communications with you.” Illers gestured towards the van.

Ulanis almost chuckled. “A souvenir from the special ops failed attempt to penetrate the Pantocratorian Embassy yesterday.” Ulanis shook his head. It was hard to believe that all that had happened less than 24 hours ago. “If you’d like to set up you command there, sir…”

“Thank you,” Illers said striding towards the van. “Let me bring you up to speed here, Major.” Illers pointed over the ridge towards the former site of General Altman’s HQ. Smoke still rose above the trees on the crest of ridge. “There’s at least a brigade of Excalbian Marines over there with some stragglers from a SSS unit and some other foreign troops, possibly Varessan Special Forces.”

Ulanis shook his head and frowned. “I thought they were our allies!” He muttered a few curses. “But it makes sense. They were working closely with Procurement and Research and their commander – Major General Harrison – has just proclaimed herself President!”

Illers spat on the ground. “We inflicted some heavy losses on them, but all the survivors of the aerial attack on HQ were lost. Including Colonel Esamies. And we took heavy losses.” Illers looked at the vehicles snaking down the ridge. “It looks like you suffered losses as well.”

Ulanis nodded. “Between us, we probably have a battalion and half, sir.”

“Any word on other units?” Illers stepped into the van as he spoke.

Ulanis followed and turned to LT Miller. “Colonel, this Lieutenant Miller. He’s the only survivor of the special ops detail and he’s been working with me on the comm. side. Miller?”

“Yes, sir,” Miller said turning to Illers. “Colonel, at last report the 43rd Armoured brigade had engaged hostile forces believed to be Pantocratorian paratroopers and a force of renegades. Apparently mobile infantry, brigade size, but no firm designation. There are also foreign forces, either Excalbian or Varessan, landing at the airport. Unknown size or composition. The 67th Mechanized brigade is en route from the north and should be arriving shortly. We also have the 56th Mobile infantry to east, but their comm. seems to be out.” Miller looked at a tactical display. “As for the enemy, other than the forces in Courtland, we know there’s a SSS brigade to the north that is probably moving towards us and there are still at least two more Excalbian brigades in the Gulf.”

“What about the Navy and Air Force,” Illers asked.

Miller shrugged. “The fleet in the Gulf started to resist NMCC’s orders, but then it seems there was a mutiny on the flag ship. Since then, the Navy’s been on the sidelines. The Air Force is either with the renegades or standing aside for them.”

Illers looked at the equipment in the van. “Let’s try to raise the 67th, 56th and 43rd. Once we establish communications, we can start planning a counter attack, starting with HQ.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre…

SSGT Burke wiped the sweat from his face with a dirty rag. He looked around the wasteland that used to be his C-in-C’s personal HQ. He kicked at the dirt. They’d been searching, but there was still no sign of Altman. LCOL Matthews still hadn’t heard from the main body of the Varessan force committed to Courtland. And, MAJGEN Knox – the Excalbian now more or less in charge of the operation – hadn’t received word on reinforcements from his fleet. Burke looked towards the ridge to the south. He knew the loyalists were there. And that more were coming. He’d feel much better once he saw more friendly boots on the ground.

In Courtland...

COL Wilde smiled as he realized that the Pantocratorians were beaten. Some were still resisting, firing where they could, but others were surrendering and most were simply hiding. Or dead. He heard his men asking about taking prisoners over his helmet radio. He keyed his transmitter to broadcast to all his troops. “We have no time for prisoners. Shoot them!”

Dismounted troops began shooting those Pantocratorians who tried to surrender. The rest of his force – really a motley collection of tanks from different units with varying degrees of damage at this point – began moving through the rubble of ruined warehouses towards the city centre.

* * *

BRIG Holmes grimaced as he realized that surviving tanks were smashing through the buildings where the Pantocratorians had been entrenched. At least some of the tanks had to be getting through. Holmes ordered all of his units that were still mobile to press the attack. He also ordered his dismounted units to move to assist the Pantocratorians wherever they could.

The bulk of the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion had been using the opportunity provided by the temporary paralysis of the Upper Virginian navy to sneak across the straits between Langeais, where they had been based, and Arland. Mounted in heavy duty hovercrafts, the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion was the only provincial legion in Pantocratoria's disarrayed army capable of mounting an amphibious assault without transports on loan from the Imperial Navy. The only support provided by the navy to this particular operation was an escort by way of four Oliver Perry class frigates and an AEGIS missile cruiser.

Marshal Louis Fizcésar, Comte de Joilliet, stood on the bridge of the cruiser, HIMS Trajan, dressed in a particularly magnificent uniform, complete with a decorative silver breastplate over the regular white dress uniform of the Imperial Army Legions and a red-plumed centurion's helmet held underneath his arm. It was hard to imagine how the bridge crew carried about their normal business and got any work done at all with this glittering magnate standing statuesque in the middle of the bridge like that, but they did it nevertheless.

"Monsieur Marshal," started his aide-de-camp, Colonel Markos. "We have lost contact with Colonel Adriens and the Companie des Parachutistes. They were under heavy fire from loyalist forces at the time."

"My baton?" asked Marshal de Joilliet, extending his white gloved right hand. Markos handed him his freshly polished marshal's baton. He looked it over and appeared satisfied with the polish. "Shame about Adriens, he was a good officer."

"The best, sir." said Markos, nodding sullenly.

"Very nearly." the Marshal said, his pride somewhat insulted. "Am I to take it that you have other news, Markos?"

"Yes, Monsieur Marshal." said Markos. "The first transports have landed. We will soon know whether the locals are loyalists or not."

"Good good." said the Marshal. "I do hope there are suitable accommodations for my headquarters in Arland. I've been appallingly quartered, as well you know, by Their Imperial Highnesses in Langeais."

"I'll have it seen to as soon as the military situation has been seen to, sir." said Markos. He had long ago learned that his Marshal's disinterest in the details of his job in favour of his splendid costumes was a blessing in disguise - so long as he humoured the aristocrat, he was allowed a free hand in the real business of the legion. The effective commander of the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion frowned as he glanced at Marshal de Joilliet's helmet as if he saw something.

"What's wrong, Markos?" the Marshal said, alarmed.

"Your helmet, Monsieur Marshal, who polished it?"

"My dogsbody, why?"

"Well, nothing I suppose." Markos said.

"Blast you Markos, what's wrong with it?" the Marshal insisted.

"Why don't I get it polished again for you, Monsieur Marshal. You're about to take Arland, the pinnacle of your spectacular career, you deserve to be properly attired!" said Markos.

"Thankyou, Markos. I'd never have noticed it had you not pointed it out, but I see it now. Marks everywhere. Awful job. I'll fire that bloody dogsbody. You've a keen eye for such things!" said the Marshal, handing Markos the helmet. Markos nodded and left the bridge.

He headed back to the Marshal's cabin, tossed the helmet onto the bed, and got back to talking to the forward companies, receiving reports, giving out orders, and running the Fifth Provincials, knowing that the Marshal wouldn't disturb him for at least another half an hour.

bump for later

The remnants of the 43rd plowed through the rubble and into the clear streets of the city center. As COL Wilde directed his men to turn towards the DoD’s massive complex, a corporal tapped him on the shoulder.

“What is it?” Wilde asked, looking down.

“Sir, we have something on IR. Moving towards us from the west. Looks like a large column of vehicles.”

Wilde climbed down from his seat and looked at the display showing the readings from the IR cameras on the side of the lead tank. Several hot shapes were moving towards him, but were still a few blocks away. It was definitely a mechanized unit. Maybe as large as a battalion. And coming from the direction of the airport. He had to assume they were hostile. And, the traitors were still on his tail.

“This is Wilde,” he said keying his helmet mic, “take up defensive positions and prepare for attack.”

* * *

BRIG Holmes watched the tanks of the 43rd slow and begin moving into a defensive formation. He sighed. He hoped that meant reinforcements were coming. Maybe the Varessans had arrived. Holmes turned to FSGT Tolliver. “Have we found anyone in command on the Pantocratorian side? If we can get them reorganized, then together we can at least block the 43rd’s retreat. Assuming that someone is coming from the west…”

“Not yet, sir,” Tolliver said, “our men are still searching for survivors.”

* * *

From his position on the hills to the east of Arland, MAJGEN Alvis Kirkis watched the first of the foreign transports land. Everything in his training made him want to attack. To repulse the invaders. Yet… yet, the NMCC had ordered him stand down and not to interfere.

Kirkis lowered his field glasses. He didn’t miss Altman. And Altman had known he wouldn’t; that is why he was stuck in Arland with an under-strength infantry division. No, he was happy to see a new government in Courtland. But, letting foreign armies run free through his country didn’t sit well with him.

“Any word from NMCC,” Kirkis said, turning to his XO.

“Yes, sir. They confirm our orders,” COL Jacobs said. “We are to take no action against the Pantocratorians, but should make contact and offer any needed assistance to move on towards Courtland.”

Kirkis shook his head. “Very well, try to raise them on the radio.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jacobs turned and signaled a sergeant to send the prepared message to the Pantocratorian commander.

"Monsieur Marshal," said Colonel Markos as he returned to the bridge, addressing the magnificently-attired popinjay who was technically his commanding officer. "The Upper Virginians in Arland have signalled that they will not offer any resistance, and will help us move through to Courtland."

"Hmmm? Oh yes, very good." replied Joilliet, glancing down at the helmet Markos was holding distractedly.

"Oh pardon me, Monsieur Marshal, your helmet." Markos said, offering the Count his polished red plumed helmet. The Count smiled and took the helmet.

"Ah yes, that's much better." he said, before pulling it back on his head. "Did you ask this Virginian fellow..."

"Major General Kirkis."

"...this Kirkis fellow, about suitable locations for my headquarters in Arland? A mansion or palace perhaps?" Joilliet asked.

"Erm, actually he was rather vague on the subject... perhaps we can clarify it with him when we land?" Markos asked hopefully.

"We? I shan't be dealing with him Markos, goodness gracious no." Joilliet said distastefully.

"Monsieur Marshal, he's their commanding officer, you can't refuse to meet with him!" insisted Markos.

"I can't?" Joilliet asked, somewhat dejected.

"No sir, it wouldn't be appropriate."

"Oh. Well then tell him I'll meet him as soon as I land."

***

The first elements of the Fifth Provincial Legion landed on the coast by Arland, their hovercrafts floating onto the beach and onto land effortlessly. The front gates of the hovercrafts opened and ramps unfolded, and the troops of the Fifth Provincials and their support vehicles rolled down onto the ground and began moving out towards Arland.

In Arland...

Arland was a large, industrial city typical of the Dominion. A small centre, dating back to its days as a Highland village in the 16th century, was overshadowed by glass-and-steel towers housing banks and industrial concerns. The villas of the rich ascended the hills to the west, while high-rise apartment blocks dominated the valley. The air, even in winter, was heavy with smog from the factories. To the east, a line of fortresses capped the hills. Prisons, SSS barracks and the headquarters of the XIV light infantry division of the Dominion Army, filled the peaks – a constant, not-so-subtle threat directed against the population below.

The streets of Arland were empty. The curfew of the night before, coupled with the ambiguous events of the morning would have been enough to keep most people home, even if MAJGEN Kirkis hadn’t ordered a 24-hour curfew.

The only sign of life were the black-blue uniformed SSS men – flying white flags at their checkpoints – who directed the arriving Pantocratorian troops towards the Army base to the east.

XIV Division HQ, Outside Arland...

In his headquarters, MAJGEN Alvis Kirkis paced anxiously, like a caged beast. It felt wrong, sitting in his command bunker in a dress greens waiting to greet an invading army like a long lost fried. He looked to the woman in the blue-black uniform and polished boots lounging on the sofa, calling drinking her tea and felt his anger grow. BRIG Vita Trase, commander of the local SSS mobile brigade, had come to him just as the Pantocratorians had begun to arrive with sealed orders from the NMCC. Those orders had placed her – a Brigadier! – in overall command of Dominion forces.

Kirkis muttered a few curses under his breathe. It was a perfectly planned move. Most of his division was deployed at the brigade level – stretched between Stonebridge and the western coast – and he had only a light infantry brigade in Arland. Even if he wanted to resist – and in his gut he wanted nothing more than to resist – he was powerless. His men would have no match for the SSS brigade, much less the Pantocratorians, who were still arriving in waves.

BRIG Trase smiled. It did her cold heart good to see Army officer squirm, especially the self-righteous like Kirkis. “You need to calm down, Alvis,” she said with a false empathy, “you’ll give yourself a stroke.” She poured some tea into a second cup. “Here, have some green tea, it will soothe your nerves.”

Kirkis looked at her and frowned. He had known Trase for years and part of him respected her as professional. Even wanted to like her – she could be very charming. But, most of him hated her. He resisted the urge to throw the tea at her and kept pacing. “I just wish that Pantocratorian Marshall would go ahead and get here, so we can get this over with and get him and his troops on their way to Courtland – and out of my city.”

Trase smiled widely. “My city, you mean,” she whispered just loud enough for Kirkis to hear her. “Besides, it will take time for the message inviting him here to be sent, received, translated – they speak French, you know – understood and replied to. Just settle down.

In Courtland...

BRIG Holmes’ men and the surviving Pantocratorians secured the road leading back to the ruined junction, sealing off the 43rd’s only path for retreat. FSGT Tolliver anxiously tried to find the frequency for the approaching Varessans so they could identify the 43rd for them and direct their fire.

* * *

COL Wilde rubbed the sweat from his forehead. With the renegades behind him and an unknown enemy approaching, his tactical situation was perilous, to say the least. Still, he would not surrender. He might die, but he would die for the Upper Virginia he believed in. And, once the rebels were defeated, at least he might get a statue dedicated to him. He smiled morbidly at the thought and steeled himself for the attack.

The first Pantocratorian troops to arrive looked visibly relieved to see the white flags flown at the checkpoints. Some gave cigarettes to the SSS men and shook their hands, the language barrier stopping further conversation. The troops made their way towards the army base, lining the streets and securing the city. They encircled XIV Division HQ to the east of Arland, whilst another group of troops took possession of the grandest villa they could find on the hills on the westside of the city, expelling the residents without a word of explanation. A Pantocratorian flag was hung from the balcony of the villa, and an honour guard assembled out the front.

Before long an armoured personnel carrier carrying Marshal Joilliet was driving through the streets of Arland, heading to the west hills, where it came to rest in front of the seized villa. The ornately decorated Marshal disembarked his transportation, shining chestplate and magnificently plumed helmet and wall. The honour guard offered a salute, which the Marshal returned as he entered the villa.

"Are the owners of the house people of quality?" the Marshal asked his servants, who were already about making the place a suitable headquarters.

"I believe the owner is a wealthy businessman, Monsieur Marshal." replied the servant.

"Bourgeoisie, then?" he sneered.

"Yes, Monsieur Marshal."

"What a shame. The place is adequate - a palace compared to those shameful conditions in which I am maintained in Langeais. It will suffice." replied the Marshal, before heading into what had recently become his office.

***

Colonel Markos took a staff car to the XIV Division's Headquarters, and made his way inside. He saluted the Upper Virginian officers.

"You must be Major General Kirkis, and you Brigadier Trase." he said in perfect English, with only the slightest hint of an accent. "I am Colonel Markos of the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion. My commander, Marshal Louis Fizcésar, the Count of Joilliet, has established a temporary headquarters in the city, and asks that you both meet with him there at once. I could take you, if you wished, sir, madam."

XIV Division HQ, Outside Arland...

MAJGEN Kirkis visibly shook with rage as he clenched his fists. So, now the invader had installed himself in somewhere in his city and was expecting him to come before that invader like a supplicant. Kirkis was about to spout something very impolitic, when BRIG Trase placed a hand on his shoulder. Not for comfort or support, but in a subtle reminder that she was in charge. Kirkis’ face flushed as embarrassment mingled with anger.

“It would a pleasure to meet your Compte de Joilliet, Colonel,” Trase said with a smile. She stepped towards the Pantocratorian officer. “I am anxious to assist you in any way possible. Your troops are urgently needed in Courtland – that is where the battle will be waged.” When she was close enough, she added in a hushed tone, “Although when it comes to plotting strategy, I suspect it will be more usefully to work directly with you, no?”

Trase turned and guided COL Markos towards the door, with Kirkis falling grudgingly in line a few paces behind. “Perhaps while le compte and the major general address the grand political issue, you and I will plan our strategy…”

Markos nodded to the Brigadier in reply to the question about plotting strategy.

"I am Monsieur le Comte's aide-de-camp, after all. He relies on me in such matters." he said, hoping that the situation had been explained adequately. He assisted the Upper Virginians get into the jeep, and then got in himself. The driver started it up and before long they were making their way across Arland and into the western hills.

They pulled up in front of a grand villa flying the Cross of the Pantocratorian Crusade, with an honour guard formed up alongside the entrance, which snapped a salute to Markos, Kirkis and Trase as they entered the building. They were led up the large staircase and into the office, which was flanked on either side by soldiers of the Fifth Provincials.

Inside stood a splendid looking fellow. He was wearing a full dress uniform, and over that a sparkling breastplate. As if to top it all off, he wore a polished golden helmet with red plumes, reminiscent of ancient Rome. Markos saluted.

"Monsieur Marshal, je vous presente Général de Division Kirkis, et Général de Brigade Trase." Markos said, presenting first Kirkis and then Trase. "Sir, Madam, I present Marshal Louis Fizcésar, Comte de Joilliet, commanding the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion."

"Monsieur, Madame, un plaisir. Votre ville est tout à fait jolie, ou elle serait s'il n'y avait aucune fumée." the Marshal saluted each of them as he spoke.

"Monsieur Marshal says that it is a pleasure to meeet you both, and that your city is quite pretty." Markos said, omitting the complaint about the smoke.

"J'imagine que vous avez quelques choses qui vous voulez pour discuter?" the Marshal said, holding out his hands in an expressive gesture.

"Monsieur Marshal imagines that you have some things which you would like to discuss with him?" Markos translated.

OOC: bump

In Arland...

“Yes, I do some things to discuss,” MAJGEN Alvis Kirkis said through gritted teeth.

“My Lord,” Trase said, interrupting Kirkis, “General Kirkis and I both welcome you and your legion to the Dominion.” Trase glanced at Markos with a look that she hoped conveyed a request to translate her statement and ignore Kirkis’ comment.

“Yes,” Kirkis said regaining his calm, “under the current circumstances, your assistance will prove quite valuable. However, as you noted, your lordship, we do need to discuss some things.” Kirkis caught Trase’s expression out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, realizing that his decision to support the anti-Altman forces had put him in a position where he was no longer in command and that it was too late to do anything about it.

So, Kirkis decided if he was to survive with his dignity and rank, he’d best go along with things. No matter how distasteful it was.

“Your lordship,” he said with renewed deference, “perhaps you and I could discuss establishing your headquarters in… more suitable and permanent facilities and work out the details of our forces' respective responsibilities. Then we can leave the operational details to Brigadier Trase and Colonel Markos.”

Markos dutifully translated what the Upper Virginians had to say.

"Ah oui, Monsieur le Général de Division!" the Marshal replied enthusiastically. "Je voudrais quelque chose un peu plus grand, maintenant que vous l'offrez. Cette maison est jolie et confortable, mais ce n'est pas exactement la résidence la plus digne pour quelqu'un de ma position. Et aussie, la cave n'est pas bien stockée! On espère que vous buvez de meilleurs vins que les résidants anciens!"

Markos wondered how he was going to put what the Marshal just said in a diplomatic tone. The Marshal didn't seem to be aware that anybody could take offence in anything he said, or rather, if he did, he didn't care.

"Monsieur le Marshal said..." started Markos, deciding there wasn't really a way to phrase it better. "Yes, he would like something a bit more grand, now that you are offering it. This house is pretty and comfortable, but it isn't exactly... the most worthy of residences for someone of His Lordship's position. What's more, the cellar isn't very well stocked, and Monsieur le Marshal hopes that you drink better wine than the former residents of this place."

"Perhaps for the time being we should stay here and discuss the military situation first, though." the Colonel added.

In Arland...

“I rarely drink wine,” MAJGEN Kirkis grumbled under his breath. Then, in an audible voice he added, “I am sure we can find suitable accommodations with suitable stocks of wine and other… necessities, your lordship. However, I think Colonel Markos is correct that we should discuss the military situation first.”

“Yes, my Lord,” BRIG Trase stepped forward and MAJGEN Kirkis, swallowing his pride, moved aside, “the military situation is quite urgent.” She turned towards Markos and nodded. “If I might, I can summarize the current military situation. Our forces, those loyal to President Harrison, hold the capital and General Altman’s former HQ north of the city. The Varessans hold the airport to the west. The Altman loyalists, however, remain entrenched south of his former HQ and are approaching the capital from the southeast, the north and the northwest. I would suggest that our first priority is to make certain that we have sufficient forces here in Arland to defend your HQ, my Lord, and that of General Kirkis,” Trase nodded to her nominal superior.

Trase turned slightly towards Markos. “We have enough military police and loyal civil police to maintain order in the city. A few of your own light formations, General Kirkis’ garrison forces and the remainder of my military police units should be sufficient to secure your HQ and the city.”

Trase glanced at Markos. “With Arland our headquarters secured, I would suggest that the remainder of your legion, my Lord, and my forces proceed towards Courtland. One of General Kirkis’ brigades is just outside of the city and could join us. Another brigade is just to north and could rendezvous with us before we reach Courtland. That would bring a large force into Courtland at just the moment it is needed.” Trase turned back to the Marshal and smiled. “With your legion leading the way, my Lord, our victory would be assured.”

Markos translated for the Marshal's benefit. The Marshal nodded enthusiastically.

"Ma victoire est toujours assurée!" he replied with a laugh. "Markos, déterminez-vous les détails avec les Virginiens. Aurevoir, Madame le Général, Monsieur le Général. Peut-être vous voudriez pour diner avec moi un peu plus tard?"

"Monsieur le Marshal has asked me to work out the details with you, Generals." Markos explained. "He hopes that you will join him for dinner a bit later."

Markos led the Upper Virginians out of the office and into another room, where aides were setting up a map and various computers.

"So, shall we work out the details, Generals?" Markos asked.

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre

MAJGEN Knox looked nervously at the plume of dust moving in the west. It had the look of a large force on the move and he didn’t know whose they were. He turned to one of his aides. “Lieutenant, go find Lieutenant Colonel Matthews and see if he knows whether those are Varessan forces moving out there.”

The lieutenant snapped a salute and rushed off.

Knox chewed the stump of an Esperi cigar - a gift from ADM Kunle – and worried. He turned to his radio operator. “Get on the horn to the Fleet. We need reinforcements and air cover. If the Uppies can’t get us friendly air cover, then we need our planes up here.”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal said, reaching for the transmit key.

MAJGEN Kirkis nodded with an air of resignation. “Colonel, please tell his lordship that we would be honoured to join him for dinner.” Kirkis looked to Trase.

BRIG Trase smiled. “Yes, of course.” She bowed to the Comte as Markos led them out of the room.

Once they were in the room amidst the maps and computers, Trase’s smile faded and she turned to Markos with a severe expression. “Yes, we should work out the details as thoroughly as possible before dinner.” She looked around and found a map of the Upper Virginian coast from Arland to Courtland. She pulled it out and laid it in front of Markos and Kirkis.

“The latest report from NMCC, which we received on the way here,” she tapped a tiny receiver in her ear, “is that the 28th mobile infantry brigade and your paratroopers came under heavy assault from the 43rd armour brigade.” Trase pointed to the southeastern corner of the city, near the port. “Losses on both sides are heavy. However, while the 28th and your paratroopers slowed down the 43rd and severely weakened it, the remnants of the armoured brigade have entered the city centre.” She moved her hand to the airport west of the city. “It seems that Varessan forces moving in from the airport are in a position to engage the remnants of the 43rd, but communication with the Varessans is spotty at the moment.

“There are also unconfirmed reports of unknown units entering the city from the southwest. They may be the FVLA – the communists.” Trase pointed to the north of the city. “Excalbian Marines currently hold General Altman’s former HQ, however, the remnants of the Youst’s brigade are in the hills south of the HQ. The Excalbians have just requested air support, saying that another unit is approaching from the east. A hostile infantry brigade is approaching from the north, as is one of our SSS units.”

Trase stood up and looked at Markos. “There are signs that other units are also on the move, heading towards Courtland, so we need to head there with haste.” Trase bent over again, pointing east of Arland. “General Kirkis’ 81st brigade is here, east of the city. We could rendezvous with them here. The 12th brigade is here, north of the city, and could meet us here.”

Trase looked up at Markos. “Colonel?”

Colonel Markos nodded throughout Trase's plan.

"I think so long as we leave behind a considerable enough presence in Arland to deter a loyalist attack on the city, we have a free hand to move to assist operations in Courtland." Markos agreed. "When shall we move out?"

Trase looked at Kirkis then back to Markos. "The sooner the better, Colonel. I'd suggest issuing the appropriate orders now for units to begin preparing for movement and then send them on to the rendezvous points. I can join them after our dinner with the Comte. I'd suggest that General Kirkis remain here," she shot the major general a wry look, "to entertain the Comte at a suitable level. Will be going with your men or remaining here, Colonel?"

"Somebody needs to be here to... interpret Monsieur le Marshal's orders, or at least ensure that he doesn't give any." Markos said. "I think I should remain here with him until morning, and then we can both rejoin the troops en-route to Courtland. I'll draw up the orders, and then we can get moving."

BRIG Trase nodded. "So, you and the Comte will join your troops? In that case, after dinner I will go to take command of our forces and meet you at the pre-arranged coordinates tomorrow. General?" Trase turned to Kirkis.

"I agree that the plan is sound," MAJGEN Kirkis said. "If your commander will be joining you, then perhaps I should join my men in the field..."

"General," Trase said politely, but firmly, "don't you think it best for you to remain here to ensure the security of Arland? You will also need to assemble the rest of your division to secure our rear and to provide reinforcements..."

"I guess you're right, Brigadier," Kirkis said, sounding like a defeated man.

"Good." Trase turned back to Markos. "Should we go and join the Comte then, Colonel?"

"I should draw up orders first, but yes, certainly." Markos replied. He headed over to one of the computers which had just been set up in the room, and quickly started typing orders into his uplink to MATER. Before long he and the Upper Virginians joined the Marshal for dinner.

The home's large dining room was decorated with the colours of the Fifth Provincials and paintings of the Marshal's ancestors (which had only just been unpacked). His personal chefs had prepared a magnificent feast out of the best local ingredients. Markos went over to the Marshal and quietly explained the plan for them to meet up with the troops again in the morning, before taking his seat.

"Bon!" the Marshal replied loudly. "Nous pouvons partager dans le triomphe de nos troupes, comme les héros de l'histoire! Générals! Buvons à l'empereur et à la victoire!"

"Monsieur le Marshal is pleased that we will be able to share in the triumph of our troops, like the heroes of history, and proposes a toast, to the Emperor, and to victory." Markos translated. He took his glass and returned the Marshal's toast.

BRIG Trase and MAJGEN Kirkis raised their glasses. Trase gave Kirikis a look of expectation. With a soft sigh, Kirkis lifted his glass high, "To you, Marshal, and your Emperor. To Victory and to our new allies."

Kirkis drank the wine, though it seemed to taste like ashes in his mouth.

For her part, Trase smiled with satisfaction. All was going according to her plan...

(OOC: I hope to have something from Varessa soon and move things along a bit more...)

(ooc: I am posting the following on behalf of Varessa. Currently, he is unable to access the forums, so he'll be e-mailing posts to me for the near future, which I will then post on his behalf.)

IC:

Whatever 8th Armoured was, subtle it most certainly wasn’t, especially not in an urban environment. It didn’t occur to Colonel McMarn just what the treads on his vehicles were doing to the surfacing of the road. Not that anyone would honestly have expected that to be of any concern to him. Of far more concern was trying to keep his signaller answering and transmitting the constant requests for “situational updates” from all corners of the globe, or so it seemed. And now, something new.

Pantocratorian paratroops, right smack bang along the path of the 8th’s route of advance, and stuck in a losing battle with an Uppie armoured brigade.

A million thoughts ran through his head, most of them leaving nought but whispers on his subconscious. Battle. Adrenaline. Fear. Confidence. Terror. Duty. Delight. Exhilaration. Panic. Calculation.

Orders.

8th Armoured had a job, and HIS job was to see it done… and he would.

“Corporal, what formation did NMCC say was pressing the Pantocratorian airborne units?”

“Their 43rd Armoured Brigade, sir. The Pantocratorians have hit them pretty hard though, and the 28th Mobile Inf. Brigade mauled them before disengaging.”

A full armoured brigade. But it was Upper Virginian… meaning heavy on the kit, light on the motivation and training. Conscript armies. Great at massing fire power, or pushing people into tanks, or onto ships, but not so crash hot at making them do their job to a high standard. Morale would currently be either sky high, at the recent success, or rock bottom at the pounding. The command structure present, and conduct thereof, would be pretty important as well.

That and the fact that McMarn had faith in his tanks’ explosive-reactive armour, and the crews that were manning their 120mm main guns, meant that he had far more confidence than one would expect from a regimental commander being faced with a brigade.

He pondered a little longer. Armoured Brigade. It had approached the Pantocratorian positions from the east. Would have had the brigade’s armoured units in the van, as per doctrine. The armoured units would have been fighting the airborne units for the longest, and would have either been bogged down, or at least moving with difficulty. That would have left the cavalry elements to take the brunt of the 28th’s offensive. 43rd would not be a happy brigade at that moment.

It was about to become substantially less happy…

McMarn barked out orders to his frantically overworked signaller, who rushed to transcribe everything so he could send it out over the restricted net.

“Tell A company to move south-east, and contact the 28th. Then slide them further east, and around to hit the 43rd from the 28th’s axis of advance. B and C companies hit from the west. Get aviation elements to harass the recon screen, and buy A company some time to get in position, and give the Pantocratorians time to withdraw.”

A couple of seconds passed before the corporal responded.

“Yes, sir”

McMarn broke into a feral grin. He was finally going to have a chance to put into practice his Division’s motto. Fist of Righteousness. No ifs. No buts. His men were the hammer of justice, and, cliched as it was, McMarn was genuinely happy for that fact. Tyranny’s walls coming down under his guns.

And, paraphrasing the immortal words of Caesar crossing the Rubicon… the die had been cast. A quick glance to his right saw the lead echelons of A Company peeling away to the regiment’s right. There was something more than slightly exhilarating about driving a tank at 60kph through a built up area.

‘At least the civilians were smart enough to stay indoors.’

***

There are few things that a main battle tank truly fears. Sure, there are annoyances. Men with anti-tank weapons are dangerous, but not overly so. The MBT’s weapon’s load-out out ranges infantry weapons by a notable margin. Light armour, APCs and anti-tank B-vehicles, such as Humvees with TOW missiles, also feature as foes that make it to the comm-net. Other main battle tanks feature highly.

But the things that top the list, and with good reason, are gunship helicopters. High firepower, high mobility, and usually attacking from a vector that few tanks can engage. Frequently also remarkably survivable.

And, prowling the skies above Courtland’s rooftops, was a squadron of the things that were part of 24 Cav’s order of battle.

“Ironside-Sunray, this is Pegasus-Actual, Hotel-Whiskey-Zulu, over”

“Pegasus-Actual, Ironside-Sunray. Zulu-Tango-Tango. Callsign Thunderhead. I say again, Thunderhead.”

“Pegasus-Actual acknowledges. Good luck, Ironside.”

“Amen to that. Ironside-Sunray, out”.

CAPT Geier looked down at the gunner in the seat below and ahead of him. He was young, but capable, and didn’t show much of the tension he was doubtlessly feeling. Geier toggled his mike.

“Good to go, Matty?”

“Yea, sir. As good as I’ll ever be…”
Geier frowned. He hadn’t expected the ell-tee to voice the last bit. Perhaps the tension was getting to him after all. That’s why they’d been trained though. So that they can operate effectively while the mind is in neutral. Or stalled. Or, whatever…

“All Pegasus units, this is Pegasus-Actual. We’ve got Thunderhead. Initiate.”

Acknowledgements came back over Geier’s headset.

“Two”

“Three”

“Four”

“We are good to go. Let’s move…”

And with that, the captain pushed his bird’s nose forward, and dived to rooftop height, weaving between the higher buildings, IR sensors searching for targets… and there they were. The 43rd was about to get far more uncomfortable, Geier thought, as his flight moved from south to south-east, circling around the southern elements of the hostile formation.

“Actual, this is 4 with a bird-dog.” Bird-dog. A recon-report. Tamany had spotted something.

“Go ahead, 4”.

“India-Romeo contact to the south, platoon strength, mounted, B-type.”

“Copy that. All units, be advised we have spotted the vanguard of the 28th. Bumping it up.”

Geier swung his helicopter further to the south, to the location that Tamany had indicated. Sure enough, a quartet of APC/IFVs were set-up, hull down, along the end of a four lane street.

“Ironside-Sunray, this is Pegasus-Actual, bird-dog, over”.

***

Colonel McMarn heard the radio signal, and hazarded a guess at its contents. It was either the southernmost of the 43rd’s units, or the vanguard of the 28th. That or something had gone seriously FUBAR. McMarn was betting on the former.

“Go ahead, Pegasus-Actual.”

“We have spotted what we believe to be the van of the 28th, platoon of India-Foxtrot-Victors, holed up to the south of our patrol route. They do not, I say again, do not appear to be moving. Request additional confirmation of orders.”

McMarn had halfway been hoping for the question. He wanted a chance to do some impromptu PR with the faction of the Upper Virginian army they were fighting alongside.

“Pegasus-Actual, if, and only if, able, perform a low-speed formation fly-by of positions occupied by 28th Mobile Infantry. Upon completion of that, proceed on prior tasking”.

Geier’s eyebrows rose in unison. What the blazes was the colonel thinking?!?! A LOW speed FORMATION flypast?!? Was he completely out of his mind. This was an operational environment, not a god-damned airshow at Casior or for Lyran dignitaries. This wasn’t about impressing…

Then the man caught himself… what if it was…

Varessa’s position in Courtland, strong as it may have appeared, was in actuality remarkably tenuous. Two cavalry regiments, albeit good ones, held the only foothold Varessa possessed in the Dominion. One regiment, just one, was the Varessan means of force projection into Courtland itself. While, by international standards, heavily over-strength, it was still only one regiment. That brought the Varessan strength, total, to one combat division in Courtland. Maybe. The only thing stopping the Upper Virginian pro-Altman loyalists from over-running them was their lack of co-ordination, and hesitancy on a widespread scale.

Who knew? A show of strength to re-assure their allies might actually be a very good idea.

“Acknowledged. Pegasus out”.

Geier breathed out slowly. The next relay of orders would be interesting, he thought, as he watched the four-barrelled gattling cannon turn to the left as his gunner panned to either side.

“Lead to all units, form up on me, commemoration-pattern. We’re doing a friendly low and slow over the 28th, over.”

Two seconds passed.

The silence was deafening. Geier actually began to wonder if he’d remembered to toggle the ‘transmit’ button on his headset, when he got a response that he, perhaps, should have expected.

“Authenticate, hotel papa zulu”

The army captain couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he frantically looked through the authentication list he’d received at the start of the sortie. The order he’d just given was so whacked that he wasn’t even slightly surprised. He mentally scolded himself for his lack of fore-sight before replying.

“Pegasus-Lead, authenticating, echo sierra zulu. Yes, you heard the order right, bizarre as it sounds, acknowledge, over.”

This time, the acknowledgments came through much faster than the first, and Geier grinned. Who ever said that formation flying wasn’t applicable to combat situations...

***

The Varessan embassy was still on high alert. Armed guards manned strongpoints along the building’s fortified walls. Soldiers with Stinger Block-IVs scannned the skies immediately around the embassy. And one stressed, over-tired and grumpy MAJGEN paced the corridors, trying not to sit down and ruin the freshly ironed creases on his dress blacks. He had a direct link to the HQ that had been established at the airport, but at that moment, there wasn’t a great deal that the presence of an additional senior officer would help. So he fretted. And waited for 8th Armoured.

8th Armoured. To the former HQ of General Altman. Link up with the Excalbians, and VSF/SSS task force.

And with sudden clarity, it dawned on him that neither the Excalbians nor the VSF/SSS unit had the foggiest idea of what the situation was.

Roberts spun on his heels, and made for the comm-centre. Wreckage it may be, but Altman’s HQ had been the centre of power for so long that it held a symbolic value far beyond its actual usefulness. And if an Upper Virginian unit could claim that it held the command centre, and then make a martyr out of General Altman’s memory, well, that could quickly turn the populace against the intended liberation, and set the democratic process in Upper Virginia back twenty years. Those units had to hold until the 8th got to them.

He burst into the embassy’s communications centre, and grabbed a head set itself, the startled technician sliding his chair back almost indignantly.

“Victor Sierra Zero, this is Sunray Major, do you copy, over?”

The 30 seconds that passed were some of the longest in Roberts’ life. But when the voice of LTCOL Mathews came over the line, Roberts was more than slightly relieved.

“Sunray Major, this is Victor Sierra Zero, go ahead, over.”

“Victor Sierra Zero, be advised that Ironside Sunray is inbound. ETA 2 hours. You are to defend your current position until relieved. I say again, you are to defend your current position until relieved. Acknowledge, over.”

There was another pause on the other end. Longer than standard radio-lag, but not by much, before Mathews came back on line.

“Acknowledge, Sunray Major. Should I relay to Echo X-ray Sunray, over”.

Mathews was using the Varessan radio code for the Excalbians. Echo X-ray, EX. Sunray being the code for “commander” or “controller” or “the person in charge”. The VSF officer was asking Roberts if he should relay the orders to the Excalbian Commander.

“Affirmative, Victor Sierra Zero. Exercise discretion. Sunray Major, out.”

Roberts exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised that he’d been holding, patted the technician on the shoulder a couple of times, and turned and headed back out to his quarters.

***

Bourke went up to the VSF contingent commander when he put the handset down. He was curious, and more than a little apprehensive. The status quo, that being the blissful state that was not being fired at, was just fine, as far as he was concerned.

“What’s the goss, sir?”

Mathews looked pensive. Not worried, which would have been a knife to Bourke’s innards. Mathews was the image of the unflappable, always ready with a sardonic quip or friendly smile, even, or perhaps especially, when all hell was breaking loose. Nor did he look happy. Which, given that he’d lost a third of his command on this mission, was admittedly unlikely.

“Do you want the good news, or the bad news?”

Bourke gave a snort. That’d be it. Mixed signals from the higher ups. Bloody bureaucrats never could get their bloody arses into gear. But there was something good, so Bourke wasn’t all that concerned. Mathews may have been fearless to the naked eye, but he was no bullshit artist. If it was all bad, he’d say it.

“What’s going good sir?”

At that, Mathews cracked into a grin. He liked breaking good news… and this was definitely good.

“8th Armoured is on the way.”

Bourke punched the air. 8th Armoured. Sonnuvabitch. A whole fucking tank regiment. How the hell did 8th Armoured get to Courtland? Not that Bourke cared. 8th Armoured… wow… That was definitely a big bit of good news… which stopped his celebrations short. Mathews still wasn’t celebrating. Must’ve been some fairly notable bad news to keep the man down at that notable good news.

“What’s the bad bit, sir.”

Mathews told him, and Bourke felt the colour start to drain from his face.

“Come on, mate. Lets let the Excalbians know.”
***

The line of helicopters flew over the northernmost elements of the 28th Mobile Infantry, rotor blades pounding at the sky. Only one bit of info remained to be forwarded.

“Pronto Major, this is Pegasus Lead, message, over”.

The voice of one of NMCC’s multitudinous signal operators came back very quickly, and with a faint edge of excitement to it. Understandably. This was the first time they’d listened to a Varessan helicopter…

“Pegasus Lead, this is Pronto Major, go ahead, over.”

“Pronto Major, Pegasus Lead, requesting permission to transit sector seven, echo to whisky, over.”

The response was again rapid, and in the affirmative.

“Affirmative, Pegasus Lead. Uploading authorised transit corridor now.”

A series of yellow flashing diamond-shaped icons appeared on Geier’s head up display. Flying right over 28th Mobile Infantry’s positions. Which was a good thing. As it was kinda the objective…

“Pegasus Flight, this is Pegasus Lead. Begin run in zero-five minutes, over”

“Two”

“Three”

“Four”

The four gunships turned and lazily circled over the 28th’s positions, downdraft rattling windows as they moved. More than one Upper Virginian soldier looked up and waved. It was nice to be cheered, thought the captain, as he nosed down and lead his aerial column on a loop through the 28th’s airspace.

***

A Company was charging along Courtland’s streets at speeds which would probably be unsafe if the vehicles were, literally, tanks. 8th Armoured’s two-pronged attack on the 43rd relied on A Company getting into position quickly, and effectively, especially if casualties were to be minimised prior to the second phase of operations. All units, not only of A Company, but also B and C, were on edge, and barely a word was being spoken throughout the regiment.

CPL Edward Markosian, turret gunner, was in his tank near the van of B company. A thick, heavy-set man, most of his compatriots wondered what he was doing in the armoured corps, rather than infantry. He was jovial, outgoing, and expressive. And everyone wondered how he managed to get himself into that far-too-cramped gunner’s seat.

Below him, the chief, SGT Grey, sat immobile, the com-net earphones over his ears. He listened to them religiously, as if fearful that he’d miss the go signal, while Markosian chatted endlessly about the enormous fish he was going to catch when they went on rotation back to Casior. Erikkson, the driver, mused to himself that he was the only one without an annoying tension defusing habit, while he played ceaselessly with the amulet his mother had given him when he joined the army. Leif, the machine gunner, recited his litany of woes and worries, not that anyone was really listening to him.

“The gyro feels a bit out. Don’t know if I’ll be able to hit anything with this bucket of shit.”

Lief always made the same complaint. He always complained about the machine gun’s remote control gyro… then proceeded to hit everything in sight, and some things that weren’t.

“And the fan. The bloody fan clicks. It’s bad enough in here when the fan IS working, but the damn thing still clicks.”

Markosian piped up in response.

“Have you tried taking it apart and oiling it?”

“Yeah, three times now. Bloody thing still clicks.”

“Could try taking it to one of the techs…”

The words were barely out of the corporal’s mouth when the chief butted in.

“You’ll do no such thing. Tech’s have got bigger things to worry about than a clicking fan.”

Leif’s mouth split into a grin. Here was a chance to fret about something else.

“Like what, chief?”

The chief’s face scrunched in concentration while he pondered the question. The man may have had the padded comm-net earpieces jammed hard over his ears, but he still didn’t miss a thing that went on in his tank.

“Like sorting out what made such a mess of those buildings we passed on the way here.”

Erikkson brought the tank to a halt in line with another on its left. They were now sitting at the jump off point. Leif was still grinning.

“What could do that chief? Something big, huh?”

“Shut it Leif.”

“If it could do that to buildings, and lots of them, what could it do to us? They could probably blow us into a million itty bitty bits. Huh, chief? BOOM”

He emphasised his point by throwing his hands apart in the universal representation of an explosion. They struck the outside of the machine-gunner’s station with a muffled thump.

“I said shut it, Leif.”

There was no real rancour in the chief’s voice. All knew that it was just the man’s way of dealing with the tension.

A tense silence descended on the tank, once again. It wasn’t long before Lief piped up again.

“So, a man walks into a bar, and the bartend…”

“That’s it folks”
SGT Grey butted in, pulling his microphone down in front of his mouth.

“Orders are in from the colonel. We’re up…”

Erikkson gunned the engine again, and suddenly the crew was all business. No longer were they four men that had been cooped up in a tank for too long. They were a tank crew from a Commonwealth Guards division. The transition would have been, to an outsider, remarkable to watch.

“Good timing, chief.” Markosian said. “Multiple thermal contacts, bearing zero eight nine, up five. Infantry initial assessment.”

Leif was next.

“Second contact, 300 metres, nil engine signature, visual only. MBT, type unknown.”

The chief’s voice was grim as he responded.

“Closing speed. Fire at will.”

The tank rumbled forward, and a rumble was heard from the main gun of a sister tank, seconds before Markosian’s 120mm smoothbore belched a sabot round forward. An Upper Virginian tank’s turret came off the body atop a pillar of flame, before crashing earthward twenty metres away.

Leif depresses his fingers on the firing switch as he watched the targeting monitors. His point of impact was indicated by a line of tracers, looking for all the world like a laser beam from a b-grade science fiction movie. The man gave a small whoop of exultation. The action was too far removed from reality. It was almost like a video game, and he was winning.

An Upper Virginian tank fired back, HEAT round impacting the ground in front of the right track. Erikkson swerved left to avoid it, and Markosian held his fire until the tank squared up again.

The second shot also flew true, brief flash of light silhouetting the tank from the inside out.

***

Not that he’d admit it, but Colonel Wilde was terrified. The incarnation of his worst nightmare was coming to pass. Enemy tanks were rolling through the streets of his capital city.

Wilde wasn’t an Altman sycophant. Nor was he a career savvy desk-jock with good connections. He reserved that sentiment for some of his superiors. You had to be political to make past one-star, unless you were particularly good. Wilde hadn’t gone that far.

And, mere moments after looking at the remote feed for an infra-red camera on the side of his command tank, the two vaguely tank-shaped objects had both flared briefly, then the remote screen had gone blank. An explosive rumble had swept across the mound behind which the colonel was sitting, and the ear-splitting roar had drowned at sound for a number of seconds, amid a shower of earth, scrap and rubble.

When the man picked himself up a couple of seconds later, his hand flew to his holster and drew his service pistol, a 9 shot Makarov. Sticking his head up over the earthen mound, he took stock of what had just happened.

And then wished he hadn’t. Four tanks. Big ones. Design he didn’t recognise. Definitely not Upper Virginian. He pulled his head back down as a line of tracers snaked towards his head, kicking up more dust and slamming through the top of his makeshift cover. He heard screams from his left, and watched as one of his men staggered up along the embankment, one remaining arm clutching his intestines, desperately trying to keep them in his abdomen. A tracer shifted. The screams stopped, and the body rolled down next to Wilde.

He gulped. Without him in the loop, his men would be sitting ducks. He almost shouted for joy, then, when he saw the radio lying three feet from his position.

He scrambled over to it, and looked at the casing. It was dented, but intact. A couple of quick taps on the transmit key indicated that it was still functioning. He put the handset to his ear, and bent over as another shell shook the ground he was standing on. The roar of the tanks’ engines was getting closer, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to leave.

He began speaking into the mouthpiece far more coherently than one might be expected to, rattling off orders in defiance of his precarious position.
“This is Colonel Wilde to all units, we are under attack, I say again, we are under attack. There are hostile armoured units advancing, from the west, in force. All available anti-armour units, close and engage. Close and engage, acknowledge.”

The attack had been expected. Rumours of the airport’s seizure had spread like wildfire, and hesitation about who to support had evaporated at the fear of imminent death at the hands of invaders.

“58, acknowledge” 58th Mobile Infantry Regiment. The primary infantry formation of the brigade. Down to 2/3rd strength.

“12, acknowledge” 12th Armoured. A formation that would be lucky to make company strength after the mauling the Pantocratorian units had given it. But a tank formation, nonetheless.

“94, acknowledge” 94th Mechanised. The unit that had fought hardest in repulsing the attack by the rebels of the 28th. A shadow of what they were, but good, solid and reliable troops.

Wilde paused. Where were the other two regiments?

“108-niner, and 110-niner, radio check, over.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening in its completeness.

“94, relay to…”

And then, Colonel Wilde had a thought. He interrupted his radio signal, and sprang to his feet. He’d waited too long. The enemy tanks wouldn’t be far away. He had to move. The thought went through his head in a fraction of a second, as he got up to sprint back to the nearest cover to shelter from the incoming tanks.

That was also the last thought to cross his mind. For the next thing that popped into his head was 7.62mm of blended metal. One could have said that he died a good, noble death.

But no one saw it. And so sixteen sorely needed years of military experience flew to the after-life, chased on its way by the whoop of a Varessan army corporal, and the staccato bark of a heavy machine gun.

***

94th Mech was 43rd Armoured’s most experienced unit. While mechanised, it was a “heavy mech” formation, and included a tank company sprinkled in alongside the two mechanised infantry formations.

In practice, that now meant about two platoons of tanks, and a company and a half of mechanised infantry. But the formation, along with 108th Armoured, had fought off the attack by Brigadier Holmes’ 28th Brigade, so its under-strength status could be excused.

Of course, when two regiments manage to repulse a brigade, those two regiments rarely emerge unscathed. Admittedly both sides of that engagement had fought hard. The two regiments in question were very heavy formations, and the 28th was a mobile infantry formation, not an armoured or mechanised one. But the three infantry and one mechanised unit that Brigadier Holmes had thrown in had effectively broken the two loyalist units.

And what was left of 94th Mech was rushing to the west to hold up the advance of the two companies of Varessan tanks. Central command within the 43rd was a very iffy thing. And the huge Varessan V9A3 main battle tanks were very, very hard to kill.

Hence what was left of the 94th charged to the west. The 108th, down to barely company strength, and with no command structure worthy of the name, clustered together in section and platoon sized units, holding 43rd’s south, on the off chance that the 28th sent more infantry northwards.

108th was thus in a very poor position to do much more than batten down the hatches on its tanks when 8th Armoured’s aviation element began making their first attack runs.

The attack helicopters, designed as they were to hunt down tanks and light armour, were in an anti-tank helicopter’s dream. A large number of stationary tanks clumped together, with nothing by the way of effective air defence or concealment of any kind.

The lead helicopter pirouetted in the air, turning seventy-five degrees to its left, and angling its nose down. The second continued along its course, skimming over the houses and warehouses of Courtland, while the third and fourth mirrored the lead’s movements, and slid in alongside it. There was a brief pause, then the helicopters drifted forward, rocket pods moving left and right as the gunners swivelled their helmet-mounted targeting cameras to select targets. The Upper Virginian tanks, as with all tanks, had their thinnest armour on their upper surfaces, and that was precisely where the gunners aimed. The tanks lit up like firecrackers, and those that didn’t caught light quickly. In less than a minute, tank crews were piling out of their tanks, en-masse.

Geier watched as the men – there were no women, as far as he could tell – fled on foot, or cowered in their holes. They all stuck out, clear as day on the thermal imager. He switched to visual. A handful of them were improvising white flags out of their underwear. He chuckled to himself. Fair enough. Whatever worked. He was under orders to give quarter where possible. And he was happy for that. Infinitely easier on his conscience, as well.

This part of the battle was over. Whatever formation that bad been here would no longer offer organised resistance.

“Ironside alpha niner, this is Pegasus lead. Strut. I say again, strut.” Geier was laughing to himself. The pre-arranged go-code was a joke. But it was funny.

As was the delay in response.
“Pegasus Lead, this is Ironside alpha niner. Acknowledged. You’re early, over.”

“Ironside alpha niner, roger that. Pegasus lead, out.”

Alpha Company, 8th Armoured Regiment, 24th Commonwealth Guards Armoured Cavalry Division, began to move.

Enemy offering resistance in the south were few and far between. Here and there a solitary Upper Virginian tank stood its ground. But “here and there” was the correct turn of phrase.

Geier saw a V9 swing left to emplace along a road and allow its trailing elements to continue. What Geier didn’t see, until too late, was the Uppie, dug in, with its main gun pointing straight down the road. Its engine was off. No thermal output. And, unless spotted with the Mk I eyeball, invisible.

The first that the Varessans knew of it was when the 105mm main gun on the crouching tank fired at one of their own. And at less than two hundred metres, it couldn’t miss.

It didn’t. The FLIR showed a line streak out from one tank to spear another, and an explosion blossomed on the hull of the Varessan tank. Geier found himself holding his breath while the dust cleared… just in time to watch the battered but intact Varessan vehicle return fire, and knock the Uppie’s turret off the rest of the tank. Remarkably, it did not catch fire. Men scrambled out of the tank, waving their arms frantically. To their credit, the Varessan tank crew did not open fire.

Geier brought his chopper down, and buzzed the Uppie tank crew. They flinched, bringing their hands up towards their heads at the low-slow overflight.

108th had ceased to exist.

***

In fact, 43rd Armoured Brigade was falling apart. Already seriously depleted by engagements along multiple fronts, with numerically superior forces, and with a senior command structure rapidly degrading, its time frame for conducting organised resistance was contracting quickly.

The brigade commander was dead. Had been for a while. Colonel Wilde, the 2IC, was MIA, presumed dead. 108th Armoured was not responding at all. 110th was responding sporadically, and what it was reporting wasn’t good. 12th Armoured, 94th Mechanised and 58th Mobile Infantry were, together, down to the equivalent of a regiment’s strength. Colonel Aiken, the CO of 94th Mech, flinched along with his compatriots when their command post shook as a nearby tank blew sky high.

“We’re not going to hold them long, gents.” He said.

His two colleagues looked at him, wordless. They knew. They had to know. The enemy formation, unknown though it was, was at least regimental strength, and the tanks they were using were easily 50% larger than anything that Upper Virginia fielded. They would have suffered tremendously fighting against it when they were at full strength. Which they were not. And their own airforce, damn them all to hell, were giving them no support at all. The enemy helicopters were breaking any attempted line before it could form up.

He turned his gaze from the map table to his two rank-peers. Colonel Martin, CO of the eight… another explosion outside corrected him – seven… tanks that made up what was left of 12th Armoured looked at Aiken, and nodded. Aiken then swivelled from Martin to the commander of 58th Mobile Infantry. The 58th was the only semi-coherent unit they had left. 94th, while still fighting, was fighting a losing battle. It’s mechanised formations, such an asset in most circumstances, were barely denting the enormous tanks they were fighting against. Their TOW missiles were finding the explosive reactive armour a tremendous challenge. And each vehicle lost represented a growing proportion of their fighting strength.

Colonel Mathers, then, was the last hurdle. If the 58th chose to go on, then they would all go on. And, as the most intact formation left, Mathers was the most likely to continue fighting. More worryingly, Mathers had long been a disciple of Altman. He had been loyal to a fault, to the General’s name. No deed was to dark, to crime to heinous, if it were following the General’s orders, desires or intent. He had a great deal to answer for. And Aiken was almost positive that he was not ready to answer for them.

Sure enough, Mathers’ eyes set, and his posture straightened. A slight, but perceptible curl of his lips broadcast his intentions.

“We are officers of the Upper Virginian Army. We have our orders, direct from the hands of our Commander-in-Chief”.

Aiken wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Mathers had added “his beneficent holiness” or an “amen” in there somewhere. But the man was still going.

“And you are actually proposing to surrender to these fucking invaders? You are traitors to the state. No. We fight, and if we must, we die.”

Aiken put his hand on his service pistol, cleared it past the holster, pointed it at the man, and pulled the trigger.

Mathers went down, screaming, and clutching his stomach. He writhed on the ground, trypsin enzymes from his punctured stomach burning his flesh around the wound. Aiken took two paces forward, and stood over the prone man, then pointed the pistol at him.

“I will not WASTE my men. I will not throw them away on the altar of vain glory. Nor will I let you sacrifice YOURS to the treads of enemy tanks.”

Aiken knelt next to the dying man, and whispered in his right ear.

“Nor will I let you send them to their deaths to protect you from your crimes. You, Colonel…” Aiken almost spat the last word at him… “have much to answer for…”

The CO of the 94th Mechanised regiment pulled himself up, and took careful aim with the weapon in his right hand.

Colonel Mathers watched the pistol level on him, and thought to himself, fleetingly, that the muzzle looked wide enough to park a hummer in. Then Aiken pulled the trigger, and the world went white.

Colonel Martin hadn’t moved, although he did now, folding his arms, and scratching his neck.

“That was… a little unexpected, Bob…” he said.

“Yep. It was.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, as the two remaining colonels looked at the body of one of their former comrades. They’d made their beds. They both just hoped that they’d be more comfortable to lie in than those that had been made under Altman.

Martin broke the silence first.

“I’ll inform the men.”

Aiken nodded. He’d expected that tasks would be split that way.

“And I’ll inform the Varessans.”

***

Resistance from the 43rd ended within minutes. The few remaining tanks pulled off to the side of the road, and their crews dismounted, sitting on the outside of their vehicles, watching as the Varessan armoured columns rolled past. Varessan casualties were light, 12 dead, twice that wounded. And, despite appearances, Upper Virginian casualties were surprisingly light as well. Highest losses were amongst the tank crews of 12th Armoured, who had fought hard throughout the engagements, first against the Pantocratorians, then functioning as the unit that counter-attacked the advance made by the 28th under Brigadier Holmes. Then, moving back to defend the brigade HQ from the Varessans…

There wasn’t much left of 12th Armoured.

Colonel McMarn had asked Bob Aiken as to his casualties, especially concerning whether the Varessan medics could assist in any way. When he told McMarn of what 12th Armoured had done that day, McMarn was flabbergasted.

When 8th Armoured finally pulled out, the crew commanders of all three companies saluted as they passed the remnants of the Upper Virginian unit.

It had taken the 8th an hour and a half to break 43 Brigade.

***

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre

MAJGEN Harlan Knox looked at the Varessan CO, LCOL Matthews, and laughed. “So, the old good news, bad news story, eh?” Knox looked off to the plume of dust in the distance. “Well, the reinforcements will be appreciated, but holding on to this smoking hole will be easier said than done.” The Marine nodded towards the hills to the south. “We still have at least a brigade or two over there on the high ground, and we have who knows what closing in on us…”

“General, Colonel,” MAJ Leah Vasarete saluted as she interrupted her CO, “sorry for the interruption, sir, but we have our scouts reporting in. Sounds of choppers. Whoever’s coming, they have air cover…”

Knox removed the stub of his Esperi cigar and dropped it to the ground, grinding it under his heel. “Well, that’s it. Get everyone hunkered down. In the ruins, down in that shallow gully these fellows,” Knox poked his thumb at Matthews and SSGT Burke, “came out of. Have everyone else find what cover they can. I want anti-air rockets loaded and ready and arrayed in two lines – one on the outer perimeter and one tucked into some of these holes. And get back on the horn; we need air cover from the cotton-pickin’ Uppies or the Fleet and we need it now.”

“Yes, sir,” Vasarete said saluting before running off to carry out the General’s orders.

In Courtland...

BRIG Alex Holmes looked up as soon as he heard the approaching sound of helicopter blades. Anxiety gripped his stomach as he wondered whether these were friends or foes…

“Look at that sir,” FSGT Tolliver said turning to his CO, “parade formation. What the hell is that about?”

Holmes relaxed just a bit and let out his breath. “Must be friendlies. They’re showing us that…”

“Sir,” a corporal said looking up from his comm. gear, “NMCC on the line. They say to expect an overflight from Varessan air units…”

Holmes’ expression of relief broke into a smile. Soon, his men were cheering.

* * *

A little more than an hour and half later, Holmes was meeting with the Varessan 8th Armoured’s CO, COL McMarn. A unit of the 8th Armoured had made contact with what was left of the 28th’s flank early in the battle. After that, it had been only a matter of time to establish radio contact and arrange for Holmes and what was left of his field HQ to rendezvous with the Varessans.

“Excellent timing, Colonel,” BRIG Holmes said extending a hand to McMarn. “My men more than held their own. And the Pantocratorians acquitted themselves well. But there is only so much light units can do against an armoured brigade.

“We must have taken out Brigadier Kehkris and Colonel Wilde, his XO, fairly early in the battle. I knew both of them and they would have fought to the bloody end. Both would have been too afraid of swinging at the end of the rope to surrender to the new regime. Bob Aiken, though, is a little bit different; I’m not surprised he’d put his men’s lives above a lost cause. Especially a lost cause like General Altman.

“I hear that the fighting is shifting to Altman’s HQ. I suppose you’ll be moving up there, Colonel. Unfortunately, there isn’t much left of us or the Pantocratorians as a fighting force. My third and fourth battalions are the most combat ready. If you need extra hands, I can detach the fourth and transfer it to your command. A lot of my men are still searching for Pantocratorian survivors, but I should have enough to take charge of the loyalists who surrendered…”

In Courtland at the NMCC...

LCOL Beatrix Klotina walked over to … President Harrison. It’ll take a while, she thought to herself, to get used to that one. “Madame President,” Klotina said, “the Excalbian Marines are urgently requesting air cover; they expect to come under attack before the Varessan 8th Armoured can reach their location.”

President Becka Harrison nodded. She felt better, knowing that the Varessans were on the scene and that Shaun Roberts would soon be at their head. “What do we have en route, Colonel?”

Klotina looked up at the tactical board. “The 214th fighter wing has half a squadron about 17 minutes out. The Varessan 8th has its own air cover that will be accompanying it to GHQ. We also have the air cav units of the XIVth division about an hour out.”

Harrison nodded. She prayed that the Excalbians would hold out against whatever was coming their way until the air support could reach them. “Let the Excalbians know, Colonel.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre...

Two platoons of air cavalry attached to the 56th Mobile Infantry Brigade roared over the treetops towards the remnants of General Altman’s Headquarters. As they approached, the sixteen attack helicopters fired a volley of rockets towards the first ring of IR signatures.

Despite the ensuing chaos on the ground, the picket of Excalbian Marines managed to get off several of their own rockets. Countermeasures and maneuvers spared all but one of the choppers.

Flying low and fast, the remaining choppers pounded the ground with fire from their twin chain guns, while firing rockets at larger targets – bits of rubble and the vehicles.

More rockets, many rising from mobile emplacements, responded from the ground and two more helicopters fell in explosive fireballs.

Swinging wide to the northwest, the thirteen attack helicopters turned around and passed back over the huddled Excalbian Marines, racking them with fire again.

A rising curtain of rockets, some apparently guided by IR pointers, brought down another chopper and damaged a fifth. The eleven survivors flew away, leaving blood and smoke in their wake and carrying valuable intelligence.

* * *

LCOL Illers turned to MAJ Ulanis and smiled. Reports from the 43rd had been disheartening, but the news that the 56th had arrived – with air cover – had revived the loyalists flagging spirits. And now, Illers had even better news. “That was Captain Blums of the 43rd. Before Kehkris moved into the city, he detached his artillery.” Illers smile grew. “We have two batteries of mobile artillery arriving from the south.”

Ulanis returned Illers smile. For the first time this terrible day, things seemed to be going their way.

As the Marshal was entertaining the Upper Virginian generals, or, more accurately, entertaining himself whilst the Upper Virginians happened to eat at the same table, the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion received its orders from Colonel Markos and began to move out according to them, making its way to Courtland.

In the emergency command bunkers buried deep under the streets of New Rome, the buzz and hum off the Imperial High Command's eyes, ears, mouthpiece, and principle advisor continued as it always did. That was the problem with computers, that made officers of the old school nervous about dealing with the Imperial High Command only with Mater. Unlike a person, a computer's intonation didn't change when it lied to you. Its heart rate didn't increase. It didn't blush, sweat, or shift nervously in its seat. Instead, it pursued its agenda with betraying any outward signs of what it was really up to.

And one had to wonder what that last variable was in the equation which had led Mater to authorise a redeployment of the Fifth Provincial Infantry Legion to Courtland, to a fight which she had already calculated would be a victory for the anti-Altman forces, albeit a hard fought one. Moreover, one had to wonder who was responsible for that variable's existence: the Imperial High Command? Or was it Mater herself?

Outside Courtland at General Altman’s Command Centre

After the choppers had finished their vicious pass over the Marines, MAJGEN Knox cautiously stood and surveyed his position. He turned to MAJ Vasarette. "Major, I need to know how we stand on losses..."

"Yes, sir," the Major said turning to the comm. man beside her. Moments later, she turned back Knox. "Sir, looks like we got four or five of their choppers. Our losses are moderate, but the picket was pretty much shattered..."

"Alright," Knox said looking up, either for another attack or for relief, "get replacements into position as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir."