NationStates Jolt Archive

Survey site AA-37, Samtonian Geological Mining Corporation exploratory expedition
The dust. That accursed dust. Its thick grains whipped across the vacant landscape, obscuring the horizon, covering the landscape, and getting into every little thing that was open to the air. Read, grimy desert dust, the stuff made of more stern material than the grainy softness of the sand on a beach. No, this was dust from a barren wasteland and it wasn’t just a byproduct, it was an enabler of the vacant wastes.

If one were to look down from on high, they would see a small cluster of what looked to be red rocks. Zoom in closer and they were clearly not rocks; too many right angles, unnatural shifts of color. Get in even closer and you would see that these were no geological deposit, but tents covered in dust from the sandstorm outside. These were the expedition’s world for as long as it took to map out a region half the size of Samtonia. Yes, they were air conditioned and sealed with three linings so as to prevent sand from entering, but they weren’t big. They weren’t sturdy to the degree any occupant would like. And the tarps covering the drilling equipment and vehicles still left a great deal of protection to be desired.

This team was being led by Rock Harrison, a grizzled mining veteran who ha lived through more cave ins mine collapses, and rock slides then mere mortals could dare to imagine. His second in command, Laci Jones, was anything but lacy, as the two men who attempted to proposition her while they were in a drunken stupor found out before the expedition departed. Their relatives had been notified of their conditions. And the rest of the crew? Standard mine rats, all of them. These were the workers who fed the demand for minerals, be they gold, diamond, or iron. Plus the usual company hands, the men who had seniority on paper but only mocking derision in camp. The accountant cum paymaster, the mapping experts, and the “leader” of the expedition. Or, as the rats took to calling him, the one woman who came along with them.

But mining was proceeding well. At that point in the expedition, a vein had been hit and drilling was progressing like boring a mine through a mountain of cake. At least that’s what Laci had said and her word was generally treated as gold. After all, if you ignored her, she’d single you out to be pummeled. Which was going on in the main drilling tent at that very moment.

“What the hell did you have to interrupt me from my beauty sleep for!” yelled Laci as loud as she could at the head of the drilling crew. “This sure as hell better have been pretty fucking important!”

The grizzled miner wiped his brow, leaving a streak of red sand across it. “It sure is Miss Lacy. We’ve hit a tunnel and the machine dropped through entirely. You best follow me.”

The scene that confronted the second-in-command of the operation was one of other devastation. A sinkhole had opened up, swallowing one of the drill rigs whole. It could be seen lying on its side at the bottom of a huge tunnel, stretching as far as could be seen by the illumination of the halogen light stands set up at the mouth of the hole. “It sure is something, isn’t it?” asked a rig worker. “I ain’t never seen a natural tunnel this smooth. Or this big.” A geologist near him shook his head. “This is impossible. This tunnel should be impossible. It is a physical impossibility for a tunnel of this magnitude and perfection to be natural. I can’t see how it was created.”

Laci shook her head. “Well, I hope to God we can get that rig out. Otherwise, it might just be lost. And by the sound of whatever’s clanking around down there, I’d say we’ll lose a few more rigs if we don’t move off this here tunnel system soon.” She had no idea how true her words were going to be. It was slight, but the observation centers in the main tent began chattering. There was something coming from underground. Something loud. And something large.

[OOC- This is closed for major participants at this time. Myself and Khrrck may let people in after this progresses, so do keep that in mind for in the fture. But until then, enjoy a non-number, tech, or missile wanked war. Also no godmoding. Amazing, isn't it?]

It started as a breeze, wafting out of the hole. The object moving down the tunnel was large enough to almost completely block it, creating a wave of compressed air as it rattled down the tunnel.

As the clanking grew louder, the breeze grew stronger. Wind whipped at the miners' clothing. The rock shook under their feet.

Then the machine arrived.

Forty tons of metal locked its brakes as it saw the drill rig, lying amidst a heap of rubble that half-filled the tunnel, come into the magnesium glare of its headlights. Over a ton of rubber squealed against the rock floor of the passage as its myriad wheels locked. It decelerated brutally, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

The noise was spectacular. More of the tunnel's rock ceiling fell in on top of the machine as the impact sent tremors through the rock.

The roar of massive engines stopped abruptly. The machine rested, half-buried in the ruins of the tunnel. What little could be seen from above consisted of four man-high wheels, thick, angular plating, an exhaust vent which still emitted faint wisps of smoke, the scratched, cracked lens of a camera, and a hatch.

As the miners watched, the hatch was undogged from below.

The creature that emerged from the hatch was exceptional.

It was reptilian. It had teeth and claws. It didn't look scary enough to be the subject of a late-night Sci Fi Channel special, but it gave the impression that, while it might not scare you, it could leave you seriously dead.

It was wearing something across its back which looked like a crossbow might if you eliminated the bow and stretched it out to the length of a rifle. The weapon (and it certainly was a weapon) was packed with springs and pulleys and other, more uncertain parts.

It was silver. It looked up at the miners, narrowed its eyes, and said:

"What have you done to our tunnel? What have you done to my driller?"

Had either the miners or the Wyrms been able to understand each others' language, the subsequent events might have been averted. As things were, though, the Wyrm's speech, sounding like a snake's hiss intermixed with metallic snappings and rumbling growls, was totally incomprehensible.

[OOC: Samtonia, I see you're online... Bump.]

[OOC- It's coming...don't worry. As soon as I finish some English work.]

[OOC: Samtonia, you need to get on AIM more often. I see you're online, but you're not on AIM...]

As the assembled miners simply stared, every single one of them pulled out some type of weapon. All survey and mining crews carried while on the job, and although most only had pistols, a few were employed as guards on their off shifts and carried weapons with a tad more punch.

A large, angry looking reptilian thing with a weapon strung across its back growling at the miners didn’t really give any of them much ease. Suffice to say, every man had their weapon out and aimed at the creature from the top of the hole. And most had quavering hands. They hadn’t fired a gun in anger before. They had never had to defend themselves with a weapon against another armed foe packing who knew what. Training was a distant memory for some of the men.

Laci, of course, tried to avert things. “Get those god damned weapons up! I never told you to aim at it! We’ll approach this calmly! WHY ARE YOUR GUNS OUT?!” The screaming of an irate boss, the shock of his first mining expedition, and the alien creature staring up at him from the tunnel caused one young miner to snap. And as his finger pulled the trigger of his pistol, ever miner around him fired as well.

Assault rifles, pistols, SMGs, and a shotgun fired as one in a massive blast. The creature was literally shredded, its body thrown off the top of its machine and against the wall behind it. And as the firing slowly slackened, the men saw the blood slowly dripping down. They sure as hell weren’t prepared for anything to happen to them.

Down inside the vehicle, the rest of the crew heard the blast and saw blood dripping down through the hatch. The navigator swore colourfully.

"It must be bandits. A lot of bandits. One of you check and see what we've got in the weapons locker. I'll radio for help. We'll teach those idiots what happens when they kill one of us..."

************************

Muffled growlings echoed up through the hatch, followed by the creak of springs under tension.

There was a snap and a twang as the tension was released. A short, fat cylinder spun lazily up through the hole. Either the gunner had amazingly good aim or he had gotten lucky, but the grenade landed on the lip of the hole and rolled to a miner's feet.

It exploded, without fanfare.

************************

"What? Bandits? Drilled down into the tunnel? We've got a convoy nearby. We'll divert it to cover you. Hold tight."

The dispatch operator muttered as he switched off the microphone.

"Funny... I thought we had exterminated all the bandits in that area. And why would they be so stupid as to drill into a tunnel and lose their rig into it?"

The detonation both sent a number of miners to kingdom come, it blew out a gaping hole in the tent. As sand rushed in, the broken bodies of a number of miners rushed out, blown through the tent material by the force of the grenade which had landed next to them. A number of the men were dead, including Laci, while the rest were sprawled about stunned.

But the noise of the explosion brought others into the tent. The first thought of the guards who came running in was that the rig had exploded. Bloody bodies lay scattered through the tent and the stunned miners were far from uninjured themselves. But the guns they had out and the scene illuminated by the spotlight below made it quite clear something was down in the tunnel and that something possessed weapons.

The expedition had brought along thirty paid guards. Two had already been turned to pulp and the rest were angry enough to break open their cache of illegal weapons. Most knew a bandit wouldn’t give a damn if the gun you carried was legal to own or if it was even legal to talk about owning. But the guns sure scared away those bandits. And now they would provide some serious support to the men who wanted revenge for their dead.

Most of the miners were gathered inside their mess tent, weapons at the ready. No one knew what was going on and command had suddenly shifted to the one man most people would never have thought could have kept, let alone received command. He had been a private in the regular army and was thrown out for dereliction of duty. Of course, listen to his story, and he quit after making colonel in a black ops mission. Matt Clarke was firmly in command of his mercs and firmly in control of the expedition.

His plan was simple, really. Plenty of explosives were lying around and many were quickly made into satchel charges. One was dropped into the tunnel and detonated, sure to spray anyone in the open with shards of rock and metal. Of course, what he didn’t know was that everything in the tunnel had already gotten back inside their vehicle. That didn’t really matter, however. Two volunteers dropped down on a rope, automatics in hand, covered by three more men above. Weapons were trained on the vehicle and the men were ready to open fire at the slightest hint of movement.

But that would only be covering fire anyways. The two men dropped down were both men experienced in demolition. Give a demo man explosives and he’ll be sure to find a way to blow something to hell and back. Satchel charges plus an immobile vehicle would be as easy as a walk in the park. These charges were filled with the explosives used in clearing away thick rock, metal, even solid mountain from dig sites. The bags were packed full and each was carefully placed where it would do the most damage.

And as the men scrambled away, Clarke prepared to detonate.

[Bump for Mother's Day.]

The satchel charges did their job on command. Rock, shrapnel, and superheated gas flooded the vehicle, the hole, and a significant portion of the tunnel. The Wyrm miners died instantly, and the tunnel fell in as the driller's stock of ammunition and fuel went up in one almighty blast.

**********************

And as the miner's ears stopped ringing from the roar of the blast, another, only slightly quieter roar drifted over the camp.

Engine roaring, wheels skidding, the first vanguard of the convoy roared over the nearest dune.

**********************

The first vehicle looked like a mutant dune buggy. Its six balloon tires carried it quickly across the top of the dune and towards the encampment.

Its crew was astonished.

"What in the First's name? Those aren't bandits. Those are human tents. Where the hell did they come from? They look like miners.

This'll be easy."

As the first buggy skidded to a halt a few hundred feet from the camp, a second buggy rocketed over the dune, followed in quick succession by a third and a fourth. They skidded into position, forming an arc alongside the camp's edge.

Four machine gun mounts were unlocked. Streams of bullets tore into the tents and any miners the buggies could see.

The tents in the line of fire were shredded almost instantly. One of these tents happened to be sickbay tent, another the cafeteria tent. The results were disastrous for the miners. Fully three quarters died or were seriously wounded in the fusillade, while the medical staff was literally wiped out.

As the men under his protection began to fall into tiny, bloody pieces, Clarke sensed the fact that his end might rapidly be approaching. But, amateur soldier that he was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be going easily.

“Simmons, Vandyke, get the team over there with the RPG. We’ve got to take those vehicles out!”

The members of the mercs scrambled for position and cover, as two RPGs were broken out of packing crates and a heavy machine gun was re-positioned. As small arms fire began rattling off the buggies and the ripping sound of heavy machine gun fire cut thorough the storm, two fiery trails announced the RPGs being launched. The humans were striking back, and striking back with everything they had at their disposal.

The buggies were obviously not designed to take RPG fire. The two center buggies shredded under the impact, spraying lethal shrapnel over everything in the area. One of the remaining buggies' machine guns fell silent as its gunner was slaughtered by an unfortunate shard of metal.

As the disabled buggy slammed into reverse and tore away from the battle, the driver of the fourth buggy yelled into the radio over the sound of machine gun fire and his own disintegrating tires.

"I'm under heavy fire here! One and Three are dead. Fire one-twenty to the east. Shrap round. Do it NOW before they can reload the RPGs!"

****************************

There was a heavy thud from the far side of the dune.

Five seconds later, chaos broke loose in the miners' camp. An explosion blossomed behind the defenders as a howitzer shell sprayed red-hot shrapnel across a fifty-meter radius.

"This is Crawler One. Shrap round fired. Crawler Two is advancing on your position ETA 40. Hold tight."

Transmission to Samtonian Mining Ltd.

Greetings I am Lord Xanatos leader of the Shadow Sun Crime Organization we wish to purchase precious gems and slaves from you. We will pay $2 billion per 10 extremely beautiful female slaves you deliver. We will need the names of these species and images of them if possible. I thank you have a nice day.

End Transmission

[OOC: I think someone just missed the point entirely.]

[OOC: Bump.]

OOC I was just offering an opportunity to your soldiers to make a little extra cash plus there isnt much that gets by the Shadow Sun intel networks

With the round came the death of one RPG gunner and the wounding of the other. The secondary explosions that began to rock the encampment seemed incidental, as gas began billowing up from burning mining vehicles, casting a pall of black through the red sand which blew over everything.

One RPG was out of commission entirely, barrel bent from shrapnel and a dead man curled over it. The other lay next to the groaning wounded man and was soon scooped up as the defenders scattered into mining holes, blast craters, and hardened shelters. Total assets were now extremely low, consisting of a few dozen able men (though not all trained), armed with automatic and bolt action rifles, one heavy MG, one RPG, and a large amount of improvised satchel charges.

The situation was looking grim for the defenders and as the men prepared for a final stand a burst transmission was sent out. This looked like the end of the mining expedition, but the men were prepared to take out some lizards with them.

Burst transmission, Encoded, sent 0750
SOS. SOS. Under attack by unknown lizards. Massive casualties, severly outgunned. Position about to fal. Coordinates ZX-123. Help requested. Help requested.

SOS. SOS. Under attack by unknown lizards. Massive casualties, severly outgunned. Position about to fal. Coordinates ZX-123. Help requested. Help requested.

SOS. SOS. Under attack by unknown lizards. Massive casualties, severly outgunned. Position about to fal. Coordinates ZX-123. Help requested. Help requested.

(Message repeats twelve times, ends. Full coordinates available from Samtonian Mining Ltd Main Offices)

[ooc- Bump]

Crawler Two crested the dune.

The sound of scraping metal reverbrated forth from its massive treads, underlaid with a faint electric hum. While massive, the crawler was still obviously a cargo vehicle. Containers, such as those found on ships, were stacked on its wide, flat top, along with heavier cargos like steel beams and sections of machinery. The cargo was arranged defensively, with the less vulnerable cargos around the outside of the more fragile goods.

The vehicle rode on two pairs of massive treads, widened to prevent the vehicle from sinking into the sand. Its two halves were jointed, allowing it to bend as it traversed the dunes. Above the joint, on the central platform between the stacks of cargo was a large 75mm howitzer mounted atop an armored cabin.

******************************

As Crawler Two rumbled towards the encampment, the howitzer chugged, sending another shell arcing gracefully into one of the miner-occupied holes, where it exploded in another, more concentrated shower of flame and shrapnel.

"Four, this is Crawler Two. They've sent a transmission. We need you to take out that shelter before they can send another. We'll cover you, but we don't have buster rounds. We can't take it out with the howitzer."

"Slight problem with that, C-Two," replied the buggy's driver. "Our tires are gone. The gun still works but we're running short on ammo keeping up suppression. We can't get a shot into the shelter."

"All right. I'm going to run them over. Do your best to take out the ones in the holes we'll be passing so that they can't get a shot at the cab. Did you see where that RPG went?"

***************************

The crawler turned ponderously and rolled down towards the communications shelter and its antenna, sending shells at 30-second intervals into the holes it passed.

Two of its crewmembers, tucked amidst the cargo at the front of the crawler, attempted to pick off stray miners. They were armed with something that fired large explosive rounds, powerful enough to kill or incapitate with a single hit. Fortunately for the miners, most of the shots went wide enough that the only effect they felt was burns- and quite a few metal slivers.

****************************

The gunner of the buggy kept up suppressive fire as the driver, armed with the same sort of spring-loaded weapon the captain of the driller had worn, advanced slowly towards the nearest hole.

The numbers of the miners was growing less as men fell from either suppressive fire or the mortar, which had taken a heavy toll on the defenders. As yet another blast rocked the encampment, the machine gunner slumped forwards, shrapnel leaving a bloody hole through his throat.

But as quickly as his body fell back, last breath gurgling from his open throat, another security man jumped forwards. The heavy machine gun began rattling again, bullets pinging off the mortar mounted atop the crawler. The longer they hit in one place, the longer one could see the effect the heavy bullets were having on the mortar’s mount. Metal weakened, stress fractures crept up, and dents slowly spread across the weapon.

Meanwhile, the buggy was taking a heavy toll in miners and was seen as a threat to be removed immediately. Two miners crept forwards, satchel charges ready to throw. One man, seen through the dust long enough by the dismounted driver of the vehicle to target, received a large explosive device through the chest. AS his body dissolved into a fleshy pulp, the explosives he carried went off in a thunderous roar. There would be no body to recover from that miner.

His compatriot continued to creep forward until he was within range, view obscured by the dust but not enough he couldn’t see the tracers from the buggy’s machine guns. With all his strength, he threw the improvised satchel charge as far as he could at the buggy and dropped flat to the ground. That bag carried 5 kilos of octol, a substance still in military use in many countries for artillery and tank shells. He didn’t want to be anywhere near it when the charge blew.

As these acts of resistance were happening, miners began revealing themselves momentarily as they began to open up with suppressive fire on the crawler’s crewmembers firing the shrapnel-spewing devices and the buggy that had been firing at them. Grimy with soot, dirt, and dust, the men blended into the desert about as well as you could expect them. And as the men with long range weapons fired, the miners hiding with satchel charges either crawled forwards or waited in their hiding places.

Not much the miners had could take down a vehicle as heavily armored as the crawler. 5 kilos of octol could sure as hell make a dent though.

******************

As the sounds of battle raged outside, Clarke rocked back and forth inside the explosives storage cell. Buried underground so its base and base vents were inside the dirt, the structure was composed of military grade armor two feet thick. Here as stored hundreds of kilograms of octol, blasting caps, and thermite. This was a literal powder keg ready to go off.

There was no light and the building, due to its thick construction, was cooler than the outside by a number of degrees. Clarke ran his foot through the dust as he gazed at a small computer screen. It was a heat and video camera read-out channeling in real time to the computer he held. He could see anything approach the explosives storage area for a good two hundred feet. In his hand, he held a dead-man’s switch connected to every blasting cap he could find. The minute he either let go of the device or pushed the large red button, up would go close to 2,000 kilos of octol and innumerable amounts of thermite and blasting caps.

Clarke had never thought he was going to die for his country. He had never even considered dying for his race. But it appeared he would be sacrificing himself in order to give some warning to his fellow countrymen and, indeed, his fellow humans.

The buggy buckled and twisted as the blast from the satchel charge hit it. Fortunately for the miner, most of the shrapnel flew away from him. Fortunately for the buggy's gunner, he only suffered a moment of pain before his gun's exploding ammunition turned him into carbonized shreds.

***************************

The miners' bullets proved fairly ineffective against the two crew members on the front of the crawler, as they had chosen a firing spot from which they could easily take cover behind the crawler's load. One of them was not quite fast enough, however, and caught two rounds in his right side, puncturing a lung and several more less vital organs.

The mortar kept up fire even as the machine gun pounded it. The heavy machine gun's operator saw a brief flash of red as the crawler's computerized ranging devices bounced a laser beam off his weapon; moments later, a shellful of high explosive came whistling down from the sky.

The mortar fired once more, lobbing another shellful of shrapnel with deadly accuracy into a holeful of miners, before groaning ominously and exploding as the gunner attempted to fire another round. The mortar and its mount blasted off the crawler and landed as twisted wreckage, killing the gunner and putting a foot-deep dent in the crawler's armored cabin.

**********************************

The miners with satchel charges had more luck then the hapless machine gunner. A few of them were picked off by the crew members riding amidst the cargo, but most got close enough to lob their charges under the crawler. As the octol charges hammered against its underbelly, the crawler lurched, hissed alarmingly, faltered. Then it speeded up, its driver maxing the throttle for a last desperate run.

The crawler rolled across the sand towards the communications shelter, leaving a trail of twisted parts and broken components behind it. Although it moved deceptively slow and lost power by the second, its massive inertia carried it towards the shelter-
-over the shelter-
-and into the shelter as its weight won out over reinforced walls, smashing the shelter and its occupants into a flattened mass of rubble.

Its engines sparked and died. Four more crew members clambered cautiously out of the cockpit, wielding SMGs and assault rifles. The assault rifles in particular had a scarily wide bore, firing 12-millimeter bullets with enough punch to kill with a single hit. And unlike the 20mm guns, the rifles seldom missed.

******************

As the crew of the disabled crawler opened fire on the remaining miners, the driver of the downed bugger made his way cautiously towards the nearest miner emplacement.

Mumbling a prayer to Whoever might be listening, the driver armed, aimed, threw a grenade on an arc into the emplacement, then leaped forward, sawbow at the ready to dispatch the survivors- hopefully before they dispatched him.

It was the same old story, as much of the battle had been up to the point in time during which a grenade came sailing over the embankment the three miners crouched behind. An enemy, hidden in the shifting sands, lobbing explosives and picking off miners one after another with explosive blasts and shrapnel.

As the groans of the wounded miner drifted out over the small furrow, the blood of the dead man ran along the concrete bottom, around the work boots of the only uninjured miner in the small sheltered area. The boots, gritty with the red sand swirling everywhere, didn’t change in color and only grew a bit damp on the outside. The miner who wore them never even noticed.

He as the most nervous he’d ever been in his life, an assault rifle clutched in shaky arms. He almost imagined he heard something crunching across the packed sand towards his enclosure. It was probably paranoia, but if he was wrong…. it was better to chance a look, he decided.

As he stood up, the last sight he saw was a shape hurtling towards him, then a whistling sound- then silence and a bright light. “Odd,” thought the young man, “I didn’t think the crawler or the camp had turned on their lights.” The light quickly engulfed the entire area.

***************

The dust and bloodstained lizard stood in the small concrete-lined mining furrow. The human lying next to him with the blade through his throat had appeared out of nowhere, and just as quickly received a deathblow that nearly severed his spine and overtook him before he could react. The previously dead man lay there, blood having stopped trickling from his neck. The groans of the wounded man continued to travel down the trench. When he would stop, who knew? The driver decided that now would be as good a time as any, and readied his weapon. But as he stepped towards the man, a distant rumbling filled everyone’s ears. And then the Earth fell in.

***************

Clarke had been watching the battle’s outcome on his screens. So as he watched the last remaining miners slowly begin to be cut down in the devastating crossfire coming from the men in the downed crawler, it became clear to him it was nearly time. Muttering a quick prayer, he checked the switch yet again for the priming signal. It was on, as it had been for the last half hour, its red light a steady, unblinking reminder of what was about to happen.

The lizard moving towards the door of the storage shed he sat in caused Clarke to shut off his monitors and look towards the door. An assault rifle cautiously poked in, followed by the wary form of one of the lizards. Clarke grinned as he slowly stood up. “Hey, Lizard- see you in hell!” Clarke pushed the button.

The force of the thousands of kilograms of explosives going up was massive, enough to turn the entire surrounding shed complex into whizzing shrapnel. Of course, effects were also heightened by the fact that the mining camp sat atop a Khrrckian tunnel. As the force of the explosion billowed out, the entire ground began to heave convulsively, as jagged rocks pushed up and the entire battlefield cracked threateningly. And s it collapsed in on itself, the pillar of fire shooting up into the sky made certain that someone would catch what was happening- be they underground or in the air. Not that it would matter, really. The force of the entire camp being buried in rock after a 20-foot fall would surely kill almost any infantry soldier, human or otherwise, meaning rescue wouldn’t matter.

"Crawler Two, this is Crawler One. Come in. Do you read me?"

"Crawler Two, come in."

"Look at that cloud over there, commander. Not even a crawler could have survived that. And our Geigers are screaming. If any of them are still alive, they've already been dosed badly."

The commander sighed. He did not especially miss any of the crewmembers that had perished in the blast. What he did miss was Crawler Two. She had been a good machine, and he would never see her again. Plus there was the matter of some millions of Shards' worth of lost cargo. He would be fighting off the creditors for a long time.

"Hold position and send in someone. Shielded, of course. I have a report to make, and I want to see just what killed that crawler."

***********************************

"Hello? This is Dispatch."

"This is Commander Zakh, convoy 12-I-6. The threat is most definitely dead."

"Have you figured out which clan it was?"

"No clan, Dispatch. These were humans. There's not much left of the camp. They apparently detonated some large quantity of explosives, and the entire site has collapsed into the underlying tunnel. Crawler Two was destroyed in the blast."

"Humans? But... Who would be stupid enough to invade?"

"The whole place is pretty hot. Two's reactor ruptured. But I sent in a crew to take pictures. Looks like they were miners. I looked up the few logos that were actually readable. Comes from a country called Samtonia. Didn't ring a bell, so I looked them up, too. Turns out they're our eastern neighbors. Never said anything, never had any diplomatic relations with us. I suspect that they didn't even know we were here."

"Well, with the mess you've stirred up, I doubt they will be friendly. I'll see if I can get a patrol sent over there in case they come looking for trouble."

"Let's hope they don't. Those were some rather heavily armed miners."

[ooc: Bumpage!]

Samtonian Eastern Defensive HQ, Owen Duchy. Three weeks later
Another blast of ink sprayed out as the rubber stamp came down again. And again. And again. Three hundred times it had gone up and come down on the morass of papers and forms submitted. Forty times it had been rolled in the fresh ink to replenish its life. The crisp, shining words of the stamp stood almost off the pages, their black letters forming what was positive joy to Colonel Mathers. Accepted

It had taken three weeks after receiving the call for the pencil pushers to verify it was an actual emergency and not a bunch of crazed miners. It had taken, during that time, more than 4,000 forms and orders, most filed in triplicate, all tedious and long, to enable the one regiment to be sent as aid. One regiment. It wasn’t even a full out regiment, being drawn up in part of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry of the 17th Division(MECH) and of the 1st Armored of the 17th Division(ARM) It was composed of infantry in their assorted carriers, light and medium tanks, a few anti-air vehicles, and an abysmally small number of main battle tanks. At full speed, the column and its associated supply vehicles could make progress of about 140 km per day in the dusty wasteland.

Estimated time to arrival at the mining encampment? A matter of days. However, Mathers was not thrilled. His units weren’t working together in a manner he’d have liked, with armored and mechanized units staying apart. The men were almost all green, with few troops and even fewer NCOs having had any battle experience. And of course supplies were only enough for about a week, at the very most.

The operation was supposed to be a quick verification mission. What Colonel Mathers and his superiors were to find out was that it was to be anything but.

"I see them."

The small CRT screen showed a view from a camera buried in the ruins of the mining encampment.

The screen was mounted inside the control cabin of a warcrawler. The patrol had arrived before the Samtonian forces, its dispatch involving nothing more than a few minutes' conversation between officers.

"What does it look like?"

"Mechanized infantry, mostly. Tanks, APCs, human infantrymen."

The war crawlers, unlike their cargo-carrying brethren, were studded with weaponry. A pair of howitzers were mounted on either side of the armored cabin, while four anti-aircraft guns guarded the perimeter. On the rear half of the vehicle, two racks of twelve anti-tank and anti-air missiles stood ready for launch, along with a third, heavier howitzer.

The patrol consisted of three of the warcrawlers, along with four buggies and a Helix.

"All right. I suppose we have to make sure they're hostile. Send Buggy One out to meet them. And tell the Helix to hide. I suspect they won't want to talk."

************************

A minute or so later, a buggy, identical to those that had attacked the encampment, crested the dune and rolled towards the advancing Samtonian force.

Survey site AA-37
The real challenge was not in setting up the daily patrols. Nor was it in keeping all the equipment functional through the red, dusty desert. Nor was it even making sure the water rations were at the appropriate level. No, the biggest challenge that Colonel Mathers found was attempting to keep maps open and usable in a speeding APC.

Survey maps. Satellite imagery. Road maps. Tectonic maps. Maps of every type, every size, every location along the way and around the drilling site. And with his full staff giving and receiving orders, attempting to look at maps of their own and move around the small counters denoting his units, the scene inside the more heavily armored command vehicle was one of chaos the entire trip.

Mathers was glad that said trip was now over. As soon as his scouts returned from their patrol, they would easily be able to commandeer some tents or larger shelters. And then would begin the investigation into who sent the insanely garbled messages or where the mining group had gone to. Lizards indeed…..it seemed more as if the miners had gotten attacked by heavy liquor.

Attempting to fold a map back up, the Colonel gave up and simply pushed it aside. As he was wrestling with another map of the area one of his subordinates turned from across the armored crew compartment and yelled something, whatever it was lost in the sudden squawk of static that squealed across the speakers inside the vehicle.

“Sorry sir,” apologized the communications officer, momentarily readjusting something on his station. “I thought you might want to have the comms patched over from the reconnaissance group you sent forward.”

Colonel Mathers nodded his thanks. “Simms. Make sure to keep the regimental net open, just in case.” Turning, he moved back to the maps, while the radio chatter of the recon unit flowed over the speakers of the command vehicle.

“Approaching waypoint three. Hawley, take point. “

“Got it sir. We’re cresting the ridge and….holy shit sir! There ain’t nothing left!”

“Hawley, clarify! Next three vehicles, immediate halt!”

“There’s nothing left! Just a crater with sand and ruins of buildings!”

“Squads two, three, advance with APC support. Hawley, MacGruder, take flank. And get that tank platoon up front! Eyes open people. Eyes open. Recon and back. I want eyes on the ground, you hear me?”

Mathers was by now simply listening. Something was certainly amiss. Ruined encampment, no miners in sight….the job would be made easier without the swirling dust that played havoc with some sensors. “Get the order out. Immediate halt to the rest of the regiment, defensive posture. I want three tank platoons ready to move in for support at a moment’s notice. Heavies in center, mediums out front!”

“You heard the man. Get the regiment in place!” And as the orders went out over regimental radio net, the recon group continued moving forward.

”Nothing in sight Captain. There’s nothing moving here. This sight’s been rubble for at least a week, from the dust buildup. However, sir, there were signs of a battle. We’ve got spent ammo casings, ruined weapons, blast craters scattered around.”

“Sarge, keep moving forwards. I want the center of the large blast investigated.”

“Sir, we’ve got some type of vehicle approaching! Buggy, large tires. No idea on armor or driver.”

“Squad, hit dirt! Armaments?”

“There’s guns. Looks like some type of heavy MG. Radio mast. There’s a gunner. Bit more exposed.”

“We’ve got him sergeant. He have time to get anything out?”

“No captain. Don’t know if he’s seen us.”

“I’m going to get orders on this. Just a minute sarge.”

But Colonel Mathers had already interrupted. “Disable it Captain. We need to find out what the hell happened. And I can sure as hell bet that whoever’s driving it both knows what went on and probably participated somehow.”

”First platoon, this is Captain Hernandez. Vehicle at point three is to be disable immediately. Shoot for the radio mast and the tires, weapon to follow.”

+++++++++++++
The weapons of three APCs opened up immediately on the approaching buggy. The 30mm cannons wouldn’t fire anything too large, but their projectiles had some armor piercing capability and the cannons could fire a very large amount of shells in a very short amount of time with rather excellent accuracy.

It was hoped that the disabled vehicle would not be able to get a message out or speed away. Of course, to the infantrymen hugging the ground, it was hoped that the weapon was immediately blown off and no more vehicles lurked nearby….

OOC: I'll give you some "Exotic creatures"...

OOC: Closed thread, Mini.

"They've spotted the buggy. They're- Shit."

"What?"

"They've started shooting. Nothing we can't handle. All crawlers load and prepare to fire on my mark. Encrypt and give our Com-Com your fire control. We'll need the extra precision for this one."

"Better hurry. They'd have to be insane not to call for backup."

"MARK!"

****************************

"This is Buggy One, repeat, this is B-One. We're under heavy fire from a couple APCs here-"

The buggy came to a halt quickly as its unarmored tires blew and its radio mast was sheared off. The more heavily armored weapon swiveled to face the infantry, but not before its barrel had been mangled beyond use.

Unfortunately for the Samtonian troops, it was not alone.

****************************

Com-Com for crawler One online. Fire conrol accepted from C-Two and C-Three. Grid plotted and mapped to Camera One's image. Plotter One has located the beetles. Aimed, loaded, and primed. Fire One.

The bark of artillery sounded from over the nearest dune. Once. Twice. Three times.

CA-One shows a hit on target. Reloading. Aimed, loaded, and primed. Dropping one on the grunts. Fire Two.

With uncanny precision thanks to the hidden camera, the warcrawlers' guns had dropped a single shell on each of the three lead APCs. They followed it up with a fourth bark and a shellful of shrapnel into the center of the cowering infantry.

P-One reports Helix One as one-fifty meters to position. H-One reports full power to both screws, full ammo, armor nominal, seals nominal. ETA seventy-five seconds.

The sand shifted slightly.

[OOC: Um, bumpage?]

"…Shit! Buggies Alpha and Bravo down, we’re taking in sand…"

"Team Alpha to Team Charlie! Team Alpha to Team Charlie! We’ve got casualties multiplying, requesting immediate assistance."

"Recon screen is advancing. Team Bravo in position, Team Alpha taking heavy casualties."

"…It just hit us! Delawney is fething gone! He’s gone! Requesting orders!"

"…Artillery heading at 96-degree azimuth, bearing alpha-16…"

***********

It was the curse of every field commander, data overload. The good commanders could work around it, the bad succumbed to it. Colonel Mathers was no master tactician, but he was o political appointee either. As such, his was one of the stereotypes within all militaries: the Order Follower. He was an officer who could not deviate from set plan or standard strategy. This often proved to be little error, however in many cases it could prove to be quite fatal. This was one of those cases.

***********

"This is Command. Recon screen, secure abandoned outpost. I want that squadron of tanks to push forward! Get anything that’s mobile out of the area! And blanket the surroundings with artillery. Standard tactical doctrine"

"Team Alpha, secured control of Ruin 1."

"Team Bravo, Ruin 2 is secure"

"This is Artillery Battery Tango, beginning covering bombardment"

"Tanks 2 and 3, on mark, leapfrog over that hill"

*************

It was an intricate game of chess, where neither opponent could see the pieces upon the board. Under the withering bombardment, the infantrymen pushed forward into the abandoned buildings of the outpost. While they pushed out of the artillery fire, the tank platoons skirted around it, heading for the opposite side of the crater. Ahead of them, a rolling artillery barrage punctuated the gloom of the storm with its staccato cries, massive geysers of sand blowing up in the path it took.

The ground began to shake.


[OOC- Had to steal the color idea for radio signals. You bloody genius you.]

Hits confirmed. Kills confirmed with Cam-1. Soldiers in Cam-1 area. Neutralizing.

A well-placed shrapnel charge under the soldiers occupying what was temporarily dubbed "Ruin 2" heard a brief radio squeal, and dutifully killed everything outside a vehicle and within forty feet.

Warning. Advancing tanks. Artillery. Plotting artillery arc...

The path of an artillery shell- unpowered and strictly mathematically predictable as it is- serves as an excellent means for locating the artillery itself. Generally, your average enemy doesn't have the ultra-accurate radar and supercomputing ability needed for such a feat, but your average enemy isn't a Khrrck warcrawler group.

Full barrage. H-1, engage the approaching tanks.

A rapid fusilliade of nine howitzer shells arced up- and down- into a spread pattern across the offending artillery battery.

Under the tanks' treads, the sand shifted.

***************************

The sand crept.

***************************

The sand flowed.

***************************

The sand split apart around a nose of brassy metal. Twin screws exposed themselves as the vehicle rammed against the belly of a rearguard tank-

***************************

The sand flew as the tank was point-blanked in the belly armor with an armor-piercing explosive round from thirty centimeters.

***************************

Helix One, confirmed kill.

Mathers stood in the ruins of what had once been his command tank. The cries of the dying and the staccato of automatic rifle fire could be heard throughout the gloom, but they were but the last gasps of the finishing act. The destruction of the artillery had doomed the force. The attack of the massive underground crawler had been enough to shatter the force that remained.

Mathers’ tank had taken an armor piercing round to the softer underbelly. The force of the explosion had flipped it over, crushing the few crew who hadn’t died instantly. It was a complete surprise for the enemy to come from underneath, almost equaling the surprise of another detachment appearing behind the recon force and closing the circle. Mathers had seen his tankers perishing under the explosive blast of high-powered shells and heard the screams of the infantry as they were both crushed underfoot and eviscerated by some of the saw blade-firing weapons that the enemy carried.

The sharp bark of whatever gun his unseen enemy had been using still carried, while the slackening Samtonian fire told Mather that the battle was very nearly at an end. He tried to get up, willed himself to crawl out of the flaming rubble, but his legs failed him. He wished even more fervently that he had use of his body as a squad of them appeared in front of him. Unfortunately, he blacked out shortly after seeing the things that had captured him- giant lizards. Giant, tough lizards toting automatic weapons.

The unexpected arrival of an Ironscale convoy, and the subsequent encircling of the Samtonian force, slammed home a decisive victory and promotion for Patrol Commander Tyrak. The only stain on his record? Three Samtonian tanks and a supply vehicle had escaped the battle.

******

The room was small.

The room was bare.

The room contained a shackled Mathers and a Wyrm.

"Tell uss what you werre doing in our country."

Click.

"Now."

******

This just in.

A statement issued by Govcentral today states that our eastern neighbor, Samtonia, is preparing to launch an invasion. Clan militaries are going on alert for what will hopefully be a short conflict.

Up next: The third round of the Games Without Frontiers finals. Also: A look into the recent Fodian incident.

“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,”
William Shakespeare, As You Like It


The crawlers trundled forward, through the mists of creeping sand that they called their home and forward along the thin ribbon of pavement that stretched from Sarnath to points Westward. They followed the hub and they followed it back to its starting point. To Sarnath. To Samtonia. To doom for millions and salvation for many millions more. And not one of the crew inside the crawlers realized this.

Nor did the Ground Interception squadron that waited languidly above in the summer sky, Thunderhawks circling lazily about in a variety of holding patterns. The group had been re-routed the moment that the thin tails of dust that had been kicked up by the crawlers was picked up and was simply anxious about the time they had been forced to wait.

Mother Goose, this is Goose One. When the fuck are we going to be able to start shooting?

Goose One, this is Mother Goose. Unless you want your ass busted down to the Suburpeaian penal colonies, I suggest you sit tight.

Roger that Mother Goose. Would just like to suggest you stop sitting on that egg, it appears to be jammed up something.

I shouldn’t even give you this clearance after that, but Duchelle says weapons free. Be sure not to fuck your squaddies till you get back to base, k?


***********************************************************************
The Interceptors(Ground/Attack Variant) dove out of the sky, targeting computers already locked in. The first sign something was wrong was onboard the lead crawler, as its radar unit began sounding the alarm. The tasks were entirely automated; before the crew even had time to react, SAMs were already launching towards the afterburners of the Thunderhawk I-GAs. Not that this saved the crew in the least- by the time the first plane had started its run, it was already dead.

Cluster munitions blanketed the area, shattering the top armor of the two lead crawlers and sending thick smoke billowing out into the sky. Armor-piercing rounds flew into the shells of more crawlers as the column hastily attempted to spill itself out of the killing formation. The planes turned around for another pass, their engines thrumming the pulse of death. And again, planes roared overhead, crawlers exploded One!Two!Three!, but one of the attackers also staggered, fire spreading along a wings, then spiraling downward with the hapless automaton.

The Crawlers were reversing, leaving the shattered husks of eight of their patrol behind on the blacktop, leaving the spent ammunition casings along the desert, leaving the burning wreckage of Lt. Edwin Castie and his bird along on the wasteland.

The prelude had ended- now the curtain would be open and the pit would play along as the macabre act unfolded. The burning pyres would be the onlookers now as Death’s masterpiece of theater unfolded.

Neo, sooner or later you're going to realize just as I did that there's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.
Morpheus, The Matrix

Some gods may cross your path, but why should gods be beautiful? They could also be frightening.
Jeanne Moreau


“Aten-shun!” The snap of arms that followed the cry echoed like yet another crack of the whip that had been beating General Deschain senseless ever since his command had entered the dusty, bleary crossroads of yet another nameless, faceless town so prevalent along the dusty West. As the column drew near the spires of Sarnath, it seemed that every step, every wheel that turned beneath the armored companies which rode with him as his forerunners drew ever closer to his goal.

Not Sarnath. Never Sarnath. It had come to him, in waking and in dreaming. Sarnath was to be a place of death, unbidden and unstopped. His goal lay somewhere else along the dusty road they followed. Perhaps it was long past. He was still constrained to search.

By what, he did not know. He knew as little as his men knew what was wracking him, causing him to grow ever more detached and introspective. And so Abel sat, he brooded. He willingly fought the forces that he himself arrayed against his own psyche. Because he knew. He knew that there was a goal, there was a clearing at the end of his path; this clearing contained naught but doom for him.

These thoughts were stifled at every waking moment, but rushed to the forefront of his mind as he walked along the crackling sands that surrounded the laager. Houses, long abandoned by whatever corporation had thrown them up, stood in stark contrast to the desert sands, their sun-bleached whiteness mottled only by the patches of the ebony sand. Timeworn, tired- the world had moved on.

He paused at the entrance to one, knowing that he would have to enter and dreading it all the same. A dusty sigh came rushing out of the house, stirring the creeping plants that still eked out their life from the barren ground he stood in. Abel stepped in the door, the floorboards protesting against the first contact they had gained in long years. This was the place where answers would be given- it remained time’s job to deign whether the questions should be given as well.

He stood there, looking at the utilitarian room. The single chair within it was occupied, an old crone looking up at him with time-rimmed features. She was as much a part of the shanty as his arm was a part of him. “You have answers for me,” he stated, not questioning. Merely remarking.

“That I do,” she answered in her rheumy voice. “Mark them well, Abel Deschain. This is not the end of your path- that locale is ever distant still. Yet this palaver still does us well and mark it you will.”

Abel gazed down at her, dust already settling on his uniform. “Then let us palaver.”

The hag laughed. “Beware Sarnath! A creeping horror soon rises to engulf it. Death. But not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct. May I be brutally frank? You go on. Your path is studded with the confluences of others. Lo, and these shall be thine brothers as your journey draws. The Fool. The Child. The Damned. Death, my fine gunslinger! Death for your goals, death for your path, death for your companions. But never for you.”

Deschain stumbled out of the house into the rapidly rising dust storm. One order was all that was needed. The corps sped on into the rising winds, the last scream of gears finally quieting down and sending Expeditionary Mining Camp #19 back into the silence in which it rested.

"This is Backup calling Scout. Come in, Scout."

...

"Come on. Are you guys out there?

"...fzzt...jkswrt...fuck."

"Scout?"

"We're here. Sort of here. We got hit by ground attack. The fucking planes took out eight crawlers before we could fight them off."

...

"This is not going to be a fast war... We're on our way. Meet up at the place we agreed upon."

"Roger roger... Then we pound those fuckers into a smoking crater."

"You got it. Backup out."

******

The convoy ground its way slowly across the desert. Their armor clanked as they hit bumps and irregularities in the ground.

A phalanx of eight heavy crawlers surrounded the perimeter; in the center was a mobile launch platform and the two crawlers that carried its load of warplanes.

Fifteen of the convoy's thirty medium tanks brought up the rear. The other fifteen, rigged with dozer blades, were formed up in a flying V ahead of the convoy, clearing a relatively flat path for the ungainly launch platform to traverse.

They would meet up with the remaining four scout crawlers in about three hours. An hour of rest and planning, and then the final push towards Target #1: Sarnath.

3rd Expeditionary Corps, Sarnath Sector
This would be easy. Just smash the small force that had been spotted by the attack planes, then pose for the cameras as the conquering heroes. Brigadier General Aldenhor could think of nothing other than his expected commendations, medals, and heroic front page spreads on newspapers across the country. His major error (only one among many) was this narcissistic focus on his own accomplishments, often to the detriment of his post and men.

That was the state of Western Defensive Sector, with its chain of command riddled with incompetentcy, laziness, and just plain apathy. Which would, in hindsight, be judged quite unforgivingly and be the subject of numerous purges in said command structure. That, however, is at a far later date in time than this, in which Aldenhor was about to find out his dreams would not come to fruition. Indeed, they would be brought crashing rather violently down on his head.

His advance units simply disappeared from the communications net. The first armored tendrils into that area also met a similar fate. Soon, Aldenhor found his units (most of what was in the Sarnath Sector) completely overwhelmed by a force of very heavy vehicles that he had never encountered before and numerous aircraft. His frantic cries for air support were answered, but the outnumbered and terribly organized air force units that responded were overwhelmed almost as quickly as the Corps that had been decisively routed by a force no more than half their size.

As crawlers cautiously pushed forward past mangled and burning wreckage, the bodies of both men and lizard scattered across what had been a military corps (though mostly men), they passed the charred wreckage of numerous tanks and APCs, with smashed planes added in for good measure. APCs had been blown to pieces without warning and entire squads still burned inside, the pitiful cries of some unfortunates who were still alive almost drowned out by the chittering noise of their squad-mates burning beside them.

The advancing screen of Lizard infantry found the remains of Aldenhor half outside his tank, trying to crawl from the blast that had burned off half his body and killed his crew. His scorched and mangled features testified to the apocalyptic force that had been visited upon his command vehicle, and his painful expression testified to how severe a mauling he himself had taken from the explosion before passing away. A photographer had managed to get a picture of the dying man, and was even now falling back to Sarnath with the pitiful remains of the Corps he had accompanied.

It was almost total destruction of the majority of forces in the sector. Nothing stood between the lizards and Sarnath but the miles they would need to travel to reach it.

They could hear them coming.

The first sound was the sound of the jets, screaming overhead at 300 MPH. The second sound was that of the cannons, raining depleted uranium across what sorry remnants of General Aldenhor's forces still took up camp in the ruined city.

Then the planes banked and turned back, leaving only the groans of the wounded behind them.

******

The third sound was the sound of the artillery. First came the whistle of the falling projectile. It was almost peaceful compared to the harsh bark of the aircraft cannons. A sharp-eyed observer could have glanced up and seen black dots falling through the air.

Then the shells hit, precisely spotted by the cameras of the aircraft, and they made a noise. A noise indescribably loud and powerful, like Satan's own howitzers attacking the gates of Heaven. Later, a few of the more shell-shocked survivors would say that a chunk of Sarnath simply disappeared beneath the impact of the heavy guns, as if some monster had taken a bite out of the city. A second barrage followed, and another, and another, slowly hammering buildings flat along a path towards the center.

******

The fourth sound was the sound of the tanks, crashing full tilt through the ruins of the city outskirts. The dozer-bladed models plowed ahead, clearing a path through the rubble wide enough for a heavy crawler to pass, while the lighter models skirted along both sides of the flattened path, machine-gun turrets scanning the edges for signs of resistance.

None was expected.

In the middle distance, the crawlers appeared, side armor down to cover their treads, guns elevated and ready to rain shrapnel down on any Samtonian soldier foolish enough to show themselves.

OOC: The same idea as it was made so many NS years ago.

[OOC: Eh? What?]