NationStates Jolt Archive

THE SUCCESSION WARS, VOLUME TWO: BRING YOUR DAUGHTER

OOC: You know who you are from the signup thread, but this is open. Observe, and let’s roll.

OOC Thread link: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=492052


“When I was living this lie
Fear was my game
People would worship and fall
Drop to their knees
So bring me the blood and red wine
For the one to succeed me
For he is a man and a god
And he will die too...”
-Powerslave, by Iron Maiden

“And I swear to defend,
And we’ll fight to the end;
And I swear that I’ll never be taken alive,
And I know we will stand and fight for the land...”
-The Clansman, by Iron Maiden

IC:

The Empire resounds with war. The Empire burns, and the pyres of millions set the world ablaze. Watch, listen, for the god-king burns also.

The Sacred Emperor is one with the Imperium, and the Imperium is one with the Sacred Emperor.

Withdraw the keystone, and everything crumbles.

Sacred Emperor Lucifer, supreme and divine ruler of the Imperium, smiled to himself as the room silenced at his arrival. The occupants, though they were some of the most powerful men in the world, stood and bowed their heads to him, waiting for his gesture to sit down again. The men around the table were the members of the High Command, consisting of the heads of the military, the Inquisition, and the Intelligence Division, meeting to discuss the Imperial strategy during the ongoing Succession Wars. Lucifer sat at the carved wooden throne at the head of the table, leaned forward, and glanced around before beginning.

“Gentlemen, since the Battle of Mazellian, it is obvious that the Succession Wars have begun. Low-profile skirmishes have been taking place, as I am sure you are all aware, at the Cadian Gate, the banks of the River Arcan, at the border of Kun-Dra and Kesh, and across the Empire in general. Full-scale war is expected to begin soon. Asmodeus has bombed the capitals of every High Lord; Ishamael is exchanging bombardments with Avaru; and Jahvan’s submarine fleet has submerged, their location unknown. Luckily, the configuration of the naval defenses near Korronis has been changed, or the enemy could sail directly into the Korronis ports.

“The Imperium must take the initiative in the early stages of the war, or we will be at the mercy of our foes. Lord Rahvin is currently in Mon Serat, directing the Fourth Army, and is awaiting our decision. Gentlemen, your recommendations?”

Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal, commander-in-chief of the navy, spoke a few moments after Lucifer finished. “Great Lord, I suggest we remove High Lord Jahvan and, if possible, Asmodeus from the equation as soon as we can. Ishamael and Avaru are too well entrenched to destroy quickly, but the quicker we reclaim rebel territory, resources, and infrastructure, the quicker the war will be resolved in our favor. We must smash Jahvan’s fleet on the high seas, Great Lord, smash it quickly, and blockade his territory. At the same time, our armies must penetrate his lands; he is ill equipped to fight a land war.”

Supreme General Harrst Tu-Scart, CIC of the air force, added, “We also must use lightning air raids to destroy his mobility. We should target railroads, highways, and airports early on, and out maneuver his ground forces.”

Generals around the table nodded, and Lord High Inquisitor Kreegan, head of the Inquisition, spoke up. “Meanwhile, let us not forget that this very city, though based on mighty foundations, is being nibbled away at by Asmodeus’s terrorists. Based in the low-income districts, they strike and disrupt the order things in our holy Korronis. Great Lord, I submit that we must, to support our offensives elsewhere, secure Korronis by rooting out this infestation of heresy.”

“Agreed, High Inquisitor,” Lucifer replied.

“Divine One, you know that we have been taking captives for months now, and we believe that we have exposed the terrorists at last. We know who they are, and to whom they report. I advise that the garrison be ordered to find and shoot on sight these rebels and fiends. With Korronis secure, Asmodeus will be weakened, and we can continue this policy across the Empire to break his networks. What is your will, then, Great Lord?”

Lucifer thought about it briefly, then nodded once. “The Legions will be sent into the city tonight. Next, inform the Jipleastani admiral of our plan to break Jahvan, and have the fleets prepare to leave; also, have High Lord Rahvin finish the preparations that I have had him begin already, as both of us anticipated the need to attack Jahvan.

“Meanwhile, gentlemen, one last thing before we move on. Before, there was only limited international involvement in Kregaia. However, with the escalation that will soon occur, old friends and old enemies may soon be knocking on our door, and we really have no idea which side they will support. Simply keep the coastal defenses on alert, and be vigilant.”

***

When they were gone, hours later, Lucifer went to the bar and grabbed a bottle of Scotch, guzzling it down. He paused to select a cigar from an aromatic box, trim it, and light it, and then took another massive swig of liquor. Gazing into space, his mind churned endlessly. Rising mutely, the Sacred Emperor puffed on his cigar as he strode from the room. The world slid and bent as his eyes struggled to perceive his surroundings...telltale signs of exhaustion. Fuck it. He hadn’t slept for more than an hour a night since taking the throne, several years ago now, and he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. When the nightmares had discovered that he wasn’t sleeping, they came to entertain him in his waking hours too. No one could get used to that. As he passed a mirror, he looked in on impulse.

Two faces stared back at him. One grinning, laughing in savage triumph, and a second...A second staring blankly, smiling slightly, mockingly, and bleeding from a bullet wound in the forehead.

The Sacred Emperor stood for a minute, then tossed his head back and laughed. Death. Poor, overrated Death. He was the Sacred Emperor, and who was this Death that just did not understand? That did not understand his divinity, the god-essence in his soul?

Madman.

The thought came unbidden into Lucifer’s head, and he listened. It built, echoing, resounding, until his head rang with the thundering epithet.

Madman. Madman. Madman. MADMAN. MADMAN. MADMAN. MADMAN.

He laughed again. So what? Madmen got things done. Madmen didn’t limit themselves to one voice in their head. Madmen had advisors, gods, demons, lots of voices. Lucifer happened to have the voices of 3.2 billion people, their prayers and supplications, their love and their hatred, all that they were, trying to drown who and what he was. No, he would not sleep tonight. He would listen to the gods and the demons, and he would dance with the madness.

I am the Sacred Emperor. I am Lucifer. Come all, to the mind of the god-king. Dance with me.

I am Lucifer.

I am a god.

***

Night lays heavy on the bloody city.

Korronis never sleeps, though. Not entirely. Korronis pulses with the activity of millions even when those who work in the day sleep, or lie awake watching porn, or drink themselves to death wondering why they were fired, where they went wrong...Korronis works when it is beyond human endurance to continue.

The district is called Southport. The name summarizes its position admirably. Situated behind the port sector that makes up only a part of Korronis’s commercial docks, most people in the district work there, or at the struggling establishments on the streets. Asmodeus has gained eyes and ears here; the system has put these people where they are, and they are not as averse as other Imperial citizens to new ways of thinking. Within twenty-four hours, Southport will be firmly within the iron grasp of the Imperium.

The Legionaries have seen the pictures and know their targets. They know where the terrorists will be at certain times of the night. And so, across Southport, doors begin to be kicked down. Sidewinder armored vehicles secure the streets, 25mm chainguns trained on the houses of their enemies. Helicopters circle above, and on the edges of Southport, roadblocks are set up. No inhabitants of the district will leave while the raids go on.

The terrorists are found, wherever they hide. Some are dragged from basements, from shelters, from hiding-holes. Some fight and are gunned down. Some surrender, are bound, and taken straight to the Inquisition. It doesn’t matter. Southport is Asmodeus’s connection to Korronis, and his eyes and ears are being gouged out and hacked apart.

The total roll of the captured: 72 terrorists, in cells of six men each. During the night, they are tortured by the Inquisition, tortured to the brink of death, and they confess. They are tortured still, and they gasp out names between their screams. They are tortured still, and finally they fall silent but for the screams, empty of information to give. And in the morning, the bodies of 72 former terrorists are sent to a crematorium.



OOC: Here you go. If you’re new, go ahead and pop in from this point, and if you were in Volume One, just continue with whatever you were doing.

bump

Tag for future post

It was almost unheard of that a Legionary actualy woundered just why it was that he was being sent off to certain death. Normally that answer was painfully obvious: For the Glory of Christ and the Empire. That was enough in virtualy every situation. Using that answer here was a bit scetchy however.

How exactly does one fight for the Glory of Christ by defending a pagan regime?

That answer was one that plagued Mighty Caesar when news of a civil war in the Warmaster had arrived. At first he had chosen to ignore the situation and let things run their course. Support for Lucifer was unconditional, of course, and so Caesar thought it quite unfortunate that the rebels had succeeded in creating such havoc in his ally's domain.

With the war raging on across the lands his pilots had previously bled for fighting the Czardaian invaders, he had to show his support somehow.

The solution to this was quite simple. Send a legion. Or two. Or ten. Let them have their fun pillaging and raping the lands of those that would oppose Lucifer in the name of Crusade. Simple, no?

Well, in this case, it was not. With an impending Sarzonian invasion, there was not a single legion that could be spared in this conflict. Even a cohort-sized force would be seriously pushing it, according to the High Command. The solution for the problem?

Well, thought Centurion Marcus Lucius to himself as he stepped off the ramp of the ACI-68E Banshee VTOL transport, Four men are enough to quell a rebellion of thousands according to the High Command.

He and the other three Obsidian Guardsmen at his command had only minutes before landed in the capital of the Imperium. Their weapons were loaded, as they were well aware of the infiltration of enemy terror cells throughout the Imperium. They were ready to kill at the drop of a hat.

Their armor was not ornate in the slightest. It was purely functional. The latest generation of Imperial infantry weaponry was on display for the Warmasterian officer and his men that were coming to greet the newly arrived Doomingslanders: Lucius himself carried a modified DR-83 chambered for the larger 7.8x63mm cartridge, designated the DR-83-II, fed from a twenty-round box magazine meant for an older DR-78 rifle. This weapon mounted a 2-6x maginification scope featuring a combination red dot/TV retical, allowing for it to be utilized both in close quarters and at long distances. An infrared laser and flashlight were also attached.

Sitting in a leg holster was his sidearm, a 10.5x33mm Pwnage Ordnance TD-II. This was a modified version of the 10mm L-26 used by the MassPwnage military designed for use by Imperial special forces. A Doomingsland Defense Industries-built suppresor was attached along with a laser/flashlight attachment on the weapon's rail.

Lucius' comrades were decked out similarly, with slightly differing weapons: one man had a DRS-83 sniper rifle, another a DMG-83-II light machinegun. The one thing they all shared in common was their armor. Their vests utilized both liquid armor, Spectra, artificial spider silk, and ceramic scales to create a flexable yet extremely strong system. Armor was also worn on the legs and arms. Their helmets were similar to the standard Imperial helm, which somewhat reselmbled the helms worn by Roman Legionaries. These helmets featured a built in infrared reciever and radio among other things. Their faces were all shielded behind tactical ballistic shields/visors, which also displayed their HUDs.

Then, of course, the weapons one expected to find a Doomingslander carrying into battle: A Gladius and a Pugio.

The camoflage they wore was a digital woodland pattern used by the rest of the Imperial military which served to shield against infrared and nightvision equipment, making them even more difficult to detect.

Each of the men were well-built and standing at over six feet tall. Lucius himself was the shortest, standing at an even six feet.

Their uniforms were totally devoid of any insignia or name tapes. These men did not exist according to the Imperial Government, and their uniforms reflected that.

"Let me guess, Schnapsemarschall. Another lovely war?"
"Your powers of perception are as irritating as ever, General-Oberst."
"Oh, come on! When do you call the Ober-Kommando together when it isn't a war?"
"The annual new year booze-up?"
"Well, yes, but it isn't new years!"
"Hey Elke, didn't we get laid at last years party?"
"With all possible respect for your rank and achievements, Grössadmiral, shut up or you die."
"Well, the General's virginity aside, this is, as per usual, a civil war in which I intend to intervene, sending in troops in support of the established rule of one Lucifer and burn, loot and rape in the process. The first land unit to be deployed will, as ever, be a company of Schlagtruppen to establish command contact, and the instant we have some idea of the geo-politics, Reichsmarschall Haldwische and I will sort out the strategic air operation. The main thrust of the attack will be carried out by First Fleet and First Marine Brigade..."
"Why the sudden formality? Everyone calls us Eisensturm ."
"This is going down in the minutes."
"I've been putting everything down in the minutes."
General-Oberst Elke Steuben wipped a pistol from under the table.
"You will remove the more sensitive parts of the conversation concerning the Admiral Moltke and myself right now!"
"Yes ma'am! At once ma'am!"
Schnapsemarschall Hallget sighed. The really were energetic, these youngsters.

A ship didn't leave Neverwhere station, principally because there is nowhere called Neverwhere station. It wasn't black, because paint doesn't stick to nothing. Owing to its non-existance, it was failing to carry a company of Schlagtruppen. After several days, helcopters didn't take off from it and leave international waters into the domain of the Warmaster. The following conversation is a fiction.
"So he pulled of this trousers and shouted Actung Panzer!"
"Shut up back there, or do you want to wreck another diplomatic transmition with your crazy war stories!"
"Yes, sir."
The officer opened a communications link and mit the "send button for a standard messag.
"This is a covert operations unit from Boozia, a medium sized country you've probably never heard of. Please get your leader. If you are your leader where can we land? We're here to help. Oh, and please don't tell anyone about this."

tag!

On a popular section of usenet, a message was posted containing a cookie recipe. The recipe contained a link to a small, 5 kilobyte file that would be deleted off of the server in a week. Hidden within the file was a simple message, which was now being read by Major Alexander Szilárd:

"There is rebellion at home and you are being cut off. You are to redesignate yourself as the Death's Head Company. We have set aside $5,000,000,000 for you in the accounts listed in dispatch 532. Your orders are to cause as much chaos as possible until you can negotiate extration on your own terms. You will receive a crate of A. atropos moths at Dierlijke Medische Technologieën, LLC. You are to leave them at all important kills. Good luck."

He set the paper down on the discarded spool serving as a table in this particular safe house, and drummed this fingers rythmically.

"Shit."

OOC: Boozia, I'm going to assume you came up from the south. It'd take quite a bunch of luck for your helicopter not to be initially shot down...but hey.

IC: The pilot of one of the Imperium's F/A-104 Balefires gaped as he saw the helicopter. He and eleven other men had been scrambled, as the systems dedicated to defending Korronis had picked up an unidentified ship and aircraft; apparently they were foreigners, as neither matched any kind of Imperial vessel or aircraft. That was all that had prevented the whole damn First Fleet from tearing out of Korronis and blasting them all apart. Korronis in general was a little trigger-happy, and the morning's raids in Southport had set some of the men on edge even more.

He was about to ask the foreigners what the fuck they thought they were doing, when he picked up a transmission.

"This is a covert operations unit from Boozia, a medium sized country you've probably never heard of. Please get your leader. If you are your leader where can we land? We're here to help. Oh, and please don't tell anyone about this."

Shrugging, he instructed the foreigners to hold to their flight pattern, as the Imperial planes would escort them to Korronis. Meanwhile, he placed a call to his superiors back at the 101st Air Wing base, and finally connected the foreigner with High General M. Shadows, Commander of the Korronis Defense Force, the highest-ranking officer that they could get their hands on. No matter what, until this foreigner was cleared and screened, there was no way they were bothering the Sacred Emperor.

Back in CHARIOT High Command, General Shadows growled into the microphone, "Speak, foreigner. I'm listening, and I'm as good as you'll get. Whatever you want to say to the Sacred Emperor can go through me."

There was silence as they waited for the Boozian reply.

OOC: I understood that when I took off. Boozians do tend to be insensitive reckless, and rather insane. As such, I wont mind a bit if something happens to the chopper.
IC: "Many thanks, whatever your name is."
The chopper took up position within the Warmaster Balefire squadron and followed them to who new what, and the Hauptmann in compiled a reply.
"As we understand it, your country is in the throes of a civil war, and we are here to help the rightful regime, that is, yours, back to power. Okay, so actually, we're here to set fire to stuff and we're aligning ourselves with the faction we most like the look of. My unit has been sent ahead to establish a laison with your military command because no airborne division, no matter how well meaning, should drop into a foreign countrz without an appointment."

Brundeburg was a scurrying hive of action as the Eisensturm marine brigade boarded their transports and steamed out under the protection pf First Fleet, the Lost and the Damned. Cheering friends and family lined the piers, Marineansalt vehicles hauled supplies all around the docks, and sailors filed back aboard their vessels to the beating of their bosuns drums. Before long, the fleet would steam out to international waters and wait for the order to strike.

Mondothian Ministry of Internal Affairs
"Mr. Taqki, We have recieved information from a reputable source that the leader of the Naveiran Secessionists has fled to the Imperium of Warmaster. Currently the Imperium is undergoing an internal conflict and is divided into many factions and we do not know which faction is sheltering the Secessionist."

"Very well," replied Muhhamed Al Taqki, the Chief of Mondoth's internal security bureau of the Internal Affairs Ministry (ooc: FBI equivalent, but with more international jurisdiction). "Contact State and let them know the score, recomend use of military force. Make an example of whoever is sheltering that terrorist."

"Yes sir, I'll get right on it."


Within hours the Ministry of State had alerted the Joint Chiefs with a request for a hostile extraction with prejudice of a terrorist currently under the protection of an unknown faction in the Imperium of the Warmaster.
Not long afterwards, several Battlefleets on deployment to various parts of the world changed course to meet just outside the Imperium's sovereign waters. Bristling with guns and missiles and other military unpleasantness, the fleets would await word on who to attack before proceeding.

Don't stop a moment to think, John,
Our country calls, then go.
Don't fear for me nor the children, John,
I'll care for them, you know!
Leave the corn up on the stalk, John,
The fruit upon the tree,
And all our little stores, John,
Yes, leave them all to me.

It wasn't right. Bastards one the tube said it was but it was never right. Nothing ever happened right over there. Too much of the bad stuff they always said. It just didn't get any worse than that over there did it?

It's not like they weren't gonna help though. By Allah they were gonna help. Every last one of the em too. You see, because Hannibal ibn-Neal was the type of man who took action when the time came.

"Right bad what's happening in Warmaster ain't it lads?"

"Always bad in the big dead world outside nice peaceful green country like ours."

"I'd think so assuredly. Still, me an' Vick Gingerlend down on the corner by the Wal-Mart we're heading out."

"Right sure! Where you heading?"

"Bring some peace to the parched world like water roll down the mountainside."

"Poetic sunnuvabitch."

Then take your gun and go,
Yes, take your gun and go.
For Ruth can drive the oxen, John,
And I can use the hoe.

It wasn't much longer. They just had to finish recruiting really. As of now they had five core folk heading over. Hannibal ibn-Neal, Vick Gingerlend, Mac and Avac O'Brien, and Colleen Shure. A whole mess of others might be making it. They would in fact.

The man behind the desk checked everything off slowly.

"Y'all are of the proper age, your doc said you was fit, and all of your effects is in order. We leave two days time. I just gotta tell y'all I'm proud. Not many young men and women would leave their homes and their college work to go off to some godforsaken nation to do some of God's work."

"Thank ya sir."

"No need for that, this ain't the military. This is the Peace Corps."

I've heard my grandsire tell, John,
He fought at Bunker Hill
He counted all his life and wealth
His country's off'ring still.
Would I shame the brave old blood, John,
That flow'd on Monmouth plain?
No! Take your gun and go, John,
Tho' I ne'er see you again.

"So, what's the final tally of y'all heading out son?"

"Bout sixteen sir. Me, Vick Gingerlend, the O'Brien boys, Colleen Shure, Rice in the bucket, you know Muire Quetza.....well her little brother........Eamon is going. And then some more I don't know the name of right now."

"Oh! I heard Holly Shumaker saying that Tractor might go. That boy's got a good head on his shoulders."

"That's true mum. Be nice to have him. Specially seeing as he can cart around almost anything."

"Son, make sure to be careful over there. Not everybody's so excepting as they are here in Camel Eaters. I hear Doomingslandian troops been deployed into the country. They hate Muslims."

"I'll be fine da no worries."

"That's what you think Hannibal."

The army's short of blankets, John,
Then take this heavy pair,
I spun and wove them when a girl,
And work'd them with great care.
A rose in every corner, John,
And here's my name, you see!
On the cold ground they'll warmer feel,
Because they're made by me.

"Marhaban Vick, how the hell you doing?"

"Oh you know getting drunk to let the fear out."

"You're the worst drunk I have ever seen."

"No fault of my own I ain't an Irishman like most of this damned country." A chorus of laughter was had by all that were going to Warmaster as they sat round a large plastic table in a pub somewhere in Birmingham. They were scared. That's the truth of it.

"Tractor how the hell did you get one more scar on your face?"

"Cat."

"Damn nasty cat."

"Feral."

"Splains it. Anyone not picked up their provisions yet?" Avac O'Brien shook his head. He'd seen all of their cars on the way in. Loaded down with anything they thought might be useful.

"Naw," he spoke, "but I got so much I might just leave half of it in Warmaster."

Rice in the bucket looked puzzled for an instant before speaking up. His hands waved around like an Italian's as he spoke. Had extraterrestrials been viewing the whole scene they might have thought that Camels spoke a form of sign language with words to add some flavor.

"I saw your cheap little van on the way in here. Nice quilt you've got in the back there."

"Our grandma made it for us." Both Mac and Avac looked exactly alike. Tanned face, light brown hair, blue eyes, a tattoo of a red herring on their right arm in the exact same spot. Three gold earrings, to help with their night vision or so they claim, and a pair of blue jeans that'd been painted to look plaid.

"Creepy."

"Oh shut up Colleen." They echoed together.

And, John, if God has willed it so,
We ne'er shall meet again,
I'll do the best for the children, John,
In sorrow, want or pain.
On winter nights I'll teach them John,
All that I learned at school,
To love our country, keep her laws,
Obey the Savior's rule.

Eamon Quetza was too young to be doing this. He was only sixteen, how the hell had he signed up. Still. It was their day to leave and he had already sobbed a bit the night before. Just too damn long to be away from home. His room empty, his parents in the house by themselves. Muire had already gone to the Congo to study at Kinshasa.

He wasn't gonna let it get to him.

The families had assembled to see their young men and women fly off to a horrible country to help those that lay within it. They'd take food and medical supplies to the populace. Help them try and survive.

And then the plane took off.

And now good-bye to you, John,
I cannot say Farewell!
We'll hope and pray for the best,John,
His goodness none can tell.
May His arm be round about you, John,
To guard you night and day.
Be our beloved country's shield,
Till war shall pass away.

The Warmaster was a far away island below them. According to the map that Tractor had brought they were all a few miles above Arcan Bay at the moment. Pretty soon they'd pass by the city of Mon Serat and keep going. They were heading for a poor stretch of land on the Arsakia. South of the Sanctus Mts. It was the most northern portion of the Devil's Dance Floor.

They were nearly there.

OOC: Not my best, I ain't written for CE in a bit. Don't worry though I'll bring it up to top notch soon.

It was a bleak, rainy day in Korronis, and, as usual, Major Szilárd had a mess of maps, dispatches, and notes infront of him. His aide and chief advisor, Captain Miroslav Slavko had just brought him a few status updates, as well as some peliminary reconissance on their next planned international hit.
“Thank you captain, lets see what we got. Alright, Βασιλικά χαλυβουργεία (Royal Steelworks, a metal working shell company) finished making those mortars I wanted, and Sachverständige Demolierungen (Expert Demolitions, demolition shell company) has the explosives we’ll need.”
“Yes, most of the supplies have been procured. I’ve talked it over with my men, and we’ve managed to obtain a satellite image of the compound. It’s basically a small walled-in mansion. EW managed to obtain a layout of the building from the fire marshal’s office. Surveillance has pinpointed the target as leaving the compound every day at around 0645, and we’ve scoped out a few CCs. Power enters the building from a conduit off of the main sewer line. We are guessing he has a staff of 100 security officers, though none of them appear to be Kregian, so they might be mercenaries.”
“Sounds good. I will have another team secure a few police vehicles, or at least acceptable substitutes, and possibly a few bodies to fill them. Your team will have to blow them. We might have to raid a morgue, or abduct and kill a few civilians. Assemble your team, and we’ll do a raid in three days.”

Truegen was sitting at his desk, legs propped up and actually quite bored. Nothing had happened in quite sometime, yes in one silly little country a division or two had been sent with Crown Prince but really. Nothing EVER happend.

A sweaty intern swept into the room, saluted and hit his head so hard the pencil that was being held in his hand broke.

"Damn, another pencil"

Dryl Trugen replied, "No need to ask, you can sit down, watch out, I may pull rank and make you loose pencil privlieges."

"Sir?"

Rolling his eyes Trugen said, "A joke, better get used to them, you get emercifull ribbing in your later life."

"Well uh-"

"What is it?" Trugen managed to plop his feet back down and look at the boy-

"Sir, it seems that a fun little war is occuring between some factions in Lucifer's country. Our initial reports say we should stay out but....."

"Well of course! Our SDU's and Danube need a reason to unfurl their wings," Trugen interrupted, "I think it's a great idea and have been following with some regularity, actually I think-"

"Yes, Asmodeus, he seems as competent and forigners come and he would love the help."

"Son, don't interrupt or you'll be finding yourself mopping decks on some distant Anartic base."

"Of course sir."


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

Knowing Asmodean would accept men are sent to find Asmodean and get some kind of deal with him, Bruck Der Inns is sent with the full intention of getting this deal and has several cards to play including 10 Special Directive Units, an regular Danube (Army) Division, and massive amounts of investment.

OOC: Mondoth, are you going to extract the terrorist quietly, or inform someone of your plans?

IC: General Shadows smiled mirthlessly as the Boozian talked.

“You are correct. It is good that you have contacted us, because had you entered Kregaia without our permission, either our own forces or those of the other High Lords would have killed you without hesitation. However, now that we have found you, you will land at Typhon Air Force Base, where we will protect your aircraft. You will be escorted to the Imperial Palace, and then we shall set up a liaison staff to handle relations between our nation. I hope this settles matters.

“In the meantime, is the Boozian government planning to send military elements? If so, please put us in contact with them. I am sure that Imperator Vuell or even the Sacred Emperor would like to speak with your head of state.”

***

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE (OOC: To Mondoth)

To unidentified fleet:

You have mustered a considerable amount of naval power just outside of Imperial waters. While your actions do not violate the letter of Imperial law, we must inquire your intent. If you do not move your fleet away or assure us that your intentions are not harmful to the Imperium, we shall resort to force.

Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal, Head of the Imperial Naval Forces

***

Camel Eaters. Mercy from the CAD? Hahahaha...mercy. Who'd have thought; the most merciless of international alliances, the most vicious, the towering, the arrogant, the triumphant CAD. Let them...it'll be a game. We'll see if we can destroy faster than they can rebuild. Let's stretch their mercy; let's see how far CAD mercy can go. We'll play, friends of the Imperium. We'll gamble, and the stakes will be innocent blood. Let them land. We'll see, won't we. We'll see how they do.

***

The Imperial Palace, Korronis

As the helicopter landed, Lord Regent Seth Jamaane ignored the rain falling around him. It had already soaked his uniform, and he hadn't batted an eyelid because of it. The four Doomies stepped out, and the Regent smiled. He was also Supreme General of the Immortals, and he knew warriors when he saw them. He knew he was looking at them right then. Doomingsland hadn't let them down by sending them four men; on the contrary, small numbers were what they needed to stop Asmodeus and his terrorist networks. While the connection in Korronis was cut off, just as dangerous were the terrorist cells scattered around Kregaia.

Wasting no time, as they disembarked, the Regent presented each with a golden cross encrusted with emeralds, knowing they likely had similar items at home, but it was the thought that counted.

They entered the Palace, ignoring the driving rain. They would meet, and plan, and they would go forth to fight for Lucifer.

The Doomies were in town.

OOC: Sry, I was pretty much just planning on waltzing in, guns blazing.
See Mondoth's military history and the current fashion amongst the generals has lead to a meaning of 'Extraction with Prejudice' which pretty much means 'invade, and if we happen to find the terrorists, so much the better'

IC:

Message to Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal
From: Fleet Admiral Ahmed Bin Jamaal of the combined 9th, 12th, 33rd, and 77nd naval battle fleets
Via: SSL-GS0076954

This is Mondothian Task Force Djinn, currently tasked with the capture of the terrorist Ner-Al-Din. If you have any information on the whereabouts of this dangerous fugitive please forward it immediately.
Until we have recieved further information from either you or our own intelligence network, intentions are neither hostile nor friendly to the Imperium.
(OOC: not my best, sry, been a long day.)

"Well", said Jearan Icardo, Admiral of the Jipleastani Fleet,

"I certainly hope that we can get underway soon... First Mate, send a Communique to the Warmasterian admiral... ask him when we will be heading out."

"Yes sir" said the first mate, quickly answering the admiral.

Official Communique
To: Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal
From: Jipleastani Flagship JRS Angelic
Are there any indications of when we will be getting underway? The men are beginning to become restless, they have been here for nearly a month and nothing has happened yet. Please write back as soon as possible as the Admiral is not a patient man. He cannot wait to bring destruction to our enemies.

The Imperial Palace, Korronis

The four Obsidian Guardsmen graciously recieved their gifts from the Regent after saluting, tucking the crosses under their armor. These looked to be expensive gifts; gifts that they did not want damaged by shrapnel. Beneath his helmet and mask, the constant patter of rain against metal was heard by Lucius as it began to drip down his visor.

Without any formalities other than a salute, the men proceeded through the entrance into the hallowed halls of the palace, removing their headgear in respect.

Each of the men was clean shaven (with the head on their hair being shaved off as well); all bore scars. Lucius, being the oldest of the men, bore the most, with one large scar going from the upper right part of his face all the way down and across, with another across his left eye.

The men, carrying their rifles on one-point slings, allowed the weapons to hang down next to them as they quietly proceeded through the massive, dimly lit corridors. Lucius was the only member of the team that had been lucky enough to step foot in the Citadel back home, and this place reminded him of it very much. They were both bore somewhat similar decor and had a nearly identical eerie atmosphere about them.

The echoes of their boots on the floor could be heard all the way down the hall. Other than that and the dripping of the water off of their uniforms, dead silence. The atmosphere was tense.

The Obsidian Guard was an organization seperate from the Imperial Army. In fact, it was not even under the High Command: The Obsidian Guard was actualy a branch of the Inquisition. Those who filled its ranks were raised as Legionaries but had been seperated from the rest at an early age by the Inquisition. They were seen as having superior qualities than the rest of their class, both physical and mental.

By the standards of a secular nation, these men were about as fanatical as you could get. These were the type that could go on for days without rest lecturing about the evils of the secular world, of seperation of Church and State, of the heathen, the heretic. These were independantly thinking men that truely believed all of these things. They were not the brainwashed fanatics that most were used to dealing with when it came to Doomingslanders, these men were totally beyond that.

The Obsidian Guard itself was totally unknown outside of the intellegence community. Few in the government actualy knew of its existance. It answered directly to the Emperor. When they were deployed, they were generally mistaken as Legionary Special Forces, which was quite understandable. They did, after all, use the same equipment, although their tactics differed ever so slightly as did their training.

They were deployed only in the most sensitive of situations.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: Jipleastani Flagship, JRS Angelic

The fleet will be ready to move by tomorrow afternoon; by that time our ships will have completed loading for the battles ahead. That very day, our two fleets shall sail from Korronis, and out into the open ocean. Coinciding with our naval attack, High Lord Rahvin will lead elements of the Fourth Army to attack High Lord Jahvan; with any luck, this campaign will see him dead. We are also sending the assassins Dr. Seuss and Sir Topham Hatt into Slivan, Jahvan’s capital. Between the three prongs of our attack, Jahvan will be crushed, and we can turn our attention to other targets. Blood and Honor.

Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal, Head of the Imperial Naval Forces

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: Fleet Admiral Ahmed Bin Jamaal

We are not aware of such a terrorist in Kregaia; however, it is possible he is here without our knowledge. We would suggest you look first to High Lord Asmodeus, as he has a history of association with such figures. The Imperium would be glad to help you remove said terrorist (insofar as it coincides with Imperial interests), provided you assist us in the current conflict. We would be pleased to contact your government regarding such an arrangement.

Supreme Admiral Admohar Quoreal, Head of the Imperial Naval Forces

***

Thunder rumbles outside, but the Palace stands strong as it always has. Cold resonations fill the halls, echoing the crisp footsteps of the children of war. Here more than any other place in the Empire will they feel at home...here in the great monument to despotism, to faith, to the glory of ages past, present, and future, here in the Imperial Palace.

Lord Regent Seth Jamaane did not attempt to make small talk with the Doomingslanders as they strode through the cavernous depths of the Palace. These men obviously did not respect insincerity: they were here for a purpose, and things beyond that purpose were frivolous and unnecessary. They might have been Immortals.

At last, the Regent ushered them into the stunning antechamber to the Hall of Confluence, seat of all Imperial power. One hundred and twenty Immortals, the most faithful and the best soldiers in the Empire, stood silent guard, one of five shifts that guarded the Sacred Emperor night and day. An immaculate red carpet led to the towering iron doors at the end of the chamber, and the walls shone with gold. The chamber was well lit by massive chandeliers, and towering obsidian statues of gods, heroes, and rulers lined the walls, mirrors spaced between them. The wealth in this room could have made a great many men rich for life.

The heralds announced the Lord Regent and the Doomingslanders, and they strode past the great doors into the Hall of Confluence, the Iron Throne looming at the far end, pillars stretching into the shadowed heavens.

Lucifer stood to greet them, a thing reserved only for those deserving of the greatest honor, and smiled, a smile that did not extend to his eyes, eyes dancing with the light of madness.

"Greetings, friends and brothers from Doomingsland. Welcome to the Empire. Now, if I may inquire without further ado; specifically, what is your mission in Kregaia? Under whose jurisdiction are you? And do you have any questions about the situation that I can answer?"

The helicopter landed at the point to which it had been escorted, the doors slid open, and out jumped a culture shock squad.

If a nation was going to be dealing with the Schnapsewehr, it was best to "pull the plaster off quickly", as it were. As such, the squad had been selected partly for their quality as soldiers, although in the Sclagtruppen, any randomly picked ten were commando quality, and partly as a cross section of Boozian military-eligable society. They were both genders, the youngest was twenty-three, the oldest fifty-seven, and several of them would, in any other country be in a mental asylum. They told inappropriate jokes, ranging from the stingingly cynical political to the plain dirty, under any circumstances, and none of them had removed their gasmask to anyone who wasn't on the Ober-Kommando. None had ever removed their helmets to anyone.

Their look was distictive: black trench-coats, gasmasks, stalhhelms, and a kind of back-of-the-neck covering often associated with the French Foreign Legion. When you added the gloves and boots, any of them might have been a robot beneath the human clothing: not a milimetre of bare flesh was visible. Each cradled a Gemetzel 8mm rifle.

Following them came the laison staff: their uniforms were similar to the enlisted men, but red, with eppaulet, rather than sleeve insignia, and a high, slightly saddle-like navy cap of the kind popularized by the Wehrmacht. They milled around in a huddle while the squad formed a perimeter, waiting for the reception party. After a while, a helicopter crewman handed a hand radio to one of the officers, with a muttered "Die Schnaspemarschall, Herr General-Major."

The four immediately fell on one knee before the Emperor upon his standing to greet them. Quite unexpected was this honor that they were recieving. Pagan or not, this man was an Emperor, a close friend of Caesar. To recieve such honor was almost unheard of for men of their ranks.

Lucius replied to Lucifer immediately. His voice was monotonous, almost robotic. Devoid of emotion.

"My liege, Caesar has commanded us to aid you in your glorious war against the infidel by whichever means necessary. My men and I are gifts of Caesar to you for the duration of this conflict. Command us, my lord, for we are at your disposal."

They were all eager to spill blood, be it at the command of Caesar or of Lucifer. It did not matter to them. Blood was blood. Orders were orders.

Operation: Phoenix Rising
Location: International Manor to the East of Korronis

It was a crisp, clear morning, and the Deathshead strike team had been in position for nearly an hour and a half. A total of 57 combatants were involved, along with 14 drivers of various non-descript vehicles at various extraction sites; mostly vans and SUVs reinforced along the inside with Kevlar fabric, ballistics glass, and headlight pattern changers. They combatants were broken down into a pair of heavy weapons fireteams, five scout sniper maneuver teams, and five assault teams. They were augmented by a 81mm mortar battery two kilometers away.

Their target was believed to be the father of Korronis based on interrogations of a the few international members they had captured, none of whom survived. While this assault force was going to piss the international off, they would be irate if section zeta proved successful.

The teams had scoped out the security surrounding the base for two days. There were believed to be around three dozen servants in the manor, roughly 100 guards, and a number of higher-ranking enforcers. Since they couldn’t just ring the doorbell, they had to guess based on their flashy clothes. The guards weren’t rent-a-cops; but were armed with assault rifles, and wore matte-black BDUs, except for the patrol commanders who had a white shoulder pad.

At 6:40 AM, an assault team crept threw the unlit sewage line underneath the courtyard of the building with a pair of insulated bolt cutters, and four five-pound bricks of C4 a man. They didn’t encounter a guard, nor did they spot any obvious motion sensors. They placed bricks on specific GPS coordinates a demolitions expert had laid out, and retreated to the main power junction. Unlike most conventional power grids, this one had an underground transformer.

Captain Miroslav Slavko looked through the night-vision sight of his Steyr Aug a3 rifle. The guards, who ever they were, were moving with much greater purpose. A number on the roof had taken battle positions, and the sentries outside the wall increased to 10, and there were an increased number on the wall. He spoke into his microphone
“Bravo Battery, whats your status?”
A second later, the reply came:
“All four batters have DP bomblets calibrated for the roof. We’ll get a burst fire of 20 rounds during the first minute per, but we’ll be out after 5 minutes of fire.”
“Allright, thanks. All teams, yellow light.”
A few, tense minutes passed. The dogs failed to pick up the scent of the men a hundred yards out, and the main gates swung open, showing a convoy of 15 cars and a pair of motorcycles.
“All teams, stand by. Bravo Battery, fire.”
A mile away, 12 men went into quick action, launching a mortar every three seconds. The relatively small compound would be saturated.
“All heavy weapons and sniper teams have a green light. Assault fireteams hold.”
Before Cpt. Slavko could finish his command, 10 7.62 bullets gracefully shot through the air, and 0.1613 seconds later, 10 men were shot off of the wall while four javelin missiles and a pair of starstreak missiles gracefully shot through the air towards the now exposed convoys. The heavy machine gunners fired bursts at the sentries at the gate. All hell seemed to break loose, and the convoy started to back up, when the HE/AP bomblets rained down, punching holes in the softer roof, causing it to collapse as they exploded. Still more bomblets rained down as snipers picked off more targets. A number of vehicles went up, either from anti-tank fire or from mortar fire. As the shells continuted to rain down, Slavko shouted into his mic:
“Alpha, blow it. All assault teams: green light. Bravo Battery, get clear.”
In the tunnels below, Alpha team set off the detonators, casuing a series of explosions to erupt from the ground in the court yard. A car in the rear of the all but destroyed convoy was swallowed into the maw, and a section of the manor collapsed.
The assault teams moved in to the ablaze compound, passing the dead and shooting the dying. A few launched grenades haphazardly into the windows of the main building. Most of the men hadn’t even fired a shot in anger. Slavko walked towards a BMW that hadn’t been hit, though a number of men lay dead around it. He swung open the door and dragged their target out. He didn’t know his name, and he didn’t care. He clubbed him and shot him in the gut, evoking a scream of pain.
“Who are you people? Do you know who I am?!” He gasped, and was ignored.
A soldier brought a box up to Slavko, who then removed a brand of a symbol of the Inquisition, formed a week before by one of the metal shops. He heated it up in the wreckage of one of the flaming cars. He walked up to the International king pin, and took a swing, breaking his jaw, before burning the symbol into his forehead. He took a long knife out, and nearly sliced him in two lengthwise. Taking another box, he placed a dead deathshead moth on the man’s mouth.

Five minutes later, five police cruisers that had been commandeered speed into the flaming compound, with five very alive and very scared guardsmen with a pair of Deathshead soldiers inside, along with their dead partners. The soldiers got out, and sprayed the cruisers with bullets. The vehicles were torched.

“How much time do we have?” Asked Slavko.
The section leader spit on the ground. “15 minutes, give or take a few. They cooperated nicely. Only took a few severed fingers, but they didn’t get a distress call out.”
“Allright. All teams, evacuate. 10 minutes.”

The soldiers disappeared like ghosts into the night, leaving the dead to tell no tales.

CIC of the Mithril class dreadnaught "MNS Manxome"
"This at least is an independent confirmation of the Ministries source."

"Well then, if everything is in order. Set a course for the northern shores, circle around west to stay out of the enemy's direct coverage. Once at the northern coastal area we will initiate an Albion ship to shore landing with gun support to supress shore defenses. Have geo-pol get in touch wit the other factions in the area and attempt to secure at least non-aggression if not all out support for the attack. Once we roll around into direct observation of this Asmodeus characters land, I don't want him to get 24 hours of warnign before we have a mechanized division knocking on his gates."

The various commanders and aides looked over the quickly sketched plan on the CICs battle command display as the Admiral drew it out and explained the finer points. Silently nodding their agreement to the plan each one left to attend to their duties within the fleet while the fleets informational command network updated battle maps and plans to all of the various ships CICs. Within hours the massive fleet was steaming along the western coast of the continent, caeful to stay well away from violating the sovereign waters until it was time for the actual attack.

Lucifer smiled at the response from the Doomies. A warm smile, a fatherly smile...which contrasted disturbingly with the murderous glare in his eyes. Madman. The Sacred Emperor shrugged mentally. The foreigners were likely used to such things back in their homeland, and besides, he’d already honored them greatly by actually rising from the Iron Throne. They’d get used to it.

Lucifer reached into a pocket, pulling out a walkie-talkie, and ordered one of the heralds to enter immediately. As he finished, the vast doors opened again, and the man lay prostrate before his ruler.

“Convey my compliments to my brother the Emperor of Doomingsland,” Lucifer commanded casually. “And send him my profound thanks for his gift. Men of discipline are exactly what is needed here. Tell him we swear to aid him in any kind of attack by the filthy Sarzos, should he ever ask for such help.”

The herald stood, bowed, and left, and Lucifer sat back in the Iron Throne, gazing at the Doomingslanders.

“We are sure you know already of the High Lords, and the current state of division in the Empire. Right now, the tactical goals of the Imperium are quite simple: destroy the weaker High Lords and regain their territory and resources. We can then use them against the two strongest factions, those of the High Lords Avaru and Ishamael. A fleet composed of Imperial and Jipleastani elements will leave Korronis today to destroy High Lord Jahvan, and High Lord Ravhin-who, you may know, led Imperial forces in the Czardaian War-is leading an army to ensure the same goal. In short, Jahvan is unlikely to last much longer.

“Meanwhile, High Lord Asmodeus continues to prove an irritant. He is weak in terms of manpower and weaponry, and so he uses terrorism and other unconventional methods to weaken his enemies. We are not yet ready to consider an offensive against him, but we can begin draining his strength. The four of you must destroy Asmodeus’s ability to make war. Destroy factories, power plants, airports, train stations...all the things that make basic necessities like transportation and communication possible. Also, move from city to city, eliminating his terrorist cells. This is your mission; I am sure you are well equipped to accomplish it. If you have need of anything whatsoever, inform any authority you may encounter.” He pulled a packet of papers from his pocket. “Four for each of you. These documents carry my seal, my signature, and my order that the bearer is to be provided with everything they require. Take them, and go forth, my warriors. This I command of you.”

***

As the Boozians landed, Commander Mazin strode to greet them, the honor guard of a dozen Legionaries following behind in perfect formation. Mazin hoped these men weren’t fascists; in the Empire, it was, while not itself a crime, a great dishonor to be fascist, and those who admitted it were inevitably executed. But these men, foreigners and infidels though they were, had to be given their chance. If they were fascists...then their time would come. But first General Shadows would meet with them, and hear what they had to say.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” Mazin called as he approached. “Welcome to the Empire and to Korronis. I am Commander Mazin Amidran, aide to General M. Shadows. If you would follow me, the General would like to meet with you.”

A series of vans carried the group to their destination, the Imperial Palace. They were taken past the security systems around Korronis, in Korronis, in the Sacred Precinct, and finally at the Palace itself, and finally ushered into a conference room containing more Legionaries and General M. Shadows, a whiskey at his elbow and a cigarette in his mouth. He regarded the Boozians casually before speaking.

“Gentlemen, you tell me your purpose is simply to destroy the forces of the enemies of the Imperium...which I can live with,” he laughed, tossing back several fingers of liquor. “My question to you is how you mean to accomplish this. You have not come in sufficient numbers to harm the High Lords by conventional means, and we have a very capable Intelligence Division and Inquisition to serve our unconventional needs. Do you have more troops on the way?”

"We have recieved the reply from the Warmasterian Admiral, Sir. They plan to start out tomorrow and we will be part of a three pronged assault against Jahvan."

"Very good, are all of our ships ready to cast off? If not, they are all to be ready in 1 hour, before anyone else is ready to go! We pride ourselves with our navy, lets show how good we actually are.

"Yessir, replied the First mate."

A message was sent out to every Jipleastani ship...

All ships are to be ready to head out in one hour, repeat, one hour.
All ships are to be read to head out in one hour.

At the first "gentlemen", Oberst Ida Kaltenbach and several other female members of the laison staff bristled slightly, but were cowed by a sharp look from General-Major Rosenthal. The escort were used to it: it came of living behind a gasmask, but Boozian officers who hadn't recieved any diplomatic training frequently developed slight superiority complexes.

They sat in apparent silence through the trip, the escort chatting occasionally over their mask radios, carefuly keeping it inaudible, more for fear of being reprimanded by their own officers than any qualms about starting a diplomatic incident.

Upon entering the Warmaster generals office, Rosenthal immediately discarded his sword (a typical Boozian type resembling an insanely overgrown breadknife) and gun, sheath, holster and all, and dropped them at his feet. Although generally resrved for General-Obersts with the Knight's Cross, to a foreigner the gesture was a notch below a salute: a symbol of respect, but not quite consent of authority. The rest of the officers followed suit, and the escorts flicked on their safeties and slung the rifles over their backs, which meant far more, in a differant kind of way.

Rosenthal started minutely at the question: he'd thought "command laison" and "airborne division" had ben dropping quite enough hints. Hopefully Shadow's ignorance was due to bad secreteryship, not bad soldiery.

"Yes, we have several air groups and three divisions of airborne troops awaiting orders based on your own requests, plus a marine brigade and battlefleet in international waters nearby. I was thinking along one of the following lines: either we help you with an operation already in progress, through close integration of staffs, or you just give us an objective like "kill high lord watsisface" and some dos and don'ts and let us get on with it. Either way, the Kommissariat will be handling all our inteeligence and internal security needs, and will only deal with your business on request. So what's it to be, Mr.General."

The unusual form of address was not intnded as an insult: Rosenthal's knowledge of English was simply to basic to think of "sir", a word which had no direct equivelant in German.

Imperator Jakran Vuell was sitting at his desk signing official orders when a speaker on his desk buzzed.

“My lord, Samuel Marchosias is here to see you.”

Vuell groaned. “Send him in.” Marchosias, the liaison between the International and the Imperium, was probably outraged about the recent attack on the manor east of the Sacred City; Vuell was almost amused at his predicament. The Imperium had assured him that the attacks, seemingly by foreign elites, had been stopped, but apparently their deal with the foreigners had died along with Crown Prince Antiochus. Unfortunately, there was little time before the International snapped. Either it would take revenge on the Imperium, or hunt high and low for the men attacking it.

Samuel Marchosias barged into the Imperator’s office, red in the face and possibly drunk. The man was powerfully-built, though past his prime, and was not a man to be dealt with lightly. The International was a powerful entity indeed.

“Imperator Vuell! How could...this is...you have betrayed me! I was promised that the International was no longer subject to this...this piracy! And on the head of our official...an Inquisitor’s brand! The International...”

The Imperator spoke over him, glaring at him with a force to make any man shut up. “You will calm yourself now.” Marchosias raged on for a few more sentences, before realizing what Vuell had said and silencing himself, with visible effort.

“Now. I have neither been notified of or authorized an Imperial strategy to harm the International. I give you my word as a warrior and as a servant of the Seven True Gods. And given my position as Imperator, any official Imperial military action would have to be cleared through me. Had the crime been perpetrated by rogue elements of the armed forces, they would hardly have left the mark of an Inquisitor on their target’s body.”

“But the Inquisition..”

“Would you like to take up your complaint with them, Marchosias? I warn you, Inquisitors can be very persuasive at times. Have you ever seen High Inquisitor Kreegan angry? Say, if someone impugned his honor by suggesting that the Inquisition acted unofficially?”

Marchosias started to speak, before realizing just how afraid he should be of the Inquisition.

“See? Samuel, the International can seek out these mysterious assassins for itself, if that’s what it wants. They can look high and low. But I warn you, crime lord,” he growled, his voice murderous, “that if you interfere with the Imperium, we will exact our punishment.”

The International liaison stood tall against the threat, replying softly, “Oh, we will look, Imperator Vuell. We’ll hunt the assassins, wherever they may be, and whoever they take orders from. Who knows? Maybe someone you know is organizing this. The International will not lie still for this. Good day.” And with that, the crime lord turned and strode from the office.

***

The first warning that the Cadian Gate had was the bombs falling from the sky.

On the orders of Asmodeus, a dozen B-6 Paladin stealth bombers had been flown towards Shield Vale, and unleashed their bombs on the Gate. Luckily, SOP in Shield Vale was to have at least 120 of its six hundred MiG-45 interceptors in the air at all times. They and the few Balefires on patrol flew into action after a mere instant’s surprise. The hundreds of anti-air batteries below poured fire onto the bombs hurtling down...but a few escaped.

Explosions tore from the fortresses of the Cadian Gate as tons of high-explosive crashed among them, raining fire on the troops and other personnel scrambling as the air-raid sirens wailed. Power flickered and went out in several sectors of the facility, only to be replaced by emergency generators. Aircraft tore into the skies to hunt for the bombers that had attacked them...only to be called off. There were many more RADAR contacts on the horizon.

First came cruise missiles, hundreds of them; guns thundered and the air filled with puffs of smoke and fiery explosions as one by one the cloud of missiles was thinned. The Gate, with plenty of advance warning, held firm easily against the onslaught. A second wave of missiles met a similar fate...and the skies were silent.

Minutes later, General Vasraad, commander of forces in Shield Vale, strode angrily into the War Room of the Gate’s main fortress, glaring around at junior officers hurrying about their duties. Grabbing a passing messenger, he growled, “Tell me what’s happening, soldier.”

The young man saluted and replied crisply, “General, the facility has come under attack from forces loyal to High Lord Asmodeus. First, stealth bombers dropped their loads of bombs over the facility. Two power stations and a hospital were hit; both power stations were knocked out, while the hospital escaped major damage. Seconds later, we made contact with several hundred Pandemonium II cruise missiles. The air defenses, warned of the incoming missiles, destroyed all of them in the air. A second wave was destroyed in like manner. Sir, with respect, I must return to my sector.”

General Vasraad absently waved him off, thinking about it. “It was a probe,” he muttered to himself. Asmodeus had to know that there was no way such a light attack would cripple an installation on the scale of the Cadian Gate. No, the attack was designed to test the loyalist response...which had to mean one thing.

Asmodeus was coming for Shield Vale. And soon.

And yet, it made no sense. Reports of Asmodeus’s strength showed he had comparatively little aircraft and armor, precisely the things that backed up Shield Vale. He might even know about the THUNK Destroyer Engines, vehicles that could tear through an army’s lines like a boulder through paper. It was insane to attack...which worried Vasraad more. Asmodeus had a reason for doing it, and if that reason was blurred, he was all the more dangerous.

While he thought of this, he walked toward the base control area of the War Room, and ordered the facility to go to full alert. Alarms began to wail across the valley, and the Cadian Gate prepared for battle. Ammunition was checked and loaded, planes were fueled, final maintenance checks made on all vehicles, the hospital brought to full staff, guns were manned...which was fortunate, because two hours later, reports started to come in that Asmodeus was moving a huge army towards Shield Vale and the Gate.

They would be here by nightfall.

***
OOC: If any other nations are interested in helping out High Lord Jahvan, well, now’s the time.

IC: Rahvin Ares. The fifth High Lord, and the only loyal one. Some said he had been more Lucifer’s son than Crown Prince Antiochus; certainly the Sacred Emperor had been very gracious to him. Lucifer had charged him with the conquest of Czardas, and then-Lord Rahvin had been happy to oblige, devising the strategy that led to the Czardaian surrender. Now here he was, a High Lord, wielding power on a level with Imperator Vuell and Lord Regent Jamaane themselves, and he had once more been given a great task. His mission: invade the lands of the traitor Jahvan, and smash his ability to make war. This would be a lightning campaign. He would move quickly.

He had only two legions with him, but they were crack troops all; he had four thousand Immortals, an air armada, and armored support. That was all he needed. Jahvan would be unprepared for the ferocity of his assault...and so far he had been able to move stealthily.

And speaking of stealth, the first bombs should be falling any time now.

The ground shook beneath his feet, and he strode quickly back into the mobile command center set up for him. He nodded to an officer, who then growled into his mike, “Fire!”

With that command, two Hornet tactical devices were lowered into the ground and started chewing through the earth, just below the surface, toward the positions of Jahvan’s Second Army, well over a million men strong. Hundreds of attack helicopters and A-10 Thunderbolts streaked into the sky, followed by the huge Behemoth heavy bombers. Tanks and LAVs rumbled off through the forest, bulldozing through trees, and thousands of Legionaries followed in their wake. Rahvin watched a live satellite feed as the commander of Jahvan’s forces tried to get his army prepared for action, while plane after plane was blasted apart on the ground. Zooming out, he watched as sixty thousand of his men circled around to the enemy flank, hidden by the woods. Counter-fire from Jahvan’s artillery and tanks started to appear, flattening sections of forest and whittling down the number of attackers...but Jahvan’s air support was almost gone, now, and there was no real hope for them. They would retreat or be slaughtered.

Within minutes, his main force had engaged them, pouring fire into the ranks of Jahvan’s Legionaries. A-10 Thunderbolts swooped down like vultures on the enemy armor, blasting it apart with ease, their 30mm depleted-uranium cannon tearing through armor and flesh alike. His forces took casualties under the sheer weight of Jahvan’s forces...but then his flanking force crashed from the forest into the enemy. Shrieking and roaring, in the night they seemed like many times their number, and Jahvan’s troops were torn apart before they knew what was happening. The force that remained was still several times larger than Rahvin’s whole army, but the enemy was still at a disadvantage.

They fought on for another hour or so, when the enemy commander finally gave the order to retreat. Rahvin could tell when it happened, because the main body of the enemy began drawing back while ten thousand or so troops cried out, “Blood and Honor!” and hurled themselves suicidally into Rahvin’s men. They were carved apart, to the last man, but the maneuver had served its purpose: Jahvan’s army was gone.

Loyalist casualties? Several thousand.
Enemy casualties? Just under two hundred thousand.

Truly the gods favored High Lord Rahvin.

Quickly they buried their dead and moved south, as Rahvin reported his success back to the High Command. They had to get out of the area; soon the enemy commander would rearm and return, with a vengeance, and until new forces arrived from the south, Rahvin was alone in enemy territory with a force many times smaller than that of any one of the enemy’s armies. The entire invasion force was staring death in the face as long as they were on hostile soil.

What is death to the faithful?

OOC: Some numbers for Rahvin’s army. Post-battle.

237,000 Legionaries
4,000 Immortals
100 AA guns
120 SAM batteries
600 T-120 Ravagers
400 M146 Despoilers
1,200 Sidewinder LAVs
800 F/A-104 Balefires
540 A-10 Thunderbolts
240 MiG-45s
72 Behemoth heavy bombers
12 B-6 Paladin stealth bombers
120 MI-24 Hinds
160 AH-166 Twilight gunships

OOC: Oh my! I have a base in Shield Vale!!


After the attack on Cadian Gate, the relativly small garrison of 157,255 Elite Jipleastani troops was put on highest alert status and a constant fighter screen was put up, all RADAR site and AA AAA and all AA Missile batteries were activated. The base, now christened "Fort Karik", was still being reinforced when the attack occurred on the Cadian Gate. However, being the paranoid people that the Jipleastanies are, the defenses had been nearly completed.

However, while the base at Fort Karik was not an exemplar of Jipleastani power and might, the Jipleastanies are not ones to mess with, especially with their supreme technology thanks to their great ally, Doomingsland.

There were 1000 of the Caesar III's MBT at the base, along with 800 Testudo II's. They were all extremely powerful and resilient against enemies. The commanders were confident that they could eaisily resist anything Asmodeus could throw at them.

With the activation of all troops and defenses in Fort Karik, a sight never seen before happened. From their hidden underground bunkers, 650 MLRS platforms rose up out of the ground around the base, these were no regular MLRS, but a special Jipleastani concoction. They looked normal from the outside, but what noone knew, execpt for the highest ranking officer at the base, was that their missiles were not filled with high explosives, no not at all... they were filled with napalm, and lots of it. In addition to that massive battery there were 300 additional DMR-48 Artillery pieces, ready to pound Asmodeus' forces into the ground.

"Sir, we will be at full defensive capacity in 1 hour."

Four Star General Jerim Kando was pleased to hear this, as he is very punctual and always quick to respond to anything.

"Very good, very very good, We will not fall, By God's power, we shall not fall..."

BattleFleet Task Force 'Djinn'

The massive slate grey warships slid through the turbulent seas, implaccably churning towards some arbitrarily designated point at sea corresponding to some other arbitrary piece of coastline in the north-east corner of the Kregaian continent. Not wanting to risk the large warships against mines and other cheap sea-defenses that could easily have been deployed, and which intelligence suggested were almost certainly an ever present danger off the Kregaian coast, the major combatants stayed well away from the coast line. Meanwhile, smaller corvettes and patrol craft began carefully probing the waters nearer the coast, using high frequency sonar and Magnetic detection systems to find mines, special mine clearing ROVs were deployed to detonate or otherwise neutralize the deadly mines wherever they were found.
Although the fleets point defense and anti-air systems would have made an enemy air attack practically a study in futility, there were still vulnerabilities and so the fleets air-space was covered continuosly by dozens Combat Air Patrols of high endurance PC-29 Stalker UCAVs supplemented by smaller patrols of the human piloted F/A-25 'Kestrel' fighters, which though they had less endurance, were far more deadly adversaries in aerial combat. In preparation for the coming assault, nearly two hundred strike and ground attack fighters were readied on the decks of the eight carriers scattered throughout the fleet to avoid givng a lucky deep penetrating strike the chance to eliminate more than one of the valuable warships.
The massive show of airpower was not normal for a Mondothian fleet of any size. Instead of the regular complement of a few medium carriers, 2 of the massive Mithril class dreadnaughts had been configured for flat deck operations in addition to a reinforced standard air group.
meanwhile, in the well decks of the sixteen amphibious assault ships, dozens fo IACLC (Improved Air-Cushioned Landing Craft) were preparing to transport the first waves of the powerful 22nd Mechanized Marine Division to shore.

OOC:
Naval forces:
2 Mithril class Dreadnaughts (Mixed guns/guided missiles)
2 Mithril class Heavy Fleet Carriers
4 Quicksilver medium fleet carriers
26 Quicksilver class Battle Cruisers (mixed guns/guided missiles)
48 Hermes Class Destroyers (mixed guns/guided missiles)
4 Quicksilver Guided Missile Cruisers (With Air Defense Radar and Sensors)
12 Hermes Guided Missile destroyers (With Air Defense Radar and Sensors
8 Quicksilver class Amphibious Assault Ship
8 Hermes class Amphibious assault Ship
104 Mercury class corvettes
12 SSGH Cyclone missile subs
36 Naiad Hunter Killer subs

There;s one Marines Mechanized Division (roughly 16,000 combat troops +assosciated support for an amphibious landing)

General Shadows ignored the irregular form of address from the Boozians; these men were foreigners, he thought, and thus grammatical expectations need not be high. More important was that these men could fight. And, thank the gods, they had reinforcements available. Lucky for them.

“Well, I would suggest that you put your ground forces to work weakening High Lord Jahvan. Our current plan is to remove him quickly and secure the resources available to him, in order to facilitate further action. Feel free to cause havoc in his territory, as much as you wish. You may do what you please with your fleet.”

***

In the military docks of Korronis, the last ship finished loading. The Jipleastani armada was already prepared, but there was ceremony to be taken care of before they sailed to war. Now the only Imperial ship left at the dock was the massive superdreadnaught Victorious, flagship of the great Imperial fleet and one of the biggest vessels in the navy.

Cheering crowds lined the docks, admitted into the military sector for the purpose of the ceremony, roaring their happiness as the priests blessed the ship and the fleets, blessed the Imperium and Jipleastan...even twenty prisoners were sacrificed to Ar-Pharazon the Slayer, the god of war. After the many prayers and invocations were finished, Sacred Emperor Lucifer, having arrived from the Palace, strode to High Admiral Ludo Anor and gave him his sacred charge. So nobody else could hear, Lucifer murmured, “Smash the traitor’s fleet. Bring me victory, High Admiral, and the gods will smile on you. Fight with them at your side, Ludo Anor, and you will have your victory. Blood and Honor.”

Then Anor knelt before the Sacred Emperor, and as Lucifer walked back to his limousine, he rose and turned to board his ship. As he climbed up the ramp and entered the ship, twenty-one guns boomed across the harbor, and the sea-gates opened to let the fleet out. The crowd cheered wildly as the Jipleastani and Imperial fleets sailed to battle and to glory.

It was dark inside the aircraft. It was dark and cramped and they had to pile out in one long streak and show everybody that they meant well. Hannibal looked at Tractor, Tractor looked at Rice, Rice nodded in agreement to the O'Brien boys. Mac looked at Vick, Avac looked down at his feet and barged a little. Eamon looked at Avac and shook his head. Collen looked at Eamon and then stared at one of the other peacebringers, a man by the name of Jonas Quill. Jonas breathed in deep and then echoed what they all thought.

"Hell, let's get this damn show on the road."

They piled out onto the windswept plains of Three Sheep Village and started to unload some supplies from the cargo bay. Protein jerky, water purifiers, books for the children, blankets and sewing materials, even some genetically modified crop seeds to help grow in the tough Warmaster soil.

They turned around.

Everyone was looking at them.

Rice was the first one to speak up.

"Hey y'all! We brought snacks."

"Understood. We'll be setting up our HQ in the choppers until further provisions are made?"
As soon as the Boozians were back in their vehicles, a storm of muttering began.
"If they keep addressing me as a "gentleman", I'm sleeping in the chopper if they offer me the bloody emperors bedroom!"
"I suggest you grow your hair longer, now fix the drop point for I Airborne Corps. Voigt! Where is Herr Voigt!"
Rosenthal hurried away.

Sunset was beautiful in Shield Vale. The snow-capped peaks of the Great Spine and the Sanctus Mountains glinted in the fiery light, a sight that had inspired poets throughout the centuries. However, the looming presence of the Cadian Gate facility, as well as the nearby Fort Karik, sent a clear message to everyone who saw Shield Vale: the Imperium cares for power, not beauty.

Besides, just outside the Gate’s primary defense perimeter was encamped a vast army, spread out over the plain like a great beast.

The size of Asmodeus’s army was amazing; well over a million Legionaries, thousands of Immortals, row upon row of tanks, and at the rear of the host, massive artillery pieces, from 105mm field guns to giant Colossus howitzers, and more that he had either bought or made at factories, huge weapons to smash the Cadian Gate into dust.

The situation at the Gate was hardly desperate. They had the most advanced weaponry in the Imperium, along with substantial Jipleastani reinforcements, and enough supplies for a year of continuous siege. The only advantage Asmodeus had was the fact that some of his weapons could hit the Gate without enough counterfire to get past Asmodeus’s AA batteries.

No, the Loyalists would wait. Time and weaponry were on their side. They would let Asmodeus make the first move.

***

OOC:
The Cadian Gate was built in the location it was, the mouth of Shield Vale, because it was so easy to defend. Two great mountain ranges, the Sanctus Mountains and the Great Spine, almost touch here, and the valley between is narrow and winding. A series of passes leads through the length of the Vale, but the mountains provide a perfect hiding place for enemy troops to harass and disrupt an attacker. With modern technology like land mines and tactics like guerrilla warfare, Shield Vale is a deathtrap that devours every army that enters. And at the mouth of the Vale, the bait in the trap, was built the Cadian Gate. There is not an actual gate in the valley anymore, but that did not made it easier to approach.

On both sides of the Gate, there are near-impregnable defenses. Fields of land mines are interspersed through the ground before the Gate, between three huge trenches, 20 yards wide and 10 deep each, with a single bridge spanning each one so that trucks could carry men and supplies to and from the Gate. In times of war, as now, the bridges are, of course, cut. At the bottom of the trenches are wicked spikes as tall as a man, some of them thick and strong enough to impale a tank. On the rim of each is an electric fence topped with barbed wire. Several bunkers are spread between the trenches, but these are decoys, packed with explosives. An enemy may swarm over it, trying to capture whatever is inside, only to surround what is essentially a giant frag grenade. When the explosives are detonated from inside the Gate, the bunker explodes, hurling giant shards of metal and concrete a huge distance, and shredding every enemy soldier nearby.

***

Ah, there he is. It is as we wished, is it not? The Inquisitor, the torturer, so faithful and yet so godless. He walks the paths of dishonor and debasement, because it serves the greater purpose of the gods. Our purpose. His men fear him-see how they cringe from him as they work?-for his faith is so great it burns, burns like the pure, scourging rays of the sun. That one will serve the gods until his dying day. For us he fights, for us he marches even to the Cadian Gate. Fight on, cruel one, never knowing if you truly have our blessing. In this, you must remain like all mortals...uncertain.

Fate comes for all of us, High Lord Asmodeus, and not always when we expect.

Asmodeus paced in the mobile command center that served as the nerve center of his operations away from home. It was not from fear of battle; he had been an Inquisitor. He remembered the ancient saying, “What is death to the faithful?” and smiled. No, it was certainly not fear of battle. Even now, with the lights of the mighty Cadian Gate shining through the night, Asmodeus trusted in the gods to bring him victory.

He walked into one of the privacy booths in the command center and sat, establishing a video link to his staff of advisors, back in Darius, capital of the Valgoth Dominion.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get to business; who knows whether the damned Loyalists will decide to come out of the Gate and play. Generals, what news of war have you got for me?”

“Well, my Lord,” one began, “Rahvin has invaded Jahvan, with an army of two legions. We have reports that forces from the Palatine Peninsula are moving to support, and the armada that was assembled in Korronis has sailed east. My Lord, it seems there is a concerted effort by Rahvin and the Divine One to break Jahvan, and once that is finished, they may very well turn to us.”

Another general chimed in, speaking carefully, as if his news might throw Asmodeus into a rage. “My Lord, there is a foreign fleet moving just inside international waters off the coast of the Valgoth Dominion. Around 250 vessels all told. My Lord, we did not want to take action against a foreign navy without your express command...what are your orders?”

Asmodeus thought, ignoring for now the reasons that brought an infidel fleet to the Empire. There was always reason for the heathens to intervene in the matters of the gods’ chosen. “Wait, and watch. If they enter Imperial waters, warn them off and ask them their business as normal. If they land troops, kill them all. And put the Northern Legion on full alert.”

The meeting went on for another hour as his staff presented news and accepted his commands, but High Lord Asmodeus put it all in the back of his mind, even the infidel fleet lurking offshore. They would attack, or they would not. More pressing to him was the looming mass of the Cadian Gate in the distance, seeming to challenge him as he watched it.

The bones of those who have tried to take the Gate are strewn through Shield Vale. Will the gods protect you, High Lord Asmodeus? Or will you add your bones to the graveyard?

***

OOC: CE, I don’t really know what to call your people...I used Camels here, but if it’s something else, I should know...

The townsfolk of Three Sheep Village stared sullenly at the foreigners. Camel Eaters might be an ally of the Imperium...but this was rural Kregaia, and one of the most culturally unexposed areas in the Empire. They respected the CAD allies out here, but...did the natives really have to barge in on an Imperial war, with their mercy supplies? The word ‘infidels’ was muttered around in the small crowd, and some mothers covered their children’s eyes.

The mayor of Three Sheep stepped forward to the foreigners, and so none of his villagers could hear, whispered to the Camels, “Hey there, my friends; I’m the mayor of Three Sheep Village. We don’t get many foreigners around here...well, none...so, well, welcome to the Kregaian Empire, but you’re gonna have to forgive the villagers, cause they don’t trust foreigners too much. You need any help with these...um...products?”

CIC of the 'MNS Manxome'
"Twelve Hours! Nothing on the threat board, we had a contact briefly at mission plus 11 hours, designated Aleph-2112, identified as a personal water-craft but it disappeared within fifteen minutes, evaluated as a probable convergence zone contact at extreme range."

"Thank you Mr. Edwards, Commandant Shariffe how soon can we expect to begin shore operations?"

"Admiral, We can begin initial landings immediately, but it will take a few more hours to assemble the support groups if we want to capitalize on any foot hold, I'd estimate seven hours before we can begin full shore operations."

"Excellent, right on schedule so far. Issue the ultimatum at mission plus eighteen hours and start cannonade at mission plus twenty-two. Keep CAP on patrol and prepare to support the ground troops. Unless there's anything else I suggest we all catch some rest for the next few hours, sleep will be awefully scarce for the first day or so once the troops hit shore."

The various commanders made final checks on their troops and operational responsibilities before retiring to their quarters to make final adjustments to the plan. None of them even tried to get any rest, despite knowing that there would be no time for it later.

In six hours, A pre-recorded message was sent by sattelite from the Fleet.

Ultimatum delivered to Asmodeus
From: The Mondothian Ministry of State
Via: SSU-BF-90743
It has been determined that the terrorist known as Ner-Al-Din is currently residing under the protection of your government. Due to the extreme natures of Ner-Al-Din's crimes agaisnt the Mondothian people, perpetrated over several decades and causing untold pain and suffering. We cannot in good consience allow this man to go free. it is then, the purpose of the Djinn Battle Fleet to capture Ner-Al-Din, any conspirators who may have escaped justice with him and the people now responsible for his current state of freedom, including but not limited to any executives of the Valgoth Government found to have contributed to his sheltering.
In eight hours, if those figures mentioned above and any other found to be complicit with the crimes of Ner-Al-Din residing under Valgothian protection are not verifiably en-route to an accepted Modnothian Agent, or verifiably dead then the Djinn Battlefleet has been empowered to seek out and capture or kill those criminals through military force of arms.

http://www.geocities.com/jamealbeluvien/mondothflagSM.GIF

OOC: Check your Telegrams, Warmaster.
IC:The Ober-Kommando sat in various states of attentiveness, listening to the talks from each member, awaiting their own turn as, one by one, the Schnapsemarschall heard to the plans, carefully formulated based on intelligence from the liaison, and mentally interconnected them into a co-ordinated campaign.
"Reichsluftmarschall Haldwische?"
The Luftwaffe representative rose from her seat.
"Jahvan has a formidable air armada, but it seems to reflect a rather strange Warmastrien doctrine of directly associating air and ground units at wing, even group level. Add to that the fact that Jahvan is keeping his armies spread out along his coasts and borders, rather than concentrated, and an air version of the classic Schwerpunkt should make quick work of his defences. We'll have to make use of airfields in Imperial territory or Halcyon, either from home to there, raid, and back to there, or the less efficient but perhaps politically neccessary home, raid, there. From their airfields we have three striking routes: over the "Wall of Kregaia", which they seem to forget is going to do all SFA againsts a quality air unit, over the Imperial border with Aurelius, both putting us within striking distance of Seleucia, which apparently has an army with air support close by, so it's a more dangerous choice, or over the Halcyon/Aurelius border, attacking Slivan or Seleucia as we please, but having to worry about . Id advise the Halcyon route: as I said, the borderline should be easy to cross, and it's our only way of reaching Slivan, the less defended of the cities."
"Thank you, Frau Haldwische. General Krämer?"
The paratrooper stood up.
"On the issue of accessibility and airfields, Frau Haldwische has said it all. However, my Korps has some unique issues to consider.
"The Luftwaffe doubtlessly should, when not acting in a close support capacity, attack enemy cities and destroy their industrial facilities. Our troopers, however, should land in little frequented, badly guarded areas, something which Aurelius has no apparent shortage of. We should maintain communications with the Imperial expeditionary force, but act independently, performing hit and run raids and, most importantly, destroying the coastal defences north of the main line to facilitate an amphibious assault on Slivan."
"Excellent. And on that subject, General-Oberst Steuben?"
"We intend to go in, as Herr Krämer said, in the hinterland north of the main line of coastal defence and slightly east of Slivan. We will execute a swift Schwerpunkt operation, heavily supported by naval artillery and aircraft, while the rear echelon of enemy defences, the heavy forts and, presumably, logistical units, are attacked by the airborne. The instant we break through, we will make like bats out of hell for Slivan and attack, supported by the airborne, the Luftwaffe, the Schnapsemarine, and perhaps even the Imperial expeditionary force and the combined Imperial/Jipleastani armada. Once Slivan falls... well, I get the feeling that whatever the plan, no matter how brilliant, it won't survive contact with the enemy, to use a famous turn of phrase. All I'll say for now is if things look good, we'll press inland, if not, we can pull out into Halcyon with the help of the Schnapsemarine."
"Understood. And Reichsadmiral Jalfeiner?"
"Frau Steuben told you the first part of our plan, and our attitude to making one for later: we join the combined armada, support, with guns, missiles, and aircraft, the amphibious assault and subsequent attack on Slivan, evacuate the troops if necessary, and put into port in Halcyon, presumably Mon-Serat. As to the naval defences: step one is to simply send choppers with variable depth sonar over the minefields and then cut the wires with ROVs and blow a passage through the fields with our CIWS frigates. We then repeat the procedure over the torpedo buoys, using direct depth charging from the choppers."
"I see. Do you have anything to say, Reichsmarschall Fleischer?"
"In plain German, no. Give me a couple months and I can have three Armeegruppen in Kregaia. Hopefully I'll have one, and maybe an Armee or two from the second, in Imperial property by the time the Slivan op begins, and can move it in to prevent Jahvan rushing up troops from the south. That's all, and it's at the mercy of any other members, even my own Feldmarschalls if they don't like what I'm doing with their units."
"Good. Now, are we all in agreement with each other."
"Jawohl, Herr Schnapsemarschall."
"Then I shall contact Rosenthal."

"General! Die Ober-Kommando!"
Rosenthal took the earpiece from his RTO, listened, then handed it back to the Stabsgefreiter.
"Get me Shadows."
After a moment's knob-twiddling, the RTO had the radio back on the frequency the chopper had first used to contact the loyalists.
"This is the Schnapsewehr liaison, actual. I'd like to speak to General Shadows, face to face if possible."

Official Imperial Communique
To: Commander of Cadian Gate
From: Mier Klopt, General of Jipleastani Defenses at Fort Karik
Friend and Ally, We know of the massive army nearly upon our doorsteps, We may have something that may be of use against Asmodeus' long range artillery. We can, at the permission of both our emperors, have it operational within three hours. However, I shall not fill you in on the specifications until we receive word from our allies if it is feasible...

OOC: Nova Boozia, this should take care of things. And Jipleastan, sorry I haven’t had much time lately to write another post for Shield Vale. I’ll get to work on that.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To the Mondothian Ministry of State:

I do not respond well to threats, especially not from infidels. The Immigration Service inquires into the history of those seeking to enter Kregaia, and the Inquisition examines citizens. I have not received word that this Ner-Al-Din is hiding in the Valgoth Dominion. If you wanted to extract him, you should have contacted my government peacefully, instead of with a fleet on our doorstep. You seem to have chosen military means already, and I warn you, they will not be tolerated. I have ordered my forces to treat you as hostiles. We will meet upon the battlefield, infidels, and may you all burn in the depths of the Nine Hells.

High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

***

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: General Klopt

Although the Sacred Emperor wishes me to convey his regret that the specifications cannot be obtained at this time, he grants his permission to use the weapons you propose. The Divine One trusts that they will work effectively, but sends a warning that High Lord Asmodeus is cunning and powerful. Shield Vale will hold back his onslaught, but facing Asmodeus, things will not be as we expect.

General Vasraad, Commander of the Cadian Gate

***

M. Shadows swore fluently as the telephone on his desk rang again. Wrenching the receiver from the base, he growled, “What is it? I left orders I was not to be disturbed.”

“General, the liaison from the Boozians would like to speak with you. Rosenthal.”

“Then send him in, dammit!”

“At once, General.”

The doors to Shadows’s office swung open, and Rosenthal walked composedly in. Standing to greet him, Shadows tried-and failed-to put a civil tone on his speech.

“Major-General Rosenthal, can I ask you why you’re back? I thought we had settled matters.”

***

OFFICIAL INTELLIGENCE COMMUNIQUE

My friends from Nova Boozia, greetings and welcome to the Kregaian Empire.

My eyes and ears in the Korronis Defense Forces have informed me of your presence here...and I am eager to have your valuable assistance in such a great conflict as the Succession Wars. We are prepared to offer you a deal: we will pay you twice what General Shadows has promised you in return for your services during the war. Rest assured that when I wear the Iron Crown and rule the Empire, we shall remember the assistance of Nova Boozia, and your entire nation shall reap the rewards. You yourselves will be heroes. I do not wish to describe the consequences of refusal; you will simply become my enemies. I await your reply; send a messenger to Tarsus and I will make time to meet with him personally. If you wish a less overt form of communication, directly across from the Temple of the Slayer’s Anointed there is a postal box. Put your message underneath this. I await your reply.

High Lord Ishamael of Domain Sadow

OFFICIAL INTELLIGENCE COMMUNIQUE

To the noble Boozians, I send greetings and a proposal. I have obtained reports from my associates in the Korronis Defense Forces that you have come to the Empire; I also know that High Lord Ishamael has offered to pay you twice what the Loyalists have. I will match his offer...and once I sit in the Palace, I will not merely honor you and thank you, I shall give you three times as much as I have already given. Suffice to say, however, this offer will not be repeated again. Send your reply to the village of Winter Hold, in the Valgoth Dominion, and make sure the return address is from Korronis. Such a letter will find its way to me. A pleasure doing business with you, and I await your response.

High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

IC:"Forgive me, General, but for my plan to go ahead, I must request the temporary operational control of airfields in north-east Halcyon, with accomodation for approximately two thousand aircraft, dropping to half that number within two months. I will of course understand if my request is denied, but this is the most efficient way of carrying out the operation."

Yet again, an RTO handed his earpiece back into the choppers crew compartment, where Kaltenbach took it in Rosenthal's absence.
"Two messages, ma'am. I'll play them both."
The paratrooper listened, intrigued, to the officers, and the instant the message ended, she grabbed a map and speculative OOB from the mission library.
"Get the Ober-Kommando, Gefreiter, and be quick about it."
A moment later, she was talking to Schnapsemarschall Hallget.
"Herr Schnasemarschall, something very interesting's come up. I'm forwarding the messages now."

The message rang around the command bunker. The first to speak up was Jalfeiner
"I'd be tempted to go with Asmodeus. Lots of rewards, and lets consider this strategically: when Slivan falls, we can engage Rahvin's army, either destroying or damaging it depending on our and his remaining numbers, and then immediately pull out and make a short sail to Valgoth."
"And must we immediately assume it's a good idea to turn coat? I'm concerned for my troops on the heavy freighters: we don't have a clear, safe route to anywhere but Korronis and Jamaane, and I doubt they'll be popular there", said the ever cautious Fleischer.
"Take them north under the pretext that they will participate in the Slivan op, let them participate even, if possible, my Korps wasn't built for sieges and we'll have a safe bolthole. Then pull them out with the rest," retorted Steuben.
"It could severly delay the op to await for all three."
"Then deploy the second half later, under my escort, either in an offence or into friendly territory," Jalfeiner supplied.
"I have nothing to say. Anything goes."
"Then we are agreed? Send a reply."

As always, there was no little black cutter just outside the minefields off Valgoth, dropping buoys as it cruised earily down the coast. As usual, there was no helicopter carrying a squad of Schlagtruppen into Valgoth, sending, on all frequencies, "This is a Boozian helicopter speaking, so shoot us and your boss will be supremely pissed off."

There was probably a way to do it postally, but where was the fun in that?

General Shadows was taken aback by the request, but it didn’t take long for him to recover.

“I’m sorry, but I must deny your request. I do not have the authority to give you command of airfields in Halcyon Dominion, and even if I did, I would not without the direct approval of Imperator Vuell or the Sacred Emperor himself. I can do the next best thing, though,” he said, picking up his phone. He dialed quickly, and hurriedly talked past the screening system to reach the Imperator’s office.

“Sir, I have the Boozian liaison here...Yes, sir, they were briefed. Sir, he’s asking for command of the northeastern airfields in Halcyon Dominion, with supplies and space for two thousand aircraft....I know that, sir. If I may suggest something?...give them identification for carte blanche access, and contact the airfield commanders themselves to be safe. Or we could use some leftover space from the Fourth Army...thank you sir. I’ll be in touch...yes, if your people could fax them immediately...thank you, sir.”

Shadows hung up and faced the liaison. “Well, Imperator Vuell has denied you command of the airfields...but he’s giving you forms that identify you as a foreign representative, and that command those you show it to to give you whatever you need. I hope that’s all you require; please notify Imperator Vuell when your aircraft arrive. Thank you.”

***
OOC: Numbers for second invasion force below. And Nova Boozia, the land fortifications described in the OOC thread are present on the peninsula that Slivan’s on, and most of the strip from that peninsula’s base to the Wall of Kregaia, with gaps at either end.

IC: Lord High General Yataghan stood on a hill and grinned as he watched the Army of the Palatine, the First Army, march over the flat southern plains. They’d crossed the border into Jahvan’s territory three hours ago, and were driving northeast towards Seleucia; they were to approach from the south and come up behind Jahvan’s much smaller Third Army, trapping it between him and Rahvin’s expeditionary force. They’d unite and retake Seleucia...and move north to Slivan. Currently Rahvin had dispersed his two legions through the narrow strip between southern Aurelius and northern, pulling up railroads, destroying anti-air defenses, and generally slowing any reinforcements Jahvan had on the way to a crawl.

In short, Seleucia was as good as gone; the Lord General had an army much bigger than Jahvan’s Third, along with more aircraft, more tanks, and even one of the giant THUNKs. Those things were real destroyers; this was to be their first engagement, unless that fool Asmodeus up at Shield Vale had decided to attack the Cadian Gate, and Yataghan had no doubt they’d rip through Jahvan’s army with ease.

They would march through the night tonight; they’d be upon Jahvan’s army the day after tomorrow, and then the gods would have their share of battle to keep them happy.

OOC: First Army (Army of the Palatine), commanded by Lord High General Yataghan.
1,200,000 Legionaries
24,000 Immortals
2,400 War-Priests
300 light guns (105mm)
200 medium guns (155mm)
150 heavy guns (188mm)
150 AA guns (155mm flak)
25 Colossus howitzers (460mm)
400 SAM batteries
1,600 T-120 Ravagers
1,400 M146 Despoilers
2,800 Sidewinder LAVs
15 Hornet Subterranean Tactical weapons
1,800 F/A-104 Balefires
600 A-10 Thunderbolts
540 MiG-45s
160 Behemoth heavy bombers
24 B-6 Paladin stealth bombers
360 MI-24 Hinds
120 AH-166 Twilight gunships
1 THUNK (Terrible Horrible Unstoppable No-good Killer) Experimental Destroyer Engine

(Sorry for the long post in advance. If you want to skip the gory details, skip to the bottom)

The Setup

“Alright men, you’ve had your time. What do you have?” asked Szilárd

He was sitting at a table with three of his four captains. Some were smoking, and all had a glass of high quality scotch, despite the meager conditions of the safe house found in a hovel of a tennament in a poor section of Korronis.

Captain Yefrem Gavriil, dressed like a common street bum, was the first to answer.
“Sir, I’ve had a recon unit locate and map out a base near Antioch. We have 24 hour mini camera surveillance, and we are guessing there are 200 men there, along with light tank and LAV support. The base has hardened missile silos, we believe them to be a “Pandemonium” class, or so they are called. We can hit pretty much any target we want.”

“Do we actually know how to fire them?” asked Szilárd.

“No, we will need to capture a technician alive. We believe that this can be done rather well, since this will be a fast strike, and they have two entrances we will take out in advance. We will need regular transportation and extraction.”

“Allright, what else?”

Captain Plamen Chavdar was dressed as a businessman, and was puffing on a thick cigar.

“Sir, we’ve found a cruise missile base near Susa. They are using a pair of specialized vehicles holding four missiles each. We aren’t sure what kind they are, but they appear to be somewhat long range missiles. We’ve also managed to hide a few cameras focused on the base. Defences seem to be 200 men total, with a pair of tanks and some LAVs. We do not think we can successfully steal any of these missiles.” reported

Captain Miroslav Slavko, having only a little rest from a successful assault on the international, was unshaven and tired. He was the last to speak. “

“Sir, we’ve found a base matching those description of those two, same defences, about an hour and a halfs drives from Korronis. However, these missiles are more useful: truck racked. Recon thinks that we can fit these in a pair of light covered trucks, and I recommend we do so. We could use the leverage, possibly with Asmodeus.”

Major Szilárd took a swig of his scotch, and thought for a few minutes.

“Allright, here’s how I want it to go down. Gavriil, you said 4 silo caps?”
“Yes sir.”
“Allright, launch a pair over the Almoth Mountains at the city of Rashin, and two at Tarsus. Chavdar, shell Selecuia if you can. Slavko, I’ll get a pair of trucks for you. We’ll do a trade off with another pair and hide them. We also have new laser designators, and I’ve also received word that homing bomblet mortars are ready in relatively large numbers; the machine shop is just stamping them out by the dozen. Move on the facilities at 0450 tomorrow morning. Now lets drink, for tomorrow we may die.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Battle at Antioch, 0430

The 200 man strong force had been in a holding pattern for half an hour. It was nearly pitched black and dead quiet. The pandemonium base had a ring of scout snipers picking out targets, and marksman spotters had laser designators on the barracks, armory, the few cargo trucks that were in the area, the armored vehicles at either entrance, and the guard huts. The other platoons did not have a clear view of the base, though the 6 heavy weapons squads had taken positions that would cut off escapes, but would allow the javelin’s to lob missiles into the base.

Captain Gavriil was embedded with a sniper, A3 and SPAS-15 slung over his back. He whispered into his mic.
“All squads, this is sierra 3, signal 15”
“Sierra 3 this is golf battery, ready to fire on command.”
“Sierra 3, this is India leader, targets locked.”
“Sierra 3, this is Kilo 1, ready to move”
“Sierra 3, this is Kilo 2, locked and loaded”
“Sierra 3, this is Kilo 4, all teams ready.”
“All squads, this is sierra 3, wait for my go.”

Gavriil looked down at his chronometer. 0426. He was getting antsy, as this was the first major assault that would occur from this deathshead battalion in Kregia. He looked through his scope at one of the guard towers.
“Dumb bastard is smoking, so his night vision is shot.”
Gavriil scanned the post again, and hit a few spots with a laser range finder. He checked his chronometer again: 0429.
“All teams, signal 7, get ready. India platoon, pick your targets.” Gavriil checked his chronometer again, 0430 “Bravo battery, fire”
Five kilometers away, in two clearings, eight mortars were dropped into their tubes, and eight shells gracefully flew through the air. Two seconds later, another 8, non-bomblet mortar rounds followed, followed by another 8, and then another. All in all, each mortar had 15 shells in the air before the first ones split into a total of 120 guided bomblets, falling from the sky with deadly grace.
“This is sierra 3, India team, fire. Heavy weapons: fire.”
Within seconds, the snipers had fired, hitting 38 Kregians. Heavy machine gun fire raked across the guardposts at either end of the base while grenadiers launched HE grenades into them. 12 javelin missiles streaked towards the base’s armor and communications dish. As the tanks blew apart, the mortars came down, mauling the barracks and armory. Gavriil watched through his scope, and saw utter carnage as more mortars rained down.
“Bravo battery, need illumination. All teams: go.”
Like a swarm of ants, the Deathshead company sprinted towards the base through the now gaping holes in the perimeter fence. A squad, with Gavriil in command, hit the command center, while the other squads secured the base, in the process capturing the rapidly awoken commander of the base.
Swinging his shotgun down, Graviil shouted
“Break it down!”
A soldier, armed likewise with a breeching round, blew the lock out and kicked the door in, revealing an empy launch console.
“This is sierra 3, any prisioners?”
“Sierra 3 this is kilo 2, squad 1. We have the base commander.”
“Bring him here.”
A few moments later, the commander was thrown into the command and launch center. Graviil unsheathed a large combat knife and a small piece of paper.
“Hold him down.” He ordered. “Now listen you piece of shit, I don’t have time for any imperial honor or burn in hell, so you’ll do what I say. You are going to launch those missiles at these coordinates. You are going to die tonight, how slowly depends on how much you cooperate.”
The commander couldn’t muster more than to spit at Graviil before the buttstock of a shotgun came down on his face.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” Graviil took his knife, and cut off one of the commander’s fingers, producing a forceful shriek of pain.
“Now, launch the goddamn missiles.”
“No.” gasped the exasperated commander.
“Fine, we’ll do it your way.” Replied Graviil, who then took the bloody combat knife and jammed it up to the hilt in the commander’s leg, producing an inhumane scream. “This blade is serrated, and I’m pretty sure I’m near the bone. You may pray to what ever heathen gods you have for a quick death, but unless you do as I ask, your world will be pain.
“Fine… I… I’ll do it.”
“Good.”

After the missiles were successfully launched, Graviil took a scrambled cloned phone and called Szilárd.
“HQ, this is Sierra 3, birds are go. How were the others?”
“Sierra 3 this is HQ. Other missions were successful, no full casualties, 3 lightly wounded. Evacuate.”
Hanging up his phone, which would be destroyed later that day, Graviil and his team torched the base and evacuated, leaving, to the best of their ability and knowledge, no survivors.

Rashin and Tarsus had a pair of Pandemonium missiles heading for them, Selecuia had a full compliment of Rapiers, and a base worth of Stilettos had disappeared off the map.

Asmodeus' response had been expected and the response was carefully thought out for maximum impact. The MNS Manxome's press room had been carefully adorned to enhance the effect that Admiral Bin Jamaal had masterminded. The floor to ceiling window had been draped with a thin Mondothian flag that allowed a shrouded view of the main deck where the 16in. ETC guns were clearly aligned and elevated for firing. In front of the draped window stood the Admiral in full dress uniform, his imposing figure rooted firmly in front of the window with the massive guns positioned behind it.

The message was sent sent live to Asmodeus.

"Your response is unfortunate but not unexpected. You may have believed that such a trite dismissal would suffice to turn this fleet from your doorstep, but the truth of the matter is that we know you are harbouring Al-Din and such simple attempts at diversion will not dissuade this fleet from bringing him to justice-"
At this, the 16in. batteries opened up, gouts of flame sprouted from the weapons muzzles flinging their huge projectiles into the air and releasing a thunderous roar that rumbled across the water. Across the fleet, guns were elevated and firing, providing a deep rumbling illustration of the fleets intent.

ninety seconds later, the rounds expended from the fleets bombardment began detonating over the beach, blanking out the sky with the airbursts that spread hundreds of thousands of submunitions over the area that would soon be host to an invasion force of Mondothian Marines.
Intelligence had not anticipated any sizeable shore defenses, but to be sure, and to provide an impressive demonstration, Admiral Bin Jamaal had decided to give the beach a good go-over with the fleets fire support guns. The submunitions spread over the beach, leaving no single point far from one of the small explosives. As the clouds cleared from the explosions that had scattered the bombletts, a second thunderous roar went up as the staggering number of sub-munitions detonated simultaneuosly to shred whatever unexpected defenses might have existed.

OOC: Thanks, Warmaster, but what my officers meant was to attack north of the army garrison. I have plans for the automated defences.
IC:"Thank you, General. In that case I'll have to go with the airforce units."
Back at the chopper, Kaltenbach immediately slammed the door.
"Radios off."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Herr General-Major, there's been a big change of plan. Basically, we're now going to do a runner as soon as we finish th Aurelius campaign and take refuge in Jamaane. Here's the full file."
Rosenthal was puzzled, but ifhe was shocked, he didn't show it.
"Why?"
"He offered us a major reward, and of the two that did, he can be better worked into our strategy. Speaking of which, all the pieces are nearly in place. We're just waiting for my Korps and the Luftwaffe."
"And us? We aren't going to be popular round here."
"There's a plan in the pipeline, but we wont need it any time soon."
"Tell them I have one which is probably better. These forms clear me, and me alone, to take command of the airfields necessary for what's being called "Operation: Butcher's Bill". That means I'll have to go there in person, taking the escort squad with me, and I'm hardly going to leave you people unprotected. Radios on."


Grössadmiral Moltke loved formations. There was something deeply gratifying about a grand armada clustered together in perfect order, each vessel the specified number of metres, decimimetres even, from the next. He also got an exhiliarating feeling from standing on the observation mast of his superdreadnought flagship, Götterdämmerung, watching the spray around her massive bows. She was fairly small, by international standards, but she was still ridiculously huge.

The fleet surrounded a core of its own attendant logistical vessels, the marine landing ships, and a flottila of massive bulk freighters filled with a full Armeegruppen. Not too far away, a second fleet was at anchor, ostensibly "just sitting there", but in reality positioned to cover the escape of Moltke's fleet and its precious cargo north, into Jamaane. Which, regretibly, seemed to be under attack by a foreign power. More problems.



Luftoffizier Johanasen was also a fan of the formation, one that was more than a kilometre higher, much faster, and in three dimensions, but fundamentally the same: the fighters wrapped in a globe around bombers, fuel planes, and transport aircraft. So he was rather miffed about having to change it as a helicopter from Korronis came up to join the Luftgruppe and the divisions they protected, transmitting its identity and that of the planes above.

Schnapseheer bugger. Let him try and keep up.

"All pilots and squadron leaders, no plane is to overtake General-Major Rosenthal's helicopter. I repeat, all..."

Verdammt!


It was some time later that, once again transmitting, the chopper requested a landing point in the Halcyon airfield.
OOC2: Fleet numbers:

1 Götterdämmerung-class dreadnought
3 Schmaldt-class fleet carriers
6 Leztes Wort-class battleships
18 Eisenhammer-class missile destroyers
18 Geistschiff-class attack submarines
30 Zu Reiben Axt-class gun cruisers
36 Knochentanzer-class ASW destroyers
60 Hornisse-class AA/CIWS frigates
6 Eisentaufel-class vanguard landing ships
3 Eisensturm class heavy landing ships
40 bulk freighters

Group numbers:

600 Tötendonner fighters
60 Tötenblitz electric warfare fighters
288 Schwarzregen bombers
A large number of transport aircraft and choppers

The reply came almost immediately from the Loyalist airfields.

“Boozian air fleet, we have word of your arrival and you are cleared for landing. Please land your aircraft at fields A through D.”

***

Colonel Falkenhayn and his men moved with grim purpose through the corridors of the Cadian Gate, inwardly exulting at the honor granted to them. Their master, Asmodeus, had given them the task of shutting down the defenses of Shield Vale, and by the gods, they would succeed. This great fortress had become the newest locus of Imperial arrogance; General Vasraad now presumed to defy High Lord Asmodeus, thinking the Gate would protect him. Fool. Vasraad had been his commanding officer for years, but the man was sadly mistaken if he thought that would stop Falkenhayn from doing his duty.

Reaching the entrance to the War Room, Falkenhayn aligned his eye with the retina scanner, placed his hand on another scanner, and with his other hand inserted a passcard into a slot in the wall. Speaking slowly and carefully, he said, “Colonel Couladin Falkenhayn.” There was a pause as the system analyzed the four ID’s, and opened as it confirmed his identity and authorization to enter. The door guards moved to intercept to his men, but Falkenhayn waved them away, displaying the papers that allowed them to enter. Saluting, the guards let them in, but removed their weapons.

Falkenhayn and his soldiers strode over to the sector of the War Room that controlled the Gate’s defenses, set off from the main floor. Each sector was outlined by a large metal shutter; the theory was that if an enemy entered the War Room, the shutters could be raised, and the techs inside could continue directing the Gate defenses, safe behind the near-impervious wall. But as soon as Falkenhayn’s men were all inside, he hit the button that rose the shutter, and before the stunned door guards could respond, the shutter was already rising above head height. Grinning, Falkenhayn and his men withdrew tiny two-shot pistols from hidden holsters, holding the techs at gunpoint.

One by one, Falkenhayn shut down the defenses of the Cadian Gate. Within minutes, even the searchlights went dark, and miles away, Asmodeus’s army knew that the time had come.0

***

Commander Arad Shaen reached for his radio as the four massive guns before him swiveled to face the Cadian Gate. Smiling slightly in the pre-dawn twilight, he reported, “C Battery ready, sir. Awaiting further orders.”

A second later, the reply came back from his superior, “Stand by for orders, Commander.”

Shaen leaned against a card table cluttered with papers and gazed fondly at the quartet of guns, towering over his men, wheels resting firmly on the rails. They were 420mm railguns, and they had come in at around three in the morning. Even the massive walls of the Gate could not hold out forever against these huge weapons. More of them were positioned near the two other major batteries, all fully loaded and ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

His radio crackled and a voice came through clearly. “Operation Templar is green to go, repeat, green to go. Fire at will.” Hurriedly Shaen motioned for his men to cover their ears and get down on the ground.

With a roar like the sky falling, C Battery opened fire.

The ten Colossus 460mm howitzers were first to fire, hurling their dense projectiles at the Gate; they were followed by the four railguns and the self-propelled 188mm guns, firing not at the Gate but at the defenses in the no man’s land between them; explosive bunkers were blasted apart, mines smashed and ruined, wire and fences destroyed. Luckily the ground was dry, or the plains would have become a sea of mud. Rumbling like a dragon awakening, Asmodeus’s army marched forth.

Ten legions, 1.2 million men, raced across the plains, hurrying to get as far as they could before counterfire from the Jipleastanis or Loyalists came. Most of the armies would be asleep; under siege or not, a full army need not keep watch. Fools.

Receiving word that the Gate now lacked AA defenses, flights of aircraft began taking off; still, although the automatic defenses were down, the various anti-air guns were still active, and there wasn’t much time before the Loyalists restored the rest. Thus, the Behemoth bombers launched some of their Gomorrah AGMs, hoping to knock out some of the AA guns. The helicopters flew low, not far over the trooper’s heads, too low for the guns to reach them. Only the sparsest counterfire was directed at the hundreds of thousands of Legionaries rushing into the valley. Troops began to stream out of the Cadian Gate, but it was too late to stop Asmodeus’s army from entering the valley. The mouth of Shield Vale darkened from the horde charging across it.

Suddenly, lights blazed again across the fortresses of the Gate; missiles began to streak from launchers into the charging ranks. The defenses were back up. In the dim, pre-dawn light, explosions began to blast into Asmodeus’s ranks. Turrets on tanks swiveled back towards the Gate and Fort Karik, and opened fire. Hundreds, then thousands of shells hurled toward the nearby fortifications, matched by rockets from the helicopter gunships. Three legions split off from Asmodeus’s main group and, followed by detachments of light armor and most of the helicopters, moved to the right flank of the advancing army and headed for the Gate itself, to fight among the fortresses, armories, missile silos, and other structures that formed the Gate.

Suddenly, as one, the guns and missile launchers of the Cadian Gate launched a massive counterattack. Hundreds of shells from mobile artillery were in the air in an instant, and seconds later, massive guns launched shells as big as 460mm on impossibly high trajectories. Rapier missiles, Spearhunter missiles, Stiletto missiles, Gomorrah AGMs...all were hurled in the space of several seconds at Asmodeus’s horde. The effect not only ripped through the infantry and even exacted its toll on the armored M146 Despoilers and T-120 Ravagers, but it temporarily disabled many of Asmodeus’s Legionaries. As their vision cleared, they saw rank after rank of disciplined Legionaries, with Immortals at their head, marching from the Gate into battle. What did it matter if Asmodeus had three times their number of men? They fought with the blessing of the gods and of the Sacred Emperor. Their dead would be embraced by the gods, welcomed into the halls of the Slayer, exalted above mortal honor.

OOC: Jipleastan, here’s a further geographical description of the Cadian Gate area; the plains east of the valley open into the valley. The Cadian Gate is positioned at a northward bend in the valley, a chokepoint, after which the Vale bends westward again. The Gate fills in that chokepoint; I don't know where Fort Karik is. So Asmodeus's army had some way to go after entering the valley before being actually at the Cadian Gate.

Johansen took up formation with his squadron, Delta from the Second Wing, as the group landed, bombers and transports alone, fighters in sections of six or flights of three.
From a command aircraft emerged a man with an impressive fruit salad collection. But not of the "the state appreciates your paperwork" variety: his ribbon board included numerous combat missions, citations, and long service awards, and no-one who knew a thing about uniforms could fail to notice the twin patches sewn to his sleeves, marked “Tötungen: 32”.
"Where is the commanding officer? I want to speak to the commanding officer."

"My lord, we are receiving a report from our base in Shield Vale."
"Yes yes... what is it?"
"They have received word that Asmodeus' forces have opened fire against Cadian Gate AND our own base in the area, Fort Karik"

"They have requested permission to fire O.D.I.O.U.S in order to make a massive blow against Asmodeus' moral"
"Those traitors shall pay... dearly... for every Jipleastani killed... there shall be 20 of theirs... Permission granted... fire ODIOUS..."
"Yes sir."

-=-=At Fort Karik=-=-

"SIR! We have large amounts of enemy fire coming on on the forward defenses!"

"We have also received word from home, they are going to fire ODIOUS..."

"Thank God... maybe this will show these traitors the error of their ways. What do we have to fire back currently?"

"Our heavy DM-48 Artillery pieces have opened fire on the enemy, however if they break Cadian Gate... We won't be able to hold long... We have 100 Caesar III tanks on the move to intercept the enemy forces attacking Karik... and finally, our MLRS artillery have opened fire with their napalm load... We estimate 1 minute before impact..."

"Very good... Now, get the missile tubes ready, and get those missiles into the air!"

"Yes sir."

{}{}ODIOUS Command Center, Deep in The Jipleastani Mountains{}{}

"It's about time we get some action around here", remarked the commanding officer.

"We will be ready to fire in 30 minutes sir."
"Very good, I want those who threaten our own men, and our allies to be decimated, more-so than they already will be."

OOC: now for most of you, except Warmaster and Doom ODIOUS is a totally new thing... it, in a nutshell, is a big honkin laser-esque thing that was meant to shoot down missiles... However... I adapted it for ground use... so yea...

City of Tarsus, capital of Sadow Dominion, 0332 hrs

The radar stations around Tarsus were fairly quiet. Avaru had launched a few missiles here and there since the war began, but not enough to get past the air defense systems. There was not going to be much action around Tarsus unless the Loyalists invaded from the south or Avaru from the northeast, and either way, if they got close to Tarsus then the city was already lost. But despite all this, the officers had stubbornly insisted on complete surveillance, shaving off hours of sleep to ensure that Tarsus never let its guard down. One thing could be said for the followers of High Lord Ishamael: they were determined not to let their master down.

As fate would have it, however, one of the operators had foregone more coffee and was slipping asleep when the radar began picking something up.

Several seconds later, he jerked himself fully awake, glaring at the console and swearing loudly. “We’ve got one missile incoming!” he yelled, opening a line to Tarsus Air Defense . “Looks like a Pandemonium II!” Then he realized the implications of that statement. One heavy incendiary missile, detonating in the right area, could kill dozens and start one hell of a fire. He quickly reported his situation, hurriedly adding that another missile was following shortly behind it.

Too late.

The missile detonated in a poor neighborhood; the poorly-constructed homes blazed easily and quickly. Firemen were dispatched immediately, but dozens would die...and the operator knew it was his fault. His fault for merely not staying alert enough. It was no consolation when the second missile was destroyed in flight.

And so two hours later he was found hanging from the bathroom ceiling, with a message taped to his chest: “FORGIVE MY FAILURE”.

Across the Empire, the much less prepared city of Rashin endured both missile hits, one cutting a highway leading out of the city towards Antioch, another hitting the upper floors of a hotel and blasting out an entire floor. Seleucia was undefended save for Jahvan’s army...which was too far north to do any good. The incoming flight of Rapier missiles was seen in advance, and though the air raid siren was sounded, many civilians didn’t make it into their basements in time. Hotels, banks, a radio tower, even the mayor’s mansion were hit, killing a total of around two hundred people across the city. This was only the beginning. High General Yataghan was closing in...and since the rebellion in the city, the Imperium had held quite a grudge against the Seleucians. At daybreak, tens of thousands crowded into the temples of the city, praying, sacrificing favorite pets, inmates, or slaves. They prayed for the deliverance of Seleucia, for as the saying went, “Only the gods grant clemency.”

But the gods were silent.

***

The banners of clans and Domains waved over the battlefield as Shield Vale became a killing zone. Asmodeus’s army was trapped between the much smaller, but better trained and coldly murderous, force of troops guarding the Gate and the outer layers of defense, which they had rushed by in their charge. Thus, Asmodeus devoted one of his batteries to the destruction of those defenses that fired on his army’s rear.

The banners of clan Ares, Asmodeus’s clan, vied with those bearing the Great Seal of the Imperium. Legionaries shot, killed, died, stabbed, kicked, flailed, screamed and burned through their last moments, in the mighty dance of death that stretched across the valley.

Surely the Slayer was pleased.

The Dragon as well; the Dragon was the deified form of Typhon the Warmaster, the builder of the Palace, namesake of the Empire, founder of the Imperium and the first Sacred Emperor, and could loosely be described as the god of glory. The Dragon smiled on war as much as the Slayer, celebrating each fallen warrior that would ascend to paradise. The Immortals were his special favorites...masters of battle, each exulting in their honor and in their numberless victories. Truly this was a spectacle fit for deities.

Indeed, the Immortals seemed heroes among mere mortals; moving fluidly, lethally, numbering each fallen foe. Murmuring prayers under their breath, they were almost silent, and their steel deathmasks made them faceless. They were a perfect contrast to the War-Priests; few in number but of unfathomable ferocity. They bore chainguns instead of assault rifles, and before them, enemy lines seemed to wither. Against foreign foes, the terrifying presence of Immortals and War-Priests was near unstoppable, augmented by the armored hulks of the deadly main battle tanks, the M146 Despoilers and the T-120 Ravagers. How much more interesting, then, when these acolytes in the temple of war battled each other.

Occasional MOABS fell from the heavens, detonating 11 tons of pure murder. Not the vast numbers of Asmodeus’s horde, nor the concrete and steel of the Cadian Gate, could stand against these massive bombs. They dwarfed the cluster bombs and AGMs hurled back and forth from the skies. Asmodeus’s airfleet was in the sky, now, trading missiles and 30mm cannonfire with the defenders of the Gate. Helicopters took off, bearing a dozen troops, flying them to the rooftops of the Gate. Many of them were shot down, the extra weight slowing them.

And then the Jipleastani napalm started to fall.

Asmodeus’s soldiers screamed, a sound of agony beyond human tolerance, as they blazed like torches. They rolled in the dirt to put it out, only to be crushed by feet or tank treads. Some of them died holding their triggers down, firing randomly at the soldiers around them. Hundreds were wiped out by this single action, dying agonizing deaths. In response, the artillery fire from outside Shield Vale intensified, some shells aimed at the origin of the napalm-bearing guns, others hurling shells directly into the mass of Loyalist troops. In Asmodeus’s ranks, a detachment of forty Sidewinder LAVs launched all six of their BGM-71 missiles at the 100 Caesar MBTs. Imperial forces had never faced Doomingslander vehicles before...it was time to see how they fared. On the heels of the missiles, ninety M146 Despoilers turned towards the oncoming armor, firing their 125mm shells and their machine guns, even as the 12.7mm AA gun on the back of the tank sought out enemy air targets. Meanwhile, in the depths of the gate, troops and techs scrambled into a gigantic hangar and hurried to enter one of four gigantic war machines, bristling with guns and racks of missiles, with by far the thickest armor ever put on an Imperial land vehicle.

The THUNKS were coming to town. No quarter from these massive killers. No mercy from the Imperium. The slaughter they would wreak would be simply another aspect of the great offering to the gods that was the Battle of the Cadian Gate.

An Imperial mechanic heard the Boozian's request and hurried to fetch Major Ventris. After a few minutes, the officer himself could be seen leaving a hangar, and he strode across the airfields to the Boozians. Nodding to their leader, easily distinguished by the medals on his chest, Major Ventris asked what they wanted from him, as he steeled himself to lose command as a practical matter. Imperator Vuell's staff had called him and informed him that the Boozians had top priority and could request whatever they wanted. He really existed to be their servant...but he'd do as he was ordered, however much it irritated him.

OOC: If there is anything wrong with the methods I am using to clear the defences, just ask and I'll edit.
IC:"We'll just be needing a complete refeul, and, depending on how long that will take, perhaps some food and water for my airmen. They'll sleep in their aircraft."


Moltke pondered begining the operation. Jahvan's fleet severely outnumbered his own, but then again, they would come after him when the operation comenced, whether the Fallschirmjageren and the Luftwaffe were ready or not.

And indeed, if he was moving to support the attack on Slivan, he would need to lure them south, away from Slivan and towards his current position. Perhaps if he left a few "patrol frigates", fleeing as soon as the enemy saw them, leading them round in a wild goose chase while he moved into the bay... it was an attractive idea.

He ordered the Unter-Leutnant on commo to transmit the request for a change of plan, and began pinpointing the position for his lures. Felfner from Nashorn was good at evasion, and Gerspel on Jagdhund...

"High command says go ahead, and I told the air units as well."

"Good, start Operation: Picking Cherries and transmit these co-ordinates to the following ships..."

He rattled off the list as the small helicopter complement launched from not only the carriers, but half the fleet: if you had spare room, you added a heli-pad. Each one towed a Variable Depth Sonar Array, which they carefully dipped into the minefields ahead before reeling it in again.

The located mines were set about by ROVs as the helicopters moved in deeper, the some moving right into the torpedo buoy fields and depth charging the defence systems.

Fixed-wing recon squadrons equipped with a healthy amount of EW planes were meanwhile moving inland, attempting to pinpoint the defences in the last three tiers. Inevitably, many wouldn't be returning. War was like that.

But even if the planes did go down, the guns of the cruisers and battleships, swung up to indirect mode, were targeted already and began to roar, while the VLS was popped open and hurled against the heavy artillery emplacements.

By now the gap in the minefields ought to be thick enough for a destroyer, perhaps a cruiser, to negotiate, and already the ASW destroyers were using this to interpose themselves (and their adavanced counter-torpedo systems) between the buoys and the fleet.

Well decks were flooded, helicopters boarded, aircraft manned and rifles loaded. Jahvan may have been alerted to the fleets existance, but by the time his overburdened troops reached this stretch of the coast, it might already be to late.

Fort Karik, Shield Vale
"Sir we are getting reports in from the battle, our napalm MLRS strike was massively successful, however we are still taking fire from enemy artillery, just out of range of our own."

"Well, how long until ODIOUS is ready to fire?"
"They will be ready to fire momentarily, sir."
"Very good, have them target the artillery battery with one blast, then target the heart of Asmodeus' troops and armor"
"Yes sir", and the Lieutenant moved to relay the coordinates to the ODIOUS Command Center.

"Gunnery Commander, come here"
"Yes sir?"
"Is there anyway you can shift the fire from the missile batteries to hit the enemy artillery positions?"
"Sir, the batteries that we have are all focused at keeping enemy forces at bay, we cannot shift their fire."
"Damn it, how long until the cruise missiles can be fired?
"Within an hour sir"
"WE DON'T HAVE AN HOUR COMMANDER!"
"Yes, sir, I will get the men on it to work faster."
"You are dismissed commander..."
"Yes sir."

ODIOUS Command Center, Jipleastan

"Sir, we are receiving the coordinates of where to fire ODIOUS"
"Good, very good... How long until she is ready?"
"She is ready on your command, Sir."
"Very good! Now, lets give these bastards hell... They will rue the day they decided to break away from our ally... Now FIRE!"
"YES SIR!"

The Lieutenant punched in the coordinates and with the General in charge, turned the two keys that would activate the firing array. A great green beam shot up from the mountains, this is the first time that the ODIOUS system was being used on land, it had previously been used on ships and the like, but never on land. The technology perfected years ago after an invasion from aliens, yes aliens, that the CAD nations were triumphant in beating.

"God help those poor souls who this weapon touches, for they will not see anything after...."

OOC: To get an idea of what it looks like, check the OOC thread.

Major Szilárd had been laughing to himself since the raid. His assaults already made the news: Selucia was hit hard, the capital of Sadow, Tarsus had a nice fire going, and Rashin was short a highway. Beautiful, just beautiful. The 80 Stilletos were safely stowed away in a myriad of places, and he had Βασιλικά χαλυβουργεία modify a few panneled trucks to act as hidden launch vehicles. With this in mind, he drafted a letter that would be sealed in wax with the sign of a deathshead. Kobayashi was ready to negotiate with this chosen high lord, and a letter was sent well in advance.

From:_________
To: High Lord Asmodeus
Subject: Missile Attack

We are the paramilitary force that your government has sought for so long yet failed to find. We are responsible for the attacks on Selucia, Tarsus, and Rashin. We also caught wind that your armies are breaking like waves on the so called Cadian gate. We fear that you may have over-reached on this operation, and are in need of some help. We have 80 Stilleto missiles safely hidden away and ready to hit just about any location that you want to be hit. However, we will expect a sort of payment before we fight for you. A man named Kobayashi will be in Fort Dharus at what ever he believes will be the headquarters building. I suggest you talk to him.

With a laugh, Szilárd had the letter dispatched.

Asmodeus was shocked to hear that he had a diplomatic message, considering his situation; he was still in his mobile command center, a few miles away from the raging Battle of the Cadian Gate, directing artillery fire, troop movements, and other things. He was even more shocked to read the message. His spies in Korronis had passed along rumors that Crown Prince Antiochus had made a deal with a foreign paramilitary force that had been attacking the International the very day before he was captured by Ishamael. Further, they proposed to turn the tide of a battle this size with eighty Stilettos? He had nobody to reply to, furthermore. Infuriating. This Kobayashi was the only contact, and he was in Fort Dharus, a town dominated by the military presence in and around it. The defense of the northlands were conducted from Fort Dharus. Another interesting fact was that it was on the other side of the Great Spine, much too far for him to personally go there.

Hurriedly he sent a message to one of his spies on the Fort Dharus staff, commanding him to find this Kobayashi and set up a video link between them. His spies in Fort Dharus were not the brightest people, and Asmodeus could not trust them with negotiations of this kind. Word was that the International was furious about the attacks on them, and thus these foreigners were plainly not a group to be trifled with.

His next order of business was to send elements of the Northern Legion south. A force of infidels had landed in his territory, and he would drive this rabble back into the sea with ease; indeed, he had to move quickly, lest the heathens send enough troops to pose a threat.

Half an hour later, Asmodeus’s deputy headed to the apartments in the bleak town of Fort Dharus. It was truly godforsaken here, just short of the northernmost tip of the Empire, where the empty wastes stretched endlessly, broken only by oil drills. Few civilians wanted to live here, but some of the families of the soldiers in the fort decided it was better to follow their husband/father/brother even to the northlands, for family bonding. Quite a sacrifice; there were few comforts in Fort Dharus.

It had been easy to find this Kobayashi fellow; a foreigner stood out anywhere in the Empire, especially here, and the Imperial Guard garrison here had been keeping an eye on him since he’d arrived recently. Very recently. Turning left, the man stared up at the motel the foreigner was staying in. Shrugging, he entered and flashed his ID at the desk to show the manager that he was a rep from the fort, and the man stood aside willingly. Not that there was likely to be trouble...but one didn’t obstruct an emissary of the Legions, one gave him what he wanted, especially with the guns of Fort Dharus overshadowing this pitiful icehole.

Once at Kobayashi’s room, the messenger knocked once, entered without waiting for an answer, and didn’t give the foreigner a second glance. Instead, he opened his case and withdrew a laptop. He opened it and completed the link. It was now linked to a computer in High Lord Asmodeus’s command center, in faraway Shield Vale. Asmodeus’s face appeared on the screen, politeness and sincerity written all over his face, a little too much to be completely sincere. No doubt his master was irritated at having to personally communicate with an infidel, the deputy thought. Mentally shrugging, he left the room to give the two privacy.

As he closed the door, Asmodeus spoke. “So you are Kobayashi. I have heard whispers of who you are, and who you represent, and I am perfectly willing to do business with you...but I am bemused at your methods. Eighty Stiletto missiles are not enough to seriously harm the Cadian Gate. If they were properly directed, and could get past its defenses, then they might do some damage, but otherwise, it would be a waste of missiles. So though I am willing to pay for your services, I do hope you can offer more direct support than that. I don’t suppose you have an army hidden away in Kregaia somewhere, but any manpower you could bring to bear would be welcome, and compensated. I would remind you, though, that I am paying for the best. My army is far larger than anything you could hope to bring to this continent, and it has not yet succeeded in taking the Gate. I will pay for men who are worthy to assist me and my army, nothing less.”

OOC: Forces dispatched to fight Mondothian invasion:
24,000 Legionaries
1,000 Immortals
80 light guns
60 medium guns
30 heavy guns
50 AA guns
50 SAM batteries
200 T-120 Ravagers
120 M146 Despoilers
600 Sidewinder LAVs
400 F/A-104 Balefires
200 A-10 Thunderbolts
20 Behemoth heavy bombers
60 MI-24 Hinds

***

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To Boozian helicopter

This is High Lord Asmodeus Vasraad. Welcome to the Empire, and to Valgoth Dominion. If your commander wishes to speak to me, come to Shield Vale. My current forward base of operations is located some miles out from the Vale itself. I will speak with you personally as soon as circumstances allow. You have my promise that no forces loyal to me will harm you, but I would suggest you approach the Vale very carefully; there is a battle in progress, and I would hate for our business to be disrupted by a well-aimed Loyalist missile.

High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

***

OOC: I hope a few hours is normal for refueling; I really have no idea how long it would take.

IC: Ventris nodded as the Boozian airman spoke, and replied immediately. “We’ll begin at once, and let you know when we’re done. It should take us a few hours. In the meantime, the mess is over by the barracks,” he said, pointing to it, “and as long as you don’t come all at one time, there’ll be plenty to accommodate everyone. Excuse me, I’ve got to get these orders sent out.” Turning away, Ventris pulled out his handheld computer and started typing the order to refuel the Boozian aircraft.

***

Before the taunting edifice of the Cadian Gate, the battle raged on. Though numbers were, of course, firmly on the side of Asmodeus’s warriors, the advantages of better weaponry, better training, and more experience were on the side of the Loyalists. The Sacred Emperor himself had sent them a message ordering them to fight until the last gasp of breath and drop of blood. And for the Sacred Emperor, there was no doubt at all that they would do it.

What is death to the faithful?

Waves of men lapped at the walls of the Gate and of Fort Karik, and were turned aside. But then, such attacks were not meant to take either. They were probing diversions, forcing the already-outnumbered defenders to spread their numbers even more; and yet the Gate’s commanders and soldiers were equal to the task. And besides...though neither side knew it, the tide was turning, moving back and forth, and would move much quicker before the battle was done.

Out of a clear sky, the morning having dawned bright and warm, at least for the northlands, came something. Something that burned like the deepest pits of the Ninth Hell, something that shone with the fury of a hundred suns. The great green laser burned into Asmodeus’s ranks, vaporizing cloth, melting metal, disintegrating flesh. It tore through ranks like a hot iron bar through papyrus, and even in the command center, with windows self-tinting as soon as something too bright appeared, the techs shook their heads, the light burning their retinas. As suddenly as it had appeared, the laser was gone...but it had left destruction in its wake. Dozens of tanks, at least a hundred, were ruined or destroyed outright, and perhaps thirty thousand men lay dead.

Adding to the chaos was the mass of dirt that had been thrown into the sky as the laser drilled into the ground and into bedrock. The clear morning sky became twilit, the blue firmament turning to gray in seconds. Out of this darkling semi-night came the towering shapes of the THUNKs, the Terrible Horrible Unstoppable No-good Killers. Aptly named machines; they were designed and armed to tear through armies. Four 155mm guns formed their main weapon, and already they thundered, driving shell after shell into Asmodeus’s army. Tanks, LAVs, even infantry shifted fire to the monstrosities, but they rolled through the fire with ease, their massive armor barely touched. Chainguns all over their hulls fired, blazing as they slaughtered Legionaries in droves. Anti-air guns coldly shot down helicopters, fighters...the Balefires, the terror of infidels, were helpless before this assault. 30mm cannons blazed, but even these great weapons could not harm the war machines that rolled easily through the Vale. Exulting in their advantage, the defenders surged forward, driving Asmodeus’s army back.

And then the artillery fire shifted to the THUNKs.

It was difficult aiming against a single machine, even large as they were, but even a few shells were worth it. The THUNKS rolled on, ignoring 105mm shells, but more followed, and the Colossus shells behind that. And it was a certainty that nothing short of the Palace or a superdreadnaught could withstand a direct hit from a Colossus shell. One was hit square by such a shell; its armor crumpled like tin and smoke leaked from it. It rolled on, jerkily, until a second barrage of shells tore it apart. Still, the three other machines continued on. However, seeing the Loyalist machine destroyed and trailing smoke, Asmodeus’s forces rallied. They forced the Gate’s defenders back again, ignoring the THUNKs, as their fire would make no difference; instead they poured fire again on the Jipleastanis and the Loyalists.

The tide had turned, but not enough to break the enemy...and so the dance of death went on.

"Sir! ODIOUS Has struck the enemy ranks, it was a resounding success, hundreds of enemy tanks, thousands of soldiers, and a multitude of other things were obliterated"

"Fantastic, now how is the battle looking?"

"Well, a THUNK has been destroyed, but there are still three going, most of Asmodeus' forces are focused on them, but there are still some attacking Fort Karik"

"Well, prepare another volley of napalm, and ready the minigun turrets, I want a wall of depleted uranium slicing through Asmodeus' ranks..."

"Yes sir, anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing... are the cruise missile batteries ready?"

"They will be soon, within 10 minutes, I believe"

"Good. When they are ready I want a volley launched at the command bunker of Asmodeus' forces, You are dismissed"

"Yes Sir."

Upon landing, the Marines had quickly established a shore base of operations from prefabricated inflatable structures. Almost immediately an airfield began to take shape as the divisions Rapid Airfield Developement Squad started laying down steel mesh and quick drying cement to land transports full of supporting troops and equipment thta were already inbound from the nearest Allied airbase. (OOC: Typical time from landing to the time an airfield is fully prepped is about 12-18 hours depending on terrain, unless of course the terrain is totaly unable to hold an airfield. The first transports should land 6-8 hours afterwords)
Artillery pieces and MLRS units were ferried ashore and scattered, until the invaders left the artillery range of the big ships waiting offshore, the SPHs and MLRS units would only be needed for counter battery fire, which they could do just as well scattered as clustered into vulnerable formations.
Tempest tank killers and Gorrila AFVs were dug in around the periphery of the landing zone ready to repel any assault.

As soon as word came that the enemy was mustering a force to repel the landing, things hit a fevered pitch, Air patrols were extended over the landing area/forward base and the artillery pieces began establishing points of aim for artillery deployed minefields and fire support in case of an attack while the crews of the entrenched vehicles began concealing their positions.
Snipers and Man Portable AT missiles were dispatched to conceal themselves in ambush positions to stall the approaching force and deal as much damage as possible before retreating back to the relative security of the main encampment. When Asmodeus' forces attacked, they would be attacking an entrenched enemy through a field scattered with mines and ambushes waiting to be sprung while off shore, heavy fire support would be only a radio call away.

OOC: Ground forces break down:
150 Tempest tank destroyers
315 Gorrila AFVs

70 Gunback 155mm SPHs
24 MAAS MLRS units
12 pedstal mounted Rapier SAM missile launchers
160 AH-71 gunships
40 AH-43 Heavy gunships
2,500 combat troops
500 J-force special operatives

Air forces:
150 PC-29 'Stalker' High Endurance fighters
200 F/A-24 'Kestrel' Multi-role fighters
4 'Tiger's eye' EC-20 AAWAcs

incoming reinforcements:
Ground Reinforcements:
1 Marine Airmobile Division
(Roughly equivalent to forces already in the area except for a greater focus on infantry and light vehicles)

2 Strike Air Wings:
(ea.)
80 F/A-24 'Kestrel' multi role fighters
52 F/A-24C 'Mongoose' Wild Weasels
48 AF-39 'Panther' CAS fighters
12 B-7 Heavy Strategic bombers

OOC: If you've seen the usual suspects, you know the image i'm going for.

Kobayashi, a tall Portuguese man that stood out nearly everywhere he went, had to think long and hard. Asmodeus was in a desperate situation, and the Deathshead could not do anything to help his current predicament.

“We cannot offer you conventional military aide as of yet. The numbers of my men are small compared to the army you are fielding, but large enough to do surgical strikes, and with these missiles, we can wreck havoc on any location your forces are unable to get to. Even if you were able to direct a naval force passed the defenses your nation is sure to have, the most massive forces I could amass would not be capable of penetrating that gate, and we are unable to call in unconventional forces. Unless there are specific targets essential for the operation of the Cadian Gate, we cannot help you there. However, as far as the men I represent are concerned, we own the area south of Shield Vale. And my men are the best that can be mustered. They have penetrated your country’s defenses with degradable boats. They have brought your nation’s biggest criminal element to their knees. And they have assaulted and commandeered three bases full of missiles, and have yet to be discovered. Money is no concern, but you have what they need. You can procure writs that can give my men vital equipment, preferably under the aegis of the Inquisition. In exchange, you will have their undying loyalty until you yourself are dead or sit upon the Iron throne. Once they have these writs, they will strike anywhere with fury and skill. The clock is ticking Inquisitor, and we are both running out of time. Tick tock, tick tock.”

Johansen jumped own from his plane and joined the mass of airmen and soldiiers heading for the mess, then slowing as they were detained by MPs from the airborne.
"Alright, wing by wing, 1st fighter first."
Johansen ran towards the yells of his squadron leader as the unruly mass of men and women formed itself into recognisable formations.

"We've got a reply sir, apparently we're to head for Shield Vale and meet him in his command centre."
"Very well. Keep below the knape of the earth and land the instant things heat..."
"Achtung!"
"What the hell's wrong, girl?"
"Sir, its, I, for a moment there was this sort of green beam and then..."
"Oh gods above!"
"An appropriate turn of phrase. That was either orbitaly launched or literaly an anti-miracle."
"I hope it was whatever forsaken gods haunt this place. People shouldn't be able to do that."
"Don't talk to our new friends like that. Now in we go!"

High Admiral Anor stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out the bridge window of the great superdreadnaught Victorious. The entire fleet clustered around this one, massive, ship; he could see carriers and supercarriers, the other superdreadnaughts immediately around his flagship, followed by the inner screen, the outer screen, and finally the pickets. Ceaselessly helicopters buzzed around the fleet, hunting enemy submarines. Jahvan did have an advantage in submarines, and would use it. A few miles away, the Jipleastani armada churned through the waves. Their fleet was considerably smaller, but then, around half the Kregaian Imperial Navy was sailing in the Imperial armada.

They had rounded the Wall of Kregaia the day before yesterday and now were drawing closer to the base of the Slivan Peninsula, though they were a long distance from shore. The last thing Anor wanted was to be trapped against the coastline. Soon, they would be within range of the last known location of Jahvan’s fleet. It was not going to be a one-sided battle, but the advantage was firmly in Loyalist hands.

Fifteen minutes later, the ship’s master, Captain Uriel, walked up behind Anor, cleared his throat, and reported, “High Admiral, we are now within range of Jahvan’s fleet. Satellite recon confirms: his fleet has not moved, and seems to be waiting for us. Estimated distance, three hundred nautical miles. Your orders?”

Turning, High Admiral considered, and gave his commands. “We will strike first. Inform all ships, including the Jipleastanis, that we are within range of the enemy fleet. Prepare all aircraft for launch and double ASW efforts. Load all missile racks and guns. On my command, open fire. Let’s show these traitors how the Imperium deals with rebels.” The captain nodded and saluted, moving to relay the orders. A formality; Anor had spoken loudly so that the techs on the bridge heard him. Manners dictated that an Imperial admiral must not yell on the bridge; the theory was that Imperial fleets were run by order and discipline, not volume. However, having officers relay all orders took too long, thus, captains and admirals simply spoke loud enough for all to hear.

One minute and forty-six seconds later, the Imperial armada opened fire.

Colossus shells, the only ones that could reach the enemy fleet, tore from the battleships and super-dreadnaughts, rocking even these behemoths in the water from the recoil. Missiles by the thousands streaked from destroyers, cruisers, missile cruisers, battleships, super-dreadnaughts, and even frigates. Thousands of aircraft began to fill the skies, a cloud that would descend on Jahvan’s fleet and eat it to nothing like a swarm of piranhas. Missile submarines surfaced, firing dozens of Pandemonium II missiles. The storm of firepower tore through the miles separating the rebel and Loyalist fleets.

Jahvan’s fleet reacted quickly, counter-missiles blasting apart many of the incoming contacts before they were even close, flak and chaingun fire accounting for almost all the rest. But still, many made it to their intended targets. Around a dozen ships were crippled and began sinking slowly towards the bottom, their crews scurrying to lifeboats. And a few seconds later, a slightly smaller wave of missiles erupted from the launchers and cells of Jahvan’s fleet, hurtling towards not just the Imperial fleet but the Jipleastani as well. The battle was begun.

***

Asmodeus considered Kobayashi’s reply. This foreigner could think, and his men had indeed done a great deal. It was worth hiring them...if he could.

“The Inquisition is loyal to the Sacred Emperor and the Imperium. And since a state of war exists between the Valgoth Dominion and the Imperium, the Inquisition would certainly reject any commands I gave through official channels, despite my former status as Inquisitor. However, there is no need to steal the Loyalists’s materials. I rule in Valgoth, and I am happy to provide your men with the equipment and funds they need from my own personal wealth, if needs be. Furthermore, although it may not cripple the enemy, I would pay for the use of your Stiletto missiles, and point out to you where they may be most effective. The Jipleastanis in Fort Karik seem to have a type of missile launcher that fires missiles loaded with napalm. Our satellites have located the launchers that fire this missile, and I recommend you concentrate your efforts on them.” As he spoke, Asmodeus e-mailed the satellite intelligence to Kobayashi from his computer back in the forward command center. “Here it is.”

***

OOC: Mondoth, just a reminder that the soil in the area is permafrost, so digging would be very hard. Also, check out what I said about mine detonators on the tanks; will they work on your mines?

IC: The attack on the Mondothian base came with little to no warning. The infidels had to be driven off sacred Kregaian soil before more of them could come. The size of the enemy camp indicated a smaller number of men overall, but they had dug in many tanks. Their loss, then, for the digging in paralyzed them.

Before the ground assault, over two hundred F/A-104 Balefires came screaming over the Mondothian base, several shot down almost immediately by the defenses. First they rained AAMs on the enemy air patrols, hoping to destroy as many as possible before they could organize their defense. Blasting away at anything that looked like artillery or anti-air guns, they unleashed storms of depleted-uranium 30mm Avenger cannon fire, along with several Gomorrah AGMs from each plane. Above, Behemoth bombers, escorted by more Balefires, rained down tons of high explosive bombs and MOABs on fighters still on the ground and any artillery in the area, also firing Solymr AAMs at the Mondothian planes. A second, smaller wave of five squads of Balefires thundered into the enemy, cannons and missiles blazing and hurling fire at the gunships, both in the air and on the ground, as artillery fire began to sweep the ground, laying down a creeping barrage for the infantry and armor to advance later. Meanwhile, some of the Imperial aircraft continued to be targeted by the air defenses; Balefires had ECM packages for jamming, but that didn't make them invincible.

Ravagers and Despoilers were equipped with a detonation transmitter that caused mines to go off prematurely, but they might or might not work against foreign mines, and so the artillery alternated between pounding hills, cliffs, and other hiding places for ambush teams and open ground on which there might be minefields. They quickly learned where the mines were, as the detonations could plainly be seen as shells crashed nearby. Meanwhile, the larger SAM batteries and AA guns fired on the Mondothian planes; soon the two air groups might be too closely engaged in dogfights to be sure of a target lock, but for now they were mostly separate. Several hundred missiles and dozens of 155mm flak shells hurtled up towards the enemy aircraft. Finally, a wave of A-10 Thunderbolts hurried in, targeting any dug-in armored vehicles that could be seen, 30mm depleted-uranium cannons roaring (OOC: I hope I’m not presuming too much in assuming I can see at least some of the dug-in units) and cluster bombs falling, guided by lasers, toward the entrenched vehicles.

It was said that Typhon the Warmaster, laying the foundations of Imperial military doctrine as he founded the Imperium 1700 years ago, studied snakes intently. Snakes would wait, gazing at their target to paralyze them with fear, and strike with ultimate force and vicious speed. It was a lasting principle. Intimidate them, hit hard and fast, and break them before they can respond.

"Admiral, We are within range and are being fired upon."

"I want every single ship that can to fire at Jahvan's fleet, triple anti-submarine patrols, double the fighter umbrella, and launch the torpedo bombers, also, radio to the Carriers that I want a high-altitude bombing run on Jahvan's fleet, tell them to launch Longswords, Everything we have, use!"

"It will be made so Admiral."

Just then a smaller shell hit the Angelic's port Comm tower, it did nothing more than rattle the ship, but it was a grim reminder that they were in a war against an enemy who would never surrender...


In response, the great guns of the Angelic roared to life. Using advanced tracking tools, the trajectory of that shell that hit the ship led to one of Jahvan's lighter ships, nothing more than a cruiser, possibly a pocket battleship. A massive salvo screamed out of the guns and seconds later struck the enemy ship.

A compliment of submarine's that was not with the fleet, but farther out, and on the opposite side of where the fleet was located, was moving towards the rear of Jahvan's fleet, these submarines could barley be detected by SONAR before it was too late. They subs got close to their targets, two aircraft carriers, and a large battleship, that they hoped was the flagship. All 40 submarines launched two salvos of 80 torpedos, and they were off, lurking away while their gift was being delivered to Jahvan's fleet.

By now, the majority of ships were pushing through the gap in the minefield, still screened by the ASW destroyers, while a few decoy drones went ahead to double check the safety of the torpedo buoy killing field. When these reached the shore, they exploded. Ineffectually, but spectacularly, because the Marine Corps, like all of the Boozian Armed Forces, had an ongoing love affair with high explosives.

The guns still thundering away at the inner tiers of the defence, the ships popped open their VLS and hurled it against the machine gun nests as the vanguard battalions began to come ashoar.

There were three, in total, a weak regiment, although they had no unified command. They were, to use a famous quote, "The scum of the Earth, enlisted for a drink." They were bastards (and bitches) right to the core and they had no problem exhibiting this. Preferably with heavy weaponry.

AAVs chugged coastward while landing boats dumped tanks and IFVs straight into the water. The Schnapsemarinetruupen had their own MBT, a very differant design from the Konig Panthers and Kaiser Tigers used by the Heer: the Tigerhaifisch. It was watertight capable of moving on fully submerged tracks for a short amount of time, had an integral air/escape tube, and could even be pumped with twenty minutes oxygen, more if extra tanks were attached. Trials had shown them capable of making a real contribution to brownwater operations.

And they had big frickin' guns.

The Zeemorder IFV worked on the same principal. There were about 60 tanks and 160 IFVs in the vanguard, supported by firepower beyond their dreams from the fleet and soon to b followed into the breach by conventional marine units with heavy equipment.

It was Blitzkrieg, in the specific sense of the word: a massive assault at one weak schwerpunkt, then ripping into enemy infrastructure at the rear and forcing a surrender by destruction of most things that moved. Minimum engagement, maximum effect. Whereas the locals seemed to favour the "excessive everything" approach. It was quite a symbolic clash of theories: you could imagine Osprey books on the subject, thought Ober-Gefreiter Harz as she steered her tank up the beach shelf, the turret breaking just above the surface and popping its waterproof coverings.

Boom!

I really am too addicted to the sound, she thought, but what she said, like the rest of the crew, was "Zum Brucht!"

Into the breach. The line had a long history, especiaaly in Boozia, but few people stopped to think about that in the face of a long-rod silvershot.

Kobayashi pulled a scrambled blackberry from his pocket, and sent some coordinates of the Jipleastani missile sights. A soldier who was operating a semi truck and trailer, parked on a large hill to the northwest Malacus, received them. He hit a button installed by the metal works, which caused hidden hydraulic arms to unfold the top of the trailer and the trailer's hydraulic supports, revealing a computer removed from the Stilleto launchers, as well as 7 of the missiles held in specially fabricated launchers. He punched in the coordinates generated from the satelite feed, and hit a "launch" button.

Kobayashi, receiving conformation of the launch, looked at the pixelated eyes of high lord Asmodeus.
"My sources tell me that 7 Stillettos are being launched at the coordinates you have given me. They should impact in minutes, provided there are no faults with the missiles or the targeting solution you have given us. Whether or not this is successful, we need documentation to allow us to land in heavier equipment than can be smuggled through normal routes. The men I represent, I assure you, have no need of money. I hope that, providing that you live through this battle, that this is a mutually beneficial transaction."

OOC: Ah... Thanks for that bit of info... Didn't feel like filling the thread with OOC...


IC:

Fort Karik, Shield Vale

"Incoming Missiles!", yelled the RADAR operator, "Judging by their trajectory, they... seem to be heading towards out missile sites!"

"Shoot them down! Don't just stand there! Activate the anti-missile screen"

Little did the launchers of the missiles know that a new addition had been added to the base, just a few days before the battle began. It was a THEL (Tactical High Energy Laser), its sole job was the eradication of shorter range, and medium range missiles. There were 2 of them at the base, each of them could knock down a total of 5-10 missiles each, and they were coming online.

"Impact in one minute and thirty seconds sir!"

"Captain! Are the THEL's online?"

"Yes, but we wont be able to take all the missiles down, there is just not enough time, we may be able to take down, at the most five, leaving two to impact."

"Impact in 30 seconds!"

"THEL's activating, Firing!"

The sky lit up with one, two, three large explosions, seconds later another two explosions

"Impact in 5, 4, 3, 2 1, IMPACT!"

Large explosions rocked the base as two Stiletto missile impacted the missile silos.

"Damage report, Lieutenant!"

"Sir, 8 silos are offline, and 3 are totally destroyed, we still have 4 silos at operating status"

"Good. Are they ready to launch?"

"Yes sir."

"Target Asmodeus' command bunker... let him wish that he had not angered me"

"Launching in 5 seconds, 4, 3, 2, 1, LAUNCH!"

Four silo doors opened, and launched their salvo, within a minute, 24 cruise missile were taking aim on Asmodeus' command bunker, while another four were streaking towards the approximated coordinates of the Stiletto missile site. They too, would pay, dearly...

"T-Minus four minutes to impact on Asmodeus' bunker, T-Minus seven minutes to impact on Stiletto launch site."

"Very good, very very good... Launch another salvo of Napalm, turn up air conditioning, it's gonna get really hot in here."

OOC: from what i gather, stilletos are short range missiles that are usually truck racked. However, I (to keep covert) had to turn the inside of a semi trailer into a transporter/errector/launch vehicle. Basically, within a few seconds of the final launch, the actual fabricated launcher would be pulled back into the trailer along with hydraulic supports (much like cranes use). Pretty much, as soon as the jacks were up, the semi would be on the move. on a side note, i have 7 or 8 trucks like this in different locations, ready to fire!

Quick OOC:
IC post coming tomorrow, today was crazy

Admiral Braghan stood tall on the bridge of his flagship, the superdreadnaught Mephisto, and surveyed the damage. Around a dozen ships had been sunk or destroyed outright by the first Loyalist strike, and he had been given the monumental task of destroying two fleets that, together, outnumbered him by quite a bit. Jahvan would be directing this fleet, normally, but Seleucia was under siege by two enemy armies, commanded by the hero of Czardas, High Lord Rahvin. Jahvan was in desperate straits. This battle had to be won, or he was doomed, and Braghan with him.

His counterpunch had sunk a few Imperial ships, but they had fully mobilized their air defenses, not to mention thousands of mobile aircraft, allowing them to tear through most of his missiles and shells with ease. Gritting his teeth, he ordered his ships to reload quicker, launching another salvo before the Loyalists could respond. He watched as missiles rocketed into the sky, Mephisto’s guns booming, hurling massive 24-inch shells over at the enemy fleet.

Suddenly the ship rocked. A tech yelled, “Impact! We have a hull breach, Admiral! I think it was a torpedo!” Immediately Braghan snapped, “Seal off the area. Triple the ASW patrols; I want all our helicopters out looking for these damned submarines.” Another tech called out, “Other ships reporting torpedo hits, Admiral. We have three ships sinking: the Calchexas, the Renewer’s Glory, and the Aeneas.” Braghan winced as the names sunk in. Two carriers and a superdreadnaught. Thousands of seamen dead, because of a few damned submarines. He barked, “Get all our helicopters in the air now. I want those subs found! Get every helicopter we have in the air after them, and have some attack subs look too. Hunt them down.”

***

High Admiral Anor grinned as he listened to the report. Apparently the Jipleastanis had sent a submarine force right into the heart of Jahvan’s fleet and taken out two carriers and a superdreadnaught. The first volleys had been exchanged, and it was clear the enemy commander was at a disadvantage.

“Focus all missiles and shells on Jahvan’s AAW ships. I want them taken out, bit by bit.” In response to his command, the Victorious rocked as the Colossus guns and 24-inch guns hurled their massive shells at the enemy missile cruisers and other AAW ships, while defensively absorbing the fire from the other enemy vessels. Soon whole sectors of Jahvan’s anti-air defenses were stretched to the breaking point. Taking advantage of this, he had his missile submarines rain Pandemonium II missiles on the enemy fleet, the thousands of missiles straining Jahvan’s defenses further. Offering a quick prayer to the Slayer, High Admiral Anor smiled tightly, the destruction of the enemy fleet graven on his mind.

***

The Boozian helicopter came down not far from Asmodeus’s command center, where they were welcomed by a delegation of officers. Massive prefabricated hangars and warehouses lined the airfield, as hundreds of aircraft came and went, refueling and rearming as ground crews scurried about. Asmodeus’s officers led the foreigners to what seemed a massive, armored train car. It had no windows and ran on tank treads, but the shape was very similar, except for the receivers and antennas on the roof; this was one of the mobile command centers, armored, EMP-hardened command-and-control nuclei of any Imperial army. The Boozian leader was taken into a side room where High Lord Asmodeus sat in a chair, a nearby laptop allowing him to talk with the Boozian while being kept up to date on the battle outside. The High Lord stood to greet the foreigner, nodding his head in respect, and asked, “Welcome to the Empire, my friend. If I may ask, why have you come to me?”

***

OOC: Numbers are in the OOC thread, but for simplicity here they are: out of 100 guns per battery, the setup is like this.

Caliber Number
75mm 16
88mm (AA) 20
105mm 14
120mm 14
155mm 18
188mm 12
210mm 6

Under normal circumstances, Control Center AU-107 would be almost totally inactive. There was not much to defend; there were some important fleet facilities up north on the Slivan Peninsula, but the Imperium slapped some fortifications and an army on the eastern coasts, like here, and then ignored them. Until the Succession Wars. Jahvan was under attack from land and sea, and now this fleet of infidels was knocking on the gates. The control centers all up and down the coast for a few miles were running at full capacity, and doing the best they could when they had lost contact with the torpedo buoys in the area. It would have been fun, actually, had Kregaian security not hung in the balance; it was just like a video game. Operators pointed the reticle, pushed the button, and machine guns fired, gunning down lots of little infantrymen. To make it more interesting, the defenses were under fire from a foreign fleet, way out of range.

Tanks began to churn through the water, heading ashore. Meanwhile, infantry still charged out of their transports, running up the beach and getting ripped apart by the machine guns. Unfortunately, it looked like the MG’s were doomed; there was no way they could take out the MBT’s rolling up the sandy expanse. A single well-placed shell crumpled their deflector plate and destroyed the guns with ease.

So the operators resorted to the next line. Artillery batteries were spaced out, deeper inland, to form the second line of defense. Opening links to the batteries, the operators of Control Center AU-107 let loose with all they had. From bulky 210mm howitzers to 75mm light guns, they fired on the enemy transport boats approaching and at the armored units already rolling up the beach.

***

High Lord Asmodeus smiled darkly as Kobayashi finished. “I will survive if the gods wish it. In the meantime, there is the matter of documentation. There are few ports to choose from in Valgoth Dominion, where my word is law. I suggest the port of Thule, a military port that supplies the Northern Legion. It is located on the east side of the Gothic Peninsula. I am sending the coordinates now.” The computer beeped as it received the file. “As there is not time for me to send you concrete credentials, I have attached a file that contains a document granting you and those with you access to the port and its materials; you will have to print it, but the hotel you are in should have a central printer at the front desk. I will have my men contact the port authorities, as well, and inform them that you are who you say you are. I apologize, but I must attend to other matters. My handheld computer’s address is also attached; you can reach me there. A pleasure doing business with you, Kobayashi.”

***

At the Cadian Gate, the ground shook to the footsteps of armies and the mountains resounded with the thunder of war. The THUNKs had proven themselves time and time again with hundreds, if not thousands, of kills to their credit. Missiles and shells streaked from them into the mass of troops; their armor was dented and battered from dozens of hits, but lesser weapons could not harm them, and as long as they kept moving, there was little chance of getting hit by a Colossus shell.

Another volley of napalm missiles hurtled from Fort Karik; gunners in tanks turned their 12.7mm AA guns on them and did their best to intercept them, but it was the huge SAM batteries that took a real toll on the incoming missiles. However, their attention was suddenly diverted as more missiles launched on a vector leading them straight to Asmodeus’s command center. Calmly, the crews of the batteries launched waves of missiles, and the nearby 155mm guns showered flak on the Jipleastani cruise missiles, taking out all but three. The last missiles were confused by the jamming of the command center itself; one deviated from its course just enough to strike a second, destroying them both, while the third struck the ground a few yards from the command center, making a crater three feet deep; rocks pinged off the armored body of the center, but it stood, unharmed.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the Vale, the word ‘unharmed’ would have been a bitter joke. Several of the Jipleastani napalm missiles had gotten through, overheating tanks and condemning infantry to an agonizing death. The battle raged on, despite it all; Asmodeus's men would rather have died that death a hundred times over than abandon the field out of fear of such weaponry. To respond, a full legion of Asmodeus's troops, flanked by 800 tanks and 1,200 Sidewinder LAVs, bristling with anti-tank missiles, turned to Fort Karik and decided to fight it out. A vicious volley of Colossus shells, railgun shells, and all manner of other artillery, hundreds of guns firing in all, hurtled towards the Jipleastani fort, followed by a flight of bombers quickly launching a total of fourteen eleven-kiloton MOABs at Fort Karik. As quickly as the planes could manage, a wave of two hundred A-10 Thunderbolts passed over Fort Karik, targeting tanks with their missiles and 30mm Avenger cannons, the vicious depleted-uranium rounds capable of tearing through the thickest tank with ease, and dropping their cluster bombs on the Jipleastani minigun turrets.

Battle on, little mortals. It is not done yet. Which side will tire first? Dance, mortals, trust in your gods. You will have victory, or you will die for the one who contends for the Iron Throne. Fight, if you would see him on it, wearing the Iron Crown, and ascend to divinity, for by fighting will you assure him that.

The Nine Hells await those who fail.

"Leave me." Kobayashi said to the guard. He took the scrambled blackberry and called one of the Deathshead procurement installations.
"Speak." was the answer.
"I am representing batallion 5. We need 20 popups. Deliver to conflit region 19f, port "Thule". Coordinates will be sent by secure linkup."
"Confirmed. 4 days."
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A cargo ship, holding 20 specially modified semi-truck trailers, set steam from an allied port. Filled with metal filings, these reinforced heavy trailers would easily slip past most port securities. 5 more trailers were filled with smart ammunition. At the same time, 80 members of the deathshead were enroute to the pick up point in Thule, and would arrive a day ahead of their cargo.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A "popup" is an experimental technology designed almost exclusivley for the Deathshead batallions. The system, a heavily modified version of the PzH 2000, is a hidden artillery piece. The turrent of a PzH 2000 is stripped of all armor, and hidden in the confines of a standard 40 foot semi trailer reinforced with a titanium-tungsten alloy. A crew of 4 in the trailer picks a good firing position, and the lead gunner hits a button in the cab. This causes the steel veneers of the vehicle to unfold, and hydraulic spades descend from the bottom of the trailer. The crew can then proceed to fire five rounds as normal, pack up the system, and move on, within a minute and 30 seconds. The obvious benefit of this system is that extremely accurate, 155mm firesupport, is now within the hands of covert forces.

The crew of the Frieda, Harz's tank, were, as ever, engaged in ridiculously innapropriate conversation.
"Is that even physically possible?"
"Well, I don't know about Panthers, but Tigers are supposed to have a big crew compartment."
"Yeah, but imagine the trouble with the uniform!"
"I heard Panzer guys don't actually wear assault packs when their driving. Lash it to the deck or something."
"Hah!"
"Target, MG nest, 247 metres."
"Firm!"
"Up angle seven degrees, silvershot!"
"On the wa..."
Art thet kind of range, the shell exploded before the tank's gunner could finish his sentence

Elke Steuben grabbed a hand bar as the Mobile Command Vehicle shuddered as a shell hit the water above.
"Pretty close ma'am. I think I heard some shrapnel on the air tube."
"Drop it."
"What?"
"Drop the tube. There's twenty damn minutes in this thing, and if you can't hold you breath and swim, what, three metres to the surface, go and play with the fucking Heer!. And don't stick the regulations in my face, I wrote them! Anyway, get me Moltke."
A tech presented the radio.
"Admiral? Yeah. Victor-three-seven, actual. You fucking know it's me! I want every damn gun on the enemy arty..."
An IFV winked out on a tactical display.
"And leave the missiles to other missiles. The whole point of this operation is secure the beach for Heer elements. Yes, right, good!"

The liaison wore black. But not in a criminal or assasin kind of way. The immediate connotation was more "Surely they didn't have women in the Waffen-SS?".

She would of sat down, but Asmodeus stood up for her and there was no point being impolite.

"We're here to follow up an offer you made. We have a plan. Currently, as you probably know, our forces are engaged against Jahvan, but when he is defeated, we have a plan to make a runner to Valgoth. We can either do that and help you with your foreign probelm, or, and this is a risky plan, we could land mountain troops south of the Shield Vale on the pretext of re-enforcing the defence whilst pretending to arm for an invasion, attack the rear of the Cadian Gate and move our troops into Valgoth to support a frontal offensive, or to deal with the new invasion. Or, you can give us a new mission."

"But, of course, there's the question of payment. Now in my opinion, blood is it's own reward, but I'm part of only approximately 30% of the Schnapsewehr which is proven psychotic and besides, this whole backstab will be quite a dangerous op. Our first choice if you become Emperor is money. Lots. And perhaps a peek at the better parts of you arsenal, just a little note taking session for a few select items. Finally, non-aggression and trade pact. That's all I have to say right now.

"Oh yeah, no problem. Us infidels sure do love warm receptions."

The mayor was stunned for a few seconds, teetering on the edge of what the hell and genuinely confused.

"It was a joke! You can laugh and stuff."

"Oh, a joke."

The group spoke quitel to one another for a few seconds.

"You think they got hay?"

"Why?"

"Old termite farming trick."

"That damn thing."

"It's still effective."

"Look at the kids, they're so......sad."

"Don't worry bout it none Rice, we'll get the nuts and the goobers rolling out quick enough."

"Looks like they gots a grain storage over in the corner."

"Don't know if it's full enough or not."

"Saw wild pumpkins on the way in here."

"Make some decent beer from that."

"Hell yeah."

Hannibal stepped forward and raised his hands above his head and whistled as loudly as he could.

"Aight y'all! We got some stuff for ya. Any farmers here?"

"Uhh, I think most of the village.......we raise sheep and uhh, farm." One old man in the back had gave up this info before the embarrasment caused him to be quiet.

"Can I get a hell yeah?"

"No."

"Alright, now who's got sweet hay?"

"Uhm......I do."

"Alright, show me the fields!"

"Why?"

"Just do it."

A stooped middle aged man who anyone with half an eye could tell needed his foot treated and was suffering from arthritis led them to a barren looking patch of dirt.

Hannibal didn't waste any time. Right now he was the stern strong voice, these people were used to stern strong voices. They followed them without question.

"Bring the sweet hay!"

Scared villagers rushed to the field with arms laden with hay, they looked scared.

"Alright! Everyone except the old and young grab some hay! I want a nice even distribution! Cover every inch of this field! Tomorrow we plant!"

"This field isn't good for planting."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's too far from the river. How will we cart the water?"

"The termites do it for us! Now spread the hay!"

People rushed to do this strange brown man's bidding they threw it everywhere and then spinkled it while under his watchful eye.

"Aight y'all, let's get to work." They all nodded and the relief workers rushed off into the field. Tractor easily caried four times as much as everyone else. He handed some of his load to Mac and Avac who whislted a jaunty tune.

That night the villagers eyed them suspisciously, they'd come in and ordered them around, they'd been nice.........and they refused to take over anyone's huts and make them sleep outside.

What the hell was wrong with them? Weren't they conquerors? Some of the men had speculated that they had forced the villagers to work to tire them out so they could overpower them easily for slavers.

But when everyone woke up in the morning and they were all still there they weren't sure what had happened. A few young children came running back after going to wash in the river.

"It's magic! They're magic!"

The adults had of course been worried. The children took them all to the field were the sixteen Camels had slept in blankets and bedrolls. The hay was gone, there was no sight of it anywhere.

"They couldn't have moved it all. Where would they put it."

Colleen had gone of to the use the bathroom and had found the villages all standing around.

"We didn't put it anywhere. Feel the dirt."

A woman knelt down and rubbed the field.

"It's wet!"

"How'd you do that?" The crowd's reaction ran from anger to awe.

"A termite colony eats 24 hours a day. They like sweet hay. They bring water with them. Easy irrigation. We'll start planting in a few hours."

"Huh?"

OOC: yea, nothing out of hand there. The Mine detonators wouldn't work. The mines are triggered by a combination of the seismic and magnetic signatures of tanks/AFVs. The safety is a timer instead of a detonation command to prevent exactly that sort of defense.
Digging isn't the only way to entrench AFVs, but the permafrost would certainly put a dent in the effectiveness of any entrenched position.
Also, remember I set ambushes all over the area, mostly outside the area of the minefields.

IC:
The Mondothian military doctrine was one that had been carefully refined over decades of desert warfare. Encompassing the ages of tanks, and aircraft and nuclear and biological weapons, Mondoth’s military history was strife with warfare, especially over the oil rich eastern desert regions. With that history, Mondothian doctrines had evolved as careful, diligent ones, conserving strength during the day when the heat was deadly, striking at dawn and dusk, when enemies were at their most vulnerable.

The defenses folded under the concentrated assault, PC-29 ‘Stalkers’ disintegrated into flame while frantically launching their supply of AIM-195 AMRAAMs into their attackers, the poorly concealed and poorly dug-in Tempests and Gorillas were much tougher, but still fell under repeated cluster bombings and artillery strikes, letting loose with whatever weapons they had until succumbing to repeated assaults, tankers scrambling out of vehicles seconds from exploding. The survivors frantically scrambling back, deeper into the established defensive perimeter, followed by Tempests and Gorillas escaping positions that were rapidly proving untenable. In minutes the area controlled by the Mondothian forces was cut nearly in half, the retreat stopping just short of the airfields.
The artillery fared a little better, their scattered positions providing a break from annihilation and allowed them to begin immediate counter-battery fire, using MMW artillery radar units to identify the locations of the enemy artillery and fire pinpoint strikes with guided munitions before rapidly relocating to avoid return fire.
In the end, the air forces fared the best, the F/A-24s, adapted from stealthed heavy strike aircraft, and featuring a high-maneuverability/low RCS tail less airframe, coupled with a heavy weapons load were able to hold their own, slowly drawing the battle out over the sea, trying to draw the enemy aircraft within range of the fleets aerial kill-zone.
The landing area was not without its own considerable are defenses, despite the fact that the first enemy attack had destroyed most of the SAM batteries, instead, the Mondothian soldiers could deploy shoulder mounted air defense missiles from the same launch tubes as their ATGMs, similarly, many of the Tempest tank-destroyers could use their 75mm high velocity main gun in an anti-aircraft attack, and many Gorilla AFVs had Anti-Air missile tubes. Singularly, the various close air defense missiles wouldn’t normally be a threat, but the great number in which they could be deployed could easily overwhelm even high-survivability aircraft like the A-10.
Still deeply entrenched, several dozens of Tempest tank killers and Gorilla AFVs waited, carefully concealed, an enemy could practically walk over these concealed vehicles without even realizing it. The engines were off, the crew avoided too much movement or noise, waiting for nightfall.

As the helicopter landed, Lord High General Yataghan smiled slightly in anticipation. Thanks to the contents of this helicopter, Seleucia was doomed, and the rest of Aurelius would follow. The Imperium would make an example here that would live on in the minds of the people forever...but first there was work to be done.

High Lord Rahvin stepped from the helicopter, and the general bowed low. After all, this man was a High Lord, and the heir apparent to the Sacred Emperor. Rahvin laughed and commanded Yataghan to straighten. Striding through the camp of the Army of the Palatine, Rahvin looked around and nodded approvingly. “Very good, Lord High General. Your men are to be commended for their discipline in the field. However, you should call full alert and prepare for the attack. I have sent my army through the valley, and Jahvan’s Third Army is chasing after it. I intend to slaughter them today, Yataghan. There is little else to say, really; you know the plan. I want these traitors dead to the last man and Seleucia under siege by sundown.”

***

The commander of the Third Army grunted as he surveyed the valley through his binoculars. It was suspicious, no doubt about it, but he had orders from High Lord Jahvan himself to get Rahvin off Aurelian soil as quickly as possible, no matter the cost. Jahvan knew Rahvin and his reputation, and understandably wanted to make sure the man never got within a thousand miles of him with an army. So here he was, taking hundreds of thousands of troops into a canyon, the air support based uncomfortably far back, behind the supply units. He didn’t like it, but it had to be done.

Little did he know of the eyes watching him.

Yataghan turned away as his men dragged Jahvan’s scout into the bush, emerging a second later to wipe the blood off their knives. He refused to use binoculars this close to the enemy; the glint would have signaled their intentions clear as day. And at this range, he hardly needed it. The time had come, and he clicked his radio twice, the signal to Rahvin’s force behind the other hill.

Tanks drove up from the ridge, picking targets and raining 125mm shells on them in the space of seconds; they were followed by Sidewinder LAVs, sending their anti-tank missiles down into the enemy armor. Helicopters rose into the air and strafed back and forth over Jahvan’s army, slaughtering infantry with their miniguns and hurling rockets down into masses of troops and squads of armor. Chaingun-toting War-Priests mounted the ridge and opened fire from both sides onto the army below. The valley, within sight of Seleucia, had become a deathtrap, a canal for blood. Jahvan’s forces struggled to mount a counterattack, dividing their forces and storming up the hillside...which had been mined a few days before. The enemy tanks used their detonation transmitters to pass easily through the minefield, but any infantry out of range of these devices were slaughtered. Artillery began booming, shaking the ground, and shells arced over the ridges into the valley, blasting apart the enemy SAM batteries in droves. Tank rounds were also directed at these mobile fortresses; one by one they succumbed, and then whether Jahvan’s army knew it or not, the battle was over.

Some miles north, as the assault began in the valley, a wave of hundreds of Balefires screamed over the treetops, cannons spitting depleted-uranium bullets, missiles streaking from their launchers and destroying dozens of planes on the ground. Wave after wave of aircraft came, followed by A-10 light bombers, tearing through planes easily with their cannon and dropping cluster bombs on the rest. MiG-45 interceptors caught and destroyed the other planes in the air. In minutes, the Loyalists had destroyed hundreds and hundreds of enemy aircraft at the loss of a hundred and fifty or so of their own. Without air support, Jahvan’s army would be slaughtered, and then they received the signal from Rahvin that the SAM batteries were almost completely out of commission. The whole air armada wheeled about and repeated their strategy, flying low over the enemy and strafing them with missiles and cannons, while heavy bombers rained dozens of tons of high-explosives on the tightly packed Third Army. Savage grins spread across the faces of thousands of airmen, Immortals, tank crewmen, and anyone who could see the battle; it was now simply wholesale slaughter. They had brought priests, anticipating this great bloodbath, and the holy men chanted, making burnt offerings, reading from Twilight of the Gods, invoking the Slayer and the Dragon, danced and sang and screamed, praising the Sacred Emperor, the Seven True Gods, even the demons who would accommodate the traitors’ souls in the Ninth Hell, the most horrific of all, reserved for traitors and heretics. The prayers offered by the priests were broadcast over the army frequencies, to boost morale further, and soon the troops echoed the sacraments offered by the priests.

Finally, Jahvan’s army realized the game was up and for the sake of honorable death, hurled themselves at the Loyalist forces. This hopeless maneuver brought the deaths of every man who did so, but the dead would have smiled at their results; they had still inflicted many thousands of casualties on the Loyalists. A good death; these men, it was agreed, were at least partially absolved of their treason against the Imperium by the courage and Imperial spirit they had shown in their suicidal attack and their honorable deaths. By contrast, the few thousand that Rahvin had spared to carry the news of the slaughter to Jahvan were condemned to undying shame; some had actually pleaded for their lives. True dishonor. A man of honor could only hope that these men would have the sense to take their own lives upon their return to Slivan. From a strategic point of view, however, it hardly mattered. Seleucia was defenseless, and with it would come the entire southern half of Aurelius.

Yataghan and Rahvin agreed to give Seleucia the chance to surrender in dishonor, an opportunity the city’s government reluctantly took. Better to face the vengeance of the Imperium now, they reasoned, than to have their city retaken and destroyed by well over a million Legionaries. The Inquisitors that had been taken with the armies then got their revenge on the city that had revolted against the Imperium.

The mayor’s advisors were shot on sight. The mayor himself was tortured to death by the Inquisitors; he died pleading for mercy. Those who had advocated Seleucian independence were shot as well, and those who had killed an Imperial or Borman soldier in the riots that made the city independent were given life in prison. Many surprising acts of mercy; High Lord Rahvin and Sacred Emperor Lucifer had concluded that if they did not go too hardly on the cities they retook, others would be more eager to surrender intact.

***

The town hall was crowded in Three Sheep Village. By order of the mayor, the men of the village were summoned to a meeting. Women were invited, but unlike the men did not have to come. The issue? The foreigners currently living in the village. The Camels might have been sanctioned by men at the highest levels, but regardless, the villagers were unused to foreigners living among them.

The mayor took the podium, motioning for those still crowding into the small space to sit down on the folding chairs provided. Clearing his throat, he began to address his people. “Friends, I’ve asked you here tonight because one way or another, we need to figure out what to do about these foreigners. Now, I’ve heard many of you say that we don’t need heathens in our village telling us what to do; I’ve heard just as many say that what they’ve done so far puts us in their debt. Well, I won’t say anything just yet; I want to hear all your thoughts on this. Kaeso?”

A burly man in the second row stood up and faced the assembly. “The way I see it, ain’t no question about it. You’ve all got copies of the Sacred Book, and what it says in Twilight of the Gods is that infidels are sinful, weak, faithless fools who can’t accept the truth. It says you always have to be careful with infidels, or they’ll stick a damn knife in your back. Sure, these Camels’ve come with gifts; they’ve got candy for our children, they got lots of fancy things...but all of you best keep in mind who you’re takin’ these gifts from. Mark my words, you put good Kregaians in debt to infidels, and it won’t end here. That’s all I’m sayin’.” He sat down, and a man three rows behind him, looking incredulous, stood to replace him.

“I can’t believe some of us would say that. They’ve been here a day, and they’re already irrigated all our fields. Now why would they do that if they were out to get us? We’ll have plenty of food this season, thanks to them; we’ve got medical supplies, we’ve got things we never would’ve had without the Camels. The High Lords are too busy fighting to supply places like Three Sheep Village, friends. They’ve given up on us, except to draft our people so they can fight more. Why shouldn’t we take help when it’s given to us? The gods know we need it.”

A voice of pure venom drifted through the room. Turning to see this unknown speaker, the crowd shifted, and turned right back around, mouths open, to see a tall man, wearing the ceremonial robes of an Inquisitor and the rod of judgement in his hand, walking up the aisle toward the podium. Apparently the local Inquisitor had heard of the foreigners and decided to pay Three Sheep Village a little visit.

“The gods know you need it...ah, the gods. All glory to the seven great gods. I wonder what they see, as they gaze down upon Three Sheep Village? I wonder what the Sacred Emperor sees when he looks upon this place?

“Infection. It is undoubtedly infection that meets their eyes, and you should all humble yourselves, offer sacrifices, and pray for forgiveness...lest the gods avert their eyes from this infected village. Like an infection, it has been introduced by foreign bodies into a self-contained, perfect environment. Like an infection, it has gained a foothold...and it will spread. So it is written in Twilight of the Gods; the infidel comes bearing gifts, hoping to find a chink in the armored souls of the Empire. In Three Sheep Village, they have found it, and corrupted your hearts in the process. What is the price of a few good deeds and trinkets, weighed against your enslavement to infidel lies? Dance to their tune, Kregaians, and you hand yourselves over to damnation.”

The mayor looked affronted at this threat to his villagers...but also afraid, and rightly so. An Inquisitor could make a lot of trouble for him and his people, so he decided to do things legally. “Let’s bring it to a vote. Write ‘stay’ or ‘go’ on a piece of paper and turn it in to me. On your honor.” Eight minutes later, the votes had been tallied, and the path was clear. Returning to his podium, the mayor looked the Inquisitor square in the eye and reported, “By a two-thirds majority, the Camels stay. If you would show yourself out, Inquisitor?” Looking around at an unfriendly crowd, the Inquisitor backed down. Gritting his teeth, he turned and strode from the building, and they heard his engine roar as he drove away.

***

Asmodeus smiled politely as the Boozian liaison finished.

“Money is certainly no problem. Neither is technology. However, I am not sure the battle for the Cadian Gate can be shifted further, and it is a delicate situation which I am not eager to unbalance further. I would suggest that you amass forces in Valgoth, though. I am still planning my ultimate strategy after the Cadian Gate; of course, the outcome of this battle will affect it strongly. My problem is that I am confronted in the west by Shield Vale, in the south by the Imperium, which is still far more powerful than I in terms of industrial and economic potential and military strength. If I am to assault either target successfully, I will need a considerable increase in strength, and I am more than willing to pay you for any and all assistance you render in helping me accomplish this. Is there any further business to discuss, then?"

They've betrayed me.

All of them.

Fucking Generians. Fucking Generian honor. Varus set me up; he knew what I'd do, he knew what I wanted. Never trust an infidel. They come bearing gifts...I fear the Greeks even when they bring gifts, the poet wrote. Fuck them all, the Boozians, these Mondothians...all of them, heathens and sinners. BURN THEM. KILL THEM. WIPE THEM AWAY...

MADMAN.

Lucifer sat in the Iron Throne, sleep dragging at his eyelids. But he would not allow it to come...the nightmares made him more tired when he awoke than when he went to sleep. At least, he thought they did. He hadn't slept in years. The nightmares tormented him in the daytime, too. And this war... this war.

Ishamael. No, Rahvin. No, Avaru. All of them. None of them. Antiochus...why? You dishonored me. I cannot take you back for that. Who are you, Antiochus? Who is this Crown Prince? I am the Sacred Emperor. I am a god. I am Lucifer.

Lucifer.

Lucifer.

MADMAN.

Come on then. Dance with the madman. Come to me, demons of my soul, oozing from the pits of my mind...dance with me.

Who is fit to fight Lucifer? Only Lucifer himself.

MADMAN.

Frieda roared forward, an occasional vehicle succumbing to the barrage around it. But help was on the way: relegating all defensive and offensive missiles to targetting the enemies own, the ships trained their great guns on the artillery emplacements tinged the sky black and orange.

The vaguard units were not alone any more either: more Zeemorders, Tigerhaifisch and Schlachtschildkrote AAVs were arriving, carrying the main marine units and their support.

The vanguard units, meanwhile, were roaring allong at top speed, disregarding MG fire and making for the arty bases like bats out of hell. Hopefully they weren't direct fire enabled.


"Only military business, and I'd assumed you'd have someone to handle that for you although considering that I'm saying this in a command vehicle which is practically in top of an apocalyptic battle I'm not so sure. Oh, and I don't believe introduced myself. General-Leutant Dagmar Heinbach."

OOC: Well, Mer des Ennuis, you have a point, Lucifer is angry with Asmodeus. Very angry. But Lucifer’s thoughts are occupied elsewhere for now, what with the defeat of Jahvan. Not to mention, for plot purposes, Asmodeus can’t die so soon. His fate will be flexible, of course, but we are just into Volume Two; such a major character should not die too early. But there are already hints that Lucifer is planning on taking Asmodeus down. He sent the Doomies after Asmodeus’s industry, and once he secures Aurelius’s territory and resources, he can consider another offensive. And about a target: I hope it’s okay if I RP your Deathshead characters minimally to set up the target. See below.

IC: Asmodeus kept his face neutral at the comment made by Heinbach; it would avail him little to strike the man where he stood, as his instincts urged him. Instead he ignored the comment...painful though it was to accept an insult from an infidel. “Well, General, I am grateful for this meeting. May our interests always coincide. Now, I must attend to the battle. Blood and Honor.” With that, Asmodeus strode from the meeting room and had an attendant escort the liaison out.

***

As the infidels advanced past the machine guns, the mood in the control center became more urgent. The artillery batteries could only fire so fast, and the missiles were intercepted with apparent ease. Further, offshore bombardment was taking a heavy toll on the layers of defense. The operators prepared for the worst as the enemy, still safely sheltered within their transports, advanced. Explosives were readied inside the control center, and the techs not necessary to run the defenses fled the base. Those who remained opened the tiny armory and distributed pistols, ammo, and grenades. Outside, the ground shook as the artillery fired over and over, desperately trying to halt or even slow the enemy. And a message was sent to Jahvan’s First Army, warning them of imminent invasion.

In the camps of the First Army, much farther inland, the mobilization begun.

OOC: Numbers for Jahvan’s First Army

900,000 Legionaries
7,200 Immortals
1,200 War-Priests
320 light guns
240 medium guns
160 heavy guns
12 Colossus howitzers
200 AA guns
280 SAM batteries
1,000 T-120 Ravagers
800 M146 Despoilers
1,600 Sidewinder LAVs
1,400 F/A-104 Balefires
240 A-10 Thunderbolts
480 MiG-45s
180 Behemoth heavy bombers
8 B-6 Paladin stealth bombers

***

Admiral Braghan winced as yet another volley from the Loyalist and Jipleastani fleets took its toll. The AAW units had been torn to shreds, while the enemy had soaked up the return fire, losing a relative few ships. The Mephisto had suffered a torpedo hit, which had inflicted minimal damage, but served as a reminder that the enemy were striking everywhere. The Loyalist commander had apparently decided to disperse his submarines, striking randomly across the fleet, and the tactics proved effective. If nothing else, it distracted the frigates and destroyers from firing back at the Loyalist fleet. The Jipleastanis had proved themselves dangerous as well; their kills were rising rapidly, and Braghan began to feel dread welling up inside him. The Loyalist fleet was responding too well, its defenses seemingly impenetrable, and raining fire on Jahvan’s armada all the while. True, dozens of enemy ships lay wrecked, but Braghan’s losses were over two hundred and counting. He had to think of something quickly. To gain time, he ordered his air fleet to start nipping at the edges of the Loyalist armada; they would use speed and skill to sink ships one at a time, and distract the enemy. Praying for success, Braghan watched as his thousands of aircraft sped away, never slowing. Their numbers were thinned somewhat by a Loyalist hail of AA fire, but their missiles took a toll on the outlying ships of the Imperial fleet. Hoping this would turn the tide, Braghan ordered his helicopters to redouble their efforts to find the enemy submarines and turned back to watch the battle.

OOC: Sorry Mondoth...I'll have a reply up tomorrow.

The ground-launched missiles proved a deadly irritant even to the advanced Balefires, and soon the air battle was approaching the likely range of the enemy fleet’s weaponry. The air offensive had stalled, and the element of shock was lost as the Mondothians organized their defenses. To keep the battle flexible, several squadrons of A-10s withdrew and made another pass over the airfields, targeting anything that fired back. The Balefires and remaining A-10s suddenly disengaged, hurtling at full speed back around the enemy base, skirting the majority of the AA fire coming from it, daring the enemy aircraft to follow them. Several planes were destroyed in the disengagement, but better that than be drawn into the range of the fleet’s big guns. And speaking of big guns...

The fifty AA guns with the Imperial forces opened up, spewing 155mm flak shells into the skies, targeting the enemy aircraft, and the SAM batteries continued launching missiles, pausing only briefly to reload their launchers. The other guns occupied themselves with laying down a creeping barrage; the maneuver required precision timing and perfect coordination, but the Imperial communications networks were up to the task. The shells razed the ground at a certain distance ahead to clear the defenses, throwing up the frozen dirt, while the infantry and armor advanced quickly. They had to close the distance quickly; the helicopters, however, loaded up with infantry (OOC: Twelve men per helicopter) and lifted off, dividing into five groups of twelve helicopters. They spread out and advanced from different directions, laying down suppression fire with 12.7mm cannon-fire, punctuated with an occasional Venom AGM.

OOC: Sorry for taking so long to respond... I have been "occupied"
tell me if this is too over the top...

IC:

"INCOMMING!", yelled the 2nd Lieutenant as hundreds of shells impacted Fort Karik, luckily all the command personnel were in a bunker hundreds of meters underground.

However, the carnage on the surface was indescribable... massive explosions rocked the base, taking out power to several sections. The AA, AAA, and SAM emplacements turned their attention to the A-10's that had just cut a path through the tanks... dozens of missiles, thousands of rounds of flak and other shells flew towards the A-10's, cutting them to shreds...

Then, the defenders turned their attention to the incoming armor and infantry.
Little did the attackers know... that Fort Karik had a few more tricks up her sleeve. One of which was a ring extending a mile out from the base that was composed of very unstable soil, this is the main reason that the planners built the base here. In the unstable ground was a gift, that Asmodeus' army would never see coming. Every fifty meters there were fifteen kilotons of high-explosives... worried about 90 feet under the ground. As soon as the tanks and infantry reached them, they would detonate, leaving a 90 foot deep and a 30 meter wide chasm, separating Fort Karik from Asmodeus' ground forces, they would be well within range of Jipleastani artillery, and would allow Asmodeus' forces to be torn to shreds.

Yet... that was not all the Jipleastani's had, on top of that there was but one more final trick they had. Overhead a massive roar was heard, and out of the distance, came 25 HAGAP's (High Altitude Ground Attack Plane), along with a very large fighter escort, at the minimum 150 JSF-35s and 100 F-22 Raptors. They saw that Fort Karik was in trouble, and their job was to make that not so. The HAGAPs flew into action, leaning left exposing their massive armament. 2 188mm cannons, 5 30mm miniguns, and 3 88mm light cannons.
They rolled, and opened fire... The HAGAP's opened fire on the troops of Asmodeus', there was nothing that could withstand this bombardment, absolutely nothing...

"May God help those poor men...", remarked the flight leader. They would not stand a chance...

OOC: Very intense, Jip. Response tomorrow.

OOC: Jip, I’m going to ignore the 30mm rounds right now, because as far as I know they’re only really effective at low/medium altitudes; but don’t worry, the other things will cause devastation enough. If you want I can change it.

IC: The A-10's veered away, scattering chaff and using their ECM packages to jam the Jipleastani missiles; still, many were destroyed by the massive retaliation. The remainder veered safely away and were suddenly distracted by a roar that rose easily above the sounds of the battle. Thousands of jaws dropped at once, and the communications network was crowded with the same message: “What the fuck...?”

Below, the ground opened up.

Thousands of tons of dirt were flung into the air by an unimaginable force. In the blink of an eye, massive clouds rose from the site, and the ground was simply...gone. A few were killed by flying rocks, but nobody even cared; the sight was awesome, terrifying. Behind their steel deathmasks, the Immortals themselves were taken aback.

The dust would not clear for many long hours, but it was soon easy to see that a hundred-foot wide moat now separated Fort Karik from the rest of Shield Vale. The task force was confused; there was no way in hell they were getting across that thing. Of course, the good news was that Fort Karik had just blocked itself off. It was no longer an urgent target; it’s long range and medium range missiles could reach the main body of the army, true, but that’s what the SAM batteries were for. Enraged at being denied their prey, the task force started to withdraw and return to the Gate.

And then the planes came.

The roar of their approach drew eyes to the sky everywhere, and around thirty tiny shapes hurtled overhead in the dust cloud, escorted by around 250 fighters. It didn’t seem of great importance, but those who survived would write later of a feeling of discomfort, of imminent disaster.

Shells roared down from overhead, blasting craters into the midst of the task force. Apparently these planes had artillery-sized cannons mounted on them...and big ones, at that. The shells shredded flesh and buckled armor, and to the shame of the Kregaians, there was nothing they could do to fight back. The 12.7mm AA guns on the tanks had no hope of working at that range. All they could do was call Headquarters and request assistance.

Asmodeus, already shocked by the newly-made trench around Fort Karik, overreacted a bit, perhaps, but then these new threats likely deserved it. All SAM batteries, around three hundred in all, targeted the Jipleastani planes, ignoring for now the dogfights over the Gate. They opened up with all they had, all their missiles streaking towards the Jipleastani dreadnoughts, loading and firing again and again, while the AA guns hurled flak shells into the fighters protecting the infidel bombers. Meanwhile, a good four hundred Balefires left the skies over the Cadian Gate to clash with the Jipleastani aircraft. As soon as they were in range, several Methuselah AAMs streaked from their launchers. They would arrive just after the shells and missiles from below. Meanwhile, thirteen damaged A-10's that had survived the counterattack from Fort Karik turned and, roaring prayers, hurtled into the enemy aircraft, cannons blazing, firing every missile they had. What is death to the faithful?

OOC: I'm going to adopt a policy of doing as I feel and deleting any material objected too, since we'll otherwise never get anywhere.
IC: The initial vanguard columns raced up towards the artillery posts, commanders tentatively poking their heads through hatches now that they were clear of the machine guns. Harz muttered under her breath as she ground the tank into a "firm" position.
"Cover, routes, arcs, background, cover, routes, arcs, background..." She raised her voice.
"We're firm!"
"Fire!"
A rocket assisted shell was hurled throught the air at the artillery base, leaving a silver trail from sheer kinetic energy. It almost instantly discarded its sabot and the rocket jets within, the fuel reserve being miniscule. Stabilizing fins shot out, designed to snap off rather than drag. One set had a pressure sensor built in: should the shell penetrate that deep, it would discard its armour pierding tip and detonate a frag bomb.
It was a useful way to guage a target armour, and if the head penetrated and the shrapnel got into the crew compartment, it was really funny to watch.


Rudi Mueller would be the first to admit that he was a complete and utter adrenaline junky. Breaking half the bones in his body had not been enough for him: he wanted to skydive with gunfire around him.
And now, as a flight sergeant in the Fallschirmjager, he'd got his wish.
The planes were going low: he wouldn't need a reserve parachute. This was in order to drop the palletised light vehicles that accompanied the division.
"Attention all personell, we are now neering the Halcyon Aurelius border.
What fun.

IC: Deep below the Shenyangi Governmental Complex in Randova the High Council appraised the situation in The Warmaster. Information on all groups involved was displayed on the massive screens on one wall. Each had their own feelings about the conflict, and those feelings were about to clash at this decision.

Murdock: We cannot allow this to go on. If they are torn apart by this war then we may be stuck with a more insane enemy instead of an insane 'ally.' We need to get involved. If we do not do something, this could cause serious problems for our current international plans.

General Hammond: Agreed, but we can't afford a high profile assault like our esteemed colleagues across the straights. I suggest we deploy the ODST and a support task force to aid the current government, as distasteful as it is to aid them.

Murdock: Other options?

Dr. Arkov: A strategic weapons strike on the entire nation. Wipe the whole damn place off the map for good.

Murdock: Too messy, and they may yet be of use, we can't have them as a piece of radioactive glass, no matter how much we do dislike this course of action.

Locke: A special forces deployment is the most acceptable course of action, but what of those massive weapons they decided to deploy? We would have to commit serious firepower to destroy one, even beyond what the ODST usually carry. We have options though.

Murdock: What options?

Gen. Hammond: From what we know about them, there are only a very few options that would be effective, and keep our men alive.

Murdock: List them.

Locke: VOLGR, ODIUS, and a SADM. Anything else and we're going to either not scratch those monsters, or we're going to kill our own men. Admittedly, the SADM is the least effective, but it should take one of them down nicely.

Murdock: What about Metal Rain?

Locke: Its still in the testing phases, but it may freeze one up for our teams to get in close and bring it down.

Murdock: How many do we have deployed?

Locke: They're still experimental...

Murdock: Don't give me that crap, every single weapon we have in development is at least in the field testing phases, which means that we've got them in the field somewhere. Now tell me what we've got.

Locke: The Defiance, and the Ragnarok class each are carrying a small group of them. Six aboard each vessel.

Murdock: Then we'll be deploying the Defiance won't we. What other assets will we be committing to this? A Stormbreaker perhaps?

Adm. Cole: We can deploy the prototype Stormbreaker and her group within 20 hours. They'll be there in time to support the Helljumpers when they're needed.

Murdock: Good, dedicate the Arkbirds to this operation as well.

The rest of the council stared a moment at their chairman, he had just told them to commit the country's massive strategic bombers to a tactical operation. Not just one bomber, all of them.

Murdock: Was I unclear in that order? Do it.

The meeting adjourned and the members went to commit whatever forces they were to add. Murdock went to notify the commander of the ODST, the fiery brigadier general known as Leon Cassius Knight. Codename: Revenant. He would be headed once more into the teeth of battle with his top five squads of combat shock troops, and a massive support force, not to mention aid that would be coming from the nation's intelligence service, SCI.

It was 6 AM; Revenant was asleep in his penthouse apartment when the call came in. His wife answered the phone first. She was getting used to being on a first name basis with the leader of her home nation.

Cassandra Knight: Hello Alexander, my husband isn't up just yet, where are you sending him now?

Murdock: Hello Cassandra, you no doubt know of the conflict in The Warmaster, he and his teams are headed there, to destabilize things as best they can.

Cassandra: You know full well that if he gets injured out there, I am coming after you.

Murdock: Full well, you tell me that every time I send him away.

He had no doubt she'd do it too, and succeed, good thing Revenant was the top soldier in the entire SSOCOM, well, him and the recently acquired leader of the Black Ops, Colonel James Talbot, who he'd no doubt be sending out soon, if the need arose.

Leon Knight: Hello? Chairman? Where are you sending me? You can get off the line Cassie, I've got it.

Murdock: As I told your wife, you are headed for The Warmaster. We'll be sending you and your squads 1-5.

Leon Knight: You need to send that many of us? You must really want some havoc caused over there.

Murdock: I'm counting on that Revenant. You had better survive this, your wife is still threatening my life every time you deploy.

Leon Knight: Don't worry sir, I'll be fine, and so will all my team members.

Murdock: Good, a vehicle is on the way to collect you.

Leon hung up, he would have to remind Cassie that it was a bad idea to threaten his ultimate commanding officer, well, she wouldn't listen so he let it go. He left the room, kissed Cassie, and headed into his Office. There he began the involved process of gearing up for this mission, he had an armory to make any small nation go pale in that room, and he loaded up with as much gear as he thought he'd need.

He donned a Multi-Tiger set of BDUs, a new development from Crye and SMDI, a tiger stripe multi-cam. Over that, he put the armor components of his gear, and began withdrawing weapons for the trip as well as all the gear he'd need. He loaded it into packs, bags, and assorted rigs. He carried enough weapons to supply a 4-man fire team, with multiple primaries and several secondaries, as well as enough ammo and grenades to last a week in the field. It was a huge load, but ODST were trained for it, 130lbs of gear was the norm for them on deployment, of course, at any given time during a mission they would have much less, that was just an unrealistic combat load, no matter how well trained a soldier was. His helmet under his arm and his gear in hand he exited the room and sat down for breakfast with his wife. He'd skipped it too many times, and he wasn't missing this one, Chairman or no Chairman. After he ate, he promised his wife he'd be back and headed to the elevator. He took it all the way down to the lobby, exiting to the fright of those there, he was used to it, but no one else was.

The car was waiting, a stretch limousine, he entered it, placing his gear in the seat next to him. Inside the vehicle across from him was another ODST, known for having a short fuse. Revenant began a conversation during the ride.

Revenant: Hello Sirius, you ready for this?

Sirius: Of course, I’m always ready.

Revenant: Good, we’re heading into the belly of the beast, so we need to be on top of our game on this one.

Sirius: We always are.

Revenant: So, anything new?

Sirius: You know the answer to that.

Of course he did, after her experiences as a teen, it was unlikely there would be anything new in her personal life for quite some time. Sure, she was a beautiful 26-year-old woman, but she trusted no one outside the ODST and her family. Her gear was packed in nearly identical bags as Revenant’s, but due to her specialty in CQC and Stealth she had smaller weapons, assault rifles, SMGs, Pistols, nothing as large as Revenant’s M-249 SPW.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, while each contemplated what this mission could mean.

On arrival they grabbed their gear and exited the vehicle. They headed for the command building where the rest of the ODST were waiting.

Revenant: Good morning, I’ll keep this short. Very short. We’re being sent to The Warmaster to raise hell with the warring factions. As if they need our help. We’ll be operating out of their bases, but we have assurances that we will be left to ourselves by the indig soldiers. I don’t need to tell you this, but we’re heading for a very unpleasant place, and about to do some very unpleasant things. So, lets saddle up and give ‘em hell!

The ODST roared in approval. They grabbed their gear and boarded a C-5B transport that would take them to the capital, where they would be deploying with a rather nasty assortment of weapons and vehicles. They had a large number of specially equipped Humvees, with door mounted machine guns, and a roof mounted .50 cal. One special Humvee came armed with SLAMRAAM SAMs, just in case it became necessary to ruin the day of someone cruising at 30,000 feet.

Several hours passed, and the aircraft finally landed, the ODST off-loaded their gear and vehicles onto the tarmac of a Warmasterian airbase near the capital and awaited advice as to where to redeploy from the people that knew best, the indig forces themselves. Each ODST hoped for some assignment that would put them in a relatively low tech area, similar to Iraq or Afghanistan, that way they could do their jobs without raising much hell with the locals, since odds are all the locals would be either hiding, or the enemy. However they were ready to be sent anywhere that they were needed.

OOC: Warmaster, just tell me where you want my force to go, and I’ll start raising hell. I’d prefer if it wasn’t into the middle of a grassland, or an extremely dense city, but I won’t complain about where I end up.

“We’ve got incoming,” Subaltern Ardan announced over the squadron frequency. His squad acknowledged and readied their weapons, as the enemy formation became visibly distinct. It was insane, really; whoever the fuck was commanding the traitor fleet was plainly an idiot. The entire enemy air armada was attacking a group half again its size, not to mention the anti-air guns hammering away below. No time for wondering about it, though; just fight, get through it, and look forward to some R&R when the battle was won.

Then the order came to go forward, and the battle was joined.

Methuselah missiles streaked from their launchers, followed by storms of 30mm cannon fire. Damaged aircraft hurled themselves into collisions with the enemy, ensuring a warrior’s death and honor in the afterlife. The proximity of Jahvan’s air fleet to the Loyalist navy provided a number of disadvantages, but a powerful one was that Imperial jamming was much more powerful than if the two air armadas had clashed elsewhere; another side effect was that anti-air weaponry was much more deadly. The kill ratios began to tip in the favor of the Loyalists, and, sensing their advantage, the Imperial pilots redoubled their efforts. Fluid and unpredictable maneuvers took the enemy completely by surprise; trios of aircraft penetrated deep into Jahvan’s formation, scoring kills at the core of the enemy; other trios peeled away at the last moment to reveal a wall of more contacts, cannons blazing. Jahvan’s forces were bewildered and disrupted by the attacks...which let the Loyalists surround them and entrap them; the only escape route leading down into the guns of the waiting fleet.

Below, on the bridge of Victorious, High Admiral laughed in savage glee.

Apparently Jahvan’s air armada received orders to flee, for some of the enemy tried, too late, to dive down and out through the enemy, or to punch through the encircling Loyalists; a few of them actually escaped intact. The majority, however, acted as warriors who knew their time had come; namely, they unleashed any missiles they had left and dived suicidally either into the bridges of the warships below or into the mass of Loyalist aircraft that had trapped them.

With the skies firmly in Imperial hands, the battle was practically over.

High Admiral Anor watched the last enemy aircraft escape and turned to the communications sector. “Send my compliments to the Jipleastani commander, and inform him that the time has come for a final offensive. Advise him to open up with everything he’s got. And instruct our fleet to do the same.”

***

The Sacred Emperor prowled the imperial apartments, and he brooded. An easy task for Lucifer of Domain Halcyon. Inwardly he railed in hatred at the weak, the traitors, the infidels, all those who had defied him in his reign of iciness, all those who gnawed like plague rats at the hull of the great ship that was the Imperium. He raged at the demons that haunted him. Lucifer basked in his rage and his hate and was...not happy. Satisfied.

Lucifer immersed himself in his own darkness and smiled the smile of a killer born.

His eyes snapped open. Casting a hollow gaze at his surroundings, he looked around for a drink and found it. Tossing back the whiskey inside, he strode to one of the intercoms scattered through the sprawling imperial apartments. Reaching one, he called the attendants outside his quarters and ordered them to summon Lord Regent Seth Jamaane. Seth had been a friend of his since their school days; there was one person Lucifer had always felt he could speak to if he needed it, and that was Seth; the Sacred Emperor trusted his Regent further, much further, than even his wife or his son...when Antiochus had been alive. The idiot. And to cap it all, the brat had died in a way that dishonored Lucifer and praised Asmodeus. Asmodeus would have to die, preferably by Lucifer’s own hand, and soon, if the Emperor’s honor were to remain, as always, intact.

Several minutes later–a small interval given the size of the Palace–there came a knock on his door, followed by an informal announcement through the intercom of His Divine Majesty’s guest’s arrival. The Lord Regent was in casual dress, to be expected at this early hour of the morning, but knelt to his ruler despite his disheveled appearance. Of course. To do otherwise bordered on blasphemy.

“Seth. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Divine One.”

“I have no time for titles this morning, Lord Regent, and neither do you. I’m going to ask this straight out: in your opinion, will we win this war?”

Seth pondered the question. He was obviously expected to speak honestly, and so after a moment’s hesitation, he did. “Lucifer, I would say yes. Jahvan has been broken, and we can deal with Asmodeus. With luck, he will break his back on the Cadian Gate, and we will have a much easier job of it. Ishamael, though, and Avaru...they are different matters entirely.”

“Yes. They are.” Lucifer paused, gazing into the distance, and his eyes glowed. “But I’m not afraid of them. The gods are on our side, Seth. The Inquisition sees it; they stayed loyal, all but a few. The priests do as well. And we can defeat them, Seth; who on earth can fight better than the Legions? We will entrap them, my friend, entrap them and grind them to powder. They shall surrender in shame, and some must die as an example, but after a few rites of purification, I will have them back as warriors. We will need them.”

“For what? We’re not going to be able to fight a major war for a long time after this.”

Lucifer looked at the Regent as a teacher would while explaining the ultimate secret of the universe. “Ahhhhh, Seth...we can. And we will. Besides, this is a major war, and one I know how to fight.

“Scourge them. Destroy them. Run them into the ground screaming for death to come. Flay them, torture them, burn them, curse them, poison them. Shatter the traitors into a thousand fragments that I will forge back into the Imperium. They will be loyal. They will not dare be otherwise, after I have shown them the mercy they will receive from me.

“I’ll have them dig their own graves, Seth, and gun them down. I’ll firebomb their cities. I’ll kill them off one by one or a million at a time, whatever it takes to rebuild the Empire. The Imperium will tower above it all, ignoring the blood that will flow around it. And when these traitors have nothing left to rule but a broken field of corpses...when they are shattered and know that I am the true Sacred Emperor...when they collapse and can be rebuilt to my purpose, so we can turn them on the mewling Czardaians and the sodomite Sarzonians and every infidel ever born, when the lamentations and the prayers for death cease echoing from the Empire and rise again in the lands of the enemy...

“Then we will have peace.”

And as the Sacred Emperor uttered these final words to his monologue, a smile formed on his lips again, a smile darker than the gap between stars and colder than the iciest wastes of the northlands, more savage than the most vicious predator alive...the smile of a murderer.

***

OOC: Shenyang, I’m gonna send them to a fairly rural area, but I hope I’m not overdoing it on the rural-ness. If there’s a better deployment region, I’d be happy to put them there.

IC: General M. Shadows watched as the Shenyangi C-5B landed and the foreigners started unloading their gear. They made for a formidable sight, no doubt about that; Shadows only hoped they could put up as good a fight as a show. He wasn’t happy about being here, on the tarmac at Korronis Defense Command; they should have come to him. He was a fucking General, for gods’ sake, and supreme commander of Korronis’s defenses, but Shenyang was a close ally of the Imperium, and High Command was eager to honor their allies.

Striding towards the Shenyangi soldiers, his honor guard and aides following behind, he officially welcomed them to the Kregaian Empire, bowing slightly in greeting. Sensing that these men would prefer he skip casual chit-chat, Shadows got straight to business.

“Gentlemen, you’re probably wondering about your assignments. Well, His Divine Majesty the Sacred Emperor has decided to send your group to the northlands; Valgoth Dominion, to be exact, the territory of High Lord Asmodeus. We recommend that you drop in covertly, using this fine aircraft here, and begin raising hell. The Divine One’s orders are to target industry, communications, power supplies, transportation...all the things that make a war effort possible. Plus, of course, military bases themselves; taking out some key fortifications along the River Arcan might open them up to full-scale invasion later on. Finally, I’d advise you to stay away from the Shield Vale area; at the eastern end of Shield Vale, Asmodeus has a huge army attacking the facility known as the Cadian Gate. It’s pretty hot out there, and probably not your optimum environment. That’s all, I suppose. If there are no questions, go ahead and take some time to refuel and rest if you need it. We’ll be in touch.”

Mueller clambered back into the main troop compartment.

"Ok, boys and girls, a few things: never sleep in a foreign house unless you want to die of some wierd plague, don't be afraid to set fire to stuff cos that's how it's done here, but don't fuck the locals, and if you a see an enemy, shoot and don't ask questions ever. Thet just don't surrender around here. And kill prisoners: we'll be hard on food as it is. Young Voigt has probably got something philosophical to say about that."

"Uh... The good create justice, because they are innocent, and the evil create mercy, because they are guilty?"

"What do you actually do back in the world, Hansi?," asked the trooper next to him.

"Well... I'm a cook and I do a street routine to make ends meet."

"Eat us some fire, Hansi!," shouted a voice near the front.

"Actually I do knife juggling."

"Could you do it with rifles?"

"If I tried hard."

"Oh ho! We're gonna be rich. This squad, I mean. There's good money for entertainment, and don't worry: if you slip up and kill someone, you get a tip!"

There was laughter. Mueller quitly left the compartment, satisfied that he's taken their minds off the drop, as the plain began desperately jinking.


Now that the first waves of marines had made it to the artllery bases, the battleships were raising their gun s back to identified missile aiming points. The barrage they could lay down had thinned, Moltke pulling back heavily damaged ships rather than letting antything sink. Confident that the torpedo buoys were truly gone, the destroyer screen had also fallen back behind the gun cruisers. But the enemy fire was also weakening: only a few missiles were getting past the point defence screen, and the artillery, already diminishing when the marines reached it, shouldn't last much longer.

"Sir!"

An aide scrambled out of a hatch.

"UAVs say Jahvan's fleet has been severely mauled in open battle with the Jiplo-Imperial forces."

"Good, good. Now, are the naval air units re-fueled?"

"Yessir."

"Then prep them for immediate launch, catapults rigged, pilots aboard, and transfer all artillery fire to the missile stations."

"Aye, sir."

He scurried away. Moltke looked up at the horizon beyond the beaches. The sun would start setting soon. He felt obliged to take a picture. It would probably be put in textbooks later on. He wondered who would write them.

OOC: Not a problem, I can work with this pretty easilly.

IC:

Revenant: Thank you general, as soon as this bird is fueled up we'll be on our way out there.

Revenant turned to his forces. He gave them a quick look, and then gave them their orders.

Revenant: Alright people, we'll be dropping in behind Asmodeous' lines. HALO with the vehicles, we can't get them out there otherwise, and we didn't bring em to have em on the plane gathering dust. Rig it up people! Polaris get over here.

Polaris: Yes comrade?

Revenant: This is General Shadows, he's the one that delivered the orders to us, I figured you'd like to meet him. Plus, I think you can give me a hand deciding with the general here how we'll be resupplied, because even for an insurgency op, what we can bring just isn't enough.

Polaris: General, would it be possible to arrange para-drops of ammo and equipment for our forces, as we are behind the lines, we'll need a good amount of ammo, and until our support arrives, we will be dependent on your country's support.

After recieving their reply the ODST bid the general good-bye, saluted, and moved back to their force, supervising and aiding in the rigging of the equipment and vehicle chutes. Once everything, and everyone was ready, and the aircraft was refueled, the craft recieved permission to head off to the combat area and release its deadly payload.

The flight was eventful, as they passed over the main lines a surface to air missile was launched at them, the galaxy evaded, but it wasn't comfortable for the passengers. Finally the craft reached its cargo's drop zone. The light at the rear door went green, and the massive hatch parted. The vehicles would be dropped, the ODST and their gear would be seated inside the vehicles, which didn't have anything similar to a roof, just a roll cage, so it was moderately safe. Due to the weight of their gear they had to use parafoils designed for tandem jumps, but since they lost no manueverability despite the larger size, it was of minimal concern. Out went the Humvees. This was the tough part, those vehicles would light up the enemy radar like a god-damned christmas tree, and that meant that they were vulnerable, of course, they were free falling at a massive speed, so any SAMs would have a helluva time catching them. Knight gave them the order, and the teams abandoned the vehicles, the last one out triggering the craft's chute. Luckilly there was little wind and the vehicles didn't drift appreciably off course.

The team continued their free-fall, and at the pre-established altitude, they opened thier parafoils and flew into the drop zone. As the vehicles landed softly within the clearing where the force had landed the ODST already had a perimeter growing. Once they were sure the area was clear they moved to the vehicles, and began to plan.

Revenant: Alright, we'll be usin this as our base of operations for atleast a day or two, its defensible, secluded, and outside that god-damned gauntlet of air defenses they've got over the front. Our first target will be this train depot, we strike at dusk tonight. Everyone got it?

ODST: Affirmative Rev.

Revenant: Good, then mount up and lets get to our TFHQ.

The ODST mounted the vehicles and began driving toward their Temporary Field Headquarters, an abandoned farm from the looks of it, though what the farm had been for was up for debate. What was known was that it had plenty of space to hide the Humvees, and to house the ODST, which was a welcome change from their usual accomedations, or the lack there of.

It took a half hour to reach the farm, sure enough, abandoned, the ODST hid there vehicles and set up this as their base. Perhaps they'd have SCI look into procuring it as a safehouse for future operations. That wasn't of immediate concern. As dawn broke the ODST were almost totally set-up, communications, defenses, quarters for the force were all set. The building remained dark, so as to not tip off anyone, as the ODST began to plan their first strike.

A map of the area was layed out on a table inside, it showed the depot, and the surrounding area. A large hill was placed a quarter mile from the target, the perfect place for the snipers to set-up, ideally they'd also get a few on the roofs of nearby buildings, which they designated. The assault would be carried out in a traditional ODST style, fast, destructive, and totally untracable. Their vehicles were unmarked, their weapons and gear was unmarked, save Knight's insignia on his shoulder, but that was an untracable logo anyway. The only thing that could give them away was their armor, but that required either survivors, or video/photographic proof, and neither was likely in this kind of operation, for that matter, they'd frighten any survivors so bad they wouldn't even want to remember them. The plan called for the use of the Humvees in a multi-pronged assault. The idea was that the assault force would sweep in through the entrances and through the fences, and make a high-speed attack run before the ODST left the vehicles and did some ground-pounding to finish the job. Surpressors were fitted to all the weapons, including the weapons aboard the vehicles, no sense raising hell and waking the neighbors this early in the op. Besides, surpressing the weapons would make things easier on their ears, and let them really get the drop on the enemies inside the yard. With the plan in place they began gearing up to assault the target. Intel showed that there were only a few guards there, definitely not civilians, looked like rookie soldiers, kept back to defend a low risk target, a shame they'd have to face the ODST, maybe they'd see about capturing soem of them, not killing them all, but they knew the odds that the enemy would surrender were slim. Even rookie soldiers in this country were ultra-loyal, willing to die for their cause. The ODST prepared to attack at dusk.

OOC: changed my mind, here we go. Attack below.

Dusk began to settle as the ODST geared up to attack. They loaded up on their vehicles and began driving toward the train depot. The snipers destined for the hill disembarked from the Humvees and set up at the crest, their Ghillie Suits making them invisible in the failing light. The roof top snipers dissembarked the vehicles as the convoy drove just out of sight of the target. They got into position. When the snipers were in position they reported in.

Seraph: Hill Team in position.

Nachtigall: Roof Team 1 in position.

Fox: Roof Team 2 in position.

Sierra: Roof Team 3 is in position and ready to rock.

Revenant: Roger, all sniper teams, pick your targets, remember, they may be soldiers, but they're just as insane as any terrorists we've ever encountered. execute with extreme prejudice. I'll give you orders to fire when the assault teams are in position.

The Humvees moved into position, once they were ready Revenant made another radio command.

Revenant: Alright people, its go time, lights, camera, action. Engage, move in, lets get em.

The Humvees kicked on their multiple light bars and headlights and took off toward the compound. The snipers began placing rounds down range into the guards that were visible. The Humvees crashed through the security fencing at multiple points, the vehicles' onboard weapons blazing. After quickly circling the facility the teams disembarked and moved into the jumble of cars that needed to be cleared. As they did they activated their ITEV thermal systems, instantly thermal signatures jumped out at them, the teams swept through the yard like a tornado, nothing stood in their way. Rounds impacted on their armor, causing slight stinging but nothing of note. The entire operation took only 5 minutes for the entire yard to be declared clear.

Polaris and other demolitions experts set to work rigging the place to go up like a MOAB hit it. Explosives were strapped to fuel cars, pumps, grain cars, anything that could add to the destruction. Another 15 minutes and the team had the entire area rigged to blow and were back on the Humvees collecting their snipers. With the area clear of anything that5 would prove their involvement they began driving out of the area, knowing that a counter attack could come at any time. They took care with their route, heading the wrong direction, them circling around and slowly making their way back to base.

As they returned to base the timers on the explosives they'd planted reached zero. The train depot went up in a massive conflagration. Utter destruction was all that could be used to describe the scene. The ODST had taken care to move the bodies of the dead out of the blast area. They felt that the families would want to have a proper burial, and for that they'd need a body. The depot was now a rubble strewn wasteland. All the equipment was obliterated, all the cars and cargo was gone. No civilians were injured, though sever windows were blown in by the blast. All in all, the ODST considered it a success. Only one ODST had been wounded, by ricochet from an opponent who's aim had been off. It wasn't serious, nothing they couldn't deal with in the field. Several ODST had to replace components of their armor, including Revenant, Polaris, Sirius, and several others.

OOC: Overall casualties for the ODST: 1 WIA (minor) 10 armor components requiring replacement, including: 5 chest plates, 2 back plates, and 3 leg components. I'll of course leave it to you to decide how many dead on the opposing side.

OOC: Damn, I prepared the reply before you posted the attack...nevermind, I'll reply to that tomorrow.

IC: It was over.

The foreigners had destroyed the artillery batteries, and were raining fire on the remaining missile launchers. To make matters worse, the inland fortresses that were supposed to be the last line of defense had been stripped of men to boost the mobilization of the First Army, deeper inland. The only good news was that those fortresses had been rigged to blow as soon as the techs in the control center pushed the button. Then again, it was unlikely that the infidels would enter them at all; they were plainly abandoned, and thus suspicious.

And then the last of the missile batteries blew.

The techs stared grimly around at each other. Those who weren’t waiting on the slim chance that the foreigners would enter the rigged fortresses knelt and began to pray. They had no priests with them, but they’d been going to the temples regularly all their lives and knew the rites by heart. Not to mention, it was required on entering the military that one knew the proper prayers of a man facing death.

The officer in charge opened Twilight of the Gods and read passages from it, offering an occasional prayer or hymn; they venerated the Creator who had made them, the Renewer who had protected them, the Slayer who had ended them, and the Sacred Emperor who had given them the cause they now died for. Even though they had seceded from the Imperium, in their minds, Lucifer was still a god; besides, the secession had only been intended to facilitate war with the other High Lords. It was just an unfortunate side effect that this meant war with the Imperium as well, to Kregaian logic.

They prayed, and they waited. Soon now, the foreigners would come knocking on their door. And they hoped with every fiber of their souls that the First Army would drive these infidels back into the sea.

***

M. Shadows considered the soldier’s question. “Yes, we can resupply you, at least the way things stand now. Our air groups in Halcyon Dominion would easily be able to drop in arms, ammo, food, and anything else you need. To prevent you having to tell us where you are all the time, we’ll give you coordinates for four drop sites on your way there, and we’ll then tell you which one we’re dropping at, A, B, C, or D when the time comes for resupply. I can tell you’d like to get to it, so good luck. Blood and Honor.”

***

Admiral Braghan could barely restrain his rage as the superdreadnaught on the starboard side of the Mephisto suffered a crippling blow from a Colossus shell and was finished off by a rain of Pandemonium II missiles. Flights of Loyalist aircraft whirled through the sky, diving mercilessly on any ship that presented a target. The Loyalist fleet was closing in, to put Braghan’s fleet in range of the frigates and destroyers and such. The enemy had taken casualties, but far less than those suffered by Braghan’s fleet, and the firepower raining from them and their Jipleastani allies was simply too much to be resisted. Despair flooded through him. It was over.

Turning to his communications men, he ordered, “Put me on a channel with the whole fleet. You there, inform the enemy commander that we’re...we’re standing down.” It was a painful order for any commander, but in the Empire it practically demanded honorable suicide. After his officers informed him he was on the line with his armada, he gave the hated order, eyes brimming with tears of rage as he threw his honor away.

“All ships: cease fire immediately. The battle is over, and the enemy has won. This is fact. I, by a terrible twist of fate, now bear the shameful burden of surrender. You have served me well and with honor, and that is why I will not allow you to go down fighting when there is no hope of glorious victory. You may surrender to the enemy or take your own lives. Farewell, and I pray we shall meet again in the halls of the gods. Blood and Honor.”

And twenty minutes later, with the Jipleastani and Loyalist admirals looking on, Admiral Braghan, in full ceremonial uniform, surrendered two swords, one to each enemy commander, prayed for his soul and the restoration of his honor, and stabbed himself in the lung. Before wrenching the blade over and into his heart, Braghan murmured, “May the gods have mercy on my soul.”

And the battle was over.

A few mixed tank/IFV platoons from the vanguard had made it as far as the missiles by now, but the fortesses were apparently out of bombardment range and they wanted air support before moving.

Among the vehicles of the platoons still arriving, including thoose mounted in AAVs, was General-Oberst Steuben's personal command vehicle, denoted officially by a pair of red stripes, but in reality more immediately recognisable by the meticlulously painted scales, fins, jaws and eyeballs-on-tentacles that adorned the hull. It was named, appropriately, The Thing.

The General herself was in the standard tank commander position, peering inland through a pair of binoculars. Other TCs and infantry who had got out for a smoko (and were being hustled back in by their squad leaders after a carefully timed three minutes) gave her lazy salutes.

The rest of the landing force was begining to assemble, including marine 105mm guns and reconaisance platoons. Steuben shouted something down the hatch, and off shore, the carriers came alive. Catapults worked furiously, hurling plane after plane into the sky. Whole squadrons assembled and hurtled towards the fortresses, configured for close support and ground attack with ASMs and vulcan guns. The marine artillery began to hammer at some of the nearer positinions, and recon units in amphipious scout cars roared in under the cover of the hammering guns, trying to close enough to disgorge their offloads into the enemy positions.


The paratroopers irrepresive cheerfulness was begining to wear off as they neared the drop zone west of the coast, and silence was descending over the compartment. Some were still making a valiant effort at humour, but mostly the mood was sobering.

"So then the Carlusite said "Hmmm... no shelter, no clothes, one apple between 'em, unable to booze or fuck, and they're told they're in paradise? Looks like a Carlusite painting to me!"

There was some quiet sniggering. Mueller popped his head in.

"Get up but hold, we're gonna drop."

The troopers grimly roseand gripped their safety bars as the rear hatch opened. It was quite a shocking sight to newbie's: the planes were barely half a klik up and dropping. Mueller and their CO, Flying Officer Petersen, along with the platoon RTO and a few others, entered the compartment. There was a movement that was the nearest sitting troopers could come to snapping to attention. Books were rammed into packs and one trooper coleected her pack of cards, muttering "Seven marks, Wolf, I won't forget."

The light flashed green. First one by one and then team by team, the section began to jump.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: General Brutus Aurelius, commander of the First Army

General, the time is gone in which mistakes and delays can be tolerated. Our fleet is gone; Admiral Braghan surrendered just hours ago. We are now without naval support, and so the only hope for our cause is tactical brilliance on land. I trust you can provide this. Satellite intelligence and reports from the control centers show that the infidels have penetrated as deep as the missile formations. You are running out of time to complete your mobilization before the infidels have gained a firm foothold. I hardly need remind you that Rahvin is taking his army north from Seleucia; I think all of us know where he is going. Do not fail me, General Aurelius. Crush the infidels and retreat to the Slivan Peninsula. Blood and Honor.

High Lord Jahvan of clan Imilzor

***

OFFICIAL ADMINISTRATIVE COMMUNIQUE

To: High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

My Lord, we have a problem.

A train depot in my prefecture was destroyed yesterday by a massive explosion. Preliminary reports are confused, to say the least; if it was the result of a catalyst in the depot itself, we cannot say what this catalyst was. If it was the result of sabotage, we cannot say who perpetrated this act of abominable terrorism. It does seem unlikely that such a massive explosion could have gone off spontaneously, but then it is at least as unlikely that an enemy force could have penetrated this deep into Valgoth. Curiously, the bodies of the Imperial Guardsmen protecting the depot, forty-eight in all, were found relatively intact outside the blast area. They are all riddled with bullets; however, we cannot identify the type. It may be Imperial design or not. Mystery shrouds this event; however, it is a fact that transportation has been shaken through my prefecture and in several neighboring ones. Whoever perpetrated this attack must be found and brought to Imperial justice. I hope this letter finds you well upon the field of glorious battle that is the Cadian Gate; may the gods bring you victory.

Prefect Tantiss Jafar

OOC: I'm assuming there are sleepy little villages available for my purposes. If not, I'll edit.
IC:"Weeeh!"

"I can see my house from up here! As in the house I'm going to loot!"

"Me too! Noboby touches the one by the stream until I'm through with it!"

"The LT gets first pick, remember?"

"Bugger that!"

This conversation would seem curious to anyone who wasn't aware that a Boozian serviceperson claiming a hostile settlement was aloud to loot and burn one house without breaching any regulations. Officers got first pick, then NCOs, the enlisted, and anyone holding the Erster Brucher git to pick before the rest of their group. It was considered a perk.

The settlement in question was a quiet little hamlet around the base of the peninsula, not far from the rear of the defence network. But the marines seemed to be doing well enough that the paratoops could get some quality pillaging time.


Johansen grinned as his fighter roared forward, eyes darting around the tac-map looking for targets as the wing roared forward, bombers locking on the nearer fortresses.

"All aircraft open ground fire!"

He loosed his single ASM on to a fortress and slammed round a sharp turn to head back to the border. Then he changed the CD.


Unteroffizer Eisenmann presseed gently on the breaks of his Puma, letting the offload team jump off the slow moving scout vehicle, then accelerated again, dodging the clearly highlighted artillery points as he fired his vehicles Blujagdhund ATGW (Soviet style missile mounts were popular in Boozia) into what appeared to be a door.

Feldwebel Zumwald led her team through the blated opening as their vehicle barreled out from under the hammer of the guns, scanning for ambush with her silenced, flash-eliminated Gemetzel carbine whilst running down the corridors. The team were fully aware that it could be a trap: recon units accounted for quite a high proportion of proven insane military personell.

The naval battle was over, yet there was still a war to fight...

Fort Karik, Shield Vale

Missiles continued to streak from Fort Karik, as well as the long range artillery. The HAGAPs continued to pound Asmodeus' forces, the battle seemed to be shifting favor again.

OOC: I will add to this later... I have no ideas right now...

A discarded newspaper told the tale, even if most of the details were wrong. The job the ODST had pulled was having the desired effect, transport of supplies to the front was slowing down. Now the ODST planned to bring it screaching to a halt. They had a series of large bridges and tunnels along Asmodeus' primary supply line designated for demolition. Intel suggested that they'd be lightly guarded, if at all, despite the previous strike. This sent the ODST a single message, easy prey. It was a good thing that they had enough explosives to destory a small town, since all 5 targets would be hit tonight.

If one train depot caused a disturbance the destruction of a primary route would make a nice dent in the enemy's armor. Revenant briefed his teams.

Revenant: We're going after these two tunnels and these brigdes. Intel suggest minimal resistance, but as always, be ready for anything. We'll be striing in this seemingly random order, to throw off any attempts at tracking us. The bridges won't take much, but those tunnels will require some serious explosives. Polaris, work with the demo crew and figure out how you're bringing them down. Remember, don't go too small, we can't afford them surviving. It has to be impassible, not just damaged.

Polaris: Alright, we will bring down the house, as you say.

While Polaris and his associates planned the demolition Revenant, Sirius, and Sierra planned the actual assaults. They finalized their plans and went to check on Polaris, in time to hear him come up with a bizzare plan.

Polaris: We hijack a fuel tanker, and detonate that to take this one down. A tiny remote charge, and Boom! no more tunnel. Anything less just will not do the job.

Revenant: You plan to do what?

Polaris: Tunnel 1, it is built very sturdy, we do not want to use all our explosives on that single target. So far that is the best plan we have.

Sirius: Where are you getting a tanker to destroy?

Polaris: This truck stop, it is mile and a half from tunnel, at normal speeds we could have it in position in 5 minutes.

Revenant: If thats what it'll take, then I won't fight you on it. Polaris, you and Sirius will be in charge of getting that thing. Sirius, you can still speak Jipleastani?

Sirius: Of course.

Revenant: Polaris, how's your Doomingslandi?

Polaris: I speak it more fluently than Shenyangi, comrade.

Revenant: Good, then you'll be using those as your covers, that way they don't know that its really Shenyang that's behind this.

With their plans in place the ODST began preparing, and waiting for nightfall to begin.


Night fell over the countryside. The ODST boarded their vehicles and drove out onto the road near their base. They cut onto the train tracks and ran dark, using NVG's to head for their first objective. It was a moonless night, and when they arrived, they found the first target, a bridge half-way through the progression of targets, to be unguarded. A quick sweep with ITEV confirmed this assertion. The bridge, being a massive metal arch had one major weak point, the very top. The ODST made their way there, and Polaris and another demolitions specialist rappeled over the side. They placed their charges and once they were pulled up, armed them. Once everyone was clear and the ODST were well away from the area the charges detonated, cutting through the steel that made up the bridge. It collapsed down into the river it spanned. A total loss.

The next target, the closest tunnel to their base, was now in their sights. A small number of well armed guards covered this tunnel, and for good reason. The snipers put the defenders down before they could react. Polaris and Sirius broke off to steal the truck. They arrived, and sure enough, a tanker truck was sitting there, just waiting to be stolen. Sirius picked the lock and entering the vehicle, she grabbed the driver, and telling him that if he wanted to live he wouldn't scream and he wouldn't report this until the morning in fluent Jipleastani. He looked confused, she threw him out of the vehicle, where Polaris reiterated the threats in Doomingslandi. Then knocked the man out with the stock of his XM-109 payload rifle. The ODSTs' helmets' faceplates made them essentially unrecognizable, since their faces were hidden, as was all of their skin. No insignia were displayed on their combat gear. They drove the truck out of the stop, and several minutes later, arrived at the tunnel, pulling inside they stopped and got out when Polaris send they were far enough inside. He rigged a small charge to the bottom of the truck and set the detonator to a half hour delay. Plenty of time for them to get to the next target without anyone suspecting them.

The truck detonated as the team reached the furthest target, and the tunnel collapsed. The explosion rocked the countryside, and soon a croud was gathering to investigate what had happened.

The furthest target, another bridge, was guarded by a pair of snipers, and 10 infantry, that is, until they were cut down by the ODSTs' machine guns. The bridge fell as they dissapeared into the distance.

The final two targets were unguarded. They were destroyed with little incident, save the destructive fireballs of course. The ODST returned to their HQ and were pleased to know that this was going to be another anonymous attack, except, of course for the theft of the tanker, which would be blamed on Doomingsland and Jipleastan. They'd be able to handle being blamed for the theft of a single tanker truck.

The ODST began preparing to leave their base, they couldn't afford to stay any longer, in the morning they'd be moving out for their next TFHQ, which they'd chosen the night before. There was no chance that they'd be tracked, since there was nothing to track them with. Ghosts like them appear, then dissappear, you could only hope that when next they appeared you survived and proved they existed. Of course, the ODST wouldn't allow that to happen.

OOC: Here’s some info to help you on your campaign of destruction, Shenyang.

The Imperial Guard is likely to make up the resistance you’ll meet while attacking your targets. More high-profile targets, like airports or nuclear power plants, will be guarded by Legionaries, but for the most part the Imperial Guard is your opposition. They are the home guard of the Empire; they carry the SG-655 assault rifle, wear black military fatigues, Kevlar vests, and helmets; they lack the Legionaries’ armor on the limbs. They do carry grenades, both frag and concussion, plus the grenades in the clips of their assault rifles, which have 40mm grenade launchers as secondary weapons. They travel in squads of twelve, and on patrols in important or unsecured areas or guard duty in likely targets will have light armored support in the form of Sidewinder Light Armored Vehicles. At their best (nuclear power plants, government facilities, patrols in major cities, etc) they will also have helicopters for backup. All in all, they are reliable, good troops, often experienced, but not fully prepared for elite foes like the ODST. With the element of surprise on your side, you should have no trouble whatsoever. But if they can hold under the initial assault and rally, you’re in for a fight, if not a completely even one.

IC: Sergeant Anton Gallows strode up and down before his troops, glancing at a few as he walked on the parade ground.

“RIGHT! Listen up, you cock-suckin’ sons of bitches! Some godsdamn terrorists are havin’ a party on Valgoth soil, and you twats are invited! They’ve done lots of fancy shit, blowin’ up bridges and trucks–that kind of shit gets you pumped, right?” His response was a roar of agreement from the thirty-six troops being sent out to hunt. “So if any of you want to walk in there with your little toy guns in your hands, ready to kill, speak now or burn in fucking hell!" They screamed their enthusiasm, guns thrust into the air, and charged aboard their helicopters.

Sergeant Gallows turned to his commanding officer, Subaltern Vardan, and grimaced. "Sir, you know you're sending these kids to their deaths."

The hard-faced Subaltern lifted an eyebrow and frowned. "In all probability, Sergeant, yes. But their deaths will be for something. These terrorists, foreign or local, are too well organized to be left alive. We must root them out immediately. And if this entire lance of men dies in the process, they will have done their Empire a service. Now, Sergeant, get on the helicopters. I will await your reports. Blood and Honor."

Bump; I'm back. I took a quick two days' vacation; sorry.

tag

OOC: Have a good vacation, just lemme know some how when to start RPing again.

OOC: Have a good vacation, just lemme know some how when to start RPing again.

OOC: My mistake, I didn't make it clear...I had just finished a two days' vacation when I posted that; RP at will. Sorry.

OOC:np, i'm going to be out for a day or two. rp my guys getting the popups if you want.

Bump for my twin attack

OOC: Boozia, if you were gonna do something, sorry for my presumption...the Loyalist's actions are flexible, so do as you like.

IC: The time had come for the final march to begin.

The Boozians were carving through the coastal defenses south of the Slivan Peninsula and paratroopers were entering Aurelius airspace, not to mention the fact that Jahvan’s navy had been crushed by the Jiplo-Imperial armada. Jahvan was finished; all that remained was to administer the final blow.

Jahvan’s remaining armies were positioned like so: the First Army along the coast of Aurelius, the reservists around the city of Slivan itself, and the Second Army near the base of the Slivan Peninsula. It was the last of these that the Loyalists marched to destroy. Along the way, they would surround and slaughter the First Army before it could bring its full strength to bear on the Boozian invasion force. The Loyalists’s camp site had already been located; a plain bordered by hills, not far from the coast. The Air Force was already dropping prefabricated buildings at the site, and all the Loyalists needed to do was march there.

The helicopters filled the sky, packed with troops. The large Lawgiver transports could carry five squads of men, while the MI-24 Hinds and AH-166 Twilights could carry only one. Still, the sheer number of them meant that if they had relied on helicopters alone, twelve trips or so would have brought the entire Army of the Palatine to the camps. However, C-5 Galaxies flew above the helicopters; also, the roads were jammed with trucks filled with troops, while trains carried them swiftly along the tracks. And that was just the troops. Vast numbers of transports were packed with explosives, sandbags, communications equipment, ammunition, rations, medical supplies...a thousand needs of an army, jammed into a vast caravan stretching across the horizon. In twenty-four hours, the Army of the Palatine would be ready to hit Jahvan’s forces on the coast. All that remained was for the Boozians to keep fighting for that long.

***

The sun rises on another day of carnage in Shield Vale.

Men rise from their cots, dress themselves, check their weapons and prepare for battle, as they have now for days, on both sides. At Fort Karik and the Gate, the day shift of techs and other personnel replaces the night shift, and crews hurry to their gun emplacements. And as the deadly routine has gone since the battle began, the armies lurch forth into the Vale to slaughter each other again.

Shield Vale is pitted, burnt, blackened, broken. Destroyed, in short. By some mercy it has not rained; water would turn the ground into a sea of mud, an oozing deathtrap reminiscent of the First World War. The Cadian Gate is pockmarked with craters, and over seventy percent of its defenses have been destroyed. Only the valor of its defenders has saved it from being overrun. Fort Karik has shared in this fate, to a lesser degree; the massive trench cutting it off from the rest of the Vale still stands, preventing ground attacks, but the bombings by Asmodeus’s aircraft continued mercilessly. On the other side, the magnificent host that charged the Cadian Gate, in a time that seems ages ago, is gone. The Legionaries have been butchered by the enemy, by missiles, by the THUNKs, by everything. Not a single vehicle has escaped undamaged, and it is a testament to the skills of the mechanics on both sides that any of them can still function at all.

The morning is a normal one. Slaughter...again. The Loyalists lost their last THUNK the day before; it is estimated that they have scored around one or two thousand kills total. In short, they have passed their test, and both sides know it. Their terrible efficiency means that whichever way the Succession Wars go, the victor will begin mass-producing these deadly leviathans.

And then...an unthinkable act of mercy.

The call goes out over Asmodeus’s communications network: full retreat.

Full retreat.

In any other circumstances, these words would be a debilitating shame. Perhaps later, when the men have slept, and eaten, and treated their wounds, they will remember that they fled from battle, and be ashamed at their dishonor. But now, they will not question the act that has delivered them. Emergency white flags are broken out of glove compartments, from the depths of pockets that their bearers prayed never had to be opened, and when the Loyalists see them in the sky, they are stunned. Grizzled veterans (for after days of ruthless butchery, all the survivors of Shield Vale are veterans) drop to their knees and thank the Slayer for their victory, but above all for the sweet mercy that he has given them. Who knows how much longer they could have held out? They have consumed enough ammunition in a matter of days as would be used in almost two weeks of ‘normal’ warfare. All of them carry wounds. And it is only later, in officer’s quarters throughout the Gate, that the full implication of this battle hits.

Firstly, Asmodeus has lost a huge number of his troops. He is down to around half of the army that came to Shield Vale at the battle’s beginning. It will take time, and much effort on the part of his recruiting officers, to replace this terrible losses. He has also lost prestige; despite the legend of the Cadian Gate’s invincibility, he has still retreated from battle, and though the veterans of Shield Vale (on both sides) thank the gods that High Lord Asmodeus has done this and thus spared their lives, those who will not understand, the civilians, will scorn this action that they see as dishonorable. Finally, he has lost an option. Asmodeus is effectively pinned in Valgoth Dominion; his ports cannot handle a naval operation, and he does not have the ships to transport even a small fraction of his army. This leaves the three routes that lead deeper into Kregaia: one, Shield Vale, he has just failed to take. This is now closed to him. Second is the southwest crossing over the River Arcan, into Miradin, the sanctuary of High Lord Avaru. Asmodeus is not fool enough to challenge Avaru; only Ishamael and the Loyalists possess the resources to do so. This, too, is thus closed to him. His last option is to cross the River Arcan elsewhere, into Halcyon. To do this, he must take Mon Serat, but then he faces a poorly-defended region of the heartland. And with High Lord Rahvin, the legend of Czardas, in Aurelius marching against Jahvan, Asmodeus has a window of opportunity. All he needs is the troops...and he will replace them quickly.

And within hours of the news arriving, Sacred Emperor Lucifer and all of High Command know where Asmodeus will strike next.

-=-Fort Karik, Shield Vale-=-

Day was breaking and the observers well... observed something they never thought possible... White flags, all throughout the Vale. They were Asmodeus' not the Loyalists. The radios were buzzing with radio transmissions, RETREAT! RETREAT! Asmodeus' forces were retreating, officers remarked how they thought they would never live to see this day...

Much rejoicing occurred after everyone actually woke up. There was immense happiness for all, for they knew that they had held firm, even when times were very dark. Plans were immediately put forward to build a bridge over the chasm caused by the explosions.

Word was immediately sent to Jipleastan, but only three words stood out. "Asmodeus" and "Full Retreat".

However, the war was far from over, and the Loyalists had a good feeling they knew where Asmodeus would strike next. However, they had yet to pass that information onto the Jipleastanies.

But, for now there was a respit, a well deserved one. Now, all that was needed to do was rebuild and wait.

The ground-launched missiles proved a deadly irritant even to the advanced Balefires, and soon the air battle was approaching the likely range of the enemy fleet’s weaponry. The air offensive had stalled, and the element of shock was lost as the Mondothians organized their defenses. To keep the battle flexible, several squadrons of A-10s withdrew and made another pass over the airfields, targeting anything that fired back. The Balefires and remaining A-10s suddenly disengaged, hurtling at full speed back around the enemy base, skirting the majority of the AA fire coming from it, daring the enemy aircraft to follow them. Several planes were destroyed in the disengagement, but better that than be drawn into the range of the fleet’s big guns. And speaking of big guns...

The fifty AA guns with the Imperial forces opened up, spewing 155mm flak shells into the skies, targeting the enemy aircraft, and the SAM batteries continued launching missiles, pausing only briefly to reload their launchers. The other guns occupied themselves with laying down a creeping barrage; the maneuver required precision timing and perfect coordination, but the Imperial communications networks were up to the task. The shells razed the ground at a certain distance ahead to clear the defenses, throwing up the frozen dirt, while the infantry and armor advanced quickly. They had to close the distance quickly; the helicopters, however, loaded up with infantry (OOC: Twelve men per helicopter) and lifted off, dividing into five groups of twelve helicopters. They spread out and advanced from different directions, laying down suppression fire with 12.7mm cannon-fire, punctuated with an occasional Venom AGM.

The Fighter group noticed the trap with barely any time to spare. As flack shells and SAMs were launched hurtling into the air, the fighters were trying to outrace them to a safer altitude. dumping chaff and flares indiscriminately. The fast climbing Kestrels were able to make it above the enemy air defense coverage at the expense of nearly all of their decoys and disposable countermeasures and nearly two full squadrons of fighters. The remaining stalkers were universally eliminated.

On the ground, the defenders kept up their barrage of anti-air missiles at whatever aircraft dared enter their limited range. The artillery continued their counter-battery fire, and as the enemy columns advanced, that fire was finally joined by the big shore support guns fromt he destroyers. 12 in. naval shells bgean to litter the skies, exploding in airbursts that replicated the much earlier 'sofening up' barrage before landing, though instead of simple delayed fuse bomblettes, these airbursts released deadly BAT-9 smart anti-tank weapons. Each shell deployed nearly a dozen of the self sacrificing drones to the battlefield, little more than top-attack EFP warheads and networked sensor/guidance packages, the BAT's froma single shell would use their networked sensors to create a comprehensive IR image of a small patch of the battlespace, from that, the networked systems would deliminate likely armoured vehicles and assign each BAT a different target to ensure that the maximum number of targets were hit.

The defensed perimeter continued to slowly shrink. already the non-coms that had manned the base were makign their way back to the landing ships. and if their fortunes didn't turn, the soldiers would soon be follwing them.
All was not lost however. Once word had reached the Mondothian command of the immenent defeat, nearly a dozen of the pre-positioned marine units that Modnoth kept scattered throughout the world had been called to the area. A full sized Marine Regional Force was forming at the nearest Mondothian possesion, a small island whose name nobody could ever really remember (on the maps it was simply marked 'Island, population: 149')

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To General Jerim Kando

At last, we have victory! However, as of course you are aware, we have won it at a terrible cost. You have done quite well in defending yourself, I daresay; the Imperium could learn a few tricks from our Jipleastani allies, it seems. Now, Asmodeus will be furious at this defeat, and you can be sure he will strike again. He has three routes available, one of them being Shield Vale. He won’t try to attack here again anytime soon, I promise you that, which gives us time to request reinforcements, get repairs finished, and rearm in general. The second leads into the mountainous territory of Miradin Dominion, an easily defensible region and the heartland of High Lord Avaru, who is perhaps the most dangerous of the rebel factions. Finally, he could cross the River Arcan and drive into Halcyon; with High Lord Rahvin and a hefty slice of the Fourth Army away fighting Jahvan, the area looks weak in comparison. So we are sure he will strike there; he will need time to rebuild, but he will do it quickly, and then resume the offensive in that region. Our plan is to entice him into a situation he cannot escape from; make the area look weak while bringing up reinforcements. Then when he attacks, we can use the terrain to outmaneuver him. Even better, we could attempt to force him to attack the city of Mon Serat, which we can fill with traps and dead ends; in such a situation we could slaughter him. The Sacred Emperor has commanded me to request Jipleastani aid on this campaign; if your government could send an ambassador or establish a hotline to the Sacred Emperor and speak to him directly, the Divine One would be obliged. In any case, the Emperor and I both send our compliments and our undying thanks for your unfailing valor and strength in the field. Blood and Honor.

General Vasraad

Steuben gawped momentarily at the explosion, then regained her composure.

"Holy Shit. Holy holy shit. Holy enough shit that you could stick a fancy hat on it and call it the pope! Well, at least we have a clear route. Hipper! Radio!"

"Here, ma'am."

"Attention all marines, attention all marines, new orders. All division recon battalions advance through the gap in defences. All brigade vanguard battalions prepare to re-enforce recce immediately. Artillery battalion fulfill mission requests from point elements. Remaining elements consolidate casualties and make sure we have a secure route for army troops.

"Hipper? Naval frequency."

The RTO dutifully flipped various settings.

"Admiral, request immediate air and arty support on request. Begin unloading army units.

"Ober-Kommando."

Hipper's operation took considerably longer this time is he re-configured for sattelite communications.

"Hello, Elke. This is me. The Schnapsemarschall. Not an aide, secretary, or other REMF, because I'm currently on a plane heading for the fleet. And before you stick the regs in my face I'll borrow your famous catchphrase: I wrote them. Also, if your in an AAV at the deepest point of your own salient, why can't I play? No fair!"

"Uh, sir? How did you know?"

"Because if I wasn't a control freak I wouldn't have put such a consistently unpredictable officer in charge of my marine corps. And anyway, my S4 slipped me a memo regarding your personal ownership of an AAV, it wasn't hard to work out. Anyway, status?"

"I've just penetrated the last layer of defence, so tell the airborne the games over. I want them securing an assembly point for army troops, which I've had Moltke start unloading. Jahvan's fleet has been anhilalated by the Jiplo/Imperial fleet, which means our own can immediately move to evacuate us across Arcan bay. Loyalist troops should be here in less than three days. This is over."


Voigt rammed his newly "acquired" possesions into an empty ammo bin, muttering.

"All the lootable houses and I have to get the one with nothing but bloody potatoes!"

"Hey, cheer up Hansi! Look at these turnips! This one kinda looks like a..."

"Don't say it! If I hear anything about "entertainingly shaped vegetables" I'll kill the perpetrater and knaw my own leg off!"

Mueller stormed over, carrying a sleeping bag liner filled with some select items from the town hall.

"Woah, feldy! What's so awful about it?"

"Long story. Happened back before you were a gleam in your illegitimate daddy's eye. You know this command got dropped in Tallenheim during the Winter War? Well, food was running out and... I don't want to relate this story whilst sober!"

"Blue flight! Blue flight! We have knew orders: this air force is to secure a perimeter to defend the assembling army troops against Jahvan's Second Army. Our command has the northern sector, and our group, our wing even, will be right out front, so I want everyone on their toes. Form up and move out!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

And off they marched.


Dagmar slipped almost imperceptibly from sleep to consciesnous, aided by the proding boot of a senior NCO.

"S'Saturday. Sleepin' in. Test tommorow."

"Ma'am? Ma'am, we're retreating!"

She peeled an eye open, and the imagined face of a Junkerschule roommate blended surrealy into that of Stabsfeldwebel Kreuger. This prompted a reality check.

"Retreating? Kregains? What the hell?"

"Ask Asmodeus, not me."

"Right. Where is he?"

"I'll tell him you'd like a word."

She scrambled out of her sleeping bag and grabbed a service cap.

"Yeah. And tell someone to get the chopper ready, I'f they find there's Boozians with Asmodeus, all our plans go to hell."


Rosenthal watched as the planes made their approaches. He was well aware that in a matter of days, fighting in Aurelius would be all over bar the shouting, and he was also aware that the Boozians intended to slip away into Valgoth while no-one was looking. If everyone was looking, they could always call it an invasion attempt. But that left him and the airforce personell in a tricky situation, since they'd have to evacuate over increasingly hostile teritory. And it would be a shame if all that was for nothing, so he headed for the field commanders officers, intending to learn the next step in the Loyalist plans.

OOC: This’ll have to do for now, sorry. In a hurry right now...

The Imperial pilots laughed as they saw the Mondothians scramble to escape the AA fire; however, they were targets themselves, and hurried about their work. Most of the Balefires hurtled after the enemy, unleashing a storm of cannon fire and Methuselah AAMs, while the remainder covered for the A-10s as they flew another run over the base, targeting everything in sight. Meanwhile, the MI-24 Hinds reached their landing sites. Two of them had been destroyed with all hands on the way in, but that left almost seven hundred Legionaries on the ground with assault rifles at the ready. Behind a screen of artillery fire, the rest of the army was advancing; however, soon a rain of shells came from over the horizon. Suspiciously, they detonated in midair, and only this suspicion saved many of the tanks as the drones were unleashed. Still, few escaped unscathed. Most were damaged, if only in a minor way, and some twenty heavy tanks and twenty-two light armored vehicles were destroyed completely. Orders soon came down to keep the 12.7mm machine guns on the tanks ready to go, in case another volley came.

The naval gunfire continued, volley after volley was deployed in an almost neverending barrage. Once the ground troops saw that the enemy tankers were keeping their MG manned to shoot down the drones, they radioed back tot he ships which began interspersing anti-personell fragmentation rounds and conventional rounds in witht he BAT cluster rounds to weed out anyone foolish to stick any body part of of their tanks.

Realizing that there wouldn't be enough time to get back to the ships before they were over-run by the defenders, The ground troops seized the moments right after the initial barrage and began a vicious counter-attack. Every amored vehicle did a sudden about face and began firing their guns into the advancing enemy ranks. Several of the naval guns were quickly redrafted for counter-battery fire, pinpointing the enemy artillery using ground based artillery radar units and returning fire with their own deadly guns, attempting to open gaps in the advancing wall fo artillery for the now desperatley counter-attacking ground forces.

meanwhile, the Strike airwing had arrived. Lanidng on the carriers emptied for the airbattle they strokve to arm up in as little time as possible while in the air above, the retreating air forces regrouped and prepared a counter-attack to mirror the one taking place on the ground.

OOC: Boozia, do you want me to post anything about the paratroopers coming in over the Aurelius-Halcyon border? And Mer des Ennuis, I already posted the dock workers at Thule unloading the popups and giving them to you.

IC: High Lord Asmodeus felt numb as he sat down in an armchair in his new quarters. His army had reached a string of military bases safely within Valgoth territory, and his forces were resting after their humiliating defeat. He was ashamed, terribly so; he had fled from battle. The Slayer would want lives, many lives, to atone for this great dishonor. Asmodeus resolved to offer a great sacrifice when he returned to Darius, capital of the Dominion. And then...then he would prepare for another offensive. This setback would not stop him. Asmodeus raised his face and resolved that he would fight again, to the glory of the gods.

A knock came on his door, and the man called, “Come in.” The door opened and in came a young officer, who bowed and reported crisply, “My Lord, the Boozian liaison to see you.” Asmodeus grimaced. No doubt the foreigner would ask him to explain the retreat. “Have him come in.” The officer bowed again, and withdrew. A second later, the Boozian walked in, looking slightly bemused but hiding it well. Asmodeus stood to greet him, and waited for the other man to speak first.

OOC: can you link me to the post warmaster? i can't find it. A mission would be pretty cool to (if you haven't come up with an idea, maybe something with softening up Asmodeus's next target?)

OOC: What do you mean by that, Warmaster? Also, Dagmar is a "she", although I thought you might be RPing Asmodeus mental refusal to accept this.

IC: Dagmar saluted and remained standing: now was about the worst time to antagonise anyone.

"My lord, I can see that this offensive has become too much of a drain on manpower to continue, but I do have a plan. As I'm sure you know, our forces are moving into position to evacuate into Valgoth. The Gate's defenders will doubtlessly be alerted, but what can they do? The defences will still be a wreck and the personell shortages appaling. I'm confident that a Boozian army group could break through without excessive trouble. And since the enemy may well have already ruled out the route, at least for the time being, our troops can catch him on the wrong foot. All we'll need is a fast transport from the northern cost of Arcan bay to Shield Vale and the use of a nearby airfield.

"What's more, we can learn of Loyalist plans through our "official" liaison right up until the actual backstab, which, combined with this surprise attack, could potential destroy all their plans, or better, tur their own ideas against them.


Voigt carefully layed a layer of soil and grass over the hasty barricade, while Ober-Soldat Wolfram Vorkeuffer adjusted some fake bushes he had plucked from a superflous camo net. The fold in the ground was now natural-looking enough to fool most people, and large enough to use as firing cover (holes had been dug through it, concealed by the grass) or a way to sneak between foxholes.

Voigt was proud of his foxhole: it looked exactly like the manual illustrations. He had made a little depressed rim round the edge to lay his rifle on, and secured his camo/anti-grenade net and blanket together on tentpegs behind it, making a covering to yank overhead when the enemy approached.

What mines were available had been layed across the opposite slope of the ridge his wing had occupied, setting up crude defences just behind the "military crest". Mortars would greet the first enemy to find a way through, SAWs and ATGW the first to raise their heads over the crest.

And now they waited.


Harz blew on her hands, frigid despite the gloves, and continued attaching the pair of track link before her. Other members of the crew stood around, puffing on their ciggarettes and sipping at their beer.

"Finished."

There was a scramble back towards the Frieda as the platoon began to heat up their engines. When the tank had thrown its track, they had been heading for the centre of the ring formed by the airborne screening forces, ready to seal any breakthroughs made by point elements of any of Jahvan's three remaining armies.

The position was a nasty one: all three armies stood in a position to strike at them, but the biggest threat was apparently from the Second. Fortunately, relief was on the way, Loyalist and Boozian.


Speaking of relief, another tank was currently heading down a road for exactly the same place. But it was a hell of a lot bigger.

The Kaiser Tiger served various purposes within an armoured battalion: it could speerhead an asault, using its raw bulk, resiliance, and fire volume to open up an exploitable gap, it could provide the more conventional Panther MBTs with cover from helicopters using its numerous radar-assisted autocannon, or it could engage similarly massive supertanks with its primary 203mm coilgun. Three independant 100mm turrets, eight 25mm autocannons, two 51mm mortars, and ATGWs wherever they could be shoved necessitated a crew so large that each individual tank was a platoon in its own right, especially when combined with the engineering crew.

The downside was that a battalion of around 60 MBTs contained only four of the monsters. But still, you couldn't have everything.

OOC: Seeing as I couldn't get the link to this thread for a while, there is quite a bit of reading. I'll do my best to read it while my friend is at his classes, but I doubt I'll be able to accomplish it all.

Can someone point me to an OOC thread (If there is one) and provide a summary of chapter 2?

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=492052

Welcome aboard, and I was writing a summary, but half way through it got deleted by mistake, so would someone else oblige?

OOC: Sorry about the gender mixup, Boozia...and yeah, Asmodeus is pretty depressed right now. But I don't understand your question of what I mean; if you're referring to my last post, he was just waiting for her to speak first.

IC: MONDOTHIAN THEATER

Screams rang out with the first volley of frag shells; the tank crews wore armor, helmets, and only their upper torso, arms, and head were exposed to enemy fire, but nevertheless this was enough to cause significant casualties. Many were wounded, though most of these were still able to fire the machine gun. Some fragments had enough power to hurl shards straight through the thick helmets, killing or permanently wounding those unlucky gunners. Calls went out for the AA batteries to devote some of their energies to destroying these shells before they could detonate, but it was very difficult to target so many small contacts, and before long, there were better things to do. The enemy were targeting the artillery batteries, the destruction of which would remove a great many options. The batteries themselves split their fire into a relentless bombardment of the enemy camp, while the SAM batteries devoted themselves to intercepting the shells headed towards the artillery.

The squads already on the ground were in a good position to counter the offensive the Mondothians had just launched. One man in each squad was the designated grenadier, toting an 88mm mortar, while another was a sniper. The grenadiers, fifty-eight in total, readied their mortars and fired as the Mondothian fire cut into the advancing main army, targeting tanks and clusters of infantry. Snipers went to work targeting individuals as well as tank commanders and such who poked their heads out. The regular Legionaries sought cover and returned fire with the 40mm grenade launchers mounted on their assault rifles, interspersed with bursts of 5.56mm gunfire to take down infantry. The helicopters, meanwhile, rose ahead and began launching Venom AGMs at the counterattacking enemies, their cannons blazing as they hurled rounds at the enemy ranks. And under cover of the artillery fire, the main body advanced, leaving their wounded and their dead in their wake, marching boldly into the face of the Mondothian soldiers.

***

Asmodeus shrugged slightly as the Boozian liaison finished. "The plan seems sound as long as you are convinced you can break the Gate relatively easily. You will only get one shot at it before the Loyalists realize your betrayal, and after that time I would hate to be in your shoes if the Sacred Emperor gets his hands on you. I would also remind you that the Jipleastanis have proved able to defend Fort Karik well, and there is the problem of crossing that damned crater they've made." He sighed. "You have my permission to use whatever resources you need for this attack." He did not mention that one way or another, the Boozian betrayal would give Lucifer a new focus for his revenge, as well as give him time to recover from the debacle at the Gate.

OOC: Borman, here's a quick summary, I'll clarify as best I can if you need it.

There are five High Lords. The two most powerful rebels, Ishamael and Avaru, are fighting over their shared border and very absorbed in this. Asmodeus launched an attack on the Imperial fortress known as the Cadian Gate and was repelled after days of brutal fighting, and that's pretty much all he's done. Jahvan has been ganged up on; Rahvin, the fifth, and only Loyalist, High Lord, has invaded him and crushed two of his armies, while Loyalist/Jipleastani fleets have crushed Jahvan's navy. More on Jahvan later. Doom sent four SpecOps types, but they haven't done anything yet. Mondoth has invaded Asmodeus's territory, and there is currently a battle going on between him and Asmodeus's forces. Nova Boozia landed some forces and initially supported the Loyalists, but has since secretly switched loyalties to Asmodeus. Meanwhile, he's also landed a significant force on Jahvan's territory. While he is under threat from one of Jahvan's armies, Rahvin is moving to trap that army and relieve the Boozians. Jipleastan has helped in the battle for the Cadian Gate, and his fleet helped destroy Jahvan's. Mer des Ennuis has had some elite troops in the Empire for a long time now, and they also are negotiating with Asmodeus, as their Loyalist contact was killed. Finally, Shenyang has sent some ODST, who are supporting the Loyalists and currently sabotaging Asmodeus's industry.

Whew. Sorry if I forgot anyone or anything. If you need any clarification, Borman, and you probably will, just tell me.

OOC: Mer des Ennuis, I could swear I posted it, but it seems you're right. Here it is anyway.

IC: The dockmaster gritted his teeth as another gust of icy wind hit him straight in the face. Thule was a bleak enough place anytime, but with the wind blowing in from the sea and the waves high and choppy, it was one of the most godsforsaken dead ends of nowhere in the Empire. Even the overseas territories had more amenities than Thule.

Raising the walkie-talkie to his mouth, he called, “The containers are all off, boys. Tell those foreigners they can do what they want with em.”

The reply came back after a momentary pause. “They want us to help em, sir.”

The dockmaster growled back, “Then do it! Weren’t those ID’s good enough for you? Now jump to it, you sperm-suckin’ sons of bitches!”

It wasn’t much longer before the popups were in the hands of the Deathshead soldiers. And like good little grunts, the dock workers soon forgot all about it. Certainly they did after hitting the tiny bar after their shift was done.

OOC: I'll make this a short IC post, seeing as i'm tired.

Alexander Szilárd was happy; the batallion had heavy artillery support that could be easily and covertly used to hammer pretty much any target. Over a cup of coffee, the Major was checking for covert messages.

On a popular section of usenet, a message was posted containing a cake recipe. The recipe contained a link to a small, 5 kilobyte file that would be deleted off of the server in a week. Hidden within the file was a simple message, directed at the Deathshead:

On a popular section of usenet, a message was posted containing a cookie recipe. The recipe contained a link to a small, 5 kilobyte file that would be deleted off of the server in a week. Hidden within the file was a simple message, which was now being read by Major Alexander Szilárd:

"You are hereby promoted to Lt. Colonel. All assets are now available for your use. A secured, scrambled uplink will be sent to you. You may call for naval or air assaults, as well as additional troop build up. Good luck."

The new Lt. Col. sat in amazement. Asmodeus would be notified via Kobayashi of this development: the Deathshead had full governmental support from an unknown land.

OOC: You made a comment about "posting about the paratroopers coming over the Aurelius/Halcyon border. And is Jahvan going to attack any time soon?
IC:"I'm confident, since the Flallschirmwaffe will be joining in the fun. We go in over the mountains and turn up both sides of the gate, major assaults everywhere, the defences seem largely gone."
The tactical justification was a mere formality: she was confident because she was Boozian. Belief in their own right to see themselves as superior (but having nothing against anyone else saying so too: this was natural and could all be sorted out by a quick war between the two) and a yearning after battle were imbedded so deep in the racial psyche that any born-and-bred Boozian felt confident even in plans they disliked. When, as in Dagmar's case, they actually believed what they were saying, their conviction could be almost religious.

Official Imperial Communique:

To: High Lord Rahvin
From: Chancellor Licinius

As of this moment I have a large complement of soldiers and ships waiting off your nations that need to land and get to battle. Would you be able to provide a suitable dock, pier, or landing place so that they may disembark and take down your enemies?

End Transmission

The breach was a flood of metal, tides of tanks IFVs regulated by the sluic-gates of MP blockades while artillery, Tigers, and other taller vehicles bobbed above the "surface".

The marines were already in position, and were consolidating their casualties and affecting repairs while the fresh army group poured through the gap

General-Feldmarschall Wolfram Leitz surveyed the surrounding countryside through his binoculars, half his mind there and half wondering across a map of the peninsula, searching for places his troops could slip through to Slivan. All the pieces were soon re-united, however, whe his helicopter began to descend onto a hasty landing site in his new HQ.

Army troops were hustling all over the place, raising tents and assembling equipment, watched with interest by the more laid-back marines.

Steuben herself was waiting for him by the impromptu helipad, and he saluted as he clambered out. While he was techinacally a grade above her and both were Kommando members, she was on the Ober-Kommando and the highest authority in her service, which brought her more ceremonial and in many cases genuine seniority than an army-group leader.

"General."

"General."

Formal address was just about the only element of ceremony that the Schnapsewehr did not indulge in.

OOC: I'd provide numbers... but they'd be woefully innacurate and more confusing than helpful. I't takes time, but up to division level I can give very concrete figures. Beyond that, however, formations are both huge and extremely mutable, so I never even try. Just for a rough figure somewhere, there are probably in the neighbourhood of 720,000 effectives, including all vehicle crew, intelligence and signals personell, MPs, command staffs, and logistics.

OOC: Damn, I wrote this before you posted. Well, I don't have time to change it now, but I don't think it'll conflict in any respects. If so, I'll be happy to edit.

IC: Like a beast slowly stirring to action, the First Army began to move.

The army contained 2400 heavy tanks, nine hundred thousand Legionaries, a dozen Colossus howitzers, and many other staples of Imperial warfare. It was fairly large and, all in all, the most effective army Jahvan had. If anything could drive the invaders back into the sea, it would be the First Army.

Jahvan had gone into a frenzy of conflicting temperament as the enemy closed in, and had dismissed generals left and right. The commander of the First Army had suffered his wrath, and his replacement was one Major General Kiruk. And so it was Kiruk who stood in his command center, watching over the shoulders of the techs as he listened to a report from his satellite recon group.

“We don’t know what they are, sir. They seem to resemble a scaled-down THUNK, and I’m sure they would be just as effective. Unfortunately, we can only see a few directly. They almost certainly have more. As for the rest; we don’t know, sir. They’ve dug in, that much is obvious, but if they’ve set up additional defenses, we missed seeing them.” Kiruk nodded, thinking about his options. Like a typical young Imperial commander, he chose his tactic very quickly: advance quickly and in force.

The artillery unloaded and began to fire. 320 105mm guns, 240 155mm guns, and 160 188mm guns began pounding the general area of the enemy defenses. Aircraft rushed up behind them, Balefires flying cover for A-10 Thunderbolts, who hosed the area with 30mm cannon fire and scattered cluster bombs across anything that looked like an enemy position. In an effort to avoid counterfire on this, their first run, the light bombers and their Balefire defenders doubled back, moving (hopefully) out of range of any Boozian anti-air weaponry. Overhead, the Behemoth heavy bombers continued the bombing, but although they were too far overhead for anti-air guns, their bombs had a long way to fall, and a fast missile could catch them. Special attention was paid to anything that fit the description of the strange supertanks the enemy had brought with them. (OOC: If you’ve concealed them, ignore that part.)

Over the hill they came, an armored wall. The threatening bulk of the T-120 Ravager and the M146 Despoiler, belching shells from their main cannons while their coaxial machine guns laid down some fire. Among them came the Sidewinders, anti-tank missiles ready in their launchers while their 25mm cannons set down brutal suppressing fire. And just behind them, for maximum impact, came the Imperium’s ultimate shock troops: the War-Priests of the Order of Korne, the most brutal and fearless infantryman in the Empire. They ran ahead, heedless of their heavy armor, toting their weapon of choice–the chaingun. They laughed and screamed and shouted as they fired, whether or not they actually were aiming at anything.

Of course, if Jahvan had still had a fleet, the attack would have been accompanied by an offshore bombardment. As things stood, the assault would have to stand on its own. The armored spearhead drove down the ridge, the War-Priests running alongside. It was time to see what these Boozians were made of.

***

Asmodeus smiled tightly as the Boozian replied. This one was confident; it would be interesting to watch them meet the Cadian Gate. “The mountains around Shield Vale are impassable as a practical matter. You may be able to get a limited number of tanks and guns over by ground; air would be easier. But then you would need fighter protection due to the anti-air weaponry of the Gate. Not to mention Fort Karik’s...unusual air support.”

***

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Chancellor Licinius

We are pleased to hear once again from our Borman brothers. The most secure port available is that of Korronis, in the south; we will send you the locations of the safe zones through the city’s defenses. Unfortunately, that is the only port remaining in Loyalist hands which we have secured; our transportation facilities can bring your army to anywhere in Loyalist territory you choose to go.

Imperator Jakran Vuell

OOC: And now its time to spin the Wheel of Misfortune! And here we go!


IC:

The ODST were secure in their new TFHQ, a derelict farm well away from the main roads, and defensible, if not perfectly so, but the ODST could make up for that minor defecit with some claymores and other explosive goodies. The Humvees were hidden in the barn, and the rest of the ODST and their gear was spread throughout the 4 building complex. Periodic sniper patrols kept the force apprised of the situation around their base on the ground, and a Asmodeus' own radar systems kept them apprised of what was going on above them through a hijacked feed from a remote station. They had selected their next target, a transformer farm that was placed deeply enough within the enemy's territory that it would be rather lightly guarded. The ODST reasoned that while taking down a power plant would be a more effective method, this would cause just as much havoc, because transformers are notoriously difficult to replace, especially when their mounts have been taken out by a nice quantity of Prima-cord. Incoming and outgoing lines would come down as well, no sense giving the enemy a nice tidy area of destruction when you could rip a jagged hole in his power network.

The chosen transformers serviced military industry in the area, arms manufacturers, vehicle production plants, and the like. The lose of this piece of infrastructure would aid in the cracking of the enemy's forces. Now that the ODST had crippled their enemy's legs, they intended to cause a minor heart attack, probably not fatal, but plenty to royally **** him up, and maybe get him put on nitroglycerine tabs, to extend the metaphor a little farther than necessary. Still, the target was chosen and the plan was laid out. They would attack this facility in broad daylight. It minimized their advantages, but this attack was meant to break the current mold, throw their pursuers off kilter a little bit. Maybe rub some salt in the existing wounds.

The ODST sent off a secure encrypted transmission to the support fleet which was finally on station. It outlined their plan, what equipment would be need afterward, and what they needed from the force during the operation itself. What they needed was information control. The SNS Daniel Jackson, an Information Warfare vessel within the group would be running that aspect of the show. It encompassed a host of capabilities and equipment that would make some intelligence services look under-equipped. 5 of this vessel could control the flow of information over an entire hemisphere with enough power left over to allow an inter-ship 'Battlefield 2' tournament for the entire fleet. As a result they were kept well back from the front line, in fact it was better protected within the group than the Stormbreaker super-carrier that was its flagship.

The ODST got ready, the area would be well guarded, but the farm itself would likely be lightly guarded, since it was a private enterprise, and not a completely critical junction. They loaded up all the gear they forsaw needing and got ready to move out, at 13:00 local time they moved out and by 14:00 they were ready to attack the target. Sure enough they faced some serious defenses in the area, because of the industry, including a marauding light armored vehicle. That would need to be sorted out. At 13:24 exactly the Daniel Jackson began its part in the operation, hacking the enemy communication system and dumping a repeating advertisment for semi-natural roasted peanuts over all channels. It blocked out all attempted calls, essentially barring the enemy communications. The ODST snipers moved into position and went to work on the soldiers in the area. silenced sniper fire erupted from the rooftops. The enemy fired back, but the cover afforded by the architecture stopped most of the bullets, and the fact that the ODST were taking only a few shots before moving dealt with the rest of the fusilade of rounds. The assault team held position in an alley in the vicinity of the target, the LAV was parked a quarter-kilometer up the street between them and the target building, as it tried to fire on the fleeting snipers. This gave Polaris the oppurtunity he needed to fire off a Javelin at the vehicle. The range was too short for the vehicle crew or any automated systems to react. the missile dove into the vehicle and obliterated it and all inside. The assault team ran to the target building under m inor fire from the remaining enemies, but the snipers kept them covered. The farm had a control building, a small structure that housed pretty much nothing except the control room itself. Here a few technicians and a rent-a-cop guard waited. Revenant took his team there and the rest of the force cleared and rigged the farm itself. Revenantburst into the control center with his Mk.23 SOCOM pistols in hand and dropped the guard, who had hidden by the door with a slam to the head with the weapon in his right hand, but not before the guard got off a lucky shot from his Walther PPK, the shot felt like a punch in the stomach for Revenant, but he knew full well the round hadn't penetrated the armor, he knew what it was like to get shot in the stomach, and incapacitated the guard for his troubles. In fluent Warmasterian he ordered everyone to get down exect the shift supervisor. He remained motionless at the main control panel. Knight gave the order for his team to get the captives out of the building and to safety while he dealt with the wiring of the control gear. He grabbed the supervisor and ordered him to activate the entire farm, as only a portion was active at this point, the rest being back-up gear.

The supervisor refused, that is until Revenant took a pistol and placed it squarely between the man's eyes and gave him a very explicit repeat of his order, incase he was too vague earlier.

Revenant: Activate the god-damned farm or you won't be going home tonight.

The man still refused and it seemed that he wasn'ty going to be pushed around as long as he was uninjured. Revenant decided before crossing that bridge that he'd scare the shit out of the defiant man. He began to walk away, and gave Sirius, who was inside the room after securing the personnel out of harm's way, a quick nod, which meant it was her turn to scare the man. She nodded and snatched a knife from her vest and threw it at the man. It passed within less than a hair's breadth of his head, in fact knicking his ear and cutting off some of his hair before stopping in the far wall. Revenant turned back to the man.

Revenant: She doesn't miss, next time I tell her to do that, you won't be standing when the knife stops. Am I clear?

The man, clutching his ear gave Revenant a defiant look and responded.

Supervisor: I will not cooperate with you terrorists, it would shame my wife and children you pigs.

Revenant was sick of screwing around with this guy. He walked up, grabbed the man's name tag, read the name, and then took one of his knives from his vest and held it just in front of the man's left eye. He was close enough that the man would have been able to feel his breath had the faceplate of his helmet not been solid.

Revenant: Alright, you don't want to cooperate, then I guess we'll just have to take out your family now won't we, then nothing will stop you from cooperating. Now do what I ask or you will not have to worry about your family honor, you'll have to worry about who will be burying your caskets. NOW!

This got the man to cooperate. He activated the entire farm. He didn't know it was an empty threat, or that Knight had been a drama major in Shenyang State University, and as a result knew how to make the threat convincing. With the man having cooperated Revenant had the man escorted off to safety by Darkleaf, a female ODST. He set up explosives on the panels around the room and dialed them in to the designated remote trigger frequency.

Revenant: Polaris, you guys done out there?

Polaris: Roger, all teams are ready for extract Leon.

SNS D. Jackson CIC: Attention, we're recieving attempts at communications for a counter attack, they'll be on site in 15 minutes, suggest extract now General.

Revenant: Roger that, lets move, everyone back to the Humvees, we need to be well out of the area when this place goes up, that LAV woke the neighbors, and now their coming to see what's up. Extract, repeat, extract.

The ODST assault teams stepped outside to see the Humvees moving up, the snipers at the wheel. They boarded the vehicles and left the area, at a brisk pace, after five minutes driving out bound at 40 miles per hour Polaris triggered the explosives, which took out all the farm and in the immediately ensuing surge, caused quite a bit of damage to the area's power grid.

Sirius: Sir, you lost your temper back there.

Revenant: We needed the whole damned place active, so I faked a threat, it got the job done, and they still don't have any pictures of our faces, just our gear. Like that'll help. It'll be damaged in the explosion, which means they won't even be able to confirm much about what our gear looks like. We're safe, and the mission is complete, no matter that there's one more day shift super who's scared of every shadow he passes, he'll live.

The ODST had used the randomized exit route system they had been using so far, and they knew that it would sufficiently throw off the enemy that they'd be able to escape neatly. They passed a few cars, but to the civilians in the vehicles they were just another military unit being mobilized to the front and none took particular note of the ODST or their vehicles. Finally they reached their base and assessed the damage on their end of the operation.

Revenant replaced his armor's chest plate, the panel was technically fine, but he wanted to switch it out to be safe. A few ODST had recieved some minor wounds from enemy fire and shrapnel, but nothing that couldn't be treated. Seraph had taken a nice hit from an enemy shooter, zipping along his arm causing a rather painful wound, but nothing that would degrade his performance too much. He had it patched up and was told to not do anything to strenuous on it for 2 days, which was really a formality, since everyone knew full well there was no way that he was staying behind on any attacks. However Polaris had recieved an actual impact, it had sliced across his lower abdomen along his left side. A noteworthy wound, one that had the potential to slow him down for 3 or 4 days, but the real lose was one of Polaris' uniforms, as they were a royal pain to repair, sinc ethey were made of a Spectra-Spider Silk hybrid material called Selvex by its manufacturer. Otherwise the ODST had fared extremely well, Revenant had expected someone to come back with a severe wound from the enemy soldiers, but instead of any major wounds, there were just large number of rather trivial wounds. Revenant knew they couldn't stay that lucky for long, especially now that they were really becoming a thorn in the enemy's side. Still, with a mission accomplished and support in place off the coast, they felt that they could do what they had to do, and that made thier morale soar.



OOC: Casualties on the ODST side: 30 wounded (1 minor, 1 moderate, 28 trivial) 20 armor components, 1 Humvee headlight. The ODSTs' heavy armor stops most rifle rounds at medium range, and a good number of them at close range as well. The armor of course has its gaps, which are covered by the BDUs and a body suit below that help repel rounds like very light soft body armor. This accounts for the minimal casualties, but I have plans for things to get worse as the targets get bigger. I'm just slowly building up.

A letter, care of Kobayashi was sent to Asmodeus.

To: High Lord Asmodeus
From: Kobayashi
Subj: Foreign Support

I have received word from the men that I represent that they have the current full and total support of their home country in this war. I have been instructed to offer the following to you: they have premission to procure 5 unmanned fighter/bombers should you provide a subitable launch facility. In addition, they would like to extract you from Kregia should your life fall under immediate danger, allowing you to fight another day. Furthermore, they request orders; preferably in the southern provinces. You may reach me at any time.

Sincerely,
Kobayashi

OOC: About the Tigers... I hardly envisanged them as on par with THUNKs. They can be taken out with a 125 to the rear, or the right spot on the side, and the turrets are no less vulnerable than a Panther, Despoiler, or Abrams or whatever. Since I employ a lot more, proportianately, than you do THUNKs, I'd take no offence to a frontal one-hit kill from a 125.

IC:Leitz looked up calmly as the air assault began, calculating.

"How about good old "run the hell away in good order?"

"Works for me. With the airborne screaning in several places, we can probably make an effective disengagement, since the enemy doesn't seem to employ mechanised or armoured infantry in useful numbers."

Wolfram turned to a signaller.

"Hey you, Schultz! Get the general retreat out, all army and marine forces! And Rottman! You request full fighter cover from the Kampfgruppe in Halcyon!"


"Here they come, here they come..."

Mueller dropped down behind Hans and Wolfram.

"If this was a movie, I'd be telling you to open up when you see the whites of there eyes. But it isn't, and they're tanks anyway, so get shooting!"

The pair slammed down their triggers and burned through clip after clip, but there was no way they could hold out. The enemy were fanatics, equipped one and all with HMG, spearheaded bu heavy tanks.

Wolfram went first: caught in a burst of fire from a coax, and that was when Hans lost it. He yanked a grenade from his belt, and screaming a string of obscenities and the oncoming enemy, he stood up, hurled it into them... and went back down again. Permenantly.


Karin Dethmar risked a glance behind her reteating regiment, into the slowly begining battle for the skies, when the radio buzzed.

"Dethmar, this is division here. We've had a message from our liaison. Our other liaison. They've factored airborne troops into their plans, so the remaining Kampfgruppe are being taking into the main retreat."

He sighed.

"Our division... had been selected as the rearguard. Basically, we do our best light brigade impression to cover the remaining forces and maybe get a monument later on. Your Panthers will be at the head of the charge.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Chancellor Licinius

We are pleased to hear once again from our Borman brothers. The most secure port available is that of Korronis, in the south; we will send you the locations of the safe zones through the city’s defenses. Unfortunately, that is the only port remaining in Loyalist hands which we have secured; our transportation facilities can bring your army to anywhere in Loyalist territory you choose to go.

Imperator Jakran Vuell

Official Imperial Communique:

To: Imperator Jakran Vuell
From: Chancellor Licinius

Thank you very much, they should be there soon.

End Transmission

And with that the fleets made their way to Korronis.

"Honey it's getting close to midnight
And all the myths are still in town
So rub lipstick on your linens
Bite the pillow, make no sound
If there's some livin' to be done
Before your life becomes your tomb..."
-"Bring Your Daughter...To The Slaughter" by Iron Maiden

A squad of Legionaries sat around their bonfire as their long-awaited dessert cooked. They’d scrounged up an old iron pot, and one’s families had mailed him a package of food; together they had the means to cook a hot Kregaian pastry dish, something Sergeant Dien’s squad had been dreaming of for some time. It was a welcome relief from the mental strain of guard duty in the event of an attack by Avaru’s army across the river. Nobody thought he would attack again, after his defeat at the Battle of Mazellian, but that was no excuse to slack off. So while Sergeant Pall’s squad took night duty, the dozen Legionaries were taking some R&R by the fire, waiting for the pastry to cook. Fanatical killers they might have been, but they were still in their late teens, and the break was welcome.

“Fuckin’ heretics, dude.”

“Who?”

“The enemy, dumbshit. The people we’ve been staring at every day since Mazellian.”

“So they’re heretics now, Charn? You better shut your fuckin’ hole, before they put you in one. And if the Inquisitors heard you judging who’s a heretic and who’s not, you’d pray that a godsdamn flogging was all you got.”

“The Inquisitors aren’t going to be on the front, retard.”

The other Legionary reached for the pot holding their dessert with an iron hook to get it out of the fire, and started to say something about the value of assuming the Inquisitors were everywhere, when a bullet went through his throat. He died with a small gurgle as Charn took a bullet to the throat as well. Before he hit the ground, half his squad was already dead. Whoever was shooting at them, their marksmanship and speed was incredible, especially given the darkness. Sergeant Dien’s squad didn’t manage to get off a single sound to spark an alarm.

The four assassins emerged from the shadows, wearing wetsuits and holding silenced pistols in their hands. They gazed dispassionately on the bodies of Ishamael’s men, and their leader spoke in a quiet voice. “Hide the bodies. Quietly.” They obeyed silently, slipping away like wraiths to stash the corpses in the undergrowth. It was all done in a professional manner; these men had been in the Intelligence Division before the High Lords split. It was natural that these particular commandos had given their services to High Lord Avaru; the man was even colder than they.

Their leader spoke into one of the microphones on his suit. “The props have been removed.”

Miles away, secure in his command center, High Lord Avaru smiled.

“Initiate Operation Cold Thunder. The time has come.”

***

Teams of assassins had swum across the broad River Arsakia, knocking out the defenses in a lightly-held area of the west bank. Soon Ishamael’s forces would realize something was wrong and rush to reinforce the area; until that time, Avaru had an opportunity to land his forces, unmolested, on the other side and break through the enemy defenses.

Within minutes, small transport boats were streaming across the river. Squads of Legionaries leaped out to secure the immediate area without giving warning. The amphibious Sidewinder LAVs crossed, but there was no quick way of getting the heavy armor and artillery across. In other locations, that is. A few miles north lay the Kydonia Hydroelectric Dam, one of many dams on the River Arsakia and an effective roadway across. It was held by Ishamael’s forces, but the element of surprise on their side, it quickly changed hands. Soon, Avaru’s planned invasion force had been assembled. Now that he had his force together, it would be practically impossible to avoid attention; better, then, to abandon stealth and throw the enemy into confusion.

Leaving their supply route, the Kydonia Dam, behind and under the protection of a rearguard force, the huge army marched out into the night. Their route led around the Nered Hills, the area around the ravaged city of Mazellian, and south across the Devil’s Dance Floor to Tarsus, capital of Domain Sadow and seat of High Lord Ishamael, Avaru’s most hated rival. Usually there was nothing that could anger Avaru Miradin. But Ishamael Sadow had been his nemesis long before the Succession Wars, in Lucifer’s court where both had contended for favor, glory, and success. Operation Cold Thunder, then, promised the destruction of not only a powerful enemy but a despised one as well.

As the army left, Hornet Subterranean Tactical weapons were set off under Ishamael’s defensive positions on the Arsakian riverbank, followed by a ruthless barrage of Pandemonium II firebombing missiles, setting the woods in a wide swath of the area ablaze and trapping upwards of two thousand enemy soldiers in the flames.

Avaru of Domain Miradin, the man of legendary composure, smiled briefly again as he thought. He thought of the great fire he left in his wake, of the shock and awe his force would bring; he thought of his eventual conquest of Tarsus and personal execution of the lying, barbarian fiend known as Ishamael Sadow. And he smiled.

There is work, great work to be done.

***

OOC: Gotcha, Boozia, sorry; I was just comparing them in the role as a supertank. You know them best, obviously.

IC: The War-Priests howled incomprehensibly as they sprinted down the ridge. Return fire filled the air. Here and there, heads exploded in a shower of gore as bullets found their mark; frag grenades blasted body parts here and there, burying shards deep in the Imperial warriors’ flesh. Largely, they ignored the shrapnel. If they could still run and shoot, the injuries were not worth mentioning. Another thing they ignored was the bodies of their comrades. War was war, and a little thing like their squadmates ascending into Paradise wasn’t going to stop them enjoying it.

As the infidels fell back, Immortals advanced in lances (groups of 36 men), their eyes behind the steel deathmasks surveying the carnage. The chainguns of the War-Priests had ripped through the enemy; now the Immortals were moving up to finish the job. Where War-Priests were barbaric, raging butchers, Immortals were ultra-disciplined, merciless soldiers, their faith as unshakable as their precision. Now that the shock of the War-Priests had given them an opening, it would be the Immortals, and the Legionaries behind them, who exploited it.

“Command One to all forward units, we have enemy tanks advancing. Class A contact, over.” Immediately the War-Priests were ordered back; they would probably charge the enemy tanks alone and get duly slaughtered. The Immortals fell back as well; there was little they could do against the enemy armor. However, the LAV crews hurried into position; their BGM-71 missiles were designed to destroy tanks, and their 25mm cannons could butcher infantry with ease. Armored squads detached from the wings and moved to flank the enemy as the rest prepared to unleash a massive salvo. Which, as soon as the enemy was in range, they did, making little effort to escape any counterfire. Around two hundred BGM-71s streaked from their launchers towards the enemy armor, while as many 125mm shells were belched from the turrets of the Despoilers and Ravagers. The A-10s were called back to employ their weapons, terribly effective at destroying tanks, against the foreigners.

It looked like the Boozians had come out to play after all.

***

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Kobayashi

I am pleased to hear of your newfound support from your associates’ homeland. I believe I have just the thing they can use for their unmanned aircraft. Outside the city of Valgoth, around six miles south, is the base of the Valgoth Strategic Bombing Wing; this would be the perfect facility to use. To your offer of extraction, I cannot imagine a situation in which Imperial law and custom would not demand that I remain, not to mention the honor of clan Vasraad. Therefore I must refuse. I shall triumph, I shall serve the new Sacred Emperor, or I shall die. As regards your associates, I would request they begin efforts to sabotage the defensive facilities, especially related to control of the air, along the border of Halcyon, specifically the southern shore of the River Arcan. Of course your associates will be well compensated for their services. Blood and Honor.

High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

OOC: Sorry, Borman, I’ll have a post about your forces arriving tomorrow.

The vehicle crews had entirely shut down, leaving a highly intelligent but equally animalistic morass of instinct and raw emotion.

Fear. Excitement. Anger Hate.

Hate.

They were going to die. None denied it, none shrank from it, they simply accepted it. In a way, that made them heroes, giving their lives to save others, and which great classical author-philosipher had said heroes had to be good people?

The missiles took there tole as the division artillery started to open up, some succumbing, others protected by quick reflexes in letting off the claymore mines on the sides of their vehicles: the spray of shrapnel and explosive force could generally stop an ATGW, but like most missiles, it only worked once.

The Boozians replied in kind: the ubiquitous Blutjagdhund could be fired from almost any vehicle, while 125 and 25mm shells were poured into the enemy. Artillery locked itself in a firm position, blazing away until silenced by enemy aircraft.

These took the greatest tole: the Kampfgruppe saw no reason to waste fighters on a forlorn hope, leaving the division with nothing but their own AA tanks.

Behind them, the reatreating column headed north as fast as it could afford to, hoping to effectively break contact with the largely "straight-leg" and motorised enemy forces, their greatest fear, the enemy tanks, being countered by a hasty minefield and a favourite pioneer trick: one cratering charge+one camouflage net+soil covering+standard AT mines or obstacles=quick, dirty, and remarckably effective tank trap.

It was with great fanfare that the fleet of the Borman Empire arrived in Korronis.

The Korronis ports were massive, well able to handle the sizable allied armada that sailed into the Sacred City. Beyond the rough slums of Southport and other districts lay the heart of the city; the Sacred Precinct, core of the Imperium. The twin obsidian pyramids of the Sanctum of Hierarchs and the Imperial Palace loomed in the distance, the Inquisitorial Headquarters not far off. Along the streets in between, all the way to the Imperial Forum, cheering crowds thronged to properly welcome the Borman soldiers as they began to disembark from the cavernous bellies of their transports. Gleaming artillery guns boomed a twenty-one gun salute as the officers came off the ships as well, immediately greeted by Darian Aurelius, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and introduced to the Sacred Emperor himself. Lucifer stood aloof in his ceremonial armor, unmoving and not perspiring despite the heat.

He narrowed his eyes as the priests nattered on about the grace of the gods smiling on the bond of the Imperium and the Borman Empire; didn't they understand that only he mattered? He was the Truth. He was Lucifer. Soon, he began to feel a puzzled gratification as the priests that looked at him turned away shuddering. Surprising, but pleasing. Then again, he couldn't see the cold murder in his eyes. As Darian Aurelius bowed and began to introduce the Borman commanders, Lucifer held up a gauntleted hand and cocked his head, seemingly listening to something the rest of them could not see. He laughed briefly, manically, and then abruptly glared at his Minister of Foreign Affairs.

"What need of we have ceremony among brothers?" That ought to silence the droning priests and the Minister, while not insulting the Borman delegation. "Come with me, friends, to my car. You will dine with me in the Palace tonight, attended by servants and brought the finest food and drink in the Empire. We shall talk of power, and of war." At this last he grinned in anticipation, an expression which suddenly was replaced by one of utmost hate, one completely at odds with his manner as he stepped into his best limousine, driving through the streets to the cheering of countless thousands to the Palace. It was hours later, after the allied delegates had had time to freshen up and such, that servants appeared in their quarters to inform them that His Divine Majesty awaited their presence in the Grand Dining Hall, both to welcome them to the Empire and to plan the allied strategy in the days ahead.

General Robert E. Lee and Admiral Kroyan Nimitz made their way down the hallway, trailed by others lower ranking officers. The entourage chatted lightly amongst themselves as they made their way to the Grand Dining Hall. Here no doubt they would enjoy a great meal, and begin plans to eliminate the bastards opposing Imperial rule.

OOC: Im tired, just want you to know I am following.

The Grand Dining Room was dark tonight, its flowing fountains illuminated by the flickering light of fires rather than the brilliance of the sun, reflected by the crystal and mirrors overhead. The light of the flames dancing in the fireplaces along the walls and the candles on the table made the water seem like flowing fire. Lucifer sat in a thronelike chair at the end of the long table, still in ceremonial armor, like a figure from some dark pantheon. His dark eyes roved casually over the Borman officers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Only he knew if it was sincere or mocking...and it was a fool indeed who questioned a mad king about his sincerity.

He rose, slowly, before spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. "Thank you for joining me, brothers, at this table of common enterprise. Take whatever seats you choose, of course." He indicated the chair on his right with a gauntleted hand. It would be interesting to see whether General Lee or Admiral Nimitz presumed to take it; such an action would obviously give one of them precedence over the other. As Lucifer sat, the servants brought out appetizers and lighter courses, moving up to the main course, a rack of lamb (in the Empire, it was held, REAL men ate meat, and a lot of it). After the dinner was finished, the servants brought out the officers' choice of drinks, bringing for Lucifer a full bottle of the Empire's finest bourbon, which he drank from liberally. They also offered a choice selection of cigars, one of which Lucifer puffed from as he leaned back in his chair. He motioned negligently, and a servant brought up a projector that displayed a map of the continent on the screen nearby, showing the known dispositions of enemy and allied forces.

"Gentlemen, we come now to our true purpose. Can you give me an evaluation of your forces?"

As we stated in another thread http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=497349, His Royal Highness The Crown Prince of Brasland is looking for a royal princess to marry. The lady who will become Queen of Brasland must be of royal blood, virgin, and from a fertile family, as we need heirs and the dynasty is almost extinct.
All the members of the royal family who marry commoners loose their titles and rights to the throne, and those of their descendants. The current King has six children, all of whom - with the exception of the Crown Prince - have married commoners. There is only one more person with rights to the throne, the King's unlce, Prince Louis Frederick, who is 88 years old and childless, so obviously our sovereign is desperate for a young and fertile princess (and virgin!).
The future heiress to the throne will live in the left wing of the Royal Palace together with her husband and children. She will receive an annual allowance which has to be approved by the Parliament of the nation. She will be Patron of many institutions and will also preside the Braslandian Red Cross, which used to be presided by H.M. the late Queen Maria Anna, who died some years ago.

General Lee had taken the seat at Lucifer’s right hand and Admiral Nimitz at his left. As they sat the look on Nimitz face was obviously of dissatisfaction, but Borman was primarily a land power, and thus Generals took precedence over Admirals.

As they got down to business both men began to speak in unison.

“Well I have three fleets with me, which have transported Lee’s men here. Each fleet consists of 160 ships, I have a list of these ships right here.”
(14) Borman Show Carrier
(4) Helldawg V-class Trimaran heavy carrier
(26) Maddox Class Battleship
(14) Trailblazer class cruiser
(5) Apostle Class Trimaran Large Cruiser
(10) Attila Class Destroyer
(10) Dominance class Trimaran AA destroyer
(8) Vercetti Class Frigate
(9) Conquest Class Trimaran ASW Frigate
(5) Legionaire-class command dreadnaught
(21) Prowler Class SSN
(10) Guardian-class SSBN/SSGN
(14) Perditor-Class SSAN
And
(16) Imperivm-class invasion dreadnaught

“Now Nimitz’s ships brought my two armies over here, which numbers two million men. We recently underwent some changes in equipment of our forces, so we have some new tanks and tricks to test out.”

“Now while Lee entertains your enemies on land, we can work to find and destroy the fleets of these enemies. The Imperial Navy is undergoing a massive and complete overhaul. While we unfortunately do not get to test any new ships, there are new missiles and munitions we get a chance to use.”

“Now other than the aircraft Admiral Nimitz has brought with his fleet, we have none. However due to your proximity, we have millions of aircraft in Borman that can occupy air bases within your nation and rain death from above.

“Anything else?”

OOC: Brasland, please don't threadjack



IC: MONDOTHIAN THEATER

Screams rang out with the first volley of frag shells; the tank crews wore armor, helmets, and only their upper torso, arms, and head were exposed to enemy fire, but nevertheless this was enough to cause significant casualties. Many were wounded, though most of these were still able to fire the machine gun. Some fragments had enough power to hurl shards straight through the thick helmets, killing or permanently wounding those unlucky gunners. Calls went out for the AA batteries to devote some of their energies to destroying these shells before they could detonate, but it was very difficult to target so many small contacts, and before long, there were better things to do. The enemy were targeting the artillery batteries, the destruction of which would remove a great many options. The batteries themselves split their fire into a relentless bombardment of the enemy camp, while the SAM batteries devoted themselves to intercepting the shells headed towards the artillery.

The squads already on the ground were in a good position to counter the offensive the Mondothians had just launched. One man in each squad was the designated grenadier, toting an 88mm mortar, while another was a sniper. The grenadiers, fifty-eight in total, readied their mortars and fired as the Mondothian fire cut into the advancing main army, targeting tanks and clusters of infantry. Snipers went to work targeting individuals as well as tank commanders and such who poked their heads out. The regular Legionaries sought cover and returned fire with the 40mm grenade launchers mounted on their assault rifles, interspersed with bursts of 5.56mm gunfire to take down infantry. The helicopters, meanwhile, rose ahead and began launching Venom AGMs at the counterattacking enemies, their cannons blazing as they hurled rounds at the enemy ranks. And under cover of the artillery fire, the main body advanced, leaving their wounded and their dead in their wake, marching boldly into the face of the Mondothian soldiers.


Totally outnumbered on a foreign shore with no aid in sight, even the mighty battleships off shore couldn't provide enough support to bolster the spitrits of the stranded soldiers. The counter-attack had been a desperation move, and even as Asmodeus' troops advanced toe to toe witht he Mondothians, they saw it was futile. The soldiers called out their surrender, placing their weapons on the ground while the remaining officers went about their final duties, preparing whatever equipment survived for quick and efficient destruction, to prevent even such a stunnign defeat from yielding any information to the enemies they were evn now trusting their lives to.

Off shore, the fleet slowly weighed anchor, and began moving away from the shore, out into international waters.
Having heard of the failure almost as soon as it had happened, the Mondothian Central command recalled Fleet Admiral Bin Jamaal within an hour of the ground troops surrendering, and two hours after that, had stripped him of his rank, his comission as a Modnothian Naval Officer and kicked him out with a dishonorable discharge.
The nnext day, Fleet Admiral Jessica Parker was flown out to Island 149 via high speed strategic bomber as a replacement for the now wholly disowned Bin Jamaal.

OOC: Borman, if you want, I can RP some of the other High Lords having a fleet, even though I didn't mention it in the OOC thread. Just wondering if your navy might want a little more to do.

IC: Lucifer smiled indulgently as the two officers spoke over each other. Sipping his bourbon contentedly, the god-king turned to General Lee first, the goldwork on his breastplate gleaming in the firelight.

"General, the size of your army pleases and honors me. Knowing that, as always, the quality of the Borman Empire will show in each individual soldier, I have little doubt our foes will be driven back in ruin by our forces. Admiral, your fleets are likewise necessary in the final destruction of our enemies; the control of the sea will be key in breaking the will of the traitors, which is a very important part of my strategy. Although I will exact my vengeance on all who have defied me..." he said, a twisted smile creeping over his face, "...I would prefer that the Imperium not be crippled for years to come by lack of infrastructure and manpower. Thus, forcing my foes to surrender will be a key element in victory."

He turned to the map of the continent of Kregaia. "As you can see, gentlemen, High Lord Jahvan is not really a factor anymore. He is dead already. High Lord Rahvin will have his head at my feet one way or another within a few weeks at the most. Now, as Ishamael and Avaru are fully occupied with destroying each other, we can afford to be satisfied with keeping an eye on them. Especially as I am told Avaru has invaded Sadow Dominion with a huge army. Our attention, then, turns to High Lord Asmodeus.

"Asmodeus is weak right now. We can take our time, to a degree; a force as large and well-trained as yours, General Lee, will be well able to smash him. The initial difficulty will be transporting such a force over the River Arcan, but with our superior air power, this can be accomplished with little difficulty. However, we must be aware of a few things. Firstly, we will be fighting on difficult terrain; his territory is icy, rocky, and generally harsh. Second, Asmodeus has quite a fondness for unconventional warfare, given his absolute conviction that he is the true servant of the gods and can do no wrong. And finally, Asmodeus himself must survive. He is mine. I will kill him myself, or I will kill the man who robbed me of my vengeance." As if he had not just coldly sworn to destroy anyone, ally or enemy, who dared to interfere with the restoration of his honor, the Sacred Emperor continued. "Gentlemen, if you see anything on the map or in my thoughts that warrants examination, by all means go ahead. Our two empires' grand strategy must be perfect, and it is here that it will be formed."

***

OOC: Boozia, if the Blutjagdhund is a weapon, you’re gonna have to explain it to me I’m afraid; I wasn’t sure what to do about it so there’s nothing about it in the post. I’ll edit to include it as soon as I know what it is.

IC: The Imperial tank crews took it without a blink as many of their missiles and shells were intercepted immediately by some explosive device on the enemy vehicles’ hulls. The Legions would have to see about adapting that little tactic to their own use; the lighter tanks had no such defense, while the Ravagers and Despoilers had detonation transmitters that might or might not work on the enemy missiles. As it turned out, they didn’t.

The counterfire roared into the Imperial tanks. Tanks exploded, belching forth smoke and hurling shards of shrapnel everywhere. Still, the crews ignored the losses of men they had worked with for years, continuing the barrage of shells. The crews reassured themselves that the losses would be repaid twice over. The A-10 Thunderbolts were casually blasting apart the enemy artillery and tanks; their 30mm Avenger cannons could tear through the thickest armor like paper, not to mention the bombs they carried. The Sidewinders launched another volley of missiles, knowing the infidels’ explosives could only work once. And on the flanks, a few dozen tanks and LAVs suddenly rumbled out of the brush, unleashing a vicious storm of shells and missiles on the enemy forces. Between these multiple hammers and the anvil of the main body of Imperial tanks, the Imperial crews smiled to themselves, thinking of victory.

***

As the foreigners laid their weapons down, the officers who commanded their squads watched in enjoyment. They did not, however, deign to raise a hand as the fire continued, letting the fear creep into the enemy's heads that they would all be killed. Before they could think over their decision and fight to the death, orders were roared for the fire to stop. Unfortunately, the Imperial army's camp could not handle the number of prisoners in the tiny brig area, so they were flown under guard to an Imperial Guard fortress northwest of the city of Darius.

The enemy fleet had not left Imperial waters, and this would set off alarm bells in the suspicious mind of any Imperial officer. Plainly, reasoning went among Asmodeus's inner circle, these infidels meant to return. Thus, there was little time for the elaborate breaking processes the Inquisitors preferred. They thought of this hasty work as a necessary evil, all too often demanded of them by battlefield situations. Regardless, they were very good at what they did. Were it not for the soundproofing, the prisons of the Guardsmen's fortress would have resounded with screams. To their credit, these men were tough; it was taking them a while to crack. Then again, the Inquisitors still refused to be rushed. Nobody really knew how fast they could go, as they always claimed that speed often killed the subject and other such things, but it was commonly held that whatever their record was, it was a short time indeed. The officers waited in their quarters, playing cards and drinking beer, sure that it wouldn't be long before the Mondothians were ready to talk.

OOC: Mondoth, how much would the average soldier or low officer be able to tell? Like about your forces or your tactics or the way an average Mondothian thinks...useful stuff like that.

It depends, the senior officers and some of the Seargents will be able to tell a great deal about that sort of stuff, but Fleet Admiral Bin Jamaal was a bit of a radical in the Mondothian system and made serious alterations to the basic way Mondothian conduct war for his recently ill-fated campaign, where-as FA Parker is more straight laced in the Mondothian ways of things, so the soldiers under Bin Jamaal will only be of limited use in getting to know how Parker will conduct operations.
Parker will, for example, be using J-force special operatives (Navy Seals on steroids), while Bin Jamaal eschewed J-force as elitist Prima-Dona's and wouldn't let one within a hundred miles of any of his troops.
at best you can learn about basic troop training and unit stuff that won't have changed much between commanders.

OOC: I was going to originally say no, but I just updated my Maddox class battleship stats today; so maybe a minor battleship skirmish. If Javhan has any fleet left they can try and escape, into the heavily armored and armed Maddox.

IC: "I have a strong will to kill him myself, but I've been informed that he slew your son; and so shall bring him to you. Now, we can have VTOL's brought over to begin transporting soldiers, and if we can capture an airbase in his territory, it would make it alot easier. Additionally we can have some APCs and old transport tanks begin to transport men across the water."

OOC: Actually, no edit is required: you mentioned missiles, and the Blutjagdhund is the most common Boozian ATGW.

IC: "Sir? We're dead, right?"
"Very observant of you, Mirlau. Do you have a solution?"
There was a sharp bang as another Panther threw its turret.
"Actually, sir, I was just thinking of a way to have a bigger statue."
"What's this idea then?"
He told him.
"Oh, great, in a way, giving the most tactically unsound order of the century had always been my secret desire. Let's do it."

The tank roared forward, followed by more: they were dead anyway, the concept od orders was useless.

"Last words?"
"Uhhh... kill all the fuckers?"
"I love my mum?"
"What would I give to be eating a sausage in Brundeburg right now?"
"Good enough."
The tank exploded, quite spectactularly.

In a way, if you took your own life, you'd never been beaten. It was like saying that if you tore the last page from a book, the story goes on for ever.

“It doesn’t look good for them, my Lord.” Rahvin nodded absently, staring at the display. High General Yataghan waited for his master to reply; it would have been rude to interrupt his thoughts.

“No...it doesn’t look good at all.”

“I’d have thought the Boozians would stand up to this better.”

Rahvin shrugged. “They didn’t have much time to prepare for this. And by all accounts, it would have been difficult for anyone to withstand. Think about it. Armored formations followed by War-Priests? We just need to give them time to regroup, and then we’ll crush Jahvan’s army between the two of us.”

Yataghan smiled tightly, looking at Jahvan’s deployment. “That should be easy enough. They’ve sent away almost all their tanks and aircraft. That leaves hundreds of thousands of infantry scattered around with no protection worth speaking of. Ha! We’ll have fifty thousand kills in the first thirty seconds.” Rahvin straightened, gave his chief general a nod, and strode off to some other task. Lord High General Yataghan’s smile widened as he thought of the victory. It would be one to rival Seleucia, that was sure, and the Boozians would be grateful for the assistance. After this, it was time for them to take out Slivan and end Jahvan’s pitiful life.

The attack began with no warning.

What with the incredible roar of the hundreds of guns firing at once, the artillery crews never had a hope of hearing the Loyalists landing in helicopters behind them. Quick action meant that soon the SAM batteries, at least, were captured. Unfortunately, the other guns would have to be destroyed (except for the Colossus guns, which were far too valuable), and now that Jahvan’s air defenses were in Loyalist hands, a wave of A-10 Thunderbolts was easily capable of blasting them apart. The next, and probably most important step, was to destroy the enemy command center. It was relatively easy to guess the rough area, which was where the fleet, far offshore, came in. High Lord Rahvin called in a strike from the missile submarines with the Loyalist fleet, and in a few minutes, the Pandemonium II’s had reduced the entire general area to burning rubble. The enemy was immediately thrown into confusion. With the chain of command shot to hell, it was every man for himself, with two armies closing in to massacre the confused force.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To the Boozian commander of ground forces

Now is the time to strike! Our forces have succeeded in destroying the enemy command center and artillery, and the bulk of their infantry is terribly vulnerable. If you counterattack now, they will crumble and be annihilated! Blood and Honor.

High Lord Rahvin of clan Ares

***

High Lord Avaru surveyed the burning wreckage of the town of Hillwood. The idiotic bumpkins here had refused to surrender, thus slowing him down while he annihilated the town and its occupants. His army had been completely unscathed, while thousands now lay dead because of their mayor’s foolishness. Avaru had never understood why the weak did not obey the strong; it only harmed them and irritated their betters.

There had been more towns like it, and cities too, but most had surrendered. Reluctantly. Avaru had no doubt that they would plant a knife in his back as soon as they thought the time was ripe. Probably they also believed that Ishamael would turn him back like at Mazellian. Well, Avaru knew how to suppress that kind of talk. Drown it in a sea of blood.

His vanguard, he noticed, was already descending out of the Nered Hills and onto the Devil’s Dance Floor. Soon the city of Tarsus itself would be in view, if Ishamael did not send an army to stop him before that. He was looking forward to it.

***

Commander Atreus raised an eyebrow at the sight of the wreckage. Apparently these infidels had more honor than he had thought. They'd actually made the right decision and immolated themselves. Mentally shrugging, Atreus turned away. Infidels acting with honor. Maybe next demons would ascend into Paradise. There were more important things to take care of, anyway. They were having some trouble communicating with Field Headquarters...

***

Lucifer chuckled as the Borman general replied, an act which hardly disguised the malice in his eyes. "My son deserved to die. Antiochus dishonored me and Domain Halcyon. Of course, the Sacred Emperor's honor must be clean. The only way to purge it is to kill Asmodeus myself. Not to mention the satisfaction I would get from slaying the traitor. No, he must die at my hand, General. I can only offer you the certainty of victory against him as compensation. As for transportation, your methods will work perfectly, I am sure. A quick, brutal bombardment should suppress the enemy easily enough, and then your forces will be able to cross. Should they poke their heads up, helicopter gunships will be able to massacre them."

***

By sunset, the Mondothians had begun to crack. By midnight, they were all broken remnants, creatures that their former selves would have been shamed and shaken to look upon.

Unfortunately, for the most part the information they spilled was useless.

Things about the size of units. The officers that commanded each units. The size of Mondothian tanks' guns. Certainly, they knew how their previous CiC commanded, but apparently he would have been disgraced after his failure, and so their information was useless, as the Legions would have to fight a completely different commander. And so, having told all they could, the answer was simple.

The crimes? Conspiracy to destroy the Imperium, conspiracy to remove the Sacred Emperor, and above all idolatry and worship of false gods. Among other charges. And in keeping with the powers granted to Inquisitors by Imperial law, the infidels were sentenced and the sentence carried out on the spot.

"Die for the Victorious Emperor,
For he has guarded us through the ages..."
-Excerpt from the Imperial Creed

OOC: I've been busy, i'll have an IC post tomorrow (I'll presume time has past, and my planes will be unloaded). Sorry for the delay!

The next day, the news was eery-where, Modnothian Soldiers executed. Prisoners of War killed outright. Everywhere there was a surface on which to plaster something, slogans and headlines had been plastered, demonizing Asmodeus and Valgoth.
The media created a blitz of pro-war sentiment, where before had only been reasoned indifference.
It was all the High Command needed to unleash Parker, their loyal warhound.

Within twenty four hours, Island 149 was comepletely transformed, its few citizens swiftly and efficiently displaced, its surface peeled back into an unreasoning flatness perfect for deploying aircraft and maneuvering the massive amounts of vehicles and troops that needed shifting from ship to ship, airplane to airplane and etc.
Soon, what had once been a small jewel of an island became the cold heartless 'Staging Point Lima' the pommel stone of 'Operation Celerity' from which the new 'Task Group Raptor' would stab forth like a sword to impale Valgoth.

Though it might take weeks for any surface ship to depart Lima Point, forces were already positioning themselves invisibly for war on a scale that Mondoth had never before experienced.

The first tendril of Parker's exactingly detailed plan had already begun to extend towards Valgoth.

For decades now, Mondoth had not officially had any comissioned Fable class submerisble troop ships, It was fairly commonknowledge that this was a thinly veiled lie, but that obvious lie had for the last few years, merely been a blind to a much more hidden truth, The Fables, while useful in concealing numbers and achieving a general strategic surprise factor, had always been plagued by short under-water endurance and noise issues that made them tactically infeasible for their main purpose, total surprise war-fare.
The newer and smaller Lore class was exactly what the aging Fables had been envisioned as. Capable of moving troops and equipment fromt he Mondothian mainland to almost anywhere else int he world without the need to surface, and while maintaining excellent low-observable characterstics, the Lore had become the secret dagger wielded by the Modnothian High command, landing J-force special operatives on hevily defended beaches without so much as causing a single guard to do a double check.
Now the powers of the Lore class were being used for much more subtle ends. Instead f driving troops straight onto shore to perform some black operation, several Lore class submersible troop ships were lingering off shore, just outside the array of defenses known to defend the Imperiums coast. From there, smaller submerisbles and divers were deployed, tasked to carefully dismantle large swaths of defenses, right to the shore line with out alerting anyone to the fact that small swaths of coast were becoming swiftly defenseless.

Eight beaches were chosen, one near the original landing zone, where the earlier corvettes had already chewed small holes in the defenses, Two on the Gothic Peninsula (one on the East side, one on the West side) on the island of Kshar (North and South) two on the mainland just west of the island and one had even attempted to travers the straights between Valgoth and Sliven to attack the defenses in the Arcan Bay area.

Over the next several days, Spy aircraft began to over-fly the Gothic Peninsula, assembling a database of images of the defenses all over the peninsula. And finally, not quite two weeks after the end of the first invasion, ships began to assemble just north of the Gothic Peninsula, ready to strike.

"Message recieved, Feldmarschall."

"Play it."

The two general's listened intently.

"Well, now the fun begins. Schultz, order all elements to attack the enemy, we'll catch them in a vice action. If there's any of Fourth Panzergrenadier left order them to try and open as big a whole for us as they can."


SPGs rolled into position. Shells were slammed. New PD mines were fitted to a few vehicles who had fired them. Fuel was pumped, ammo rolled and crew hustled into the vehicles.

And, supported by the Kampfgruppe, flags fluttering, they charged.

“Well, then let us get to work. But just to inform you, seeing as there are few naval enemy agents we shall be recalling the 4th and 5th battle fleets to home, leaving us with the 3rd. If need be we can redeploy them and more. Now, would you like your planes and helicopters to be assisted by Borman airships in bombarding them?”

OOC: Sorry to do this, I have major commitments elsewhere now, maybe I'll come back in volume 3

IC: A letter was dispatched to Asmodeus, this time sealed in wax bearing a small skull and cross bones. It read:

"Dear Asmodeus,
I have to appologize that we were unable to have a proper meeting. You have met with Kobayashi, though I doubt you will find him again. Me and my batallion have received orders to evacuate Kregia. Though the nation is bleak, I will miss it more than I will many of the other lands. Though our forces are pulling out, we are keeping our smuggling routes and other infrastracture up and running, should be return. I have regretfully been informed that the UCAVs have been withdrawn for other foreign deployment, as have we.
Until we meet again,
Colonel Alexander Sizlard

OOC: Wow. Sorry to see you go, Mer des Ennuis. Good luck, and I hope to see you in Volume Three.

And sorry for a bit of inactivity on my part; so you know, I'll be gone tomorrow night. But last night I had no electricity. So. Here's a quick reply. I promise I'll plunge back in as soon as I get back.

IC: Lucifer shrugged. "More air power certainly wouldn't hurt. I will have Imperator Vuell contact the forward airbases and inform them that you will have equal priority of requisition to Imperial troops. If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask it of the commanders out there; they will provide it or they will answer to me. If there is nothing else...go forth and bring victory to Borman."

"It shall be done."

OOC: Just so you know I'm following. Won't be able to make a post for a little while.

OOC: Can I assume that my column escaped and is making for Slivan?

OOC: Here's a post; after this you can break through at leisure. That particular army is shot to hell, don't worry.

Mondoth, just be careful while disabling the torpedo buoys; as they’re linked to the command centers, a wrong move might alert the techs on land to what you’re doing. And I wouldn’t recommend landing on Kshar; it’s way too cold, and aside from the long-term importance of its coal and other resources, it’s strategically unimportant. There aren’t any troops on it, nor enough infrastructure to support any force worth speaking of. But maybe you have a plan that involves it or something. *shrug* Oh, and sorry I didn’t post last night, the power was out.

IC: The First Army, it was soon clear, didn’t have a chance.

Rahvin watched the display as his air units gunned down countless thousands of Legionaries, secreted in clearings and around hills behind the front. His tanks and Immortals moved in for cleanup, advancing and engulfing any pockets of troops left behind. Although around half the First Army’s infantry was still outside Rahvin’s control, most of those were either confused or under attack. The Boozians had mounted a vicious counter-strike, which had apparently caught the majority of Jahvan’s tanks napping. The surviving armor squadrons had been forced to flee, regrouping a little later to attempt to hold back the Boozian advance, while the War-Priests had stood and fought and been largely massacred. To their credit, they had taken more Boozians with them than should have been possible under the circumstances, but War-Priests were not well-suited to the defensive, and their efforts had barely slowed the foreigners.

The images from Satellite Recon were rather amusing; Jahvan’s best force was currently trapped between two relentless armies. The single THUNK with Rahvin’s army had left a swath of devastation through a large pocket of the enemy troops, racking up thousands of kills. Without any command structure, the enemy was running pell-mell straight into either the Loyalists or the Boozians. Over the next few hours, Jahvan’s First Army would cease to exist, and then the Boozians and Loyalists would march north, crush the last obstacles, and take Slivan. How sweet it was to think of victory.

***

Lucifer shrugged. “One way or another. I’m sure you’ve brought along plenty of aircraft, and the heavier the initial airstrike, the easier it will be to get our armies across easily. I will have Imperator Vuell contact the field commanders in the area and inform them that your forces have clearance to request materials and services on equal priority with Imperial forces. If your aircraft need any attention, feel free to take some time before the assault begins. The commanders of the airbases on the front will inform you of the time that Operation Boreal Penance is set to begin. If there is nothing else, General, Admiral, go forth and bring victory to Borman. Blood and Honor.”

OOC: oops, I completely forgot I was counter-attacking

IC: Leitz focused on the fleeing enemy with his binoculars, watching several succumb to a vicious swoop from a fighter section, soaring so fast he couldn't even see their insignia. His command Tiger, Mäuschen, grumbled along beneath him, illustrating the typical Boozian belief that it was important to be "on the spot, doing everything yourself", to paraphrase the Iron Duke, and that command vehicles benefited from excessive firepower.

The counter-attack had shattered "javvie" armour, caught as they were between two obhects big enough to be used as anvils and light enough to be used as hammers. The effect was going to be something like being held in a giant vice and having your head hit with an equally wast hammer on both sides at the same. Add in the air attacks, and the above was all happening inside a meat-slicing machine.

He yanked up a radio set.

"I want an army group liaison to locate and establish contact with the Loyalist staff. Take a company level task-force of any composition you see fit to accompany you and cross the lines somewhere where contact has been made with loyalists."

OOC: I haven't decided on the final list of landing zones yet, but you can go ahead and assume that some of the teams alerted the command center accidently when trying to disable the torpedo buoys, probably the ones on the gothic peninsula.
also, how easy would it be to sail a fleet up the straigt between slivan and valgoth? would the slivans cause trouble if we told them we were after Valgoth?

With that the Borman commanders left, cigars stil in hands, some liqour on clothes. They made their way towards their various quarters where they would rest before ordering men to prepare for a heavy bombardment of enemy forces.

OOC: Yeah, I suppose they'd be alerted...it wouldn't make that much difference anyway, Asmodeus has practically no reserves to move up there. And yeah, you could sail a fleet up the strait, no problem. In fact, if you had to you could sail up the River Arcan, you'd just have to leave your bigger ships behind.

IC post tomorrow if I can; school is starting, after all.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To all forward commanders along the River Arcan positions:

The Borman Empire has sent a considerable force to aid us in putting down the various rebellions. For security reasons, I will not go into details about its size and composition; you need not know, simply be prepared to give them service. Which you will do, and well. By the divine edict of the Sacred Emperor, the Borman troops are to be given equal if not superior attention to Imperial forces. It is imperative that they be perfectly prepared for battle. Be prepared to receive sizable numbers of Borman personnel within the next few days. You will observe that more supplies have been allocated to your area. Use them well. Blood and Honor.

Imperator Jakran Vuell

High Lord Rahvin grinned from ear to ear. The First Army was gone. The last pockets were scampering north to Slivan; they would be stopped by the pickets. For now, the important thing was getting repairs and such underway, get a good night’s sleep in, and get marching tomorrow for the Slivan Peninsula. High Admiral Anor had already sent word that his armada, along with the Jipleastanis, were sailing north to begin bombarding the city before the armies arrived. The plan was working perfectly, and word was that some Shenyangi crack SpecOps types were taking out targets in Valgoth, making the eventual invasion of Asmodeus’s stomping ground that much easier. Not to mention the massive force from Borman that was waiting in Korronis.

A young officer strode up hurriedly, obviously with important news. He saluted, and blurted, “My lord, a delegation from the Boozians is on their way here now. The scouts sent them directly over here with a guard of honor, my lord. They’ll be here in ten minutes or so.” Rahvin nodded and sent the young man away, and thought. It was best to impress these foreigners, so Rahvin hurriedly went to his tent and donned his ceremonial armor. His servants carried a thronelike, high-backed chair of ebony outside, where an entourage of Immortal bodyguards and attendants stood by him as he sat, drinking bourbon casually and smoking a cigar. As the Boozians arrived, the High Lord threw down the cigar and regarded the Boozian troops, gathered around a representative who was obviously the spokesperson. Rahvin nodded politely to the group and greeted the liaison in English; there was little chance they had mastered Kregaian.

“Welcome to you, and doubly pleasing to meet on the field of glorious victory. The battle, friends, is over, marking the first major cooperation between our two nations. I take it your commanding officer has something to say; please, do not stand on ceremony. Speak freely, with little need for pleasantries; allies may take such things for granted.”

OOC: Jipleastan, is there anything you want me to do with Shield Vale/Fort Karik or the fleets? Or do you want to send an army? I don’t want you to have nothing to do. Same with you, Shenyang; attack what you want in Valgoth. And regarding that, would you prefer that those hunting you not make contact, or that you don’t bother evading them and kill them as they come?

OOC: This is of no real importance right now, but some intrigue would be nice here I think.

IC: The town of Forestholt burned like a torch.

The vast column of Avaru’s men moved on past the blazing town, a winding serpent with blood dripping from its fangs. This same serpent had left a track of destruction across the Devil’s Dance Floor, encountering little to no resistance along the way. The few outposts that had put up any resistance had been crushed by overwhelming firepower. Those days, unfortunately for Avaru, were over. Ishamael’s own news agencies reported massive troop movements, and Avaru’s intelligence had confirmed it. An army was marching north to counter Avaru and keep him from Tarsus; unconfirmed reports said the great High Lord Ishamael Sadow was marching at its head. Avaru snorted. Ishamael’s fame had been built by deception and a few lucky victories. Who was he to challenge High Lord Avaru? The High Lord smiled, imagining what he would do to the upstart Ishamael after he had been crushed.

At current speed of marching, Ishamael’s army would intercept his well before they left the Devil’s Dance Floor...which would make for an interesting match indeed. The Dance Floor got its name from the Dispater Mountains that formed its western border; Dispater the Betrayer, legendary lord of the demons and master of the Nine Hells, was believed to exercise greater control over the area than in the rest of the material world. Avaru had long since discarded such superstitions, but the fact was that for thousands of years, countless wars had been waged on the Dance Floor, often with three or more sides, and the whole plain was drenched in ancient blood. None of these warring factions had ever held the area for any length of time; thus the legend that the capricious and deceptive Dispater watched over the Dance Floor and manipulated armies there like playthings.

Avaru had no intention of being another on the list of the vanquished on the Devil’s Dance Floor.

“I will be the first,” he said aloud, and the man at his side, who had been watching Avaru’s army march, glanced at him.

“I beg your pardon, High Lord?”

Avaru looked at him. The other’s face was shrouded by a hood, but his status was revealed by the robes he wore under his black cloak and by the ring he wore. An Inquisitor. And a High Lord was speaking to him as only a slightly inferior man. Truly these were strange times. “I will be the first to conquer the Devil’s Dance Floor. With Ishamael dead, who can stop me? And Kregaia shall follow, with the entire western half in my hands. The Sacred Emperor will have to talk, then.”

The Inquisitor paused before replying, something Avaru chose to ignore, though he had a suspicion that the other man was actually amused by his comment! “I am not so sure, High Lord. I have seen him more recently than you have. Lucifer of Domain Halcyon has changed, greatly. I am sure he is mad, incidentally, but I cannot believe that the Sacred Emperor will ever talk terms with you. Not if you held every square inch of Kregaia but Korronis.” Words from Avaru’s days at Lucifer’s court sprang to mind: I will see Korronis burn, and all its people die; I will see the Empire torn to pieces and the world ablaze with war before I surrender. The Inquisitor was right, much as Avaru wished to deny it. Lucifer would never surrender. He would obviously have to die, then; that was perfectly legal under the laws of succession.

“In that case,” Avaru began, exhaling slowly, “Lucifer will die. And must, or the Imperium will never fully accept me.” The cloaked man nodded. “This is why I am here, High Lord Avaru. I speak for a group that believes you are fit to be Sacred Emperor...and soon. We are prepared to kill the Divine One; do that, and the Loyalists will crumble. And so, knowing that you would see that he must die, I am here to make you that offer.”

Avaru turned fully to face the Inquisitor. This was surprising indeed. The man had not revealed his purpose until that moment, and it was an audacious plan, to be sure. One must take risks in war. The High Lord nodded. “This is...excellent news. You are sure you can accomplish this?”

Beneath the hood, there appeared the shadow of a smile. “Yes.”

“Then you have my support. How will I contact you?”

“I will contact you; you are easier to find. For now we will not discuss compensation. That will be taken care of later. Now, High Lord, I must go forth. May the gods smile upon you, and the Slayer bless your efforts in war.”

And with that, Inquisitor Vlad Tepes, a high member of the Sacred Emperor’s court and formerly an assassin working for the Intelligence Division, turned away, plotting already how to betray the insane god-king.

The troops were indeed quite impressed. It might lack, at least from their patrioticly biased perspective, the workmanlike functionality of a be-ribboned panzer greatcoat and a Befehls-Tiger, but it was a fine work of craft. But even more impressive were the immortals. A man whos life is threatened learns fast, and those fighting with the "Javvie" army had earned respect, but seeing them up close was quite an experiance. The only officer not in slightly hushed awe was the engineering and ordnance liaison, who was clearly taking meantal notes on everything he saw.

The chief liaison officer replied in his native language, Boozian German, while a young Obergefreiter translated:

"We're basically here to co-ordinate operations with you and your staff. We're currently re-grouping, repairing, and re-loading in preparation for a combined land and naval attack northwards onto the peninsula.

Rahvin stood and motioned to a servant, who offered a selection of fine liquor to the speaker. The High Lord himself puffed on his cigar before replying slowly.

"Well, the basics of our plan are fairly simple. Jahvan has one army on the western base of the peninsula; we will surround and destroy it. Hopefully his army defending Slivan will move to counter us, and we can beat it in the field; I don't want to have to face them in the city of Slivan itself. Our attacks will be supported by the Loyalist and allied fleets, and we'll attack behind their lines as best we can. Things will be much easier if we can knock out their air power, so keep that in mind as a major element of our strategy. Major Hammond!"

A middle-aged Imperial officer stepped forward and saluted. "My lord?"

"Take these gentlemen to the command area. Make sure you have someone who knows German fairly well; I hope some of them speak English too. Begin coordinating immediately, and keep me informed of our own status regularly." Rahvin turned back to the liaison and the young translator. "Feel free to reload and rearm, rest up, you know. But we shouldn't wait too long. The Sacred Emperor expects me to be in or at least attacking Slivan by next week, and neither of us wants the Divine One angry at us. So we must hurry. Besides, wanting Jahvan dead is something we both can agree on."

As the bulk of the delegation was led away, Rahvin walked with the liaison and his translator, discussing matters of supply and tactics for the coming battle. Meanwhile, the armies readied for another fight. The time was coming quickly.

Cracking track. It seemed that armoured warfare in the modern age comprised 40% of the damn stuff, 30% re-fuelling, 20% complex maintenance, and only 10% actual engagement. Indeed this could be said of most service arms. Didn't make it any less annoying, though. Especially when it was a Tiger and the individual links were as big your head. Why had the engineers and generals decided to shape modern warfare around the most maintenaance intense land vehicles ever devised? Yeah, yeah, they worked. Every trooper had heard that one, but again, this didn't reduce the irritation.

It has happening in thousands of other improvised tank-parks and helicopter fields across the campsite. Infantry lay around dimantling and re-assembling their weapons while officers poured over maps. Most of them had already memorised the considerably better ones available from looted enemy HQs, but it always paid to look officerly in stressful situations.

OOC: Sorry, reply coming soon. Lots of homework, you see.

OOC: I'm getting raped with work in school (Not literally...at least, I hope not literally, I don't know about it be-well...you get the point). If you want to control the planes bombing him and shit I can try and get a post in weeked about men moving in and all.

OOC: I'll start the bombing, you just move your troops in and continue the airstrikes if you want. The Loyalists'll be reinforcing you as soon as we finish with Jahvan.

“There comes the siren that warns of the air raid
There comes the sound of the guns sending flak
Out for the scramble, we’ve got to get airborne
Got to get up for the coming attack”

-“Aces High” by Iron Maiden

No sirens blared, no obvious signals were given. It was the dead of night; only careful rehearsals allowed the pilots to sprint out to their craft and complete the pre-flight checks. One by one, they streaked away into the night, their black color rendering them indistinguishable from the night, the endless, starless night of Halcyon. In perfect formation they moved, at high altitude, more or less directly north, to their targets. Far below them, more and larger craft roared low over the ground to evade detection by RADAR. They were loaded with messengers of destruction, but nothing and no one would announce these particular messengers. They were bombers; B-6 Paladins, perfectly concealed, and below them, flights of Behemoth heavy bombers and A-10 attack planes. From their airbases all along the Loyalist positions south of the River Arcan, they rose, wraiths hidden by the night. The maneuver had been carefully planned, and their commanders groundside were confident of success.

It was a short distance; the lines of fortresses were not very far apart at all. The trick was to slip past the forward defenses to strike at the core of the enemy positions as well, at their artillery batteries, their command centers, their field hospitals, their supply depots and lines of communication. The waves of takeoffs had been staggered; over hundreds of square miles of fortifications, the blitz would begin at the exact same time.

11:59:58...

11:59:59...

12:00:00

Silence.

At exactly the same instant, at dozens of fortresses, airfields, SAM launchers, artillery batteries, warehouses, highways, power stations, missile silos, and command centers over more than a hundred miles of front, high-explosive bombs crashed down. Again...again...again...there was no time to react before another shower of bombs fell, joined by missiles and even cannon fire from the low-flying Behemoths and A-10s. In some cases, the Behemoths unleashed their MOABs, bombs which tore apart such petty things as modern fortifications with ease. Asmodeus’s forces never had a chance, fatally confused for the first few seconds, after which time it was far too late to dream of defense. Critical units in the defense network had been destroyed, and in a matter of minutes, southern Valgoth was naked before the Loyalists, just a few miles away. In a matter of minutes, many thousands of Asmodeus’s troops had been killed along with incredible losses to his communications, transportation, power, defense, and command networks.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE:

To all Borman forces in northern Halcyon, infantry and air alike:

The time has come. Asmodeus’s forces on the other side of the river have been utterly smashed. Cross the river and begin your invasion; we will send limited forces to support, but you must do most of the fighting until High Lord Rahvin can bring his forces into Valgoth to fight alongside you. Until then, we have every confidence that Borman will seize victory as always. Hurry across the river; we do not know how much time we have, and every minute is precious. Blood and Honor.

Imperator Jakran Vuell

***

High Lord Rahvin watched as his forces moved out, the final cargo being loaded for transport as his vanguard moved out, northwest, to the base of the Slivan Peninsula. One more battle, and Jahvan’s capital would lie open. They would have to be creative when storming the city; they wanted Slivan mostly intact. Perhaps Jahvan would even surrender before the final battle came, the coward, Rahvin reflected; there was no chance of his victory now. Reports from spies in Slivan said that from the skyscrapers one could see the Jiplo-Kregaian fleet on the horizon...an amusing fact indeed. Jahvan must truly be gnashing his teeth to have lost his fleet and most of his ground forces. Rahvin smiled at the thought, and decided to think about it later. For now, he needed to plan the battle. As if on cue, a servant ran up, bowed, and informed him of the latest development in the talks with the Boozian delegation. Their main army, Rahvin knew, was close by, probably moving north the same as the Loyalists. They were good fighters, savage and determined, and would be of enormous help in crushing the last of Jahvan’s defenses. The Imperium would have to see about an embassy between their two nations after the war.

Not long. Using the captured transportation systems of Aurelius, not long at all. Rahvin ached to finish this campaign; Jahvan had maintained his farcical rebellion for too long. It was past time to turn north, to Asmodeus, and to the dueling Avaru and Ishamael, men who he considered far more competent than either Asmodeus or Jahvan, and with far better troops and more resources. Those would be worthy enemies, indeed. Rahvin smiled, a predator’s smile. He would look forward to it.

Soldiers looked on and chatted as the CEVs ground with painful slowness across the ground, thankful that they weren't toiling alongside the pioneers to clear away the earth mounds. Signalers were running this way and that, hitching up portable generators and RADARs, while trucks dumped heavy fuel tanks by the improvised airstrip to be pumped into the arriving CAS squadrons.

More tankers and ammo-haulers were leaving their loads with the various battalion S4s, who in turn distributed them among the tanks and IFVs making up their commands. Fresh missiles arrived and were slid onto the co-axial launch racks, while the remains of the PD strips were jettisoned and new ones fitted by ordinance troopers. Units were consolidated into roughly full-strength battalions, while hasty MASHs and field dressing stations saw to the wounded.

In a matter of hours, the tanks would be rolling north and the planes would be rolling hot.

And then the fun would start.

OOC: Bump, reply tomorrow. Away for the rest of tonight.

OOC: Sorry about the delay, was at Austin City Limits and had a hella bad time getting through the various airports involved, IC post coming.

OOC: Speeding up the NS timeline a bit to get us there earlier, Nova Boozia. Hope you don't mind.

IC:

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To all Boozian and Imperial forces

The Imperial march has been halted; we expect that our Boozian comrades will do the same. Our estimated distance from Jahvan's army is thirty-six miles, out of range of almost all their forces. Tomorrow we expect to open the engagement at no later than 0530 hours; towards that end, we have designated a number of clear zones as rudimentary airfields, command areas, field hospitals, and other such support facilities. Prepare yourselves. We can say little right now, but expect another glorious victory, and look forward to more.

High Lord Rahvin

However, a small force under the command of Rahvin himself ignored this message, detaching quietly from the main force and sliding around to the enemy flank, hiding in the woods...

Flashback
Two week prior to Operation Celerity:
Task Force Raptor left Staging Point Lima heading towards the Gothic Peninsula. The entire regional armada, including more than 200 ship deployed to a muster point just off the Gothic Peninsula.

Hours after the last ship had left Staging Point Lima, Task Force Raptor left Staging Point Lima for a muster point off the island of Kshar. Hours later, Task Force Raptor left for the strait between Valgoth and Slivan.

In less than a day, Task Force Raptor had tripled in size from no apparrent source and sent its 'triplicates' off to various muster points, ready to invade along routes prepared by the special forces teams through the shore defenses.
Of course, one out of three of the ships was really a cheap decoy, inflated and then partially filled with water to replicate the behaviour of combat loaded mondothian ships. The Faux Vessels even had radar transmitters and moving parts to fool even the best observer. some even had a small number of real working weapons controlled by remote from one of the real ships interspersed with the decoys.

Today
The ships had been waiting for two weeks, prepping for the invasion.

The attack came at night-fall, missiles and guns from the fleet off Kshar, pounding the island for nearly an hour before falling silent. An hour passed, then all of a sudden, the fleet off the Gothic Peninsula opened fire, two hours fo relentless bombardment of the defenses that lined the peninsula ended as suddenly as it began. The Fleet off the Straits initiated a four hour bombardment, then the fleet at the Gothic Peninsula let off a single barrage followed by another attack by the Kshar fleet which worked its way over the entire island, crushing homes and infrastructure indiscrimanently while, all of a sudden, the roar of powerful Diesel engines filled the night, a sharp relief to the intermittent explosions that had just as suddenly ended.
Admiral Parker had come ashore at the island of Ksharr.

Mad.IV Imperator Tanks streamed across what few crossing there were on the river, Bhalk 34’s following behind them with contingents of soldiers in store.

MV-90 VTOL’s soared above, 30 mm cannons decimating what resistance there was to Imperial forces as they lowered down and released scored of Borman soldiers.

As they pulled out, firing off missiles and draining ammunition in support men and tanks beneath began to push forward behind their veritable wall of munitions heading for enemy forces.

OOC: Kinda got screwed up as to what was going on, another post and I should reunderstand.

The mines were a boring, boring place. Agonizing, if one was careless when donning one's protective clothing. Freezing all year round. Kshar was widely known as the most godforsaken wasteland under Imperial rule; practically impossible to inhabit permanently due to the ferocity of winter, its only human denizens were the miners, there to hack out the coal and other minerals that were rich in its frozen ground. A terrible place to be under any circumstances.

It was about to get a lot worse.

There was absolutely no warning; the miners had no idea there was an enemy fleet anywhere near the island. News was hard to get on Kshar. And before they knew it, they were being ordered into the tunnels for shelter as shells and missiles leveled the few structures aboveground. A few hours later a single message crackled through the radio speakers from the company communications post: "Foreigners landed on island. Request for peaceful conduct lodged." And then there was silence. Kshar lay quiet again.

***

On the Gothic Peninsula things were a different matter. The fortresses of the Northern Legion had advance warning of the Mondothian fleet, and their air defenses were able to intercept some of the larger targets. Also, the mere fact that the area was fortified allowed it to escape horrendous damage...but there was nothing in the Imperial Northlands short of Fort Dharus that could withstand such a bombardment and get back to everyday business. Troops took cover while the few big guns that could reach the enemy ships returned fire rapidly, the bitter cold removing the threat of overheating. In the meantime, final checks were made on the status of the Legion's war machines. The Mondothians were coming, and it would be incredibly rude of the Legionaries not to give them the fight of their lives.

The site: Gnosis, a small and basically empty district in Aurelius. Rahvin’s Army of the Palatine and the Boozian expeditionary force is in the south, while Jahvan’s Second Army is in the north. Jahvan has constructed elementary fortifications; mines are scattered in front of hastily-dug trenches. In the east lies marshland, difficult territory for vehicles; between the two armies, gently rolling hills; and in the west, steeper hills that curve around into the edges of Jahvan’s camp. The passages between these hills are lightly held by “Javvie” barricades. The stage is set.

The attack began without warning, at least for Jahvan’s men, yet another example of the Loyalists seizing the initiative from the beginning. The opening round, so to speak, was a series of Hornet Subterranean Tactical Weapons, detonated under the ground of the Javvie camp, leveling large sections of it while most of the soldiers were still sleeping. Wisely, however, some of Jahvan’s Second Army had gone to barricades before dawn to watch for a massive attack by Rahvin. They were getting smarter.


The Second went to full alert in minutes, their command structure almost completely intact. Swarming over a vast defensive perimeter, they hurried into position as best they could, watching and waiting for the attack they surely knew must come. Surely enough, shells arced into the air within minutes, the opening movements of the Loyalist forces, while satellite imagery showed detachments of a thousand soldiers each moving across the no-man’s land, bringing up mortars and such to pepper Jahvan’s lines with fire while shifting always to prevent counterfire from his tanks and artillery.

Meanwhile, miles away, Rahvin pressed a button on his handheld computer, staring as he did so at the helicopters rising into the sky bearing his troops. He restrained a yawn; it had been a sleepless night, with his force shifting back and forth to confuse any potential watchers. The message he had just sent informed High General Yataghan, in charge of maintaining the false assault over on the main line, that he was beginning the real attack. The Lawgiver VTOL transports there, fifty of them, carried three thousand Immortals between them, and another twelve hundred were in the hundred AH-166 Twilight gunships with them. A small force, true, but one to make many a larger one tremble. There was no questioning the tenacity, skill, and ferocity of the Immortals.

They flew low and as quietly as they could, over the wooded hills that bordered Jahvan’s camp. It was not long before they sighted the barricades that ‘defended’ the passes...and barely any longer before the Loyalists engaged them. Missiles flew from the launchers on their helicopters, as the Twilights’ chainguns swept the LZ’s, forcing Jahvan’s Legionaries to either take cover or die. Of course, there was little cover but the trees, and the gunships’ 12.7mm bullets tore them apart like matchwood. The same went on all across the hills, the barricades taken by Loyalist Immortals as the helicopters flew back to transport the rest.

Quietly, careful not to attract any attention, Rahvin’s force moved on the ground and by air up to the passages, assembled, prayed...and at the High Lord’s signal, thundered down into the enemy camp with a vengeance. Thousands of Immortals, heading the attack, stormed into the camp, hurling explosives into armories, ammo dumps, hospitals...anything that allowed the Javvies to fight. Just like the last battle, Rahvin leapt for the throat; he personally led a squad of Immortals to take out Jahvan’s primary command center, broadcasting a host of conflicting messages over Jahvan’s network before destroying it and all communication equipment in the camp. Outside, the Second Army was thrown into utter confusion, impotent while Rahvin’s tanks on the ground rolled onto Jahvan’s makeshift airfields and calmly blasted apart plane after plane on the ground. The few fighters in the air, lacking command from the ground, were mostly easy prey for the waves of Loyalist aircraft that hurtled to engage them. Those that survived barely managed to occupy the Loyalists’ attention in desperate dogfights.

And now, with the Second Army trapped and confused, High General Yataghan, right on cue, gave the order for the Army of the Palatine to attack. All forces, full advance, in a glorious assault over the rolling hills. True, they were calmly advancing on an entrenched enemy, but that enemy lacked significant air support and had no high command structure. And what did a little blood matter? Honorable death or honorable victory; at least one was guaranteed to all.

In a surprise move, however, the Second Army rallied, marching out into the rolling hills to meet the Loyalists. They were ready to fight...

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE


To all Boozian forces:

The time has come; you must advance with all forces. We shall crush the enemy yet again today, and Nova Boozia will yet again be a great part of this. However, the Second Army has advanced, in an unexpectedly coordinated and determined fashion. They seem to be ready to fight to the death. Prepare yourselves for bloody and hard fighting, and give no quarter. Blood and Honor.

Lord High General Yataghan

"GO! GO! GO!"

Water was sloshed over fires. Hatches slammed shut behind scurrying crewmen. Clicking filled the air as troopers re-checked their magazines. Helicopters began to lift. Within minutes, the message had travelled from HQ to the grunts, and the roar of massed engines began to grow in volume.

With the exception of a few recon tacks on screening duty, the vehicles were bunched into protected circles ranging in scale from platoon to regiment. But with an efficiency drilled into them by hours spent on the frighteningly realistic Schnapseheer proving grouns, the crew manouvred them into their standard spearhead formation and rumbled forward, attack helicopters whirring close above them but below the nap of the earth, ready to put missiles into any would-be attackers.

The artillery, already positioned in protective battery-level firebases, began a rolling barrage ahead of the main thrusts while a few tubes earmarked for close support waited urgently for firing requests from the recon battalions or the armoured spearheads.

In the east, over the marshes, air-cavalry companies glided silently across the land, staying low, swerving west at determines points and allowing the troops to rapell down, dispatch the supply convoy, communications post, or whatever else they had targetting before escaping back to the sky.

The Gothic Peninsula Fleet practically disolved under the minimal resistance. Only a few of the ships in it had actually been real, the rest decoys loaded with just enough real weaponry for the two barrages and then were effectively useless except as photo-realistic duplicates of Mondothian naval vessels.

Meanwhile, nearly half of Task Force Raptor's amphibious assault craft were positioned off of the island of Ksharr and were steadily pouring troops into it. Engineering teams were busy at work turning the island into a fortress, artillery units were positioned, sand-bag walls erected with machine-gun nests and anti-tank positions at regualr intervals, command and communication posts, barracks, air-fields, air-defense missile sites. A few teams were constructing internment camps while soldiers rounded up any-one who had survived the bombardment to be placed in them. A small number of teams located every Mine-Shaft and prepped it for demolition charges. Nobody cared if anyone was still int he mines, they would be sealed off to prevent any insurgency or enemy special forces using them to run a guerilla campaign against the Occupiers.

Most of the Task-Force's real warships,a nd the other half of the Amphibious Assault ships had taken the Straits and were sailing into the Arcan bay, preparing to land a second force deep int he interior of the continent.

Imperator tanks rolled forward blasting there guns incessantly, enemy shells and bullets merely bouncing off, leaving nothing but scratches. The deafening roar of tanks was only matched by the light that continual barrage of shells brought to the quickly darkening night. Still round after round tanks pumped enemy soldiers.

Borman regulars were dispersed throughout gaps in the tank lines and laid down continual streams of hot lead, slicing in two any solider of Asmodeus not in full retreat. These men ran alongside the tanks, purposely moving somewhat slow for them, impervious to the sounds by the advantages of their SACS. Thus the blinding light and deafening sound did little to stop their mad continued push forward, guns blasts keeping up pace with the heavy booms of the large Imperator tanks.

With the Borman push, victory was pushed forward.

OOC: I’m going to use ‘Asmodean’ as an adjective for things applying to Asmodeus. Just so you know what that is.

IC: General Severus’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his pistol butt. Staring at the tactical display, a private could have seen how hopeless the situation was. A massive incursion by Borman forces-where had this come from? Armored spearheads were punching through the Asmodean lines with ease, assisted by overwhelming Borman and Loyalist air superiority and backed up by swarms of infantry, and the attacks had only increased in ferocity since dawn. Glancing around him, he saw his attendants were ashen-faced, likely considering the implications of an invasion this size. Well, he was too. And it’s some fucking bad news, he thought.

Making a sound like an animal being strangled, he turned to his communications men. “Send a message to High Lord Asmodeus, informing him of our current situation. And tell him I have ordered all forces to attack...hopefully we can slow them down just a little. Then send the same message to all nearby installations. They’ll need to mobilize now if they’re going to be able to stop this. And finally...give me a line to all forces.” The men nodded, jaws clenched with determination. One of them handed him a microphone, and after taking a minute to calm himself, the General spoke.

“To all soldiers...this is General Adam Severus. At midnight last night, as I’m sure you all know, we were ruthlessly and suddenly attacked. Thousands were killed by bombing raids. Before we knew it, countless thousands of Borman soldiers were pushing their way across the river, killing. And we have given a good account of ourselves. But we must face the truth: this position is lost. Hundreds of thousands will die today, one way or another. So, then, I have sent word to our master who we have all sworn to; High Lord Asmodeus knows of what we do this morning. The time has come, brothers, to enter Paradise: I order all Asmodean units, combatants or no, to attack, to rise up and hold the Bormans. Let us send them a message this morning: Kregaians will not go quietly into death! Blood and Honor!”


Across dozens of miles of front, the message was heard and obeyed. Legionaries smiled to themselves, the same smiles as had been worn by generations before them: the smile of men going to their death on their own terms. Offering final prayers, clutching their assault rifles, they leapt from foxholes, from behind trees and rocks, charged out of IFVs; they turned and charged wherever they were, a glorious, suicidal blaze of violence that claimed the lives of tens of thousands of men in seconds. A grand gesture, but an idiotic one: the Bormans were elite troops, led by a host of heavy armor, hardly the type to crack under this kind of assault. Granted, the Asmodean counterattack inflicted losses on their foes...but they were slaughtered literally to a man. Cooks, clerks, techs, every last attache and aide to the army seized guns from the bodies of the fallen and charged as well. General Severus himself died laughing insanely, shot in the face while standing on a tank, urging his troops onwards on their suicidal march towards the slaughter. By early afternoon, Asmodeus’s armed forces in the south were, as a practical matter, annihilated.

***

Captain Ammon quietly waved his troops forward. There were 144 combat troops in total, and they were situated behind a large hill, protected by sandbags that the rest of the army had put in days ago. With machine guns, mortars, and a squad of 4 Sidewinder LAVs, it was a good, strong position, one he was eager to use. A detachment of the Boozian force was passing on the other side of what his men had designated Theta Hill, and he was pretty intent on killing them all if possible.

He ordered the twelve mortar-bearers to move up, and they opened fire from behind the sandbags. Two of them launched smoke rounds to confuse the infantry, the other ten launched two quick volleys of 81mm high-explosive rounds. Another twelve men grabbed portable anti-air missile launchers and readied for the Boozian counterattack. The rest of the men readied their assault rifles, loaded the grenade launcher attachment, and took cover...

The attack came as quite a shock, visions being obscured as rounds popped round about. Feldwebels tried to chase their men out of the vehicles to escape any enemy missiles annd bully them into an advance on enem positions. One squad wasn't fast enough.

The task force had been given a battery of artillery to use on call, so Hauptfrau Roth walked a few HE rounds down the rough origin of the mortars, adjusting fire and ordering certain areas off limits as her soldiers scrambled, prone, into the locations.


"Well, the corps commanders all know their mission, so I suggest we take the moment to consider strategy. Recent intel shows that Borman invaders have inflicted massive damage to Asmodeus, so our previous plan is out. For know, with a versatile airbase and command liaisons, our best plan seems to be to stick with the Loyalists. After all, with all the dominions east of the Gold Sea in their hands, they'll be able to contend with Ishmeal and Avaru."

"And Heinbach?"

"We can keep her their for as long as possible, which probably won't be very long, then... that's something for espionage people."

Forwarded to the office of High Lord Asmodeus
From: Valgoth High Command
Received: Anghan Ultima, 1540 hours

High Lord,

The following is a transmission received from a corporate installation on Kshar before the island went silent. Due to bad weather we are unable to determine the situation by satellite imagery.

...*unintelligible static*...peat, island of Kshar unsecure...foreign force...invad...request immediate assistance, hundreds if not....miners trapped in shafts...*unintelligible static*

We advise quarantining the island and preparing for invasion. Further, reports from Northern Legion Command confirm that Mondothian fleets have begun a second offensive. Original signals indicated a sizable fleet off the Gothic Peninsula; however, around two thirds of the enemy contacts have vanished under fire, and we believe that most of that particular fleet was composed of decoys; however, we have unconfirmed reports of a much larger Mondothian fleet moving south down the straits, with a course that may take them into the Arcan Bay. Intelligence is currently trying to figure out whether this fleet is real or similarly exaggerated.

***

OOC: Boozia, you don't actually have to respond to this message if you don't want to, this is just Asmodeus frantically asking for help.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To: Boozian Liaison Office

As the situation here in Valgoth deteriorates, our window of opportunity for action is shrinking. In the name of the gods, I request you to join me with all speed! We must stop the Borman armies if our alliance is to survive!

High Lord Asmodeus Vasraad

***

Asmodeus paced restlessly around his office in the government center of his crumbling rebellion, the Patriarch's Palace, in the heart of the city of Darius. Here he could see on his personal computer the tactical displays as the Borman army drove north. Here he could listen to the last transmission of Kshar, received a few hours before. Since then, the entire island had gone ominously silent, with a storm preventing his Satellite Recon team from finding out what in the name of the gods was going on. His attendants sat in couches and chairs around the office, fearing to speak lest the former Inquisitor kill them himself.

He abruptly came to a halt, grasping the fireplace as if for support, gazing at the painting above it of Abaddon III, a Sacred Emperor dead for over a thousand years, a man who had gone down in history for destroying everything around him in an insane fit of self-willed annihilation as darkness fell on his reign. Staring up into the dead ruler's burning eyes, Asmodeus spoke, his voice no longer the precise and cold tones of an Inquisitor or a High Lord.

"The gods have betrayed us." At this, his attendants sat up straighter, shock stretching their features. Asmodeus was known to be a man of indomitable faith.

"This is all their work. All of it. Ever since I killed the Crown Prince. They've turned against me! Me, their most faithful servant! It's devil's work, too. I know it. Dispater the Betrayer..." He laughed bitterly. "Look at it. Look at the display, you fucking cowards! See that? Borman forces. CAD allies, slaughtering Kregaians in their path. It's a sign, you fools, don't you see? It's an omen! The night is falling..." His attendants began to tremble slightly. Was the man going mad? They still had a chance if they-

"Stop it." Asmodeus whirled on them, glaring madly around at them all. "Stop it right the fuck now. It's treason, isn't it? All of you, plotting, plotting, plotting away..." He pulled a .45 handgun from a drawer in his desk and tossed it on a table. "See that? It's loose now. And it will find you before it finds me...if you're lucky. If you're lucky, it'll be a bullet that sends you to Hell...not Lucifer. No...no luck...no hope. 'False hope, the noose of dreams...'" he quoted, turning back to the painting of Abaddon III. Abruptly, his mood changed. "GET OUT!" he bellowed. "OUT, HERETICS! TRAITORS! OUT BEFORE I BURN YOU MYSELF!" The attendants fled, scrambling to get out of the room with their insane master, convinced that he had read their minds a second ago.

Asmodeus himself plopped down in a chair and gazed, almost longingly, at the handgun that he had placed on the table. He felt himself shivering, and ignored it, giggling insanely. When he looked up, however, his laughter stopped. There stood Crown Prince Antiochus, pallid and rotting, with the horrific wounds that Asmodeus himself had given him before finally beheading the prince etched into his flesh. Antiochus's dead, empty eyes seemed to bore into Asmodeus, looking through him and past him and into him...Asmodeus could bear it no longer. "You're dead," he muttered. "I know it. I killed you. I've got your fucking severed head on a pike outside. You're dead!" he finished, his voice taking on a petulant tone. The apparition didn't speak, simply stared at him with those terrible eyes, and Asmodeus shut his own eyes. Tight. To no avail; the image seemed burned into his eyelids, and even with them shut, the High Lord could see his victim staring, staring...

Outside, the door guards to his office heard the High Lord began to scream.

"They'll be coming in a sec. Keep it together," Captain Ammon called. At a sign from the squad leaders, the twelve snipers (one from each squad) shifted away from the group, falling back to seek cover along the flanks. If they could hide themselves properly, their fire could be a huge part of wiping out any Boozian force that peeked their heads over the hill. The rest of his troops simply waited, holding their weapons steady, for the enemy to flood over, ignoring the HE rounds that detonated in their midst, taking out a full squad. So what if they had caroused and trained and fought with these men that were now corpses? Like good Imperial warriors, they simply converted regret into hatred of the enemy. What is death to the faithful?

***

Elsewhere at Gnosis, the faithful were indeed dying, and in great quantities. The Army of the Palatine was advancing, in a fluid and unpredictable movement spread over the whole battlefront, behind the screen of a creeping barrage that would tear to shreads the heaviest armored battalion that strayed into it. As the forwardmost elements of the armies neared each other, the barrage faltered, turning instead into a simple bombardment of Jahvan's forces. Jahvan's artillery returned the fire, and both armies spread out to minimize the casualties. A thousand fights, most centered on one of the hills between them; a thousand fights that would give way to tens of thousands of graves.

The advance was preceded by a short, sharp rain of hand and rifle grenades, taking up the slack as the mortatrs fell silent, then the head of a Boozian poked over the military crest. Without the body. It was certainly gory, but it had a far better chance of succes than just taking his helment and putting it on a rifle.


"Herr Leitz, message from Asmodeus. He sounds worked up about something."

The field marshall chuckled without much humour.

"That's perfectly understandable, Hansi. Now, I'm in a good mood, so you have my official permission to send whatever negative you feel like."

The barely post-teen radioman grinned, with lots of humour.

"Thank you, sir!"

To High Lord Asmodeus
Terribly sorry and everything, but none of the men can be bothered with the commute. I tried asking the Field-marshall to chase them up a bit, but he and the General of marines are drunk and making a lot of noise in the store tent.

Hoping this finds you not entirely dead so we can get a picture of the look on your face

Stabsgefreiter Hans Rosenbach, least significant person in this HQ

If anyone knew how to cram the most offense, callousness, and single-entrendes into a message, it was teenagers.

OOC: Nice one, Nova Boozia. ;) Mondoth, where are you planning to send your fleet ultimately? Are you planning to loop into the Arcan Bay and land troops on Valgoth's shore there?

IC: The Legionaries stood firm under the hail of grenades, some safely behind the cover of the Sidewinders, and were rather heartened to see a Boozian head poking over the top of the ridge. They looked to Captain Ammon, who understood that he was being offered the first kill. The officer raised his assault rifle, peered into the scope, and fired two three-round bursts that tore into the foreigner's skull. The Legionaries waited eagerly, thinking that the Boozians were coming over at last...

OOC: Sorry, internet has been down... yeah, the 'real' fleet will eventually ehad into Arcan bay. But the troops I landed will also invade, for a two pronged attack of sorts.

Bump.

The storms continued unabated. The Landing force had finished their work, the island was now more tightly secured than many nations nuclear missile complexes, britling with artillery and machine gun nests while any remote irregularity in the islands terrain was being shaved away by earth movers to prepare even more room for airfields. On the shore closest to the mainland, an invasionf orce was poised to attack, a plethora of amphibious vehicles and transpot helicopters waiting. Until the weather cleared enough they would continue to wait for the conditions to be right for a crossing.

The bulk fo the fleet continued on towards landing zones designated in the Arcan bay, ready to launch the second second invasion of this offensive deep intot he heart of Valgoth.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To all forward commanders on the Kshar Straits:

By order of High Lord Asmodeus and in light of the Mondothian invasion of Kshar, all forward defense forces are to WITHDRAW from the coast of the Straits. This order is NON-NEGOTIABLE and has been sanctioned by the priests as in accordance with the will of the gods. Any and all commanders who disobey will not be aided when they are overrun by Mondothian heathens, and will be excommunicated by the priests. Make no mistake: by standing and fighting, you do not commit an honorable act but one of the most despicable disobedience.

Office of Valgoth High Command

***

The message was received across the eastern shore of Valgoth, as far south as the Bay of Arcan. But Imperial commanders are not fools.

Asmodeus is trying to save his skin, they think to themselves. He's trying to save the capital by pulling us all back. We will do no such thing! I've heard he's going insane anyway. I am no slave, no puppet to his ploys. He must be bluffing about the priests; they'd never sanction this. No, my soul is pure, and it will remain so by standing and fighting. Mondoth will flow rivers of blood before me...

It is the surest sign of Asmodeus's onrushing doom: Imperial discipline, and the power to protect the Empire's sacred shores, have crumbled in the northern wastes of Valgoth. Borman in the south, Mondoth in the east...the stage is set.

***

"CHARGE!"

The roar tore from thousands of throats as a full Legion, 120,000 men in all, crashed into the front lines of the Javvies. Close-range fighting; bloody and personal, the way Imperial troops like it. They pull knives, blast away with sidearms; wounded soldiers may step to point-blank range and fire a 40mm grenade into the enemy's body. A fast way to Paradise, to be sure. Sidewinder LAVs make runs along the flanks, pouring 25mm cannon fire into whatever fight they happen to be skirting...only to be exposed to anti-tank missiles.

The battle rages on.

OOC: Sorry... this was really rushed.

OOC: I have returned once more from the brink of insanity, or where ever I've been, hell maybe... not the point of this, anyway, once more we play my favorite game, WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE!!!!!

IC: The SNS Stormbreaker had waited for these orders throughout this deployment, finally the orders arrived.

Military Strategic Orders

From: SMHC

To: Black Group Omega

Subject: 'Having A Little Fun With It'

Encryption Level: Alpha Sierra Delta Echo Golf 127

Decryption Key: andtheskyburnedbeforethem

Message: Black Group Omega, you are cleared to begi sorties against the Asmodean coasts, engage unfriendlies at will. Cut a path inland with the support of the EB-15 Arkbirds.



The admiral was all too happy to follow these orders, and began a round the clock series of strike missions on Asmodean assets along the nearby coast. SU-37s and TAF-622 Sparrows began launching sorties against the troops who hadn't fallen back, understandably they hadn't expected the sudden appearance of yet another threat on another front and the sorties chipped away at the beach defenses. The speed of the strikes made losses unheard of, as did the use of extremely long range weapons, firing from ranges of 40 miles or more.

Meanwhile the fleet of Shenyangi Arkbird super-bombers lifted into the night and were on site the next morning. They released dozens upon dozens of Tanto supersonic cruise missiles toward the western coast, the missiles streaked in at speeds in excess of mach 3 and then dropped from altitudes around 80,000 feet onto targets in a massive shower of death. By the end of the day a 40 mile coastline area had been totally cleared of any hostile forces. The entire naval force moved down the coast 80 miles to set up shop again for th next morning.

The ODST sat planning their next move. They knew that Asmodeus was falling apart, and as a result they had a rather dramatic manuever in mind. They just needed the right moment to make their move.




OOC: I know its short, but I'm in a hurry, and this is the best that time'll permit.

OOC: Sweet! Good to have you back Shenyang...sorry, I'll be away all of tomorrow, but I'll have a reply up as soon as I can. And Boozia, we need to finish off that army at Gnosis so we can get to Slivan and eat Jahvan alive. :)

OOC: The Bormans don’t come into this right now, but Borman is withdrawing from the RP due to time restraints. Thus, I will be RP’ing as his army, as they fulfill an important role in the overall story. Plus, Shenyang, I kind of bent etiquette by saying your men were detected; sorry...I am, as always, willing to edit. Though I suggest that, since they’d probably be monitoring Imperial communication anyway, the order to search for them would give you an interesting opportunity for a trap. :)

Finally, in your last post, when you say the 'west coast', do you mean the western side of the Gothic Peninsula? (that thing sticking up north from the northeastern corner of the continent)

IC: Colonel Japhet sighed in frustration and leaned back in his chair, sipping from the cup of cold coffee on his desk. Before him were scattered maps of southern Valgoth, marked with the known positions of elements of the vast Borman army moving up toward Darius. It was a worthless exercise, he thought grimly. Borman had ripped over the border like a tiger might rip through a paper screen, and the actions of a certain General Adam Severus, namely, a suicidal attack that had done little but get his men slaughtered to the last individual, had led to there being almost no protection between them and Darius. The few forces in the area were vastly outnumbered and demoralized, with little idea of what to do. The Legionaries could fight like crazed demons if they had a purpose; however, Asmodeus’s purpose was decaying. As was, if rumors were to be believed, his sanity.

Japhet could empathize with the common soldiers. They’d gone into the Succession Wars with a poor strategic position and little in the way of resources, sharing borders with Avaru and the Loyalists, both much more powerful factions. Asmodeus’s attack at Shield Vale had gotten the best troops of his army massacred, and before he could hope to rearrange his forces, the Bormans had struck with lightning speed. Few orders that made any sense had come down from High Command lately, adding weight to the whispers that Asmodeus had gone insane. Mondothians had invaded the island of Kshar and fortified it, and on the eastern coast, preparations for invasion were beginning. The Boozians, which apparently had been promising aid for quite a while now, had withdrawn the offer, and seemed to be firmly on the side of the Loyalists. In short, there was no hope. Japhet had realized it some time ago, and the acceptance of it made it all the more true.

A knock came at his office door, interrupting his grim thoughts. He almost smiled. He’d been looking forward to this appointment.

“Come in.”


A local farmer, his hands dirty and his cheeks hollow, walked in. In blatant violation of protocol, the man had his hat on and his head up, and stared defiantly at the Colonel, eyes hollow, as if to dare him to point out his rudeness. It was a sad state of affairs on the Kregaian continent when commoners defied the military. And the man was clearly starving. The war was producing shortages of everything, and Colonel Japhet had heard that illegal markets in basic foods had sprung up in the cities.

“Yes?”

The farmer straightened up a little and told his story. Apparently he’d heard some noises the same night as a major terrorist strike in a nearby town, like people passing by his farmhouse in the night. The site, he insisted, was not near the house itself; he had only heard this noise because he had been building a treehouse for his son. He admitted the noise hadn’t been much; a hint of voices and something metallic hitting a tree. Still, it bore consideration.

A band of terrorists, most likely foreign, had been striking around Valgoth from an unknown location; however, it seemed that in the process of heading back to base after a successful hit, they had become careless. Japhet smiled as the farmer rambled on. At least they had a lead on these saboteurs. He resolved to order a new search ASAP.

***

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To all forces in the Icarian Prefecture

A new tip has given us a lead on the elusive terrorists that have been plaguing the region. A revised search pattern has thus been created and is attached to this message. The indicated forces are to begin the search immediately. If the enemy base is discovered, notify Colonel Japhet at Southern Valgoth Forward Command; DO NOT engage. Blood and Honor.

Lieutenant Antonius Vasque, aide to Colonel Japhet

OOC: I assume you mean the ODST by that foreign terrorist group. If not, then its time to move anyway.

IC: Revenant knew it was time to move his force. They'd stayed at this farm too long, and now the enemy seemed to be getting suspicious. However, to keep them interested he decided it was time to start dropping fun flase hints. Leaving behind a few pieces of Doomingslandi equipment, they moved out in the dead of night to mask their latest move. They headed to an area of caves approximately 80 miles away. They used backroads and avoided any settlements that could give them away. Indeed they made it there without encountering even a single civilian and also evading any military search teams for that matter.

The Doomingslandi gear would throw the enemy off, they'd be looking for a different nationality of enemy once they put the threads the ODST left together. They'd be looking for a unit they'd never find, a phantom unit, and to keep them guessing the next trick was to deal with one of those pesky choppers that was searching the countryside for them.

One team of ODST took the missile armed Humvee to an area that would lead the enemy off on a 32* path away from the ODST base, not a very common angle, and as a result keeping them totally anonymous, but solidfying that they were a well-equipped unit. The SLAMRAAMs were all built from unmarked components, which thoroughly annoyed the quartermasters at base, but this was the reason that the ODST had them, anonymous death delivery, with a smile of course. To further confuse the issue for the enemy a message was scrawled on the weapon in Generian, 'From Us To You!'

The idea was that the enemy would think they were looking for a team comprised of Jipleastani, Generian, and Doomingslandi soldiers using anonymous missiles and unmarked ammo.

Night fell, and like clockwork, a Asmodean chopper appeared on the passive targetting radar. The team waited until they had a good lock and the enemy would only be able to see the route that the weapon had been fired along, but not them, then they let the weapon fly. Inside the chopper alarms blared, but by the time the pilot could try to evade, the proximity fuse went off and the SLAMRAAM tore the aircraft apart. Confirming the kill they exitted the area with a random non-homeward vector and then after an hour of random route changes finally returned to the caves where they were hidden. They vehicle was hidden in one cave, covered with camo netting, and turned off, meanwhile the team rejoined the rest of the ODST and informed Revenant of the job well done. Nothing had been left behind save tire tracks, and tose only existed for the length of the dirt road, about 200 feet, and they lead the wrong direction. No civilians had seen them, and any survivors of the crash wouldn't know what had hit them past 'a god-damned SAM' that came in from their 5 o'clock about 2 miles out at best, and nothing at worst. Being hit by a SAM in a helicopter usually had that effect on people.

The ODST set up shop and planned to stay there only one day before a planned reinforcement unit arrived. That unit was going to be of serious help when the ODST forced things to hit the fan. Nothing quite like two undentifiable 'terrorist' groups when you thought you only had one.

The AH-166 Twilight gunship began to settle in for a landing on the sixth patrol of the day, and the pilot shouted back into the troop compartment, "Ten seconds!" Sergeant Varus motioned his men to get ready, and wearily they picked up their assault rifles and prepared for what they figured would be another pointless search. The Icarian Prefecture was being combed completely for any sign of the mysterious terrorists that had been plaguing the Asmodean war effort, and so far not one trace of them had been found.

The gunship landed, lowered its ramp, and Varus's squad charged out, quickly forming up into a search position. The attack helicopter lifted again, ready to provide devastating covering fire should the Imperial Guardsmen below require it. Meanwhile, it swept the field with its searchlights, illuminating the area for the Guardsmen to examine. They themselves attached flashlights to their rifles and scoured the area for a hint of evidence that the enemy had been there.

"Base One, this is Varus. Fields clean, searching the farmhouse, over." A voice crackled back over his helmet earpiece: "Confirmed. Report immediately of any findings." Varus nodded reflexively, though of course the operator back at base couldn't see him, and motioned his men up into the house. They charged in, kicking down the door and sweeping around. It seemed abandoned...but the cobwebs that should have been present in a house abandoned for any length of time were gone. Someone had been there recently...of course, that meant nothing. Very likely it had just been some teenagers using the house to stash beer in. Still, it merited a report, and he informed Base of his observation.

"Fucking empty," one of his men muttered over the squad frequency. "Fuckin' waste of time," another agreed. "Shut up! Focus on the search!" the Sergeant growled, and decided to give them ten lashes apiece when they finished. His thoughts were interrupted by another report from his man looking in the basement: "Sarge, we;ve got some weaponry down here!" Varus hustled down there and examined their discovery. It was Doomingslandi, no doubt about it. Their weapons were unmistakable, and a prayer book in Latin was lying a few yards away, probably fallen from someone's pack. He opened a channel to Base and reported. "Base 1, this is Varus. We've found some Doomingslandi weaponry. Other than that, we're done here. Bringing it back to you now. Over." "Acknowledged," came the reply. "Hurry back. We've got a new lead..."

Varus groaned. A seventh mission today.

***

The new lead turned out to be the deaths of a similar search squad. Varus had known the leader: Sergeant Indan Kun-Dra had been a good soldier, a man of faith and honor, and a friend. The Sergeant couldn't help offering a prayer to the Slayer for Indan's soul as he stared down at the burnt, mangled corpse.

The helicopter had been taken down by a SLAMRAAM. That much was obvious. However, it was hours later, after the black box was back at Base, the corpses having been examined, and the wreckage collected and analyzed that an accurate picture of the attack could be painted. The missile had come out of nowhere, from the gunship's 5 o'clock, anywhere between 2.2 and 1.7 miles away. Shards of the missile's casing had been found, and analysis found traces of paint in the shape of letters that spelled out "From Us To You" in Generian.

The case was quickly closed. To Colonel Japhet, who was ultimately in charge of the search effort, it seemed obvious what had happened. The terrorists were a mixed squad, both Doomingslandi and Generian at least, allied to the Loyalists and here to spread terror. There was nothing more to do, he figured, than find them and bring them to justice...

Little did he realize what he was getting into.

OOC: Boozia, are you still there? We need to finish up Jahvan. And Mondoth, you can invade the mainland at your convenience.

OOC: I don't know what I'm supposed to be saying. The Boozians haven't changed anything, they're just driving north with heavy air support as before.

OOC: I was hoping your forces could come in on the battle between the Loyalists and Javvies from a flank and finish it up. Then we could head north to Slivan and take it from there.

OOC: Bleh, internet continues with wonkyness. IC post tommorrow if I can get online:(

Tanks and IFVs roared forward like great armour-plated beasts, guns roaring and growling as they tore the enemy from limb to limb. Ahead of the task-forces, recon elements roamed in LAVs, CFVs, and light tanks, slipping along offroad, striking with thunderbolt surprise on any weaker forces, ammunition and medical columns, stranded forces or enemy recon, before vanishing just as quickly. The more powerful concentrations fitted out with barricades, mortars, tanks or ATGWs, were left for the deftly handled sledge-hammers of the Kampfgruppe and their artillery.

But now, it was time for the big one. Forces rolling through the hills to the west turned sharply right, ready to hit the Javies down the flank. ADA and artillery went to overwatch positions on the reverse slopes. Attack helicopters whirred close to the columns and the nape of the earth. Air cavalry and dismounts struck out of the swamps, covered by mortar smokescreens. And the Luftwaffe came back for some more fun and games.

"Twenty-First Cohort, fall back! Fall back! Repeat, all surviving units..."

"...is Commander Mazin Hund, requesting extraction immediately; my troops and I are pinned down a klick west of..."

"...in the name of the Sacred Emperor we call unto you, great lord of war, praying that you shall welcome our warrior souls into paradise..."

"Stand and fight! You shits, die like men! INTO THY HANDS...*gasp of pain*"

Such were the messages that crowded the Javvie channels. High Lord Rahvin smiled as he listened in. The encryption machines had been destroyed when his task force had seized their camp, and their messages were plain as day to anyone listening in. Which was even better than normal given the circumstances: the Boozians had swung around and were making rather an exemplary assault on the Javvie flank, bypassing anything that was putting up too much of a fight. Hardly something a Kregaian would have done, but tactically a better idea. No point assaulting fortified positions with waves of infantry; it was a brave way to die, but not much more.

He studied the tactical display. There; the opening he had been looking for. A full cohort of Jahvan's men was being pulled out and sent to reinforce the Javvies' left flank. Rahvin's force, situated in the enemy camp at their rear, was now in a position to sweep through and drive a hole into Jahvan's line. Inevitably, they'd pull forces back from the flanks to counterattack...leaving the Boozians in a perfect position to crush Jahvan's soldiers.

The plan was coming together. He might not know it, but Jahvan was doomed. This army was already gone, and Slivan would follow. And with Borman soldiers tearing through the defenses in Valgoth, Asmodeus was being hurried down that same path to destruction. Everything was going as the Sacred Emperor had foreseen.

***

They surged out of the camp, thousands of them; they spread out in formations akin to those of a pack of wolves as they moved across the rolling hills of Gnosis. In the air above, thousands more stood in the troop compartments of Lawgiver VTOL transports and helicopter gunships. Heavy armor led the assault, followed up by IFV's among the troops, themselves filled with a squad of men each.

Legionaries of the Imperial Legions were hard men. Strong men. Efficient men. But Rahvin of clan Ares had come from a different military heritage, and it was well known that in the Empire, difficult as it might be to believe, there were soldiers that were harder, stronger, and more efficient. More brutal. The Imperial Immortals.

They were not marching in step; there was no point in doing so in a real combat situation. They were not shouting war-cries, but neither was their advance silent. They did not scream prayers or vows to fight to the death...they did not need to. Immortals are a different breed. Behind their steel masks, wrought into the image of a nightmarish skull, they are the truest instruments of the Imperium. Merciless when called for, obedient until death, sworn guards of the Sacred Emperor himself since the days of Typhon the Warmaster, 1700 years before. The Imperium's ultimate shock troops...now turned against former servants of the Imperium. Loyalists against traitors.

Immortals had no love for traitors.

They crashed into the Javvie lines like a hurricane, blasting through with grenades and ruthless bursts of assault rifle fire. Alongside them, the 25mm cannons mounted on the Sidewinder assault vehicles chewed through armor and flesh, while missiles streaked from their launchers to pierce and destroy even the mighty M146 Despoilers and T-120 Ravagers...it had been a long time since the Loyalists regretted turning these mighty instruments of war, built to slaughter foreigners, against each other. Now it was second nature.

The Immortals fought like they were possessed by the Slayer, the gunships above massacring any packs of Javvie infantry caught in the open. And from behind, artillery fire poured into the flanks...and just as predicted, the Javvies pulled back thousands of men in an attempt to surround Rahvin's Immortals, giving the Boozians a clear attack path into the heart of the Javvie army.

The enemy were dug in fairly well, with mortars, machine-guns, and other fixtures of the defence since 1916, and a ships a fool to fight a fort. But a man'o'war with a crew of a few hundred can do a world of pain to a fort with perhaps seventy, and as column after column upped and marched for the encirclement, that was an increasingly accurate description of the situation.

If you had a word to describe the Boozian army, the weapons and tactics, the generals and soldiers, the food and the jokes, it would probably be near enough to "unsubtle". There weapons had one purpose, one they never shied from. If it was supposed to be "operations other than war", why the hell was anyone sending soldiers in!

The not-so-fine art of trench clearing was no exception. The Somme had shown that going excessive with the artillery just wasted everyones time, so none of that. And the same war had shown that putting a few inches of metal between the enemy and you was a good idea.

The uninitiated might have described the opening phase as a "tank spam". But what did they know? Nothing! Philistines! It was an IFV spam!

The next phase was called "close engagement to capture enemy ground by close combat and fires", at least among the initiated. The uninitiated, somewhat more accurately this time, called it a big trench brawl.

Hey, it got the job done!

The Attack took place with ligning swift coordination as the lower edge of the sun kissed hte horizon, signifying the time of Mondothian dominance when most soldiers of other nations were preparing for night, setting watches or just waking up. The SHips in Arcan Bay deployed their landing craft and aircraft while the Modnothian forces that had taken residense on Kshar stormed accross the channel similarly arrayed. The first ashore at both assaults were the Komodo Planing Amphibious assault vehicles tht spilled troops across the beach, quickly establishing positions above the tide line. The next wave would bring engineers with sand-bags and heavy weapons squads to establish more permanent positions while Tempest Rapid Assault vehicles climbed ashore searching for the slightest sign of resistance to dispatch.
All in all the landings were managed similarly to the Landing undertaken by the Ex-Admiral Bin Jamaal, though in much larger scale and much beter coordination.
In the Arcan bay Landing, Gun-Destroyers practically beached theselves along the paths cleared by the previous special forces teams, giving the ships a commanding field of fire over the landing, both with the ships large main guns and their Air defenses.

OOC: Bump...sorry, work has piled up for me. But fear not. Boozia, you don't mind if we finish off that Javvie army in the next post or two, do you? And Shenyang, ready as always for your ODST to blow shit up. ;)

(Yay, 700th post!)

OOC: Finishing off is good.

The Protector cut through the icy waters off the straits of Kshar, its lights glowing in the dense fog that enveloped the area. The patrol craft carried a crew of a few dozen, all men who had been on countless patrols through the straits. It was arguable whether it was better to be on the ship or in their home port, Thule, and the bleak surroundings had shaped them into grim men. However, this cruise was different.

Kshar was completely silent, and had been for days. Nobody, from High Lord Asmodeus on down, knew what was going on under the fog and stormy weather that had shrouded the island from satellites. The only thing that was known about the island's status was that it had been taken by Mondothian soldiers, and it was nerve-wracking to sail these frigid seas, not knowing when the infidels would descend on you. And so Captain Athanasius, master of the Protector, sat on his bed, trying to go to sleep, feeling the ship move under him.

Suddenly the ship's alarms began to wail. Something was going on. Athanasius jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed himself, dreading that the Mondothians were finally coming. Sure enough, when he got to the bridge, the small tactical display identified the incoming contacts as Mondothian aircraft. Shit, he screamed mentally, as he watched them come nearer. Severance-class patrol ships weren't equipped with anti-air missiles, and what the ship had in the way of CIWS wouldn't go far. There was only one thing to do: go down fighting.

"See if there are any flak shells in the holds. Load them in the main gun and commence fire. They'll do to take some of these planes down. As soon as they're in range of the chainguns-"

"Captain!" a tech shouted. "We have multiple contacts incoming! Missiles, sir!"

Athanasius smiled and closed his eyes, ignoring the shouts of his bridge crew. There was no point to it. The ship was doomed. All that remained was to prepare to meet his gods.

The Protector was lost with all hands. Most of the crew was killed by the initial missile barrage; the remainder froze to death in the icy water. Their deaths meant little, except for this: the Protector had failed to report the Mondothian attack to High Command.

The Asmodean defenders would have no warning.

***

The attack broke upon them like a storm, enemy aircraft swarming out of the fog and systematically blasting AA emplacements, communications equipment, and the aircraft trapped on the ground. The coastal guns began firing, but soon the Mondothian air attack silenced these as well. Frantic calls to act rang out over dozens of bases along the attack area as troops took cover from the air attack, eagerly anticipating the Mondothian infantry landing. Most of the tanks were already dug in, a process that had begun as soon as Kshar fell, but some were trapped in the open and were blasted apart by Mondothian AGMs.

Then, silence fell. The Mondothian air units withdrew, leaving behind them the wreckage of bunkers, artillery, and tanks; and in the distance, huge shapes began to rise out of the mist. Assault landers. As soon as they were within range, the buried tanks began firing, in a gesture rather like wasps stinging a horse. Realizing the ineffectiveness of the attack, the tanks ceased fire and simply waited.

However, the larger ships waited farther away; what sped onto the shore were, instead, small infantry carriers that disgorged Mondothian troops onto the sands. Seeing their opportunity, Legionaries grinned and picked their targets, safely entrenched at the top of the beach...burst after burst of massed assault rifle fire tore through the Mondothians, scattering bodies on the shore. However, little by little the invaders established defensive positions, footholds from which they could advance, if slowly. It hardly helped the Kregaians that the Mondothian fleet began bombarding them.

The battle raged on for hours, and the sands became spattered with blood and buried with corpses. However, there were simply too many Mondothians to hold. The Legionaries, to their credit (at least as a fellow Kregaian would see it) never gave ground, and the last man died a hero's death, with hate in his heart, a prayer in his throat, a smile on his face, and a gun in his hand. And by the time the next morning dawned, the coast was firmly in Mondothian hands.

***

The Immortals stood firm as the Javvies turned against them, the Loyalists' advance into the enemy battle lines faltering as their foes desperately threw the weight of the heart of their army into stopping them. They maneuvered out of the way as the Javvies tried to encircle them, subtly dodging each attack and launching a lightning-quick counterattack each time. It was the work of High Lord Rahvin, and it was clearly making the Javvies mad. The tactic had the excellent side effect of making a Kregaian furious, like a giant swiping at a light-footed foe that kept dodging and putting him off balance. The Javvies' frustration would keep them from seeing the trap, and keep them hammering away ineffectively at Rahvin's much more mobile and elite force.

Rahvin grinned as he read High General Yataghan's report. Everything was working perfectly. Yataghan's army, the bulk of the Army of the Palatine, was in the south, continuing their attack, the sole purpose of which was to keep as many Javvies occupied as possible. Rahvin himself had stormed out of the Javvies' captured camp in the north, tearing a huge hole in the Javvie line. And at last the Boozians were sweeping in, in the final movement of the masterpiece that was the Battle of Gnosis. He'd seen the reports. Swarms of tanks and IFVs heading up column upon column of infantry, smoothly side-stepping the Javvies' defenses. These Boozians were worthy warriors indeed.

The window of time in which the Javvies could keep themselves alive was shrinking fast. Rahvin couldn't wait to smash these traitors, and bring the Sacred Emperor Jahvan's head.

OOC: Remember this? If not, check out page 10 again. Lack of time right now to finish it, but I'll get to work on it soon. Boozia, up to you whether you want me to finish destroying those Javvies or whether you want to do it yourself.

IC: Inquisitor Vlad Tepes shuffled through some papers on his desk. It was midnight, but Inquisitors were never really off-duty, and Vlad had other things to do that night. There were more important matters at hand than trials of heretics and other duties; the assassination of an absolute monarch would have to take precedence over his normal work.

The Inquisitor stared with feverish eyes out of his office window. Korronis at night; the Sacred Precinct, specifically, a display of the most beautiful architecture in the Empire...who would have thought that Kregaians could make anything beautiful? A few blocks away, the massive black pyramid of the Palace loomed over the area, illuminated by searchlights. Opposite it stood a pyramid that was smaller but otherwise identical to it: the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, a tomb for the Sacred Emperors and the greatest of men through Imperial history. If all went well tonight, Vlad's bones might one day rest there as well.

Vlad was an Inquisitor, a man of death and of torture, but his hard eyes pooled with tears of anger and joy. Weep for Korronis. Weep for Kregaia. Tormented by this mad emperor, the Sacred City displays her bruises and cries brokenly for rescue. Who are you, Vlad Tepes, if you do not save her? Years of planning had come to this night, and here he stood, after pulling strings and living two lives for so long...the time was ripe. A comet flew by overhead, and he smiled. This was to be a night of miracles, and deliverance.

***

Six hours ago, Vlad Tepes had stood in an empty warehouse, and before him had been ranks of Legionaries. Men who garrisoned the Imperial Palace, and had seen firsthand the events shaping themselves around Sacred Emperor Lucifer, whose faith was as strong as ever but was no longer placed in the madman who sat on the Iron Throne.

The sun had blazed in the distance, creating a red haze that wrapped the Sacred City in its depths. It was a perfect scene; the sun fell and took the daylight with it, as Vlad knew Lucifer would fall and take the darkness with him. The Inquisitor looked upon his small army, these few chosen of fate who had been brought to him for his task. He prayed for the right words, and he had spoken.

"For seven long years, I have watched this city. I have seen Korronis, from her most despairing depths to the heights she can aspire to, from the sewers to the gleaming skyscrapers of the Financial District. I have seen the gods, and I have seen demons..." He paused, and continued in an emotional voice. "Korronis is us, my friends. Korronis is the mirror of all that we are. Look into Southport, see the whores and the broken drones of the city, and you see your despair laid out before you. Look into the temples, look at the gold and the fire and you see your dreams and your hopes and your faith, a monument to your highest desires." Again the Inquisitor paused, and visibly straightened before continuing.

"Lucifer took this city in his hands, and molded it into himself. Korronis is a mirror of us, and Korronis is shaped by the Sacred Emperor. He has twisted it until our reflected image is so warped that the world is crumbling around us, and the only thing we can do is follow him, because he alone offers truth. I love Korronis. I love the Empire. And he has twisted my faith as well as my image, and finally it has broken. I cannot go on. I cannot follow a man who takes this city and this people and this nation and plays with them according to his insane whims. Can we wonder why the world has gone mad when Lucifer sits on the Iron Throne? And there is only one thing to do to cure this raped Empire." The Inquisitor's eyes hardened to steel, and he clenched his fists in front of him. "Force. We cannot persuade him to go, and he will never surrender...and so all we have left to us is force. This is what I ask of you. You know your missions, and this is what we must do. We will lock down the Palace, and we will take control of its key areas. Then I myself will go, and we will confront the tyrant, and we will arrest him. And there will be peace."

The Inquisitor strode among his soldiers, who still faced forward rigidly, and he lowered his voice, letting the steel in his heart show in his tone. "Harden your hearts, my friends. There is no room for mercy or doubt. Assure yourself: this is the right path. Let the coldness that Lucifer has brought to this city permeate your bones and flow into your heart. Let it freeze you and turn your soul to ice. There is hate in that coldness, my friends. Find it. Remember the first woman who cheated on you. Remember the supervisor, or the teacher, or the parent who crossed you. Remember the first picture you ever saw of an infidel. Remember that hatred, and explore it. Inside your soul, hardened and frozen by hate, there is a mountaintop, wrapped in snow...and on this mountaintop of hatred there is clarity. Find it, my friends. Stand on it. From this mountaintop a new order begins."

***

And some time after midnight, Inquisitor Vlad Tepes looked out the window of his car, finding that same mountaintop of hate within himself, staring at the titanic presence that was the Imperial Palace, thinking of the events that were to come tonight. Savoring the moment. The night had fallen on the age of Lucifer. A night of deliverance, indeed...

The message was concise to maintain operational security of the codes, despite the fact that the mechanics of the Shadow-Net comunications network made it unlikely anyone could listen in even if they wanted to.
"Base camp Acheived, the Peak is in Sight".

While the communications unit was busy arguing with the spooks over just how the message should be encrypted and when to transmit it, the engineering compaines with the help of whatever troops were not actively securing the landing area began erecting more structures, establishing more camps and defenses while the first wave of re-inforcements landed on Kshar and were shipped across.

Ont he shores of the Arcan bay a similar camp was being established and by Sun up both bases were established. By sundown the next day, troops were to begin advancing again, closing on Darius from two directions.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To all forces in East and Southeast Valgoth

By order of the Valgoth High Command, signed by High Lord Asmodeus himself:

1. XI Cohort, Sixth Legion, IV Cohort, Sixth Legion, V Cohort, Sixth Legion, and VI Cohort, Sixth Legion, are to WITHDRAW from their positions and establish a reserve of forces around the town of Tanais (OOC: 180 miles or so east of Darius).

2. All other elements of the Sixth Legion are to ENGAGE the advancing Mondothians and destroy as many of them as possible to gain time for the defense of Darius. This mission has been sanctified by the Priests, and know that you go to your deaths with a blessed purpose. Blood and Honor.

OOC: A cohort is ten thousand infantry plus support; a legion is 120,000 infantry plus support. So, 40,000 infantry are retreating, and 80,000 are heading to stop the Mondothians. But Mondoth, you can have some time to allow you get more troops onto the mainland if you want; I'm not sure if this is too much for what you've intially deployed. (If you can't tell, I want Asmodeus's forces to lose this one :))

OOC: There are 160,000 Mondothian Troops deployed in theater divided evenly among the two landing Zones. Plus, more are coming via aircraft.
IC post tomorrow (this is getting to be something of a chorus. but things are calmign down now and this should be the last time.)

The Mondothian camps became only a waypoint for a steady stream of troops, columns upon columns of Tempest Assault vehicles followed by 'Grizzly' ATGM tanks and Gorrilla IFVs beign brought up by a variety of mobile artillery pieces, all under the watchful eyes of helicopter gunships and fighter aircraft. When one wave stopped to rest, another was ready to advance so that a constantly mobile front was presented and reinforcments were never far away fromt he advance. Close air Support and arillery were constantly ready to beat down any threat that was foolish enough to present itself

OOC: It'd be great if you could do it: I'm very busy, but feel free to RP the Boozians until the battle ends.

OOC: Gotcha, Boozia. And sorry about the lack of replies; the stuff I have to do has been calling, and I gotta finish the assassination plot.

Corporal Hadrian Crovax checked his watch. 0015 hours. It had been an almost unbearable few hours, standing guard over one of the Palace’s armories, something that was about as likely to be robbed as the treasure vaults of the Nine Hells. The Legionary shrugged mentally. It was just another task, a duty like all the other ones he had performed as a member of the Korronis garrison for 13 months. Tonight, the most important task of his life lay ahead of him. Tonight he was on a mission to kill the tyrant.

...and so we raise our hearts and souls and bodies to you, Lord of Conflict, offering them on the great altar of battle to your glory. Asking nothing do we serve you in your ineffable power, yet do we serve in the surety of ultimate victory. Let your hatred flow into me and harden my heart; let my sword arm be filled with the infinite waters of your anger. The infidel and the heretic shall fear me, for before me and around me and in me you stand, Dreaded One...

The prayer was a long one, very long by an infidel’s standards, and every Legionary knew it perfectly, along with the other and prayers of the gods. What they didn’t know (and couldn’t, for there were countless) was contained in the miniature book of prayers that was as important to a Legionary as his helmet. Corporal Crovax trembled as he reached the end of the prayer. Surely the time was coming quickly.

...now, strengthen our souls. Sharpen our minds. Shape us to our holy purpose. Blood is the truth, and you, Great Lord, are the prophet; as we call upon you, we know that victory eternally is ours, for you are the commander, and you are the bannerman; you are the sword and you are the shield; you are the strength, and the purpose, and you are the blood that spills from mortal hearts to anoint us with the truth. All power and glory to you, Ar-Pharazon the Slayer, Herald of Battle and Blood, for blood is, blood was, and blood shall always be.

The last words seemed to resound as Hadrian silently intoned them, and his eyes burned with a new fire. It was time to go to war.

***

Ten minutes later, the corporal stood with a Palace maintenance worker at his side, glaring at the guards of the air-circulation systems for this part of the Palace as he strode by them. They’d been arguing over authority for a few minutes now, and the guards had finally given in when Hadrian had shown them the order from Inquisitor Vlad Tepes. Hadrian couldn’t argue that their stubbornness wasn’t justified; the men would be executed regardless, once the night’s events were sorted out in the aftermath.

Once inside the roaring chamber, filled with massive machinery, it was impossible to hear a human voice normally. Both the technician and the corporal wore mouthpieces and earphones that could function in this deafening environment.

“Where do we put this stuff in?” Hadrian asked, and glanced over at the tech. “Over there. There’s a weak point where we can introduce it,” the reply came, and the worker indicated a certain machine that, to Hadrian, looked no different from the rest. Hadrian nodded, and after consulting further with the tech, withdrew a tube from his pocket, while the tech fished a tiny blowtorch from a pocket. They cut a small circle out of the air vent, stuck the tube in, and pressed a button...and waited for a small red light to indicate when the tube of gas was empty. Hadrian smiled. The trap was set. The tyrant would be trapped, or, if they were lucky, killed outright. The nerve gas was very effective, after all.

***

Lucifer was not on the Iron Throne. Not at this hour. He didn’t live on the thing, after all...or did he? Was a Sacred Emperor physically as well as spiritually linked to that ancient seat? Lucifer didn’t know. He listened. No, the voices in his head didn’t know either. A pity. They’d come in handy before, when he’d been...insane enough to listen to them. He chuckled, not the stereotypical high-pitched cackle of a madman but a rich, deep rumble of amusement. If you couldn’t see his eyes, you might have called him perfectly healthy.

No, the Sacred Emperor was in his apartments, two of his concubines asleep on his bed and a mug of hot coffee in his hand. The drink had long ago ceased to provide any energy; it was sheer habit for him to drink it. Alcohol...that was just entertainment.

The air in the room chilled abruptly. He felt it immediately, raising his baleful eyes to see the cause of this...trick. Nothing. He saw a big black blur, granted; Lucifer decided there was something there worth seeing and forced his eyes to focus. He was immediately sorry he had bothered.

Just him again.

The demon king Dispater, known as the Betrayer, stood before him, cloaked and faceless. Still, one couldn’t help but get the impression he was smiling. The great shadow held up a mirror (Lucifer sighed with boredom), and inside was an image of Lucifer’s face, grinning mockingly, bleeding from a bullet wound in the forehead. Idly the Sacred Emperor wondered just who Dispater thought would pull it off. Lucifer ruled Death, not the other way around. Was he not the Sacred Emperor? Was he not the gods’ peer? How could such a man as he succumb to such a thing as Death? Impossible. Farcical.

Lucifer leaned back, sipped his coffee, and looked the demon right where his eyes would be, waiting for the shadow to vanish. This same vision, night after night, again and again, always preaching his death...it had been interesting the first time, but it had lost any intimidation long since. And yet, as this train of thought ran through the god-king’s head, he felt a sense of amusement, as if he was thinking exactly what the Betrayer wanted him to. A ripple of doubt ran through the mad emperor. Supposing the vision was true? It couldn’t be allowed. Who was fit to rule this Empire, if not Lucifer of...of...Halcyon? Hadion? He couldn’t remember.

The gods and demons in his head whispered to him, murmuring their poison as well as their wisdom: Kill them. Kill them all. All who oppose you must die, or this vision will come true...No! Act like a true man, or you lose the people’s trust. A true man is no butcher; he who does what must be done is a man, and he who goes farther is a monster...It’s treason, isn’t it? This whole war. Filthy treason. I’ll kill them all... Lucifer took another sip of coffee, and noticed, with rising anger, that the apparition was still there. Still taunting him with the vision of an impossible death. A sickening doubt trickled into his breast, forming into a serpent wrapped around his heart, whispering to him of weakness of mortality: Remember you are but a man... Impossible! Doubt? He was the Sacred Emperor. He could do no wrong, and he was certainly no mere mortal.

The rage built in his heart along with the doubt; his rage fed upon his doubt, and Lucifer redirected it instinctively against the source of that doubt: the vision of Dispater the Betrayer, hovering just out of arm’s reach. Lucifer’s vision narrowed and blurred; the last straw. With lightning speed the god-king whipped out a pistol and squeezed the trigger-

Abruptly he stopped and whipped his head around. Alarms were shrieking and lights flashing, and massive armored barriers were sliding over all the doors in the imperial apartments. His concubines awoke with a start, and he almost smiled at their disorientation as the two young women scrambled to get some clothes on and take cover somewhere. Fools. The gods’ and the demons’ voices subsided in Lucifer’s mind, and he sighed with bliss at the hunter’s clarity that pulsed through his blood, now that a threat lurked. A walkie-talkie on a nearby table buzzed, a red indicator light blinking on and off to show he had someone on the line. The god-king snatched it up, snapping at the person on the other end.

“What the fuck is going on? Tell me, or I’ll be smiling at your screams tomorrow.”

“Divine One, this is Seth. There’s been an attack; there’s poison gas in some of the areas around you, but none where you are. It put your apartments into lockdown mode, and we can see on the security cameras that some Legionaries and an Inquisitor are trying to get in. Without orders.”

“Traitors.” Lucifer grinned, thanking the gods for sending him such prey.

“Looks like it. We’re not positive, which is why we haven’t gunned them down with the security systems. If you’d like us to...”

“No. Leave them to me. I was getting bored anyway.” The Regent laughed, but Lucifer didn’t. It hadn’t been a joke.

Lucifer shut the walkie-talkie off and sprinted to a remote control lying near the bar. This was not for a TV or a stereo; it controlled the household settings of Lucifer’s quarters, spread out over several floors. Dimming the lights, Lucifer ran to a cabinet, wrenched it open, and withdrew almost lovingly the SG-680 assault rifle within, snatching some clips and extra grenade rounds, slapping them into the gun. He smiled and took cover behind a couch.

A humming sound drifted into the room, and Lucifer knew that it meant the main security door into his quarters was opening. He listened for footsteps, and was rewarded with the sound of boots walking on wood floors. They were spreading out, by the sound of it; a burst of gunfire, and he knew his concubines were dead. Ah, well. There were dozens more.

With frightening speed, the Sacred Emperor stood, dimly registering the locations of the seven men in his room, and sprayed a burst of gunfire that took four of them across the chest. The Legionaries went down before they knew what had hit them. The others returned fire, but Lucifer was already gone. Standing again, he put three rounds into the head of a fifth Legionary, and before the last two men could fire, Lucifer shot the one on the left side in the face, and he went down.

The last man turned and fled, and Lucifer got a glimpse of Inquisitor’s robes before his vision flickered; after it, all he could see was Dispater fleeing from him the same direction that his surviving attacker had. Lucifer sprinted after him, but paced himself; after a few seconds it was clear that he was much faster, and the Sacred Emperor wasn't looking for a quick kill...he was looking for entertainment.

His quarry turned a corner, and instinctively Lucifer knew that he was lying in wait to trip him or some such; so the god-king simply slowed, sidled up to the corner, and with vicious speed reached to the other side, grabbed Dispater's arm (the thing had a remarkably physical consistency for a vision) and wrenched it cruelly. A scream of pain echoed through the vaulted halls of the Palace, and the demon king fled again, with Lucifer on the trail and his arm limp and useless at his side.

The chase went on, Lucifer toying with his prey and reducing his strength bit by bit. The alarms had long since subsided, and finally the Sacred Emperor tired of his game. With a burst of speed, he caught up to Dispater, tripped him and slammed him on his back, and smiled down at the face of death. The serpent of doubt in his heart tried to whisper of his fear, his mortality, the sword of Damocles that hovered over his head...but in his heart, Lucifer calmly caught the serpent by the head and effortlessly crushed its skull. I am the Sacred Emperor. I am Lucifer, was his cold response as he stood over Dispater and jammed the barrel of his assault rifle into the demon king's mouth.

Inquisitor Vlad Tepes wriggled beneath the foot that Lucifer had planted on his chest, struggling to plead for his life around the cold metal gun barrel in his mouth, looking in terror into Lucifer's mad eyes, glinting with the joy of the hunt. And meanwhile, Lucifer looked back, and saw only Dispater the Betrayer cringing before his doom, his insane gaze showing his brain only what it wanted to see. "I am Lucifer," the Sacred Emperor declared, and pulled the trigger.

Lucifer smiled. Dispater was dead, his eyes told him. Dispater was dead, his prophecy of Lucifer's death was dead...and now he was invincible.

The god-king's insane laughter echoed endlessly in the depths of the Imperial Palace.

Colonel Ruidian Madonis, commander of the III Cohort, Sixth Legion, looked through his binoculars at the Mondothian force. They weren't that far away, and were still advancing. His orders were to avoid engaging them until they were within eyesight, but he had no intention of waiting till they were right on top of him. His commanders, heads of the ten centuries of the III Cohort, stood silently behind him, waiting for his orders, and at the foot of the hill lay the Cohort's camp, a large affair that accomodated all of its 10,000 men. Two miles away on either side lay more camps, those of VII and II Cohorts. IV, V, and VI were in reserve at Tanais, many miles away.

The Colonel's handheld computer buzzed, and he snatched it from his belt and read the message. Lieutenant General Vorian, head of the Sixth Legion, was not a patient man, and would brook no delay in the execution of whatever battle plan he'd cooked up.

III Cohort is to send forces, occupy Primus Hill, 2.3 miles east of camp. Fortify and await enemy attack. The rest of III Cohort is to remain in reserve; as soon as the infidels commit to an attack, envelop and crush them.

The Colonel nodded to himself and gave the necessary orders. Two thousand Legionaries, with armored support, raced off to Primus Hill. The hill itself was situated directly between the Mondothians and the Asmodeans, but much closer to the latter. Further, there were several such hills along the Asmodean battle lines; Colonel Madonis suspected that other cohorts were occupying those at the same time. This, hopefully, would confront the Mondothians with a wall of fortified strongpoints.

OOC: More coming later.

The Javvies were in deep shit.

Rahvin's force of Immortals and heavy armor had broken through completely, and now the Javvie army was in two pieces. One of these was surrounded and in the process of being slaughtered by the Boozians, while the main Kregaian force under High General Yataghan was lazily holding the other half of the Javvies at bay.

Chaos reigned. The surrounded Javvie force was going down fighting, like a true Kregaian army would, but their bravery meant little as they were being battered from the air. Even Kregaians might make tactical withdrawals when faced with a rain of cluster bombs, and Rahvin could use this to herd the Javvies exactly where he wanted them. He was doing just that, and his tactics were proving extremely successful. Besides which, the Javvies had been forced to give up their last attempts at command, as their lack of a command center meant that Rahvin had been able to intercept their messages with ease.

High Lord Rahvin was the epitome of the Imperial warrior. He knew exactly how to make a Kregaian break, how to defeat him, how to fill him with doubt despite all their faith. Simply put, between him and the fluid assault of the Boozians, the Javvies could not last. In the space of a few hours, the Javvies were surrounded, bombarded, and in the end, utterly broken. The Battle of Gnosis was over.

***

After relieving the Boozians a few days before, the Loyalists had had some time to rest. Not this time. Orders from the Sacred Emperor himself were quite simple: take Slivan and kill the traitor Jahvan with all speed. And so, the day after Gnosis, the Army of the Palatine and the Boozian invasion force headed north to the Slivan Peninsula.

OOC: I'll see if I can get a more detailed map of the Slivan Peninsula up this weekend.

And so are we revenged…

Varus stared out at the cold, dark city that spread out below the window of his apartment in the Imperial palace.

“My Sofia, where have you gone?”

A black-clad bodyguard sitting in a comfortable easy chair turned his head towards the Generian Lord Ambassador.

“My lord?”

Varus turned, a weary smile on his lips.

“Nothing, Duan. Talking to myself..”

He turned away from the window and paced over to a cabinet. Taking a cigarette from the pack in his pocket he placed it between his lips and lit it, taking a long first draw. He opened the cabinet, withdrew a bottle of Generian Black Death Vodka, and poured himself a glass.

No matter. It will all be done with soon.

He turned his bloodshot eyes back to the window and the silent city that never slept, not unlike him, or the god-king in the apartments above.

Filthy den of demons. And you wonder why your Gods desert you, Lucifer? You are betrayed by your own hand, your own eyes.

The palace alarms began to sound and Varus jumped, dropping the glass to the ground, where it shattered. Duan, the bodyguard leapt to his feet and grabbed the GIR-47f from its post beside the bed. Varus drew an L-26 pistol from a shoulder holster and moved towards the door.

“Lord, we’d best stay here.”

Varus put his hand on the door handle just as the small device resting on the desk beside the bed started to ring loudly. It was a poison gas detector, a modern day canary. Varus flung open the door, and stepped out into the hall, searching for any other signs of life. There was no one, but he could hear footsteps on the floor above. A few moments later, a burst of gunfire disturbed the painful quiet.

“We should go, Lord.”

Varus nodded, and the two proceeded towards a back stairwell that would take them outside.

You are betrayed, god-king..

OOC: Bump. Mondoth, if you didn't notice, the Asmodeans are setting up to attack.

It was show time.

Suddenly, discrete groups of fighters roared out and away from the advancing Mondothian lines. While old, the A-39 Close Air Support fighter was sturdy and dangerous, screaming in low the fighters immeiately began intercepting radio signals of all sorts, cross refrencing the signal information among the fighter groups allowed them to almost instantly triangulate every transmission source along the Valgoth lines. By the time the fighters were over the enemy troops, GPS guided precision bombs had already been dropped and were rocketing on momentum generated by the high speed drop towards everythign from Air Search radars to constantly transmitting command units.
This was a new capability, just ontroduced to the venerable A-39's and it was not 100% accurate, but unlike traditional Anti-Radiation missiles, the new style of attack would not be thwarted by turning off the source of transmission.
The Next phase of the attack would be a walking artillery barrage followed closely by the initial elements of the Modnothian Armour.

“I’m telling you, it’s not that hard.”

“Oh? Remember the last job? That fucking traitor was going to kill you. You owe me your ass.”

“Bullshit. You think a leaky twat like that guy could kill me? I’ve been in this business too long for some fucking ex-Legions badass to take me out.”

“All I’m saying is, this one’s going to be well protected.”

“Well...yeah...but that doesn’t matter. The man’s already dead, and you know it. And before much longer, he will too. Here’s the drinks.”

The two men, seated at a booth in one of Slivan’s most expensive restaurants, turned to regard the waiter who brought them their drinks. “Five fingers of Scotch...?” “Mine,” one of them murmured: Dr. Jacob Seuss, a known alcoholic and former Inquisitor; widely considered one of the most dangerous men on the continent, but didn’t look it. The doctor was well-dressed, immaculately groomed, and generally courteous. His partner, across the table, was at the same time very similar and very different.

“And...er...a bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum?” the waiter announced with a twitch of distaste. Snob. “Fuck you. Give me that,” Seuss’s partner muttered, snatching the bottle. The waiter gaped like a fish before turning back to Seuss, apparently deciding to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“Are you gentlemen ready for the first course?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll have the cucumber soup and baked baby crab...and you?”

“Waffles,” the other man intoned grandly. “Hot, tasty waffles.”

Again the waiter gaped before shaking his head as if dazed, and scurried away with a bow. Seuss leaned across the table. “Try to get it together. We have a job tonight.” The other man only giggled, and Seuss sighed and gave up, gulping down his Scotch.

His partner was Sir Topham Hatt, commonly known as the Fat Director. A portly man, he was thoroughly insane, affecting the dress of a Victorian aristocrat, while maintaining a totally unpredictable manner. And, like Seuss, he was a cold killer. They’d been working in a pair for years, and many of their hits were used as textbook examples of genius by the Intelligence Division’s training facilities. Between their oddities, however, it was a miracle they were still alive, much less still successful.

They talked of the job facing them; the security around their target, mainly, and how to bypass it. There would be some interesting opportunities here; Lucifer’s orders were to make the man suffer before finally killing him, and the layout of their target’s manor would facilitate such little games. Then the talk turned to amused stories of the campaign going on outside this city. Here, in the heart of Slivan, such frivolities as multiple-course meals might go on, but outside the defense network that had been hastily set up around the city center, the entirety of the Slivan Peninsula was in turmoil. Seuss could understand why.

High Lord Rahvin had been a famous man and a member of Lucifer’s inner court since his coming-of-age. However, since the Czardaian War, the man had become a national hero. His campaign plan, though Lucifer had helped him make that, and his talented execution of it, had brought Czardas to its proud, idolatrous knees. And since then, he had learned even more of warfare...mostly during these Succession Wars. Rahvin had massacred army after army that Jahvan had sent against him, the last two done with the help of the Boozians. The despair in Slivan, with two well-trained, committed, and merciless enemy armies advancing on their tattered defenses and with a Loyalist fleet bombarding the city outskirts night and day, would have been ample enough without the knowledge that High Lord Rahvin led the attack. As long as they believed he would slaughter them, Seuss observed, he would. There was no hope for them.

And, yet, in a few hours, High Lord Jahvan wouldn’t have to worry about it...or anything else...anymore.

OOC: Mondoth, I'm pretty busy tonight (wrote this a while earlier), but I'll do my best to have a reply up ASAP.

"Fuck, we've got incoming! All over the front!"

"All SAM and AA batteries, fire immediately. And then take out those infidel pilots."

***

Interception missiles and storms of rapid close-in fire, similar to the CIWS system of a warship, streaked from the launchers and barrels of the SAMs. They were divided into pockets and placed where they were needed most; however, this included the locations of the command centers. A few were destroyed; almost all suffered to some degree, but the thick armor of the command centers served to keep them in the battle. Many of the air-search RADAR systems were destroyed, however, forcing the communications people to start a direct data link between the orbital Imperial satellites and the air defenses.

Though they couldn't strike back at the Mondothian ground troops, they could at least exact some revenge from the fighters. Air support craft, namely a few dozen Balefires (OOC: 48 of them), rocketed in from the west and opened up. Their Methuselah AAMs streaked from their launchers, four from each plane, locking onto the Mondothian planes and activating SCRAMJETs, streaking towards the enemy at impossible speeds. Overhead, a dozen more Balefires protected a Thunderbird-class AWACS plane and some Behemoth heavy bombers, safely away from the battle. On the ground, portable anti-aircraft missiles were loaded and launched at the enemy, and the anti-air artillery hurled flak shells and missiles at the Mondothians.

The A-39's were very hardy aircraft, capable of flying with significant amounts of airframe missing. Still, the concentrated missile fire and remaining ground defenses dealt fatal damage to many of the fighters, wile many more only barely remained in the air and immediately began trailing smoke and flame back to the landing zone camps.

The second the Balefires hit the Mondothian force's radar cover they were in for a world of hurt. 60 F/A-24 Kestrels broke the cover of the Mondothian lines almost immediately, preceded by AIM-197L long range missiles, with a few deadly AARM-112s interspersed. While the -197Ls were for the fighters, the -112s were a special breed of missile, designed with the single purpose of locking on and taking out enemy AWACs assets. They had the same deadly triple dart warhead of the -197Ls, but the darts were concealed behind a radar absorbing fairing that would break apart for the terminal phase, but would mask the missile from being easily identified until then.

Then the Artillery started, great pounding guns and screaming MLRS rockets arcing gracefully into the air and then exploding violently in a variety of ground and air bursts while Mondothian ground troops began the advance.

"Incoming. Evasive maneuvers, now!"

The cloud of incoming Mondothian missiles was not wholly unexpected, but it did come at an unexpected time; just as the Imperial pilots were patting themselves on the back for having driven so many of the irksome fighters from the skies. Seven Balefires were destroyed from simple carelessness; however, the rest, equipped with ECM packages and putting their maneuverable aircraft through torturous evasion moves, fared somewhat better. In all, ten planes were lost.

The Balefires protecting the AWACS plane had more warning, but were completely taken aback when some of the Mondothian missiles seemingly changed targets and rocketed up towards the Thunderbird. Desperately they hurled fire at the oncoming missiles, stopping them...except for one, which detonated, sending three small warheads towards the Thunderbird. One Balefire, sheerly by mistake, flew his plane into one of the dart-like warheads; the other two hurtled into the AWACS plane.

Immediately its systems began to destabilize, as did its flight. Although it wasn't destroyed outright, it was severely damaged, and wouldn't survive another such impact. Recognizing this, a battery of SAM launchers below was devoted to intercepting any missiles that headed toward it.

OOC: Gotta go right now, I'll RP their counterattack and the artillery tonight if I can.

The surviving Balefires returned fire, launching a series of Methuselah AAMs at the Mondothian planes, then swung around in a well-coordinated maneuver that placed squadron after squadron in range, for a few seconds, of the estimated origin of the Mondothian SAMs. Launching a pair of Gomorrah AGMs from each fighter, they withdrew, continuing their battle with the Mondothians with their 30mm chainguns on the noses of the planes. Meanwhile, the Behemoth bombers waiting overhead launched, from a safe distance, four LRAAMs each at the Mondothian A-39s, making for a total of 32 missiles streaking from the Behemoth group towards the invaders.

Below, artillery was beginning to rain down on the Legionaries, and there was little else to do but hunker down behind the defenses and dugouts that they'd made and await the enemy attack. In the fortified hills that the Sixth Legion had occupied, the Legionaries even played cards and laughed as the shells crashed down above. Their positions were solid, and they were ready for the enemy to advance. Limited artillery counterfire did emerge from the Asmodean side, but the Mondothians had the artillery support of a full army, while the Asmodean forces had only enough to support a Legion. And so the rebel Kregaians sat, and waited for the enemy to come.

The Artillery switched from mixed tube and rocket to tube artillery alone, leaving the MLRS's to target the few enemy artillery units.
After several barrages of airbursting shells, the attack switched to mixed ground and time fused shells to dig out entrenched positions.

In the air, things were going more interestingly. The A-39s were not designed for air to air combat, relying on their armor and ECM to stay alive against enemy fighters. Having effectively destroyed the Asmodean's SAM capabilities, the CAS fighters were swiftly limping off the battlefield. In their place were the deadly F/A-24s fighters designed for combat in the air. And from their wings flew a volley of shorter ranged AIM-197s as they closed with the balefires, mixing in a few more AIM-197Ls and AARM-112s at the Thunderbird.

Back on the ground, the grunts prepared for he assault, IFVs began disgorging troops, snipers fanned out and began entrenching themselves while ATGM teams followed suit. Tempests moved into final positions in front of the IFVs and Grizzly tanks, ready for the final assault.

As the Thunderbird had been extensively damaged in the last scuffle, there was little warning about the F/A-24s screaming in from the east. The lightning assault wiped out some more of the Balefires, whose pilots began to grit their teeth in impotent rage as the Mondothians continued their assault. Twisting their planes around, up, down, and through, the Balefires strove to shake the enemy off their tails, launching Methuselah AAMs or a burst of chaingun fire at any target that presented itself.

However, the AIM-197Ls, indistinguishable as they were from the rest of the missiles, could not be stopped. One after another they streaked into the Thunderbird, blasting it apart to rain fragments on the fortifications below. Without the AWACS to direct them, the planes were thrown into chaos. Knowing their deaths were near, the Imperial channels were suddenly crowded with pilots screaming curses and prayers. Some of the Balefires launched everything they had at the enemy F/A-24s; twelve others shot up to Mach 2.3 and started a suicide run at the emerging Mondothian army, emptying their missile launchers and firing their chainguns nonstop as they streaked towards the infidels.

***

On the ground, a new theater of the battle was developing. The Mondothian artillery barrage was shifting patterns, from airbursting shells to time-delayed fuses. Most of them bounced off the metal screens that the Legionaries had erected while fortifying the hill; some, however, missed the screen, forcing Legionaries to scatter damn quick, lest they be torn apart by the explosion. Even these measures couldn't save everyone, and there were soon several deaths. Ignoring it, however, snipers took their positions behind the defenses around the top of the hills, targeting anyone that looked like an officer (receiving salutes, visibly directing troops, etc.) in addition to generally raining .50 caliber slugs on the Mondothian ground troops. They'd be coming soon...

The glow of the tactical display seemed harsh. Maybe it was the darkness surrounding it, but the glow tore into High Lord Jahvan’s retinas as if he was staring into a spotlight. It burned; not to look at the thing, but to understand it. To consider what those pieces of data meant.

Rahvin and a Boozian army were outside Slivan. The Loyalist fleet had been bombarding the city constantly, and save for the final reserves garrisoning Slivan, Jahvan had no military left. And just how long could his defenses be expected to hold out? He didn’t know; Jahvan had been an admiral and knew little of land war. He only knew enough to be convinced of his downfall.

“How long can we hold out?” he asked in a dead, flat tone.

“Well, actually, the situation’s not quite so bad as it seems,” a general began, but then, noticing the look in Jahvan’s eyes, prudently fell silent. Jahvan gestured wordlessly at the display and at the information it showed; the extensive damage taken by the city’s artillery batteries and fortifications, the lack of any naval defenses...just as bad were the intangible factors, the despair of soldiers and citizens alike. No, there was no hope. Jahvan sighed, dismissed his generals, and walked back to his limousine. It was going to be a bitter ride back to his estate.

***

Dr. Seuss stared at the laptop, absentmindedly swigging from a bottle of gin by his side. The world was at his fingertips tonight, and a wonderful feeling of anticipation was seeping through him. Of course, that could be the gin. It didn’t matter; Seuss had proved on many occasions that he could drink enough to kill the average human being and still shoot fairly steady. It ran in the family.

Pulling up a different window that displayed a view of an elaborate entrance hall, Seuss stared at that for a bit. Soon enough, the door opened and a pair of Imperial Guardsmen escorted a tall figure into the hall, where servants removed his coat. Jackpot. High Lord Jahvan was back in his estate, right on time. Dr. Seuss nudged Sir Topham Hatt, currently snoring comfortably behind him.

“Hey. Fuckhead. Wake up.”

Hatt woke up, muttering darkly about how his suit had been ruined by sleeping in this “totally barbaric excuse for a pallet”, as he put it, but pulled his hat on and checked his equipment like normal. “Time to move out, then?” he asked, holstering his weapons. “Yeah,” Seuss replied, taking a last giant gulp of gin. “Jahvan’s back. Same plan as we always had. Go.”

***


Soon, Seuss was crawling through the air vents. It couldn’t have been more cliche, but Jahvan had been idiotic enough to have vents big enough for a man to crawl through, and so Seuss figured it was called for. Gazing down into the brightness of the room below, Seuss mentally cursed and pulled out his handheld computer. Pulling up the same program he’d put on his laptop, the one that enabled him to tap into the house’s security system, he checked the camera monitoring the room below him. Luckily, there was only one guard, and he was wearing earplugs: the room below was a generator room, and was rather noisy. Smiling to himself, Dr. Seuss pulled up the grate and dropped lightly into the room below. Crouching, he snuck up behind the lone Imperial Guardsman, slowly drew a combat knife, and with frightening speed slit the guard’s throat. Seuss didn’t bother to hide the body; with any luck the mission would be over quickly, and the shifts weren’t scheduled to be relived for hours. Nobody was coming in until then.

Turning to the generator, or rather, the control board close by, Seuss began fucking around. Flipping switches, mashing buttons, jamming toggle switches so they stayed in one position...the lights, and everything else electrical, was out long before Seuss stopped having his fun. Pulling out his walkie-talkie, he clicked it twice, the signal for Sir Topham Hatt to go. Then Seuss himself moved out, taking great pains not to be seen. It was time to play.

***

Jahvan straightened abruptly as the lights flickered out in his bedroom. He glanced around, fruitlessly, as his eyes were totally unable to pierce the dark. He listened, to no avail; the only sound that greeted his ears was the thumping of his own heart. Moving quietly to his nightstand, he opened a locked drawer and felt around for the revolver he kept in here, against the day when Rahvin came for him and Jahvan should have to take his own life. Holding it in a professional position, by the right ear, he made to leave the room and go find his guards, when the lights went back on. Not brightly; on the contrary, they glowed with the faintest of illumination, but they did allow Jahvan to get a dim idea of where he was going.

As he stepped out into the corridors of his estate, a voice rumbled over the intercom. Jahvan jumped, pointing his gun wildly at the darkened corners of the halls, but he saw nothing. No shape. No sign of an intruder at all, save for that terrible voice on the intercom.

“High Lord Jahvan. High Lord Jahvan...I know you can hear me, traitor, and you will save yourself much pain by responding to me...” In a voice that held only the barest hint of nervousness, the High Lord replied aloud, “You know where I am. Who is this?” A rich chuckle crackled through the speakers. “Be satisfied, traitor, with knowing that I am here to punish you. Betrayal always carries a price.”

“Shut up. Where are you?” Jahvan muttered angrily, striding through the halls in search of this intruder. Again the mysterious speaker laughed. “Behind you, traitor.” Jahvan whirled around, but only to find a mirror, framed with gold, upon which some irreverent hand had scrawled a crude image of a hand extending its middle finger towards where Jahvan stood.


“Fuck you! I’m not playing! Where the fuck are you?!” Jahvan roared, furious at the intruder’s umbrage. Another voice answered him, not over the intercom; a human voice, rich with amusement that did not entirely hide the hard tone of insanity. “But we are playing with you, traitor! And what a game it is...” Enraged, Jahvan fired off two shots in the voice’s direction, only to be rewarded with another mocking laugh from the man speaking through the intercom...and two return shots that blasted two fingers off his left hand. Jahvan bit his tongue to keep from crying out in pain, and then the pain turned to fury. He fired again at his unseen tormentor, and again was only rewarded by laughter. It was starting to seriously make him mad.

“Almost, traitor! You almost had me. Tell you what, maybe you’ll shoot better somewhere else!” The intruder, the one who had fired at Jahvan, must have fled then, because he heard footsteps running down the darkened halls. Jahvan ran after him, determined to find the intruder and kill him for his insolence. However, as he passed a vaulted intersection of hallways, a foot stuck out from behind the corner, tripping him heavily onto his face. There was a wet thud as something landed beside him. The High Lord looked at it, and stifled a gasp of shock. There, eyes glazed, blood seeping into the fine rug, lay the severed heads of two of his guards. Freshly killed; he could still feel traces of body heat emanating from the macabre trophies. Scrambling to his feet, he caught a glimpse of his assailant turning left at another corner. Smiling to himself in spite of the throbbing pain in his hand, Jahvan pursued, neatly stepping out and leveling his weapon at the intruder, who was standing in just enough to light to reveal his features. Jahvan’s mind processed a short, pudgy figure in a top hat before something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him to his knees as if offering obeisance to the strangely-dressed assassin.

“A fitting place for you, traitor. Kneel like that to the Sacred Emperor, and he might just spare your filthy life.” Snarling in hate, Jahvan tried to rise to his feet, and suddenly he felt red-hot agony tear through his leg. He’d been shot again! From behind? He rolled over, grunting in pain...and saw, with mounting panic, another intruder behind him, taller and dressed in a more modern suit. The new intruder leveled his gun at Jahvan’s face. “Get up,” he commanded. Jahvan recognized the voice; this was the man who had been talking over the intercom. A dark wave of fear crashed over him, and the High Lord pushed himself agonizingly to his feet. Backing up against the wall, Jahvan trembled noticeably as the two assassins took another step toward him, their sneers of contempt a clear indication of the murder in their heart.

“Wait! Wait, please! You can’t just...kill me! I’m unarmed! What kind of thug would kill an unarmed man?!” Jahvan prayed this gambit would work. He’d impugned their honor by calling them thugs, and they would either take him alive to prove themselves otherwise...or kill him outright.

In hindsight, it had been a bad move.

The short, pudgy one muttered something incomprehensible and laughed insanely. The tall one stepped forward, and with one hand wrapped Jahvan in a crushing embrace...the other hand dropping to point a pistol into Jahvan’s gut. Leaning towards Jahvan’s ear, the assassin whispered,

“Life is only a game, traitor. And you lost.”

In three rapid shots, the life of High Lord Jahvan was gone.

Dr. Jacob Seuss straightened and smiled, letting the corpse fall to the floor. Sir Topham Hatt pulled out a knife and bent down. After all, the Sacred Emperor had specifically demanded the traitor’s head…

In the Air, the F/A-24s broke into chaos, launching flares and decoys while pumping out high intensity jamming to try and break the missiles lock, while spamming the air with missiles of their own mixed with the 25mm shells of their chain guns, trying to bring down the enemy fighters as fast as possible even while avoiding death themselves.
For some, it was too little too late and several fighters broke apart into flaming chunks, leaving only the small figure of the pilot in his ejection seat dangling beneath a parachute. Many others weren't so lucky.

On the ground, the enemy suicide runs were spotted and responded to, many of the Grizzly ATGM tanks fitted Meteor SAMs, based on the AIM-197 design but fitted with a soft launch booster to get it out of the vehicle safely and a secondary booster to push the missile to altitude. additionally, a small number of Gorilla IFVs wielded deadly 30mm gattling cannons and air-targetting radar/IR sets that immediately swiveled and began firing the deadly rounds into the oncoming threat alongside the Grizzly's missiles.

The artillery spotters relayed reports back to the Batteries which adjusted their timers accordingly, hoping to detonate rounds right on the screens, shredding them.
meanwhile, snipers carefully picked out their Asmodean counter-parts and returned fire, often with a carefully directed artillery shell or missile from one of the Grizzlys just to be sure. The vehicles were fitted with counter-sniper parabolic detection systems that could triangulate the position from which a shot came from and direct artillery fire to it automatically.
otherwise, most of the troops, especially the officers, took shelter and settled in for the long haul.
If the Asmodeans didn't start things first, then the attack would begin at night fall.

OOC: I have GE’s permission to RP Varus, at least to this limited degree.

IC: Lucifer stood over the body, eyes alight with savagery. The soul of a predator pulsed through his veins now, and such was the true foundation of the entire Imperium: the spite, the contempt of the prey, the hatred and focus and cold ruthlessness of a predator, pervaded with the vicious joy of the hunt. The core of human primal urges. His brain basking in the flames of insanity, he turned his face down again, gazing at the corpse below him, seeing only the robed and cloaked form of the Betrayer lying shattered at his feet.

In the distance, alarms wailed; it didn’t matter. Lucifer had faced the true enemy, had hunted him and killed him...and the Betrayer was dead. Betrayal was dead. Joy ran through him at the realization of what this meant. The master of caprice lay slain at his feet, and who now could aspire to challenge Lucifer? Servants crowded around, staring at the dead body, wondering who he was, for Lucifer had blown the would-be assassin’s face off when he killed him. Lucifer ordered the crowd away and called for his Regent and Imperator Vuell.

They arrived shortly, both looking disheveled and carrying guns. Imperator Vuell was in his military uniform; Seth Jamaane was in ceremonial armor, as he had given a formal address earlier and not had time to remove it. On their heels, and soon surpassing them, ran a Palace page who, panting, bowed deeply before the Sacred Emperor and delivered his report. “Divine One...Lord Varus has left his apartments...” he puffed, trying to get his breath back. Lucifer went still at the news, and replied coldly, “Find him. Bring him to me. I’ll speak with him.”

***

They failed. But sooner or later, someone will succeed. You aren’t immortal, Lucifer, you’re just a human with far too much pride. Sooner or later, you will slip, and someone will be there waiting, smiling, holding a knife.

Varus felt a wave of anger wash over him as the gate guards stopped him and escorted him back to the Sacred Emperor. He should be dead. He was supposed to be dead. And now, because he wasn’t, Varus would have to explain why he’d taken his staff and tried to leave the Palace. Hardly something likely to convince a paranoid tyrant that he hadn’t been involved in the assassination attempt; one way or another, though, he doubted Lucifer would find out the truth. Generia did not try to assassinate its allies.

The god-king was standing with an assault rifle in his hand, blood spattered over his clothing, and in general looking every inch the barbaric conqueror. But Varus was not so weak-minded as to be drawn in by that bullshit. Yes, he’d just killed a man. But if he expected the Generian to give an inch because of it, the tyrant was sadly mistaken. Varus stood and waited for Lucifer to speak, and after a moment’s pause, he did.

***

“Lord Varus. I trust the raid did not disturb you overmuch. We of the Empire pride ourselves on our hospitality. It would pain me to think that such an honored guest would...become associated with such a plot.” Lucifer smiled inwardly. Drop a few hints. Fog the issue. Perhaps the wily Generian would slip, just a little bit...it was worth a try. Varus wouldn’t leave the Palace unless Lucifer allowed him to.

Ever since he’d killed the Betrayer, the voices had risen, shouting in Lucifer’s head, as if each was trying to drown out all the others. Now they shouted at him, instead of simply raising a general tumult, but one above all else whispered softly in his ear:

You have slain the Betrayer...who now dares to defy Lucifer the Great? Fear no one. You are a god. Varus is nothing. The High Lords are nothing. Who can harm the Sacred Emperor? Know this, and know that there can be no equivocation in this: nothing can destroy you, god-king. Nothing.

He remembered the play Macbeth, the tragedy propelled by misleading prophecies, and above all the line stood out in his memory: “Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn the power of man...” He heard the shadow that whispered to him, and felt its satisfaction at the words. Yes. Bloody, bold, and resolute. Do not let the mortals, these worms, call you to account. Who hinders you is a blasphemer; who questions you is a traitor. Kill such men. Together we shall make such a sea of blood that the whole world will see, and tremble, and bow before you.

Dark promises...but ones that took root. And Lucifer smiled, and knew then that he was above mortal considerations. Which meant that the whole thing was a game. And the best game was a bloody one.

***

“Not at all, Your Majesty. Were it not for the alarms, I would not have even known there was an attack. I trust you are safe as well?”

“Of course,” came the reply. “Assassins have come before and will come again, Lord Varus. And in all cases, they have proved and will prove inadequate.”

You just keep on thinking that, fucker.

“I am glad to hear your confidence is as unshaken as your faith.”

“For I will bathe in the blood of the heretic and the traitor, and be made clean!” Lucifer’s sudden shout echoed through the halls. Varus didn’t recognize the words, but it sounded like some religious reference. No doubt more babble from the official Kregaian twisted dystopian pagan sham of religion that propped the Imperium up. And by the uneasy looks on the faces of the Regent and the Imperator, they didn’t think it had been a wise choice of words either.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty? Are you sure you’re quite well?”

Lucifer stalked toward Varus, looking him right in the eye-the men were much the same height-and growled, “Do not patronize me! I am anointed of the...” His voice trailed off, and he gazed into the distance as if listening. Abruptly his eyes refocused on Varus, and when he spoke again, it was in an entirely different accent than the standard English diction he always employed.

“Yes. I’m...yes, I’m fine. The Imperium notes your concern, Lord Varus.” In midsentence, his accent changed back to normal. Even Varus was taken aback. What the hell did he just do? The Imperator’s handheld computer buzzed, and Jakran Vuell snatched it up and glanced at the message there. Smiling, he stepped forward and whispered something Varus couldn’t hear into the Sacred Emperor’s ear. A slow grin spread across Lucifer’s face as well, and he ordered Vuell to “have them back as soon as possible.” Turning to Varus, he boomed, “Excellent news, Lord Varus! The traitor High Lord Jahvan is dead!”

Varus offered a diplomatic smile and a slight bow. “I am sure Emperor Kazatmiru would offer his personal congratulations, were he here.”

“As am I,” Lucifer replied, then muttered, “I cannot be betrayed...but who would have thought they would scream so?” More madness. Varus didn’t know if the phrases were two separate thoughts or not; what he did know was that Lucifer’s insanity was manifesting itself more and more, a progression that mirrored the war’s consumption of this forsaken continent.

“With your permission, Your Majesty, I must take my leave. The Embassy will want a firsthand report on this failed raid. I hope Your Majesty...has a pleasant sleep.” And with that parting shot, Varus bowed, turned, and strode from the Sacred Emperor’s presence.

***

Lucifer watched him go. He could have laughed. The arrogant fool thought he was so clever, thought he could deceive the master of the Iron Crown. Well, Varus was in for a surprise. Just like everyone else was. Jahvan had fallen, and soon now Aurelius would be back in Lucifer’s hands.

He would begin his retribution there.

Turning to Imperator Vuell, he ordered, “Have Rahvin stand by to accept the surrender of Jahvan’s government. And tell the Borman army to hurry up. I want Asmodeus dead by this time next week. Send the same message to those infidels...the Mondothians, that was it.” The commander of the Imperium’s armed forces bowed before his divine ruler, and left to give the necessary orders. The Lord Regent likewise bowed and took his leave, and the Sacred Emperor walked alone from the body crumpled on the ground. Great deeds had been set in motion tonight...the gunshot that had killed the Betrayer would set off an echo, and that echo would bring forth a tide of blood. Lucifer started to take the path to his apartments, but suddenly changed course and strode to the Hall of Confluence. There was truth there, in the darkness of the halls, in the infinite shadows that cloaked the ceiling and walls, in the fires that illuminated the rest, and in the cold metal of the Iron Throne.

As the god-king walked, he felt the voices in his head thundering, booming their pleas and commands, louder than they ever head. He frowned and shook his head to clear it, but it did not fade.

No matter. Surely it would go away soon.

OOC: Mondoth, reply coming ASAP, as usual.

(OOC: A little self whoring here,a s well as some valid story)

The News was universally bad. On the war front, High Lord Jahvan was dead. While there had never been cooperation between Jahvan's forces and Mondoth, it had been Adm. Parkers eventual plan to link up with Jahvan forces against Lucifer, but the war had quickly soured for Jahvan. it hardly mattered anyway as the second piece of news came in.
While reading it Adm. Jessica Parker quivered, her skin paled and she gasped for breath.
XXXXXXXXFLASH TRAFFICXXXXXXXX
To: All abroad troops
From: Mondoth High Command
RE: Attack
As of 4:37 this afternoon, East Mondoth Time A nuclear weapon of unknown origin was detonated in Oil City. The estimated death toll is in the millions and climbing. For security reasons, all active, un-engaged military units are being immediately recalled, all engaged units will remain on station until further notice. Mail to Military personnel is being frozen for morale reasons.
END MESSAGE
(Link (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=506272))

OOC: Mondoth, I'll understand if you have to withdraw due to the nuke; I was going to put the RP on hold shortly anyway. If that's the case, just tell me, and I'll pause Volume Two. Needless to say, you're welcome when it restarts and when Volume Three rolls around.

If you don't have to leave, then we'll keep RPing...but be advised that either way I'll have to pause the thread at a suitable stopping point.

OOC: I'm not planning on leaving, but Pause away

OOC: All right then. *presses pause button*

RP PAUSED.

Volume Two is not yet over, and I hope all of you will be able to continue when it restarts; so far, it's been great, and I look forward to finishing it and moving on to Volume Three after a nice break. So here's where we are:

-Jahvan is dead, Loyalists/Boozians occupying Aurelius
-Bormans advancing on Darius from the south, Mondothians from the east; last remnants of Asmodean army is trying to stop them.
-Avaru and Ishamael still engaged in a battle royale on the Devil's Dance Floor, no decisive results yet.