NationStates Jolt Archive

Decadence.

A word that Dreadfire cursed...a word that described the state of his Empire. Though his gaze was still directed towards Sniper Country for their treachery in the months past, he was content to watch them tremble and brace for a storm that may or may not arrive. However, he had claimed his prize early: the head of the Confederacy, John Phillips. For months he had been confined to The Halls of the Dead, starving and diminishing in his cell with nothing but the stench of putrid rot to keep him company.

Dreadfire pondered to himself as he stood in front of a large map of the world that took up an entire wall in his planning room. Sure, Sniper Country would be a grand enemy, and the spoils and fame would be great. But what would be the benefit? The Confederacy was under Gholgoth's umbrella regardless, and an annexation would do little to further the Empire's reach across the globe. As he toiled over what move to make next, his son Azrael entered the room.

Good morning father.

Damien glanced carelessly over his right shoulder and continued to immerse himself in deep thought.

May I ask what you are doing here, starring at that map all morning?

He motioned his son over to his side, pointing to several spots on the map that were familiar to AMF.

I'm plotting our next move Azrael, one that will be our boldest yet. Word has reached my ears that the 5 Kingdoms, once the former stronghold of our hated foe Melkor, is beginning to come out of its civil war. It seems Althalon is the likely candidate to take control...which raises an interesting question in my mind.... why not strike now when they are their weakest? Our ceasefire with the former Imperium has lasted for decades...but perhaps it is time we finish the job our UTP brethren failed to accomplish?

Azrael had heard of Operation: MAGE before, and the bloody clashes that took place. He knew of the Reaver landing, the slaughter of New Genoa's marines, and the Imperium setting the sea ablaze with oil. He knew of the failures of the UTP...failures that Automagfreek was apart of.

Father, are you saying that you are going to make a move against one of the most feared nations in history?

Dreadfire turned towards him and smiled.

My son, we are the most feared nation in history. While the Five Kingdoms have torn themselves apart through war, the Excessively Armed Empire has flourished. In all of our ninteen great wars we have never been defeated. I sense there is a power vacuum within the region.... a void to be exploited. I belive that Automagfreek can easily fill that void, and send a clear message to all the world: that not even the most legendary of nations can stand before us.

With the Five Kingdoms out of our way, who will be left to challenge our might? Who left could possibly stand before us once we have vanquished their armies and conquered their lands? None...none would be left that could threaten our resolve.....and the banners of Automagfreek will then spread across the entire planet. Quite simply put son, with this victory, it will begin the age of a new world order....an order of Damien Dreadfire.

Azrael was unsure about the consequences of such a war, but he could not deny the fact that there was an golden opportunity right in front of them.

What are your orders, father?

Dreadfire moved closer to the map, and began gesturing out his plan. The fleets of the Empire had been on full combat alert since the altercation with Sniper Country, but forces could easily be diverted for this campaign.

I will lead the incursion into Arda myself, with you, Zander, and Brinks by my side. We will keep Vidimir and Lucian in reserve to keep Sniper Country in check should they seek to capitalize on this deployment. IO do not forsee thiswar lasting very long, but at any rate, keep the tribal garrisons on alert. Mobilize Vlad, Shagrath, The Vile, and Count Anderton for defense ofthe homeland, and keep supply lines tight. We deploy at dawn.

At dawn? Azrael was surprised by the words, but he knew that the window of opportunity would not be open forever. With that, he bowed respectfully to Damien and exited the room. His car was waiting outside the Great Hall to take him to the ULE City airport, where a waiting chopper would fly him to his flagship at sea.

That night, Dreadfire took up his body armor and rifle, as well as the Relic's Sword. He paused to say a brief prayer to the Corpse God, asking for his blessing in the coming battle, and to grant him swift and decisive victory. As he finished praising his God and gathering his gear, he noticed a cold wind began to blow from the east....the direction he would be heading to get to Arda. A great storm is on the horizon my Master, and through a torrent of fire I shall offer you the corpses of a billion men and beasts.

Several hours later, the first elements of task force Dreadfire departed the Freekish waters and sailed hard east towards the horizon. Zander's fleet had ben stationed several thousand miles to the north east, and would likely be the first to arrive on the scene. But explicit orders had been given that Damien would be the first to touch Arda soil, and the last to leave it.

With that said, the long journey out to sea began, with the Warchiefs Azrael and Brinks hot on Damien's heels. Without stopping, the massive armada closed in on the waters of Arda, where they would engage and subdue the outlying territories before attacking the heart of the Five Kingdoms. Freekish Stratosfighter patrols skimmed the high atmosphere in search of any enemy bird, while Supremacy class submarines silently scanned for foes that might be laying in wait. As the distance to Arda began to shrink, the aerial and subsurface patrols began to widen their defensive perimeter, and in unison Dreadfire's fleets began to spread out.

The Sentinel class Super Dreadnoughts "Reaver" and "Templar" were brought along as part of the incursion force, while the "Sentinel" had sadly been left in defense of the AMF homeland. Their massive hulls cut through the waves in the center of the armada, with missile frigates and destroyers surrounding them. The Freekish carriers and battleships stuck towards the center of the formation for now, but would play a pivotal role in the landings that were about to take place.

Althalon was about to be greeted by the blades and bullets of several hundred thousand Sentinels initially, and to his dismay that number would then be dwarfed with the forces that sat in reserve. With Arda waters just on the horizon, there would be no chance hell that a force this size would go unnoticed.

My children....my bringers of death and terror, the time has come. Soon you will finish what we started so many years ago...soon you will bring a great victory to your Empire. On this day we will succeed where so many have failed, on this day we will show the world that WE the force to be reckoned with...and on this day we will smash the legendary fortress of Arda into dust.

Fear not their weapons or numbers, for you have tools far greater than anything they possess: Skill, determination, lack of fear, and bloodlust. We must strike fast and without mercy, and our already weary foe will fall quickly. But do not take them too lightly, for they know how to fight. But I say to you, Sentinels of Automagfreek, that YOU fight that much harder. YOU fight with that much more rage and power.

This will be the biggest war in the history of mankind. The glory is yours...TAKE IT!

The Sentinels roared their approval as they rushed to their landing craft and battle stations. Soon the war against the Five Kingdoms would be underway, a war that many had seen as long overdue. He would issue his formal declaration of war once the first ships broke into Arda waters, because it would be very likely that those within the region would not see an AMF fleet as aggressive. Good relations up until this point would be a great cover, or at least that is what Damien hoped for....to at least have the element of surprise.

Only time and Althalon's cunning would tell.

"Coming about to course 531, depth... 300 feet, aye sir." The boat rose under the crew's feet and tilted to port slightly. Not enough of a change that anyone that had their sea legs would even think about while walking down a corridor.

The Captain surveyed the sonar screen and frowned. The submarine had been shadowing the Freeks since they left port. There wasno doubt in his mind what was about to happen. He pointed at a blip that appeared for an instant and vanished. "What was that?"

"Most likely another sub. Looked.... like another Supremacy." That got the Captain to stand up straight.

As far as the navy knew, only The Silver Turtle and Crimmond were operating Supremacies and with the collapse of the Great Eneffable Bob... "Was it one of ours?"

"No way to tell... not unless we ping and see what manuevers they do. I know what our tactics look like the back of my hand." the sonar man reported.

"And when we ping, half the ships in the area drop depth charges on our heads. I think we need to let the Freeks know that there's a Crimm presence nearby."

A low frequency pulse signal rippled through the water. The signal itself was coded in a standared Gholgothian code and stated that Crimm Supremacies were nearby and would engage the enemy alongside Freek forces.

Within two minutes, five other pulses, each from drastically different parts of the waters around the task force, sent a message in the same code. Orders recieved.

The Captain smiled as he took a seat. "Gonna be an interesting day."

Armadas do not just fall from the face of the Earth. Okay, actually they do that all the time; such is the way of fractal reality. But assuming that they don’t do that, then they’re usually pretty easy to find. Especially when they sail into the region of Arda. An area more scrutinised than even the most popular centrefold. Backtracking and ship analysis and consultation of stored elenpalantiri network data. What’s more, such news not qualifying as ‘secret’ it doesn’t take long for images and commentaries to be posted all over newspapers and stations. When an armada turns up off the waters of a supposedly pseudo allied state, loaded for bear, analysts often have their work cut out for them.

However, the consensus was quickly reached by both the military and civilians: They’re not there for Milk and Cookies. Alarmist talk of a possible return of Morgoth linked to this fleet wasn’t indeed ruled out by all circles, un-sourced though it was.

Talk began to circulate throughout government circles (which included just about everyone) of the coming war. Talk that went so far as to suggest offering military aid to Althalon’s regime, But consultations would have to happen first, and more observations would need to be made. Satellites that passed over Automagfreek were suddenly assigned a rather high priority for analysis. Eyes gazed with fervent interest at strange doings, and tongues wagged eagerly.

A post at the Largentian Naval Command and Logistics Center [LNCLC] was usually considered punishment for some minor insubordination. The truth was, Largent hadn't had real powerful naval fleet for years, thus monitoring the seas and everything in them was a rather tedious, even pointless task. If anything decided to float close enough shore batteries would hold them off long enough for some trans-atmospheric vessels to finish them off. However, every once in a while theres a force out there that raises a few eyebrows and is cause for a little concern.

Today at the LNCLC there was a blip on the radar screen that definately brought the AMF fleet into the catagory of "eyebrow-raising". This would probably one of the more interesting conflicts witnessed in recent history. This wasn't going to be some pissing match or stand off, the AMF armada was already heading in for action. No warning, nothing. It was also no great secret that very little love was lost on the Five Kingdoms on the Largentians part, then again they had no great passion for the Excessively Armed Empire either. So the situation wasn't only interesting, it did the Ba'ath National Command a little good.

Just as reports of the armada were working their way up the chain of command, the LNN waisted no time in airing their five part special designated "Target: Arda" as high quality satellite photos brought the nation up to date on everything that was happening. This war would certainly be the talk of the water cooler very soon.

High Commander Andrew Coleman IV looked up from his paperwork as the ancient door to his office opened. He straightened as he saw who it was. "Colonel Hilts, what can I do for you today?"

The ex-Aerofighter pilot handed him a report. "Damien Dreadfire got a wild hair up his ass and is sailing a fleet to Arda."

They both looked at each other for a moment. There weren't many people who didn't remember or know about the campaigns in Arda so many years ago and how it all ended, in a stalemate. "He's acting... alone?"

"Not exactly... magnetic anomaly and ocean displacement monitors say there are six of our Supremacy class submarines shadowing the fleet."

Coleman leaned back. "It's standard proceedure for the Crimm military to offer assistance or to assist without offer to both the Freeks and Panterans... if whever Damien attacks in Arda finds out that there were Crimm submarines supporting them... we would have to deny it and leave Damien on his own, capable as that is, or admit it and prepare ourselves for a counter assault. Place all military bases on a war footing, contact the Vladimir and Nod Assault Groups and have them head to the vicinity of Arda, but do not encroach on Ardan waters unless ordered to support the Freeks." A pause. "And get me a secure connection to Saint Freeksburg. If I can't talk to Damien, get me Hartman or Jackson. I want to know why they're doing this. Damien may have a history of mental illness, but he's not stupid."

'You woke up this morning
The world turned upside down,
Thing's ain't been the same
Since the Blues walked into town.

But you're one in a million
You've got that shotgun shine.
Born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.'

--A3, Woke Up This Morning

As is generally the case, the first agency to get wind of these developments happend to be the Commissiriat of Propaganda. Of course, since no diplomatic communique was forthcoming from AMF, it took the administration a few hours to figure out what was going on. Once the course for Arda was certain, the agency springs into action. Within hours there are posters plastered all over the buildings on the lower levels of Daturias and every other major metropolitain sector in Arda. They called, of course, for the immediate destruction of the AMF fleet and berated the populace with a "Strength Through Fear" campaign, wherein the consequences for losing the war are made readily known. Often credited with being the most efficient organization in Five Kingdoms politics, the Propaganda office was quickly cited for a special commendation from the Emperor himself.

"Here it is sir, as hot off the presses as she's gonna get."

Reaven douses his cigarette and reaches for the paper. "Damn, they did this up nice, didn't they?"

His adjutant nods, tucking his file folder behind him. He finds himself unconciously straightening up, as if at attention, when Reaven speaks to him. Obviously, the man had been removed from the Foreign Office, and Althalon decided the man's talents as an orator were put to better use within the walls of the Commissiriat of Propaganda. The man was a fine speaker; some credited him with creater acumen in this talent than the Emperor himself, mostly by virtue of the quality of his voice. Even his critics had to agree that it was almost hypnotic.

Reaven leans back in his chair and brushes an invisible something off his suit.

"Excellent. Very well written. Have it censored immediately and issue a statement that I have blacklisted the author. I'll leave the specifics to Undersecretary Mirsh. Have him decide what civil reprimands are to be levied against the author. Meanwhile, I'll have my agents investigate the effect of this publication in the AMF camp."

***
"...has published a report that contains what some military analysts are describing as a 'disturbing' portrayal of our capacity to counterattack. In the article--which goes so far to state that armed conflict against AMF in the area is futile--the author makes some very specific claims about our capabilities in that sector. Military police have already suspended the presses and the author is being held for questioning, as the knowledge displayed in his article is shockingly accurate..."

Annelle Lyndon switches the radio off and looks worriedly to the skies. The house is filled with the rumble of jet engines as countless craft ripped through the atmosphere thousands of feet above her. When she realizes that the damn engines might as well be in her basement, and indignant scoff escapes her lips as she pushes open her front door. Troops are marching through the streets and about ten federal flyers and a Jumbotron are visible instantly. She sits on her porch and realizes that her neighbors are out too.

"Hey Ann," shouts one of the men, lifting a vessel Annelle assumes is full of malt liquor. "Looks like war."

Annelle waves in response to the greeting, and exhales sharply in response to the following statement, sending a strand of hair flying out in front of her like a streamer at the airfield. "It always looks like war. If I didn't know any better I'd say those men are out here on routine excersizes." She's exaggerating of course, her tone makes it obvious.

A chorus of low rumbles comes from the neighboring porch. "Did you hear about that report that The Emperor's all pissed about?"

Annelle bit her lip. Her cousin wrote it. "Yeah..." she sort of trails off, obviously not interested.

"...They're sure tearing that guy a new one," comes a second voice. The rest of the men make various indications of agreement. More malt liquor is imbibed. Annelle turns her gaze back to the streets, and worry once again fills her brain. With a war on women were encouraged, as a general rule, to stay home and raise families. That was all well and good--Annelle reasoned--but at this point in her life she was more interested in her career; which, as it wound up, had no use in the field of warfare. She wasn't ready to settle down and have a brood of children, but like any other woman in the Five Kingdoms with a uterus and a functioning pair of ears, the pressure to fulfill her role was certain to increase and difficult to bear.

This, coupled with her increasing worry about her cousin Marcus, was enough to induce a powerful headache. Apparently, he had written a piece in last week's newspaper about the military situation in the Gallus region, at which the AMf fleet appeared to be pointing. Usually, new press doesn't get that much attention but somehow this article would its way on up to the Propaganda office. While Reaven usually let the newsmen speak their minds since paper journalism was seen as something of a trashy medium anyway. Word on the grapevine had it that Ezr Sergoyan or [according to some sources] the Emperor himself had personally intervened. Ann had spent the last few days using her contacts within the Propaganda and lower-level media offices to find out what was going on.

She narrows her eyes at a passing troop column. A shudder runs through her body despite the heat.

South. Everything's moving south.

Silvia had been charged with keeping the Great Hall in order during Dreadfire's absence, a task she had frequently been given. It was always a bittersweet moment to see her father and brother sail off to battle, because most of her life she had been without family. And now that she had found them, they were frequently parted by the tides of war.

She moved about the twisting corridors almost as a specter, her face expressing the sorrow that her heart felt regardless of how well she tried to mask it. It was only in Damien's gardens that she felt truely free from it all, and it was there that she sat at the foot of a large maple tree. Normally she did not bother to read the news, for in her mind it contained nothing but doom and gloom. But on this day she summoned a servant to bring her a paper, and after unfolding it she began scanning for any story relating to the coming war.

Mention of a certain document coming from the Five Kingdoms and discussions about its contents dominated the second page. Silvia grew worried, hoping that her headstrong father had not gotten wind of the document, because she feared he would be overzealous. It was in this moment of deep worry that The One materialized and made his way through the bushes towards Silvia.

Good day, Lady Stormguard. I am sensing turmoil in your energies m'lady. Is everything alright?

Silvia rose from her spot beneath the tree, taking a second to remove the grass tht stuck to her sky blue gown and run a hand through her now knee length black hair. It's just...I worry about my father. I know he is strong and he is capable.....

The One finished her sentence for her.

But you fear he is not as sharp upstairs as he used to be. Let me say this Lady Silvia, Damien Dreadfire is not a man that is easily duped. He has a gift from the Gods...a gift so potent that they regret giving it to him. He is blessed with a cunning mind and a strong arm, but simply put: He is a destroyer. The man was created to end life, plain and simple, and there is nothing he does better.

If I could depart these shores I would follow him into any battle, regardless of how hopeless it may appear. Only Damien can manage to achieve victory when the odds are stacked so heavily against him that any hope of merely escaping alive is slim. I know you are well schooled in history, and you know the destructive force he is about to combat. Believe me, if there is one lesson I have learned from him, it is this:

Fight every battle against every foe as if it were your last. From the strongest nations to the weakest, Dreadfire fights with the same cunning and fury. While I am merely a humble servant of his, there are times that I do feel the emotions you are feeling now, a sign that perhaps humanity is rubbing off on me. But one thing is certain: Damien will live on, and as long as Azrael remains at his side he too shall be safe.

Silvia had to fight back tears, but she placed an arm around The One's shoulders and thanked him for the encouragement. Thanks, it really helps. Sometimes I'm not sure I'm cut out for the whole 'warrior princess' bit. I'm not strong enough for it.

The One chuckled and cocked his head towards Silvia, his long brim hat still shrouding his vile face. There is strength in you my dear. But if the warrior lifestyle does not appeal to you, you are more than worthy to live the life of a plain 'ole princess.

The two shared a chuckle and continued their walk through the gardens into the late hours, before the setting Freekish sun began to die on the horizon. Elsewhere in the world, the setting was not as calm nor peaceful. Dreadfire was busy on board his flagship, the Mouth For War. The mysterious black cloud that lingered above it began to flicker with electrical activity, casting flashes of light periodically into the heavens.

Northwest. Change our heading to northwest for several miles, then hold position. Over open channels I want you to send a message to Zander's fleets and tell them we are off course, and to rally on my location.

Damien's orders confused his first mate, but they were followed regardless. There was a conference call shortly thereafter between Dreadfire, Azrael, and Zander on a highly secure frequency discussing the reason for these orders.

I know it sounds strange, but since no formal declaration has been issued so far, there is a very slim chance this may buy us some time to get into position. Perhaps Althalon will refrain from a full mobilization for fear that our presense here may be in error, though it is unlikely. However, this will give us a legitimate cover to allow your fleets to move into position, because I would hate to do so while the incursion is being made. It makes for sloppy policy to not be totally ready.

Once you have arrived on my location, I will make a sharp turn east and we will press the attack. I will be in close communication with both of you until I depart for the shore.

After the call was concluded, Dreadfire's plan was set into motion and his taskforce made a sharp northwestern turn, then paused shortly thereafter. What Althalon would make of this was unclear.

'Sky of blackness and sorrow
Sky of love, sky of tears
Sky of glory and sadness
Sky of mercy, sky of fear
Sky of memory and shadow'

--Bruce Springsteen, The Rising


One by one the little black dots grew larger and climbed up the skyline. As they change course, the sunlight bounces off the newly exposed starboard faces of the craft, briefly creating a funny looking phenomenon in the twilight sky. Not failing to notice this spectacle, John Holt snaps a photograph, and turns around as he hears a hatch seal shut behind him. Towards him walks Commodore Roland Petrik, a Dunlending fleet commander who had won some notoriety in the later years of the campaign against Morgoth, delivering decisive blows to the Loyalist fleet.

"Hello, sir." Holt lowers his camera. He nods towards the formation as it lumbers past. Their own ship soon turns in tandem with them. "I love it when that happens." Almost unconsciously he offers a salute.

Petrik returns it. "I'll still never forget the first time I saw the sun rise from thirty thousand feet." He chuckles. "That's when I knew I wanted to be an airman." Silence lingers for a moment. Petrik speaks again suddenly, surprising his adjutant. His tone is more serious now. "I've given orders to begin our descent. We're approaching our rally point and Navigation informs me that the fleet is due there on time; i.e. in two and a half hours. Combat personnel are to be called from their quarters in fifteen minutes and the officer's briefing will take place in my assembly hall within the hour." He points to the sky slightly below them, where a formation of fighters conveniently scrambles into view. "Fighters are en route to their sorties. Ten minutes ago I was made aware of the presence of unverified aircraft in the area. Scouts believe AMF is scouting for a landing in the south of the Gallus region. If he continues northward past An' Arraš, we will be able to split the fleets and deploy to the North and South of their formation."

Holt nods and snaps to attention. He salutes again. "I will see it through, sir."

Petrik salutes again. "See that you do."

***
A woman steps forward on command and deftly reaches up to catch Althalon's cloak as he releases the brooch. Quickly she wraps up the fabric in her arms as it falls over his shoulders. Almost unconscious of her presence, the Emperor leans forward, thrusting his finger at a dot on the map with the words "An' Arraš" above it. It was a coastal town on the western end of the Arraš island chain. There was a decent sized stronghold there, but obviously it was nothing of the magnitude needed to repel a landing like that with the equipment and manpower onhand.

"The way I see it," Althalon explains, "this is their breakpoint. If they move past An' Arraš, a landing will be difficult on account of othe terrain, and given present conditions I can't see them establishing a beacheahd very quickly until they get all the way up to.." his finger slides up to another town on the coastal northwest of the next island. "..Port Archoerus. They could make a landing here, or at Arraš. Currently they're still closer to the Gallus district, as we all know."

"Could they still land at Gallus?" Khaled Sudani steps forward, gesturing to the peninsula that justs out westward towards the AMF fleet.

"It's possible. They could still do it; it seems that Gallus was what they were pointing at originally. Strategically, if I were him I would prefer to land at Arraš, but I'd have to study AMF military history to see if he'd actually think the same way, which I doubt. A landing at Arraš would be best, with Gallus at second best and if they land at Port Archoerus they'll be eaten alive. If they move on Gallus we'll know soon enough, but in the meantime I'm going to assume Dreadfire knows what he's doing and plan for a landing at Arraš."

Althalon snaps his fingers and beckons Sky Marshal Garrand to him. "How are things looking in the air?"

Garrand opens a folder for reference and lowers his eyes to it. "Mobilizations are proceeding well in Gallus and from our airbases around Arraš. The gravs are heading south towards the area and are expected in the area well before the invasion force. No airborne contact has been reported at this time, but several unconfirmed reports indicate that AMF has been running scount patrols all over the Arraš island chain. At this point our control of the air makes weaving between islands for a fourth landing site impossible. Scouts report the force is large enough to land at Gallus, Arraš and Port Archoerus
in force, although such a deployment could be favorable for a counterattack. The landing force is estimated to be one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty thousand men."

"Reserves?" His gaze shifts to Ezr Sergoyan.

"Thirty more divisions are being called up, and we've made it to Deployment with fifteen more; they're on their way down there now. In the area we have about 13 active and 22 reserve divisions. Most are stationed at Arraš, but a rapid deployment to Gallus is possible if they move on it. Reinforcements are on their way south towards Port Archoerus, and can be made ready to defend there by the week's end, or at Arraš by next Tuesday."

Althalon ponders for a moment, his mind taking a different turn. "Keep the Litany of Fury out at sea." He points to a seemingly random spot on the map some thousand miles off the western coast of Arda. "Park her there with a defense force. Keep her under the jetstream." He scribbles down some coordinates and sends them off with an adjutant. "When they reach this zone, have Commodore Kordiyeh radio me for instructions."

His aides exchange confused looks. The Imperial flagship, being sent a thousand miles to the west? The most feared gravship in the Five Kingdoms aresenal; the famous Sky Furnace Gothmog captured and renamed by Althalon, the Litany of Fury was the jewel in the Five Kingdoms fleet. As a Sky Furnace, few in the room understood its purpose at sea. It was obviously not going to be a part of this battle.

Ash Jurgen, a staff meteorologist, looks up from his notes suddenly and his mouth drops open. He starts to speak, but already Althalon's figure is diminishing past the doorway.

Zander, Brinks, and Azrael were now in position. Moments later Dreadfire's fleets made their promised turn east, but then suddenly shifted slightly southward. No doubt Althalon was aware of his landing zones, but perhaps he could still defy expectation. The furthest island in the Arras chain would be the first target naturally, and satellite imagery revealed a decent garrison on that particular section of land. Dreadfire knew that the Five Kingdoms boasted a very extensive SAM network, similar to that of the AMF homeland. He also knew that gravships were coming down from the north to greet his forces....but perhaps Althalon failed to realize that Damien had fought these things before. He knew their weak spots in and out, but also did not underestimate their strengths. Coupled with the SAM network, his air campaign would be strictly on a defensive and supportive measure....at least until the SAM's and gravships could be shut down.

Damien's fleet was now well within missile range, and his frigates, cruisers, destroyers, and other small surface vessles prepared themselves for the inevitable salvos. Long range Skewer missiles would be the first line of defense as always, supported by medium range Hellrage and short range Gladius missiles. CIWS, ECM, and SmartFlak were also locked and loaded in the event the inbound enemy ordnance made its way through, which was pretty much a certainty. Dreadfire would clearly have the advantage in terms of naval power, which would be a great ace up his sleeve in the island hopping campaign he was about the engage in.

Targets on what was known as "Red Island" had been selected by the Freekish eyes in the heavens, while targets on "Black Island", "Gold Island", "Silver Island", "Green Island", and "Blue Island" were being determined. These secondary islands would be the next on the hit list, and between the four fleets these targets would be well saturated with hellfire and brimstone.

Damien's main incursion force was parked and ready, while nearly half of his fleet sailed further east. They would join in the bombardment but refrain from landing at their site many miles away until after the inital touchdown. Sensing that at any moment his fleet could fall under attack, and not wanting to lose the advantage of striking first, Lord Dreadfire ordered "all weapons free".

Moments later, long range multi-purpose Skewer missile exploded from their VLS tubes on board Damien's flagship, as well as the Super Dreadnought "Reaver" and the hundreds of smaller frigates, surface vessels and subs. Their targets would be the artillery pieces and armor that supported the infantry on the island. After giving the missiles time to move out towards the land, the large 30" guns of the "Reaver" roared in fury, belching black smoke and fire as the mammoth rounds flew towards the shores. They would drop death upon the large troop concentrations in the area, while rocket assisted 18" rounds from the Mouth For War and 16" rounds from the smaller battleships would target the SAM sites. Knowing that a bloody air battle would ensue, Dreadfire thought it best to lighten the aerial resistance.

After being given the go-ahead, the secondary fleet that began moving eastward joined in as well, firing towards the main LZ as well as their own with the same tremendous volley. With the maticulous timing of the whole operation, those on "Red Island" would soon find themselves on the receiving end of all the ordnance hitting at once. From then on out, it would be a fire at will bombardment, followed by a massed infantry push. Shell after shell, and missile after missle were fired towards the shore as the landing craft began moving into formations. Their 60mm mortars and 40mm vulcan cannons would only come in handy very close to the shore, but by that time an insane amount of firepower would have been unleashed

The decks on every carrier within Dreadfire's fleet began to empty, sending hails of AM-67 Hellcats, AM-25 Stratosfighters, and lightning fast (but lightly armored) AG-14 Deathknights into the air. They remained in formation above the fleet, but slowly began to widen their perimeter and vary their altitudes as the bombardment intensified. Damien knew that the gravships were about 30 miles out, and he knew that he must strike first.

After a few barrages, he ordered several fists of reserve frigates to come forward and fire a score of ASM's and long range Skewers towards the gravships. The battleship Frenzy lended its triple mount 18" guns to the attack, sending rocket assisted armor piercing shells racing towards the gravships at high speed. The other Sentinel class Super Dreadnought, "Templar" assisted as well, rattling off a volley of 30" RA, AP shells of its own. The various 16" deck guns and VLS tubes joined in as well before the behemoth would have to relocate west to support the other fleets in the area.

With a sharp gain in altitude, the Stratosfighters cruised at the highest altitude the atmosphere would allow them to, arming their payloads of bunker busting warheads and anti-air missiles. They would attack in staggered waves, supporting the brunt of the fighter air defense as well as engaging the gravships directly. It was at this point that the fleet began to spread its formation wider while still maintaining an effective defensive perimeter. Electronic jamming of non-friendly frequencies was put into effect, and reserve ammunition was brought forth in case the battle lasted longer than Damien had anticipated.

He had set forth a powerful and well coordinated first strike, one that would certainly show Althalon that he was not dealing with a novice in warfare. The Sentinels were well versed in the art of combat, and now they were moments away from clashing with one of the most legendary forces the planet had ever known.

Space images detect intelligence and experts of Leocardia say AMF is making their move. President Jason Batista had been informed about this immediate and was called to attention into whether Leocardia would need to step in some action in this. Jeff, a messager who reported the news to Jason, was requested into his office.

Yes, Jason?

Nervously, he sneaked into the round office room of the President. Fearing that he would receive more death threats from the President.

Jason turns around with his office chair and gives Jeff a deep stare.

Jeff, I've called you in to tell you that we're caving in. Our military cannot handle frequent military aid as well as keeping up our proud tradition of having a well controlled government. What I need is a new military training program that is taught directly from special units such as AMF's Sentinels.

Jeff stood listening before Jason's rage strikes.

I want you to tell AMF's Dreadfire and ask him if our forces can join his men and gain experience and learn the training of the Sentinels. Now go off!

Jeff listened to what Jason asked him to do.


---------------------

To: The Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek
From: Jeffrey, Leocardian Representitive

Warrior Damien Dreadfire,

President Batista wants to aid you in your fight in order to help our army gain numerous amounts of experience and to see the ways of war from the AMF Sentinels. Leocardia's main focus is to keep up a well-stabled government and keep them in power without letting a overthrow or revolt take in place. Our 100,000 well trained soldiers are the few who would want to aid the AMF in their battle. We ask, do you confirm our agreement?

A quiet neighborhood in the quiet outskirts of Gdansk, the rebuilt port city that was devestated so many years ago by AMF naval bombardment, now almost forgotton. The perfect place to settle down and raise a family is how it seemed now. Loads of small homes, where children played and people walked their dogs. It was peace and quiet. That quiet was broken by a Marine Light Recon Vehicle taking a sharp corner at several times the reccomended speed and skidding to a halt in front of a single story home. Several people out that morning, adults and children, stopped and stared as an Imperial Marine, armed and wearing light combat armor, with black Captians insignia on his collar, stepped out of the vehicle.

He ignored the civilians and walked up to the front door and knocked. No answer. Doorbell. No answer. After that, he seemed tired of waiting and literally kicked the door in. He stepped inside and spoke to someone, then stepped out. Only a couple minutes later, the woman the neighbors had thought a cashier stepped out. She too was in Marine combat fatigues, marked with Sergeant's stripes, and she was carrying an MTAR-21 miniature assault rifle, which she expertly loaded as she walked down the driveway. What was most different was her face. She was usually a very happy person... at the moment, she looked as cold blooded as any Marine in Crimmond's history. They both got into the vehicle without looking at the neighbors and sped away, leaving the neighborhood dumbfounded.

It was at that moment that six Marine helicopters flew over the outskirts of Gdansk, into the city. Minutes later Aero-fighters roared towards the Baltic. This was causing the small communities more confusion. Was this an attack? A mobilization to attack some other nation? Soon enough, they went back to their lives, as work didn't give a damn if war clouds loomed.

Sergeant Rapa Cious looked at the Captain Mobuto as he drove and then at the sky. She could see the aerofighters climbing high. "This is bad, isn't it, Cyrus?"

"When isn't it, Rapa? Don't worry... this won't last long. It'll either end in a great victory, or Europe being destroyed by Sky Furnaces." He smirked at the gaping look he gave her. "That's right... we're about to go against Arda. You get the details while we're in the air. We'll be joining the Nod Battle Group... which is heading into the Atlantic from North Africa as we speak." The battle group was a newly formed carrier and assault ship force, with cruiser and missile destroyer fleet supporting. It was named in memory of the Brotherhood of Nod and was home based in North Africa, the same as it's namesake.

---

Automagfreek

A man in a black Crimm uniform approached the gaurded gate to the building that housed the main offices of Dreadfire's Ministers. He handed over his ID to the gaurd, who compared the scarred face to the equally scarred face on the picture, then nodded and let him by.

He walked into the building and up to the front desk. "Inform Ministers Hartman and Jackson that Colonel Otto Skorzeny III wishes to speak to them both immediatly. If they are unable to speak with me within an hour, I will be forced to make my reccomendations on these... most recent military actions to the Empire of Crimmond without their opinions and reasoning added into them." He then strode away and found a seat nearby. Colonel... well, great-grandfather... I've fufilled the traditions. As all members of the Skorzeny family in Crimmond, he was descended from Otto Skorzeny, the Most Dangerous Man in Europe. The man sitting in the Freek lobby had risen in the ranks of the elite Intelligence to Colonel, as his namesake had. He didn't care what Otto I had done to Jews or anyone else, he just admired his Great-Grandfather's ability to do, if not the impossible, the improbable and live to tell about it. He longed to do things like that himself, but was struck with the fact that reailty sometimes has other plans.

Such as this boring assignment to give reccomendations to the High Commander about how to help the Freeks, or whether or not to help them at all. He would rather be on the Vladimir or Nod, preparing to storm beaches alongside Marines and Commandos and Sentinals. Even being onboard one of the Supremacy Class submarines stalking the Freek fleets would be more interesting than this. But he waited... personal dissatisfaction mattered little in the Imperial Marine Corps.


----

Vladimir Battle Group

The dack of the carrier pitched in the dark waters as the group approached the dark skies of Arda. While they were still a day away from the shores, the group was constantly moving, closing the distance slowly. Not until they recieved orders would they make a push to a range where landing craft could be deployed. Hopefully Damien's forces would draw most of the fire away from key beacheads, if they recived such orders.

Until then, the three Amphibious Assault Ships that were with the group held drills to see how quickly each group could load and prep a landing craft for launch.

'Oh, a storm is threatning
My very life today
If I dont get some shelter
Oh yeah, Im gonna fade away

War, children, its just a shot away
Its just a shot away'

--The Rolling Stones, Gimme Shelter

Petrik's initial reaction is one of relief. The Fleet had taken quite a risk in getting so close without shooting first, and he knew it. Althalon had obviously decided that the political advantages of allowing Dreadfire to shoot first outweighed the military benefits of firing before the enemy. With the AMF fleet still in international waters, Althalon saw no use in allowing Dreadfire the shabby excuse of being "out on excersizes" should Arda initiate the hostilities [as if the presence of enemy troop transports wasn't signal enough of their intentions].

The Ardan fleet was still clearly in a defensive position, and even after the volley was loosed and preparations were underway to deal with it, the fleet still failed to bring all their guns to bear on their Freekish naval counterparts; eschewing offensive maneuvers for the moment in favor of a more conservative defense against imminent fighter threat. Air raid sirens blared as crews wheeled their ships upward. Eventually, the ships come perpendicular to the sea, forming a formation of monolitic edifices. One by one, the gravships slip their aft sections under the water, as flak frigates rose out of the water and PD gunships dove underneath to protect the precious grav engine assemblies from underwater threats.

Thus, at the expense of a full capacity for immediate retaliation, the gravs were able to maneuver their engineering assemblies underwater, leaving the more heavily armored sections of the craft above where they could both receive and administer the necessary beatings that were sure to ensue. From the air, the formation resembled the Roman testudo, with its defensive armaments deployed on all sides, with the main combat craft relatively secure inside.

Flak gunships flew towards the incoming AMF air formations, as the 4th fleet's entire fighter compliment wheels straight upwards to meet the AMF bomber craft. The presence of Flak ships within the fleet made the presence of pursuit aircraft superflous, and it was obvious Petrik had no intention of dogfighting between the larger gravs. Instead, the hulls would have to hold until either the AMF troop columns were forced to land, or the 6th Fleet arrived on the scene, whichever happened first.

Holt, on the deck of the Ardan command cruiser Storm of Ruin, adjusted his figures in front of him and winced as a shell rocked the room. Struggling to maintain his hold of the microphone, he narrows his eyes at the paper and mutters a soft string of curses. "Get those tubes loaded now and bring them to bear on the ordered coordinates within 90 seconds!" he shouts angrily. "I want those ships under constant fire from now on," stresses the officer, driving the point home with a slam of his fist onto the radio assembly. On the other end of the line hurried movements can be heard along with the clank of metal and the obligatory booms of enemy shells landing around them.

"Yessir of course. Coordinates have been received and tubes will be cleared in 81 seconds. Standby for damage assesment."

Holt flips a switch on the radio and drops his receiver with a groan. "...reported to be minimal on the mainland. Roughly 200 soldiers are already confirmed dead on Osser Island. Staff hospitals in the area are reporting 335 wounded in the first hour. Most are said to be maintanence personnel and their abscence, while tragic, is not anticipated to have a major effect on the overall fighting abilities of the garrisons in and around Osser. A counterattack is being prepared, we assume, against Freekish artillery--"

"--XV Fighter Wing is preparing to make contact," announces a calm, professional voice from another radio. Holt wheels around in his chair and scoots across the room to the other radio and presses a few buttons.

"Copy that. Proceed with your sortie. The Storm will issue ongiong support as necessary. COntact with enemy fighters expected gravside within the next few minutes."

"Roger that."

Holt leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head as the scream of artillery and hiss of grav missiles filled the air. The Arda IV Fleet, arrayed all about him, had just cleared its missile tubes and most of its guns at the AMF transport craft and tanker fleet. Clearly, the counterattack had not fallen along the lines as promised on the radio; AMF's guns were being left alone for the moment more or less. Instead, Petrik had decided to take advantage of the fact that AMF had scrabled its air cover to dispatch the Ardan gravs, diverting some fighter strength from formations around the infrastructure sections of the convoy. Whatever forces AMF had in reserve for general fleet defense would have to be made apparent soon. Of the 3 fighter divisions in the area, one was proceeding upwards towards the advancing AMF fighter/bomber threat, and two were taking to the skies against the Freekish troop transports.

Much to the dismay of political officers, commerical radio frequencies and civilian emergency channels were jammed. Fleets were forced, in view of radio jamming, to communicate either by visible signal, or by tightbeam communications when the network could handle it. Priority signals were patched out to the air wings and to HQ at Arraš; and that facility in turn handled communications to the Osser region, which appeared to be the first point of attack. The garrison strength at Osser clearly demonstrated that Althalon had not anticipated a landing that far east. For the last few days, constant radio and television reports indicated that reinforcements were being hurried to the region. Holt wasn't sure whether that was actually taking place or not, as he had heard a number of conflicting reports from some of the MI Taskmasters in the area...

***

The Vzj' nakai convocation straightens up visibly as the Emperor strides in from stage left, resplendant in his combat armor: a large, overpowering collection of fine bronze, platinum, and gold blacksmithing, underlaid with a more advanced armor system. The suit was clearly a powered armor set, which made evident to the viewer Althalon's interest in meeting Freeks on the field of battle. If Dreadfire had to appear in person with his armies, it was obvious the Ardan leader had every intention of following suit. He comes to a stop at the podium and turns to the crowd, revealing the true dimensions of his armor. A cheer rises up from the crowd, as they quickly understand his purpose. Althalon waits. The din swells and very nearly shakes the walls of the assembly hall. Even over video broadcasts, the screaming and thumping of armor grows to nearly deafening levels.

A vain man would raise a hand to quiet the crowd, but Althalon restrains from such a gesture and instead waits patiently, modestly even, for his men to unleash their approval. His hands, folded behind him previously, are pulled from behind his back and he rests them on either side of the podium.

"Men!" He starts fervently. "Men of Arda, hear me now; hearken to my words here in this strange hour. Our lives now thrust us as one to a strange precipice, ordained by the more inscrutible machinations of fate." He raises his right hand, cupped upwards as if interdicting an invisible stream. "But we must not forget!" His fingers spread. "Fate has been kind to us! It has held great challenges against us, and we have always prevailed! Now, the enemy endeavors to test us by fear!" His hand suddenly balls into a fist and he brings it down on the podium at the word 'fear.'

He pauses for the briefest of moments, and now, his right hand still balled in a fist on the podium, his left sweeps out over the crowd, his index finger extended. "The same fear that would rob the perogative of resistance from the minds of lesser men; men not of Arda!" A cheer begins to swell, quiet at first. "This instrument alone the enemy hurls at us now in the hour of our rebirth; his armies will stand naked and decrepit in the fields if this fear does not descend upon us!" He raises his arm violently and brings it down suddenly as if pulling a rope from above. "We do not respond to fear!"

The cheer rises up again now, and the thumping of power armor soon accompanies it. On the video production, the camera snaps to capture the jubilant expressions of a few fighting soldiers as they cheer. Again, Althalon waits. "Even now our heathen attackers have cast the die by firing on our garrisons at Osser." He clasps his hands in front of him. "As we speak a war begins in the skies of south central Arda that can only end with the destruction of our aggressors; both on our lands and his. Damien Dreadfire presents himself as the worthiest of foes; we are supposed to cower at the mention of his name and bestow upon his armies a solemn title of skill, brutality, and relentlessness."

He pauses again, allowing this point to sink in. He hunches over the podium and thrusts a finger skyward. "But against us he has not been tested! On the shores of Arda, where the UTP coalition broke like water against rock, so too shall the Freeks fall; from Osser to Gallus to Arraš and everywhere between!" He shifts his weight and delivers light blows to the podium as he emphasizes. "These barbarians who have sailed now to our shores, presume to maintain political legitimacy by attacking a state with which it has had no previous contact within the last. Thirty. Years. The Freeks still see us as cronies of the Great Enemy." He spreads his hands. "Dreadfire clearly must regard us as still under the thralldom of Angband; for it is with Morgoth his greatest animosity lay. Our enemies are clearly politically inept. Time will tell if the Freekish military can perform up to the rigorous demands of conflict with Arda..."

Annelle switches the television off and rushes into the other room as the telephone rings. Hastily she brings the receiver to her ear. "Hello?" she asks tentatively, glancing at the caller ID. She shifts her weight to one side and back. "So he's alright then? Where are they keeping him?" A plane flies by, and Annelle covers her ear. "What?" She leans forward, as if somehow this will help. Her eyebrows shoot up. "He's in Arraš?"

Excellent, here comes their flyboys, right on cue.

The Ardan counterattack proved to be swift, albiet one filled with several obvious flaws that made Dreadfire smirk in pleasure. The first noticeable movement was the descent of the gravships and the emergence of flak craft.

This is good, for they are now on our level. Concentrate fire on those gravs and their support craft with our heavy guns, and let's drive in the coffin nail with their planes.

A viscious barrage of Yakhont 5, Harpoon, and Pyroclasm anti-shipping missiles soared from their launch tubes, their ramjets kicking into high gear and performing erradic maneuvers in flight. This made them extremely difficult to track and shoot down, especially when missiles such as the Pyroclasm changed targets at the last minute. This launch was made in conjuction with a volley of anti-shipping artillery fired from the 16" guns of the supporting battleships, and the deadly launch of Mk.202 Demon Hunter torpedos. These super cavitational weapons were literally underwater missiles, capable of nearly the same speeds under the waves as their airborne brethren.

The Abbadon and Supremacy class submarines that manned the outer perimeter of the fleet's underwater defenses emptied and reloaded their tubes quickly, firing the Demon Hunters en masse towards the gravships and the craft that served to shield their submerged engines. Surface ships such as missile frigates fired these weapons as well as conventioanl Mk. 48 torpedos. But their speed was nearly six times slower than the super cav munitions, which raced towards their targets at speeds that would make even Petrik raise an eyebrow.

This anti-shipping barrage was further bolstered by a launch of ASM's from the air, though the Freekish fighters were careful not to leave the protective umbrella of the fleet's AA weapons. After firing their weapons the fighters then made a sharp turn upward towards the Ardan targets that were now in shooting range. It was clear they were moving to strike the Stratosfighters, who had also fired their ASM's in order to lighten their load, which now consisted of on board cannons and AAM's.

The Stratosfighters greeted their foes with a healthy salvo of AMRAAM's and Hellrage before moving into attack formation and diving downwards. Since they were cruising at their maximum ceiling and had an altitude advantage over their enemy, they coordinated their assault with the other inbound Freekish jets. The Hellcats and Deathknights were quick to assist, firing off their payloads of AMRAAM and Hellrage missiles before backing off briefly and allowing the fleet to fire its own supporting volley. Dreadfire had also decided to use his SmartFlak systems sparingly while his planes were locked in combat, though he held no reservations about pouring on the fire against any target that made it through.

After shouting to his First Mate to adjust the firing perameters for the SmartFlak systems, Damien continued to monitor the progress of his secondary dispatch fleet as well as the inbound gravship reinforcements. The computers on board the Mouth For War were then adjusted to his new orders, and the interlinked AEGIS II combat systems responded in kind. 120mm guided flak rounds were fired with surgical effeciency against the enemy jets that the computer determined could represent a threat to the fleet, while the 90mm chaingun systems continued to scan the skies for threats.

Meanwhile, SmartFlak, CIWS, and SM-4 anti-missile missiles were busy fending off the inbound volley of grav missiles that targeted the transports, tankers, and supply vessels. Being situated towards the center and rear of the fleet's formation, the enemy ordnance passed over a large portion of Dreadfire's ships. However, several did indeed find their targets, blowing massive holes in the sides of the smaller craft. Most that still managed to get hit through the intensive wave of defensive fire were either crippled or sunk, while the water tight compartments kept some afloat.

Dreadfire winced as he saw a frigate go up in flames before rolling to its port side and disappearing beneath the waves. While his fleet had done a superb job thus far of fending off counter attack, he realized that it was in his best interests to keep dictating the pace of the battle. A good deal of his ships continued to pound the prospective landing zones, using satellites to discover the enemy's position using EM, infrared, and thermal detection. After directing the vessels in his main battlegroup to continue pounding the air threat, he got on the horn and informed his secondary detachment that had swung further east to begin the landing.

The auto-loading systems on board the battleships were kicked into high gear, sending round after round towards the far eastern side of the island. A decent stretch of land was chosen to be the first LZ, and Damien was angered that he would not be the first to set foot in Arda. His time would come soon enough.

Engage hostile targets as they appear my Sentinels, destroy all in your path. You will have unrelenting support from the ships off the coast, and air support will be coming shortly. You will have some company, courtesy of the Lord Reaver.

This gave the Sentinels a great rush of enthusiasm as they prepared for yet another landing. Adrenaline injections had been issued to every unit in the first wave, which they used moment before their landing craft were to depart. However, before they departed Damien had a final word for the Reavers that had joined him in battle.

Warriors of Pantera, your hour of glory has come. Your fathers and grandfathers touched down on these shores many years ago, and it is fitting that you should be the ones to storm them once more. It is also no mistake that the Sentinel class Super Dreadnought "Reaver" is assisting in this battle. It is destiny that brings us here to the shores of our greatest enemy, and it is here that they will feel our wrath. Go now, rape, plunder, and burn until your thirst is quenched. Go now, stand alongside my Sentinels once more and send these heathen bastards back into the abyss from wence they came!

Drag the Waters of War!

As the last men in the very first wave loaded into their transports, a large volley of ALARM anti-radiation missiles were fired at every radar installation on the island that had given off a signature. The coordinates were then logged into the computer, which in turn directed the guidance systems towards the designated loactions. Aircraft that had maintained a defensive perimeter over the fleet fired ALARM and AGM-88 HARM's as well, and the end result would leave the enemy AA installations blind and allow Freekish air support in. Electronics warfare was also engaged, hoping to disrupt and jam enemy radar and sensors, or at the very least feed them incorrect data.

The stage had been set, and all the appropriate preparations had been made. Under sustained covering fire the eastern detachment, the landing craft began to move forward. Their formations were spread out and evasive in nature, careful to allow the air and sea attack enough time to soften up enemy positions and artillery. A fist of Stratosfighters were sent ahead to drop heavy GPS guided bombs onto armor and above ground bunkers, as well as strafe enemy positions. The knew the risk of getting shot down was real, but with the transports not far away from shore, it had to be done.

Time continued to wither away as the craft finally came within 60mm automatic mortar range, and a healthy barrage of high explosive rounds were fired to blanket the entire LZ. Smoke rounds were also shot forth to allow the Sentinels and Reavers enough time to get behind cover, as well as allow the amphibious armor to come ashore. Heavier tanks and mobile artillery were standing by, but would not be deployed until enough of the beach was secure to allow them to move forward safely.

The Sentinels inside the transposts began to stirr in anticipation as the "BANG" of the automatic mortar tubes filled the air. It would not be long now....

Meanwhile, sensors had noted that another grav fleet was moving in to intercept Dreadfire's armada that had begun the landings. Feeling that it was now or never, Zander rallied his fleet and began moving in to bolster Damien's air defenses. The thousands of small missile frigates would serve well against the gravships and fighter wings, while the larger combatants such as carriers, battleships, destroyers, and the flagship War Nerve would make Althalon think twice about committing too much air power...especially when his land was now under siege from the Sentinels.

'A scrap of flesh
And a heap of bones
One deep sigh
And a desperate moan

Three black eyes
And a busted nose
I said oh yeah, oh yeah'

--The Rolling Stones, Flip the Switch

Sergoyan presses a button on the display mechanism and the pretty 3D renderings of AMF's various naval craft flicker off. He gestures to an adjutant who hurries over to turn the room's lights back on. "High Command has revoked its order for Case Green and has requested that we enact the current protocol for Case Black forthwith, hence our current formation." Light floods the room. "The latest military meeting at the Serechav has produced some interesting results, and it sheds a lot of light on the military situation as we're currently facing it. The Freekish fleet has, as you well know, landed well east of our projections, and Dreadfire's change in course is perhaps more strategically revealing than he thinks."

The Veriag Warlord strides across the platform and gestures to the map, which shows the obvious arrows and lines designating the current positions of AMF and Five Kingdoms craft. "By landing this far east, Dreadfire has passed up the opportunity to strangle Arraš and sever its port contact with the mainland at Port Archoerus. This would allow him to seige the eastern half of Arraš and take the garrisons almost at leisure, if his troops were to succeed in accomplishing such an operation. Why would you pass up the opportunity to seize possession of these lands, if you're waging a war of conquest?"

He folds his arms behind his back and straightens up a bit. "Because this is not a war of conquest, and these maneuvers make it clear that the intention of the Freeks is not to annex, but to seek out all possible contact with the Five Kingdoms military machine and destroy it wherever possible. They're here, broadly speaking, to bleed us white in a long drawn out defense of a remote island chain, and later in all probability during a mainland offensive. It is very likely that the composition of forces in his army are not extensively equipped to occupy significant portions of territory. Unfortunately, since Arraš is the opening theater for this campaign, it will not be an easy weakness to exploit." Sergoyan shrugs and spreads his hands. "Since his army is clearly built for assault and not political conquest, the best way to rob him of this strength is to fail to provide him with an opportunity to use his potential to its fullest extent. Wherever possible, we should either..." he raises a finger. "...Engage him will small amounts of elite troops in a holding position..." he raises the logical second digit. "...Or adopt hit and run tactics, utilizing our subterranean paths in order to maximize the tactical advantage they present. We should refrain from destroying them; even in a retreat. Keeping our tunnels intact will require Freekish manpower to maintain and monitor, or else our army may counterattack from beneath them. I have ordered the tunnels leading out of Osser to be flooded when the last of our garrisons makes it off the island, which Field reports will be in another six or seven hours. If the Freeks attempt to drain them, the manpower required will strain their military machine and is likely to slow their operations for days if not weeks."

Ezr Sergoyan, the man speaking to the assembly of Five Kingdoms military officers and observers, was the Warlord commander of the Five Kingdoms defensive task force, the Guardis Imperica. The Emperor had some years before split the ranks of the military into two major sections: the Pax Imperica [for generally offensive campaigns] and the Guardis Imperica [for generally defensive campaigns]. The Guardis Imperica oversaw police operations across Arda, and was the larger of the two branches. Citizens drafted into military service were, for the most part, taken into the Guardis rather than the Pax. This, combined by Sergoyan having had been Althalon's right hand at Aurontel, had counted for Sergoyan's meteoric carreer. He was generally credited with being the "number two" man in Ardan politics.

Generally speaking [according to the information plastered all across Arda to this effect] 'When our heels cut the ground, the Guardis Imperica will stand tall.' Conversely, 'When our toes cut the ground, the Pax Imperica will storm forward.' Of course, tactical situations occasionally arose which required the Guardis to advance and the Pax to defend, so training for either corps wasn't overly specific. In spite of this, the Pax was widely considered to be a more "elite" force, only a tier under Emperor Althalon's Vzj'nakai stormtroopers. The Vzj'nakai were usually seeded out into the ranks of the regular army, and generally served as squad, platoon, or even battalion commanders. They weren't officially part of the officer's corps and most didn't receive officer's training; instead they operated under a different chain of command that went to the Emperor faster than the other army branches, making them operationally directly under Althalon in terms of military command. A small entouage of them are present in the breifing room, their black and gold uniforms making them among the most prominent occupants in the room. So far in the Vzj'Nakai history, they had not been assembled en masse as their own fighting unit; but Althalon's address at the Convocation Centre in Arraš had made it obvious that they were about to be.

Sergoyan gestures to the three Vzj'Nakai seated on the left side of Sergoyan's presentation platform. "The Angsiyan has indicated to me personally and to the public by way of his speech last night that that the Vzj'Nakai will receive their trial by fire in Arraš. For the first time in the unit's history, we will be sending these men out not only as members of our squads in the area, but in independent fighting columns numbering two divisions of 15,000 combat personnel. They are, if they can live up to the standards precribed for them, to be the "elite troops" I mentioned earlier, which we must use to maximum effect against the advancing assault force. I division will be deployed to the South and II Divison to the east central coast of Mar'achaam to bolster the garrisons there. Our guns on Mar'achaam and its geographic position make it the logical next target for the Freeks, regardless of their larger strategic puspose as mentioned previously. The Fifteenth Arraš air wing is engaging the Freeks as we speak, although when the Sixth Fleet and the Ninth arrives, control of the skies is likely to be decisive. Irrespective of AMF's raw air power--which is presently being made rather evident to us--there is no way they can reach outlying infrastructure installations behind the Fourth and Sixth fleets, who will effectively act as a barricade for AMF munitions whilst we bleed him dry battling garrison after garrison all over Arraš. Bombing runs on Port Archoerus will be impossible now that the Sixth has swung around and interposed, and smiliar attacks to the North past the Fourth will be similarly impossible...

***

Annelle was one of the few people trying to get in to the Arraš. Enormous lines dominated the air terminals under the "outbound" heading, but light traffic in her area meant getting from her terminal to the outside was only a matter of minutes. Immediately a voice could be heard: '...have landed on the easternmost sections of Osser Island, in the extreme southeast of the much publicized Arraš island chain. High Command reports that the maneuver is strategically sound and cautioned the citizens of the area today to be ready to face the harsh realities of war...'

For some reason, the broadcasts weren't played in the terminals themselves, only outside, when people came out to smoke, or to wait for rides or read newspapers. Annelle knew it was because Reaven's Commissiriat found that the listener's mind was more receptive in a state of rest, such as most of the people waiting outside the airport are likely to be [at least in the outlet sections--the entrances logically played the necessary directions and cautions of navigating the area and finding their way to the ports]. It seemed to work. Generally, she steeled herself against that sort of thing, but even Annelle couldn't resist paying attention.

'...garrisons at Osser are offering brave resistance, and are inflicting at least their number in casualties against the Freekish invaders. Regrettably, the landing force is simply too large to combat that far east, and High Command admits that an orderly withdrawl is underway...'

Annelle lifts her bag and strides to the curb as her ride pulls up--it's a gravitic car, which regrettably Annelle herself wasn't well off enough to own. The passenger hatch pops opens and the woman slips in. "Hello Victor." He nods. "Is he OK?"

"As far as I know, yes. They just wanted to talk to him, or something like that... I don't really know all the details to be honest, all I know is that my clerk found out last night that Keith arrived late on Tuesday night. From what I can understand he's here to cover the invasion." Annelle's cousin Keith worked for one of the many private agencies that competed alongside the government for news distribution. He was the one who had written the now prophetic article that had evidently earned instant attention from Reaven's propaganda office. "He's released a couple of statements--" he reaches into the backseat, arching his back to reach around Annelle's seat. "--which are here. He seems to be his usual self, and doesn't dwell too much on the grisly details."

"When will I be able to see him?"

Victor looks at his watch. "I don't know... ten minutes?" He winks. "It doesn't take that long in one of these."

Annelle takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a second. Once she opens them, she sets herself to rifling through the clippings in Victor's folder as the landscape streaked by outside. A glance to her left would reveal an obvious change from what would otherwise appear in times of peace; supply trucks sould be seen lumbering around nearly every corner below, as they made their way in from the outlying supply caches and to the port which she had just left. A formation of troop transports lumbered through the air in the military lane above them, mistakable at a first glance for the smaller and medium-sized battle gravships.

The clippings were vague, but Keith was always sort of secretive. In a way it was reassuring, because if he had been making a lot of noise upon his release the only possible outcome was a bad one, considering the far-reaching powers of Sergoyan's Guardis. He was released to the Daturias Herald press office on 13 October, and left for Arraš at the request of his editor on th 20th. Now, on the 21st, the Freeks were landing and Keith was likely busy in his office composing his piece, which was to be delivered in ten installments over the next two working weeks. Annelle was surprised they gave him the weekends off, under the circumstances. Biting her lip, she couldn't help but wonder what it would say and whether he would earn another reprimand--or possibly even an arrest--this time.

"We're here. Let's go see the good man."

***

In the air over eastern Arraš, John Holt stands on the Storm's observation deck. Because of the grav drives, crewmen were able to stand normally on the top of the ships; its gravity center was in the same place whether they were flying parallel to the ground or perpendicular to it. Currently, Holt's shoulderblades faced the rolling waves beneath, and his face the sky. It was wierd for most of the cadets, but the officers and other more experienced personnel had practiced this formation a number of times and were accustomed to it.

Freekish missiles explode intermittently with thunderous claps all around him, the nearer ones shaking the railing against which he was leaning. As he lowers his cigarette, a flak frigate falls in flames, which are quickly extinguished once the craft plunges into the water. If the drives are still active, the ship can survive at the bottom of the sea for a couple of weeks, at which time it will presumably be dredged up, if the strategic situation allows it. Most of the time sending a recovery fleet depended on how many vessels dropped or are even salvagable--in those cases a smaller operation to extract the crew was performed. In this manner, the fleets usually sustained very little in the way of personnel losses in naval engagements. Later in the war it could [as in previous operations] lead to entire cruisers being staffed by everyone--from the gunners on up to the War Captains--having been a crewman on a compromised vessel.

He flicks the expired cigarette butt upward, over his head. As it leaves the grav field generated by the ship, it falls down to the sea behind him. Holt grinned; he loved doing that. An earsplitting boom followed by a god-awful scraping sound overwhelm's Holt's senses and he instinctively leaps for cover. Another frigate had been shot down, and it apparently had plowed into the side of a nearby destroyer, causing the larger vessel to list heavily and dislodging a number of turrets. Several smaller explosions rocked the destroyer as smoke drove upward in a massive column. Forced to maneuver out of formation to save his craft, the War Captain draws his engines out from the waves and banks left to dislodge himself from the falling frigate. Crewmen even on his own vessel scramble to their emergency stations, and Holt ducks into the lift leading to the command room.

The hatch opens, and Holt finds Petrik demanding news of the Sixth.

"...I want another wing inbound ASAP; Freekish fighters will have to split sooner or later and I would appreciate it if your craft could intercept them on their way to refuel. Surely you've heard the Angsiyan's brief..."

Holt sits at his terminal and punches up the readout on the destroyer he was just watching a moment earlier. The Captain had corrected the list, but his starboard was smoking badly on the 3rd, 4th, and 5th decks about a hundred meters from the nose.

"...Our men have their hands full up there! We need to get fresh pilots in the air now and we need to get the pilots who are up their back in their bays for rearmament and reformation. I want those Freeskish bombers under constant fire. Our enemy has exposed his bombers at the right time but against the wrong targets; if we can compromise their striking force now it will make damaging islandside targets more difficult in the long run..."

Holt could see why Petrik was gearing up for a long fight. AMF air crews appeared to be performing admirably under the circumstances; they had the slight numerical advantage and still enjoyed the protection of her main fleet, but with the IX Arraš defense wing inbound, along with reinforcements from the VI Fleet attachment, the current conflict couldn't last much longer. The gravs were sustaining their shellings fairly well for the most part. Holt could tell from the readout alone that their current formation was the academically correct one, as they had received a relatively light amount of casualties considering the firepower unleashed on them. Two of the larger ships were in serious condition, and about ten frigates had been either shot down or rendered operationally useless. The IV Fleet had meanwhile closed half the gap to the Freeks, and once troops had made landfall the gravs begun to swing around, travelling south-southwest towards the LZ and the Freekish naval force. Artillery fire was immediately diverted from the transports in reserve, landing instead on the Freeks in force as they initiated their landing.

"...Our strikes on Osser are precise enough to cause a great distress amongst the landing forces. I must have the air support onhand to maximize our gains!"

Petrik was clearly distressed. While the gravs appeared to be holding up, the Ardan fightercraft appeared to be faring remarkably worse. 144 craft had originally been engaged, and after about three hours of contact the Ardans had already lost 25 craft to enemy fire and an additional 7 were otherwise incapacitated. The first air skirmish was still winnable, but the situation seemed to be rapidly deteriorating. Developments on land would be known soon enough.

High Commander Andrew Coleman IV picked up a direct link phone. "Fleet Captain? This is the High Commander. Begin operations... May whatever Creator there is watch over your Marines." And he hung up. "The Storm has overtaken us." he said to the silence of his office.

--------

Vladimir Battle Group

"General Quarters! General Quarters! General Quarters! This is not a drill! All crew are to report to battle stations, all pilots to the Hanger or Flight decks. We're going in, boys and girls."

The captain's voice was nearly lost in the din of noise as people scurried for their stations, climbing up and down through the carrier and across the deck. He raised his field glasses and looked at the nearest Assault Ship, which was just as busy.

Aerofighters streaked skyward, as the ship headed for Arda at top speed, using the arid wind coming from the mainland to assist in launches. Long range missiles streaked from just over the horizon from escort ships, aimed at the beach defenses at Arraš.

Several thousand Marines were loading or preparing to load into the landing craft and many teams of Commandos joined them. While the Marines were a mix of ordinary humans and genetically created Civils*, the Commandos were human Marines taken and surgically altered to be stronger, faster and overall better in combat.

Something stirred on the bridge behind the Fleet Captain and he turned, shocked by what he saw. Delta stood not three feet away, his white eyes burning. "Hello Captain. I have come to inform you that there is one more man accompanying your Marines. His name is The Redeemer."

-------

A heavily armored and armed man stepped forward and growled in amusement as Marines stepped out of his way. "I am The Redeemer! I will fight with you! We will bathe in Ardan blood!" Unfortunatly, The Redeemer(a substandard clone of Damien Dreadfire) did not have the effect that Dreadfire had on his forces. Many of these Marines wanted nothing more than to survive Arda. The Redeemer wanted to make Arda suffer, no matter how unlikely that was for one man to do.

The splash of the waves against the landing craft echoed throughout the armored structure as it neared the shore. It was only when they came within firing range of the shore that the peaceful sounds were defiled by the roar of 60mm automatic mortar tubes, and the hellish screech of the 40mm Vulcan guns. The first craft had already emptied themselves upon the beaches, spreading their formations wide and laying down a heavy base of fire. The Sentinels inside this particular craft readied themselves for battle once more, their rifles locked and loaded and everyone standing at the ready. With the glow of a red light now filling the craft, the platoon leader raised his left hand and made a circular motion with his finger, alerting his men that any second the gate would come crashing down.

And down it came. Water sprayed into the air as the steel ramp dropped downwards, exposing the Sentinels inside to the combat that had already commenced. Several brigades had already made contact and were pushing themselves forward, and the platoon master shouted into the microphone in his facemask, his hand gesturing as he issued his orders. Second squad, left flank. First squad on me, rally at our 1 and set up shop.

The charging unit of Sentinels spilled forth into the fray, through massive impact craters and over the corpses of both friend and foe alike. However they were careful to not over exert themselves too early, instead moving at a suitable pace so as to allow more men to come ashore and not bunch up. Light armor would soon be coming ashore in droves, followed by heavier armor, mobile artillery, and missile platforms.

With the fleet detachment walking its fire inland and in combination with the landing craft fire, the Sentinels began to take up strategic positions as fast as they could. The peel of Freekish jets overhead signaled the men to begin advancing their position and allow more room for the others who were landing by the second. The Hellcats began strafing the garrisons directly with depleted uranium chaingun fire and high explosive missiles, while Stratosfighters targeted any remaining tanks or artillery pieces that had not been withdrawn or remained intact throughout the fleet's barrage. The first wave of anti-radar missiles would likely have neutralized any enemy radar platforms (thus blinding any AA systems), while conventional munitions would be used to destroy any other sensors that the Freekish scanners detected.

Snipers and heavy gunners had been deployed in key locations on both flanks, targeting those who attempted to flee and keeping larger clusters of men pinned down. With shells and missiles raining down all around them, soon the Ardan garrisons would find themselves outmanned and outgunned. The shells and missiles from the smaller detachment continued to rain down in unison with Dreadfire's main fleet, who had their hands full with taking the brunt of the Ardan counterattack.

Alright, now is when we drive them out of the sea. Azrael, I want you to move forward as we planned, and Zander I want you to hold steady but make it fairly obvious what we are trying to do.

Damien's orders were followed mere minutes after the transmission had been sent, and from the giant rallying point at the maritime gates of Arda, Azrael's ships moved forward. The Death Rattle took the lead and began moving in to his designated target, his formation spread wide and his crews prepared for engagement. Zander had already ventured in closer to Damien, and had begun deploying more longer range fighters to help bolster the Warlord's numbers, which had been falling at a less than expected rate, but falling nonetheless. Zander's ships ventured in closer but halted after several miles. He then ordered a fair detachment of missile frigates to move northeast towards Damien's position and begin punishing the gravships which had been targeting his transports.

Though he had been careful to keep his Sentinels out of firing range, he was beginning to feel the pinch as more and more transports went up in flames. Though they were expendable, it was an obvious inconvenience for him because reserve ships would have to be called up to take their place, which essentially wasted his time. Up until this point he had performed quite admirably up against the technologicaly superior ships, but the enemy reinforcements that crept ever closer began to worry him.

Dreadfire too had begun tapping his aerial reserves early, intent on double and even triple teaming the enemy jets in the skies before their reinforcements arrived. The gravships had continued their punishing salvos into the heart of his armada, and the Warlord winced as his own ship was rocked by a glancing blow. The resulting deck fire claimed the life of five sailors before it was extinguished, and Damien slammed his hand down hard on his desk in anger. NOBODY hits my ship...

With Zander's jets and ships now visible on his screens, Damien knew that the tide in the air was about to change. Knowing that it was pretty much now or never, he began to drive forward aggressively and throw everything he had at the gravships that stood in his way. While the land bombardment continued without hesitation, Dreadfire did allocate more of his heavier guns to assist in driving the grav ships back. As he pressed forward he ordered the SmartFlak systems to activate and begin targeting pockets of enemy fighters and grav craft directly.

The combination of single tube 120mm cannons and 80mm vulcan guns filled sections of the sky with a blackening smog of flak. The AI driven computers lit up with activity as they began communicating not only with each other, but with the radar arrays and satellite systems that had been integrated together. This networked fleet defense has served Dreadfire well throughout Operation: Hellfire and the Kraven War, though he couldn't be bothered to learn the painful details of how the whole system worked. That he left up to the engineers.

Freekish pilots were alerted to the engagement of SmartFlak systems via their onboard systems, and made sure to avoid flying near any targets the computers had sighted for destruction. Hellrage and Skewer missiles were in no short supply either, and scores of them flew forth from the tubes of hundreds of guided missle frigates, and from the capitol ships as well. A blistering heap of anti-air weaponry had been unleashed from above, and below the salvo was just as punishing. With various gravships still partially submerged in the sea, the volley of 'Demon Hunter' super-cav torpedos only increased as the silent hunters began moving forward.

This had been the moment the Stratosfighters had been waiting for, and they broke from the massive dogfight they were caught up in and took the opportunity to fire off their heavy missiles towards the gravs below. The GPS guided bunker busting warheads shot forth from the wings of the high altitude jets, screaming at neck breaking speed towards their targets below. Every Stratosfighter had received orders to fire off at least one of these weapons, which would also serve to lighten their load and make them more maneuverable. Not that they weren't some of the most nimble Freekish jets ever produced, but the weight of such heavy ordnance would slow even the speediest plane.

It was now that Damien issued his orders for his ground forces to make ready. His eastern most forces had already touched down and began their drive up the beach, and he decided that waiting time was over. With the carnage on all levels at its height, it was Damien's intention to force Petrik into a difficult situation. With his small landing craft soon to be exposed, he would be offered the option of firing on them and allowing his gravs to be distracted as a result, or he could let them pass and hope that Althalon's ground forces could do the job. Intercepted radio frequencies showed that a retreat had been broadcast over civilian channels, so it was obvious that the first island was likely to be abandoned.

M'Lord, is it wise to be sending our men forth? I advise holding them back until we deplete their forces further. Dreadfire's first mate wiped the sweat from his brow. He had followed his master into battle many a time, but none was as intense as this. Petrik will soon see that he is being caught in a pincer maneuver. Azrael is driving up the west and Zander is holding steady to our south, and if he has half a functioning brain, which he has, he's going to pull out of the noose before it can tighten. I suspect that he's going to withdraw to the next set of island and face us there...

Dreadfire glanced over the map once more, running his mighty paw across his grizzled chin. Or, he could withdraw even further and wait for us at the main gates of the Five Kingdoms. Judging by the size of the garrisons we're facing, these islands must not be of any real importance to them. I doubt Petrik is going to risk losing his grav fleets just to hold back an inevitable northward drive. He knows we control the seas and have a numerical advantage in the air thus far, and since my fleets are closer to me...I can bring up reinforcements quicker. But...we must always be on guard and expect them to be as stubborn as possible. I'm willing to risk a few landing craft for the sake of buying our boys already on the ground some more time. Send a detachment forth.

A fist of landing craft then broke east, away from the face of the main fighting and made a break for the island. With the fleet in full attack mode, it was likely that they would slip through towards the shore with minimal loss. Accompanying them were several destroyers and frigates who would also be able to assist in peppering their landing zone just before the second incursion into 'Red Island' was made.

Meanwhile, Azrael's ships continued on to the island just to the west of 'Red Island', which had been named 'Black Island'. With him came the 406th Legion, the prized soldiers from the Kahanistan and Kraven wars who fought with legendary fury. The Fallen would also touch down alongside his large detachment of Sentinels, and soon the second landing on the second island would take place. Long range cruise missiles were already being fired at military targets that Freekish satellites charted, ranging from tank formations to AA platforms. One thing was certain, Dreadfire's invasion was about to kick into a higher gear.

Time had drifted like sand through the hourglass, but still the scars of the great war were visible. Though the fields of battle were vacant and the cannons silent, the brutal memories of that fateful campaign remained. As such, within a small home in Automagfreek, a man continued to suffer with the physical and psycological wounds. He was a Freekish officer in charge of a Sentinel detachment under the command of Damien Dreadfire himself, that was until the tides of war had their way with him.

Though he never before spoke of his experiences to his family and friends, one day his ten year old son approached him and asked him if he was in a war. With a stiff lip the man nodded yes, and with his one remaining arm took his son by the hand and lead him into his room. There he removed a small wooden box and showed his boy the medals he had won for gallantry in the face of severe adversity, and the crimson heart he was awarded for losing his arm and suffering other lingering wounds. He also removed a certificate with the name "Captain Frederick Richards", that cited his honorable discharge from the Freekish Army due to wounds suffering in combat.

Daddy, who did you fight in your war? When he was told The Five Kingdoms, the boy's eyes lit up with astonishment, for the Five Kingdoms were always said to be nothing but devils and inhuman scum of the Earth. I was a Captain under Lord Dreadfire's 'Hellraiser' battallion, and we lead the most assaults in the entire campaign. Suddenly his mind began to drift back into a time and place that he would rather not revisit.

I can still smell the gunpowder.....I can still hear the screams....

It happened shortly after we had taken the first island, which was codenamed 'Red Island'. Warchief Azrael began to advance on the second LZ, while my forces were pulled from the front and shipped eastward toward the third island on our hit list. As he spoke his finger moved across an old map of the region, his eyes closing momentarily as he began digging up memories of the battle.

Second squad, advance! His throat burned as he spewed his orders to his Sentinels, who had been extremely successful in routing the enemy from their island holdings. He poked his head around the large rock he was sitting behind, watching his men begin to move up along a section of a dry river bed that acted as a natural trench. As the Sentinels began to break over the tops of this embankment he signaled his first squad to move along the left flank of the advancing element, laying down suppressive fire towards the pockets of resistance the dotted the horizon.

The enemy had been pounded mercilessly by Freekish planes, naval guns, and mobile artillery pieces, which caused their lines to fragment as their commanders then began to withdraw them northward towards the islands closer to the mainland. The air battle had been particularly fierce, and to the amazement of all the Freekish pilots were more than holding their own against the technologically advanced grav ships.

But it would be grunts like Captain Richards and the Sentinels he commanded who would be charged with getting the job done. The boy sat eagerly on the floor of his father's room as he continued telling the story, though occassionaly Frederick began to catch himself tripping back the events he struggled to describe.

Tell me more daddy. Tell me what happened next.

I won't listen to anyone's last words
There's nothin' left for you to say
Soon you'll be dead anyway

--Green Day, Having a Blast

Four loud pops pierce the darkening air, casting fleeting but dramatic shadows from the muzzle flash. In a haste, Warmarshal Ogan Sourn jams his pistol into his trenchcoat as the four men he just shot are quickly scooped up and hauled off. With the district transportation officials wiped out, it would serve as an example to their colleagues and give Sourn free rein to seize the department's resources. The four men had been singled out as the primary bunglers of the army's swift deployment; the impediment of which was seen as the primary cause for the Angsiyan's apparent inability to properly defend his outermost holdings.

For Sourn; with most of his army still to the West, in Arraš, coordinating a viable defense was going to be a difficult task. The Five Kingdoms war machine--despite being in the throes of wild and far-reaching changes--was still primarily built and deployed for fighting in large, open areas. Once the Freekish intentions had been made clear, hordes of infantry had been moved en masse to the Arraš island chain and most still remained at the largest facility capable of holding them. The importance of moving them to their designated positions was now paramount; and their problems were already magnified by the fact that many of their rally points were already unattainable.

Within minutes the Warmarshal was in his train and speeding towards the "front"-- the island Mar'achaam which, by virtue of its size, was where most of the fighting seemed to be taking place. Defense of the island was crucial especially in the northwest, where the batteries were housed. A meager 5 divisions were on the island presently, with a detachment of armor and artillery. The Freeks had put boots on the ground 72 hours ago, and the prospect of hurling them back into the sea was a rapidly dwindling one. They had already seized a number of the smaller outlying isles, and the entire Arraš chain was now in danger of being compromised.

"Orders?" Sourn's adjutant asks cooly, dutifuly at his post just inside Sourn's car.

"Halt all civilian shipping traffic in the Arraš chain," snaps Sourn, pulling his black and crimson overcoat open and hanging it up. "Tell them to empty their trucks and order the drivers to report to the nearest marshalling point. Cease public transportation, excepting civilian evacuation procedures east of An' Arraš. Issue identical orders to their dispatchers. I want every vehicle bigger than a car at a marshalling point within 24 hours. The 2nd Army must be moved east at all costs."

***

Hurried exclamations--which Holt suspected to be laden with Easterling and Haradrim profanities--spill across the deck of his command cruiser as men race back and forth around him. Squeezing between an advancing cluster of crewmen and the slowly rotating base assembly of one of the larger guns, he scurries ahead another few meters and punches his code into a small terminal on a wall opposite of the weapon he had just passed. Preferring not to be on deck when it fired, Holt impatiently waits for his clearance, and when the door finally snaps open with its characteristic hiss, he takes a nimble step inside. Slowly the lift lowers him into the bowels of his ship, where Commodore Roland Petrik was "holding court."

As the lift door flings itself open, Holt clicks his heels and brings his hand rapidly to his forehead in a salute. "John Holt reporting," he announced in a calm, clear voice. "The evening report is here."

Petrik, at the observation table, raises his right hand and snaps his fingers, beckoning his adjutant to him. "Right on time," comments the Commodore with a slight nod. "What's the word?"

Holt drops the folder in front of his commander once he reaches the table, and folds his hands behind his back. "Things are progessing on the ground more or less as anticipated, and our first major land resistance is going to take place on the western, southern, and to a slightly lesser extent, the northern faces of Mar'achaam. Sourn and Dabernasi are planning their defenses there with the greatest of care. The Freeks appear to be leaving our tunnel apertures alone for the time being, which accounts for the timely evacuation of military personnel and capital from Osser."

Petrik nods. "When is the Ninth going to show up?"

"They should arrive at their sorties within the hour. As you know we're still in the process of replacing our fighters, at least to the extent which our fighter bays here on the IV Fleet will allow. Losses are still mounting, especially amongst the older Raven class fightercraft."

Petrik shook his head. "Unacceptable. The Freekish missiles--especially the ones that were launched just prior to our formation adjustment-- are defaulting to our larger missile frigates here..." he points to a highlighted section of the illuminated 3d fleet model in between them, "...and here. The Ninth fighter wing, as you may or may not know, has been assigned to IV Fleet defense only as a second priority. While I can't complain about the tactical viability of this maneuver, it leaves us in the rough, so to speak. The Freeks appear to be interested primarily with neutralizing our escorts here, and our losses are reflecting that all too well."

A few paces behind him, a short, bulky man heaves himself off a chair and strides calmly to the impromptu conference. "If I may be so bold, Commodore Petrik."

Petrik raises a brow and gestures to the battlefield simulator. "By all means."

"The Freeks appear--for the moment at least--to be sending nothing in the way of air support overtop its troops advancing over Osser. The Angsiyan regards it as unlikely that the mistake will be repeated in the Mar'achaam campaign, so it is imperative that we make swift use of this tactical oversight. The Ninth's primary objective is to deliver its ordinance upon the advancing Freekish forces, as this will make for an early mastery of the Mar'achaam situation.

"And how does he expect us to maintain air superiority over the sea in the meantime?"

"He doesn't." The man's eyes flash. "Our gravs can weather this beating better than the Freekish infantry will be able to cope with our air support. You should know that. Besides," he shrugs and spreads his hands, "for every Freekish batallion we liquidate in the meantime, means Dreadfire must coordinate the shipment of a replacement force. Once our war economy gets rolling, the fighters we're losing at present will be easily replaced. We all know a healthy portion of them were close to retirement anyway. The Raven has been on the chopping block for almost a decade now."

Petrik rubs his temples. "That doesn't mean that the men dying in them are any less irreplacable. They are in many ways the most sophisticated military specialists our academy has to produce. Any idiot can pull a trigger. We can train country simpletons to be crack shocktroopers; finding people who don't black out during fighter maneuvers is another story."

The ship shudders. Petrik and Holt exchange alarmed looks. The boom of the deck guns above reminds all three of them that now is not the time for such discussions; the situation such as it was plainly needed attending to, and Petrik realizes that the only possible manner in which he could mitigate the crisis was to master the tactical situation immediately and cut what losses he could. The short man takes his leave silently, nodding to Petrik as he departs to assess the damage. The Commodore stands on his command platform and punches a few commands into the floating interface in front of him. His gaze leaves it only for an instant as if to reassure himself of his adjutant's presence. "Get round to the comm room and request a detachment of flak frigates from the Sixth; I want them here within the hour, with escorts."

Holt salutes quickly. "Yessir." He spins on his heels and hurries out.

The readout shows the situation beginning to stabilize. Petrik's unusual formation had the benefit of confusing enemy missiles, some of which splashed harmlessly into the waves, while others managed to find the nearest viable target which in most instances appeared to be heavy missile frigates, as they were the largest class of ship without a submerged aftsection. This diminished his ability to continue missile strikes on the Freekish Navy, but the strikes could intensify nonetheless now that the VI fleet was just about within artillery range. The screens reassured the Commodore that the VI had cleared its missile tubes several times already. In keeping with the aerial oddities of the day, many of the VI missile frigates were constantly spinning on their x axis; in order to present all three sides of missile tubes in the shortest amount of time possible. His own ships could scarcely afford similar maneuvers under the circumstances, primarily as a result of the deteriorating escort situation.

The Freekish stratosfighters had meanwhile compounded Petrik's frigate woes, and had also already claimed a destroyer and a medium Florentine class command cruiser. Under the circumstances, the capship count could be a lot worse, all things considered. Enemy losses at present were difficult to calculate, but with the new onslaught of missiles and soon added artillery fire from the VI would be sure to make things equally difficult for the freeks.

***

"What the hell are we doing all the way out here?"

It was a good question. The Litany of Fury was expected to be playing a crucial role in the destruction of the Freekish Sentinels; instead it was out in the middle of the Ardan Ocean, southwest of Nova Rhûn, purging its blast furnaces over open sea. A massive cloud of water vapor surrounded the vessel, creating a spectacle that most of the men were positive had to be visible from space. Visibility was horrendous, and it was imposisble to light a cigarette on the ship's deck. Commodore Kordiyeh had thankfully lifted the smoking ban on the ship's cafeteria in the meantime, since a crew without nicotine was sometimes worse than no crew at all.

Outside the massive cloud, two or three fighter squadrons dutifully patrolled the area, searching intently for any clue that the Freeks had any idea what the famous Sky Furnace was actually doing.

So far, things seemed to be quiet. The operation was about ten hours under way, with the Litany purging its furnaces for about 15 or 20 minutes at the top of every hour.

Already to the east a smattering of the resultant cloud masses had begun to congeal. Kordiyeh and his superiors had no illusions about being able to control the weather as such; but clear skies over Arraš just wouldn't do. With some cloud cover, perhaps time could be bought.

A satellite drifted over the ‘Five Kingdoms.’ It wasn’t a surveillance satellite, though the orbital space in the area was crowded with them, nor was it particularly special. It wasn’t advanced, it wasn’t armed, it wasn’t shielded, it wasn’t clever. Just an ordinary relay satellite for mobile telephone transmissions.

Though what it was transmitting wasn’t especially ordinary.

Encoded using a distinctly pedestrian public key method, that could probably be broken by anyone with the time and money to spare, it was an offer of humanitarian aid from several charitable groups, provided the five kingdoms would recognize their non-combatant nature and not fire upon them entering the combat zone.

(It wasn’t the only one, of course, a similar message was dispatched to the minions of ‘Dreadfire’ but that was a little beside the point, as it appeared that the battle would be joined on Althalon’s shores, and so that would be where the casualties were likely to be…)

"Do I need to die to get my point across?
Should I fall to recognize my loss?
Do I need to bleed to know I'm alive?
Should I change my ways
attempt to surface my pride?"

--Backstreet Law, Hollow

Six hours ago, Warmarshal Dabernasi sent down the order for a move on the south flank of the approaching enemy. The XI Armored Division was to spearhead a daring assault, making a wide hook over the hills to the southeast. It was covered on its left flank by the XXXIX Motorized; to which the Angsiyan had attached himself.

Arkhan Dei was one of the men in the XI Armored Division. A member of Fox Company, attached to the 363rd heavy infantry batallion (or "HVI Batallion," as they usually shortened it); Dei served as company First Sergeant. He would probably be among the first to see action, and thus likely one of the first to learn of the operation's chances of success or failure. With an eye to his men, He lights a cigarette and silently ponders the situation.

The XI Armored was supposed to be one of the best tank divisions in the entire Guardis. Attached to the XXIV Motorized Corps, its mission was to strike a rapidly advancing enemy as it approached from the west. It was believed that Dreadfire was making a move on the southeast outskirts of Cipio; and were now shelling and advancing on the suburb of Belein, 19 miles east-southeast of Cipio. Approaching infantry would have to maneuver into a valley to take the town, where a heavily armed garrison of 7,500 awaited in fortified positions. The armor was to maneuver to the top of a ridge to the southeast of Belein and fire on the wide valley below.

The valley was broad and not very deep; so the tanks would have excellent perches but the slope of the ground opposite the ridge was gentle enough to allow ease of movement by enemy infantry. The ground was flat to the north, and falling back out of their positions would be relatively easy for both sides. This meant that it would be easier for the Freeks to find cover or fall back to protected locations in the north, on the left flank of their second army group. The ridge was a subtle advantage, but surely the Freeks would see it coming. The assault would be particularly vurnerable to aerial attacks, of which the Freeks had provided a generous abundance so far.

Limited air cover was supported by the XI Armored's own detachment of forty-five Valkyrie class assault aircraft. They were large but durable pieces of equipment, were unmanned, and ranged in size from 15-30 yards. They didn't maneuver as well as fighters and were usually not fast enough to engage anything faster than conventional long range bombers. In situations like this where fighter superiority was unlikely at best, they were deployed with chain guns, chaff, and EMP charges; to neutralize enemy fire rather than to destroy (or even engage) the fighters themselves. Shaped like a city bus, the Valkyries were supposed to be all puropse assault or PD aircraft.

Infantry and light armor was to pour in on the XI Armored's east flank and catch the invaders between the armor on the ridge and the garrison. It would have armor and mortars but otherwise, little artillery cover. The famous Dunlending-made 98mm cannons would be turned upward to act as an AA screen above the exposed tanks; their shells timed to detonate at higher altitudes. The Valkyries would have little effect on a fast and well-executed enemy bomber run, which was expected. Mortars would take their cover from the other side of the ridge, behind the cannons to their southwest.

Dabernasi had ordered the move in the hopes that the opposing Freekish Divisions would be forced at the very least to scatter north and attack Cipio from its more fortified east side. The Freekish Navy was approaching the ports in the north; and to the west AMF had been smashing its way towards the city for a good six days. The Warmarshal was attacking the southern prong hoping to drive his way north to secure Cipio's southern flank. If the Freeks took Cipio, they'd be able to quickly silence the massive gun batteries to the northwest that had been shelling the them since they landed on the other side of the island, nearly 200 miles from the guns. More importantly, it would provide the Freeks with shelter and abundant room for field hospitals, ammo dumps, and would likely serve as an excellent base of operations for an extended campaign to subjugate the Arraš island chain.

Already the XI Armored and the XXXIX Motorized had encountered sporadic but spirited artillery and aircraft fire during its progress to their objective. The 363rd HVI Batallion would be some of the first men out of the trucks as the XI Armored started climbing the hill behind them. Their objective was to secure the Hertzfel Road. The road led around the southwest side of the hill that the lighter tanks would be rolling onto soon. They were poised as part of the far flank as the road swung north and then north-northwest towards the 3rd Highway; which ran East-West and served as one of the two main arteries through Cipio on the southern side. Belein sat along this road under the ridge.

"On your feet!" screams Ilhan Murad, one of the Vzj'Nakai platoon leaders from B company. "Get your asses ready to hop out and do some running!"

Arkhan snapped out of his reverie and lept to his feet. "Fourth Platoon on me!" he yells as he whirls around, steadying himself against the frame of the truck as it dodged around something blocking the road. "Remember we're running light! Ammo, nades, and guns only!"

Just like that, everything changed. Ten seconds ago he was calmly smoking a cigarette, almost oblivious to his surroundings. Now, the truck screeched to a halt and the door flew open. Men lept from the truck in threes. Arkhan could see ten or so other trucks unloading men--most of the rest of his batallion would be out of their transports and rushing forward within fifteen or so minutes. They didn't have much time before the Freeks would take countermeasures. They didn't expect to sustain much in the way of artillery fire (at least not yet) but expected heavy engagement from enemy armor and small arms from the Freeks as they advanced westward some three miles north of their current position.

Already, Arkhan could tell something was wrong. Situation maps had shown that Freekish armor was still largely concentrated well north of them, but he could hear the unmistakable rumble of heavy tank engines, and occasionally the dull boom of their cannons could be heard. They couldn't possibly have been Ardan tanks.

They were already being fired upon by the Freeks--and much too soon.

***

'Women,' thought Goren Tolus to himself. 'Seems like they never know what they want. But when they do...'

The woman in front of Tolus was weighing an important decision. Men were huddled around her, awaiting the verdict. She was tall and well built: she had deep brown eyes and long blonde hair--but it was understandably worn up most of the time--it was impossible to get an idea for how long it really was. So far she seemed to prefer to remain an enigma. She hadn't let on where she was from, even though everyone knew it had to be some place in Dunland. Ever since the Unification each of the Kingdoms had expanded and set up new towns and districts elsewhere in Arda, but her dialect was striking: it wasn't hard to deduce that she came from Old Dunland. She was in her early 30s and came from a relatively well-known family, although her specific background remained unclear to the men she surrounded herself with. Attractive and intelligent, she never liked to allow a blemish on her person for very long. Right now she sat on her haunches, out of breath from the run, with her back to an enormous haystack. Her eyes swiftly trace along the tips of the trees, her mind racing along at the same pace. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved--even now when she wasn't doing much of it. Yet.

An artillery shell lands ten or so yards away, and Tolus lifts his head and screams a curse in response. Lieutenant Nadia Roark--the woman in front of him--was the first (and so far only) female officer in the history of Ardan arms, and this was among her first major engagements. In command of Able Company attached to the 10th Rifle Division, she had already received some noteriety--if only for her gender.

"You!" Her eyes snap to Tolus and she points at him with her pinkie--she almost always seemed to do that--"Put grenade launchers and rockets on that building..." she grabs a Private to her left and flings him down behind her, gesturing around the corner to a nearby structure. "I want grenades and rockets on that building until it's gone. When it's gone, you take your men up that hill there and offer support to an assault on the northwest side of the town. To hell with the end around." She gives him the gesture to go. "Compton! You take the third and you book it to that hedgerow." She points. "When you get there get behind your cover and wait from covering fire from myself and the fourth. Once Tolus and second are done taking down that building with the MG we move in. By then hopefully I Company will be done with their maneuvers on the other side of town and we can finish this fast." One of Nadia's greatest talents was her voice. She was able to speak very loudly and very fast--always a useful attribute for combat leaders. When she spoke, even her greatest detractors listened. Her entrance into the Five Kingdoms military had been a big deal when it happened, and she encountered strong opposition from all sides. A lot of what got her through it was her ability to express herself in a manner that compelled one to listen.

In a haste, she gets up on one knee and heaves a radio over her shoulder, steadying herself with her rifle. "GO NOW!" She screams, scooping her situation map off the ground and shoving it in her breast pocket.

"Spears!" she screams next, at a small cluster of men hiding behind the next haystack some twenty yards away who somenow manage to hear her. Owing to the ubiquitous din of enemy artilery, she uses hand gestures instructing him to take the platoon on in. They oblige instantly, as Roark heaves herself from behind her haystack. Firing as they run, her platoon follows in twos, and she gestures for them to fan out and give fourth platoon their covering fire from a static position. Crouching behind a torn up street repository, Roark can make out a machine gun nest firing on second platoon to her left. Directly opposite her was the building she'd ordered Tolus to destroy--and so far he was doing a pretty good job, it seemed.

Rockets screamed overhead--already the second barrage--and plowed into the building with predictable results. Wood and shrapnel splintered in every direction. "Shit!" Roark mutters as a flying chunk of metal fells her companion. Signalling her platoon forward, she drops her radio pack and shoves it in her First Sergeant's chest. "You take this thing," she commands breathlessly. "I'm not carrying that shit anymore." Without waiting for him, she sprints forward under a hail of bullets. Rounds slam into the ground at her feet, kicking up soil. Raising her rifle, she fires several rounds at another building some distance ahead of her before diving behind an overturned food cart for cover.

By now, Tolus' building was down, but second platoon was taking heavy fire from that MG and she knew at once that her and third would have to seize the position and the buildings immediately surrounding it. They had about another 200 yards to run and the thoroughfares into the town were very wide so they would have little cover, and were moving with too many men to hug the walls. The town wasn't very large--probably only fifty or so large buildings over about six square miles.

They were under the artillery, but soon mortars would come down on them and all three platoons would have to run in fast with little or no cover. Fourth and Fifth were still working their way up behind Roark's main assault force consisting of platoons 1-3. Roark sought to accomplish most of the heavy fighting with Able company, in order to keep F company in reserve.

Whether they would get to stay there depended on Roark's losses.

Briefing Room, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The Imperial President studied the holographic display among which he was standing, a highly detailed map of the conflict area, displaying missiles and gunfire and deaths in the next best thing to real time. A flicker of a grin passed across his face, then vanished, as an AMF aircraft flew through his knee before being blown from the air. It took seven of the Hen-Angainor observation satellites to display the map in this detail, especially of the entire conflict area, as big as it was, but it was, in fact, possible.

He looked up at the five holograms and the three other people standing in the room with him. “Well, they appear to be at it at last. Messy, huh?” That prompted chuckles from all the other inhabitants. It was just funny enough that they were not entirely laughing because he was the President, but that was a lot of it. “I suppose we need some sort of response to this.”

The five holograms may have been in command of the military, and the three people might be the senior cabinet officials, but they all knew who was in charge, and all knew him well enough to know that he was not looking for a response. In fact, they all knew he had decided on a course of action while studying the diagram on the floor. “’Nathan, I want to issue a public statement acknowledging the new government of the Five Kingdoms, finally. Also, I want to condemn the Empire’s aggressive behavior and offer assistance to the Five Kingdoms.”

That prompted a question from the Minister of War, despite not being the one spoken to. “Military assistance, Mister President?”

“No, John, not specifically.” He looked back at Currey. “Keep it general. We’ll decide what to grant when or if they ask.”

“Of course, Mister President,” the Minister of International Relations acknowledged the younger man’s orders.

D’ron’s gaze fell on his military commanders, and with dizzying speed, the display shifted to display a considerably larger portion of the world, with most of the Atlantic Ocean visible, with the huge Ardan landmass at the top and Dor Lomin in the south, along with the fairly large number of places visible in the middle. Individual units were no longer visible, but the conflict zone was still highlighted red.

“Admiral Bergren, given the nature of the conflict so far, if it spreads southwards, you’ll be primarily responsible for helping keep it contained. Deploy the First and Third fleets in between Arda and Menelmacar, along with the Northern Wolfpack.”

“Aye, Mister President.”

He glanced upward again, pinning a different officer under his gaze, this one in grey instead of navy blue. “Marshal, I’d like to move two of the ACV squadrons to Menelmacar as well. Ask politely once they’re on their way, and remind them forcefully of the treaty terms agreeing to shared basing facilities if need be. If they refuse completely, station them just north of the NMs territorial waters.”

“I’ll give the orders as soon as we’re done here, sir,” Mitchell replied.

“Admiral Farragut,” D’ron continued, barely acknowledging his Air Force commander’s reponse, “I want to help keep this localized if we can. Reposition a task force over the conflict zone, but give them orders to leave immediately if the Ardans request it after explaining themselves. I don’t want a fight unless we have to. They are, of course, authorized to defend themselves if needed.”

“Very well, Mister President.”

Frowning for a moment, D’ron paused before continuing, and a few orbital paths overlaid themselves, passing through the top of his head, and well over it, and he studied it for a minute. “Field Marshal,” he slowly said, still obviously considering, “how would we be positioned to drop an army group or two into the Five Kingdoms if they asked for it and I decided to grant it?”

Tenai shrugged. “There’s little difference between there and any where else, functionally, if they’re not shooting at our deployment. Ten days to drop all three groups we’ve got in orbit currently. We could double that in thirty days.”

“A month is unlikely to matter. If the Ardans can’t stop Dreadfire’s advance by then, I’m not sure we’ll be able to add more troops to the mix.”

“I agree, sir.” The commander of the Federation Ground Force frowned slowly, then turned to the one military man who had yet to speak. “Could we back my groups with Marines, Bob?”

“No problem. With both Battle Fleets in orbit at the moment we could easily drop ten divisions of Marines, but it would require cleaning them and everything else we’ve got up there out.” Corrigan was lazily confident in that way all Marines seem to be.

D’ron nodded. “I sincerely doubt we’ll intervene to that scale, though the weakening of the current regime in the Five Kingdoms in unacceptable. I don’t know what it would take to bring Morgoth back, but weakening the position of the people in charge right now would certainly be one of the more tempting things.”

Cortana, the only one to not speak so far, spoke up then. “I’m unsure either. We still don’t know how he escaped the binding Aule placed on him in ancient lore, or exactly what it was. I can ask Tel’Domeduathea, if you’d like. That’s probably information we should have.”

D’ron shrugged. “Somehow I doubt there’s anything we can do about it, even if the Elven Mages know.” He glanced down at his holographic display, then back at his advisors and commanders. “Is there anything else?”

They all shook their heads. “Alright, then. I need to get back to the Residence. Lesley’s having some trouble with Daniel, now that he’s discovered throwing food is more fun than eating it.” Gentle laughter filled the room as the holograms blinked out, and then the two humans and one physical avatar filed out. “Goodnight, Mister President,” Cortana called for all three of them as she left the room, and D’ron stepped into the lift which would take him to the lower level where he could walk back to his quarters on the other side of the house, hopefully not too late for dinner.

Elsewhere, orders and messages went out, according into his instructions, and two hundred thousand members of the Federation military went on alert to contain a conflict in which they mostly just hoped the two sides eliminated each other. In space, the response was instant. It took less than an hour to position the task force. But it would take thirty six more to move all the forces ordered into position to where their commander-in-chief wanted them to go.

The Federation of Sentient Peoples strongly condemns the actions taken by the Empire of Automagfreeks in this unprovoked assault on the sovereign nation of the Five Kingdoms, it was is clearly a merely imperialist bid to displace the rightful government of that nation. The Government of the Federation offers all support available to it to the government of the Five Kingdoms in repulsing this heinous action and stopping the uncontained lunacy of someone attempting to promote anarchy on an international scale.

~Minister Johnathan Currey, International Relations Directorate, FSP

OOC: In case the post isn't clear (it's rather late as I'm writing this), I have no intention of intervening militarily, though it's not completely out of the question if we're asked IC. Mostly we're seeing two massively armed camps going at it, and we don't want anyone, especially our friends, caught in the middle, so we're taking up somewhat forward defensive positions in case it spreads.

If Althalon was in the field during a foreign development, he still managed to find out quickly. Traditionally the image is one of some breathless messenger running to his master's throne with some all important communication: in Althalon's case he usually somehow managed to find things out before the "official" channels got around to informing him. Althalon's simple text response ("Already know. Weighing options. Await transmission.") had already been received.

It boggled the hell out of the Intel and Foreign Office departments, who seldom seemed to surprise the man. Traditionally in Ardan politics most of the sleuthing had been left to the Haradrim, but (unbeknownst to the Official Intelligence and Foreign Office relays) Althalon had set up his own intelligence network independent of the Southrons; through the Easterlings in Nova Rhûn. Technically, the Angsiyan did not hold the thrones of either of the Haradrim Kingdoms or Khand, even though the monarchs there had tacitly accepted Althalon's dominance in Ardan politics. Despite not holding their thrones, Althalon nonetheless excersized executive control over the remaining three Kingdoms and still had the power to draw on conscripts from them, although he left most of the day-to-day ruling in the hands of the upper Houses of Khand, as well as Near and Far Harad.

Khusru Delabi was Althalon's liason man with the Foreign Commission. He was still in Ali'Staan (not having any particular reason to go to the front), but from his terminal he could punch up direct access to the Angsiyan's headset. His reply would then be patched out in real time to all the pertinent channels within Arda to avoid confusion or misunderstandings. In this fashion he could be contacted on the battlefield and make decisions as soon as he was able. It was supposed to be an instantaneous process but the Angsiyan would usually delay the transmission if he was in the field. Delabi had been waiting for about an hour now, and protocol dictated they speak 'face to face' (so to speak) in a video conference if possibe, which obligated Delabi to remain at his office much later than usual. Althalon's eyepiece had a text ticker on it of course, so he was made aware of the message as soon as it was received. Although day to day executive operations from Daturias were handled by the Office of the Interior, it was assumed that the Angsiyan would want to weigh in on this before any move was made by the Foreign Ministry.

In this case, Delabi had also patched a feed over to a relay satellite that could broadcast to FSP shortly afterward. For the rest of the day the Foreign Ministry in Daturias would keep a channel open for real-time meetings between the two countries. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. In the meantime he would have to furnish the FSP with some kind of response--not an acceptance or a denial of their offer but at the very least an acknowledgement of it:


Arda thanks the Federation of Sentient Peoples for their swift response to a bad situation. No diplomatic mission from the Freeks has been forthcoming, and all departments of government are bewildered by the violence and severity of AMF's actions.

The Angsiyan is still being consulted, but in the meantime would like to extend his heartfelt thanks to the Federation for its compassion and willingness to aid us against unprovoked aggression. The Foreign Office will contact the International Relations Directorate at a prearranged time [attached] on the morrow; at which time an open channel would be preferred.

At his discretion, the Angsyian may send a video message in lieu of a Foreign Office official, but will likely not be availible for an open channel, as he is preparing defenses in the Mar'achaam region.

--Khusru Delabi, Foreign Office Liason

OOC: Normally communications like this would be handled by the Foreign Minister or his deputy, but when Althalon is unreachable (usually when he's in the field) his Liason Office handles foreign communiques, so that he can relay his decisions more quickly. This can often lead to delays in resolving foreign issues during wartime, and is one of the many reasons why the Foreign Office (as well as that of the Interior) generally reacts negatively to Althalon deploying himself.

Office of the Minister of International Relations, IRD Tower, Government Sector, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The office looked basically like any other office of a minister, in any other country. A nice desk of darkly stained wood was covered by a curved brass lamp and a dark green blotter. Subtle hints shouted out, if you knew what to look for, of far more advanced technology than the fountain pens which decorated the surface. A full holographic interface was buried in the desk, yet powered down currently. A high backed leather chair sat empty behind the desk, while two more comfortable appearing, and shorter, seating arrangements, were before it.

One of these was occupied by a heavyset bearded man, starting to go slightly bald up top in his reddish brown hair, dressed in a two piece suit. Johnathan Currey wondered once again, for perhaps the tenth, or even the hundredth time since his orders, if the President's decision, was a good one. Objectively, it was true, that allowing the return of Morgoth would be a bad thing, but there had hardly been time to see what this new regime would act like on the international scene. They had been so concerned with domestic matters for the last while to play any significant impact on places outside their borders, especially with all the damage their military had undergone in the civil war. But all these people had worked for the Dark Lord.

But he had his orders. He checked the time. Ten seconds.

With a lifetime of experience, he banished any dark thoughts, and waited.

His holoscreen flicked to life...

OOC: I'm removing this conversation and anything subsequent to another thread, so as to not hijack the war, as was discussed with Melkor on IRC. I'm not sure if or when I'll post again in this thread. The new thread is http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=525744

The memories kept flowing.....

He remembered hearing over the radio that Death Rattle had already begun shelling Cipio with rocket assisted, GPS guided weaponry from a distance, but Richards didn't know at the time how severe the attack actually was. Only later did he learn that a massive torrent of long to medium range missiles had been blanket fired at the the massive guns shelling Damien's troops further to the east, and that ICCM's had been fired from Freekish colonies that sat closer to Arda than the AMF mainland itself. Dreadfire had been focusing on hopping from island to island quickly in order to secure temporary bases so he could springboard into the heart of the Five Kingdoms, but plans looked to be changing.

Cipio was a prime target and without a doubt had to be neutralized if the campaign within the Arras chain was to be successful. From the south and southeast, Freekish ships under Azrael's command had begun concentrating the bulk of their fire towards the batteries and garrisons in and around Cipio, but as always infrastructure damage was of little consequence. Token pockets of Sentinels had landed over the past several days in an attempt to scout targets near Cipio, but over the past 24 hours heavy armor and additional forces had begun spilling forth to assault the city itself under an intense screen of missile and shell fire.

It was unlikely that the major push would go unnoticed in the slightest, so Azrael called in fire support from Freekish bases in Mohahi and Outpost 9. The Porcupine ICCM's that had been launched were a fierce weapon developed after the defense of Xolistan that was nothing more than a MIRV'd kinetic missile the size of a standard ICBM. Upon re-entry and as it began its final drive towards the ground, it would shed the plating on the sides of the missile and deploy 10 rocket powered kinetic sub-penetrators that could engage seperate targets, while the main body of the missile would continue on. Several of these weapons would be deployed against the gravships that were within a close enough distance of Azrael's ships to be able to respond to a large scale landing. But the main bulk of the kinetic launch would be against static defensive positions, AA platforms, and any armor columns in or near the city that could challenge his assault force.

Though the main bulk of the enemy force was still en route to the southeast, pockets of hostile garrisons were scattered almost everywhere. Upon sensing that Cipio was vulnerable and would serve as an important Freekish outpost, Azrael decided that the time was right to launch a decent portion of his Fallen forces to capture it, though the condition of the city was of little importance due to the speed at which the Freekish war machine moved.

Deploying forth from their transport ships, a main element of the 406th Legion made a break towards the coast....and to Cipio itself. Under an intensive screen of artillery, air to surface missiles, and rockets, the Fallen surged forth in great numbers from over the horizon. The amphibious fighting vehicles in their detachment took the point position, while the rest of the combat transports followed. The entire theater was overwhelemd with Freekish electronics warfare in an effort to disrupt their enemy's sensors, while massive clouds of smoke were unleashed from 8" naval guns from several of Azrael's destroyers. The first major siege was about to take place, though several fists of Freekish armor companies had been skirting the city limits for several hours, where they had encoutered enemy resistance. Planes from Azrael's taskforce took to the skies despite enemy air cover from the skies and ground, their intentions of dropping hundreds of thousands of pounds of fiery death upon their foes clear.

Meanwhile, Damien continued to push forward on the rock his Sentinels had been temporarily bogged down on, as well as spreading out to neighboring islands and laying siege to enemy positions there. As ground based anti-air batteries began coming ashore, he grew less and less concerned with the gravships in his theater, for now they would be under an exponentially larger amount of missile fire than before. With the main force of his air corps engaging gravships and their fighter escorts, he took the opportunity to summon forth his reserve planes to strafe enemy grouind units and provide cover for the advancing Sentinel horde. The Stratosfighters that had been assigned the duty broke away from their defensive positions over Dreadfire's fleet and began moving forward.

The battle was beginning to heat up, and as Richard's continued recollecting what happened next, his hands and forehead began to glisten with sweat.

While attached to the 39th Motorized, Althalon and his company would take command of it and the Divisional Field Marshal (who would otherwise control the 39th) took a position subordinate to the Angsiyan. During battle, however, tactical control of the unit often passed back to the DFM, since even with the greatest communications breakthroughs it was still impossible for Althalon to command an entire division from the front lines. Althalon would brief the divisional staff officers, assign objectives and designate reserves as necessary. The DFMs were of course obligated to fulfill the Angsiyan's prescribed objectives, but operationally it was impossible for Althalon's unit to be effective if the DFM lacked the power to order it into retreat or into a compromise role. This meant that if the operation needed to be changed on the fly, or if losses were too heavy, the DFM technically had the authority to issue battlefield orders to Althalon's companies.

Althalon was currently deployed with a hand picked force: 2 companies of infantry, a company of tanks (mostly in reserve) and 6 fire missions of 4-6 artillery pieces, ranging from 241mm cannons to smaller, direct fire antitank or antipersonnel weapons. The activated armor consisted of 5 light 3-man tanks, and 3 heavy Krawl class tanks with a 121mm* turret; housing a crew of 7. Most of the rest of the units were rifle and close combat infantry, as the 39th Motorized was expected to fight in the streets of Belein. They had few mortars but carried extensive heavy weaponry, including 4 Armadillo mobile MG devices. These machines were strictly anti-infantry in function and required five men to operate: a spotter, 2 gunners, an engineer (who served as the team's commander), and a loader. One gunner was responsible for a 21mm cannon, and could open up on the enemy while the engineer and the loader would set up an automated 31mm chain gun on a 360º swivel behind them. The gunners had good cover when the machine fully deployed and could usually be counted on to provide excellent covering fire, even from a distance of up to 3,500 yards. Capable of limited movement, they were usually towed to battle on newer APC's or older half-tracks and deployed very close to their objectives. In this particular case, they were best suited for covering the major intersections of Belein.

Althalon's company was outfitted as an antitank formation. Rockets, antitank explosives and mines were abundant. For their personal protection, most men simply carried shotguns, since covering fire would come from B company: slightly larger (at 182 men) but not as heavily armed. Each man also carried a light, spear like device that they called "Hooks," which the soldier could fashion into an entrenching tool or a melee weapon. These men--all of them Vzj'Nakai commandos--were all at the top of their game. Hand-picked from military academies in every Kingdom, they comprised a diverse but elite group of the top fighters from every corner of Arda. Althalon had refused to expand this particular detachment to be any larger than one regiment, and had usually insisted on deploying them in numbers small enough for him to control directly on the front, though much had recently been made of two newly formed Vzj'Nakai Divisions. Behind him, between Cipio and Belein, he had a strategic reserve of 1,250 more Vzj'Nakai; composed mostly of engineers and additional armor. In addition to this, the 39th had a strategic reserve of 2 battalions, and another 3 battalions for the 2nd Rifle, who had taken up a positions in Belein two nights ago.

Overall, Althalon's personal force was relatively short on infantry, but he compenstated for that by attaching it to an infantry-heavy small arms force. The 39th Motorized was a good division, with strong battalion leaders and good engineers. At dusk it had swung down the west side of a ridge and into Belein from the south, on the left flank of the 11th Armored. The Freeks were now less than 10 miles down the road, so defensive preparations in the town became very hurried. CEV's worked to clear trees from key areas for clear lines of fire; their crews already tired from digging fortifications for the 11th Armored the previous night. Mines were planted all along the thoroughfares--which were all very wide--and mouse-holes had been cut and concealed in nearly all buildings, usually at ground, middle, and top levels. Entire blocks became a veritable fortress bristling with MG turrets. Militia AA and antitank crews took cover in the upper sections of buildings, predominantly in buildings with sloped roofs. A portion of the roof would be cut out allowing the crews to fire shoulder-launched rockets at enemy aircraft, while at the same time protecting them from small arms fire on the ground.

Generally, the fortifications in Belein made excessive use of the advantages of height, since most of the city was slightly elevated from the forest that surrounded it, and because the tops of many of the buildings were too high to be hit by tanks at closer ranges. The doctrine was to keep the enemy infantry pinned down long enough to get the 120mm's on them for interdicting fire on their best sources of cover. Belein had an organic garrison of 7,500, but only about 2,000 of them were professional soldiers. The remainder had been useful in preparing the city's defense, but military leaders were anxious about their combat ability. Mostly armed with shotguns or SMG's, they would be charged with the defense of residential districts. The rest of the city would be defended by the 39th Motorized, and the 2nd Rifle.

Overland thoroughfares on the island were all very large, and the terrain surrounding the city was all more or less a flat jungle. TO the southeast of Belein, The 11th AD's tanks had a good perch and a line of direct fire on the approaching highway, out of the enemy's range of elevation. Special positions had been cut into the ground allowing the tanks to go hull down on the ridge, and also in their emergency fallback spots on the southwest side of town. Their positions were enhanced by the fact that there were tall trees behind them, making the turrets difficult to observe. It was a great spot, but if the 11th got pushed off, there weren't very many other favorable locations to deploy armor, owing cheifly to the thick foliage.

Belein would end up being the first major organized resistance to the AMF landings. Most of the outlying islands had been seized relatively quickly, since Ardan strategists didn't expect them to be prime targets. Cipio and An'Arraš, on the other hand, were both substanitally prepared. Sen Dabernasi had control of the 5th Army, to which most of the currently engaged units belonged. Many were in Cipio, still preparing the defenses there. The 10th Rifle and the 7th AD (with two attached Motorized Divisions) would constitute the bulk of the resistance near the ports.

*OOC: The Freeks will quickly discover that many Ardan gun barrels (ranging from tank turrets to small arms) are very often 1mm larger than other "standard" weapon calibers. This is done to prevent the enemy from being able to use captured Ardan munitions. Conversely, Ardan armies will be able to use captured ordinance, albeit with less accuracy--since you can still fire a 120mm slug from a 121mm barrel but definately not vice versa.

OOC2: Real action to follow in a bit. I'm about to leave for a vacation and this is all I have right now--just posting this bit to describe Ardan defenses on the south side of Cipio.

Already under tank and small arms fire, Arkhan Dei and the the rest of the 363rd HVI didn't expect combat until another few miles up the road, farther from the ridge. The obvious concern at present was preventing the Freekish armor to get behind them, since allowing them to do so would compromise the excellent firing positions set up by his own 11th Armored just a few hours ago. If the 11th got flanked, the Freekish divisions would be able to push them off or destroy them, while securing a free line to Belein and from there undoubtedly Cipio.

"Covering fiiiire!" shouts Dei to his platoon as he raises his head and fires a handful of shots into the treeline. Two dozen Vzj'Nakai spring to their feet in the middle of the field slightly below them as mounted MGs and partially entrenched soldiers plug away at the advancing infantry. The Vzj'Nakai fly ahead like a tempest, aided by surprise and headed toward a company of enemy DT-25's

Artillery whistles overhead and comes down a few hundred feet in front of the advancing Vzj'Nakai tank destroyers, who head towards impacts and spread out in teams of three. Dei couldn't see exactly what they were doing, but knew enough to direct his machine gunner at infantry moving between the tanks.

Next to Dei sat Corporal Jon Harrison, who calmly operated a massive .50 caliber machine gun that required three men to lift and transport when fully assembled. Usually the gun would be broken down by the unit, but since their engineer was dead and the Freeks advancing so quickly, it was becoming obvious that they wouldn't be able to take it apart until they got it back to the trucks some 500 meters behind them.

"Harrison!" Dei shouts, grabbing the man to his left by the shoulder. He puts down his rifle and points to a pocket of enemy infantry plugging away at the Ardan antitank men. "Get on those!" An artillery shell explodes nearby, and Dei dips his head and grabs the top of his helmet as he rolls over under a rain of soil. He fumbles for his rifle and gets back up on his elbows. By gesturing with his left hand he brings down a small combat interface screen over his left eye; a transparent purple device about the size of an eyepatch. He fires steadily at the enemy, but periodically looks back to his own line to compare it with the enemy's attacking force with the aid of his combat eye.

So far, the Vzj'Nakai antitank formations were doing an excellent job at dispatching opposing infantry and tanks in close combat, but were still vulnerable to small arms fire around them, and more than a few had already been felled by the ubiquitous mounted MGs and side autocannons of the enemy. The line behind the Vzj'Nakai formation --where Dei currently was-- fared much worse. Airbursts took down trees with their explosions and basically dealt twice as much damage to troops that had little or no cover from either foxholes or trenches.

Evidently they hadn't zeroed their artillery on the covering positions--if the Freeks had any in reserve back there they were keeping the guns quiet for now, but Dei imagined they was being held mainly for the assault on Belein itself. The units they were fighting against were obviously mechanized; they were fast moving and always engaged decisively. The battle as such had only been under way for a couple of hours, and already sections of the line were in bad shape. The hastily prepared defenses that some units had been able to make upon disembarking were of little use, and already the CEVs and most of the engineers had been sent back to prepare fallout positions.

Suddenly, Dei's combat HUD is disabled and an area map showing the current theater dominates his view as an alarm rings in his ear. He recognizes the voice instantly as Streyer's adjutant. Already Dei was signalling to those nearby that a retreat was imminent. "All units in the highlighted areas are now under orders from Colonel Streyer to move immediately into the designated fallout positions." The map zoomed in and showed the specified routes in more detail. After a few seconds, the image was reduced automatically to the specific fallout path for his unit.

The message repeats but Dei toggles his eyepiece off and it slides back into his helmet. "Fourth on me! Up and over!"

Already, the surviving Vzj'Nakai were back at the line, several smoking tanks lying behind them. One by one they show back up to retake control of various platoons, but not Dei's--his unit had no Vzj'Nakai commander and he led it in a position equivalent to an NCO. When present, a Vzj'Nakai soldier would generally assume control of a platoon, but the subordinate Sergeants adapted very well to functioning in their absence, as Vzj'Nakai were periodically detached and sent on assault operations, like the tank dash that Dei had just witnessed. They moved exceedingly fast, he noticed, and kept under his company's MG fire very nicely and even made it up the embankment before the guns had to be taken down.

Dei signals his platoon into the forest behind them. Trees shatter around him as he pulls the pin on a smoke grenade and drops it on the ground as he leaves, heaving himself up in a haste and helping his man Harrison with his gigantic MG. As if reminded of their existence by this action, other soldiers equipped with smoke grenades deploy them as they leap down from their posts and flee into the woods. Smoke cover from mortars was impossible owing to the canopy above them, so the 363rd and a few other units had their mortars stripped and placed with another unit at the opposite end of a field behind them. As the Freeks passed through the smoke, they'd come within their range, so the 363rd HVI had to move fast or get caught in the crossfire.

Crouching as he runs, Dei shoulders his gun and draws his 'hook,' an all purpose melee, entrenching, or hacking tool capable of multiple configurations. He and Harrison are falling behind their unit, struggling with a MG that was designed to be hauled by a crew of three. Hacking through some brush in front of him with a free hand, he opens a comm channel to F company with three trained taps of his teeth, as if chewing food lightly. "First Seargeant Arkan Dei requesting assistance with ordinance at my position, 4th platoon I'm looking at you!"

Behind him, Harrison shouts a profanity and falls to the ground. The gun stumbles forward and knocks Arkan down in what would otherwise appear to be a comical mishap. Hurriedly, the First Sergeant scrambles around the gun and flings his helmet down as his hands fly to Harrison's chest. "Jon!" Yelps Dei, surprised both by the hit and the speed and severity of his response. "Are you okay?! Where are you hit? Talk to me!"

The corporal is equally surprised, but shakes his head quickly and dons a dismissive expression. "It's nothing boss, just a scratch. Help me up!"

Just then a couple of men appear in the smoke around them, breathlessly shouldering their weapons and immediately looking to Dei for orders. "Help me with this," he commands as he heaves up his fallen partner. Harrison can stand, but walks gingerly: it was probably a ricochet hit. Already the sounds of the AMF Behemoths were pervasive, and shouts could be heard from their men as infantry advanced into the smoke field. Dei knew that they didn't have the time to lie down much in the way of mines or traps, and it seemed the Freeks were discovering that as well.

Dei could hear the dull thud of launching mortars in the distance--he knew from this that the Freeks were approaching the treeline he had just abandoned, and the sound of approaching tanks and enemy chatter only solidified his concern. Pressing onward through the foliage, Dei can only hope the enemy does not overtake him.

Somewhere. Everywhere. History. The next day. Oh, and over the Western Atlantic as well.

Divisions, in the Federation Ground Force, are numbered sequentially, which meant that First Division was, in fact, First Division, of the First Corps, of the First Army Group, or the first of some two hundred and forty other divisions, each numbered in turn. Divisions One through Twenty belonged to the First Army Group, Twenty-One through Forty to the Second Army Group, and so on, and so forth, for all twelve current groups.

Needless to say, to be assigned to the first Division in any of the groups was something of an honor, but to be assigned to First Division was even more so. It simply meant that you were one of the best the Federation had. First Division had, over its history, contributed more soldiers to the Special Operations Command than any other division, and the First Army Group, similiarly.

But then, they had a long history. The nickname of the First Army Group was “The Imperial Guards”, but it drew its name from the First Division, which, nearly two thousand years ago had been established as the Emperor’s Personal Command in battle.

Admittedly, there was no Emperor now, but the tradition remained. Though the whole thing remained classified, D’ron had, himself, commanded the ‘First Combat Team’ from the Battle Center during his Term of Service, and then retained direct command of it even when he was controlling the entire war effort against the Manilowians.

So it was rather needless to say that the Medical Corps personnel assigned to the First Division would also be the best. The First Division Hospital consisted of at least one doctor specialized in each of the twenty-six traditional areas of medicine, with quite a few having overlapping training, and all thirty five of them having at least some years experience and training as trauma surgeons. They were accompanied by eighty nurses and two hundred and ten sick berth attendants for a grand total of three hundred and twenty five medical personnel.

Normally, this would be the passenger load of four Albatross-class Dropships, and everyone would have plenty of room, but this was a hospital, which meant that it instead took up four Camel-class Heavy Dropships, more than twice the size of the smaller Albatross and lacking the offensive weapons of the same, to hold all the equipment and stay set up and mobile. This squadron, as promised, had a heavy escort. Two squadrons of Longsword fighters, a squadron of Broadsword fighter-bombers, and a squadron of Shamshir gunships. Five medical evacuation equipped Parakeet shuttlecraft flew along as well, the only craft to not have any weapons at all aboard. And they would be joined somewhere over the ocean by whatever small craft the S.P.S. Capella’s Marines would be bringing.

For as few people as it was, it was certainly a heavy escort.

And not to mention, of course, was the fact that the course they followed took them within a hundred and fifty kilometers of the Third Surface Fleet, and never more than a couple of hours response time from either bases in the Federation or the forward deployed Air Combat Squadrons who were watching the situation between the AMF forces and the Five Kingdoms.

S.P.S. Capella, Flagship, First Battle Fleet, FSPSN, Low Earth Orbit, Currently over the Pacific Ocean

Staff Sergeant Rebecca Mullen looked over the assembled ranks of Federation Space Marines comprising the Fourth Company aboard the Federation’s flagship, hiding the wry twist that threatened to slip into view at the fact that these very tough men and women were all clad in dark green undershirts and shorts, and nothing else. In some odd twist of fate, Fourth Company, since Operation Crying Rock, had become the place to be. Against all tradition, the Colonel commanded it instead of First Company when all the Marines dropped together. As it was, not all the ship’s Marines were going, but the Colonel was still coming along. Fourth Company did not have a captain, after all, only the Colonel. Well, except that First Platoon was commanded by a Captain instead of a Lieutenant. Colonel Webster, Captain Alexander, and Second Lieutenant Peters were standing off to the side, already armored up, while Mullen reviewed the enlisted personnel. The two platoons were standing in columns lining either side of the drop bay, in front of their battle armor, with Platoon Sergeants Jackson and Amir heading each one. Those two were the only survivors of Mullen’s squad from Operation Crying Rock, and, like her, were quite promoted from that time.

Pale grey eyes, in this light, searched out both of the other two senior non-commissioned officers’ expressions, and a hard smile graced her lips, but not those eyes. Both platoons were ready to depart, and it appeared everyone was grateful they would be riding down in style. The company was allotted four of the Huntsman Assault Pinnances, rather than the usual two, to account for them needing to take a larger number of supplies with them than usual. A squadron of the dreadnaught’s fighters would be escorting them in.

But style was less of a concern to the Marines, and to the Staff Sergeant specifically as she turned the company over to the Colonel for his pre-mission pep talk. They had all been briefed a few hours earlier on the mission specifications, and Mullen tuned out the meaningless words as she ran her eyes over the battle armor in one last brief inspection. Her suit was in the generic configuration, middle of the road on firepower and longevity. It could operate continuously for two days before require a recharge, which they could get from the pinnaces’ fusion cores, which would operate for a month without refueling as long as they ran at a minimal level. Near a body of water, that could be extended to six weeks.

As it was, the company was dropping in the standard configuration, two squads of scouts, two squads of heavy weapons, and everyone else in generic combat mode.

Eyes grown skilled with long practice ran over the soot black titan of two and a half meters of battlesteel, searching for any flaws in the way the heavily armored joints linked together. The only concession to the possibility of needing to be delicate was in the fingers that would be hidden behind a solid piece of plate when curled into a fist. Weighing half a metric ton, the massive piece of machinery made the six foot Rebecca feel small as she walked around it and grabbed the upraised back panel to lift herself in. As she did so, her eyes slithered over the servo-mechanisms that held the combat rifle and the multipurpose launcher. The armored bulk of the power core rested between those two weapons, along with a huge portion of the electronic systems, such as the anti-grav, used to slow on reentry and allow for rather prodigious jumps. Extra ammunition, Rebecca’s preferred mix solid shots and penetrators, filled the storage areas in the leg armor, which also contained her field uniform, a sidearm and some ration bars.

Having known too many Marines to die by being careless, Rebecca checked the combat rifle next. The weapon was nothing most people would recognize as a firearm, though the lethality of it was without question when gazing upon the serpentine form. Capable of firing anything from a single shot to fully automatic fire at a thousand rounds a minute, the rifle usually fired multiple kinds of ammunition in a ten millimeter dart form. One was explosive – the dart was composed of compressed high explosives and blew up with the force of a pound of TNT when it hit the target. Two other types, Rebecca’s preference for anything but demolition work, usually came mixed, in a ten millimeter solid dart and a sabot-penetrator round with a four millimeter tungsten core. Other types of rounds were the functional equivalent of prespace shotguns, splitting into a hundred tiny flechettes after being fired, but no one in the company used those, by the Colonel’s order.

The multipurpose launcher was ready too, filled to its maximum with three kinetic rockets and two high explosive ones. The grenade launcher on the left shoulder was filled and ready, with six grenades stored.

Hiking herself up, Rebecca slipped into the back and felt the armor sealing around her as she merged her neural interface into it, linking through hard sockets in her neck and both palms. She could see out the currently polarized view port, of one way visible battlesteel, if she should choose to do so, but she mainly relied on her sensors which began feeding data immediately about her surroundings and the armor itself. All the systems were reporting ready, including the plasma flamers mounted on the inside of each arm. A commanding thought brought the seventy five centimeter long battleblades flicking out from each arm, then another thought brought them back in.

Wincing slightly as the necessary other connections to her body were made, Sergeant Mullen checked the suit seals, and smiled. She was now protected from most ground based mobile weapons systems, and back where she belonged. Shock gel flowed out of highly pressurized compartments and filled in the gaps in the armor, and she shivered slightly as it flowed into place between her toes.

That always tickled.

“Company!” the Colonel shouted, seeing that everyone was likewise suited up. “By platoons, man the ships!” As senior sergeant, and not attached to either platoon, Rebecca watched calmly, listening in on the communications system as the orders were echoed.

“Platoon, by sections, man the ships!”

“First Section, by squad, man the ships!”

Half a scout squad and half a heavy weapons squad boarded each of the pinnances, followed by enough Marines to fill them with a quarter of the company. The Colonel, the Captain, the Lieutenant, and Rebecca would each board last, onto a different pinnance, that way a lucky shot would not deprive the unit of all command.

Two minutes later, sixteen ships fell Earthward.

Western Approaches to Arda

Seventy three vessels roared over the ocean, the signature blue field of blazing drives running at maximum efficiency outshining all but the sun unless one were to look directly at them. Then it would probably be a dead even heat. Moving at something approaching fifty-four thousand kilometers an hour, a mere snail’s pace for craft such as these were, it was more than enough to outrun any attempt at interception, the lead craft hailed the Five Kingdoms from nearly two thousand kilometers out, which was a mere two minutes of flight time.

This is Colonel Sarah McKinley, of the Federation of Sentient Peoples Air Force calling Volandstad Control in the Five Kingdoms. I request approach and landing instructions for Operation Radiant Caduceus, the Federation medical assistance mission.

The active sensors were on at minimal power, probing ahead of the spacecraft, making sure that nothing on unfriendly terms tried to get too close, unlike the Ardan fighters who were on a course to intercept and escort. There was a war on, after all. And most of the Federation craft were heavily armed.

A second of deceleration increased the approach time to three minutes. After all, there probably was no need to come in quite that hot against air breathers.

Days came and went, and gradually each engagement felt like it was just a long unending torrent of battle with no ending in sight. After Cipio had been mercilessly shelled and stormed by Freekish armor and infantry units, Dreadfire pulled a maneuver that would change the course of the war and likely history itself. He ordered dozens of seperate landings on every island within the chain in an attempt to strain and overwhelm the defenders in the region and make allocation of resources that much more difficult. Once thing was certain though, Damien needed to get his men off his ships and onto ground, for they would serve no purpose sitting in their cabins and having their lives potentially lost by a missile strike or shell hit.

Therefore, the bulk of Dreadfire's ground machine was put into effect all across the island chains, with several dozen new incursions taking place each day. The results began to speak for themselves as his ships and aircraft continued to impose themselves on the gravships and fighters of the Five Kingdoms, though the relative success was not without great sacrifice. Azrael and Zander did not alert Dreadfire to the extent of their losses as to not cause him to swing into an irrational flurry, so the deaths and destroyed ships and planes were downplayed. Both Warchiefs knew that even with the casualties suffered that they were still operating at nearly maximum efficiency. The mass swarm of landings would be a temporary victory, since the resistance on the mainland was likely to be that much stiffer, for Damien did not wish to delay and bleed the Five Kingdoms out slowly across the chains. He wanted to be on their mainland at all costs.

Several weeks into the massive blitz of troop and tank, the Warlord did something that was unexpected considering the focus of the invasion thus far; he sent a detachement of troops under his personal command to the north, where an open strech of coast would allow him to touch down and begin flanking and routing the forces that were dug in anticipation of a sea attack from their front. This was perhaps the most ctirical move of the war, though neither Dreadfire or Althalon knew at the time what kind of consequences it would have. He had mistakenly ventured into territory he should not have, and it was no surprise that his landing zone was largely vacant, save for the military presence dozens of miles away. What was keeping them so far out, he wondered.

As men and material swept ashore, he made certain to check in with his son concerning operations in the south and southwest. Reports coming back were sketchy at best, with passage being blocked by the hellish sea storm that the Litany had been brewing. The only way forward was north, right through the heart of the defending gravships and fighter formations. For this, Damien summoned Brinks to advance from his defensive line and begin supporting Azrael's movements with a heavy blanket of missile fire. It was rare for the again Warchief to take to the ground these days, and his role mainly consisted of maritime operations and covering the other Warchiefs during their advances and assaults. Upon tapping his aircraft reserves and topping off his missile tubes, the lumbering aramda of Brinks began to slip away from the line and venture towards the combat zones.

I remember stepping off onto the beach with him, his red cape hanging from his shoulders as he strode about the landing zone with seemingly no regard for his own safety. It was always an inspiration to see the leader of the most powerful country in the world on the same level as the lowely footsoldiers who followed his orders.

The boy looked at his dad with wide eyes as he continued digging into the depths of his memory to unlock the painful events that unfolded.

Turns out they knew we were coming, and shells began falling all around us. So much.....blood, it literally turned the sands red...something I've never seen before. We rushed to our positions and began returning fire madly, our tanks and fighting vehicles spreading out wide to avoid having whole squads wiped out at once.

In fact, we could barely see the flashes of their tanks in the distance. Dreadfire must have either got bad intel or got too greedy, because the northern beach we had landed on was more well defended than anything else up until that point.....

And for some reason he kept looking the other way periodically. Even though we were being shelled from right in front of us, he would glance over his shoulder in the other direction for seemingly no reason. It really made some of us Freekish officers concerned, though of course the Sentinels cared less.