NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: This is the aftermath of the conquest by Doomingsland of Kahanistan. So far, I'm considering it open to anyone who wants to smuggle in arms to the insurgents of various alignments, or help the Doomies, G-d forbid. If you want to help the insurgents, you'll have to smuggle past the Doomani fleet and / or air arm, and need intelligence of where the insurgents are. There are more factions than the one in this post, so don't assume they're all Muslim, and feel free to create your own after running it by me in IM.]

Iudaea Province, Doomanum

Mohammed Mustafa Azzam was one of those lucky Muslims who had survived the Doomani purges, by registering as a Christian and understating his level of education. At nineteen, he had nearly completed his bachelor's degree in secondary science education at the University of Kahanistan - Najaster, but he had claimed to have no education beyond high school.

In actuality, Mohammed Mustafa Azzam was a ruthless Shi'ite insurgent. While it would be wrong to call him bloodthirsty, Mohammed had no qualms whatsoever about killing anyone he even remotely suspected was a Doomani informer, or even a family member to spare him or her Doomani torture as a family member of an insurgent.

In a cave east of the Negev, under the mountains, Mohammed was the leader of Harb al-Jihad, the Sword of Struggle, an Islamic militant organization that had formed after the Doomani occupation to resist the conquerors. Harb al-Jihad had some 200 members, who had been rigorously tested before recruitment and had to show willingness to die for the cause by taking point whenever the organization laid ambushes for Doomani patrols, and kill at least one of their own family members to show their ruthlessness. It was thought that an informer would not risk death and be unable to betray the organization.

It was true that the Koran forbade murder. But Mohammed Mustafa Azzam convinced his followers that this policy, while brutal, eliminated informers and the innocents killed would ascend to Paradise as mujahideen, as they had died in Holy Jihad against the Imperium Doomanum. However, aside from the brutal nature of admission to Harb al-Jihad and the resulting paucity of recruits, the militant group had three things working against them: One was the view widely held in the world that Muslims were terrorists. Harb al-Jihad did not conduct attacks against civilian populations, but only against isolated Doomani patrols, which they ambushed with AK-47's, captured DR-83's and Gladii Doomani.

Another obstacle to victory was the fact that most of the few fanatics who would have joined had been killed or enslaved when the occupation began. Of the survivors, the majority were stupid and simply blew themselves up when talking to Doomani interrogators, or walked into a police station and started shooting, getting themselves killed while rarely killing large numbers of the enemy.

However, the main obstacle to their success was Mohammed Mustafa Azzam himself. He was but nineteen, still filled with the impetuousness of youth. He was filled with the spirit of Allah, and blinded to the possibility of Allah failing. Worst of all, Mohammed Mustafa Azzam was in many ways similar to the Doomani he so detested; the main difference was in their religion rather than their outlooks.

Today, Mohammed surveyed Harb al-Jihad's arsenal. They had some 7,000 AK-47's, mainly dug up from insurgent and military stocks that had been buried when occupation was expected. Around 50 DR-83's and Gladii Doomani were there, as well as crates containing several hundred grenades and about 100,000 rounds of ammunition. Worse, in order to survive many were forced to eat pig, an abomination in Islam.

They would have to ambush another Doomani patrol. Mohammed selected twelve men and women who he had personally witnessed being inducted into the group and pointed out an area on the map that Doomani soldiers had been seen. If they could take out this patrol, they would have enough ammunition to last them for weeks. He armed his twelve militants with one DR-83, twenty-four grenades, and eleven AK-47's. The sound of a Doomani weapon might confuse the enemy long enough to gain a tactical advantage...

Ever since their patrols had begun to get ambushed in the previous weeks, the Imperial Army had grown increasingly warry of insurgent operations. It was virtually impossible for the insurgents to operate in the cities; ever since the Doomani had arrived, civilians had been rounded up and herded into isolated ghettos within the cities, preventing outside interference either through communication or physical insurgent attacks (that is, unless someone on the inside somehow managed to acquire a weapon; that would be a difficult task, with the ghettos under full surveilance at all times). Meanwhile, the Inquisition had infiltrated dozens of informants into each individual ghetto, which house just a few hundred people each.

Public executions for heresy, burning at the stake in most cases, occured on an almost daily basis, these following hours of gruesome torture that would produce a confession from the accused.

The cities themselves had been heavily fortified by the Doomani; entering from outside would simply be suicide. This was no conventional occupation; what the Doomani had done was to literally turn the cities of Kahanistan into prisons.

However, patrols in the mountains were another story. Those that had managed to get there were generally people that had hidden there prior to the Doomani commencing occupation: everyone that had been registered by the Doomani were now imprisoned within one of the ghettos, complete with subdermal implants to track their movements.

Finding that small infantry patrols could be easily ambushed, the High Command was preparing for a terrifyingly brutal campaign of retaliation against the insurgents hiding in the mountains.

Already, six legions had been amassed for the coming offensive, along with thousands of pieces of artillery. Millions of shells containing the dreaded Pestis Dei had also been set aside for the operation. Procurator Cassius Lepidus, governor of Iuedaea, was fully intent on killing every last one of the infidels.

However; all would have seemed normal to the insurgents. The forces were being massed in areas relatively distant from Negev, protected by the Doomani with heavily guarded perimeters, preventing the insurgents from getting visual confirmation of what was going on without walking right into the line of sight of a sniper vehicle.

For now, patrols continued routinely, albeit with a bit more in the area of support.

Iudaea

Decurion Gauius Tertius Tiberius was the commander of the infantry squad the Muslim insurgents thought they were hunting. Little did they know, Tiberius' squad had direct access to feed from a UAV cruising at 5,000 feet.

The men were clad in standard Doomani desert equipment: their uniform did not consist of standard BDUs, but rather Bedhouin-style robes in digital camoflage pattern to keep them cool. They were trimmed down significantly and tucked in whereever possible, ensuring they would not snag; it almost gave the appearence of regular BDUs. Over that they wore their body armor and load-bearing vest along with a camelpac type hydration system, in addition to a head wrap and tinted goggles. Their Roman-style helment sported a projection system that projected data from a fold-down monitor off to the side slightly directly onto their goggles, spreading out data in an easy-to-access manner. Alternitavely, the flip-down-monitor could be switch to not project onto the goggles and instead simply display data by itself.

These men (the riflemen, at least), being pure infantrymen, were equipped with DR-83.IIB rifles, the longer-barreled variant.

The Doomani foot infantry generally operated in seven-man squads. This was seen to be a highly flexible method of fighting; indeed, it was a tactic used by the special forces of many nations. The Legionaries themselves may as well have been special forces: they were certainly well-trained enough to constitute as such.

The squad was equipped with one automatic rifleman armed with a DMG-83, a grenadier equipped with a DR-83.IIB/DACU.41 grenade launcher, a sniper with a DRS-83 designated marksman weapon, with the remaining four carrying DR-83-IIBs. They all had specific roles, however, as opposed to simple riflemen...

Out of the corner of his eye, Tiberius was able to monitor the UAV feed projected onto his visor; the Kahanistani were moving towards a position his squad had previously covered. He quickly rallied his men,

"The infidels are heading towards checkpoint golf, brothers...they seem to be following us," he quietly growled to his men,

"We're going to set up here..."

Tiberius expertly positioned his men in key vantage points amidst the rough, mountainous desert terrain. His men were experts in camoflage and concealment, especialy in environments such as these. They would take up defensive positions in the rocks and shrubs, taking the necessary time to dig themselves in.

His machinegunner had an excellent view of the terrain below their position, as did his grenadier and DMR. The rest of his men had taken up supporting positions with them; remote-controlled directional anti-personel mines had been placed in the expected avenue of approach. The mens' lines of fire were interlocking, as well, ensuring that the enemy insurgents would be thoroughly covered.

In the mean time, he had a Corvus attack helicopter, five minutes out, on standby.

The past few weeks the heathens had gotten the best of them a few times; that would change today. For these men, even after the capture of Jerusalem, the Crusade continued. This Crusade would not end until the last of the infidels had been slaughtered before the might of Christ's legions; they were prepared to die to facilititate this, but for now they intended to kill as many Muslim heathens as they could...

Hafez Mahmoud al-Ayyub, the leader of the twelve-strong squad sent out to ambush the Doomani, sighted over a rock with his captured DR-83. Ahead of him, a former Republic Guard who had joined Harb al-Jihad crouched behind a small dune, his AK-47 at the ready. Insha'Allah (Allah willing), they would capture some sniper rifles today and more DR-83's. The mujahideen recognized that those abominations were superior weapons to the AK-47's they were used to, and Harb al-Jihad was one of the smaller, more poorly equipped insurgent organizations.

"Sir," said the point man, still accustomed to military practices, "if we take this convoy, we will have enough supplies for 1,000 troops."

Al-Ayyub nodded. "Insha'Allah."

The insurgents continued their advance, little knowing that they were walking into a Doomani trap...

Tiberius' eyes were fixed through the scope of his DR-83; he controlled his breathing as he lined up the point man of the insurgent squad in his crosshairs. Hiding amidst clusters of rocks and shrubbery, the enemy wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of seeing them until they were literally right on top of them.

Right now, the K'stanis were roughly three hundred meters ahead of them, approaching their position, completely unaware of the presence of the Doomani squad laying in ambush. Tiberius' Legionaries had set up a nice little kill box for the infidels to get themselves caught in; it would only be a matter of filling it with lead to slaughter them all when they stumbled into it.

The area they were hidden in looked virtually identical to the rest of these mountains both the Kahanistanis and Doomani had been traversing the past weeks; there was nothing to suggest this particular area contained soldiers.

The men silently adjusted their weapons for range as the insurgents drew nearer and nearer to the selected zone: an area just two-hundred yards ahead of them. The Doomani simply loved to engage their Kahanistani foe at ranges exceeding one hundred yards, when they could be certain that their 7.62x39mm rounds would simply bounce harmlessly off their armor, while being able to precisely pick their enemies to pieces with their DR-83s, which were designed with pinpoint accuracy in mind.

The killzone was enveloped from three sides by Imperial troops; two teams of two on either flank, with a single three-man fireteam containing the squad's heavy hitters (automatic rifleman, DMR, and Tiberius himself to help direct their fire) directly in front of the ambush zone. The area was also at slightly lower elevation than the terrain the Doomani, allowing for them to simply pour a disgusting amount of firepower into the area without fear of hitting friendly troops.

The other two teams (closer to the killzone than the heavy team) consisted of three rifle-armed infantrymen along with the squad's grenadier, equipped with his over-barrel semi-automatic DACU.41A 40mm grenade launcher, which he'd loaded up with flechette shot rounds, which were capable of totally covering the area they were firing into with thousands of ultra-high velocity flechettes, ripping anything in the killzone apart in a matter of milliseconds. He'd been positioned in an area where he could fire on the enemy without having to concern himself with enemy cover...

As the Kahanistanis entered the killzone, the demolitions man banged on his remote detonater, setting off three different directional mines forward of the Kahanistanis, angled in to sweep their squad with their deadly payload of flechettes. An instant later, the machinegun, forward of the enemy squad, began to bark viciously as it poured 6.7mm APFJ rounds into the Kahanistani formation at a terrifying rate of fire, simply in order to get their heads down.

Meanwhile, the sniper began lining up targets, intending to neutralize them one by one as they popped their heads up from behind cover as the machinegun moved along the formation. In the mean time, Tiberius instructed his bravo squad, on the left flank of the Kahanistanis, to commence fire.

They opened up with a series of precise burst aimed to nail the enemy soldiers as they were pinned down and force them into cover that would force their rear open to the third team.

Once this had been accomplished, the third team, the team that contained the grenadier would commence fire. The grenadier would fire off three flechette-shot rounds in rapid succession right into the enemy soldiers, while his partner would join in putting precise bursts into the enemy formation. This last phase of the ambush would most likely be sufficient to kill the survivors of the squad.

Their firing and reloading was all timed; there would not be a single instant where there would not be fire going down range at the Kahanistanis. If there was one man reloading, another man would be firing, only to reload when his comrade had again begun to fire. Of course, with their precision aiming, it probably wouldn't be necessary. This sort of ambush tended to end in a matter of seconds...

BOOM!

The point-man and two other insurgents were killed instantly by the directional mine, ripped to shreds by the storm of flechettes. Two others were taken down and one critically wounded by the Doomani heavy machine gun that pounded them from another direction. Blood and gore flew everywhere as the slain were dismembered by the murderous infidel fire.

Al-Ayyub himself, although crippled in one leg from a flechette wound, crouched down between two sand dunes and sighted the highest-ranking Mary worshipper he could see with his captured DR-83. Behind him, two other insurgents poured fire into the main Doomani line with their AK-47's, aiming for the machine gunners. If they could turn that machine gun against the Doomies, the entire Muslim world would cheer and Harb al-Jihad would experience a swell of new recruits.

"Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!" the mujahideen chanted as they turned their AK-47 fire toward the machine gunner, losing one of their own to a sniper. "Shit, they've got snipers!" the other mujahid cried to his comrades in Arabic. None of this squad spoke Doomani Latin, and it was highly unlikely that most of the Doomies spoke Arabic.

But the warriors of Allah were also taking fire from grenade launchers, and as ill-equipped as they were, never stood a chance against the Doomies unless they could lay the ambush on their own terms.

None of the brave mujahideen who fought for Allah that day would survive. Mohammed Mustafa Azzam would simply assume that his squad had been ambushed and order his troops to remain closer to the base in the caves, and to fight only from the mountains.

From a distant mountain, Lieutenant John Pope looked threw a pair of binoculars. He watched as the mujahideen were mercilessly cut down by Doomani soliders. Once the dust cleared all the mujahideen were dead. Lt. Pope put down the binoculars slowly and made his way back to a small encampment.

Lt. Pope was part of a recon squad, a part of the Special Forces of Canadstein, that was assigned to observe the occupation of Kahanistan. The squad was told to not interfere, with any rebel groups or the Doomingsland army. Lt. Pope was going to abide by these orders and had done so this far. As he climbed to the other side of the mountain a small camouflaged camp appeared. They had been here since the beginning of the war and had dug a small HQ in the side of the mountain. The camp was as the same level as the group around the mountain and had a camo net above it. Lt. Pope hoped that no Doomani planes could see the see the small camp from above.

Lt. Pope stepped down into the camp and saw a man near the radio. He was Pvt. Jimmy Boyd, the radio operator of the squad.

"What the hell was all of that noise, Lieutenant?"

"Those rebels bellow us were ambushed by Dommani soldiers. The rebels were trying to attack a convoy, dumb bastards."

"Isn't that too bad."

A man sleeping on a bed woke up. This man was Cpl. Leland DeWindt, the squad's heavy weapons operator.

"Well they should have known, any good army isn't going to let a convoy get attacked that easily."

Lt. Pope was surprised that Cpl. DeWindt woke up. DeWindt had been on watch for the last 24 hours. As Lt. Pope started to walk to the opposite side of the end of the encampment he saw that the squad's medic, Pvt. Irving Wade, was reading a book. He gave him a salute and saw down on crate. Another soldier came down into the encampment, the last member and sniper of the squad, Pvt. Don Amend. Pvt. Amend looked to be out of breath. Pope had sent him on a mission to gather intelligence on a nearby town. Sweat rolled from forehead down to his neck. Putting down his TAC-50 sniper rifle, Amend drank some water. As he stopped, Amend let out a deep gasp.

"Sir, I thought it was an enemy."

"What the hell did you do Amend?"

"I couldn't make it out clearly and thought that it was a rebel or Dommani solider. I thought they found my position and I put a bullet threw the person's head, but when it slumped over it had no gun, so I ran, sir."

"Shit. This is very bad..."

Lt. Pope knew that this was extremely bad news. He hoped that no one had followed Pvt. Amend.

"Brother!" shouted the young Arab man as he ran into the arms of his twin brother in the terminal of the Al Hanath train station. He was one of the latest groups of refugees to seek safety in the undiscriminating borders of Groznyj. Ever since the outbreak of war the amount of people coming across the border had grown considerably. First it was children, most likely sent to relatives living in Groznyj, then entire families. Until finally millions of Kahanistani refugees took up shelter within Groznyj. Al Hanath was the southernmost city in Groznyj and as such home to a great number of people of Arab decent and relatives of Kahanistanis. In the months preceding the occupation Al Hanath had become the hub for pro-Kahanistani activity. Rallies and marches encompassing millions of people had been organized in Al Hanath as well as all over the country, including the capital. The Kahanistani Aid Movement, led by Islamic cleric Osman Cagatay, had by this point captured the support and hearts of a majority of the population. They wanted Farbanti to do something about the Doomani occupation and to help their brethren. The Groznian brother kissed the Kahanistani on the forehead and with tears in both of their eyes they headed towards one of the brothers' car. Once the two arrived at the house, at about 8:00 PM, the entire family was their to greet them. All 48 of them. Later on in the night, after the celebration was over and everyone left to go to their own homes, the two twins started talking about the Kahanistani's experience during the occupation.

"What do you want to drink Mehmet?" said Ali (the Groznian) to his brother who was sitting on the leather sofa in front of a large flat-panel tv.

"Just a bear is all" replied the other. "Thanks," he said as he popped the can's cap. Just then both turned their attention towards the television. A news article on Kahnistan, funded by the Kahanistani Aid Movement, was playing. Images of dead babies and crying grandmothers flashed across the screen. The narrator spoke in Arabic on how to donate and contact the local representative.

"Do you want me to change it?" said Ali, his hand reaching for the remote.

"No. No it's ok" said Mehmet, his hand stopping his brothers. The program went on to show the state of the refugees that didn't have close relatives to help them and then to list a number of crimes committed by the Doomannis before finally ending. Mehmet's arm started trembling and he couldn't stop himeself from crushing the bear can in his hand. Ali looked at him sympathetically.

"What did they do to you there?" he said. Mehmet calmed down and adjusted his seat. He then began to explain.

"Once they came in they quarantined all the cities. The whole population essentially. We all had to go through processing and fill out registration forms. There were questions like 'Do you believe in Jesus Christ the Son and the Savior?' and 'Do you acknowledge the Virgin Mary'. There was one box on the paper; it asked if you were Christian or not. I checked that I was Mosleman. Then after that people started disappearing."-Mehmet choked as he spoke, fighting back the tears,-"All of them. All of my colleagues from the University disappeared in the first 3 days after they came. That's when some of my friends came to me and told me they were executing all the young educated Mosleman men. They told me they were going to try and escape the city before they finished quarantining it. There were 3 of us and we managed to jump onto a cargo truck as it was leaving the city. One of my friends was seen and... they shot him right there. Me and Farad were watching from the back of the truck when he just... fell there." at this point Mehmet broke down into tears. His horrified brother did his best to try and console him. When he had partially recovered he resumed his story, "we got out of the truck when we were far away from the city. Then we walked for 3 days to the north. A Doomani patrol found us and interrogated us. We told them we both walked in the desert for 12 days to become closer to God. They just laughed at us and shot Farad in the head. I ran away and I don't know how I lost them. Finally I found a group of refugees taking a train for here and I went with them."

Ali was dumbstruck at what he had heard. "Oh my God" he said. For a minute neither said anything to the other. One recovering from remembering the events of the past week and the other shocked passed words due to his brother's tale.

"Can you get me another bear? There's something I want to tell you." said Mehmet.

"Yeah Of course" Ali jumped over the couch and walked behind to the left (the couch's right) to the refrigerator to get another beer.

"Brother there's an insurgency going on in Kahanistan. The news doesn't report it because the Doomani's won't let any of that stuff get out the country but its happening. They're the reason I was able to get to the train. They are fighting for their people's freedom but they are fighting a losing war in the mountains. They need help and support. We have to aid them! Your living comfortably here and thank Allah for that, but the rest of Groznyj is strong too no? We must get the government to send help." the look on Mehmet's face was that of burning pride which had replaced his tears. This was all a little too much for his brother to take in at once. Without thinking Ali pointed out what was already known by the two;

"Wait, our cousin Ahmet works for the government. We can get him to contact someone higher up"

"Ofcourse!" exclaimed Mehmet. "Insha'allah brother we can help them"
___________________________________________________________

In the Mountains of Kahanistan...

Lt. Edris and his squad of Rangers laid in cover under a ridge line in the afternoon sun. He picked this place and time because they had full sunlight on the insergent base, but anyone looking in their direction would be blinded by the sun. They had a good half hour before the sun cleared the ridge line. They had managed throughout the past several days to sneak up to within shouting distance of the enemy base observing nearly every move of the insurgents. Chechens are known for being mountain men and Groznyj is a very mountainous land. Even biologically; their lungs over millennia had adapted to the higher than normal altitude of their homeland. It was one of the things the army prided itself on; having some of the best trained mountain fighters in the world. When he was in the highlands of Kahanistan, Lt. Edris and his men were in their element and rarely bested. And after weeks of searching they had finally found the rebel base. Or possibly a rebel base if there were more like it around.

"Do we know their radio frequency?" whispered the Lt. into his comm-link.

"Negative sir we have no idea what frequency they operate."

"Roger that. Squad, move out on my lead. They should recognize our colors."

In an instant 8 figures got up from their positions and started walking down the hill towards the base. To anyone on guard it must have been a spectacle. Edris took point and walked with his M8 in one hand and his other hand stretched out. After getting close enough to the base, and also wanting to get it across to whoever was watching that they were not to be mistaken for the enemy, Edris yelled out, "Salaam Alaekum brothers!


Mean while a certain message began making its way rapidly up the ladder towards the president.

[OOC: Most Muslims don't drink beer, but... then again, most Kahanistanian Muslims are not fundamentalists or extremists. Some of them might pop a cold one...]

Mehmet was one of the roughly nine million mostly Muslim refugees who had gone to Groznyj. Most had chosen to go to nations that were known to be hostile to Doomingsland, such as Sovereign League and Haven states. In fact, Kahanistanian refugees had set up a state in Haven called the Free Havenic Republic of Kahanistan.

Others chose nations that were close by that they could get to. While Groznyj wasn't as close as a lot of nations, it was close enough that several million Kahanistanian Muslims would feel comfortable fleeing to.

---

The Kahanistanian insurgent sentry who spotted the Groznian special forces immediately ducked behind a rock, and leveled an AK-47 at the soldiers. The AK-47 and the IMI Tavor were the favored weapons of the insurgents; the Tavor was made for desert combat and the AK-47 could stand up to harsh treatment that would ruin many Western arms.

This sentry was not a Muslim, or an Arab, or even a man. The insurgent was a thin black boy of about sixteen. He was a member of the People's Guard, a militant Communist group that had tried to take over the Kahanistanian former government several years earlier, considering its limited free market and democratic elections to be "bourgeois capitalistic deception."

The youth with the Kalashnikov commanded in a southern Israeli accent, "State your business." He kept his weapon trained on the Groznians; while Doomani had not been known for this sort of deception he was taking no chances.

[ooc: lol I know,but being a muslim myself I've seen a fair amount of drinking]

Sonofabitch...

The words passed through Edris' mind when he saw and heard the boy.

I could have sworn this was the other base...Fucking found the wrong one! His hands instinctively gripped his rifle a little more strongly. Ah fuck here we go... The instant of shock that had shot through his mind was gone now as quickly as it had come. His mission was to gather intelligence on rebel activity and help in an indirect manner. Although he would have preferred nationalist insurgents, religious or even communist ones would have to do: his MO (Mission Objective) left him room to make his own decisions. And besides, there was still a sniper about 200 meters behind him.

He continued walking until the boy ordered him to halt, leveling his trembling Kalashnikov with his head.

He lowered his weapon and his free arm and introduced himself;

"I am Lieutenant First Class Edris of the Groznian Army Rangers. Spec Ops. These are my men and we are here to help you. I would like to speak to whoever is in command here" he said in slightly accented english.

The boy with the AK-47 did not turn his head from Edris as he called to another comrade. "Angeline. Daniel. Take these people to the commander."

Another black youth and a thick, blonde white girl stepped out from behind the rocks. The boy was somewhat larger than the one who had initially greeted the Groznians, and the girl seemed to have experienced a lot of stress the last few weeks; her facial expression seemed blank and she spoke in a monotone.

"I'll lead," she said. The male sentry stepped behind the Groznians. All of the insurgents were armed with AK-47's and the boy who had spotted them remained at his post while the others led the Groznians into the base.

This cave had a deep tunnel network reminiscent of those used by the Viet Cong to transport arms, insurgents, and supplies. However, the commander's area was not that deep, to give informers a minimal view of the base when new people were brought in. Angeline and Daniel were escorting the special forces toward a cell about ten meters deep.

In this cell, a man in his mid-thirties in a Republic Guard military uniform sat on a stool. He held the rank of Colonel according to his insignia. He seemed to be very concerned about these newcomers.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" The man held an AK-47 in one hand, a captured Gladius Doomanus in the other. Behind him, a Soviet flag draped the interior of his cell, the only decoration in this pit.

Lt. Pope looked down from the mountain. He could see a small town with no more than 150 people. Then he saw a red figure laying on the ground. Getting out a pair of binoculars it was a body, the one Pvt. Amend had killed. Blood was in a small puddle nearby. John motioned for the squad to move up.

"Men we have to do something. Cpl. DeWindt I want you to stay here and cover this part of the town with your M249 SAW. Pvt. Amend I want you to get to the other side of the town and cover that area. While both of you are covering Pvt. Wade, Pvt. Boyd, and me are going to into that town. I know that we are suppose to not interact or intervene in this war, but screw those orders."

Once he finished the talk Pvt. Amend got to the other side of the town and had his TAC-50 sniper rifle pointed toward the town. He noticed that the town looked like it was deserted. Amend called in that he was ready. Lt. Pope moved his group down the mountain until they stopped at the body. Pvt. Wade bent down to look at the person.

"Sir, this person is dead."

"Wade get Boyd to help you carry these body."

Wade pulled out a stretcher and move the body onto it. As they continued down the mountain Lt. Pope kept his M4 carbine in his hand just in case something happened.

"Is there anyone here?" cried out Lt. Pope as they entered the town. Wade and Boyd put down the stretcher and had their hands near their guns. "I am 1st Lieutenant John Pope of the Canadstein Special Forces, Recon. We come in peace. We are not Dommani soldiers. I want to speak to the leader..."

Cpl. DeWindt and Pvt. Amend both had a finger on their triggers. They hoped that a fire fight did not break out.

CRACK!

A shot from an AK-47 narrowly missed the lieutenant's head. It was the father of the little girl whose corpse the soldiers had just put onto a stretcher.

"Am I supposed to care that you aren't Doomani?" the voice of an angry man cried from behind the hut he had fired from. "Why did my little girl have to be brought into this?"

The man ejected his empty clip and loaded a fresh clip of thirty 7.62 x 39mm rounds into his weapon. He was going to take the life of one of these soldiers for the life of his child. He sighted from around the corner, this time his cross-hairs centered directly on the Canadstein commander's head...

This was one of the isolated farming villages that dotted Kahanistan. Like most of these villages, the population was composed largely of Allaneanized hicks armed with heavy weapons and driving gas-hogging SUV's. The irate father here was obviously one such hick. He didn't care about Catholicism or Islam, crusaderism or secularism. He just wanted to be left alone with his family.

The tunnel was dimly lit and had a smell of stale bread. But at least they were not being blind folded. A few memories of his mountain training came to mind as Edris walked down the tunnel. He was slowly growing more nervous as he continued down the tunnel with the youth as his guide... but he didn't show it.

Damned intel, thsi operation is getting more fucked up as we go along.

They rounded a corner leading deeper into the cave network.

Shit now we're at their mercy if anything goes wrong. He eyed a rebel soldier as they passed each other. damn commies...

He noticed the dual-armed commander of the base when they all entered the cell.

He spoke in an english slightly accented, it was common for foreigners to mistake Groznians for being of Russian decent.

"I am Lieutenant First Class Edris of the Groznian Army Rangers. Special Operations section. And these are my men. We have been tracking your movements in these mountains through the past week and we have orders to assist and coordinate your attempts to overthrow the occupational forces."

He withdrew a formal looking paper from his chest pocket and handed it to the Col. hopefully this would help feel more at ease that this wasn't a Doomani trap.

"I am Colonel Viktor Antonov, Kahanistan Republic Guard," said the base commander. He looked over the letter carefully, while the two escorts and the three guards at Antonov's side leveled their AK-47's.

"Still, this could be a forgery... we've had problems with informers in the past. If you really are Groznians, then you could be what we're looking for..."

"Very well, you've seen our weapons, you see what we lack that would be useful against these fanatics, you've seen as much of us as the Doomani have. Tell your government what we need to counter their armor, their air power, and their chemical weapons." He wasn't going to give the Groznians the Communists' own tactical assessments in case they were Doomies.

"You say you've been tracking us... why not simply speak to us a week ago?" He was going to interrogate these people mercilessly. Not torture them; torture did not usually elicit reliable information. Merely keep them for a while until they told all they knew, and maybe poke a few holes in their story.

Lt. Pope dove behind a crude brick wall. Wade and Boyd both abandoned the dead body and fired their M-16s. Quickly they found cover in a nearby ditch. Both of the men had of their guns trained on the armed man. From above Cpl. DeWindt had his weapon ready to fire in case more gunman came out. Lt. Pope popped up and fired his M-4. He didn't want to kill this man, and knew that he was angry for killing his daughter. Getting out his radio, he turned it on.

"Amend take the man out."

Amend looked threw his scope. Finding his target he aimed for the kneecaps. Pulling the trigger he quickly reloaded, then aimed for the other kneecap. Looking down bellow he wondered if he was successful.

The man fell to the ground in pain, just half a second before he would have killed the unit commander. Still filled with rage, he raised his Kalashnikov and fired again, spraying wildly into the ditch.

The injured civilian crawled on his knees toward his daughter's body. He didn't know how badly she was hit, just that she was downed and lost a lot of blood. He didn't want to believe that she was dead, but he was still very angry with these people for shooting her.

As he crawled out, he shot at any soldiers who were in sight and weren't in ditches yet. Perhaps their body armor would protect them, perhaps it wouldn't. He didn't seem to be aiming for the head this time around, just shooting angrily. He was hit in the left knee and right arm, and had a bullet in his chest, on the other side from the heart.

Lt. Pope knew it was a hopeless cause to not kill this man. He fire upon the man, then threw a grenade at him. Cpl. DeWindt opened fire with his SAW. Dust was engulfing the man. Cpl. DeWindt pulled the trigger down, then finally stopped. As the dust started to clear, Wade and Boyd started to fan out and check for any more gunmen. Lt. Pope, with his gun pointed to where the man was located, walked toward the clearing dust.

The hail of fire and grenades tore the enraged hick to shreds. When the dust and smoke cleared, the father was horribly mutilated, as if he had been half-eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex. There was no way in hell he was still alive. But by now, the villagers had heard the exchange of fire and were coming out of their huts with their weapons.

The Canadstein soldiers would have a lot of explaining to do...

"This little fucker doesn't believe us. He's starting to piss me off." said Cpt. Zikoy to Edris in their native Chechen language. A language unique to Groznyj and recognizable to any allies. The captain stared at the Former Rep. Guardsman.

"It's not his fault he's suspicious; he's had his country blown to crap and is living in a cave in the mountains. Hell I'd be pissed if I were him." replied Edris in Chechen.

"Well I'll keep an eye on him, I don't trust these people".

Edris turned to Antonov.

"Excuse me. It's taken us a week to find you. And we're coming to speak to you now. Our base is about 7 klicks from here and we have an arms cache and some sensory equipment. It'll be a lot more effective than what you have now at taking out armor and not getting massacred. I'd be more than happy to bring you or some of your men there." The Lt. paused to let the words sink in. His eyes wandered around the room for a second before coming back to Antonov.

"What's the currrent tactical situation here?" His voiced had changed slightly. Before he was introducing himself and a little taken off-guard by the reception. Now he was all to business and his mission.

"Boyd, Wade get the hell out of here." said Lt. Pope as he fired his weapon to anything that moved. Boyd and Wade were already on the other side of the mountain and started to fire back at the village. Cpl. DeWindt quickly reloaded and opened fire onto the town. Lt. Pope made his way back to the original brick wall and pulled out a grenade launcher. His hand disappeared into sleeve and produced a grenade. Loading it Lt. Pope shot the grenade straight into a group of them. Reloading his M-4 he ran back up to DeWindt's position.

"I think we pissed off the natives..."

As they went up the hill Boyd felt a sharp pain, but keep on going. Once they got to Pvt. Amend's position Wade looked at the wound. He was bleeding pretty badly. As he patched him up Pvt. Amend shot at any natives that were trying to come up the mountain. Lt. Pope noticed the RPG on the back of DeWindt's back and tapped his shoulder. It took a few more taps as DeWindt was fully into the situation in front of him.

"I will take the SAW, you fire that RPG into the town."

Quickly DeWindt handed over the SAW and took the RPG off his back. He got the RPG ready and pulled the trigger. The round flew straight into the town. Lt. Pope switched back with DeWindt and grabbed his radio.

"Everyone hold their fire now."

Shortly after there was an eerie silence that remained, after the gun fight.

Antonov looked over the Groznians, as if trying to decide what to do. Finally, he nodded toward the female insurgent who had led them to him.

"Angeline," said the Colonel, "go with them. Make sure that they don't do anything..."

Angeline lowered her weapon. "I'll come with you to this base," she said. Angeline was new, therefore expendable as she hadn't been given a lot of sensitive information, just in case.

Antonov remained tight-lipped about the tactical situation. "We're alive."

---

Few of the civilians actually bothered to chase the soldiers once they began their retreat; the bulk of them felt that they had succeeded in driving them out. However, five or six people close to the initial incident went after them and were quickly killed or wounded. The Canadstein rocket landed in an intersection between two dirt roads and there were no casualties from it, therefore the villagers saw no reason to freak out. They hosed it down and covered it with a tarp in case it was a chemical weapon.

When the soldiers came back, an old man, apparently the mayor or elder, stepped out. He spoke in a gravelly voice.

"Who are you, and why did you attack us?" They weren't in Doomani uniforms, and weren't speaking Latin...

"I'm 1st Lieutenant John Pope of the Canadstein Special Forces. " He shouted toward the old man. His men kept their weapons trained on the village still. This bought them time to reload and rest for a moment.

"We were fired upon by that man, so we had to take action against him. I ordered my sniper to disable him, so that we could injure him, but not kill him." Lt. Pope pointed toward the red body that was oozing blood all over the place. "We come not to hurt your people. This is just a big misunderstanding. We do not want to fire you. So how about we all just put down our guns. Okay?"

Then Lt. Pope put down his M-4 and put his hands up.

Edris followed the girl as he walked back into the light. He squinted as he came out, noting that the sun had sunken below the ridgeline. It was a long hike back to base. But if he couldn't spend the night here, depending on the rebels' hospitality he could still call a chopper in. He looked at a dead tree about 200 meters from his location and what seemed to be a dead bush next to it. A smile formed on his face as he looked at his sniper. Angeline meanwhile stared confusedly at the gruff man not having a clue as to what he was doing. Edris raised his hand and signaled to the sniper. The old bush stood up and began marching toward the base. Angeline saw this and gasped then looked back at the foreign soldier. Edris looked at her and smiled.

As they continued through the camp many of the rebels stared at the Groznians. In a run-down rebel camp which barely had enough ammunition in the middle of nowhere a girl was leading 9 crack-soldiers fully fed and armed with weapons that looked like they came out of a sci-fi movie. Few of the rebels realized that the foreigners were Groznian let alone ever having heard of the country.

Edris's eye scanned the camp carefully taking mental notes of deficiencies or the way things were carried out. What struck him wasn't the ragged state of the base and the people in it but the ethinc diversity. But after all these were communists not the religious fighters they had attempted to locate. He began to think up a shopping list of what the base would need and what changes would have to be made as well as who would be in charge of instructing what. Afterall his mission was to find a rebel group of his choice and turn them into a decently supplied and cohesive fighting unit that would became a major pain in the occupier's ass. And he had every intention of carrying that out. Deep in his heart he felt for these people. Many years ago before there was the Republic of Groznyj, there was a small republic of Chechnya struggling for freedom under Russian control. His father was one of those fighting under Maskhadov when the Russians declared war and he told him many stories of the struggle.

______________________________________

Meanwhile in the Groznian capital of Farbanti, and in nearly every other city a 20-20 esque television show aired broadcasting the story of one Mehmet Riyhan and his experiences in the Doomani ghetto and as a fleeing refugee. This episode would set into motion an utterly unstoppable chain of events forever changing the Groznian foreign policy.

Several of the villagers laid down their weapons, taking the next step before the old man turned and told the rest of the villagers to escort the soldiers into the village.

"Bring them into my hut," said the elder. "Let's find out exactly what happened. If they turn out to be Doomani soldiers, you know what to do."

Four men grinned sadistically as they surrounded the Canadstein soldiers and the leader of the four walked to an old hut in the desert.

---

The Kahanistanian insurgent led the Groznians out of the base in the quickest way possible that ensured they saw as little of the base as possible. She was trying to make sure they saw very little, in case they were informers.

Angeline was much friendlier than Colonel Antonov had been. "He's a bit paranoid, but he's the only true military officer we have, he's seen things we can only imagine," she said, explaining Antonov's suspicions. The girl of eighteen was also new to the People's Guard, so she was a little more loose-lipped than veteran guerrillas. This was why most of the insurgent groups tended to treat new recruits as expendable; hopefully an informer would be killed in action before gathering too much information, and the newer recruits tended to suffer disproportionately high casualties.

"So what kinds of things do you have at your base?" the girl asked. "Stuff that could help us..." Many of the tunnels that the insurgents had were very deep and ran under mountains, ideal for withstanding Sariel strikes or chemical bombardments. However, they lacked efficient means of scouting out Doomani vehicles and staying alive long enough to report their positions.

Edris nodded when he heard the girl talk about Antonov. When she started asking about his base he replied.

"We have a few UAV's that look like toy helicopters. Good for scouting and they can stay out for a couple of hours. IF, your looking to take out tanks we have enough javelin AT weapons to last a a week against an offensive. Their really good. All you do is aim at your target until the computer gets a lock and the missile does the rest. We also have all-terrain surveillance cameras. They aren't wireless just in case the enemy tries to hack into them but they use a laser to send the information." He added with a smile, "and they're solar powered too. Good for the environment."

It was evident this girl wasn't the military type so winning her trust was probably the most effective thing Edris could do for the moment.

"Well our base is about 7 kilometers from here. It's a long hike but we have a Mi-24 Hind and two black hawks. It's only temporary though. I want to fully integrate with your command so you can fight better. But we have enough camo nets to cover the helo's if you guys don't have enough." Edris hoped that in a short amount of time he would be able to get these insurgents to drive the Doomani out of the mountains. Maybe even launch an offensive into one of their mountain outposts. Doing so would ensure a steady stream of recruits and he wouldn't have to worry about supplying them with everything.-But that would take a while to get these people trained. It would take even longer if he couldn't win their trust. But they had just met so Edris reassured himself with this knowledge.

Edris looked around and asked, "So how do find and attack the enemy here?"

Lt. Pope picked up his weapon and turned on his safe. His men followed his action and followed him. They entered the hut and put all their weapons on a wall. Sweat was all over their face. Quickly Lt. Pope noticed that he had blood on his hands. Getting out a handkerchief, he wiped them clean.

"We were only returning the body of that man's daughter. He opened fire on us, so we fired back. I ordered my sniper to disable the men from fighting so we could try to calm him down, but he kept on coming at us. So I had to kill him, he was a threat to my squad. We do not want to fight our people. We only come in peace. Also we are not Doomani soldiers. We are part of the Canadstein Army."

Angeline sighed. "The military had Javelins too... they aren't that effective against Doomani tanks. They work OK against IFV's and APC's, but not so much against Imperator tanks..."

"We don't usually go looking for the enemy... just set up ambushes in the mountains and wait. If something like a tank goes through, we just let it go, we've lost too many to them. We just attack small infantry units mainly."

The girl took out a rolled marijuana cigarette. "You don't mind if I smoke?" she asked. "Oh. I haven't given you my name. Angeline Farbot, I'm kind of new to the whole war thing. I was just about to finish my first year of college when the Doomani took over..." She smiled softly. "I figured the Doomies would kill me for being a Communist, so I snuck out of the city before it surrendered. I'd been part of my uni's Communist Party chapter."

---

"If you are really not Doomani... we would welcome your assistance to our people," said the elder. "It is most unfortunate that you came under attack here... I trust you suffered no casualties?"

"We have one wounded, but he will be fine. Would it be okay if Pvt. Wade looked at any of your wounded? He is a medic and can try to mend them." Lt. Pope pointed toward Pvt. Wade, as he was getting out some supplies to actually see Boyd's wound. "Also how can we help your people...sorry what is your name?"

[ooc: my bad I messed up the rankings. Edris is a Captain and the others are sergeants. And Unus is pronounced Yunus]

News of the failed javelin attacks on Doomani tanks came as a little of a surprise to Edris. But then again his country hadn't conducted very many international operations such as this. He would have a lot to learn in the coming months.

"It's fine" he said to the former student. Edris had a strong distaste for durgs because they altered your state of mind and even worse they were in a war zone. The consequences of being caught with narcotics out in the field usually constituted of forfeiting a day's rations, cleaning duty, and a thorough flogging. Maybe even a court marshal depending on the severity. "He shook the girls hand when she introduced herself. "Edris Baiev. And these are my men. Gunnery Sergeant Zikoy, Sargeant Abraham, Corporal Davis, Corporal Gunay, Staff Sergeant Unus, Corporal Gates, Corporal Yacob, and the sniper you saw covering us before Sergeant Udeni". The girl had soft delicate hands, in stark contrast to his. "So," he said, "What city did you grow up in?"

(an email appears in the boxes of several people suspected to be resistance leaders or members of the Kahanistani former government prior to Doomingsland's invasion)

HEADER: (masked)
From: (hidden)
To: Interested parties
CC: (obscured)
Route: (deleted)
Network: (unknown)
Attachement: recipe.txt

Axis Nova, as you may, or may not know, has not been under the dominion of Kraven for quite some time. Political realities being what they are, we find ourselves short of allies and friends.

That being said, we wish to help you with your current predicament. Direct military intervention unfortunately is not possible at this time due to our forces being prioritized for other engagements in the world, however, support in the form of information, money, and equipment may be possible.

If you are interested in our aid, have one of your members post the attached recipe to the popular baking message board Cake World. We'll provide further information to that person on how to set up a secure and deniable line of communication.

Regards,

Axis Nova Intelligence Service

"I am Gerald Roth, the mayor of this village," said the old man to the Canadstein officer. "You can help by getting us some weapons we can shoot down those Doomie whirlybirds with, Stingers don't have the range for them. Something to resist the tanks with, too. Right now the best we can manage is to die in combat rather than be tortured to death." The villagers were restricted to AK-47's, a few dozen SAW's, and the occasional ATGM or MANPAD.

"We're like the Kurds in the al-Anfal campaign," said the mayor. "A few guerrillas against a technologically superior enemy with chemical weapons it won't hesitate to use against civilians. We're hopelessly fucked."

---

Angeline smiled and lit up her cigarette. "I'm from Al-Bahr," she said. This was Kahanistan's only coastal town, home to a massive naval base and beach resort.

"It was the last city to surrender. I was going to fight to the death with the other defenders... but the city surrendered and anyone who didn't hand over their weapons was killed on the spot, their families too. I wasn't going to hand over my weapon... the Doomies would rape me and I'd be at their mercy." She was a rather attractive girl, if a little thickly built, somewhere around 5'8" and 165 pounds. She blew her smoke away from the Groznians in deference to their religious views on mind-altering substances.

"I didn't want to have a Doomie baby, so I snuck out through the sewers when surrender was discussed. I crawled through so much muck and sewer eels... nearly drowned a few times, just to get out, living on raw fish and plants, and I was picked up by the insurgents three weeks later... this would be about six weeks ago."

The wacky weed was letting her ramble on. "They took me in. Recruited me. I was a Communist so they let me join them, they cleaned me up and gave me cooked food, trained me to shoot, I hadn't been trained in town."

Angeline continued to ramble about her military inexperience and the kindness of the People's Guard to her. She was a living, walking, talking advertisement as to why soldiers on duty should not use drugs. Had she been talking to the Doomani, they would have likely raped and killed her by now.

"I'm Catholic. These people don't care, but a lot of the insurgents in the city, from what I hear, are going door to door killing Catholics as collaborators. The People's Guard doesn't care what religion you are as long as you oppose the occupation. The Doomani... they're extremists. Fascists. You guys are Muslim, right? You've probably been called terrorists and murderers because of a few idiots cutting heads... well, the same thing is happening with the Catholics here. We need more Catholics in the insurgency, to counter the belief that we're some kind of fifth column."

---

Najaster, Capital of Kahanistan

Igor Kaselev opened his laptop. Kaselev was a Brigadier General in the Republic Guard, and formerly Deputy Director of Anti-Kraven Intelligence. He was one of the few higher-ranking officers who didn't flee in the final days before the surrender, believing his intelligence background to be useful to the resistance.

How Kaselev had remained alive for the last three months was a mystery. He was everything the Doomani would have hated; an ethnic Jew native to Jerusalem, an atheist, and by extension a denier of the Doomani's sacred right to the Holy Land, and a Communist. Further, years of abuse by a tyrannical religious fanatic father and then wartime experiences had dulled his emotions to the point where he rarely expressed them. While he still held onto ideals of freedom and communism, and would console someone in emotional distress, some would compare him to Mr. Spock, considering him something less than human due to his apparent lack of emotion.

At 6'3" and 200 pounds, the 36-year-old officer was not exactly a small man, and his skills in the Jewish martial art of Krav Maga and with various firearms left little to be desired. He was more than capable of fighting his way out of almost any scrape, or avoiding them altogether with his stealth and SERE training.

The general was not the leader of any resistance group, owing to his lack of political skill, but he had been shown the email by another insurgent from the Communist Party of Kahanistan, more accurately, the militant Communists who had not fled or been killed. Kaselev posted the recipe.txt file on Cake World, awaiting a response.

---

Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh, Archbishop of Najaster and Kahanistan's highest-ranking Catholic priest, gave a sermon in his apartment to whoever was able to visit him. This sermon would be filled with more fire and brimstone than most Catholic sermons, owing to the situation he found himself in.

"My Catholic brothers and sisters. Let me first offer my condolences to the family of Mr. Hugh Donaldson, who was murdered in his bed last night as an alleged collaborator with the Doomani simply because he was Catholic. May his soul be accepted into Heaven to be with the Lord Jesus Christ. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiriti Sancti. Amen."

The reply came from the crowd of about 60. "Amen."

"The Doomani continue to form divisions and schisms among our people. Catholics are not trusted here, as we are seen as tools of the Doomani. I encourage non-Catholics to attend my sermons so they can see we are not. Their brutal policies only encourage hatred of our Holy Catholic Faith, which strengthens the hand of the Doomani as protectors of their religion when persecuting us. I must speak out now and condemn all collaboration with the Doomani, as a sin against the virtues of Catholicism."

"The crypto-Jew (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crypto-Judaism) Innocent VI hopes to destroy Catholicism from within. His lies and hatred will only destabilize the Christian faith further if it is allowed to penetrate. Shield yourselves and your children from Doomani propaganda. Embrace the Catholic Church. The Doomani practices do not come from Catholicism, but from the servants of Satan, the Jews."

He knew he was likely merely shifting hate from one group to another, but the Doomies hated the Jews, too, didn't they? As long as he came out as a loyal Catholic, the Doomies couldn't harm the Cardinal without appearing as the sacrilegious ones. If they did kill him, they would alienate the local Catholic population, probably their main source of collaborators.

The crowd looked at al-Qaramesh oddly. He had never expressed anti-Semitic leanings before.

"The souls of the Jews must be saved before it is too late. They must be converted to our faith before it is too late to save them from the Doomani. Only then will their souls gain a chance of admission to heaven and their minds be opened to human rights. We must deny the Doomani a source of Judenrat (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judenrat) collaborators who will betray us."

"Ah so Mr. Roth, I can see what I can do about these helicopters and tanks. We can get some FGM-148 Javelins out here to take out those damn tanks and helicopters." Lt. Pope gave a signal to call in for some Javelins to be dropped in by helicopter. Pvt. Boyd nodded and soon called in on his radio for a supply drop. Pvt. Wade attended to any of the wounded, while both Cpl. DeWindt and Pvt. Amend took a check of the ammo of the squad. After Boyd was finished talking he gave Lt. Pope a piece of paper. Quickly he looked at the paper and turned toward Gerald. "Your men should be getting the Javelins very shortly. I would say in the next fifteen to twenty minutes. A blackhawk is going to flew straight over the village and drop it in the middle, near where we shot the RPG round. I have on question Mr. Roth, what group are you part of? I mean what rebel group?"

Lt. Pope took his canteen and took a drink of water, then wiped his forehead. He was tired from the firefight.

The Captain was about to respond to the girl when she cut him off and started talking about everything ranging from the ideals of Communism to the lack of shampoo at the base.
wow this girl is baked the Captain thought to himself as Angeline's story turned from personal reverie to nearly-complete nonsense. After a few minutes he decided enough was enough.

"I think that's enough." Edris took the blunt from the girl and stomped it out. "Sorry," he said, "but that was for your own good." It was starting to get later in the evening

think it's time to get things moving along here.

Edris took one more good look at his surroundings and clicked on his radio link with base. He started speaking in his native language (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chechen_language) to the radio on his shoulder and after receiving a reply clicked it off. He then turned to the now completely dazed and confused Angeline.

"Ok Angeline," he tried talking a little slower so she'd be able to get the point. "I think I've seen everything you have wanted to show me here. I just radioed my base to send over some supplies in a Hind transport. Can you bring me back to your commander? I want to inform him of the situation and tell him not to shoot down the chopper. My men will wait here for the bird to land."

Roth shook his head. "We aren't organized as a rebel group as such, just a village militia. Some of us are Republic Guard," he didn't say former Republic Guard as it acknowledged Doomani sovereignty in Kahanistan, which would undermine morale, "and we had a lot of Javelins, they weren't too effective against Imperator tanks. The Testudo IFV's, sometimes, but not usually the Imperators."

---

Angeline picked up the blunt and pocketed it. She would be able to save the weed for later. "I thought you were going to show me your base," she said. "I could talk to Antonov, but you know how paranoid he is about outsiders... then again, the Doomies don't use Hinds, so maybe he won't shoot his Doomie killing stick at them." She raised her AK-47 in the air, but didn't point it at anyone.

The girl was still baked off her ass. Weed was known to make people hungry; maybe this was why she was so thick. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes made contact with the Groznian Captain's.

"You got anything filling? Maybe a few months' supply of cake mix? The stuff we eat in the complex tastes like slugs. I remember when I was four and my big brother would make me eat slugs. I was always puking back then." Angeline continued rambling, barely coherent.

Lt. Pope thought a moment of all the anti-tank guided missiles they had in their arsenal. Thinking for a little while, he could hear the familiar sound of a Black Hawk. The helicopter flew over the village and Lt. Pope walked outside. The Black Hawk was hovering over the middle of the village and slowly came down. DeWindt, Amend, and some villagers were soon taking off the supplies. Lt. Pope ran over and noticed one crate that was marked with many red signs. Taking these crate he got a crowbar and opened it up. A smile grew on his face.

"DeWindt, stop getting those crates, and help me with this crate."

Both men carried the crate into the hut. Lt. Pope looked at Mr. Roth, as DeWindt went back outside to help with the crates.

"I think we have something that might be able to take out these Doomani tanks."

Kicking off the top of the crate, it produced a couple of TOW missiles.

"These should be able to do a good job on the Dommani tanks, but we need something to shoot them and probably some more TOWs. I will call in to get some more TOWs and a Humvee with a M220 launcher on it."

Thirty minutes later two CH-47 Chinook came zooming over the village. They carried underneath them one Humvee each. The Chinooks dropped both Humvees with M220 launchers, and got close enough to the ground to drop off a few more crates. Lt. Pope looked at Mr. Roth.

"Gerald are there any rebel groups that you have seen in the area?"

"Well, not many. Sometimes the mujahideen will raid us for supplies and conscripts, so we started the militia to protect us. We really just want to be left alone," said Roth. "Tahrir al-Ummah will sometimes send a man or woman with military experience to train us... basically, they're a secular, rightist, nationalist movement, they've been around for years."

The Arabic name meant "National Liberation," or something to that effect. Despite the Arab name and the disproportionate number of Arabs in the group, relatively few were Muslims. They had previously opposed the Kahanistanian government's membership in the UN, and advocated a policy of general isolationism. They had sworn off violence a year earlier, but were taking up their weapons again to resist the Doomies. Many of their fighters were former military, and it was the most numerous and best armed of the insurgent organizations. However, they weren't as ruthless as the mujahideen and were more open to infiltration than the other resistance movements.

"But the Tahrir al-Ummah people don't try to recruit here, they just give us weapons and training," the mayor continued. He nodded to four large crates of Javelins and Starstreak MANPADs. "Sometimes they get in fights with the mujahideen, though."

"Those vehicles are kind of vulnerable," he said, nodding to the M-220's. "We need something we can shoot from behind a rock or a bush and hit a tank or a low-flying plane. Gas masks are a necessity here, too. These days we just cram wads of paper or rags down our throats when something lands here, and pinch our noses. So far chemical hasn't been much of a problem, but that's the drill for a chemical attack."

"I do not know if we spare anything else, Gerald. You are just going to have to deal with what you have right now. Plus I think its about time we get out of this village. I think we have over stayed our welcome, plus we don't want to be caught by some Dommani soldiers. Mr. Roth I have one more favor. Do you have any idea where we can find these Tahrir al-Ummah people?'

Lt. Pope's men entered the hut with more ammo, grenades, and other supplies. They were ready to go once Lt. Pope said to. Pvt. Wade finished up patching Boyd's leg wound, even though Boyd was limping a little.

"They usually come from the west, so my guess is they're using the tunnels under the Valens Line. There's a wealth of weapons there, there's a rumor that there are some nukes buried there. A few people tried heading out there to dig one up, but they never came back. We should probably try and join them, they're one of the few groups out there that won't make you kill your firstborn to join. The mujahideen are crazy, I know a guy who cut his mama's throat and ran off to join them."

"Well thank you for your help Mr. Roth. I think we are going to be headed west."

Lt. Pope gave Gerald a hand shake, then exited the hut. His men were waiting outside.

"Men, we are going west."

Lt. Pope walked off into the direction of west. His men soon followed suit. Pvt. Boyd was hindered by his leg wound, but kept near the back. DeWindt handed over a couple of grenades and magazines to Lt. Pope. They all might need the ammo for what lay ahead.

The ruins of the Valens Line resembled a barren moonscape. Huge craters pockmarked the desert and pillboxes with machine gun emplacements were inside. Most of the guns and AA were intact, but there were huge breaches in large areas of the line through which the enemy had breached and set up camp.

This was probably the safest way to go through the Valens Line; areas where the enemy had not breached were coated in mines, whereas where they had breached, most of the mines had been set off. The mines were mostly a mix of anti-personnel and anti-armor mines, but there were also many craters where several hundred kilogram FAE bombs had been set off from underground when enemy columns moved over it. The more cratered the area, the safer the terrain, as long as one didn't get too close to Najaster and the Doomani patrols.

Inside the pillboxes were many tunnels where empty weapon crates lay around. They appeared to be largely deserted...

Lt. Pope quietly moved along. The sun was starting to set and it was getting harder to see what was in front. Lt. Pope were resting in one of the larger ditches, but Cpl. DeWindt was on guard duty with his SAW. It looked like hell had been present here at one time.

"I bet the rebels are underground. So we going to blow up a bunker to get to the tunnels. So Pvt. Wade will set up the explosives, while we provide cover for him."

Pvt. Wade got out some C4 and ran over to a bunker. Setting up the charge, he quickly ran back to the ditch. Pushing a button, the charge was set off and the bunker exploded. Debris flew all around them. Lt. Pope got up and ran into the exploded bunker. It was empty except for a couple of empty ammo cans. The men followed and they went slowly into the dark maze. Behind them the sun had set. There was not turning back now. All the men turned on their flashlights and hoped that they found the rebel group.

Krishna Vajpayan Singh was on patrol duty in the tunnel that day, scouting for Doomani troops who may have infiltrated. His job was to warn his Tahrir al-Ummah cell that the Doomies had infiltrated should he spot any.

He was walking slowly down the tunnel, his M-240 medium machine gun in his hands, prepared to give him the burst of firepower he needed to neutralize whatever got in his path to give him time to escape. Around his chest he wore Dragon Skin body armor and a belt of some 3,000 rounds. He also wore a captured Doomani helmet and desert camo trousers.

Suddenly, he heard something rumble. A Doomani tank? No. Seconds later, the ceiling above where he had been just ten seconds earlier collapsed, ripped open by C-4. Realizing that Hell itself awaited the young Hindu guerrilla, he fired his weapon from the hip as he retreated toward the area where the guerrillas had set up a base, aiming at nothing in particular but firing in the general direction of whatever had collapsed the tunnel...

Lt. Pope heard the gunfire coming from in front them. The men instantly dropped to the ground.

"Hold your fire men. It might be them."

Lt. Pope jumped in front of where the armed men was firing from. He dropped his M4 and put his hands up.

"Please don't fire. I'm not a Doomani solider. I'm Lt. John Pope of the Canadstein Special Forces. I come here to meet with the..."

Lt. Pope forgot the name. This might mean his death sentence if he did not quickly remember. Pvt. Boyd remembered as he listened to Mr. Roth as he was being patched up.

"Lt. Pope, it was the Tahrir al-Ummah. Gerald Roth from a village not too far away told us that we could find the Tahrir al-Ummah is this locations."

Lt. Pope was glad that Pvt. Boyd had remembered the name of the group.

"Yes, can you help us find this group?"

"This Mr. Roth... who is he?" called the voice of a young man from the tunnel. He was, like most insurgents worth their salt in the Inquisitor-infested Negev, highly suspicious of these people.

If they answered wrong, he would open up on them and capture some fresh new Doomani weapons for the group. He knew exactly who Roth was as he had been one of the people running spare guns to the village to train the militia to resist the Doomies and mujahideen.

"He was a mayor of the town and formed a militia there to defend his town..."

Lt. Pope had sweat rolled down his face. This young guy was one of those loose trigger people. Pope guessed that if they gave a wrong answer it would be all over. Behind the corner DeWindt was getting ready if the men started to fire again.

"Fair enough," said the man. "Why did he tell you about us?"

If the commander fumbled, the sentry was likely to assume that the soldiers were Doomies who had tortured Roth and were cooking up a story.

"Gerald said that your group wanted Kahanistan to stay neutral. Also that you had sworn off violence until Doomies. One more thing I can remember is that your group is largely Arab, but not Muslim. So are you going to bring us to your leader and how about you tell me your name?"

Lt. Pope had enough of these questions and was getting annoyed by this young man.

The refurbished Hind landed in a small clearing adjacent to the rebel base. It was a relic from the old Russo-Caucasus wars, one of the few that hadn't been sold off in a recent mass sale for the war effort of some foreign land. Edris wanted as low a profile as possible and it would be a political disaster if the Doomani found out of Groznyj's involvement against them. Since for the most part the Groznian Armed Forces didn't use Russian equipment it was decided the Hind would fit in better with the mission. Unfortunately the other two helicopters were the standard black hawks the Army flew and even had Groznian insignia on them. This royally pissed off Edris's CO prior to him having the paint over them.

The helicopter landed an 2 soldiers jumped out along with it. More special forces. They helped some of the rebels and Edris's squad move out crates full of weapons, communications equipment, and just-add-water hot meals. The helicopter pilot didn't shut off the engine, he was ready to take off once Edris gave the word. Each crate had a faded Groznian flag stamped on the top and the words written in Cyrillic, 'Property of the Republic of Groznyj Army Ranger Corps' (the army branch of the Groznian Armed Forces (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Groznyj#Army) contained 3 corps; the Republic Corps being your regular army, the Marine Corps which was self explanatory, and the Ranger Corps which would constitue as speical forces and mountain commandos in other nations if it wasn't for its size.)

There were enough weapons and ammo in the crates to supply a small army. One could imagine the look on the quartermaster's face when he recieved Edri's shopping list and orders to put it on one Hind. The helo was so heavy half the base had to get under it and try to help lift it off the ground to take off. It was understandable that the pilot was pissed. The all-weather surveillance cameras were there, and so were the remote controlled UAVs that were indistinguishable from toy helicopters. Also in the crates were javelin siting unites as well as a large number of rocket tubes for them. Also were two crates packed to almost popping off with c4 and anti tank/personnel mines. A few other crates were filled with small arms of all sorts and nightvision goggles. M8 assault rifles, same as the ones the Groznians used, all the accessories for them as well, a number of smoke, flash, and fragmentation grenades, and of course a ton of ammunition. There was also included a few M99 snipers and a few more Dragunov SVDs for close sniper support.

Once all the crates were opened Edris looked back to the pilot and motioned for him to wait a few more minutes. The pilot responded with a middle finger. -protocol was always much looser in the special forces than in the regular army where the men needed the discipline.- Edris shouted over the sound of the Hind to Antonov,

"Colonel, this is all for tonight. I can leave behind a few men to help you set up the cameras where you need them or you can send some people to my base if you want. The chopper is leaving now." the sun was setting now and it was almost night. Edris thought it would be a good idea to set up cameras at key ambush points and to have Antonov or some of his men come to his base. Right now it was up to Antonov. If this wasn't enough to sway his paranoia Edris didn't know what more he could do.

The man nodded. "My name is Krishna Vajpayan Singh. I'll take you to the cell commander, but it will be up to him if you live the night."

He raised his weapon. "Come into the tunnel. Now."

---

"Just take Angeline," said Antonov coldly. "She doesn't have anything you can torture out of her."

Meanwhile, three other new recruits were checking the weapons for signs of having been sabotaged as they were unpacked, supervised by an older veteran who could make sure the recruits weren't sabotaging the weapons themselves.

"Okay."

Lt. Pope picked up his weapon and followed Krishna. Soon the other men followed him. The men were tired and were not fit for a gun fight, one that they all hoped that never happened.

Singh was a young man of 16, with features from the Indian subcontinent. He was heavily armed and very nervous; Tahrir al-Ummah did not have the paranoid leadership that the mujahideen and communists did, which meant that the more paranoid soldiers stressed out about informants.

He hoped to scare the shit out of these people if they were informants; he led them through several corridors and about seven kilometers of dirt, radioing for a backup sentry and informing the commander that there was a tunnel collapse and new people coming.

Finally, they arrived at a room with an old Arab man in his eighties seated behind a desk, drinking tea and holding a Hali-42 (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Hali-42). Where he got it was anybody's guess; it wasn't standard issue to Kahanistanian or Doomani troops, and while most civilians owned guns, few owned anything like the Hali-42.

"As-salaam alaikum," said the man. His voice was low and gravelly, as one could expect from such an old man. "Mr. Singh, who have you brought?"

Lt. Pope followed the young boy threw the labyrinth of tunnels. Wade was making a mental picture of the tunnel, so if they had to escape they would at least know some what of a way out. Boyd as he limped along made marks along the wall to serve as makers, for the direction out of the tunnels. Once entering a new passage the men came upon an old man.

They all knew that this must be the leader of the group. The men filled the room and put their guns near the door. Lt. Pope stood and waited for the man to address him. The other men stayed quiet and behind Lt. Pope, so that the old man would know which one of them was the leader.

HEADER: (masked)
From: (hidden)
To: Interested party
CC: (obscured)
Route: (deleted)
Network: (unknown)

Alright. A certain program will be left in a directory on the popular and secure file host Xtreme. Use the same username and password as the one you registered for Cake World with, except append the last four digits of this email's timestamp to the password and the first four to the username.This will instruct the server to create a secure, untraceable connection between you and it. You will then need to download and install the program, which will give you access to a certain secure covert network that is not accessible from the ordinary Internet, which can then be used to discuss our mutual interests further.

A warning: the program will lock itself to your computer, and only work from it once it is installed. Any copies being used from a different computer will cause the system to cease responding to any connection attempts.


Regards,

Axis Nova Intelligence Service

"No marking," said Singh disapprovingly. "You make a path for the Doomies."

---

Tahrir al-Ummah Cell Base

"I picked these men up after they collapsed a tunnel," said Singh. "They claim not to be Doomani."

"Very well..." said the old man. "Pick up their weapons, Mr. Singh. And you..." he addressed the commander, "who are you and how did you get here?"

---

Kaselev went to XTreme after checking his military email. He logged in with the first four digits of the timestamp and his Cake World screen name, and his Cake World password with the last four digits of the timestamp.

The Kahanistanian general then secured his laptop in a tightly sealed plastic bag and buried it under some sewer muck. Kaselev knew the sewers like the back of his hand. The laptop itself wouldn't arouse suspicion; millions owned one, but he couldn't have it confiscated while he was away. The Doomies couldn't log on, but neither could he.

"I'm Lieutenant John Pope of the Canadstein Special Forces. We were sent on a recon mission to observe the occupation, but we thought we could do more if we helped you people. My squad went into a town and we had a misunderstanding with one of the people in the village. He fought back so we killed him. Then more armed came out, but I ordered my men to drop their weapons. I met with their leader, Mayor Gerald Roth. He told us of your group, so we set out to meet with you. To get into the tunnels we blew it open, but once we got inside we found this boy." John pointed toward Singh.

The men looked as their weapons were taken away. Now they were stuck down here.

"I am Zulfiqar Abdul-Wahid bin Khalid," said the old man. "Tahrir al-Ummah, Vice-Commander, 13th Battalion."

"Now, tell us of your mission here... what you plan to do now that you're here."

"Just to watch the occupation, but we also have the orders to help any rebels in any form we can." said Lt. Pope as he looked at the men.

"Well," said Commander bin Khalid, "we can always use machinery to forge Doomani ID's, to pass their checkpoints in the cities, and move troops and weapons. Many in the cities were separated from their friends, and the cities have suspiciously few people in them... I'd like to know what to tell the world."

"Ah so you need some machinery. I will see what I can do about that. So what will you do for us...what it Mr. bin Khalid?" Lt. Pope asked Zulfiqar.

Boyd took got the radio off his back and tuned into the designated frequency to transmit the message.

"This is Outpost Delta, we are requesting some machinery to make false IDs."

Boyd listened and took the person at the other end the coordinates to their location.

"That seems fine, so in the morning? Okay."

Boyd put the radio on his back and tapped John on the shoulder.

"Sir a truck is being sent to the bunker we destroyed. It will have machinery to make these IDs, but it's not coming until tomorrow morning. So we are going to have some time to kill."

Fifteen minutes after the message was sent and received Canadstein soldiers started to load the equipment into a normal cargo truck. The driver had false papers to get within the occupied area and had no connections to any government. He soon got into the truck once the soldiers were done. Then he started the night drive to deliver the equipment.

"What do you want me to do for you?" asked the old guerrilla commander. "I can put you up for the night... get you some captured Doomingsland gear to see you out."

"These ID's will be most useful," he added. "We hope to make good use of them to move freely about the cities."

Edris looked at the Colonel for a moment after his last comment and then motioned for Angeline to come into the helicopter. The Hind flew through various way points in a non-linear route back to the base. It arrived without incident sometime after dark. On the way Edris had looked at the north and south from the windows. The Groznian border and home was a couple hundred miles to the north if that. There was everything he had grown to love and 2 and a half billion people living in freedom. To the south people not much different from him were faced with the onslaught of oppressive fanatics and the loss of all their rights. He reminded himself what exactly he would soon be fighting for.

The Hind opened its lights 30 meters above a dirt heli-pad. The 2 UH-60's were barely visible several meters away under camo nets. There were a small number of men walking about the base tending to their duties. One guided the pilot to land. Edris's squad hopped out of the transport, they made their way to the barracks. Really they were just tents. As the maintenance crews started pulling the helicopter to its own 'hanger' Edris told Angeline to follow him.

There were only 21 soldiers at the base and 4 maintenance guys.

"I'm surprised your commander sent you over here." Edris said to Angeline. "Can you give me that blunt you were smoking earlier?....thank you," Edris threw it on the ground and stepped on it again, this time ensuring that there was nothing salvageable left.

"If you want to be a real soldier you’re going to have to cut the shit." he explained. "Oh, and welcome to our outpost." The base consisted of a number of tents which served as barracks for the men, each one with a color pattern mimicking the rock and dirt of the mountains; a large stack of organized crates containing all manner of supplies, an area for the helicopters and a clearing in the middle where the helicopters would land. It wasn’t much of a base at all. It was a forward staging area for special forces operations. If Angeline had expected something similar to a modern camp or base she would have been disappointed.

They were in his command tent now. Really it was just a regular desert camo tent just instead of two bunks there was his and a fold up desk with a map stuck to the fabric wall. He pointed to an X on the map.

"This is where you are now... this is your base. About seven kilometers between. Do you have any idea where the Doomani patrols usually pass by? Now that I ask, when you talked about the tanks moving through the area I think you said Imperator. Do you mean, The Imperator? (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/27586378/) The SuperHeavy with a naval cannon for a main gun?”

The time for warm faces and good first impressions was over. The time to get down to business was at hand.

"Yeah a place to sleep would be nice. Some of my men have been awake for two days. Plus we have had to be on guard for most of the day. Sleep is something that we need more than anything else." Lt. Pope said as he yawned. Boyd had been up for two days and had massive black bags underneath his eyes.

Angeline looked dejectedly at the ruined blunt. "I know... I'm really not cut out for this, but I don't want to hide forever or be crucified for being a communist," she said. "In Kahanistan we don't usually make such a big deal of it unless you're on guard duty or driving or something that needs a lot of concentration..."

"No," she replied when asked about the Imperator. "It's a Doomani main battle tank. (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v383/Doomingsland/DOOM8VPDC11.png) I think it has an E.T.C. gun, but I'm not sure."

---

Tahrir al-Ummah Facility

"We have some spare room, about two hundred meters down that corridor is an ammo dump," said the commander. "Mr. Singh will show you some sleeping bags and rations. It's not much, but it'll hold you over..."

The captain breathed a sigh of relief. For once he was glad for a misunderstanding. He returned his attention to the map and after a moment of studying it spoke again to Angeline.

"Ok.. can you show me on the map where you've seen the most Doomanii patrols? Scouts, convoys, tanks, anything in the area."

"We don't see a lot of tanks here, when we do it's supporting infantry. We see a lot of patrols here," said the stoner girl, pointing at a spot about three kilometers north of the People's Guard base.

[ooc: for the first chechen dance video on youtube (you'll know when you get to that part) you may want to skip to 6:30. That's where the performance displays the energy Chechen dance is known for. Oh, and sorry if the post is too long. I got a little carrier away. Oh, and for the one where you see the professional dancers, just imagine them all as special forces soldiers wearing desert fatigues and the women as said soldiers but with wigs...and beards. Lol.]

"Hmm... alright." Edris studied the map carefully. He had his hands on his hips and a pen tucked over his ear. "Ok. We can bury some C4 and improvise it to provide shrapnel. We should have a fire team on both sides of the ravine ready to take out any stragglers. No. Hold on. I want some of these men alive to interrogate and I think Antonov does too. If all goes well we can find some useful intel on the enemy movements. Possibly enough to mount a counter attack on one of their outposts." This whole time he was talking out loud, half to himself and half to Angeline. "Ok I'm going to have to talk to Antonov about this. I still don't have authorization to directly involve my men. Angeline, what's your base's radio frequency? I need to talk to the Colonel."

Just then a radio officer walked into the tent with a printed paper containing orders.

"Excuse me sir. Orders from the president."

"Thank you"

"Sir." the man left the tent and went back to his communications desk.

The contents of the paper were short and to the point. It gave him presidential authorization to directly engage Doomanii soldiers and fight along side the rebels he had found. This was a result of Mehmet's program which had aired a couple days earlier.

"Wow this changes things." Edris noticed the girls puzzled face. "I'm now allowed to fight along side you and your people." he said. He turned his attention to the map again thinking of what to do the next day.

"We will be leaving for your base tomorrow before sunrise. I want to discuss this with your commander in person. In the mean time let me show you around."

Edris proceeded to give the pothead a thorough tour of the base. It's layout was so simple and obvious it didn't really matter how much he told her. The base, more accurately a camp, was supposed to be mobile. The 3 helicopters could move the entire camp to another location in anywhere from a few hours to part of a day depending on distance.

Later that night there was to be a wrestling match and possibly a dance if Angeline agreed to it. Now that there was a UAV cruising somewhere at 40,000 ft scanning for radar contacts Edris felt that it was alright to relax a little this night. Plus it would be good for the girl.

There were 4 men participating in the wrestling tournament. Edris being one of them. The others being Zikoy, Udeni, and one of the helicopter mechanics. The first match ended quickly. The sniper, Udeni slipped and was promptly pinned by the mechanic. The next match had Gunnery Sergeant Zikoy vs Captain Edris. The two went at it for three rounds straight, neither one letting up on the other. The entire match was a blur of constant motion neither one gassing out. It was evident that there was some tension between the two that was being let out here. Then in a double overtime Zikoy tripping Edris's far ankle as he was attempting to get up after the whistle. However he was a little high on Edris's back and in less then a second had himself flipped over his oppenent and onto his back with the full weight of the Captain on his shoulders. Edris won the match amid a hail of cheers and boos. In the championship match Edris lost in the second round to the mechanic; he was at a great disadvantage energy wise after his long match. The champion's prize was a drink on the Captain the next time they were in a bar.

After the match they all had a meal, noodles and a seasoned ground beef. All just-add-water. Minutes after the meal was over a helicopter pilot got a pair of drums and another soldier got out an accordion. There was laughter in the air as-since there were no women around to play the part-some men donned make-shift wigs and joined their partners in the dance (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qinhSdXXA4Y). Edris and at least 2 of the other men used to be in a professionals dance group in Groznyj. The others at least knew how to dance from weddings and parties. The dance went on for at least 2 hours in that way and also like this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxVTsyBwmBQ). Groznians, especially the Chechen ones were almost fanatical about their folk dance. Breathing heavily and in full sweat Edris asked Angeline if she would like to learn how to dance. Edris took her to the center and started showing her how a girl dances. This amid the friendly laughter of some of the soldiers. Once Edris figuered she knew enough of the basics they started dancing again but this time not in a group dance but an individual dance. The kind you'd see at a wedding (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=av6AvKczQ0U) or party. This only served to further confuse the poor girl. She probably had no idea how these men had so much energy. But also unfortunately for her as Edris left another man stepped in to dance and it turned into a show of who could dance the best with the newcomer. Angeline would end up dancing for up to half an hour with these men.

Surely this would in a way have been torture to her if she didn't adapt and come to like the dance. Although it's certainly something Antonov would never have imagined happening.

"I don't know, I've never used the radio here," said Angeline. "They usually put me on point or have me check the weapons for sabotage," she said. "I'm new. They aren't so trusting with newcomers." The Groznians would have to talk to Antonov themselves.

---

Angeline hadn't danced since her high school prom, and that had degenerated into a drunken, stoned orgy. Some of the students even had harder drugs than just pot; hallucinogens were quite common there, and as drugs were legal in Kahanistan, the police did nothing.

Someone who smoked as much as she did would run out of energy rapidly, and when the smoke also messes with one's head, it became obvious that Angeline wouldn't last very long in such an energetic dance. When it was over she was sweating and out of breath, but her head was much clearer than it had been a few hours earlier.

Noodles and beef was far better fare than what the average People's Guard guerrilla ate most of the time, which was a powdered gruel with ground-up vitamin capsules and water.

Somewhere in Allanea


“Ms. Sheshet, are you sure you want to dedicate forces to this?”

“We have to, remember? They’re our allies. Now, I don’t know yet whether we can commit a full-out assault to it, so let’s start with Level Gamma operations and we’ll see where we go from there, now will we?”

“Indeed, Ms. Sheshet. I will do as you say.”

From Allanea to Kahanistan, weapons began to be smuggled. The process would be simple – the ACIA would contact a variety of professional smugglers – which were many in the United States – and transfer to them loads and loads of simple ABR-8 rifles and anti-tank weapons, for transfer to the Kahanistani resistance. Each shipment was small, and of course the markings would be carefully ground off before sending the guns out.

Small units of Team Spearhead soldiers would also begin to infiltrate into the Holy Land – by rubber boats, by submarine, or even hidden in commercial aircraft cargo loads. More importantly, five teams – each of five men – were ordered to carry messages to the Kahanistani resistance leadership, simple in their content.

The Allaneans, again, were offering their help, as they were bound to do by treaty.

The squad followed Mr. Singh into the room. Pvt. Boyd collapsed onto the floor and took off his backpack. Then he quickly flew asleep. Lt. Pope took note of the ammo around them. These rebels could last a long time with all this ammo. As the other men started to get settled in and got a bite to eat, Lt. Pope took off his Red Special Forces Beret. From his backpack, he took out a book. Slowly all the men went to sleep, except Lt. Pope, who read his book until he quietly went to sleep.

OOC:Goddamn, I leave for a week and look what happens...I'll post when I figure out what's going on...

Defense Intellegence Agency, Imperial Military Comand Center, Granton, Findan

Lieuteant General Viscount Sir Raymond K. Maldonaldo, spoke, "Well if we are going to help out the Kahanistani insurgents how are we going go about it, gentlemen?"

Vice Admiral Thomas Henderson, Director of the Office of Naval Intellegence said, "Well, Ray, the Doomi fleet is effectively blockading Kahanistani waters sor a naval operation is out of the question."

"A few squads of Marine Airborne troops could do the trick," said Major General Russel Carlise

"So you'd drop them in and they'd help the insurgents become a bona fide fighting force?" replied Lt.Gen. Maldonado

"Basicly, yes" replied Maj.Gen. Carlise

"You all understand that we will have discuss this with Xeraph to get thier opinion on this," said Rodney Case, Under Foreign Minister for Intellegence.

" I understand, but we can't wait too long. We may have to act unilaterally if need be," said Carlise

"Very well gentlemen I say we can adjorn for today. Meet here tomorrow at 8 AM," said Maldonaldo

OOC:How are you sneaking all these missiles into K'stan when I have the borders and coast locked down and militarized, the airspace is literally choked by Imperial Air Force interceptors, and I've got enough tripple-A and SAMs amassed to demolish a city, and enough radar to melt someone?

And...well, that's about it, I don't really care how your guys got their in the first place; this makes things more interesting.

IC:

"Deus vult!" Tiberius roared when the last of the insurgents had been cut down by his men.

Blood flowed liked a river down the hill, through the rocks. Twelve mutilated, charred bodies lay strewn about the mountain pass they'd been ambushed in; not a single Doomani had been killed. This was a glorious victory. They'd finally shown the infidel Muslims that they were vulnerable, even as they used their cowardly ambush tactics.

Over the next five minutes, behind a perimeter, the heads of the slain insurgents were cut from their bodies, taken as trophies by the Legionaries that had killed them. The arms, legs, fingers, toes, eyes, and tongues were all mercilessly hacked from the corpses. A mound of severed limbs was made at the sight of the ambush. Already the foul stench of rotting flesh choked the air as the ligaments roasted in the blazing sun.

The torsos of the fallen were carved open, the inards and organs torn out and piled around the limbs, the torsos cast aside, now hollow shells that once contained a living, breathing person.

Such scenes of obscene brutality on the part of the Doomani was common place in Kahanistan, but this was the first time they'd truly gotten the best of the insurgents operating in the moutains.

Quickly, the men headed off to their extraction point where they'd board waiting CMPLs and head back to base to some well-deserved rest, and quiet time for prayer.

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

Najaster

The time had come for the Archbishop of Najaster to be replaced by someone a bit more...friendly to the Doomani cause. With virtually every apartment in the city bugged, and the small ghettos the Kahanistanis had been forced into monitored in every aspect by Imperial troops, there was no privacy. Thus, it did not take long after his sermon for Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh and his congregation to come to the attention of the Inquisition: five minutes and thirty-seven seconds to be exact.

That was how long it took for the heavy response team to mobilize for a raid on his apartment.

There would be no escape for any of them; they were trapped in a walled ghetto, surrounded by machinegun emplacements and Imperial troops. Where ever they walked they would be watched: not even the sewers were safe.

Silently, the gates of the ghetto slid open and thirty heavily armored legionaries, at the head of which was a centurion, in two columns, quietly double timed it in step into the compound, forming up outside the apartment. The patrols inside of the compound had, before the arrival of the response team, cleared the streets.

Upon forming outside, the men entered the structure, quickly and precisely swarming through, heading up the stairs towards the aparment and forming up outside quietly. Every exit had been cut off: there were even troops on the roof and fire escapes, some of which were preparing to rappel from into the windows of the apartment.

Even the basement had a patrol in the event anyone tried to escape down the laundry chute.

A battering ram had been brought with the men for the purpose of crushing the door down. Forming up in the hallway along the side, the Legionaries were menacing: towering figures clad from head to toe in black uniforms and armor, brandishing DAC-97 sub machineguns, wearing armored gas masks with red visors.

On the centurion's command, the ram operator brought his heavy steel ram to bear on the door, totally crushing it and knocking it wide open. A millisecond later, three flashbangs flew from the door into the room. The windows were shattered as troops outside of the room fired multiple teargas grenades into the room, quickly choking the air.

Within seconds the men swarmed through the door, forming up along the sides; other men came crashing through the windows.

Orders were shouted for everyone to hit the floor with their hands behind their backs...

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

By now, the number of patrols operating near the mountains had dropped significantly. They were now all under full UAV coverage; anyone approaching to ambush would be spotted instantly and would themselves most likely find themselves on the recieving end of an ambush, just as the ill-fated insurgent patrol had.

Of course, operating at altitudes exceeding 30,000 feet, no one on the ground would be able to see the tiny UAVs.

By now, the Procurator had itching suspicions that there were foreigners inside Kahanistan working with the insurgents. This was not due to any action on the part of the insurgents; rather, it was the enemy special forces' own fault: their UAV's RADAR was literally broadcasting its position to Imperial ELINT assets, as was their use of radio communications. Though at the moment they could not decypher any of the transpmissions, they knew there was someone communicating with satellites out there, and there was someone operating a UAV in Imperial airspace.

Not wanting to tip the enemy off on what they knew, the High Command had yet to shoot down the aircraft or shell the radio position.

By now they'd narrowed things down to a small rogue village that had yet to be conquered by Imperial forces: the very village the militia was operating out of.

The arrival of the foreigners had unwittingly brought on unwanted attention from the Doomani, and now they would pay. It would be this night that the Doomani would commence their most brutal offensive since the invasion: Operation Martyr.

Insurgent strongpoints, such as the town in question, would be assaulted by the operations spearhead: mechanized infantry and tanks, supported by an insurmountable number of artillery pieces and aircraft.

First Cohort, Legio CCVI, was tasked with assaulting the town. Consisting of over a dozen Imperator tanks, and nearly three times that number of infantry fighting vehicles laden with battle-hardened Legionaries, thirsting for pagan blood, they easily outgunned the insurgents.

In order to ensure the UAV would not pick up their approach, the force assembled just outside of its range and was ordered to hold position until given the go-ahead.

Infrared absorbant camo netting had been tossed over the vehicles, and right now they were running off of battery power in order to keep their infrared signatures down in the event the UAV got too close for comfort. They wanted to catch the militia by surprise.

In the mean time, a pair of Aquila air superiority fighters moved into attack position to neutralize the enemy's eye in the sky. Meanwhile, nearby ELINT assets prepared to jam the enemies transmissions and prevent them from communicating.

The Aquila, an aircraft noted for its superb stealth, had earned a reputation for sneaking up on its targets; the Kahanistanis knew this all too well, with their RADAR being incapable of detecting it the majority of the time. A UAV-based RADAR would not have been nearly powerful enough to detect the Aquila before they commenced their attack.

After a bit of waiting, the go ahead for the strike was given.

At a range of twenty miles, the Aquilas each loosed a pair of air-to-air missiles before disappearing into the night sky; the missiles in turn quickly closed the distance between themselves, accelerating to mach three-point-five, homing in on the UAV's own RADAR emmissions as well as utilizing their own infrared, LIDAR, and LADAR sensors, ensuring they wouldn't be fooled by countermeasures.

Upon seeing a series of explosions in the distant night sky, Tribune Gaius Varus Marcellus, commander of First Cohort, ordered his men forward.

The diesel engines of the vehicles fired up, taking over from the electric motors, and the vehicles sped forward across the desert, kicking up massive clouds of sand as they moved.

In the distance, the Legionaries were able to hear as two-dozen 152mm self-propelled howitzers opened up on the town. The torrent of fire being brought to bear on the small town was unimaginable; utilizing the MRSI firing pattern, each gun put a total of twelve rounds into the air in a minute. Firing each round at different angles, they would all impact nearly simultaneously, giving the locals virtually no time to take cover as over two hundred shells slammed into the Earth around them in a single instant.

Wanting a good fight, they'd chosen to save their Pestis Dei shells for later usage, instead opting for heavy thermobaric rounds, which, in this case, could very well kill even more people than even the gas.

Upon impact, the shells would burst open, spilling forth a massive cloud of highly toxic, flammable gas, which would in turn flow through windows, doorways, even into bomb shelters; seconds later, a second detonation would ignite the gas, creating a massive pressure vaccum that literally crushes those not initialy incinerated by the ensueing fireball.

The artillery kept up their fire even as I Cohort began to move in on the outskirts of the town in force. If it was not obvious before, it was now: The Doomani wanted the city to burn to the ground.

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

The full brunt of Operation Martyr was delt all along the mountains: a total of six legions, consisting of mechanized infantry, foot infantry, and air mobile infantry units, began a massive sweep of the mountains. They would comb the mountains for insurgent bases, hunt for enemy tunnel networks, and kill virtually anyone they encountered.

Those living in the mountains were automatically Enemes of the Imperium, for they had resisted subjugation. As a result, they would suffer horrific fates...

As the truck driver was nearing the border he saw Doomani troops. There was no way he was going to get threw the border. He thought about trying to ram threw the guards and break into Kahanistan.

"I'm just kidding myself."

As he turned the truck off and got out of the truck he looked at the armed soldiers. No money in the world could pay him to get across the border. Slowly he got back into the truck and thought for a moment. There had to be a way to get by. The truck moved forward slowly and stopped near the border. Turning on the light on the front of the truck, the driver got out and put his hands up.

"I am just delivering something, but it seems like the border is down. Is there any way I can get across the border?"

He had forgotten his pistol and was going to be dead meat, if the Doomanis opened fire on him.

A powerful search light shined straight into the eyes of the driver in order to blind him. Dug in one hundred yards in front of him behind row upon row of razor wire and mines, a small road going through the center of the checkpoint, were fourteen Legionaries, whose weapons were now trained on the Canadsteinian driver. The Doomani always left an open field of fire at their borders, allowing for them to simply shoot anyone who came near their positions without having to worry about killing them on foreign soil.

Along the actual border was a ten-foot high barbed wire fence with a remotely-operated gate; either side of the road was blocked off by dragon's teeth and barbed wire. Anyone who passed that would find themselves in a mine field, as signs protruding from this ground indicated.

Two sat manning 7.8mm crew-served medium machineguns in concrete bunkers, the others sitting along with them with their weapons trained on the target, staring through infrared scopes. There were two bunkers, one on either side of the road. Standing in the center of the road behind behind an automated steel gate with several rows of tire spikes in front of it was Centurion Camillius Amandus, commander of the sector.

Slightly irritated by the man's ploy, he shouted back through a megaphone in response,

"No. This is a restricted area. Go back to where you came."

OOC:Oh, I forgot to mention this before: I've cut off all internet access in the cities.

OOC:Oh, I forgot to mention this before: I've cut off all internet access in the cities.

OOC: Yeah right, you have. You only thought of that after I started using it to talk to Kahanistan's char. Oh well, too late for you now anyways...

OOC: Yeah right, you have. You only thought of that after I started using it to talk to Kahanistan's char. Oh well, too late for you now anyways...
OOC:No, when I said I cut off those ghettos from the outside world, I did so in every way. I thought it was sort of implied that you wouldn't be able to access the internet, use phones, radios, or any of that, but apparently I was mistaken. No need to be an asshole and accuse me.

"What do you want with me?" the Cardinal demanded. He was a very tall, slightly gaunt Arab man in his 60's, with a full white beard and dressed in full clerical regalia. "I'm a loyal Catholic. I have never opposed the Church."

The Cardinal wondered angrily which traitorous coward had repaired the bugs he and two other priests had smashed two days earlier. He sat down in a chair behind his podium.

The congregants' reactions were mixed; many complied, others ran (jumping out a 54th-floor window was suicide, but many had bungee cords for emergencies), and a few even pulled guns. The Cardinal had four bodyguards armed with IMI Tavor assault rifles.

---

The village had sent about fifty people over the past three weeks to join Tahrir al-Ummah, and about a dozen youths had been conscripted into the mujahideen. However, most people were still there, the population was about 1,500, mainly armed with AK-47's.

These Allaneanized hicks had long been preparing for Armageddon and threw themselves to the ground at the first explosions, but many still were incinerated upon taking direct hits from the FAE. Others lay down, posing as corpses and awaiting the Doomani infantry. They had trained with firearms and loved liberty; Mayor Roth's office had the Greek words μολον λαβε ("Come and take them!") on his door, and Kahanistanian flags with that phrase under the hammer and sickle emblem flew over the city.

The centurion simply stared through his armored mask into the eyes of the Cardinal as his Legionaries put a bullet through the skull of anyone stupid enough to make a motion even resembling grabbing a weapon; those who jumped out the windows were greeted by even more Legionaries waiting on the ground, who would immediately sieze them and drag them off to a summarial execution, if they didn't kill them outright.

Pulling a scroll from his vest, Centurion Cassius, the commander of the men, began to read

"By order of Cardinal Deodatus Rufus, Archbishop of Jerusalem, you are hereby under charged for the vile crimes of heresy, consorting with heretics, consorting with pagans, sheltering heretics, sheltering pagans..."

He literally carried on reading the charges, of which there were nearly a dozen, for another thirty seconds before sealing the scroll.

"In the name of God and the Emperor, you are under arrest!" he shouted as a pair of Legionaries siezed the Cardinal and secured his wrists with zipcuffs and quickly dragging him away.

By now the Legionaries had herded the congregation into the center of the room. The windows were now blocked, as were the doorways.

Turning towards the congregation, Centurion Cassius spoke to them,

"You are all charged with the crime of heresy. In the name of God and the Emperor, I am placing you all under arrest. Those resisting arrest will be crucified!" he put an emphasis on the last word.

Anyone who had witnessed a victim of Doomani crucifixion, which involved flaying the victim first off, tying them to a T-shaped cross with piano wire as well as driving nails through the palms, wrists, and ankles before simply leaving them in the desert to bake in the sun, would know precisely the horrific fate that would await them.

Food for the vultures.

"Why don't you back back to where you came from, you sons of bitches?" He yelled at the troops.

The driver put his middle finger up and started to walk away from the armed men. Once getting back into his truck, he regretted making that choice. Quickly he reached into the glove compartment, that had a .357 magnum. Checking it for ammo, he loaded a few rounds into it. Then the driver started to back up. His window rolled down and he put his head out.

"GO TO HELL, WAR MONGERS!"

Then as soon as he finished his head reentered the truck. His lights still showed the Border Patrol. He thought I better get the hell out of Dodge, as he started to turn his vehicle around.

Port Inn – The Republic,

The Dominionites were leaving for the last time from Neo Jagada as the official alliance between the two countries was dissolved. Though as their final ships departed, none of the Dominionite soldiers or the Count would ever fully understand how useful they had been this day. As an official and announced ally of Kahanistan, the Imperium Doomanium would no doubt have at least one of two satellites above the Republic watching its every move. While Jagada’s military hadn’t experienced the best luck in all its history, a recent string of victories and draws had renewed confidence between the officer’s corps and the recruits.

Captain Rokemi had already ordered the double checking of all systems and they were nearly complete. In order to perceived as a Dominionite ship, or at least a Jagite vessel escorting the Dominionites out – the submarine had to be almost right behind the Transylvanian fleet. Rokemi had a special cargo on board though – well actually large amounts of special cargo. First and foremost was the small stealth submarine which had been inserted into his submarine due to distance. Second was the seven man Special Forces team that always kept to themselves and always held secret meetings in their temporary quarters. Rumors of course abound that they were in fact assassins going to kill the Count for numerous reasons. All of it was of coarse nonsense.

Just as Rokemi’s submarine left harbor and began to follow the Dominionite Fleet, it submerged but kept its overall presence known, as to not incite the Dominionites into conflict. For dozens of miles and for several days the submarine diligently followed behind the Dominionite Fleet, posing at best a minor annoyance. Though as they reached the point of detachment, Rokemi ordered that the stealth sub be prepped for launch, as the submarine began to gradually slow its speed, as if trying to gain more distance between it and the Dominionite Fleet. After ten minutes of the gradual speed change the submarine finally came to a completely halt and immediately the procedure went into effect, within minutes the stealth submarine had launched from its inner holdings of the longer ranged submarine commanded by Rokemi. The small, stealth submarine began its long trek towards occupied Kahanistan.

(OOC: Mainly just to get my foot in the door.)

OOC: Jagada, I’m not using naval fleets to take my people out. I’m using transport planes as my navy is not that useful in transporting soldiers. You’re going to have to find another way.

(OOC: 10-4 Rubber Duck, will change it tomorrow.)

In Victoria Sheshet's Office

"No, no, and no. You are not in charge here yet. You are just the Vice-President. And I don't need Congressional authorization to do this, anyway."

"Why not?"

"The Kahanistani are our allies."

"Oh God. And here I struggle to make Allanea less warlike… remember, we reduced military funding again. Vicky, are you sure…"

"Yes, I am. Now fuck off. You're the Vice-President. You know what this means? You have no authority. You're worthless. You only are useful in the rare case the Senate gets hung in an equal vote or some such crap. Anything else is just because I'm nice. Got me, you retard?"

De Siecle grits his teeth and leaves the room. Soon… soon, dear Vicky…

Elsewhere

Battlefleets shift position. Yet again, the first and second Force Projection Fleet are moving – this time, they are moving towards Kahanistan. There is no official declaration of war – Kazansky is no longer in charge, and so there are no fancy speeches, no banners waving, no parades. Only hundreds of steel ships moving out to war.

In orbit, sattelites shift position, tracking the Doomani troops. There is no fighting –yet. It will begin – soon.

"Sir, we are eight thousand kilometers from Jerusalem! We are approaching Khan range, ETA several hours!"

"Prepare for battle. We have over six hundred ships here. We will show these slavering creeps who's boss. Arm all Khans, fuel the aircraft, prepare EMP and conventional munitions. This is going to be very fun."


OOC: Just announcing my joining. Kahanistan said I could do a full-scale deployment, so here I am.

Heresy? A Cardinal? Well, I think I proved my point, the Archbishop thought grimly as he was carted away. These people don't care about the Catholic Church, only about their own power. The irony that he himself had stirred up hostility toward the Jewish faith in an effort to maintain power was not lost on him. The Doomies couldn't catch everyone while they were distracted dealing with the gun-toting churchgoers... word would spread. And then all hell would break loose.

Lt. Pope woke up with a cold sweat. It was pitch dark and he could not see anything. He knew that he needed some fresh, so without telling his men went out to find the open air. Only his hand guided him, as it touched the wall, to know where exactly he was going to.

Najaster

Although some of the Doomani troops may have been tied up arresting the Church-goers, the vast majority were either on patrol elsewhere or waiting on standby: that was the beauty of the occupation system they'd establish. They were going to make absolutely sure there were no witnesses to what was happening until the Cardinal had confessed to his heretical ways. First off, nearby cameras and UAVs, as well as the tracking devices implanted under the skulls of all the civilians in that particular ghetto- numbering just over four hundred people, allowed for the Doomani to locate every individual in the area.

Gates within the sewers had already been sealed, preventing escape through there; the walls were fully manned by Imperial troops, as well.

With numerous patrols on the streets of the ghetto itself, the positions of those attempting to flee would immediately be transmitted to the patrols, and they in turn would quickly block off any exits and dispatch men to hunt down and sieze or shoot the fleeing suspects.

With the knowledge that there were individuals within the ghettos that possessed firearms, the High Command now began planning an extensive operation to go into the ghettos and do extensive searches for weapons caches, as well as cell phones, laptops, and other contraband.

In the mean time, snipers, positioned in high rises outside of the ghettos with excellent fields of view into the ghettos themselves were ordered to go on standby. Anyone caught on camera with a weapon (and there wasn't much in the ghettos not covered by the cameras; whenever one was disabled, a raid quickly followed on the area and anyone within it when the camera or bug went offline would immediately be arrested) could be engaged by a sniper. They were not yet ordered to shoot targets on sight; rather, they would engage the targets pending orders from above.

Meanwhile, the Cardinal along with those of his congregation that were arrested were quickly hustled away into waiting CMPLs, which would then drive through the gates of the ghetto into Najaster's local prison, which had since been comandeered by the Doomani and converted into a maximum security holding facility where many disappeared, never to be seen again. (OOC:not sure about the name, you can give it in your next post)

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Procurator's Palace, Jerusalem

Procurator Lepidus sat beside his wife, Attia, beneath a silken canopy in the VIP box of the palace's arena. It was a modest facility: an arena with a diameter of no more than fifty yards, but it was an absolute work of art. Carved totally of marble, adorned by statues of gladiators and wild animals, as well as numerous crosses, it was as lavish as it was effecient. Built directly into the palace, it occupied one of the corners, built partially into the ground: a lower profile design, which the Doomani had found to be modern and aestecally pleasing.

The steel roof had been retracted during this fight, as it was a beautiful day in the newly conquered capital of Iudaea, Jerusalem.

Below, the couple watched as a pair of gladiators battled each other to the death. They'd been locked in mortal combat for the past five minutes, and it was a very entertaining scene: one gladiator, a beast of a man standing at seven feet tall, clad from head to toe in highly restricive plate armor save for his arms, which were bare to allow for the wielding of a weapon, carried a pair of massive axes.

His opponent, a smaller figure of five-foot six, wore barely any armor save for a loincloth and a shield; in his right arm he wielded a gladius. Thus far the pair had proved to be a fiercely even match, although it seemed the smaller man had the advantage. In his heavy armor, the larger gladiator was being consistently outmaneuvered: already he'd sustained multiple slash wounds to his arms, though the rest of his body was near-impervious to the smaller man's weapons.

The lighter gladiator, on the other hand, hadn't taken a single blow.

Suddenly, the smaller man made a quick attack towards the larger, slashing once more at his arms; the larger man expertly deflected the blade with one of his axes, swiftly kicking his opponent in the gut.

The smaller man, stunned, staggered back for just a moment before the larger man brought both axes directly on top of him. Desperately he tried to dive to the side but to no avail: both axes impacted his ribcage near-simultaneously. The ensueing carnage was both spectacular and pleasing: the defeated gladiator was utterly crushed by the blow, the axes cleaving open a large section of his torso, severing the spine in the process; and yet, they did not go all the way through, and so as the man split open vertically, the other half of his torso remained partialy attached, hanging by a flap of flesh as his innards spilt out onto the sands of the arena in a massive cloud of gore, covering the victor in his blood.

His foe conquered, the second man placed a sandled-foot onto the chest of his victim, bringing down one of his axes straight across the neck of the slain gladiator. In triumph, he lifted the severed head of his victim, still helmeted, and presented it to the Procurator as a trophy.

Lepidus and his wife stood and clapped enthusiastically at this display of martial prowess.

"What is your name, gladiator?" Lepidus voice boomed as he grinned sardonically.

Kneeling, the victor replied humbly, "Titus Daedeus, m'lord,"

His wife obviously greatly entertained by this enslaved barbarian's performance, Lepidus replied happily, "Titus Daedeus, that was a superb performance. I would like for you to dine with me this night,"

This was not an uncommon gesture by Doomani nobles. Gladiators were something of celebreties in Doomanum, despite their status as slaves. This individual was imported from some far-off province: a trophy of Imperial conquest. His victim had been a local that had been sold into slavery.

"I shall, m'lord," replied Daedeus, bowing his head.

Appearing out of a shadowy corner of the VIP box was an Imperial Army officer, Tribune Gnaeus Hadrianus, Lepidus' personal aid.

"Sir, you might want to look at this," he said emotionlessly, standing like a statue behind his superior,

"Ugh, what is it now, Gnaeus, can't you see I'm busy here?" replied Lepidus in a slightly irritated tone. Consolidating his hold in Jerusalem had been a trying task, one that had required him to have millions of people killed.

Already Doomani citizens made up the majority of the population: the majority of the locals that had lived there before had been viciously slaughtered in the bloodbath that had followed the city's fall to Maximus' army.

It had been said that blood, several inches deep, had flowed through the streets like a river: they'd not needed to use electric street lamps for nearly a week, instead opting to light bound captives on fire along the streets to illuminate the streets.

Hadrianus whispered into his commander's ears for a few seconds; Lepidus' look of joyous sadism was suddenly replaced by an expression of sheer suprise,

"No shit? That didn't take the bloody heathens long,"

Hadrianus continued aloud, "Rome has already ordered Gibraltar secured...descreetly of course. Eastern and Western Fleets are on full standby, as are our land-based interceptors...the Allaneans love their long range weapons..."

"Khans," Lepidus grunted, turning from the arena and walking towards the marble staircase that led up to the VIP box, "The infidels are in for a nasty surprise," he smirked, "As soon as they make a foolish move, the Wrath of God shall sweep their pitiful fleets like a mighty tidal wave..."

Yeah, whatever... Hadrianus thought to himself. He was not the most poetic of men, thus such language often annoyed him, though he did not display it openly.

Of course, he knew fully well the Procurator was right. The Allaneans were in for a very nasty surprise when they attacked. Chances were, not a single one of them would even set foot in the Holy Land when the Doomani responded if and when they attacked.

"Khan-wanking," as Imperial naval officers called it, was actualy a very vulnerable tactic; it was only a matter of exploiting the correct weaknesses...and with the total strength of the Mediterranean Fleets numbering well over one thousand ships, and that's not taking into consideration the Indian and Atlantic fleets...the Allaneans were outnumbered pretty badly...

Checkpoint

The guards did nothing but laugh at the Canadasteinian; his conduct was utterly rediculous. They weren't going to shoot a man standing in neutral territory. The loudspeaker, seeming to be left on by accident, broadcast the roaring laughter of the Legionaries as the man drove off. Humiliating him was just as good as killing him.

Mountain Village (OOC: Does it even have a name?)

First Cohort promptly proceeded to amass in front of the settlement; the tanks halted, the IFVs disgourged their cargo of mechanized infantry, and they assumed defensive positions outside of the town. 125mm and 203mm self propelled mortar tracks, as well as 152mm light MLRs, were moved into position to bombard the town.

Within a few minutes, the tanks and IFVs opened up into the city with weapons ranging from 37mm autocannons, to 105mm guns, to 125mm ETC guns; meanwhile, the autoloading mortars began dropping incindiery rounds into the village, aiming to cause a firestorm. The infantry sat back behind cover, picking off anyone fleeing their homes as they ran out.

They did not want to take the town intact: they wanted to raze it to the ground for its insolence in the face of Imperial might.

A few minutes later, a Canadstein jeep appeared with three men. They all wore a blue beret, a sign of the Regular Army. Two of the men had G36 assault rifles. The man without the G36 got out of the jeep, but put a hand up; a sign for the men to stay in the jeep. As he walked he could see the border defenses. The lights blinded him for a second as he thought of what to say. He put up his hands and started to shout so the Doomanis could hear him.

"I am Colonel David Fraser of the Canadstein Regular Army. I only want to talk to your Commander. The other two men will stay in the jeep."

Some fled through sewers and hid in the muck rather than try and go through the sealed gates; others would retreat into alleys and dumpsters. A few who were active in the resistance movements knew where the disabled cameras were, possibly as their friends had been the ones to disable them.

---

Najaster District 17 Jail

Cardinal al-Qaramesh and about forty of his congregants were hustled into the local jail, whose high floors would make escape through the windows impossible and whose lower floors, crawling with police prior to the occupation, would have made sure that even if half the force were sleepy or drunk, anyone escaping through the lower floors would be caught.

Lord only knew what the Doomies had done to the place, but the upper floors prior to the occupation merely held prisoners and enough guards to deal with the assaults and riots that would occasionally take place. Conditions had generally been humane, even if the prisoners were confined one to a 3x3x3 meter cell...

---

Mt. Liberty, an eastern mountain village in Kahanistan

The problem with the Doomani tactics was that they were expecting a mob of terrified civilians to be fleeing fiery death or crucifixion at the hands of the Doomani.

The village militia commander, Lt. Colonel Shapur Faradeh, Republic Guard, Reserve, put a tape (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKoOLg8W5tk) in a boom box to motivate his militia, most of the population over 15, to resist. Most couldn't understand Chechen, of course, but the sentiment was clear: Death or Freedom. Possibly it was part of the cultural mixing Kahanistan tended to engage in with regard to its allies.

"Death or freedom!" AK-47 and M-240 fire poured out at anyone crazy enough to get too close to the village, and even 81mm mortars fired from behind burning houses, some with chlorine gas or a Clorox / Drano mix that was known to create poison gas and was readily available. One M-240 machine gun was even set on top of a dead cow that had been cut down by Doomani bullets.

However, many asphyxiated in the firestorm; few burned to death as most knew the drill to "stop, drop, and roll." Most deaths were caused by asphyxia or enemy fire.

War Room, Imperial Military Comand Center, Granton, Findan

Marshal Count Sir William Grossman looked at the data streaming into the War Room.

"Sir you had better see this." said his aide Major Charlie Pellegrino

"What is it Charlie?"

"The Doomies have launched a massive attack on a Kahanistani village up in the moutains, where insurgents have been operating."

"What kind of attacks."

"Fire bombs, gas, you name it anything short of wmds they used."

"Casulty figures?"

"None yet, sir and I doubt we'll get accurate figures."

Grossman shrugged, " Well I figured that's the case. I see that Allenea is increasing thier forces in the region. It looks like they are about to attack the Doomis."

"Well it is about bloody time, sir, I'd hoped that we be preparing our own attack."

"We might just be doing that."

OOC:Findan, technically you'd be seeing me moving six divisions worth of infantry into the mountains as a whole, not just on that village, just a little clarification :)

Najaster

Instantly, response teams closed in on the positions being transmitted by the tracking beacons implanted beneath the skulls of the fleeing Kahanistanis. Operating in four man hunter-killer teams, the Legionaries moved into the alleyways, approaching from multiple sides. With the positions of the Kahanistanis being transmitted directly onto their HUDs, they were able to simply pump dozens of rounds into the dumpsters their prey had taken cover in; those caught in the open were given the chance to surrender, although if they made the slightest indication of resistance or attempted to flee they were simply shot on sight.

Not even those fleeing by the disabled cameras would be safe; of course the Doomani knew about each and every disabled camera. It would be difficult for them not to, thus they had a good idea of where they'd be fleeing to. That, combined with the fact that they could easily home in on the tracking beacons and hunt them down in that manner, approaching from multiple angles to cut them off and trap them.

Those fleeing into the sewers would not have faired any better; with motion sensors and infrared sensors installed, they'd see the Kahanistanis dropping down and see precisely where they fled to. Of course, once under the muck, they'd be mostly invisible to the infrared sensors, although the Doomani teams operating in the sewers would still be able to pick up on the tracking beacons.

The Doomani did, in fact, have extensive sewer patrols, simply becase that was the likeliest area for an insurgency to be based out of in this sort of occupation. Thus, it did not take long for patrols to arrive at the gates of that ghetto's sewer network. The seven man teams would leave two men behind, the gates sealed, to guard the gate in case any of the Kahanistanis tried to flee when they found out they had patrols coming after them.

The patrols would move to the areas the sensors had indicated; slowly of course. These men were proffesional killers, and they were very good at their job. They'd recieved extensive training on sewer fighting, thus they'd know to look in clusters of muck, firing bursts from their DAC-97s at anything that looked suspicious, and making sure to not only walk along the concrete paths to the side of the sewer, but to wade through the muck so that they could walk into anyone that was hiding in an area they didn't shoot up.

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Najaster District 17 Jail

Entering the cell blocks of the jail, one would immediately be overcome by the putrid stench of rotting flesh; the only sounds, besides the humming of electronics, were the screams of the tortured eminating from the corridors that led from the main cell block. Immediately noticable were over a dozen men and women, some dead and some still alive, hanging from the upper floors where the prisoners were held. Meathooks, in some cases through the calves, in others through the arms, suspended the prisoners, who had already been tortured for weeks on end, ranging from twenty feet to just five feet above the floor.

Some hung their missing their skin; most were missing a limb or two. One man had his arms and legs completely torn off, the wounds cauterized with a blow torch; he hung by a pair of meathooks through his shoulders. More than a few that were already dead were torn in half, their entrails still hanging from their suspended torso or lower body, depending on how the sadistic guards had chosen to hang that particular prisoner.

Even as the new prisoners passed, one guard remained preoccupied with one of the men, a captured insurgent whose arms had been sliced off. Hanging upside down with a pair of meathooks through his calves, the prisoner grunted helplessly as the guard mercilessly battered him with an aluminum baseball bat he'd looted from someone's home, or quite possibly the prison itself; it did not matter, it still made the same sickening sound of blunt metal impacting meat at high velocity. The man's ribs still made the same gruesome crunching sound as they were crushed by the blows.

"Fucking infidel!" the man roared, widing up with his bat.

He took one powerful swing at the man's head: the result was sickening, the skull bursting open like a melon, sending a shower of blood, gore, and brain tissue in the direction of the swing.

In all cases they bore visible signs of torture: missing eyes, lack of tongues, lips that had been cut away, severe bruising, scarring, and burning all over the body. By now they were to weak to scream; those that could still utter a single breath moaned in agony occasionaly as the maggots crawled freely over their mutilated bodies, as the sand fleas slowly chewed away at their flesh by the dozens. On one of the men, still alive, a raven, a pet of the guards, sat on the shoulder, picking at his one remaining eye.

The floors, in some areas, were still slick with blood; in all cases it was caked with dried blood and gore, as were the walls, which now featured larged flat screen LCD monitors, which constantly broadcast propaganda. As the new captives, chained together in a column, were led into the prison, the guards cackled maniacally. Fresh meat for the maggots.

Medium-sized automated machinegun turrets hung from the cielings, dozens of small, highly advanced cameras dotted the walls and cielings. None of the new hardware matched the prison, their black metalic and polymer construction standing in stark contrast to the grey concrete of the prison. It looked as if they'd simply been crudely bolted into place.

The prisoners, in groups of five, were led to one of four elevators, newly installed by the Doomani (since they'd gone ahead and demolished the stairs to further prevent any hopes of escape) that, like the rest of the newly installed hardware, looked like it did not belong. These brought the prisoners to the upper level, where the cells were located. Dried blood also stained the concrete floor of this area; another few dozen tortured captives had been nailed crucifixion style to the walls, just a few feet from the ground so that their death would be all the more tantelizing to them: they were just a few feet from preventing themselves from dying of asphyxiation, yet nails through their feet, ankles, wrists, and palms prevented them from touching the ground.

The Doomani had a nickname for this place, one most appropriate in this situation: the Sanguinarium. A prison back in Doomanum bore the same name, but it was just such a catchy name they had to borrow it in this case.

They, like the prisoners hanging from the meathooks, had been tortured in a variety of ways, ranging from being skinned alive, to cut, to burned; in all cases they were severely bruised from the beatings inflicted on them by passing guards. Of course, unbeknowst to the prisoners who hadn't done their homework beforehand regarding Doomani Church law, none of these people were victims of the Inquisition. The Imperial Army may have gotten their hands on these people through the Inquisition's intellegence, but they were there to be tortured for information or for punishment of a criminal offense of a non-religious nature. Whatever their reason for being there, it always ended the same: death. No one ever returned alive from the Sanguinarium, save for those being lead away to be burned at the stake for heresy at the orders of the Inquisition. These executions would take place publically, within the ghetto they'd once dwelled in: a demonstration of God's wrath against the nonbelievers.

The cell doors had been replaced since the Doomani had started their occupation: steel bars had been replaced with thick, automated cell doors, constructed of a combination of high-strength polymer and steel, featuring an LCD monitor on the outside so that passing guards could see inside without letting any light into the cell.

The crooning of hydraulics sounded as the prisoners were led to their cells, the heavyweight armored doors sliding to the side. The ensueing light blinded the eight to ten other prisoners that had somehow been stuffed into the tiny 3x3 cell; they tried to shield their eyes, but couldn't because they'd been chained to the walls of their cell. The new prisoners were manhandled into their cells, their hands chained above their heads, their feet chained below. They could not sit down the way their wrists and akles had been secured.

Within seconds of their being secured, the crooning of hydraulics once more sounded as the doors slid shut. And then, darkness.

Their stay in Hell had begun.

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

Battle of Mt. Liberty

It had not been the tactics of the Doomani that had expected a mob of terrified civilians, rather, it had been their attitudes. Their tactics were perfectly fine for this sort of situation, for they'd been adopted in the event the village was crawling with insurgents, as it was in this case.

With the vehicles and infantry staying back from the village several hundred yards, the infantry firing from cover, they were able to quickly lay to precise fire on the enemy riflemen and gunners; each individual Doomani rifleman was a superb marksman, and with his DR-83 would be able to pick off enemy soldiers from this distance with pinpoint accuracy, targetting the machinegunners in particular, with their own machinegunners laying down covering fire on any target in sight and snipers. The Kahanistani insurgents, equipped with AK-47s, could not boast nearly the same level of accuracy due to the very nature of their weapons.

The vehicles, as before, continued to target the buildings with their heavy weapons; as before they intended to simply raze the town. They'd not changed tactics from before: they did not intend to foolishly charge into the town when they could simply sit back and pump round after round into it.

However, when enemy mortars began coming down on the infantry with astounding accuracy; they almost certainly would have taken dozens of casualties in the first few barrages had it not been for the fact the enemy had foolishly chosen to use chemical weapons against a force that was fully equipped for NBC warfare.

The standard equipment of Doomani mechanized infantry featured an armored NBC visor, the uniform itself being NBC protected. The reason for this, of course, was the liberal use of chemical weapons on the part of the Doomani in many instances. They really had not expected to encounter a foe equipped with chemical weapons, and were now thankful for a precaution that had orignally been to allow them to operate with friendly artillery pumping nerve gas right around them to make urban warfare easier. As a result, none were killed by the otherwise lethal chlorine gas.

It was likely the Kahanistanis had thought that the infantry previously operating in the mountains who'd lacked this equipment would make up the brunt of the force going into the mountains: this simply was not the case. Those men had been light scouts and patrols; the use of chemical weapons by friendly forces had not been yet authorized in their sectors, thus they chose to utilize more appropriate equipment for their job.

In large scale operations such as this, the Doomani always took precautions for NBC warfare.

As a result of this blunder by the Kahanistanis, the positions of their mortars was given away to Doomani ballistic counter-battery RADAR within seconds, which quickly beamed the coordinates of the enemy mortars to friendly mortars. The Kahanistanis, within roughly ten seconds of their opening fire, before the effect, or lack there of, of their chemical weapons could be seen, already had ten 125mm automatic mortars and another four 203mm automatic mortars putting GPS guided high explosive rounds right into their mortar nests.

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

Checkpoint

Over the loudspeaker, the Centurion responded,

"I'm sorry, but you are not authorized to cross the border. You may speak to me from where you are standing."

The gate directly on the border remained sealed; topped with razor wire and electrified, you would NOT want to try to climb it, especialy with over a dozen armed men having their weapons trained on it...

"I just want to see a high rank officer. He can at least come out to where I can see him. From the High Command I have orders to offer something to your country. Something that might be frowned upon, by other nations." Col. Fraser started to move closer to the border, but still kept his hands up. "So can I at least see your commander?"

The Centurion was clearly insulted at the infidel's demand to see a "high-ranking officer," and responded, slightly annoyed,

"I'm all you got, speak to me or to no one. Besides," he continued on, with a tone of clear suspicion, "If your government truly wanted to offer my government something, why would they not go through official channels? This is highly irregular."

Col. Fraser stopped near the fence. He was still a step away from the occupied area. Looking up he responded "We do not want countries to be aware of our actions right now. I have one thing to say since you are being stubborn. If you want help, you have someone that can help you. If you want to deliver a message, we have a base not to far away from this location."

Col. Fraser would not respond to anything, and got back into his jeep.

"Bye, maybe we will work together."

Fraser gave the Centurion a salute, then the jeep turned about and disappeared into the darkness.

What the fuck? the Centurion thought to himself as he subconciously returned the salute in Doomani fashion; the right arm snapped out from the chest, held stiff and parallel to the ground.

Immediately he contacted his immediate superior, who in turn sent what happened up the chain of command. A message was covertly wired to the nearby base, giving the Canadsteinians access to a secure channel with which to communicate with the Imperial Government.

[In for some fun with Doom's permission...]

The regional transport was light as aircraft went these days, flying into occupied Kahanistan from the Whyatican held territories. But it was most assuredly not Whyatican...

The hull had been given a crude camouflage paint job; tan, brown, and green slathered on in most decidedly unprofessional patches. But that wasn't the important part. The important part was the message in neat printing on the side, which was odd considering the rest of the plane:

VWUDWHJLF RSHUDWLRQV DQG UHFRQQDLVVDQFH JURXS DLUFUDIW LCLVWDQ

The really astute observers, assuming they paid the plane a moments noticed, might have the idea that it was some odd cryptographic message. In fact, it was. To be incredibly specific, it was a classic Caesar Shift encryption job, shift of +3 and everything. Odd thing to have on a plane anyway.

The plane increased power to its turboprops and roared off in the general direction of Najester International, not even skipping a beat when verification its destination and exchanging code words with the control tower.

An old general saw the jeep return with Col. Fraser. Fraser said that the Doomanis would very stubborn and would not listen to him. Though soon after Col. Fraser came back, a young private came running toward the old general.

"Sir, we have got access to a secure channel. I think it might be the Doomanis."

The general got up slowly and followed the private. The private entered a room that was filled with an assortment of Canadstein radio equipment. The room had wires all over the place and looked to be disorganized. A group of men was around a certain station. The general walked over and the men gave a salute, then went back to their stations.

"This is General Sam Steele of the Canadstein Army. I have orders from High Command to ask if there is anyway we can help you in occupied Kahanistan. It seems that any course of action that helps you, will some how benefit us."

Within seconds, the general recieved a reply,

"This is Tribune Quintus Cicero. Procurator Lepidus sends his regards but regrets that he cannot personaly carry out this conversation; I speak to you in his stead. Your offer of aid is much appreciated but not necessary; the Imperium Doomanum is fully capable of dealing with any problems that may arise in Iudaea.

For now, the Procurator, in accordance with Caesar, has thought it best that there be no foreign intervention for the time being, for the sake of the stability of the region. Again, on behalf of the Procurator and the Imperial Government, I thank you for your concern, but the Imperium is fully capable of taking care of its own sovereign territory."

General Steele followed orders and would not talk to those arrogant bastards again. He wished that he could just charge straight into border with all of the men on these base. Getting back in his private headquarters he called up his second in command, Col. Fraser.

"I do not trust those bastards, but we cannot do anything about them." General Steele said as he got a bottle of whiskey out and poured it into two glasses. He handed one of the glasses to Col. Fraser.

"Sir, there is one way..." Col. Fraser said, then he took a drink. "Shall we do it General?"

All General Steele was nod and looked away from Col. Fraser. Col. Fraser finished off his glass, then hurried to his jeep. He drove, until his stopped at a small gated faculty. The faculty was a small air field. It was classified as an air landing base for cargo planes, but recently held some unmarked military aircraft. Soon stopping his jeep, he entered a one of the few buildings. A group of men were playing some type of card game, but quickly got up to see who it was.

"I have orders from the General. You are going to do a strike on his location."

The leader of the group took the piece of paper.

"This mission is to take place now." said Col. Fraser as he looked at the men.

"So I'm guessing only one for this mission?" asked the leader.

Col. Fraser nodded, then walked back to his jeep.

Thirty Minutes later an unmarked AC-130 took off the airfield. AC-130 gunship flew close to the border, then fired on the checkpoint with it's 1 L60 Bofors cannons,1 M102 howitzer, and 1 GAU-12 Equalizer. The AC-130 flew to the South, to make nothing tracked it back to the base.

ooc: I'll post either tommorrow or the day after cuz Im very busy at the momment. Just letting y'all know that Im not dead is all. As if you cared =P

[OOC: The cells are 3x3x3 METERS, not tiny at all for prison cells, actually fairly generous, especially given that while in Kahanistanian use, they housed a single prisoner each.]

Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh knew the Doomani would want him to confess to heresy and that they would subject him to the most hideous torture in order to obtain it. He thanked God for his high blood pressure which might cause a heart attack or stroke to kill him mercifully should the pain grow too intense. He was, after all, 63 years old and most of his exercise in the past 30 years had been walking to and from church and his apartment.

If God willed it, he would resist the torture long enough to die. He prayed that by being martyred as the disciples of Jesus had nearly two thousand years earlier, his martyrdom would convince the Catholic population of Kahanistan that the Doomani's brand of Catholicism came not from God, but from Satan. For thirty years he had echoed Jesus' teachings to love one another and to turn the other cheek, something that seemed to be lacking from these people.

---

Within thirty seconds after firing the first shell of Drano and Clorox, all five mortar nests were craters, their crews mounds of pulp.

The machine gunners were still firing, as were about a hundred men and women with AK-47's. Colonel Faradeh himself was badly wounded and knew he had not long to live; two bullets had pierced his chest and another two were in his stomach. He waited for the Doomani to storm the burning city.

Allah... grant your servant this one wish, that I die with the blood of a Doomani butcher on my face. The commander lay supine among the flames, his facial expression calm, his AK-47 still held in his hand, ready to kill a Doomani soldier face to face and die with the butcher's blood on his face.

---

About four hours after the raid on the Archbishop's apartment

"Ouch!" a lone-wolf rebel cried as the scalpel entered his scalp. Rostam Isfahani was one of those people who wore a tin-foil hat, in order to prevent Zionist thought-control rays from reading his mind and controlling him.

Mr. Isfahani had decided to see an insurgent doctor rather than a Doomani one, as, being a pagan (by Doomani standards; in fact he was a monotheist, a Zoroastrian) he would be persecuted by the Doomies and their collaborators, especially if he complained about a Zionist thought control device implanted in his brain.

However, the tracking bug that really was in his body had not been implanted by the Zionists... and the insurgent doctor was willing to take the surveillance bug conspiracy theory seriously enough to risk a surgical operation without the proper anaesthetics or antiseptics, especially after several major insurgent commanders had been arrested with the Archbishop and were undoubtedly suffering tortures that would make the Nazis vomit. So, equipped with only a metal detector and a magnifying glass to look for scars or incisions, the doctor got to work looking for bugs...

The Cape

"We are now entering the Red Sea, Sir."

"Very, very good. Now, I am given to understand that this… Jerusalem of theirs isn't part of Kahanistan pre-occupation."

"This is quite correct, Sir."

"And that the majority of the locals have been slaughtered by the Doomani? Is that essentially correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"See then, then I have an idea. Please order the fleet to proceed to Eilat. The SDNs and other ships that can't go into Eilat Harbor will remain here. And in the meanwhile, as they proceed to Eilat, do we have any sattelites available in range from the Doomani area of the Holy Land at all?"

"We have two right now, why does it matter?"

"Two words – Bab al-Wad. Or Shaar Ha-Gay, if you prefer. It's the main road to Jerusalem. It runs into a narrow valley gorge right here – look, on the map. Right here is a good place."

"Oh God."

"That's about right. We'll target two of the kinetic rockets – one here, and one here – on the sides of the road. Even one of them, when they hit, will cause an avalanche – and block off the road."

"Fucking win, Sir."

"That's my boy. But this is not everything. You realize that the Doomani want Jerusalem. They have murdered hundreds of thousands already to get it. If we want to deny victory to them, we must first and foremost deny them the city. Second, after we fire these two god rods, we must then fire the entire capacity of the satellite."

"So…"

"Target the Knesset building with a single god rod. One more for the Jerusalem Central bus station (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerusalem_Central_Bus_Station). Additionally, two must be targeted at their rail interface – at both the Malha Mall and the Biblical Zoo stations. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"But this is not everything. There's a militarily-useful airport near the city- Atarot. Hit that one with a god rod. Now… nine god rods left in the magazine… what should we spend them on? Ah, I know. I want you to target… this thing. It's newly built and it has an arena which appears to be used for gladiatorial combat. I bet you a thousand bucks it's some big-shot's palace. So… yeah, hit it with a god rod. Also, I want you to fire the remaining god rods at… yes, that'll be good. I want you to fire them at six random Doomani ships that are still in harbor in Haifa or Ashdod or wherever it is they use to disembark troops in the area. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Fire the god rods. May God bless Allanea."

OOC: Targets chosen mostly for plot reason.

Najaster

"...What in the Lord's name are these two doing?" muttered Deacon Titus as he focused in on his screen.

The alarm had gone off; two Kahanistani males, Rostam Isfahani, along with another man, were being read, through their implants, as being really, really close to one another...and they were staying that way.

"Dear God...are they doing what I think they're doing?" he said aloud, visibly horrified by what he believed to be going on in that appartment.

A colleague, Brother Junius, quickly walked over to his comrade's screen; they were in that particular ghetto's Inquisition monitoring center, a rather high-tech facility based in a nearby office building.

"What's going on- oh...Dear Lord..." replied the monk, dumbstruck by what he was seeing on the screen, which showed a 3D model of the apartment building.

A smaller screen showed the room in question.

"Bloody sodomites," Titus spat on the ground beside him,

"Right...I'll have the perverts arrested immediately..." replied Junius, slinking away.

Within minutes, that particular city block's patrol, already had a team entering that building; it was nothing unusual, patrols often entered the apartment buildings, occasionaly chatting with the locals. In this instance, they took the stairs to the floor the two Kahanistanis were located on and kicked down the apartment door before tossing a flashbang in, rushing into the room while the two were stunned in order to subdue them without resistance; a second team had been posted outside of the building incase they tried to flee outside while the first team moved towards the apartment.

Should any one of them exit the apartment before the team reached it, they would still be tracked. If the doctor managed to find and remove the bug before they arrived, the bug would send a signal to the men indicating that it had been removed, and the security systems in the general area would hunt for individuals without the bugs installed. With multiple cameras in every corridor and apartment in addition to microphones, which could give the positions of individuals through the sound of their footsteps, breathing and sound, escape would be virtually impossible without being detected.

Radio channels were also being monitored by the local ELINT unit, and cameras scanned apartment windows for people making suspicious hand signals, as mics listened for anyone making a verbal warning; anyone tipping off the two suspects ahead of time of the team's approach would be detected and subject to arrest themselves.

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

Border

Under the immense firepower of the Spectre gunship, the checkpoint didn't stand a chance: it was completely obliterated in mere seconds. Imperial RADAR had detected the approach of the aircraft ahead of time as it moved towards the border, of course, and thus they'd watched it cautiously; anti-aircraft guns targetted the incoming aircraft, whose intentions were unknown, in the event it made a hostile act.

A pair of Corvus attack helicopters in the area, along with an ACI-91 VTOL transport loaded with infantry, were put on high alert. By now everyone knew about the confrontation about that border post; the approach of the enemy aircraft very well could be an attempt at trying to sneak someone through.

Shortly after it opened fire, the AC-130 was greeted by fire from a battery of Bootscraper self-propelled anti-aircraft guns. Sporting a pair of 105mm anti-aircraft guns, firing sophisticated computerized ammunition, it was a lethal machine, capable of putting over sixty 105mm shells into the air in under a minute.

The six advanced tripple-A tracks, concealed by camoflage netting and dug in almost six kilometers from the border, tracked the hostile aircraft via friendly RADAR and infrared systems, quickly began pumping out round after high explosive round, each one capable of totally obliterating the gunship in a single hit; even the fragments from a nearby airburst (the shells, in the event of a miss, would explode nearly instantly after its computer had confirmed it had not hit, ensuring the enemy aircraft would still recieve heavy damage) would have been enough to shoot it down.

The aim of the guns was computerized and precise; the shells themselves featured specialized fins, which allowed for them to make minor course corrections, almost ensuring a direct first hit of an unsuspecting aircraft. With the amount of shells being put out and the sheer accuracy of the weapons being used, the chances of the enemy aircraft not being completely blown apart were highly unlikely.

In the mean time, word of the attack filtered in, and a brutal reprisal was being prepared...

OOC: Respond to Allanea tommorow, along with the other stuff I probably missed.

The Doomani would see that Isfahani and the doctor were fully clothed and showed no signs of being hastily dressed, that no sodomy had taken place. Isfahani's scalp was badly bleeding from having been mangled by the surgeon.

The insurgent doctor had just removed the chip from the paranoid's scalp. Isfahani, paranoid about more than just thought rays, and his paranoia now confirmed by the discovery of the chip, drew his pistol from inside his jacket when he heard the kick to the door. He got off one shot at whoever was kicking it in.

"Bloody Zionist bastards!" he cried as his friends Mr. Smith, Mr. Wesson, and a .50 caliber Magnum slug attacked the intruder. Paranoia about "Zionists" was commonplace among such head cases since they had lost power in Kahanistan ages ago to be replaced with a secular government, as such paranoia was throughout the world, especially by tinfoil hat wearing loonies like Rostam Isfahani.

As bullets riddled the aircraft, the co-pilot was bleeding all over the place. The pilot looked over to the co-pilot.

"Are you okay, Kid?"

The pilot touched the co-pilot. The co-pilot's body slumped over and his helmet fell off. Blood was gushing out of his head. You could see part of the man's brain. The pilot turned on auto-pilot and exited the cockpit. He knew that this plane was going done.

The main body of the plane was no different from the rest of the plane. It was carnage. Most of the other men were torn to pieces or barely hanging onto life. The pilot gather himself and saw 3 other men ready to jump out of the plane. Grabbing a parachute, the pilot watched as the other men jumped outside. Soon it was the pilot's turn. Without thinking he jumped into the darkness.

The AC-130 flew caught fire and was torn to shreds. A tripple-A track hit the plane and turned it into a flaming ball. As the men slowly glided down to the ground, they watched as the fire ball drove into the checkpoint. A gigantic flame ball appeared as the morning sun started to rise. The smoke started to come from the wreckage of both the plane and checkpoint and mixed with the redness of the sun.

Finally hitting the ground, the pilot and his men quickly took of their parachutes and headed east back near the Canadstein base.

An Hour Later

General Steele quietly paced his office. He heard a jeep screech and halt outside. There was a knock on the door and two men entered. One of them he recognized as Col. Fraser, but the other one was a new face.

"General, the checkpoint was destroyed, but only four men escaped from the AC-130. The rest of the nine men were blown to pieces. Of the men who escaped, one more died on the way back to base." said Col. Fraser as he looked a report about the operation, then he handed it over to General Steele.

General Steele read the report, then put the report down. He looked at the pilot and saw the patches that classified him as one of the many "private contractors" in the Canadstein Air Force. These men were daredevils and knew the risks, but still did their job.

"You did a damn fine job, pilot. What is your name?" General Steele asked as he stood up and shook the pilot's hand.

"General...its Thaddeus Martin." Thaddeus shook Steele's hand, then walked back outside.

Col. Fraser looked at General Steele.

"So what are we going to do about the Doomanis?"

"Nothing at all." said General Steele as he sat back down at his desk.

Col. Fraser gave Steele a salute, then walked back to the jeep.

Najaster

The first man into the room was hit square in the chest by the massive magnum round. The impact of the .50 caliber slug instantly shattered the small plate it impacted on his ceramic lamellar; the other plates it had been overlapping managed to prevent penetration, but the man still staggered off to the side from the impact while the second man in pushed him out of the way, firing a burst from his DAC-97 into Isfahani's face.

The third man let loose on the doctor nearly at the same time as the second, spraying his legs in order to knock him down and keep him from retaliating, while the first man quickly fired his rail-mounted taser at the doctor in order to fully disable him and prevent him from moving at all.

The entire entry had been fully executed in about three seconds; virtually no time was given for the enemy to properly react. This was a standard tactic used by counter-terrorist and SWAT units around the world, a highly effective room clearing technique that had been proven effective time and time again.

Once down, the doctor would be knocked unconcious with a swift kick to the head, cuffed, blindfolded, and the wounds on his legs bound to prevent bleeding. It appeared the Inquisition had jumped to conclusions on this one, a fact that was unsurprising to the Legionaries. The men new exactly what was going on when they'd seen the bloody scalp of Isfahani. The infidels were catching on.

As a result of this raid, the Doomani would be far more vigilant in searching for attempts to remove the bugs; anyone in the immediate area when a camera was disabled would be arrested, and anyone trying to hide in any blind spots of the cameras would be vigilantly watched by snipers equipped with thermal scopes in the surrounding high rises. Attempting to do this in an area the snipers couldn't cover would warrant a Doomani hunter-seeker drone, a fist-sized reconaissance UAV, to check out what was going on.

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Battle of Mt. Liberty

The men were not surprised that the mortars had ceased fire; that's usualy what happens when you have a 203mm shell fall on your head. As mentioned before, the goal here was to simply raze the city to the ground. Thus, the Doomani stayed put, pouring shells into the buildings still standing to collapse them on whoever was inside; 15.7mm machineguns mounted on the roofs of the tanks and the 37mm cannons of the IFVs, aided by electronic magnification sights coupled with thermal imaging and night vision, would kill anyone attempting to flee the buildings.

The infantry contined to pour small arms fire into the town, killing anything unfortunate enough to be in their sights.

Meanwhile, a flight of Acredula bombers appeared on the horizon. The men on the ground cheered as a pair of medium bombs, flying low over the town, released sixteen free fall Pestis Dei-laced bombs equipped with aerosol dispensors, aiming to exterminate all life in the town before the infantry moved in.

Dispersion of the chemicals was arranged so that the entire town would be totally covered in a massive, deadly cloud of the loathed weapon, ensuring anyone on the ground below would die an agonizing death before the Legionaries arrived. Even those wearing gas masks and full NBC suits wouldn't be safe; the gas, as discovered before by the Kahanistanis, would simply melt the filter, visor, and quite possibly the mask itself. The gas would even be lethal if the victim didn't breathe it in; it was fully capable of entering through the skin.

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District 17 Prison

After twelve hours of being chained to the wall of his 3x3x3 meter cell with another eleven or so prisoners in total darkness, the door slid to the side, suddenly allowing an immense amount of light to enter. A pair of guards entered, pinning the Archbishop to the wall while they unlocked his chains and dragged him from the cell, forcing him to his knees, stripping him of his shirt.

A hood was pulled over his head and his hands were bound behind his back. He had virtually know time to get on his feet before a pairs of hands grabbed beach of his arms, dragging him across the floor to the elevator.

He recognized the sound of the elevator and could tell he was moving downwards; the guards proceeded to lead him along for quite some time, making many turns as they went. It was as if they'd entered a maze, and the further into it they proceeded, the more repugnant the smell became; the louder the screams became.

After awhile, they finally came to a hault; the sound of a steel door swinging open in front of him could be heard, and the smell of sulfur suddenly entered his nostrils. He was lead forward a few more paces before the door behind him slammed shut. Now on his feet, the hood was pulled from his head.

He found himself in a chamber that seemed to bear a striking resemblance to a Church; a high, vaulted and arched cieling supported by pillars, the entire thing seeming to be carved out of stone, a blood red carpet forming a visible path towards the front of the Church across the intricately carved stone floor. On either side of him were high stained glass windows, arranged as if this place were indeed a Church. However, this particular Church lacked pews. It had a dark atmosphere, and the the only light that appeared to be entering came through the mostly red-tinted stained glass windows, giving it a sinister touch.

However, as the Cardinal looked more closely at one of the magnifiscent windows, he found that they did not bear images of the Lord or of Saints; they bore terrifying images: a bound captive on his feet having his tongue ripped out with plyers by a man clad in the robes of a monk, in the background were seven stakes with men tied to them. They were burning.

All of the windows bore similar disturbing imagery; looking towards the front along the blood red carpet of this sinsister Church, the altar had been replaced with what appeared to be an oaken judge's stand. To the rear was a massive crucifix, made entirely out of sivler. Above this, a black banner going horizontaly along the wall was emblazoned with the words INQVISITIO HAERETICAE PRAVITATIS SACNTVM OFFICIVM, or, Holy Office of Inquisition of Heretical Wickedness. Sitting upon the podium was an aged man in the black robes and red skull cap of an Inquisitor, all intricately adorned by guilded crosses; two others in similar regalia sat to either side of him. Below the judge's stand and to the left sat a lone monk at an oaken desk upon which sat a computer. This was the scribe. To the right were a set wooden bleachers, blocked by a low wooden wall with a small gate. Seated upon the bleachers were numerous clergy, including priests, monks, and nuns alike, all completely silent.

Thirty feet in front of the judge's stand, the red carpet ended at an octagon, no more than twenty feet in diameter, carved into the floor; in the center was an intricately carved cross. In the cross beam, the words AD ABOLENDAM (For the Purpose of Doing Away With) were carved. Looking closely, one could see a hint of dried blood encrusting the grooves of the words.

Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh was lead down the red carpet, into the center of the octagon, and forced to kneel. His zipcuffs were removed; a split second later (after the guards had stepped away from the octagon), the sharp hissing of compressed air cracked as a pair of manacles shot from the floor to the left and right of him, slightly in front, behind him a collar; these, as if guided by an unseen force, latched onto his wrists and neck, while similar manacles slid over his ankles, pinning them to the ground. The chains of the manacles jerked back into the floor, forcing his arms out and slightly to the front and his body back, forcing him upright.

Both guards stood behind and to either side of the prisoner, standing at full attention like statues, their armored, red-tinted visors not conveying the fact that their faces were similarly devoid of emotion. Both men, clad in black armor adorned by a chi-rho on the left shoulder, a cross on the chest, and a Crusader's Death's Head on the right, stood a stark reminder of the Imperium Doomanum's commitment to the Inquisition. Stripped of his shirt and chained in this manner, the Archbishop of Najaster was a miserable sight to behold.

The grim looking older man seated at the center of the judge's stand finally spoke, his booming voice sounding like that of Death Itself,

"I am Brother Pontius Tertius Placerbo, Master Inquisitor of Najaster. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I hereby declare the Inquisition into the Heresy of Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh to be in session," he banged his gavel, sounding like a gunshot, at the last word, "How does the accused plea?"

In the afternoon things had settled down at the base. General Steele looked at some recent satellite photos of the area. Looking at them he saw something interest. Going back to the radio room, he looked around. Most of the men had gone to lunch or were on a break. A lone man stood near a radio.

"You there, get the frequency for the Doomanis. I want to discuss something with them."

The man quickly got the frequency ready and got up from his station. Steele sat down and looked at the photo again.

"This is General Steele of the Canadstein Army. I think we have some information that might help you. It's about the "New Kahanistan" state not to far away from the occupied territory. It might interest you..."

Jerusalem, 40 km southeast of Czardaian Samaria, 25 km northeast of Doomani Judea

They meet first in the University.

The sun is blinding and brilliant. It is directly over the Mount, and it is strong enough that those within can see what they need to see without the need of lights. Five men sit around the table; it is an old sociology classroom, cleared of students and ritually sanitised.

The University is not what it used to be. Doors are torn down, rubble lines the courtyards, beams and floorboards lie scattered. Dust chokes everything, and there is still the faint stench of human blood in the air, even after the Doomani logisticals came in to clean it. Its security is of course impressive; the old gates and wall of buildings surrounding the university campus have been reinforced; the buildings' outward-facing classrooms have been converted into impromptu weapons depots, with all manner of weaponry from artillery to surface-to-air weapons to handgun stockpiles collected, whereas the gates have been quadrupled and surrounded by pillboxes. Eventually the old University buildings will be replaced as well, or simply upgraded.

The door is temporarily blackened by a shadow, and then the man steps in. He has no official rank, but he carries himself with authority; the sun gleams off the stylised eagle clasping his cloak around his shoulders in front, the Roman-style helmet fitting closely around his head. His face is in darkness, hidden by the visor; his voice filters through unamplified, still strong and audible to the men watching him.

"Deus vult," he greets them.

"Deus vult," they return.

"We have work to do, gentlemen," the newcomer says in fluent Latin. "The infidel is not yet crushed. The Adversary is still among us, still stalks the innocent and the weak, in the mountains of Iudaea."

One of the five men rises. "The Dorians shall ever be at your side," he murmurs. "As you asked."

"The Doomani too," the second man says, rising as well. "Our foreknowledge and expertise may prove invaluable."

There is a long pause as the newcomer's eyes flick accusingly towards the third man. He finally begins to rise as well. "Akavarians shall accompany you."

The cloaked man gives a sharp nod and turns to the other two. "What do you think?"

The fourth man, a short fat man with glasses, waddles up from his chair and begins to read from several sheets of paper. "From what we can tell, infidel activity is strongest in this region." He points at it with a pudgy finger. "They may be aided by Canadsteinians, according to preliminary reports from the Imperium, which are based here." The pudgy finger moves across a solid line.

The newcomer smiles. "We'll deploy preliminary squads to break down all organised resistance, and then start converting the infidels back. Standard drill. Then, upon my order, we are to deploy across the Canadstein border."

The men gathered look expectantly up at him. He is half-smiling.

"Dismissed."

Four of them get up in unison, dossiers tucked under their arms, and file out of the room into the hallways. They are bound for their temporary offices, to spread the word. Some way, it will reach their underlings, and eventually be diffused as far as the actual men themselves, the working arm of the world's largest and most successful terrorist organisation.

The newcomer -- he could be anything from a tribune to a legate -- walks over to across from where the fifth man was sitting and pulls over a chair. He sits and abruptly says in English, "So how are you enjoying yourself, James?"

James LaFleur stares up at him through harrowed eyes. "It's better than being cramped in a basement hole in Samaria, at least."

"I've had word from the Papacy. I've been promoted to permanent commander of this operation. It's odd they should choose a Dorian of course, but I suppose they'd have to trust us by now, what with our government and Manus being practically interchangeable."

LaFleur chuckles. "That place is a shithole. It'll be years before it's even approaching a place like Doomingsland in quality of life. You know that, Marinus."

"That I do. But it's a shithole full of fanatics, and that's exactly what the Imperium needs in allies right now. Especially smack-dab in the middle of East Haven." Marinus Ilius S'anjin grins. He is a man of forty-five, standing at an impressive six feet and ten inches, and half-Dorian, half-Doomani. "It's only our Crusades, operations like this one, that are putting us on the map."

S'anjin stretches and brings himself to his full height. "Oh, and James, you're naturally my close advisor and .... uh, I'll write you in as treasurer of Jerusalem headquarters. Good ambiguous, and potentially powerful position."

"Fine by me," LaFleur's face crinkles into a smile. The scars and injuries fold around it, making it look more rather than less sinister... almost like a white mask in a dull red face.

Once he is alone S'anjin picks up his cellphone and dials a number. He speaks. "It is starting."

Then he shuts it off again.

The Hand of God was moving in another finger.

[size=1]ooc Glorified tag, announcing that Manus Dei [RPd by yours truly] is going to be getting into some lovely ground combat uncomfortably soon. Yayz.

Oh, and mentioning anything like "a mobilisation in the nation of Czardas" is going to be ignored because, quite simply, there is no such nation active anymore. Just making sure people know./ooc

The rebel fell to the ground, his head resembling a lump of unholy Swiss cheese as he died a free Kahanistanian. Isfahani's S&W Magnum revolver was still clutched tightly in his hand as he went into cadaveric spasm; the Doomies could quite literally pry it "from his cold dead hand."

The insurgent doctor was not so lucky; he could look forward to tortures he dared not guess what, assuming his legs did not go septic from his wounds and kill him first.

As he was carted out, a young man approached the Doomani patrol.

"What's going on?" he asked, curious. He'd known Isfahani, seen him around before, but known him as an eccentric conspiracy theorist, not a dangerous individual. Certainly not a homosexual; his sister had mentioned the man's advances before.

---

Some of the insurgents had faced Pestis Dei before; their protection was fairly crude owing to lack of resources. It mostly consisted of two layers of desert robes to try to absorb most of the chemical, and rags stuffed down the throat or simply held in the mouth to supplement gas masks.

However, the burning pain was still unbearable, and the less disciplined insurgents lay on the ground groaning and crying in agony as they suffered the effects of the chemical. More disciplined insurgents, such as snipers, would continue to fire until the chemical rendered them unconscious, dead, or simply too badly damaged to fight.

---

"Not guilty," said Qaramesh calmly. He had silently prayed to Jesus to guide him through the trial, and he had focused his energy towards maintaining his cool as he was exposed to the terrors the Doomani were capable of, which only served to further reinforce his belief that Innocent VI was the Antichrist.

---

About 30 people gathered outside the Inquisition's office in Najaster. These were mainly elderly individuals and a few younger people, of all religions and races. They were completely unarmed and dressed in simple Arab desert robes, light dresses for the women, and hats to shield them from the sun. They began to call for the release of the Archbishop of Najaster. As far as they were concerned, his call for Jews to be converted, while radical for a mainstream priest, was decidedly far less radical than the Doomani practices.

"If a Cardinal can be grabbed as a 'heretic,' how safe are we?" asked a young man. "People are disappearing right and left, and nobody feels safe anymore."

Jerusalem

The godrod launch was quickly detected by Imperial satellite assests; immediately responding to these were a number of orbital defensive weapons. Because godrods took some time to reach high speeds from the time of their launch, there was a small window for orbital defensive systems to try to neutralize them.

Immediately in response, satellite-based MASERs targetted the tungsten rods. They did not expect to destroy the tungsten rods themselves; rather, they targetted their guidance systems, intending to cook their electronics and force them off course. In conjunction with these were a number of brilliant pebbles-style satellite weapons systems, firing several dozen guided watermelon sized tungsten projectiles; because they were much smaller projectiles but still featured extremely powerful gel-fuel rocket engines to quickly propel them to extreme velocities, they would have a chance of catching up with the godrods, although how effective this would be remained to be seen.

Other satellites tagetted the enemy kinetic energy satellites themselves with MASERs and brilliant pebbles in retaliation; it was too late now, but it simply had to be done.

With these weapon systems, assigned to guarding Iudaea, close to the launch of the godrods, their accuracy would be quite decent.

Initially, only a small portion of the Allanean godrods, three in total, were knocked off course or had their guidance affected by the MASERs; in the grand scheme of things the attack wasn’t terribly crippled by any stretch of the imagination.

Next to be launched in retaliation were Jerusalem’s local air defense systems, anti-ballistic missiles, designed to neutralize incoming ICBMs. Dealing with a godrod was virtually the same as dealing with an incoming MIRV: both were extremely high velocity bodies descending from orbit. In this case, however, there was no warhead that needed to be neutralized; instead, the needed only to deflect the flight path of the incoming tungsten rods to prevent them from impacting their assigned targets.

Of course, hitting the target was a different matter entirely; it was quite simply an extremely difficult method of doing things in terms of intercepting a MIRV or tungsten rod. Six dozen interceptor missiles spat out from vertical launch systems positioned inside and around the Holy City; the results were less than satisfactory.

The sheer speed of the incoming bodies meant that even a slight miss meant that the enemy godrod would be long gone before the missile detonated. The only way to effectively knock one off course would be to score a direct hit; in the end, of the missiles launched, only one connected with an incoming rod: the one targeted at the Procurator’s palace.

The port cities fared far better, with the combined power of land-based and sea-based interceptors at their disposal, they were able to get out more interceptors, knocking three of the eight incoming rods off-course, the rest impacting ships and harbor facilities (with the major combatants being at sea already, the only ships impacted were logistics vessels, a few frigates, and a destroyer, although the harbor facilities were severely crippled now). In Jerusalem, the scene was one of utter chaos.

The rods that collided with the bus station and rail interfaces found themselves connecting with targets largely civilian in nature; they were filled with Doomani, Akavari, Generian, Dorian, and possibly a few other nationalities (to prevent the infiltration of foreign spies, only citizens of governments closely aligned states, therefore cooperating with Imperial Intellegence, were allowed in, since it was so soon since the fall of the city); the massive explosions that ensued killed virtually everyone inside of the crowded structures, sealing off those ends of the tunnels, while burying countless hundreds. Countless thousands more in the surrounding neighborhoods were crushed and buried in the ensuing rain of rubble and debris. The only Doomani military presence in those structures were a token force of less than thirty men in each structure to act as security troops, really nothing worthy of dropping a rodrod on.

The casualties that resulted in the attack took the lives of well over twenty-four hundred people; an unknown, but possibly larger number were missing and potentially wounded.

The strike on the narrow gorge the road to Jerusalem went through was a bit more successful in terms of inflicting military casualties; as a key chokepoint along the road, it had been heavily fortified by the Imperial Army and housed a key checkpoint. However, with hundreds of nearby civilian vehicles, mostly buses packed with pilgrims, waiting on line to pass through the checkpoint in the gorge, they’d soon find themselves buried alive by the collapsing cliffs. Naturally, the fortifications and gorge were totally obliterated along with a full cohort of Imperial troops, but with them went the civilians that found themselves trapped unawares in the area.

In the end, the attack had been devastating: thousands had been left dead, many more wounded and missing. Most military casualties came from the harbor facilities, which by now were completely militarized, but with the other targets the vast majority of people killed were civilians. Not only were Doomani civilians killed, but many foreign civilians found themselves impacted as well.

Imperial Intelligence had kept track of the satellites in the area; Allanean satellites, because Allanea was not only a Sovereign League nation, but an avowed ally of Kahanistan, one that potentially would come to the aid of that nation, were watched especially closely; at the first sign of trouble, in this case a direct attack on Imperial soil, a preplanned response was put into action against the Allanean Navy as they entered the Red Sea.

Classis Mileanasis, the Imperial Eastern Mediterranean Fleet, was put into action, along with Classis Oceanus Indianus, the Imperial Indian Ocean Fleet. The Mediterranean Fleet was in missile range of the Allanean Fleet already; the Indian Ocean Fleet, meanwhile, moved to come up behind the enemy fleet and force them into the Red Sea in order to prevent them from escaping.

Meanwhile, Imperial Strategic Command implemented their action plan. The six hundred Unity Guns at their disposal would soon be put into action; however, before that could happen, Allanea’s space assets- godrod satellites in particular -in the CAD region would have to be neutralized. With the combined might of all CAD intelligence services, it would not be difficult to pick out Allanean satellites, which would already have been red-lighted and tracked beforehand. That is, if there were any there in the first place.

Mere minutes after the Allanean strike on Iudaea, Imperial war satellites commenced their retaliation. Equipped with high-powered brilliant pebbles-type kinetic kill weapons, along with lasers and MASERs, hunter-killer satellites opened fire on Allanean weapons satellites in range of Doomanum proper. The lasers and MASERs would fire in order to prevent the weapons from firing, the MASERs cooking their electronics while the lasers simply ignited them, the kinetic kill weapons destroying whatever remained.

The second stage of the attack occurred near-simultaneously: Malleus strategic stealth bombers, operating out of Egypt, did not need to fly far to release their payloads, a total of twelve Redemption anti-shipping missiles each, from over 1,000 naughtical miles away from their targets in the mouth of the Red Sea; also joining in were land-based vertical launch systems along the Egyptian coast.

The missiles would cruise towards their targets at a speed of mach three while at low altitude; once within eighty miles of the target, their rocket stage would detach and they would undergo a breaking sequence as they dropped into the water below. Upon hitting the water, the warheads, now torpedoes, would begin to supercavitate, cruising towards their targets at the mouth of the Red Sea at over three hundred knots. With a generous amount of torpedoes in the water, everything could be targeted: submarines, transports, destroyers, cruisers, frigates, battleships, carriers, super dreadnaugts, arsenal ships, even logistics vessels.

There would be little maneuvering room for the Allaneans in the first place, but with over five-thousand supercavitating keelbreakers, each individual torpedo enough to easily break a cruiser in half, with just a few needed to sink a carrier, possibly a little over a dozen to sink a super dreadnaught. That wasn’t all that was being thrown at the Allaneans, however.

The concept utilized by the Khan missile favored by the Allaneans had been in action with the Imperial Navy and Air Force for many decades in the form of the Quinquereme anti-shipping missile and its predecessors. It was a smaller missile than the Khan, a trait that allowed them to be carried by smaller vessels, such as specially equipped Acolyte-class guided missile destroyers as well as on strategic arsenal ships, battleships, super dreadnaughts; there was even an air launched version for bombers.

In this case, subterranean launch bases in Iudaea and Egypt played a key role, as did
the fleets, launching over three thousand of the missiles at the Allanean fleet, whose maneuverability, as mentioned before, would be greatly restricted by their position. The missiles would be boosted into the upper atmosphere, cruising at an altitude of 130,000 feet, above the ceiling of the majority of the world’s surface-to-air missiles. Cruising at speeds exceeding mach eight, this second stage would carry the missile to within two hundred miles of the target vessel before detaching. The missile would then slow down enough to maneuver to face the target, then its final stage would kick in. A solid fuel rocket booster would push the missile to speeds bordering mach fifteen. The missiles would be approaching on an extremely steep angle of attack, allowing for them to slice straight into the target vessel’s deck armor.

The warhead, consisting of a heavy tungsten “spear”, designed to break through the decks of super dreadnaughts, and a 4,000lb ONC explosive charge, would slice through the decks of the enemy ships before setting off their massive warheads, hopefully completely annihilating the enemy vessel from the inside.

The vessels primarily targeted by these missiles were the Allanean arsenal ships, super dreadnaughts, and aircraft carriers. Those, being the Khan carriers and force projection of the Allanean Fleet, were seen to be the largest threat by the High Command.

The war had begun in earnest. How it would proceed from here remained to be seen.

Inquisition into the Heresy of Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh, District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Kahanistan

"So be it," replied Inquisitor Placerbo to the prisoner, "Let the record hold that the accused pled not guilty to all charges," he said to the scribe, who adamently typed away at his keyboard, recording all that was said.

A second Inquisitor, sitting to the right of Placerbo, a man of about thirty years of age, was next to speak, "May the record hold that the following evidence is presented against the accused,"

Digital loudspeakers mounted in the cieling of the "Church" began to play a farmiliar speech in the voice of Quaramesh himself,

"The crypto-Jew Innocent VI hopes to destroy Catholicism from within. His lies and hatred will only destabilize the Christian faith further if it is allowed to penetrate. Shield yourselves and your children from Doomani propaganda. Embrace the Catholic Church. The Doomani practices do not come from Catholicism, but from the servants of Satan, the Jews."

The clergy, seated to the left of the Inquisitors, gasped in shock at this statement made by the Cardinal. This was blatent heresy. The man had accused the Pope of being a Jew! A worshipper of Satan!

"Brothers and sisters," the younger man continued, "As you can see, the accused has spoken his heretical thoughts aloud, even preaching them to the impressionable minds of the Kahanistanis! This blatant disregard for the Word of God is a blasphemous corruption of the Holy Catholic Church in Kahanistan. Clearly, the local Catholic population has been horrifically corrupted by their evil Satano-communist government.

This cannot be allowed to stand! God wills it!" the young man roared, pounding the podium.

Angrily, the clergy pointed and shouted accusingly at the condemned, quieting down only with the raised hand of the Master Inquisitor.

"By definition, accusing the Pope of such things is heresy. Cardinal Quaramesh, how do you respond to this evidence of your blatant heresy?" he asked the prisoner calmly.

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

Inquisition Public Relations Office, Najaster

The soldiers on guard duty had been slightly puzzled when two truckloads of Kahanistanis had disgourged in front of the Inquisition's public relations office in Najaster, and so they quickly formed a square around the civilians, their bayonets fixed and gleaming in the sun. They were reassured when Bishop Lentallus, the man who'd actualy invited these Kahanistanis to voice their concerns with him directly, exited the building and stood upon the steps with a welcoming smile, motioning for the Legionaries to sling their rifles.

They complied, but remained at fully attention, menacingly gripping their sidearms, prepared to whip them out of their holsters at the first indication of an assassination attempt. Of course, that wasn't a large concern: the Kahanistanis had been thoroughly searched for weapons before they'd been allowed to embark the trucks in the first place.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters," the Bishop said warmly, "I understand your concerns; however, let me ask you this question: if a man, harboring evil intentions towards the Christian people and their sworn protector, the Imperium Doomanum, builds bombs in his apartment to throw at the Legionaries, why are you angry that he is arrested?" he continued to smile; he spoke as if talking to a child.

"Brothers and sisters, those that are disappearing are by no means innocent. They've harbored ill thoughts against Christ and the Imperium, actively taking part in a violent terrorist campaign against God's Soldiers. Those being arrested are arrested because they are, quite simply, criminals. They attempt to murder the righteous for no other reason than to forward their cowardly agenda.

"Do you expect us to sit idly by while criminals run loose through your communities? To do this would be evil, uncaring of the Imperium! We wish only to protect the lives of you and your families, and, like it or not, in order to keep the peace, we must keep criminals off the streets.

"I garuntee you, were it not for the fact that these evil criminals run rapant among your communities, you would not even be here taking up these complaints. There would be no disappearences, for there would be no reason for them! The only reason these men and women disappear is because of their own evil ways, their own endangering of your people!

"If there was none of this needless crime against God and the Imperium, there would be no disappearences. Cardinal Quaramesh knew this full well, and yet he actively took part in encouraging this evil insurgency! He brainwashed his misguided flock in order to cause even more violence! 'Heretic' is not a word to be used lightly, and, brothers and sisters, this man is a heretic!

"We have recordings of this man's rabble rousing, his murderous 'preaching'. All of those who have been arrested, they had extensive evidence stacked against them, and they underwent a fair trial. Not a single man or woman has been arrested that did not commit a grave offense.

"And so that brings me to my final point, brothers and sisters. A challenge. I challenge you to go to your communities, to tell them what was said here. Ensure that they commit no crimes for a full week, and I garuntee you that should they, in fact, commit no crimes, there shall be no disappearences.

"To follow God's Law is to live in peace. To violate His Law is to incur His Wrath. Do not violate His Law, and you and your families shall live, safe, happy lives.

"I'm afraid I must bid you all farewell, for I have other matters to attend to. Should you wish to meet with me again in person, I would be pleased to hear you out," he nodded to them, turning and heading back through the door.

The soldiers motioned for the people to head back into their trucks, and they were driven back to their proper ghettos.

A flash of brilliance illuminated the Cardinal's mind. While the Doomani would likely not accept a claim that he was genuinely trying to purge the church of the Zionist influence, as he had considered using as a defense, they might accept what he now had in mind. He silently thanked Jesus for the inspiration.

"I wished to incite mass killings of heretical Jews, by using the insurgency's own weapons against them. I took advantage of popular hatred of the Doomani to strengthen the position of the Catholic hierarchy and incite the insurgents, who trust me, to do the work of God in slaughtering Zionist scum."

"By portraying the Doomani occupiers, who the insurgency sees to be evil, as Jews, and the Jews as collaborators with the Doomani regime, I believed that the insurgents would kill Jews openly, and hopefully lose many of their own number in the process. The Jews are a large percentage of the insurgency, if they are removed, the Church will be unopposed and the insurgents will have wasted much of their material and personnel destroying one of their strongest allies."

He even dared to hope that the Doomani would allow him not merely to live, but to head a Vichy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vichy_France)-style puppet government. "I can lead you to two Mosaic Legion strongholds that I know of." The Mosaic Legion was a far-right Jewish militant group that sought to expel all goyim (non-Jews) from the Holy Land. It was small, probably never more than 10,000 strong, but one of the most vicious insurgent groups. It had long defeated infiltration by inspecting recruits to see that they were circumcised and thus Jews, and by putting recruits in dangerous assignments that would dissuade an informer. They had been known to kill Muslims and Christians with axes and chainsaws; however, contrary to the ancient blood libel, they did not drink their blood. As a powerful figure within the insurgency, the Cardinal had a network of information that he could exploit, to trade to the Doomani for not confessing to heresy and being granted power in the local government.

---

Fox Jameson walked back into his home. "Mother, the Doomani said that if we commit no crimes, then there will be no disappearances. Other than that, it was just the usual political statement."

"I know. We'll commit no 'crimes' for the next week and tell the neighbors that, too. You've talked to your friends, haven't you?" his mother replied.

The nineteen-year-old Catholic moderate and insurgent nodded his head. He knew exactly what she meant. Fox had been a member of the University of Kahanistan - Najaster branch of GLOBAL (http://www.winthrop.edu/studentaffairs/SafeZones/myweb5/GLoBAL.htm), a gay rights organization. GLOBAL had continued to meet after the occupation, in the sewers and alleys. While the organization as a whole was not connected to the militant insurgents, some individual members, like Fox, were also members of militant groups like the Gay Militant League or Freedom from Religion.

After the others had returned to their ghettoes, the main militant groups decided to lay low and return their members to their normal lives, or as close as they could under the occupation, to see for themselves that the Doomani could not be trusted, which would motivate them to fight harder when the time came...

"Sir, ten sattelites lost!"

"Aircraft carrier Ferrum disabledo enemy fire!"

"Arsenal ships Malleus and Ignis Libertas destroyed!"

Most of the missiles had less effect – they were destroyed – some by anti-missile gattling fire, some by lasers, and some by EMP missiles. But this does not matter. The Allanean navy gets the point of this swiftly. It is time to offer something.

And so, an offer is sent.

The Doomani are offered peace – if they replace the ethnic cleansing campaign with deportation of undesirables to Kahanistan or Allanea. The Allanean government promises to give all immigrants land in San-Nereiana or Allanean Arterus, wherever they prefer, 160 acres of land per family to compensate their losses.

wrong thread

Inquisition into the Heresy of Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh, District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Kahanistan

Master Inquisitor Placerbo shot a cold stare into the eyes of the Cardinal.

Filthy coward...

He saw right through the accused; he was, after all, a trained interrogator. However, he recognized that Quaramesh did have something they wanted. The extermination of all heathens in Kahanistan was one of the Inquisition's primary goals; any help the good Cardinal could give them would be much appreciated.

As head of this trial, Placerbo ultimately decided the sentence. In this case, it seemed he'd make a deal with the accused.

Continuing to stare menacingly into the eyes of Cardinal Quaramesh, he spoke,

"I see," he growled, "I suppose that assistance in purifying these lands of the unclean would cleanse your soul of any sins that you may have committed. Cardinal Quaramesh, you will divulge the locations of these heathen strongholds to the Imperial Army.

"You will tell them precisely everything you know of all of the sinners you know of, and, should these raids prove fruitful, you shall be allowed to live, for your horrific sins would have been atoned for. Depending on the decision of His Holiness, you may even be allowed to remain Archbishop of Najaster. Should we discover that you are lying to us, your soul shall be purified over a mighty pyre.

"Do I make myself clear, Cardinal?"

He stared coldly, his eyes burning with pure malice, the rest of his face conveying no emotion. If Quaramesh made even the slightest slip-up, he’d be brought back to the Inquisition where he would face torture the likes of which he could not even begin to comprehend…

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

Najaster

If the Kahanistanis indeed ceased commiting "crimes" for a full week, they would soon find that the Doomani had been telling the truth. None would be arrested if none commited crimes- of course, if anyone stepped out of line, that would change. But that was part of the bargain: if anyone did commit a crime, they'd disappear, but so long as that didn't happen, they would find that there were no disappearences.

Of course, unbenkownst to the Kahanistanis living within the ghettoes, the Doomani were doing this for a reason. They had something big planned, and at the end of the week the operation would commence...

OOC:Allanea...you need to get on IRC, we REALLY need to talk...

The Archbishop nodded. He understood plainly.

"I have the location of two Mosaic Legion strongholds right in Najaster. I also have information on some of the facilities the insurgents use... they have gunsmiths who make some weapons to replace those that were seized in the recent raids."

---

Within the capital, most insurgent commanders laid low or hid just in case; the threat of Doomani torture was not to be taken lightly. Death in battle was an accepted part of guerrilla warfare; senseless barbarism was not. The rank and file insurgents tried to resume their daily lives, in order to convince themselves paradoxically that their foes could not be trusted...

Inquisition into the Heresy of Cardinal Malik ibn Abdul-Hamid al-Qaramesh, District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Kahanistan

"Excellent," replied Placerbo, seemingly unimpressed.

The shackles binding Quaramesh suddenly detached themselves, and the chains receded into the ground. He was pulled to his feet by the two guards that had brought him there.

"You will tell this information to the man that comes to visit you, Cardinal. This Inquisition is adjourned."

Quaramesh, not bound this time, was lead by his guards out of the "chapel" and through a series of winding passages, eventually to a lonely-looking, poorly lit cell block. One of the black steel doors, recently installed by the Doomani, slid open, and Quaramesh was ushered inside. Without even giving him a chance to speak, the door slid shut behind him.

This cell, unlike the other he'd been imprisoned in, was lit. It even had a toilet and sink, a vast improvement over the other, where the inmates had been reduced to standing ankle-deep in their own feces. Clearly his prospects had improved since his decision to cooperate.

It would be another hour before a tall Doomani in the uniform of a Legionary stepped through the door, taking a metal fold-out chair into the cell with him and sitting down in it. He was a bulky, sharp-jawed man of about forty, piercing grey eyes and greying hair, oddly highlighting his Roman features.

"Greetings Cardinal, I am Centurion Claudius Silvanus," he said in a friendly yet somewhat menacing tone, with a smile, which, on his scarred face, was almost terrifying to look at, "I understand you have information regarding heathen terrorists you wish to share with us..."

"Yes," said the Cardinal. "There are two Mosaic Legion strongholds in Najaster, one at the north exit of the city, the other about 1,200 meters south of the Presidential Palace. They look like warehouses, and they still perform that function."

"The one near the Palace is owned by a gunsmith who makes 'Doom sticks.' It's got a burned-out Merkava hulk next to it."

"Doom stick" was the common name for cheaply made knockoffs of Doomani weapons. These knockoffs still took a fair amount of skill to make and were at least superior to the AK-47's and FN FAL's that were common insurgent fare. There were very few insurgents with the gunsmithing skills necessary to make them.

"That one will be difficult, there are guards across the street at night, and they'll spot you going in and raise the alarm, unless you take them out first. The one at the north end of the city isn't so hard to crack, but it's farther away and they have more trouble infiltrating fighters through the rest of the city. If you hit it at daytime you'll wipe out over half of the Mosaic Legion."

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

"I see," replied Silvanus, taking everything in the Cardinal told him.

Of course it was all being recorded, but that didn't matter to him. He wasn't the one responsible for planning the operations that were about to take place; that was left to others. His job was to simply get the information he was told to get from the prisoners he was told to get it from, by any means necessary. And he was very good at that job.

"This is excellent. I will let you know personally how many of the Zionist scum we purge," he said with a sardonic grin.

"So, anything else you'd like to volunteer, or am I going to have to rip it out of you?" he said, his grin disappearing in an instant and replaced with an expression of utter severity.

For a few moments he stared at the Cardinal before cracking up laughing, patting the Cardinal on his shoulder,

"Just messin' with you," he said with a twisted grin.

He nodded to Quaramesh as he stood and turned to exit the cell, stopping himself suddenly and turning as if he’d forgotten something, muttering something to himself in Latin. Chuckling, he spoke again,

”How silly of me, I apologize. I’d almost forgotten,” his sardonic grin was once more supplemented by his malevolent eyes, ”How is it that the terrorists communicate, Cardinal Quaramesh?”

He stared at Quaramesh intently, his cruel eyes flickering in the dim light, a foul shadow cast across his predatory grin. As a trained interrogator, one that had literally hundreds of interrogations under his belt, he would know if this man was telling him the truth…

"They use several methods," said the Cardinal nervously. "Sometimes they send runners through the sewers. Other times they'll launch rockets from areas where the snipers can't get a clear shot, sort of like the old Qassam rocket except that they don't have a warhead, just a fireproof container for documents. If they're really desperate they'll resort to Morse code and low-band radio."

Not being active in combat himself, he would likely not know all of the information that the insurgents had for communication, nor how to decrypt coded messages left by insurgents.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Silvanus nodded. His subject clearly wanted to avoid being tortured, which made his job all the easier, if not a bit more...boring.

"This is all very helpful, Cardinal. Now...I need names. Names of those active in the insurgency, people we'll want to have a chat with," he said, his tone descending into a more calm, business-like manner.

He continued to stare into the Cardinal's eyes in that unnerving way he'd been doing the whole time he'd been speaking to him, studying the man to see if he was lying.

"General Ian Kodwiski. He's a member of the Catholic Church, and a general in the Republic Guard. He commands a force of about 40,000 insurgents, mostly Catholic liberals. Two bishops under my direct authority are high-ranking officials in his militia, Hiram Pierce and Julius Meridius. They're responsible for the interpretation of Catholic doctrine by the militia. They never stay in one place for long, they're afraid of the militia being infiltrated, they generally communicate by runner."

"There is also a rumor that Laila al-Majani, who circulated the cartoons of the Virgin, is still alive. Some of my congregation reported seeing her with the insignia of a member of Tahrir al-Ummah, the nationalists. I don't know if the rumor is true or not. If she is alive, she is undoubtedly an insurgent."

"And where can we find these terrorists, Cardinal?"

"I usually meet with the bishops in an abandoned warehouse near the cathedral. I only correspond with General Kodwiski by runner, it has been weeks since I have spoken to him face to face. With some effort I could arrange a meeting with them."

"That may be something to think about; we'll get back to that later," replied Silvanus. This was getting good.

"Now, I take it these individuals reside within the ghettos?"

"No, only Bishop Meridius does. General Kodwiski has been known to use the trash services to get around, I don't know where he lives. Bishop Pierce... he lives in the ghetto directly east of the Presidential Palace. He runs a Catholic hospital there."

"Very well, Cardinal. I'm going to need you to set up a meeting with General Kodwiski...as of now, the other two have a much more close eye on them and everyone that they deal with. We intend to crush the insurgency in one fell swoop," he said with a sinister smirk, his eyes flickering in the darkness.

The Cardinal nodded. May God forgive me, for I am about to commit a mortal sin by betraying my comrades to a most horrific death. But I do this to ease the burden on the bulk of my people.

When he got out, he contacted a runner to send a message to General Ian Kodwiski.

"We need to discuss the plans for the uprising."

---

Western Najaster

General Ian Kodwiski was conferring with several high-ranking insurgent commanders from three different factions. He was an older, imposing man in his 90's who as a young man had fought the Christian Nazis in his home country of Poland in the 1940's, and would fight the Christian Nazis in his new home country in the Middle East.

"I believe an attack on the Imperial instruments of power is in order," said the General. "We can keep killing Doomani soldiers and taking their equipment, but we will never get rid of them unless their power is destroyed here. I move for an attack on their prisons."

"I disagree, General. An attack would almost certainly provoke a chemical response. Until we have freer movement around the city, provoking a chemical attack is suicide. We have no access to shelters, and very limited access to chemical protection that we can take from the Doomani," said Commander Shimon ben Moshe, the leader of the Mosaic Legion. "We will have to get a communications link to the outside world first, call in an EMP strike. Then we can make a successful uprising against the Doomani."

A runner entered the office. "General Kodwiski. A message from Cardinal Qaramesh. He has escaped the Doomani prison, he wishes to meet with you."

"Very well," said the general. "I'll bring four guards. How many is he bringing?"

"Two. He says the guards are necessary, the Doomani will kill him if they find him again."

"Very well... we can meet at the warehouse, the usual spot at 2300 hours tomorrow night."

The runner ran off and made his return to the Cardinal. Neither Kodwiski nor the runner knew that Qaramesh was selling his country and his soul to the Doomani...

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

This turn of events could have not been more beneficial for the Doomani; Cardinal Quaramesh evidently valued power over honor, something the Doomani themselves found to be absolutely despicable in a man, but kept to themselves about it. It was better for them this way. If this was how God wanted His Will done, then so be it.

The wharehouse was infiltrated by the Doomani well before the meeting was schedualed to take place. They'd also made sure to go in as quietly as possible in order to ensure no one was watching them, taking up positions all over the wharehouse, covering every entrance and exit. There was a good thirty Legionaries taking part in the ambush, commanded by a centurion. Equipped with sub machineguns as well as with under-barrel high-powered tasers, capable of hitting targets from up to fifty feet away, as well as other nonlethal weapons such as stun battons, they intended to take the insurgents alive, so that they could make an example of them.

Carefully concealed amidst the crates and rafters, as well as in the offices, and with at least six men covering each entrance from concealed positions, capable on moving on them from multiple sides if needed; they were aiming to execute a perfect ambush. On the doors, special mechanical devices had been installed on the inside, allowing the Doomani to seal the doors by remote control in order to seal the trap; the wharehouse's power supply was also rigged to be disabled at the touch of a button.

Quaramesh had been positioned at his usual place within the wharehouse, covered by multiple hidden Legionaries, who'd be able to quickly surround and take anyone that approached the area. Unbeknownst to the Kahanistanis, Quaramesh's own bodyguards were actualy Legionaries in disguise, packing captured insurgent firepower as well as concealed sidearms and their own tasers in case something went wrong and they had to make the takedown themselves.

Everything had been set up...it was only a matter of awaiting the general's arrival. In the mean time, the High Command was preparing a large-scale offensive against the insurgency within Najaster. Hopefully they'd end up dealing a serious blow, paving the way for the next step in the operation.

This was the brainchild of Legatus Legionis Felix Valerius Brutus, commander of Legio VIII, the force occupying Najaster. Otherwise known as 'Brutus the Butcher', being the man who personally signed the death warrants of every insurgent taken prisoner in the area of Najaster, as well as being the commander of a large portion of the artillery that had engaged in chemical warfare against the city during the short but tremendously bloody war. He'd had tens, if not hundreds of thousands of prisoners nailed to crosses, fed to the lions, skinned alive, cooked over slow fires, or simply 'disappeared' during his vicious, if not sadistic reign over Najaster.

He'd even presided personally over a good deal of the larger executions; non-Doomani witnesses would have been surprised to note that he'd not been laughing maniacally or grinning sadistically during these brutal executions; rather, he stared emptily into the eyes of the condemned, his face one of utter severity. He was a very stoic man, one that believed that pleasure was an emotion for the weak; one that believed emotions of all kind were the traits of weaklings.

The plan he had concocted was to unfold all throghout the night; if Cardinal Quaramesh was indeed telling the truth, it would result in a good portion of the insurgency being utterly wiped out.

OOC: Kahan, EMP weapons need nuclear explosions, so any EMP strike would entail a nuke, just fyi.

General Kodwiski walked into the square with his guards. The old man told two of his guards to stay back; if the Cardinal had been bugged or turned during his stay in the prison, he wanted advance warning.

The old general then walked into the warehouse with his other two guards, who were armed with concealed Uzis. The general himself carried a .38 revolver, one he had owned since his days in Poland. He kept it well maintained to the point where it still worked 70 years after having been assembled.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

"I've got two outside," a voice crackled in the ear of Centurion Cassius Decimus, who was crouched in the shadows with five other Legionaries within the warehouse, carefully watching as the general and his two guards walked by towards Cardinal Quaramesh.

Decimus was an imposing man, built like a brick. A seasoned veteran of forty-two years of age, he'd fought under Brutus in Arretium as well as a short tour in Czardas; he bore countless scars on his body, though that was all concealed beneath his black uniform and armor.

Cueing up a video display on his visor, he was able to watch through the eyes of his sentry team. Watching from one of the windows in the upper floors of the warehouse, they had a pair of insurgents in the crosshairs of their scoped DR-83.IIs, equipped with MP Ordnance sound suppressors. If they needed to take them out, they could do it nice and quiet. And they would be head shots.

"Wait one," Decimus whispered, his voice transmitting only through the radio and not through the voice transmitter in his mask in order to keep the targets from hearing him.

They could not have been more than ten feet away from him, the Kahanistanis. He could have dove over the crates he was behind and chopped their heads off with his Gladius in an instant from this distance. Quaramesh was evidently nervous, judging by his posture and expression. It was time to move. As the Kahanistanis exchanged handshakes, Decimus once again whispered into his mask,

"Take the shot on my mark,"

Motioning to another comrade, they readied to seal the doors and kill the lights.

"Three...two...one,"

He shouldered his DAC-97, thumbing the switch of the taser, "Mark,"

In an instant, the doors slammed loudly at the same exact time as the suppressed shots went off, further muffling them (though it really wasn't necessary) and the lights were killed. Before the Kahanistanis even had time to say anything the Legionaries had sprung their trap: as soon as the lights had clicked off they'd squeezed the triggers of their tasers, multiple soldiers hitting their insurgent targets simultaneously. They held the triggers down, ensuring constant paralyzation of bodily functions while the insurgents were taken into custody by the others who sprinted from out of cover to take their prisoners.

In the blink of an eye, half a dozen Legionaries along with Decimus, who moved ahead of them had piled over their cover while the disguised 'bodyguards' drew their sidearms, kicking the downed enemy bodyguards in the ribs and pressing their pistols to their heads while another two would secure their ankles and wrists, pulling a hood over their heads. The same was done to the general.

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

Najaster, Iudeaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

The response by the Doomani was utterly swift and terrible; many would die this day. Standard reconnaissance of the locations went underway in order to confirm what Cardinal Quaramesh had told the interrogator; satellites, UAVs, and teams with high-powered electronic spotting scopes and thermal imaging equipment in nearby high rises scanned the target buildings: the Mosaic Legion strongholds. Those inside that had been tagged by the Doomani were also tracked in that manner

The one at the north exit would be an easy target indeed: it was smack dab in the middle of the Imperial Army's operating area. Because it was on the outskirts, there were no nearby ghettos, only Imperial troops surrounding it would be no problem. As a result, IFVs packed with mechanized Legionaries along with half a dozen Imperator tanks, operating on battery power to minimize sound, moved just around the corner of the warehouse.

Sewer patrols set up machinegun nests in the tunnels leading to and from the building, cutting off that route of escape.

The one south of the Presidential Palace, however, presented a problem. It was located in a more dense urban area; in fact, it was in a ghetto, so, as the Cardinal had suggested, approaching it undetected would indeed be a very difficult task.

So, the Doomani did what they always did whenever precision was too difficult or potentially risky (which, as the Kahanistanis had learned, most of the time): they unleashed a disproportionately heavy-handed response.

Simultaneously to the raid to capture Kodwiski, a declaration had been made over loudspeakers by the Centurions commanding the various ghettos informing the locals that the sewers were now officially restricted areas, and that entering the sewers was now a treasonous offense. Anyone detected in the sewers after or during the announcement would be arrested and taken to the Sanguinarium, provided they gave up without a fight; if not, they’d face summary crucifixion. For those already in the sewers, there were numerous Imperial patrols within them, setting up machinegun nests and checkpoints leading to the ghettos. There'd be no escape.

As this was being announced, the vehicles moved into position around the other building. Activating their primary engines, the drivers floored it, moving to surround the structure, forming a perimeter of armored vehicles parallel to the warehouse, the infantry disgourging and taking cover behind their vehicles. A call was made for the building to surrender; at this stage the Doomani were not concerned with taking prisoners, they were quite happy to level the building if that was what was required.

A thick cloud of jamming also encompassed the ghettos at this point; all lines of communication between them were now fully severed, as far as the Doomani knew. None of the ghettos had direct lines of sight with one another, so communication with flags or mirrors was out of the question, and with all radios and cell phones jammed, indirect line-of-sight communication was rendered impossible. The only frequencies left open were those used by the Imperial Army and those used by the sub dermal implants of the Kahanistanis, and no one really knew what those were…save for the Doomani, who kept them monitored just incase.

The reason for this silence was sinister to say the very least.

The Legionaries, without giving explanation, made a tactical withdrawal from the ghetto; even the walls were left manned only by remotely operated machineguns. Moments later, the familiar yet none the less terrifying whistling of artillery rounds encompassed the entire ghetto: as far as the Doomani were concerned, the presence of the single insurgent labeled the entire community as Enemies of the Imperium.

The utmost effort was made to keep this from being reported to the other ghettos; machinegun nests covered every single sewer passage leading from that particular ghetto, as well as the ones leading to the others, while tactical high-energy lasers were on standby to immediately shoot down any rockets that were launched.

Of course, launching a rocket in the first place would be very, very difficult; once more, Pestis Dei had been unleashed upon the Kahanistanis, and more than six dozen 152mm and 203mm shells packed with this terrifying chemical were poured into an area of less than half a square kilometer. The area was saturated many, many times over; any modifications the Kahanistanis had made to what little NBC gear they had would prove utterly useless from the sheer amount of this corrosive gas, which would cause fatal heart failure even from making contact with the skin in less than twenty seconds. Even clothing would be burnt through by this gas; porous clothing would be as useless as being naked, even if the person was totally covered.

In the other ghettos, a stranger response went underway. It was well past curfew, and being anywhere but your apartment was very illegal; in fact, in the earlier days, people had been executed for it. Anyone elsewhere past curfew was arrested on the spot, and generally never seen again. In this instance, with the people in their bedrooms, the Doomani enacted the other part of their plan. The ventilation systems began pumping an odorless, colorless gas that would put the people within the apartment buildings to sleep. It would keep them out for at least eight hours, more than long enough for what the Doomani needed to do.

The raids were made on the two Bishops identified by Quaramesh; the Doomani also took the time to search each apartment for weapons and other illegal things, such as radios, laptops, GPS, dragging off the people who lived in the apartments that contained them. After all, possession of such things automatically classified you as a criminal. The unconscious people were also cavity searched for contraband, and would be dragged off if they indeed possessed anything illegal.

Of course, anyone caught out in the open, outside of the apartment buildings, was simply killed on sight, although it was likely that there was no one foolish enough to disobey that law at this stage.

Standard search involved the Legionaries prodding the unconscious individual with a stun baton, which would send a jolt of electricity through them; anyone who somehow was not knocked out by the gas would be stirred by it and revealed (and dragged off, because the only way they could have avoided being knocked out would be to have worn a gas mask at the exact time the Doomani began pumping in the gas, which was also highly illegal). The unconcious would, however, have remained asleep from the gas even from this.

Ironically, it was exactly one week from the time the Doomani had made their deal with the Kahanistanis regarding disappearances.

Legatus Brutus was being especially thorough in this purge; when daylight broke, it would appear that all was normal in the rest of the ghettos. The apartments, after being searched, would be put back together the way they'd been found; the only difference would be numerous missing individuals. Signs were nailed to their doors stating in detail the crimes the individual had committed.

It would remain to be seen just how effective this raid would be, but chances were it would be a severe blow to both the insurgency and the spirit of the Kahanistani people...

eh, evidently jolt's being wierd and didnt bump the thread with my last post...so yeah...

For the insurgents in the sewers, they had four choices: suicide, try to fight their way out, crucifixion, or torture in the Sanguinarium. They might not have known what went on in there, but they knew nobody was ever seen again and that they were likely tortured to death in some unpleasant manner...

Most decided to lay low, and fight if they saw a Doomani, attacking with anything ranging from bare hands and kung fu to machetes to throwing shurikens with poison on them.

---

The insurgents had taken heavy losses over the past few weeks at the hands of the Doomani. With their seeming ability to see through walls and track people even in areas where cameras had been disabled and bugs smashed or people simply administered powerful electrical shocks in hope of short-circuiting the bugs, and the arrests as "sodomites" of several dozen insurgent combat surgeons (few of whom were in fact gay) under mysterious circumstances, many insurgents knew by now that they had been bugged. Under the cover of night many insurgents returned to their homes (after laying low in the sewers overnight for the Doomani to leave) and laid plans for bases outside the sewers, though some kept their bases there.

The insurgents had delayed plans to free the capital for the Doomani military presence to weaken, which the insurgent commanders would interpret as the military being called elsewhere to respond to a foreign attack. However, with the loss of many key insurgent generals and politicians, including the Archbishop of Najaster being carted away as a "heretic" (as if!), now suspected of turning traitor, and the loss of their largest Blyskawica (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Błyskawica) factory with the attack on the urban Mosaic Legion stronghold (along with a huge bronze bust of Baruch Goldstein (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baruch_Goldstein)), several engineers, and the plans for a .50-caliber version of the easy-to-produce submachine gun, the insurgents decided to strike while the iron was still hot.

Operation Anielewicz, the code name for the insurgent plan to liberate the capital and openly call for international help, was named for the Jewish war hero Mordechai Anielewicz (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordechai_Anielewicz), who had led a similar uprising by Jews against the German Christian Nazis in 1943. The idea to name it such was that of General Kodwiski, in whose files the few remaining insurgents had found the original plan. However, in this scenario there were at least six different types of insurgents and more than thirty factions, many of whom hated each other; atheists and Communists, Catholic moderates, nationalists, Jewish and Muslim rebels of various degrees of extremism...

The decision of the People's Congress of the Kahanistanian Communist Party, Division of Occupied Middle Eastern Territories, was to amalgamate the major factions into a single, unified army, to be called the "National Liberation Army" and to have the following goals:

1. The motivation of the populace to fight the Doomani.
2. The capture of Doomani communications equipment with which to request international assistance and to receive news.
3. The freeing of all prisoners held in Doomani-run prison facilities in the city.
4. The destruction of Doomani civil and clerical authority within the city.
5. The establishment of a civilian government.

The commander of the National Liberation Army was Brigadier General Igor Kaselev, a hero of the Kraven War. He was a communist and atheist and therefore neutral in the various sectarian conflicts that might arise. This alone made him the logical commander of the operation, but he also had the uncanny ability to remain perfectly calm while people were blown up all around him, giving orders in a stern monotone.

General Kaselev ordered that the National Liberation Army increase production of Blyskawica SMG's to 1,200 a day until the time came to enter the second phase of Operation Anielewicz. He had only about 30,000 insurgents remaining under his command; over three-fourths had been captured in the operation, which made it politically acceptable to mix groups who hated each other, such as Kahanist Jews and Muslim fanatics or Communists with nationalists.

Since more modern Kahanistanian cellular phones could have their frequencies changed to one of several in common use, the Doomani jamming was not completely effective, however, it was crippling to critical communications and would make battlefield command hell on the insurgent commanders. One could talk to a boyfriend or girlfriend on the other side of the city, but the time it would take to set up a connection through the jamming made it impractical for military command.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Unfortunately for the insurgents who had fled to the sewers, the Doomani never did leave. They knew now that the sewers were used as the insurgency's primary method of transportations. The checkpoints that had been established during the lethal operation of the previous night were never taken down; they remained in place. They were permenant, machinegun nests manned by half a dozen Imperial troops with a nice clear line of fire down the sewer tunnels, a nearly impossible to pass obstacle.

Those that tried to exit through manholes would have found an Imperial patrol sitting at the top waiting for them; the insurgents in the tunnels had effectively been cut off from the ghettos. They had finally caught on, and it was all because of one man: Cardinal Quaramesh.

The use of cell phones would be of no use to the Kahanistanis at this stage: all cell phone towers, which cellular phones relied on, had been dismantled by the Doomani. Any call made from a cell phone could be listened to and tracked by the Inquisition.

UAVs and satellites now maintained a vigilant watch all over the city; anyone that was not tagged as an Imperial soldier that was outside of the walls of the ghettos would be spotted. The only way the insurgents would be able to move freely outside the ghettos now would be if they were already outside and in the sewers, but Brutus was already on his way to ennacting yet another brutal operation to clear the sewers out once and for all.

OOC:I'll get to what's going on in the Sanguinarium (which is pretty much the only prison facility I use...you'll see why when I post :) )

Phase One of Operation Anielewicz was under way. In those ghettoes that still had large insurgent populations, masked thugs with temp Chi-Rho tattoos, insurgents posing as Doomani death squads or Manus Dei, smashed into people's apartments, using serrated butcher knives and machetes to slaughter numerous seemingly random civilians.

While the atrocities may have looked counterproductive at first glance, as if the insurgents were to be discovered it would seriously injure their credibility among much of the populace, everyone who was killed, flayed alive, hacked to death, one body part at a time, or crucified by being nailed or screwed to a wall, was on a death list the insurgents had been compiling for weeks.

The death list comprised conservative Catholics, clergy who advocated self-government for Kahanistan as a Doomani province, anyone who had been seen talking with a Doomani, however innocently, and in general anyone who was viewed as a likely collaborator. The atrocities would hopefully be blamed on the Doomani, killing two birds with one stone: removing collaborators through methods nearly as brutal as those of the Doomani, and creating a monstrous crime to accuse them of, inciting people who did not believe the insurgents would do that to join them.

The bloodletting continued for 24 straight hours, killing thousands of men and women, both old and young. The terrorists would enter apartment buildings and hack people to death in broad daylight. Some hid in laundry chutes, waiting till nightfall, and ambushed their victims as they threw something down the chute. Whenever possible, captured Doomani equipment was used, but the old-fashioned knife, axe, or machete was always a fall-back implement for their terrorist acts.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

The insurgents did have one major flaw in their plan. The fact that they'd be walking around in broad daylight, brandishing firearms and machettes, and wearings masks (all of these being highly illegal) walking right past cameras and armed guards as they did so. That, coupled with the fact they were all still tagged by the Doomani, made the entire operation nothing short of suicidal for the insurgents, and the Doomani were going to take advantage of it.

Rather than sitting by idly and letting the slaughters occur as one would expect of the Doomani, who were known to derive pleasure from watching such slaughters unfold in their bloody arenas, they instead chose to partake in a slaughter of their own. This would not be the slaughter the Kahanistanis, and indeed, the world, were used to from the Doomani; this was something most people could not dream of no matter how hard they tried.

Those labelled as targets by the insurgents were also labelled as possible targets of insurgent reprisal by the Doomani- they kept track of those who spoke of bowing to their reign, even if it was in a more limited form, and those who harbored more conservative views, even those that had so much as conversed with the occupying soldiers.

When the first of the insurgents was spotted on camera wielding a machette, wearing a mask, the Doomani knew this was not going to be a limited strike: the insurgents never did anything this blatant during the day. Within the ghettos that it had started in, Imperial troops poured through the gates by the tens of dozens; machinegunners manning the walls, which had a clear line of fire down every street, opened up on any armed or masked individuals on the street; marksmen carefully picked off armed individuals within crowds, while the infantry poured into the apartments, dashing to the locations of armed insurgents while carefully clearing the way to ensure they wouldn't be ambushed. Those detected in the laundry chutes, closets, and other places, waiting in ambush, would simply be flushed out by the Doomani- by whatever means necessary.

The snipers in the surrounding highrises caused their own havoc: armed insurgents bursting into apartments to slaughter families quickly recieved an 8.8x76mm round through the head from several hundred meters away. This bloodletting would not be allowed to continue on for twenty-four hours; indeed, it would not be allowed to continue on for one hour.

Perhaps the most bizzare scenes to unfold were those of Legionaries, equipped with automatic shotguns and submachine guns, placing themselves between terrified families and bloodthirsty insurgents, laying down vicious walls of lead on those seeking to slaughter the civilians. It was unheard of: Doomani soldiers actively protecting Kahanistanis, who, to non-insurgents, would doubtlessly see as random victims.

In the mean time, the sewers were heavily locked down; patrols waited at the access points within the cities, ready to grab any fleeing insurgents or victims. Those that were armed would be killed on sight, but for now those that were unarmed would instead be protected by the Doomani, as it was quite possible that they were simply fleeing the insurgents. Wary that many of the unarmed individuals very well could be insurgents waiting to stab them in the back, the Doomani secured the unarmed ones, quickly taking them to a safe checkpoint. They'd figure out whether or not they'd taken part in the slaughter later, when camera footage and tracking data (all being carefully recorded, so that any insurgents that may have escaped could later be 'disappeared' after the data was analyzed) as well as DNA and forensic evidence could exonerate or convict them.

It seemed the insurgents had made a grave miscalculation: rather than standing by idly while they were framed for the massacres, the Doomani instead rushed to the defense of those under attack; rather then create more supporters for their cause, the insurgents may very well have completely alienated themselves to the people. As for the Doomani, this was presicely the moment they'd been praying for: the moment the insurgents within the ghettos would come out and show themselves, so that they may be killed en masse. It seemed the Doomani themselves were killing two birds with one stone: they were killing insurgents, and they were alienating the insurgents from those that would potentially cooperate.

Insurgent base, southern Najaster

"What happened?" asked General Kaselev, the overall commander of the insurgent movement.

"Seems a few of the resistance got carried away, carried weapons openly and started hacking people to death," said Colonel Philip Thomas, chief of National Liberation Army intelligence and propaganda. "Most weren't that stupid, just a few yahoos. Most of them were smart enough to keep their masks off till they opened the door to the home and weapons concealed until they were in the victims' homes. Honestly, cameras all over the place... idiots."

"Still... killing our own people, whose idea was that?" True, he was still adhering to his old Republic Guard mentality. Kahanistanian soldiers didn't brutally chop apart sweet old grannies in front of their grandchildren, or torch apartments. Then again, much of the civilian populace might think that too...

"Somebody in the Planning Department," replied Thomas. "It's not as evil as you might think... the Jewish rebels did it before their ghetto uprising in 1943. Killed everyone they saw as a collaborator before they struck. All insurgents do that before a massive operation."

"What are the total casualty figures?" asked Kaselev.

"3,000 civilians killed, over 6,000 wounded, 1,300 rebels killed or captured."

"How are the people taking it?"

"Mostly confusion... they don't want to think their own people did it. Many of them say that we never saw this kind of barbarism going on before the Doomies showed up. One guy I talked to said it was a bad trick by Manus Dei or Imperial Intelligence or something. Said it was nothing to Max to throw away a few hundred or a few thousand terrorist lives to start some PR, the Doomies must be desperate for decent public relations."

"Still... we need to recruit among the segments of the population that will still join us, then prepare for Phase Two of the operation..." Kaselev knew that Phase One hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, and despite what his intelligence chief had said, there were likely a lot of people who might be more skeptical of the insurgents.

---

Abandoned warehouse

Laila al-Majani woke up from her "home" underneath a pile of old clothes and abandoned computer parts. The tall, athletic Egyptian girl was now a clotted mass of filth, deathly afraid to return to the surface, where she was no doubt to be hunted down like a dog for her infidel blasphemy against the Virgin Mary. Well, it was no worse than the Mohammed Cartoons... She had been unable to enter the city proper for weeks, only talking to a few of her friends who knew where she was. Yet, three days earlier the nineteen-year-old former college student and amateur political cartoonist had received a letter from General Kaselev himself, appointing her as a divisional commander of the National Liberation Army.

One of her first orders was to arrange an infiltration of a Doomani-controlled facility, and she had decided to send several young women in with Chi-Rho tattoos, dressed in Doomani garb and in general acting as Doomanis or Doomanized (demonized?) Kahanistanian Catholics. The plans had been well laid and rehearsed dozens of times... but something had gone horribly wrong.

"Idiots!" Laila screamed at the infiltration commander, Captain Alicia Neil. "Imbeciles! Morons! Stupid retards! You were supposed to get Chi-Rho tattoos, not Chi-O!" She facepalmed as she ranted at the commander, who was totally innocent of any sort of incompetence along those lines.

Sure enough, six of the seven girls had big, fat Chi Omega tattoos on their shoulders. Alicia had a Chi-Rho, as she was supposed to.

"I have a Chi-Rho," said Alicia. "Not my fault the other girls decided to see a tattoo artist who's hard of hearing and can't speak Greek."

Two of the girls started to giggle.

"I'm sorry about that," Alicia continued. "I know you were an A. D. Pi, I saw you at the national conference."

The giggling girls were now laughing hysterically.

"It's not funny!" Laila screeched at the top of her lungs. "They're going to think we're just a bunch of sorority sluts who've had too much to drink if we go in there, and they'll gang rape us and kill us!"

"Fine," said Alicia. "I'll get six other recruits, and tattoo them myself with the Chi-Rho, like I did myself. Get all the details sorted out..."

The next day, the infiltration commander and her new recruits walked bravely up to the District 11 jail, their mission: to use one of the Inquisition's communications systems to ask for help and news, and to free any prisoners they could.

"Hello. We're here to see a prisoner." Alicia was a slender, petite, attractive girl of 22, about 5'3" and 100 pounds, with long dark hair and pretty blue eyes. She smiled warmly at the Doomani guard...

District 11 Jail, Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

The District 11 Jail, like the infamous District 17 Prison, looked as if it were now the bastard child of Doomie technology and Kahanistani archetecture; the main jail building had the outward looking windows boarded over with steel plating, and the barbed wire fence surrounding the compound had been replaced with a twenty-foot high eight-foot thick concrete wall manned by guards and topped with machinegun nests, a total of nine separate towers constructed along the walls which were constructed more like bunkers then anything, capable of firing into the prison or out into the city in the event of an insurgent attack.

However, insurgent intellegence in one ascpect: District 11 had been converted into a barracks/operations facility for the Army in the area, with the infamous Sanguinarium taking over for holding facilities. A prison originally meant to cram no more than five thousand prisoners in it was no holding nearly one-hundred thousand captive insurgents, that is if the Doomani hand't executed a good portion of the prisoners for 'population control', and that was entirely likely.

The sewer around District 11, like at District 17, had been dug up, creating a moat around the walls. The Doomani, it seemed, were using another method of waste disposal.

At the moment, the drawbridge leading from the walls of the fortress to the outside world was down, and there were six guards manning a bunker on the outside side of the moat. A gate went through the bunker, just large enough for a truck to fit through. Standing at the center of this was a pair of Legionaries, with the other four manning machineguns on either half of the bunker.

With holding facilities inside this former jail limited to temporary facilities for prisoners meant for later transfer to the Sanguinarium or immediate execution, or simply torture for the amusement of the soldiers housed in the fortress, the guard was instantly suspicious of the pretty, tatooed girls.

In Doomanum, girls never recieved tatooes like this; Decurion Herius Lencellus, the commander of the bunker and the man Alicia was talking to, didn't trust the girl. She did remind him quite a bit of his own eldest daughter, which, in this case, was probably a bad thing: Lencellus would have given his daughter a swift beating had she come home one day with tatooes; the beating his wife would have given the girl would make his look merciful.

Also being somewhat puzzled at the girl being outside of the ghettos, he immediately scanned for her chip and those of the other girls, as well as cueing up data on his HUD regarding their approach and if it was tracked via their chips; if so, he'd be checking where they'd come from.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked the girl in a stern tone.

He remained standing lodged in the ground like a brick, blocking their path.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Kevin Shaw, a young twenty-three year old, looked threw a window into a deep red sun. He was a little drowsy from the night before. Slowly he went into a kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Kevin quickly drank from the glass. The glass escaped his grasp and fell to the ground. The shatter startled and made him more alert.

Kevin was one of the many people sent out by the Canadstein government to keep tabs on countries. It just so happened that Kevin was sent Kahanistan. He had been living in Kahanistan for five years before the invasion by the Doomanis. Now he had be even more careful of where he went.

Throwing away the remains of the glass, he entered a room filled with bookcases. His "job" in Kahanistan was a librarian. Kevin enjoyed the job, but was frequently away on missions around Kahanistan.

Recently Kevin had gotten a new mission from some top official. The mission was to observe some rebels, the leader being a woman named Laila al-Majani. For the last two days he had been trying to search for this woman, until yesterday. Following a lead, he found this Lailia within an abandoned warehouse. Sneaking in Kevin became alert when more women entered. He listened to them. Kevin finally left the warehouse after most of the women left. Knowing that they were planning something, he decided to follow them tomorrow.

After looking threw some paper, Kevin got dressed and went back to the warehouse. He set up a little outpost to make sure he knew when they left. Once leaving he trailed behind and made sure that no of them saw him. Kevin finally found out that they were going to District 11 Jail. Finding the destination he soon went threw some back alleys and ended up near the Jail.

He waited a couple of minutes, until the rebels appeared. Standing up he tried to hide himself. Sweat rolled down his face, as he put his hand threw his blond hair. The group was stopped by one of the Doomani guards. Kevin wished that he could get closer to listen, but held his ground.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

In a highrise overlooking District 11 Jail, Decurion Titus Vespasianus stared through his high-powered electronic spotting scope. Besides him, sitting in an office chair plundered from the building they were currently in, his bipod set up on a desk, sat Cassius Decidius, his sniper. Titus' interest was immediately peaked by the women gathering at the gates of the jail,

"What do you suppose those pagan cunts are doing there?" Decidius asked Titus as he zoomed in on Lailia's cleavage through his high-powered scope.

"Can't say...probably a bunch of drunken frat girls or something..."

Titus was not quite sure just where he'd thought of that; it was as if it just came to him as a result of God...or something. Shrugging that idea off, he switched into thermal imaging mode. Scanning from side to side, a red box illuminated a thermal signature hiding a little bit further away. Quickly training his scope on that, Titus nudged Cassius.

"Ten o'clock low, in that alley."

It seemed that there was an unauthorized individual prowling about outside of the ghettos. The detection of that individual and the data regarding it was automatically beamed to a nearby patrol, who quickly acted on it.

"Decidius, shoot him in the leg," Titus ordered the sniper.

"Roger that, Decs."

Decidius, his scope switched into thermal imaging mode, quickly picked out his target. Drawing a bead on the target's leg with his crosshairs (even if the target was behind cover he'd be able to, and he'd certainly be able to blow through that cover and still have enough energy to totally blow the man's leg off), he prepared to take the shot.

Gently squeezing the trigger of his DRS-84, the rifle sharply recoiled against his shoulder as it spat out a single, well-placed 8.8x76mm round. Decidius was not going to miss; having gone through the brutal training he'd gone through and carrying a forty-thousand denarii rifle capable of accurately engaging targets from up to two-thousand meters away, his target was not going to get away.

As the shot was taken, a nearby patrol riding an armored CMPL floored it, screeching to a hault near the target. The rear door was thrown open and six Legionaries poured out to arrest Shaw as the remotely operated 15.7mm machinegun was trained on the man...

Laila had provided Alicia with a cover story. As a matter of fact, Alicia had called ahead, not caring if her call was monitored by the Inquisition; standard insurgent procedure was to assume if any Doomani knew something, the Inquisition did, and like many Kahanistanian youths she owned more than one phone.

"I called ahead for one... kept getting the run-around, must have gotten someone new, so I came here to see what the deal is. I'm here to see a Mr. Alfred Hermann," she replied.

Hermann was a "Witold," Kahanistanian insurgent slang for someone who deliberately got themselves arrested in order to gain intelligence on a prison. He had gone out after curfew, but the Doomies wouldn't likely have anything else on him; he hadn't taken part in combat operations or disseminated contraband. His mission was to get himself sent to the Sanguinarium, gather information on living conditions (and the fates of those who had chosen arrest rather than risking summary crucifixion; which was better?), then escape with any information he had about the complex, which guards could be bribed, which cells had loose bars, who had keys to the armory, et cetera, et cetera.

With escape from the Sanguinarium looking as likely as a Jew becoming Caesar, someone had to be sent in to visit him and take out information in a language the Doomani did not speak. It was likely that some Inquisitor knew Arabic even if the average Doomani grunt didn't, but there were probably precious few who spoke Polish, and it just so happened that Alicia spoke it fluently, having gone on a tour of Holocaust sites the previous year.

Alicia and Laila had figured that Hermann had probably already been sent to the Sanguinarium, but decided to ask here anyway; it might seem less suspicious than someone just popping up in "The Sang" and asking questions. Alicia tried to seem the concerned friend, who merely wanted to know what was up with him. She had, of course, met him before; she would have to know who she was looking for, just in case, but they weren't especially close.

"My face is up here," she said calmly to the Doomani. Most Doomani were a hell of a lot taller than Alicia's 5'3" and would have to look down to talk to her. She simply wanted to throw him off, and felt comfortable calling him out for staring at her 34C's.

Lencellus was a bit puzzled at the girl's implications that he'd been staring at her breasts; in fact, he'd been scanning between her and her friends in the event anyone tried anything funny. He shrugged it off.

"Where is your authorization?" Lenecellus replied, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.

Thinking back for a moment to what the girl had said, he realized something else. Phones, like all other methods of communication, were contraband. There was something not right with this one. He didn't let on, however; he remained in his brick wall-like posture, gripping his DR-83.

Through his armored visor, he continued to monitor the responses of this one and the others. Across the street, he saw a mounted patrol screeching to a hault to make an arrest. Had these girls brought someone with them?

"Authorization?" Alicia asked, looking at her friends she'd brought with her. This was supposed to be a snatch and grab; while the Doomies were showing her to Hermann's cell, two of the other girls were to sneak into the security room and call up the Allaneans on the Doomies' communication system.

"What the hell is he talking about? We need an authorization to see someone?" This was news to her. She turned back to the Doomani officer. God, what a prick. "Listen, I'm here to meet a friend who's been taken here. I just want to see how he's doing. I don't know anything about authorizations or whatever new regulation's been put in place here. Please."

Lencellus smirked behind his mask. He knew there was something suspicious about these pagan whores. Whispering into his mask, the soldiers manning the bunker, who'd been carefully watching the other girls, opened up with their high-powered tasers, firing a pair of the metal barbs into them, which would proceed to electrify them and cause them to go into muscle spasms.

Simultaneously, Lencellus produced a shock baton from seemingly out of nowhere, jabbing it in the blink of an eye into Alicia's stomach. He let the pretty girl slump forward into his arms. The other Legionary that had been beside Lencellus had also fired his taser at the remaining insurgent; within seconds of this occuring another dozen Legionaries came pouring out of the gates of the District 11 Jail in order to collect the prisoners.

He spoke into his mask, "The infidels were asking to see a Mr. Alfred Hermann. You may want to check that one out..."

What in God's name...? Alicia screamed as the stun prod struck her in the stomach, sending a shock through her body likely strong enough to put down an ox. A one-hundred-pound girl wouldn't stand a chance.

There was only one girl who was relatively large, and she was only about 170 pounds. She had taken several taser blasts and was on the ground babbling incoherently. Given that a few of them had hit her in the head, that wasn't exactly unexpected.

As for Hermann, he had been transferred to the Sanguinarium the day earlier. Alicia's group was too late for him anyway...

He was in his cell, knee-deep in his own sh*t and little knew that anyone had come looking for him. He observed events in the prison as closely as he could, monitoring guard routines, meal times, observing the guards to determine what kinds of people each of them were, et cetera, et cetera.

Kevin felt down to the ground. He felt the blood rolled down his leg. Putting some pressure on his leg, he tried to calm down. Kevin knew that he was a goner once he heard the familiar sound of an armored CMPL. Slowly he moved to the ground. His hands still clutched his leg as the armored CMPL stopped. The six men exited the vehicle. Putting up one arm, the other hand staying on his wound. As he looked back to the Jail he saw one of the Doomanis shock one of the women. Looking back to the armed men, he noticed that he was feeling light headed. More blood gushed out of his wound. The other hand returned to put pressure on the wound.

"What do you want?" said Kevin as he spoke with a weak and quiet voice.

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

The Legionaries encircled Kevin, laughing sadistically as they surrounded the wounded, helpless man. One man, bearing the insignia of a Cornicern, stepped up to the man, placing his foot on Kevin's chest and pinning him to the ground, his DR-83 held skywards with one arm. Staring through his red-tinted visor, he spoke in a booming, vicious tone,

"In the name of God and the Emperor, you are under arrest."

The last thing Kevin saw was an armored boot coming down fast on his face. And then, darkness.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

A few of the prisoners were jolted awake at the truck ran over a speed bump. They couldn't see outside, but the unmistakable sound of a vehicle driving over metal grating told them they were on a bridge of some sort. As the truck screeched to a hault, the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh filled their nostrils. A few of the dozen or so captives loaded into the truck began weeping uncontrollably; others simply stared at the floor.

They'd all heard whispered rumors of what went on within the Sanguinarium. Most of it was speculation; those that had spoken to the Legionaries within their ghettoes may have gotten a more solid idea of what went on. They usually had no problem with telling an interested Kahanistani of the horrors that awaited should they turn to the path of unrighteousness, although they were usually rather vague about it.

A Doomani soldier tore the rear cover of the truck off angrily, stepping up into the cab, his hand on his sidearm.

"On your fucking feet, heathen scum!" roared the Legionary.

He scanned the interior of the truck; spotting Kevin with his wounded leg, he called in Latin to the men outside the truck. A pair of soldiers climbed up into the truck and manhandled the wounded man to his feet, dragging him out of the vehicle before everyone else. The first man remained in the cab of the truck.

"What the fuck is this belligerence?" he yelled angrily at one captive, a teenaged boy caught trying to sneak into the sewers, who hadn’t stood up, and was now sobbing uncontrollably.

"Get on your fucking feet!" yelled the Legionary, drawing his TDX.

More sobbing.

"Fucking heathen piece of shit!" he roared, pressing the pistol to the back of the teen's head and pulling the trigger.

There was a sharp crack as the .40 caliber DDI round ripped through the skull of the victim, exploding out the front in a gruesome manner, spewing blood and brains about the cab. Kicking the bound corpse aside, the soldier roared once more,

"Anyone who disobeys and order will be killed, now move! Out of the truck!"

That got them moving.

Running outside of the truck, the prisoners found themselves in the prison's courtyard. Consisting of dirt, soaked red from the sheer amount of blood that was shed at this place on a daily basis, it was large enough as to accompany about twelve trucks lined up side to side on either end, with ample room in the middle for prisoners to be assembled and checked over.

Looking in from the walls were hundreds upon hundreds of severed heads, impaled upon sharp metal stakes along the top of the wall; many had been rotting there for months and were mostly devoid of skin, others were fresh, and the crows still picked at them, eating the eyes and tongues out. Maggots flowed from all of them.

At the center of courtyard was a circle of T-shaped crosses, twelve in total, facing inwards. The guards were just now putting a fresh captive up on one of them: the victim was lead from the main prison building, the cross beam laid across his shoulders, his hands already tied. When brought out to the already erected post, the cross beam would be hooked to a pulley along the top of the post, and the victim, still tied to the cross beam, would be hoisted upwards. The cross beam would then be secured to the post with nails; the victims hands and feet would then be nailed, and he'd be left there to die of asphyxiation.

This particular victim screamed as he was hoisted upwards, dangling above the ground helplessly; the Legionary who nailed him didn't say a word. This was probably one of the more boring assignments in the Sanguinarium.

One of the Legionaries in the court yard approached one of the crosses; the body appeared lifeless. He studied it for a moment, looking at it from head to toe. Satisfied, he drew his sidearm and shot it in the leg; it jolted and screamed as he did so. He wasn't dead; he'd be left to hang there until he was. If he was lucky the round may have clipped an artery and he'd bleed out in a few minutes...

The prisoners would then note the fact that that particular victim had no eyes, ears, or tongue, or even a nose for that matter; in fact, a good portion of his face was missing.

Looking over to the cross next to him, they'd see why: a crow sat on the captive's shoulder, mercilessly pecking at his eye sockets. With his hands nailed, he was utterly helpless, and could only shake his head to try to get it away. It was no used, of course: the carrion bird got his meal of the man's eye.

The new prisoners were aligned by height in front of their truck. Their hands had all been bound behind their backs; many already bore bruises from the beatings they'd taken from their captors. A grizzled-looking Doomani soldier, the only one without a helmet and visor concealing his face, studied the prisoners, walking up and down the line; even looking at the girls, his expression of utter severity did not change.

He had a shaven head and a scar across the left side of his face, going across his eye; his left eye was clearly a fake, although it seemed to move normally, the fake pupil even dialating as it studied the prisoners. It was blood-red; fitting for this man.

He looked to be in his early to mid forties, and a gladius adorned his right hip.

Another Doomani soldier, clad in the familiar helmet and visor the others wore, along with the same uniform and armor they all wore, stepped up besides the commander, snapping the Roman-style (to the Kahanistanis, it would appear Nazi-style) stiff-armed salute the Doomani used. Turning roboticly, the commander returned the salute.

The armored soldier snapped to attention,

"Prisoners reporting as ordered, Optio," came the man's voice through the mask.

Nodding, the older soldier replied, "Very well," in a solemn tone.

Turning back to the prisoners, he spoke again more loudly, in a stoic, serious voice,

"I am Optio Gaius Quintus Valerius, Primus Carnifex of this facility and second-in-command to the garrison."

Primus Carnifex. For those of the Kahanistanis that spoke Latin, they would know the meaning of that title: First Executioner.

"I will expect those of you that are not immediately put to death for your heinous crimes will cooperate with my men. Failure to do so will result in you ending up like them,” he nodded to the crucified victims.

He did not once crack a smile; he remained totally serious, if not devoid of emotion.

Stepping up to the Canadsteinian, he looked at the wound.

He looked up at Kevin’s face and seemed to stare through it; a second later he stared right into his eyes.

”Fleeing your community, spying on Imperial soldiers, and resisting arrest?” he questioned the man in accented English, ”Those are offenses punishable by summary execution. You knew that,” he spoke to the man in a stern, deathly tone. Turning to three soldiers that stood at attention behind him, he commanded them,

”Crucify him.”

Captain Alicia Neil, National Liberation Army, and the insurgents under her command entered the facility, complying with the Doomanis' orders as they exited the cab. So, this is the Sang, she thought grimly.

Alicia had witnessed a few crucifixions before; insurgents were encouraged to watch them to desensitize themselves to the casual brutality of the Doomies and violence in general. While Alicia was no combat veteran, and in fact probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with one of those 40,000 denarius sniper rifles, she was able to look unemotionally at those suffering on the crosses. An insurgent beside her wasn't so lucky. Krista Doyle, the larger female insurgent who had taken several taser blasts to the head, trembled and her eyes filled up with tears. She struggled to hold them back as Alicia took hold of her hand.

"It's how Jesus died for his people," she said softly, watching the young man be crucified. While Alicia was one of those crypto-atheists who had converted to Catholicism when occupation was imminent, she did believe in the historicity of Jesus of Nazareth, and that he had been crucified by the Romans. She also knew her friend was a devout Christian, conservative by Kahanistanian standards but probably very liberal by those of the Doomani. "Don't be afraid, Krista." Hopefully we can find this Alfred Hermann here, if he's been transferred... maybe even get a hold of that communication system...

---

Eastern Kahanistan

Kahanistan's Zoroastrian minority, about 1% of the population, or about 36 million pre-war, had never been excessively active in politics. Now that they were down to about nine million, they were, for the most part, even less so.

While they did have some powerful figures in government, like Fleet Admiral Raghad Nazmareh or former Health Minister Mohammed Kareem al-Qadala (who, if he was lucky, was still in a cell in Doomanum proper, trying to figure out how to escape before he was fed to the lions) the Zoroastrians as a voting or political bloc had never been a decisive factor in Kahanistanian policy making.

In Kahanistan, their religion had not been persecuted, though there was some hostility toward them as their religion was associated by many with the Parthians. Under Doomani rule, however, they were growing increasingly fed up with the Catholic autocracy. The odds of a Zoroastrian being able to succeed in a Doomani province looked far less than the odds of success in Kahanistan. While most of them had not been any more or less hostile to the Doomani than the general populace, things were starting to change.

With the widespread persecution of Jewish, Muslim, and Catholic moderates in Kahanistan, a Zoroastrian priest, Dr. Mansour Parvani, concluded a meeting with his congregation with a version of "First they came. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came...)"

"When the Doomani came for the Satanists,
I did not speak out,
for I was not a Satanist."

"When they crucified the Muslims,
I did not speak out,
for I was not a Muslim."

"When they burned the Jews for blasphemy,
I did not speak out,
for I was not a Jew."

"When the Catholics were killed for heresy,
I did not speak out,
for I was not a Catholic."

"When they slaughtered the Communists,
I did not speak out,
for I was not a Communist."

"And when the Doomani kicked in my door,
and took me away in the middle of the night,
there was no one left to speak out for me."

Kevin looked at the sadistic man that addressed himself as Gaius Quintus Valerius. This man was truly an evil man. He remembered the evil he could sense in the man's eyes. It was like looking into a dark abyss with no escape. As the Doomanis guards were about to take him, Kevin looked over to the women rebels he had been following. Quickly he looked away and winched at the pain in his leg. As the guards were about to take him, he looked at Gaius. Peering into those dark eyes he screamed out. "Optio Valerius, I have information about rebels in the area...my government wanted me to keep an eye on a woman named Laila al-Majani. My government believes she...is a divisional commander of the National Liberation Army."

Mordekai just did not see the point.

These people were slaughtering eachother for no good reason.. well you could not stop that..but what you COULD do was nudge the scales a little

These Doomites WERE terrible, and the Kafstani just had no hope...but in all honesty they deserved eachother...

So Mordekai was serving his new country's interests in MANY ways
1>he made sure as many as possible actually killed eachother
2>he reduced the amount of AVAILABLE weaponry
3>he acquired intel for his country
4>he acquired great wealth for his new nation in the form of salvage, which they had stashed DEEP in the mountains..all these were distinct second to Mordekai serving his own interest, which was staying alive, out of harms way where possible and making a better today.

the Kafstani had had some stunning early successes against the Doomites... but then again said Doomites expected primitive tactics and crudely armed opponents, and Mordekai was being able to do solid busines with his ancient Mauser 98..new(HVAP- and silencer-) technology had turned his old weapon into a modern nightmare... and that Zeiss-Scope was even after 70 years still accurate and clear....and the Doomites were waiting for an enemy they could SEE to walk into THEIR death-trap...and the old trick of shooting the rear-most men first made sure Doomites who were targeted never got to tell....

to work with hope of any major succes meant they would need their OWN Doomite Equipment, and for that they had had to resort to another, much older trick...to which purpose they rescued a few hundred orphans, many of which volunteered for the project within weeks fo their arrival...

Most of the Doomite forces had simply ignored the ambush, which consisted of a few small stalls where children were selling fruit, bread and water near an abandoned village's baking oven and well..

On the first actual encounter the Doomites has simply gunned down the children from range without even reducing speed...

there had been much grief, and they had moved to another location..

On the second encounter, the convoy at least stopped.... and they had tried to take all the children prisoner, and then the kid Mordekai had called Moxie shot the commanding officer three times in the face with an old uzi, and proved everyone can hit a target from 3 feet of range...and a six-year old girl had blown up the armoured transport (and everything in 60 feet not wearing Armour) with a good old-fashioned grenade.. Mordekai alone knew the little kid had never let go of the grenade... it had simply leapt aboard the transport and cluched the bomb with both tiny hands until it exploded..

Mordekai had been overcome with awe and grief, and had wanted to simply abandon the whole idea, the orphans themselves had convinced him to try again..

three tries later They succeeded...

And once he had 2 Squads outfitted with Doomite-level equipment, it had been like stealing candy from retarded children..

QTWolf's "cannibal-unit" had liven up to their boast: to be able to dissemble to take a tank, helicopter or jet-fighter within 24 hours, and crates full of Jet, Tank and armaments were subsequently cached throughout the mountains.

Mordekai reasoned that anyone who could RAISE a division and outfit it could lead one, and this old Jew had taken the profits of his cheese-factories, and invested in Independency...

He shouted at Shlomo and called for tea... "NO NO you putz, oh my gott shlemiel when I call you for one tea I want it with HONEY"... he sighed "AND NEVA EVA EVA with MILK"... and then he painfully remembered being 93 years old, and surrounded mainly by relatives, themselves exiles from many countries for many generations..and sat down, scanning the horizon with his binoculars

Mordekai shrugged... this new country said if they could make one army they could be one army for that country... and that meant legally having the means to protect what had survived of his and his friends' families..

"Oi oi gewalt, bubele", he said to his corporal...and they talked long about the folly of men, when that Kafstani guy had led his 1500 men out of the mountain, boldened by successes they themselves did not create.. but then oppressed farmers with AK-47 are hardly CSI-level crime-scene experts..they came second at the ensuing battle..

He thought of his youth, in Russia and then in Poland, when he was young..how people always had to run... then came the war..about the Ghetto's in Krakow..the Siege in Stalingrad....and then in 1944...Warsaw...how the Russians had let the Polish resistance die and the Death-camps that had been discovered..

and how it had gone since, in the new Homeland... Shalom Irsaël.... how millions had tried to "drive them into the sea"...Yom Kippur... Lebanon... the Jyhad....the Intifadah.. the president being assasinated....in public.. by a "brother of the same blood".. how the new Israëli had apparently learnt NOTHING.. and how in his eyes their treatment of minorities was almost as bad as that of the Nazi and Muslim fanatics..

So Mordekai looked out for his own......and when they had enough the mountain caches were sealed.. and the made an arduous 3 month trek to a safe-rendez-vous point on neutral territory.. and returned home....a plane full of children...

The children had since set up their own orphanage, and teachers went there to give classes... Shlomo smiled at the thought...then his smile faded as the orphans had insisted on their new legal rights to possess the means to defend oneself, accepting full responsability of any consequences ensuing..

Their hardware was being given into care of a gunnery association at least for the children, until they reached the legal ages of 16, 18 and 21 for respective levels of weaponry.

Months later the crates came back too, on the return flight of some of QTWolf's Humaintarian Aid programs..

Mordekai was looking through his barracks, and going through the lists of equipment..

"Oi weh, Shlomo, this is it?"

Shlomo nodded.. useless to say anything to the old man, when he was like this..

"So you saying with this furshlugginer lot of GARBAGE we goin to justify to this Gubbermint that we are a division?"

"Yes Sir"

Moredkai sighed.... "I wonder who is the greater putz... us for being pathetic ot the gubbermint for accepting us.... this REALLY IT?!"

Shlomo sighed....

"Well General, ofcourse we are only yet recruiting the men, but yes..and I am sure it will do fine, Sir " Shlomo looked over the yard where Quartermasters were moving stores with purpose and from one side approached the group of officers the nation had assigned to the army... all chosen by the old man himself...and he had to laugh to himself... on the store manifest it clearly said...the crafty old bastard was selling his new army his OWN cheese.. AND he made a profit..

Mordekai frowned as he noticed..

"Was there something funny, Major?"

"Shouldn't think so, dad, just life.."

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Valerius raised his right hand, and his men instantly haulted. Continueing to stare at him emotionlessly, Valerius spoke,

"Is that so?" he asked.

He did not allow Kevin a chance to answer. He nodded and his guards siezed him, leading him not to the place of execution but instead to the entrance of the prison. Turning to the other prisoners as Kevin was hustled away to an interrogation room by himself, Valerius spoke to the others,

"As you can see, cooperation is rewarded with life," he looked up and down the line.

His synthetic eye actualy acted as his own HUD, and with it he could instantly pull up data on the prisoners: names, charges, ghetto of origin. The seven women were intersting...trying to break into District 11 Jail. They had to have insurgent connections. Looking at them, he turned to a Decurion standing besides him at the head of a squad.

"Take those seven to interrogation immediately," he said sternly.

Without a word being said, the Decurion smartly saluted and his men took hold of the women, leading them into the prison. It was no doubt the last time most of them would ever see the sun again.

Trudging along through the dirt of the courtyard, they splashed through a few puddles of blood. These would not be the first, nor the largest they'd step through. What they had witnessed outside of the walls of the Sanguinarium was not even a hint of the horrors they would encounter within.

As Cardinal Quaramesh had first witnessed, stepping through the doorway into the main prison chamber, the stench of rotting and burning flesh was utterly overcoming. The upper floors of the main chambers housed the cells, while the lower was infested with Imperial soldiers. From the upper floors hung dozens upon dozens of bodies: some lifeless, some squirmed about as the maggots crawled about them.

Meathooks impaled them through their calves, or through their wrists; in some cases the victim had neither arms nor legs, and so they hooks had been forced through the shoulders. In all cases, the victims had all been horribly mutilated: massive bruising, crudely severed extremities, in many cases missing eyes, noses, ears, and tongues. Some had been totally skinned alive, a common practice of the Doomani.

There was not an inch of the floor that was not covered in blood or dried gore.
The prisoners who’d been assigned to interrogation were lead from the main chamber down a side hall, which lead to a set of stairs leading downwards, beneath the prison itself. The ceiling was low, no more than seven feet high, giving the Doomani very little head room; the staircase itself was rather narrow, and all of it was rather poorly lit.

At the head of the column was a Legionary, with the rest of the escorting soldiers at the rear of the group of prisoners, allowing for them to simply shoot them all if they tried anything. Arriving at the bottom of the staircase, they were greeted by an appalling scene: with the ceiling being elevated and the hallway widened, the corridor allowed for a prisoner to be suspended from the ceiling.

Missing his skin as well has his eyes, he hung just in front of the entry into the corridor, his head at the same level as the Doomani guard.

”K-….Kill me…” he uttered weekly.

The Doomani paused for a moment. He removed his helmet and visor, casting it aside. In a sudden surge of violence, he seized the helpless prisoner by his jaws, prying them open with ease. The Legionary grabbed the prisoner’s tongue in his teeth and tore it out, his hands still prying the jaw open as he chewed on and swallowed it.

The prisoner began choking on his own blood, which spewed profusely from where the tongue had once been; it had been pulled from the roots. Seizing the collar bone and lower jaw of the victim, the soldier viciously plunged his teeth into the throat of the victim, who cried out in terror. The soldier tore and mashed with his teeth, tearing the jugular out in a swift motion before going back for more, chewing nearly to the neck bone.

Turning back to the Kahanistanis, he smiled evilly, showing his bloodied teeth, chunks of human flesh caught in between, and growled menacingly,

”Welcome to the Sanguinarium.”

Of course there were always rumors of Doomani cannibalism, but most sane people thought they were just that- rumors. Even the Doomani weren’t that insane…or so most people thought. Indeed, there were a few, not-so-well-known reports out of Damnatium when the Questarians had invaded of, of Doomani soldiers, in states of complete bloodlust and utter ferocity, tearing apart the corpses of freshly sane enemies and consuming them on the spot- and enjoying it.

Moving along, they continued along the corridor. The sounds of the screams of torture victims emanated throughout the hallway; it was lined with steel doors, which lead to the torture chambers. That would be the final destination of the prisoners.

They were split up in no particular fashion, or so it seemed, and forced into the pitch black chambers, the doors locking behind them.

Alicia, however, received special treatment. She was lead into a lit chamber, the instruments of torture already arrayed on a table, and strapped to a wooden table. This particular chamber featured a one-way mirror: on the other side of it sat none other than Alfred Herman.

Hermann was seated rather comfortably, not restrained in any way. His interrogator had even offered him a drink. With the promised “guest” now arrived, Decurion Caius Quitus spoke to Hermann,

”She and her six other friends came looking for you, Mr. Hermann. Now, we’re not going to ask her any questions…when the pain stops is entirely up to you…”

Kevin had been lead to a more Spartan chamber; he was tied to a metal chair, which was bolted to the floor, a single dim lamp flickering above his head. Across the room sat an Imperial Army interrogator, staring at him emotionlessly.

”Whom exactly do you work for, Mr. Shaw?” he asked callously.

Standing at 6’2”, he looked like the rest of the Doomani: scarred, vicious, and hardened. His firey eyes seemed to burn a hole in Shaw. He’d not even introduced himself.

"I'll answer your questions," said Hermann. "Just... don't hurt her." True, he had become desensitized to violence, what with the crucifixions he'd watched, the tortures he'd heard, and the atrocities he'd seen with his own eyes. But he couldn't let those Doomani bastards hurt Alicia. She was such a nice girl.

"What do you want to know about her?" Hermann asked, his voice trembling. He wanted so badly to take her out of this place, to have her freed from the sadistic tortures of these animal savages. In some ways this was worse than the Halls of the Dead; at least there one suffered a few minutes or hours of torture and their bodies gave up and died. These people suffered for days, and even the ones who were not so severely tortured physically rapidly lost their sanity unless they had something to focus on, be it God, ideology, or some vague hope of freedom for their people.

Kevin tried to look at the man, but it caused him too much pain. Pain throbbed all over his body. He hoped that his leg would not get infected, as he still felt it bleed a little. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. Kevin knew the Canadstein government would be angry, if he got out of this horrible place alive. But he knew that in Canadstein the punishment would be less severe, then at this hellish place.

"I work as a reconnaissance agent for the Canadstein government. I was stationed here a couple of years ago to keep an eye out on what use to be Kahanistan." answered Kevin as he talked slowly.

Khalil went through the tunnels in the mountains, as he ran the image replayed in his mind...

how they had come for mister Kevin, and how they had rendered him harmless and dragged them into their sinister vehicle..

Inch'allah I will come on time to warn miss Alicia, thought Khalil

and he recited a prayer under his breath as he ran, and up to the place where he remembered the contact was....as he ran out of a tunnel he saw them...

Inquisitor Krüll was retching from air-sickness, and had ordered the helicopter down to the ground so as not to soil himself, and was now trying to relieve himself as between tears he saw something shoot out of what seemed to be just a recess in the hill nearby...

It took him a second to focus, and then he tried to shout an order to the orderly and nearly choked in a mixture of sputum and bile..the Guards had not noticed the runner, and were now hastening to the aid of their ailing Inquisitor..

Krüll spat and coughed, and finally managed to draw in a breath of air...."

Guards, kill that vermin, before it finds another hole to hide in" meanwhile reaching for his own side-arm..

Khalil thanked Allah for his moment of luck as he zig-zagged away onto another hill.... if only he could reach the next gap...

KRAKKK

KRAKKK

then a burst of automatic weapon-fire from one of the bodyguards

KRAKKK

All of a sudden a shooting pain, Khalil was swept off of his feet and smitten onto the rocky ground, where he came down hard...and passed out

Raqim half ran, half slid down the hillside, trying to stay on the blind side of the chopper, but every second counted now..

exactly fifteen seconds had passed since Navigator Dinkins last looked at the Inquisitor, and all had been fine.... as he heard the shots he looked again and saw the last guard fell, spraying a burst of gunfire to his right side..
as he turned around to see he saw one man sliding down..immediately he responded and took his machine off the ground, turning to gun him down..
the alerts suddenly lit up, as mujaheddin locked and then fired their stinger-missiles, Dinkins cursed, engaged countermeasures and...in some unexplicable way managed to dodge all these at once, and released his weapons on one of the stinger positions....

Raqim ran close to the chopper, and and shot several rounds of anti-tank rifle through the cockpit of the helicopter, and got down as it veered of to the right and crashed into some rocks making a big mess....

Raqim looked up, and saw that Moussa and Akrim had dived into the hole when the Heli freturned fire...they raised their weapons in a momentary triuph and called out "Allahu Akbar!", then searched the body of the inquisitor, then the guards and taking several items and their weapons... then re got up an started to run to the entrance Khalil had been going for...

Raqim found Khalil wounded, bleeding onto the rocky soil, and slung him over his shoulders, then picked up the weapons and headed into the mountains...
they had survived centuries of oppressors..these would be no different than the previous..or the following...and Inch'Allah the boy would survive, too

OOC:Ummmmm, what?

The Kahanistani Mountains (northeast of Negev Desert)

The night is dark and clear. In the sky overhead the moon is a lone crescent awaiting its time to blossom into a full circle; below it the hills are silent too, or mostly silent. But for the occasional distant cracks of gunfire one might never know any battle was going on. Here in the hills the insurgents were everywhere, still holding out against the Doomani advance that had driven them back into even wilder and more untamed territory, and equally difficult.

The Doomani are used to deserts; while there are plenty of mountains in Doomingsland, the average Doomanus is nowhere near as well-trained in mountain settings than the average Dorian, considering that much of the Dorium region is extremely rugged terrain. Thus, the advance teams deployed here—near the Groznian border, possibly—are made up of more Dorians than the average. There are still Doomani, Akavari, Generians, even the odd Pwnagian Catholic; but these Milites are those that have trained almost exclusively in mountain settings.

Cn. Lepidus Danilou is a typical example of the kind of man deployed on a mission like this. (The Cn. is standard abbreviation for Cnaeus.) Danilou is half Dorian, half Doomani, and all fanatic; he owns more guns than the Clandonian army, accepts the contradictions in the Doomani bible as long as he gets to kill things, and considers the abject poverty at home a punishment for sin, which he will counteract by joining God's premier fighting force.

Danilou is, at the moment, aiming. He stares through the sights, focusing in on a lone wild dog, out hunting, perhaps. He's not sure if it's wild or a domestic dog whose masters have abandoned it, but that isn't the point; he squeezes the trigger, the recoil not even knocking him back an inch as the dog simply explodes, raining blood and body parts over the forest floor. A few more squirrels' lives saved, or whatever lives in these God-forsaken parts; he spits into the ground, slackening his squatting pose to sit.

Danilou is forty-one. His wife and three children were killed in the Loyalist advance on Dorium; one of the children was still in utero. Before then he'd been an atheist, a gambler, frequently drunk; he'd figured that was how God rewarded evildoers, and converted to Christianity shortly thereafter, even divulging the names of dozens of fellow atheists and non-Christians to the Dorian Provisional Authority in the aftermath. By now he was as fanatical as if he'd been living in Doomanum all his life.

As he sits there, at the mouth of a small cavern, a woman emerges. On the surface Louise Arras doesn't look like a fighter: she's five-four, with a certain dainty prettiness that's if anything enhanced by the Chi-Rho tattoo and close-fitting camo clothing. The muscular frame and dancer-like physical abilities are only revealed once you're too close, and it's too late. Arras is twenty-six, a perfect product of Dorian private education combined with Doomani military training. "Lep," she says in Czardaian—a tongue little understood by non-natives, due to its overcomplexity of grammar and ridiculous isolationism of pronunciation—, "We've got Tacky's word. Infidel activity reported at a cave a bit north of here. It's a big one."

"Where are the others?" Danilou asks abruptly.

"They're inside, sleeping off their asses or something. Dom's up, though."

"Right. Well, get them moving," Danilou says. "We're heading in to survey it."

"I'll let them know," Arras says. She disappears inside again as Danilou lights a cigarette and stretches his six-foot frame, picking up his DR-83. After a few moments several men and women emerge from the darkness of the cave.

Danilou switches to flawless Latin. "We're going on another mission... so keep it quiet. You know our new orders: annihilation, not capture." He doesn't say much, in case someone can hear them; the others murmur indefinitely in assent, and pick up their weapons to follow him into the mountains.

There are nine of them in all. Through thick brush and undergrowth, uncertain rocks, the thick dark passages cloaked in shrouds of green; through this environment they climb and move, their lithe bodies and uniforms coated in a fine desert dust; their guns are always ready, and they make as little noise as possible. Even scorpions and snakes are crushed underfoot or impaled on long gladii.

Laturus Domicus Armiferus, or just Dom, is the team's sniper. He's a Doomie, well-trained, his vision a frightening thing. He's naturally the first to spot the enemy encampment. It's in a cave, across a valley from the Manus Dei position, in which one of Iudaea's few year-round rivers is roaring over rocks and downed trees. Actually going there will be too visible; nonetheless, the Milites have no idea how many troops they're facing, or what kind of equipment they have with them.

Armiferus leans down near the brush where he can't be seen very well, and magnifies. He flicks on the IR sights on his sniper rifle, then turns back to Danilou with both palms up. Ten.

Arras and the other woman in the team, an older Generian known only as Kat, set up the grenade launcher. At only a couple hundred metres, it should have the range necessary to hit. Armiferus gives a glance in their direction, a message unspoken. Arras gives him the thumbs-up sign and hits the fire button twice in rapid succession. A thermobaric grenade is the first to hit the cave; as the fire becomes visible, a fragmentation grenade hits as well, disabling equipment and people. As the inferno clears, Armiferus picks out the few moving IR contacts and fires, rounds causing their heads to explode. He prefers headshots, as do most Doomani; cleaner that way.

The whole thing is over in a few minutes; as the fires clear the cave mouth, Armiferus picks up and picks off the few remaining contacts, then follows the rest of the team across to the cave's mouth. It's a long and equally difficult trip; they scrabble for brush, moving swiftly and almost invisibly in the dark night. They cross the little river and move back uphill; the vegetation is sparse, the rocks covered with sand and treacherous, and the lead Miles—a sturdy mountaineer named Joseffy—drops a rope to the others to help them climb into the cave's entrance.

Inside is a gruesome scene. Weaponry is broken and shattered, useless. Dead bodies, or more accurately what's left of them, lie scattered: arms severed, the bone visibly shattered; eyeballs rapidly congealing and turning brown in the air; brain matter and blood splattering the walls; limbs and torsos thrown left and right. One (relatively) intact body lies still there, the eyes twitching and rolling furiously as what's left contorts in pain; the ribcage is torn open, the beating heart exposed, while blood vessels down one leg are burst (parts of the leg itself are missing), spewing crimson fluid onto the floor. Danilou pulls out his TDX and shoots the man in the pulsating heart, watching it puncture and with its dying contraction spurt blood eight feet into the air. A couple of the other men chuckle at this display and give Danilou a thumbs-up sign; he remains diffidently silent.

"Come on," he says harshly. "Let's see where this goes." Flicking on his headlamp, the other milites around him doing the same, they begin their trek into the massive cave system in which the insurgency's control center may well be housed (although that's further near the other end). Machine guns, rifles, grenade launchers, even the one ATGM strapped to Joseffy's back; they are all loaded. The tattoos glisten in the faint light, and the marching of the milites is almost in rhythm, like a crusader rock beat.

The Hand of God is reaching for the insurgents now to pluck them from the face of the earth. Following it up is the foot of God, the Doomani army proper, to stomp the remainder into dust.

God, or at very least Jerusalem HQ, Wills It.

It was early in the morning maybe an hour before sunrise. Captain Edris scanned a topographical map of the mountains. A soldier came up to him and handed him a paper. With a nod he dismissed the corporal and peered over the paper. Outside the helicopters started up their engines. After the UAV had been shot out the sky Edris determined it wouldn't be safe to stay in this area any longer. He had marked a place to the north east where they would set up camp. There were more things that were about to change as well.

It seemed the Republic was getting involved in this theatre fully. There were plans in Farbanti to assist in a major counter offensive launched from the mountains. For all intents and purposes it was very possible Groznyj would initiate a proxy war in Kahanistan. Of course the transcript didn't say this but Edris figured as much. It was obvious anyway. Groznyj and Kahanistan had never been very close allies but at least Kahanistan was a moderate nation. There was no way it could be expected that Farbanti would tolerate such a large fanatical presence this close to their borders. The implications of being so close to a trigger happy power had taken their course on Groznyj. Thousands of miles east in Arterus the peaceful colony of Yeltsmin had come under attack from multiple corporatist powers. Farbanti had persued a policy of unassuming peaceful existence. The result was invasion. The same mistake would not be made twice in a row and already while a city fought for its life in the Pacific action was being made to prevent a smiliar attack on home soil.

All that had been required at home was a signature on a number of papers and mutual agreement at a hastily organized military meeting between the president and others heads of power. Now contracts were being awarded and propaganda proliferated in the native land. These mountain rebels would be supplied with the necessary equipment to make a difference. Edris would no longer be the sole leader of what went on here. His mission objectives had changed though slightly. Farbanti wanted the rebel groups to work together. Edris would now be working directly along side the communist rebels. Other Groznian elements would be moving across the border as well as supplies. Though not all at once.

Edris folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. The camp would be cleared in 20 minutes without a trace they had ever been here. From here on out there wouldn't be any more light hearted dancing. Men would die and Edris would see things that would shock him had he not been a veteran of the war against the Russians.

"Angeline." he spoke. She was sleeping in one of the tents. "Get up now. We're leaving."

He almost had to drag the drowsy girl off of her cot. There wasn't any more time to waste this was a serious military op.

The two got into a UH-60 and the bird lifted them and a number of other troops into the air before swooping down below the horizon of the mesa they were in. From now on the helo's would operate hugging the terrain. The Black Hawk didn't fly directly to the rebel base but dropped them off a little out of its way. They were a few miles away from the base and would have to hike the rest of the way. With Edris were 4 other soldiers. They would make their way towards the rebel base as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

[ooc: yes I am back XD. This rp can now officially get good =P]

Angeline Farbot stirred and joined the Groznian on the helicopter. She was barely able to keep her eyes open, not wanting to face the grim truth that lay ahead. She wasn't cut out for the hard life of a guerrilla fighter.

When it landed, several kilometers from the rebel base in the southern mountains, the young girl clasped the hand of the Groznian officer. She was only 18, not even blooded (having received baptism by fire) yet.

"Will we actually pull this off?" she asked. "Will we actually kick these people off our soil?" Rumors had hit the People's Guard with the terrible things the Doomani did to prisoners of war... even one who was not afraid to die in battle would fear the horrific things that happened. Angeline fervently hoped it was just blood libel stirred up by the fanatical sects that lived in the mountains.

The operatives moved quickly through the brush and rocky terrain slowed only by the girl who barely managed to keep up. So far it was still cool and the men weren't even sweating after a half hour of cross country trecking.

Edris glanced at the girl when she spoke to him he was now almost dragging her along. Unfortunately she was no experienced mountaineer.

"Well it's my job to help you guys do just that." He said in reply.

A little while later they arrived at the rebel base Edris waved to the guard and the rest of them walked into the base.

"I need to speak to the Colonel" he said promptly once inside.

Edris wanted to speak to Antonov about the current tactical situation. Hopefully he would be more cooperative now that he had brought Angeline back unharmed. He would also have to let Antonov know that he would receiving a lot more help from the Groznians provided they were able to smuggle equipemt across the border. Right now what Edris wanted more than anything was a captive Doomanii soldier to interrogate.

Raqim sat down when he heard the news...

Moussa and Akrim, and the other team, three Hadj that had come to aid the cause were all dead... and the other tribes had lost at least a dozen teams to these new invaders... word was that help was coming from across the border, but for Raqim and his tribe that would not come in time...

as they left their mountain homes and set for the refuge in the mountain itself, they let a few volunteers to set of explosives and boobytraps for when the christian vigilantes would come erase their homestead..with luck, Raqim thought, and allah willing, these guys will get careless with their success and our martyrs take a few of them along to the afterlife...

His eyes filled with tears as he thought of his family, heading deep into the mountains, but he steeled himself and rode on to meet the tribesmen that lived closer to the border, warn them of the storm that was coming and offer them his aid..

Angeline led the Groznians back into the base. When they got to Antonov, he was immediately suspicious. "What did you tell them? What did they do to you?"

"Nothing," said Angeline. "They just showed me their base, their weapons... some Groznian dancing." She smiled widely. "Anyway, these guys aren't going to infiltrate us. They're going to help."

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

"Very well, Mr. Hermann, so long as you cooperate no harm shall come to her," Quintus replied to the prisoner.

He nodded to a pair of Legionaries, who hooked wires to his wrists and heart, hooking him up to a digital polygraph. A camera was placed in front of him in order to monitor the dialation of his pupils in order to further ensure he isn't lying.

With another pair of soldiers monitoring the responses of the lie detection systems. Quintus took a seat in front of Hermann, behind the camera.

"Let us begin, then. First of all, what exactly is exactly the purpose of this operation?" he asked, his eyes peering into Hermann's.

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

A similar setup had been made for Kevin. Seeing his victim squirm uncomfortably from the wound made the interrogator chuckle slightly,

"Not to worry, Mr. Shaw, we stopped the bleeding and sterilized the wound while you were unconcious. We won't need to amputate the leg...so long as you continue to cooperate," his speech was sinister, silver tongued, like that of a serpant.

He grinned sardonically for a moment before returning to a more calm, business-like expression,

"Now, you said something about Laila al-Majani? Where exactly is she at the moment, to your knowledge, and what is your government's interest in her?"

The Kahanistani Mountains (northeast of Negev Desert)

Decurion Gaius Tertius Tiberius once again found himself humping it in those all-too-familiar mountains he'd patrolled as part of the probing operation prior to Operation Martyr. Thus far they'd seen no action; the insurgents seemed to be trying to avoid a fight thus far, and it was really bugging him. Unlike before, his squad was now serving in force with the rest of the Trenturium, operating along side the overhead UAVs, which stayed cautiously out of sight, high up in the air, yet giving him a bird's eye view of the terrain up ahead and around them in order to give them advance warning of a waiting ambush.

There were twenty-eight of them in total, formed up in four seven-man squads. The weapons squad was a bit behind them, capable of being brought to bear on an ambush when it was needed. Air support was also on hand when needed; thus far contact with rebel troops had been minimal, and so there was plenty of it to go around for the first units to get ambushed.

They'd been trudging across the rocky terrain since dawn, and they were aiming to push clear across the mountains up to the Groznian border. With the legions advancing in a broad front across the mountains, they'd be able to cover everything in one long advance; of course, once they encountered the tunnels the insurgents were using, things would start to get interesting.

With the insurgents now reportedly using chemical weapons, along with the common use of gas by Imperial forces, Gaius and his squad now wore their NBC gear: a skin-tight body suit that went underneath their standard desert uniforms (which, as mentioned before, were actually modeled after Bedhouin robes, granting superb cooling properties), which brings up a hood that the Legionary pulls on before throwing on the helmet and snapping on the filtering visor.

These men were clearly not as heavily armored as the rather bulky troops that guarded the cities, wearing just their vests, helmets, and visors (although their vests did wrap around the whole torso as well as giving superb shoulder and pelvic protection), granting them better mobility through this mountainous terrain while still ensuring that the insurgents would have a hell of a time trying to kill them.

These particular Doomies were from the province of Doomanum Superior, the province where mountain infantry legions were recruited and trained due to the rough, brutal mountanous terrain that covered the region. These mountains vaguely reminded the men of home, although the ones back home were a bit more arid.

It was long, boring, and arduous, yet the men were used to that. They were used to long, boring, and arduous patrols, occasionally interrupted with short, fierce bursts of violence. They were eager to spill heathen blood this day, and by the Grace of God, they would see that these barren lands are made fertile with it...

"Colonel I think you still don't understand why I am here so let me explain this once. Years ago my country was able to escape the bonds of tyranny in a horrific war. I don't need to remind you that the Doomanii are religious fanatics and my country is a moderate, albeit mostly Islamic, state. What do you think is going to happen if your resistance fails? Groznyj will be next and that's why I am not allowed to let you fail. Are we clear sir?"

Sweat was dripping from his forehead and Edris was clearly annoyed.

edit: (sorry)

Now that the UAV had been destroyed (fortunately it was unmarked as were all Groznian covert equipment) the military would have to rely on a spy satellite in order to send valuable intel to the troops on the ground and back to military HQ. This would be done until a way to put another UAV (this time with a much lower profile) in the area could be found. There wasn't a very high risk of it being shot out of space either; the satellite operated so close to the Groznian border, and due to the geopolitical nature of Kahanistan, near the border of a number of other countries, that there was little if anything at all that would distinguish it from a harmless communications satellite. In fact it was a com satellite in the literal sense of the word. It relayed pictures of enemy positions and didn't broadcast radio... Besides, shooting down the satellite would risk an open international conflict.

edit#2 (lol)

Meanwhile with the Republic's new involvement in the theatre the once empty southern border was being reinforced. There was about a 1/4 mile of unclaimed territory between Kahanistan and Groznyj. For all intents and purposes it was a no man's land. Dropped off via UH-60 a little north of the border, Army Ranger teams made their way to the border. Many of these men were of Arab decent, growing up as sheperds in the mountains. Their uniform suggested so too. They were clothed in desert robes customary of their culture but slightly modified for the needs of the military. Currently the military was busy designing a new mountain combat BDU. Till then this was what they had. The border was for the most part totally rugged, you couldn't get a 4x4 through it if it could fly. There was only a small pass which had years ago been blown out of the mountains to accomodate a set of train tracks and one road. Well.. it was a pass on both sides, through the no man's land it was a tunnel. This tunnel undoubtedly was claimed by the Groznian military. A checkpoint was set up outside the southern entrance just 50 meters from the Kahanistani..or now Iudaea border. High up past visual range would be a constant presence of UAVs and predator drones. Higher above them F-35's would soon be patrolling the skies. In addition to all this, just incase there was a problem and close air support was needed, squadrons of Apache attack helicopters began flying in from the north. The Doomanii may have been able to spot 1 or 2 patrolling in the distance but the rest were concealed farther beyond Groznian lines. And finally 10 miles north of the border M109A6 Paladin howitzers were being moved into various positions in groups of 4.

The southern border was being fortified by the Groznians.

"The only thing I understand is getting more weapons, weapons that can help us get into the cities," Antonov said coldly. "Most of the people are in the cities, we'll need to get in there. Also, I think the Doomani will have no further reason to remain if we destroy Jerusalem. A nuclear device will be preferable."

Angeline looked at him in shock. He was willing to kill millions in order to drive the Doomies out?

Antonov continued. "The needs of the people outweigh the needs of the few, Miss Farbot. With the deaths of a few million in Jerusalem, billions of lives will be saved."

---

Hermann looked at Alicia nervously. "What operation are you talking about?" he asked, knowing the Doomani would have no way of knowing that he was a Witold, or that Alicia was an insurgent commander. In fact, he didn't know Alicia's entire role, merely that she was to speak to him in prison if he didn't escape by a certain time. He certainly knew nothing of her plan to have her friends call the Allaneans while she was talking to him.

OOC:They're actualy in two separate rooms, Hermann is looking at her through a one-way mirror.

IC:

Quintus raised an eyebrow at Hermann's response. Looks like he'd have to inflict pain on the poor girl, after all.

"Don't test my patience, Mr. Hermann,"

The sound of a hand-held buzzsaw broke the silence of the other room; it was transmitted through microphones planted in that room. Hermann would see clearly as one of the Legionaries grabbed the device off of the table and switched it on, approaching Alicia methodically...

"What is the purpose of this operation, Mr. Hermann?"

What do they know!? He couldn't let those sadistic beasts hurt his comrade, but he also knew she'd be subjected to even worse if he revealed her as an insurgent. They'd probably rape her and then crucify her, letting the crows peck out her pretty blue eyes.

"I'm a 'Witold.'" As mentioned previously, this was a Kahanistanian term for one who entered a prison to gain intelligence. The term was derived from the name of Polish resistance fighter Witold Pilecki (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witold_Pilecki). Polish resistance fighters were something of inspirational figures to the insurgents, even those who hated Jews as much as the Doomani.

"She isn't a rebel. She's my friend. She doesn't know I'm a spy." Hermann didn't want to subject his comrade to this torture, but he wanted to save her from the even worse treatment meted out to rebels. Although he couldn't have known, he figured Alicia wasn't stupid enough to go in armed or carrying anything that could give her away as a member of the insurgency.

"She just wanted to see me. Please... let her go."

Quintus narrowed his eyes at Hermann menacingly.

"Is she now?" he replied callously.

Interrogations of previous insurgents had revealed a good amount of the jargon utilized by the insurgency; 'Witold' was among those terms.

"You know, that's funny; she just happens to sneak out of her 'community' to go looking for a Witold, and yet isn't a member of the insurgency. Lie to me again, Mr. Hermann, and see what happens," his eyes burned furiously, yet the rest of his face conveyed no emotion.

"I will ask you one last time before Discens Gnaeus in there starts taking her toes off one by one with that saw of his: what is the purpose of this operation?"

"I told you, she doesn't know I am a spy. We went to college together before the war." This was true, but he had only seen her a few times, mostly at A. D. Pi functions and parties. They hadn't become friends until they met as insurgents.

Better to lose a toe or two than her life... Hermann was trying to protect his comrade, without revealing too much of the operation. "My mission is to incite prisoner resistance and escape with information on what goes on here. I just told you that."

A wave of shock rippled through the Captain's face for an instant and it was gone. He wanted to do what now?

"I don't have that kind of authorization." Edris said coldly.

Getting into the cities.. he thought, to do something like that we're going to need a fully equiped army..

"But I suggest we start small. Till now you've been just holding out in the mountains getting your ass handed to you by mountain patrols. I think we should focus on securing the mountains and a steady flow of recruits before taking a city. How do you feel about capturing a Doomanii soldier for interrogation?"

Kevin sighed with relief. At least his leg would not get infected, if it had then most likely it would have to be amputated. Slowly Kevin started to calm down. His mouth felt dry, but it was because he was nervous. Sweat rolled down his neck. Kevin wondered if all Doomani were sadistic. The two he had come in contact with were sadistic, but this cold feeling to them. His eyes were closed shut, but he could still feel the presence of the man's eyes.

"She is at an abandoned warehouse in this city. My government wants me to keep an eye on this rebel group. Canadstein government likes to make sure it knows what is happening in the world. If you want I can lead you to her..."

Antonov smiled grimly. "I'd like that very much. I have a few people who've lost family and friends to the Doomani... they would very much like to torture one of these savages. Might be good for morale."

Angeline's expression became even more shocked. He's descending to their level... he's only different in his ideology.

"Good" answered Edris. Finally he and the Colonel were on level terms.

"Angeline showed me a place on the map where the Doomanii patrol regularly. We could set up a remote ambush using the surveilance equipment with snipers and a strike team far enough away so not to raise any alarms."

Antonov nodded. "Shall we set up an attack?" he asked. "I'll send an officer there, maybe a squad of twelve, four cells of three and a commander, for thirteen fighters, plus whatever you're sending in terms of troops, weapons, et cetera... we'll need gas masks, anti-armor weapons, something to take care of any UAV's they might have... and something non-lethal to capture a Doomani. Preferably an officer, we can try to get more information out of them."

"Alright" replied Edris. He stepped outside and spoke into his comm link.

"Supplies are on their way, I'm bringing in a demo specialist to help with the explosives."

Soon 2 helicopters arrived laden with explosives and a few more SF's. The men hopped out and helped unload the deadly cargo. The two choppers promptly left. The less they stuck around the less likely the base would be found.

There was a multitude of C4 and anti armor weapons as well as two man portable anti air missile systems. There was another crate full of brand new black gas masks.

"This should help." Said Edris as he pried open a crate with a crow bar.

He though about the pesky Doomanii UAVs in the area and the thought came to him. He pulled a small cylinder from his pack out and unfolded it into a parabolic dish. he attached it to a small input device half the size of a cell phone. Plugging it into his helmet he pressed some buttons on the device and adjusted the dish until he had a direct secure link with the satellite. Everything was directional, meaning if you weren't in possession of the satellite Edris was using it was impossible for you to eaves drop. It also meant attaining a connection was a pain in the ass. Edris, now having a secure line with mission hq far to the north spoke into the receiver in his helmet. After a minute long conversation he packed up the equipment and went back over to the understandebly confused Colonel.

"I've found a solution to your UAV problem." he said. He explained further and organized the plan of attack with Antonov.

On his signal a kamikaze UCAV would be deployed. The brain child of years of developement which despite low funding in the past had managed to see the light, the XRK-1 was a stealth unmanned combat air vehicle. It could patrol an area for 52 hours before needing to recharge. It's primary function was to seek out and destroy other UAVs. Once locked on the XRK-1 would assume a top attack profile flying high above the target, out of range of most all UAV sensors which are ussually directed toward teh ground. The XRK-1 speeds downward toward its target deplying a small back up missile behind it (initially sloweed by a parachute for a few seconds) so that if it misses the back up missile can have a shot at killing the target. The XRK-1, if determing that it missed, detonates sending out a cloud of miniuture fargmentation munitions. From the ground it looks like a flak shell going off. Future models have ideas for an electrified cloud to blind the UAVs sensors but for now this will do. (The XRK-1 can also target helicopters.)

[ooc: may not be able to post for a few days. Just lettin yas know. Hate mondays =P]

Antonov and Angeline smiled. "Let's kick some Doomie ass," the pretty Communist girl said. "This should give us some intel as to what's going on in the cities," she added.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

"Oh really?" replied Quintus sarcastically.

"Very well, we'll ask little Alicia herself, you know, just to confirm your story," he turned towards the room.

Discens Gnaeus, the interrogator assigned to Alicia, spoke for the first time,

"Your friend Hermann, he told us who you are," he said calmly.

His face did not convey any particular enjoyment; with this one, it seemed as if he were simply on another day on the job.

"Poor bastard lost his left nut and all his toes in the process, but he broke. What he won't tell us, however, is who you are working for," he continued to stare methoidically, shouting over the buzzing of the saw.

He took his finger off the trigger momentarily, so he would not have to shout.

"I would like very much for you to tell us who sent you, and trying to lie to me...just don't, the results aren't going to be pretty."

Gnaeus was, of course, bluffing in this case. Alicia did know that the Doomani had Hermann and that he'd most likely been taken out for interrogation. She wouldn't know how long she'd been unconscious before being taken to the Sanguinarium; for all she knew she'd spent the night in District 11 unconscious before being taken to the Sang. Hermann very easily could have cracked in that time...

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

"Yes, Mr. Shaw, that would be very helpful," Shaw's interrogator was being very polite with this prisoner.

Although he wore the same black, ACU-style BDUs the other Doomani wore, he had no name tape or insignia. Though he looked like a soldier, this one fact would have told Kevin that this man was not in the Imperial Army.

"We will of course need to act on this intelligence immediately," he produced a map, putting it up on the table.

"Show me which warehouse. If you help us, we will help you. I'm certain your government has something we want, and we'd be willing to trade you for it," he looked down at the map as he spoke.

Looking back up at Kevin, his eyes narrowed, "You do know, however, that if you lie to us, we will kill you in a most horrific manner, and your government will hear nothing of it…"

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

The Kahanistani Mountains (northeast of Negev Desert)

Unfortunately for the rebels, their ambush plot would be a bit outdated. While ambushing a lone patrol would have certainly been an option no more than twelve hours before, at this stage there simply were no lone, routine patrols through the mountains to speak of. The steel fist of the Imperium was crushing down on the mountains in the form of six full legions of battle-hardened Imperial infantry. Their goal: the extermination of the insurgency in the mountains.

Rather than facing perhaps seven Doomies at a time at the most as they had before Operation Martyr, they'd have to contend with eighty or so at the very least. They’d learned from their experience in the mountains: they were now advancing in force, advancing in full-strength centuries to make any ambush seem to be an almost suicidal notion. The Doomani had clearly learned from their past experience with the insurgency in the mountains.

And at the rate the Doomani were advancing across the mountains, the insurgency would not be able to attack at their own accord as they once did; they’d be fighting for their very survival, now.

With the UAVs scanning a wide portion of terrain, the operators of the aircraft alerting the troops on the ground to possible enemy units, the insurgents would have to make sure to down the craft before they actually moved into position to ambush, lest they be spotted from a way’s away. Not to mention the fact that the Doomani UAVs themselves were also extremely stealthy, drawing on experience from IAC's other aircraft, such as the Aquila, which, was the Kahanistani Air Force discovered, and extremely stealthy machine. Detecting the UAVs would be another matter unto themselves; and those were just the conventional ones. Trenturium-level units had their own drones, capable of being carried and assembled by a single man, allowing for the individual units to scout out caves and get closer look at terrain up ahead...

Kevin looked at the map and was about to point out the location, but backed away for a moment. His hands trembled with fear, but he knew that this was the only option. Looking at his interrogator for half a second, he could feel sweat roll down his neck. Pausing for a moment he thought. Thinking back he remembered before he was shot in the leg. He saw one of the rebels who looked to be the leader. Kevin's hand moved quickly to the spot and rested there.

"She is hidden in this warehouse...I want one more thing. I want you to release one of the girls the Doomanis captured with me. I will be the one to identify her, no one else. You will never bother her or me again. Is that deal along with your other promise?" He said in a stern voice.

Alicia had heard stories of police officers lying to suspects to get them to crack. Maybe Hermann really had cracked, in which case she'd simply lose a finger or toe or eye and be asked again. But it was a damn sight prettier than what she'd seen going into the Sanguinarium... and it wouldn't be the worst that happened if she admitted being an insurgent.

I can't let that happen to me... then he would have suffered this abuse for nothing. She was the insurgents' captain. It was her responsibility to protect them before herself.

"Sent me? I came of my own volition, with my friends. I was worried about Alfred and wanted to see him again, just to make sure he was all right."

---

Footsteps. Daniel Lawrence heard them as he stood sentry duty some distance from one of the caves in the Negev for the People's Guard. Clutching his AK-47 against his body and peering over a rock with his telescope, he saw to his horror that the Doomies were attacking in force. There looked to be several hundred of them.

Christ. The capitalist imperialistic pig-dog slaves to the opium of the masses weren't fucking around. Daniel made sure his GP-30 40mm grenade launcher was affixed properly to his rifle and crouched behind the rock before firing his weapon into the largest concentration of tyrant aggressors he could see. The sound of his grenade launcher firing and the shell exploding would alert sentries nearer the caves as well as defensive perimeter guards like Daniel himself that the enemy was coming.

Without giving the Doomani time to react, or even waiting to see the effects of his own grenade round, Daniel opened fire with his Kalashnikov into the Doomani at the same time he pulled out another 40mm round to fire from his GP-30. He was a master at firing the weapon with one hand and reloading with the other, and keeping track of where his 7.62mm clips and 40mm rounds were.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

The interrogator's eyes narrowed at Kevin,

"Mr. Shaw, we already had a deal. Should it turn out you aren't lying, we will negotiate your release with your government. If you want to add terms, you will need to continue to cooperate with us for awhile..."

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

Imperial Army Intellegence was begining to unwravel the entire plot on their own. By tracing the movements of the girls, they were able to put them at the very warehouse Shaw had identified as the one Laila was hiding in. While they could not yet ascertain the purpose of the operation, something they were very interested, they now had a general idea of what was happening.

These insurgents seemed to be acting on Laila's orders, and the interrogators would be able to use that against the prisoners. Word of what was going on was transmitted into the ear pieces of the torturers...

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

Gnaeus rolled his eyes at the girl, switching off the buzzsaw and tossing it aside.

"Do you really think we're that stupid, woman?" he smirked as he stepped back towards the table, producing a pair of pliers and a blowtorch.

Sliding on a welder's mask and igniting the blowtorch, he held the flame over the pliers. Instantly they turned red hot. Speaking from behind the mask Gnaeus taunted her,

"If you do not talk, perhaps Laila al-Majani will..."

In the next room, Quintus cracked up laughing besides Hermann. Looking at the man, he said in a pleasant tone,

"Did you think you could fool us, infidel?" he laughed some more, watching as Gnaeus drew closer to his victim...

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

The Kahanistani Mountains (northeast of Negev Desert)

"SHIT!" Tiberius had barely enough time to yell as the 40mm HE grenade exploded no more than seven feet in front of him.

Instantly he was knocked to the ground, dazed and his ears ringing; white hot shrapnel tore into his arms and legs while being deflected by his armor. He didn't even yell at the pain; he'd been through far worse. Instantly his men, and, indeed, damned near the entire century opened fire on that lone sentinel.

His sniper, Caridus, was practically the first man to take a shot, drawing a bead on the infidel's skull through the man's own muzzle flash in a matter of milliseconds and sending a 7.8x63mm round down range.

An ungodly amount of firepower was put on that one cluster of rocks: the roar of crew-served machineguns, the barking of squad automatic weapons, the blooping of the grenade launchers; the sharp chatter of rifle fire. All of this culminated into one grand symphony of destruction as over one hundred men, for just a few seconds, let loose on Lawrence.

They'd been properly spaced so that Tiberius had been the only casaulty in the attack, not to mention firing an automatic weapon with only one hand generally meant that you were going to miss your target...

Already formed into proper tactical formations, the infantry began to take up defensive positions amongst the rocks in anticipation of an attack.

"Fucking heathen piece of shit," Tiberius grunted angrily as he staggered to his feet, bleeding profusely from his arms and legs.

The shirt and trousers of his uniform were completely soaked in his own blood, and the shrapnel still burned hot within him. To him, this pain was nothing. He simply ignored it. He took one step; his legs stung viciously. His thighs and shins had taken the brunt of the shrapnel. It’d be hard to walk from now on, and there very well could be permenant damage. Taking another step, he began to get accustomed to it. He’d deal with it later.

Glancing up to see that his squad was properly formed up, he sighed.

"Anyone hurt?" he asked his men.

"Only you, Decs," replied Immunes Varus Helio, his assistant squad leader.

Taking a knee besides a cluster of rocks and taking cover, Tiberius flicked a scorpion away and laughed, propping his rifle up onto one of the rocks.

"Hurt? Try taking thirty lashes and getting thrown into the arena with a starving jackal for getting caught grabbing evening chow; after a ten mile run," he chuckled.

"Been there, done that," Discens Dio, the automatic rifleman, interjected braggingly, his left sleeve soaked in his own blood. He’d taken a bit of shrapnel himself, it seemed.

Legionary training required the recruits to literally steal food in order to survive; punishment for getting caught generally included a few dozen lashes, and sometimes, if the Drill Centurions were feeling bored, being thrown into the arena with a few vicious animals. In this manner and other brutal ways these men, starting in childhood, were fashioned into one of the most lethal killing machines the world has ever seen; hardened by over a decade of grueling, often sadistic training, already scarred from battle before even joining their actual units, and infused with an obscene fanaticism for their God and Emperor. Fear was alien to them.

"Anyone injured up there?" the voice of Trenturion Deodatus', their Trenturium (platoon) commander, crackled in the helmets.

"Tis' but a flesh wound, sir," replied Tiberius stoically,

"Good," replied Deodatus in his characteristic grunt, "Go make sure that godless fuck isn't breathing."

Deodatus was a grizzled old veteran, gaining his rank through sheer merit and experience, as with all Plebians in the Imperial Army. The ranks of Centurion and below were all filled by the Plebians, the 'commoners'. To achieve higher ranks, namely that of a Tribune, one had to be a Patrician, a noble. Though one might think this would cause the men to look with disdain on those particular officers, from what Tiberius himself had heard, the training those men went through made theirs simply pale in comparison. Needless to say, the men that came out of that highly selective program were generally superb officers. For the most part, at least.

Deodatus maneuvered two other squads along the flanks of Tiberius, moving to envelope the position the insurgent had fired from, moving on the position’s left and right flanks while keeping an eye out for any infidels that would try to catch them in an ambush; Tiberius and his squad moved up the middle. Meanwhile, a fourth squad and the Trenturium’s machinegun and anti-tank section remained in reserve. Simultaneously, leaving heavy weapons teams in reserve along with other infantry units, the century quietly advanced forward, intending to form up on Deodatus in a defensive line.

Though chances were the target was wasted from all the fire they’d put on him, Tiberius had seen weirder things happen than an enemy soldier somehow surviving a massive barrage of small arms fire. Advancing cautiously across the rough, barren terrain, their rifles shouldered and trained on the position, he and his men half-expected the man to get back up and start shooting again…

OOC: Doom: You didn't happen to get "Sanguinarium" from me in IRC from a while ago, did you? I seem to remember a debate over who had the most bloody execution chamber a while ago.

OOC: Doom: You didn't happen to get "Sanguinarium" from me in IRC from a while ago, did you? I seem to remember a debate over who had the most bloody execution chamber a while ago.

OOC:Yeah, I did, actualy, just such a kickass name :)

Kevin looked at his interrogator and sighed for a moment. He felt like he was betraying his country, but knew that he was going to live. Feeling trapped he wriggled for a moment. Coughing for a moment he wondered if he took the right path.

"What do you want me to do? First thing, get me out of this chair."

Hermann trembled with fear, but if he gave her up, the Doomani would do far worse to her than they were doing.

"I told you the truth," he said, his voice shaking. "She's my friend. Do you think I would tell her that I was a spy, and risk something like this happening?"

---

Alicia's heart fell into the pit of her stomach. If they knew she was taking orders from al-Majani, she was toast. She dreaded the thought of what these fiends were doing to her, but she figured anyone fanatical enough to drop incendiary anti-Catholic cartoons on Caesar's own camp would probably not talk without a fair amount of extreme torture.

Just as Alicia had a responsibility to the insurgents under her command, so did Laila.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. "What are you accusing me of?"

---

Daniel fell over, mortally wounded and barely breathing. It would be a miracle if the Doomani could even determine his race, let alone his identity or group affiliation, so badly mangled was his body. He clutched a nine-millimeter pistol, but struggled to cock it and maintain consciousness, knowing he had not long to live...

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium), Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan

Quintus smirked devilishly at Hermann. He saw the fear in his eyes. If he wasn't certain before, he could now be positive that he was in on the operation. He did not even address the last point,

"One of you is going to talk sooner or later, and the sooner that happens the less torture both of you will go through. Hell, you might even be able to cut a deal with us..."

He turned back towards the one-way mirror, peering into the next room.

"You aren't fooling anyone, Mr. Hermann; if anything, not cooperating with us will only increase the amount of agony she is subjected to. We know both she and you are in the insurgency, there is no point in denying it now. If and when Miss al-Majani talks, and either you or Alicia haven't told us everything we want to know, you'll both be crucified. Although, I shouldn't say that," he paused for a moment, reflecting.

Turning back towards Hermann, his eyes filled with pure malice, he hissed, "There are far worse things than death..."

In the next room, Gnaeus took the now red-hot pliers and siezed Alicia's left big toe with them; squeezing with them, he slowly began to burn down into the bone while pulling the nail off...

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

The interrogator sat there silently for a moment, his arms crossed, a shadow cast across his face,

"If you want something, you must give me something in return. Tell me how you communicate with your government, and I shall unlock the cuffs."

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

Tiberius and is brothers were now acting on pure instinct, driven by their brutal training. Staring down his red dot scope, he slowly approached the cluster of rocks the infidel had been hiding behind. Though chances are he'd be dead, he was going to put a few rounds in his head (if he still had one) anyway.

They treaded lightly as the others moved on the flanks. Tiberius would be first up, his pointman at his side. They haulted just in front of the rock. Looking to one another for just a moment, they knew precisely what the other was thinking.

He bolted over the top, and for a split second time seemed to stand still.

Almost in midair as he dashed up atop the rock, his rifle trained downwards towards where he expected his target to be, he was greeted by a horrifying-looking figure: it was as if a corpse was trying to kill him. The man below him was so horribly disfigured that had he not known better, he'd say it was not even human. He'd seen many corpses like this before, of course, and was numb to the violence. But what seemed to be unfolding was rather bizzare.

As soon as he crested the rock, he could see the muzzle flash of the pistol and felt something impact his vest as he squeezed the trigger of his DR-83.IIB, spitting a two round bust into the thing's head. Coming off of the rock, he tucked into a tumble, quickly recovering and turning to face the target, immediately bringing his rifle to bear.

He hadn't even heard his pointman's shots that had come almost at the same time as his, having been so caught up in the action. The target had a total of four 6.7mm holes in it: there really wasn't much left of a head now.

"What the fuck happened?" Deodatus' voice rang in his ear as his squad took up defensive positions around the rocks.'

"The godless fuck is no longer breathing, sir," Tiberius replied soberly.

"Outstanding, wait for further instructions, over."

The pointman, Immunes Cnaeus, put a gloved finger through a hole in Tiberius' vest, feeling around on the inside and laughing. Tiberius rolled his eyes and batted the hand away.

"This just ain't your day, is it, Decs?"

Tiberius grunted, turning towards the front.

"I don't know, Cnaeus. This might be my day..."

Hermann was certainly curious to know what kind of deal the Doomani would offer, but actually expressing interest would imply that he had something to hide that the Doomies didn't already know, and he'd already admitted being a spy. He watched in horror as the Doomani scum began abusing his comrade.

The Doomies clearly didn't know Alicia's role, or else they wouldn't be torturing her for it. She began crying, but had resolved not to betray her friends. "The Doomani will hold suspicions and they don't like to be wrong," Laila had told her. "They will stop at nothing to confirm their suspicions, and breaking under torture vindicates it in their minds."

Alicia knew, or strongly believed, that suspicion was all they had. So did Hermann. In his room, he was still trying to help her.

"The insurgents compartmentalize information," he said, as if speaking to a six-year-old who barely spoke English. "We don't let anyone without a need-to-know in on our operations, we've had too much trouble with informers. Don't you protect your sensitive information that way? She doesn't KNOW anything. If you think she does, ask her yourselves, leave me out of it!"

---

The godless fuck was indeed no longer breathing. However, the gunfire did attract the attention of dozens of other godless fucks who were, and wanted to continue, breathing. And fucking.

The enemy was too widely spaced for area-effect weapons to be efficient, so the Communists fell back and opened fire with 7.62 x 54 mm Dragunov SVD's and the occasional Denel NTW-20 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denel_NTW-20), whose massive 14.5 x 114 mm rounds could probably pierce even the thickest of Doomani body armor; needless to say, they were reserved for high-value targets such as enemy commanders and light vehicles. Those with AK-47's fixed their bayonets and prepared to fight in the mountains.

Kevin looked around and thought. He wondered how he could try to communicate with his government. Thinking back to one of the many intel reports he had read.

"Call our embassy in a nearby country and mention the name Conrad. This is a secret code, and it will let you be redirected to some top politician within our Government."

The sound of far off gun fire could be heard in the rebel base. Edris immediately recognized that those weren't familiar guns going off. Something was very wrong. He stopped mid sentence while talking with Antonov.


"What the hell was that? he asked, heading outside.

More gun fire could be heard. The sound of a familiar weapon drowned out by a multitude of the previous alien guns. It was obvious what was going on.

Shit

Edris ordered his men to get the UAVs ready to fly. He ran over to a few unopened crates. With no crow-bar around and not wanting to waste time he picked up a shovel on the ground and bashed the crate open. This crate was huge, just small enough to fit into the chopper, God knows how it able to be moved without heavy equipement. In side was a absolute multitude of weapons. M-90 sniper rifles, 120mm mortars, C4, other small arms, and some rockets. He slung his M8 on his back and picked up an M-90. As he turned the first of the two UAVs, looking like toy model helicopters took to the air. It would hover behind a cliff or some cover while the other one observed from higher overhead.

"Mark!, Murat!, Get going over that ridge, I want you to report the positions of any hostiles and direct friendly fire

"Sir!

"Yessir!

They both responded and immedietly went off.

Edris turned to Antonov now. And told him what was going on if he didn't already know. If they did things properly they could hold off an army of a thousand from this position inflicting disproportionate casualties....if the Kahanistanis were as well trained and disciplined as the Groznian Special Forces helping them.

"Colonel", Edris said, "I've sent two scouts towards where we heard the gun fire. If you have any good snipers you can send them along, my men will tell them where to set up shop and help direct their shots. We still have time. Take whatever weapons suites you. I've also deployed both UAVs, they'll send a direct video feed to your command setup.

Antonov himself grabbed an M-90 from the crate, as well as an M-8 for use as a personal defense weapon if the Doomies got too close. Angeline also grabbed an M-8. She couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with those sniper rifles.

The commander's guards began to furiously hustle the 120mm mortar out the cave, preparing to set it up several dozen meters away so as not to give away the cave's position.

"Do you happen to have any chemical?" asked Colonel Antonov. He knew the Doomani were likely to have it. "Or gas masks?" They would definitely need some wanked-out masks for dealing with Pestis Dei if they were attacked again...

"Miss Farbot, go down and get Garonov and Farzeh. We'll need snipers for this battle." Anton Garonov and Khoram Farzeh were among the best sniper leaders in the People's Guard. Angeline went down to contact them.

ooc: I'll post 'bout my SF's when I have the time. I just needed to put this out.

http://www.chechnyawar.com/flags/coat_arms_small.jpg


Encrypted Transmission to the Holy Empire of Doomingsland
Priority Level Alpha

To the Honorable Caeser Maximus from the Office of the President;

I am the president of the peoples to the north of your newly won territory, what was once Kahanistan. The name of my land is the Republic of Groznyj, it shouldn't be too hard to find on a map. The reason I am sending this messege to you is a certain mass of military forces traveling in the direction of my southern border. This is a cause of concern for me and I do expect an immediate response so that there will be no tragic misunderstanding. Allah be with you.

Signed,

Ramzan Urmev

President of Groznyj

Urmev had purposefully included the words, "Allah be with you" in his message. He never included such direct religious undertones in his diplomatic messages unless dealing with an Islamic nation. However Urmev wasn't blind to the outspoken "faith" of the Doomanii. In his eyes the God of Christians, Muslims, and Jews was different in name and pronunciation only. But he knew this wasn't the case with the Doomanii. He had to know who he was dealing with, their personal character, how far he could push, and so on. He wasn't stupid but didn't have a lot of time to get to know this Caeser. Time would tell how diplomatic relations between the two of them would go from here and in the meant time; Groznian spy satellites would be watching the Doomanii advance intently, sending vital data to the SF team on the ground and back to home.

At least the howitzers were in place incase anything happened.

OOC: i want to go in but can someone tell me what's going on and what sides there are and who's winning

OOC: Basically I went and pissed off APOC and got occupied, Groznyj and a ton of other nations are sending in agents to help the insurgents kick the Doomies out. So far Doom's holding up, it remains to be seen how his war with AMF will affect the situation here.

OOC:Right, finally found time to post...I'm gonna have to work into this slowly, unfortunately, so I'll respond to the various situations one at a time. Sorry about the delay.

IC:

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)

Quintus rolled his eyes at Hermann as Gnaeus began crushing another toe with his pliers. "Fair enough, if you want to wipe your hands of her blood that's your choice," he said simply.

He stood and turned, walking out of the cell and slamming the door behind him. Hermann was left bound to his chair, staring into the adjacent cell as Alicia was mercilessly tortured. They weren't even asking her questions at this stage. Gnaeus was most meticulous with his work on the toes; always making sure to reheat the pliers before applying them, twisting as he crushed the toe with the red hot steel. This was only a hint of what he had up his sleeve; he would make sure the toes would last Alicia another half hour.

He even lit up a cigar with the same blowtorch he used to heat up the pliers as he was doing so, smiling as he took a puff and saying something to Laila that Hermann couldn't quite make out. Naturally, it had more to do with cigars than it did insurgents...

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

The interrogator replied in monotone to Kevin,

"That's not what I asked. How are you contacting them? Phones, radios? If so, what frequency? How are you hiding them, how are you avoiding detection? These are the things I need to know, Kevin."

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

Meanwhile, interrogation on Alicia's companions commenced. They were all dragged to separate torture chambers, where their assigned interrogators politely asked them various questions about their operation as they were either strapped down to tables or hung from the cieling upside down, making sure they got a nice look at the torture instruments as they did so.

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

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Tactical response teams supported by infantry fighting vehicles and tanks began assembling just out of sight of Laila's warehouse. A broad perimeter was being formed, the entire block surrounded by Imperial troops. Even the sewers were sealed off, with every route covered by a squad of infantry and a machinegun nest. UAVs remained out of sight, hovering above and scanning the target building and surrounding buildings with infrared to pick out possible targets...

[OOC: It's OK, I'm in no hurry here.]

In the prison, Alfred Hermann broke down and cried as he watched his friend mercilessly tortured. He closed his eyes, unable to look at her, to see the fear and pain in her soft blue eyes. He was filled with anger as he realized that these barbarians would not let either of them go. Anger at himself for being helpless, anger toward his insurgent commanders for sending him to this godforsaken place, and anger toward his tormentors for the barbarism and sheer injustice they were heaping on someone who, as far as they knew, was a completely innocent girl.

Of course, the insurgents only knew the parts they were expected to do; the ones who were to distract the guards, the ones who were to take the comm equipment and contact the outside, etc. did not know each other's assignment, except for Alicia. She wasn't talking, or more accurately, she was asking between her screams what the Doomies wanted with her.

The insurgents, or more accurately the elite ones sent to the Ssanguinarium, had been drilled to believe that if they cracked under torture, it would result in even worse torture for their comrades, and even if they were spared for collaboration, they were likely to be killed horribly by their own people. They would take a long time to begin cracking...

---

Laila al-Majani clutched her FN FAL battle rifle under her chest, over which was strapped four belts of the 7.62 x 51mm ammunition it used. Through a peephole in the door, she saw the Catholic demons milling about outside, preparing for an assault.

The nineteen-year-old girl with the rifle did not look like a high-ranking insurgent commander, dressed simply in camouflage trousers and a black tank. Her long dark hair was tied behind her with a rubber band to keep it out of her face during a firefight. She was not particularly pretty, but she wasn't bad looking if one liked tall, athletic Egyptian girls.

"Very well... it's coming down to this," she said grimly. "Morrison, go down to the basement, tell them party-time's over." To delay attempts to force the door, she and two other insurgents pushed a ten-foot tall bronze statue of the Polish resistance fighter Witold Pilecki in front of the door. (As previously mentioned, Polish resistance fighters and others who fought the Nazis were revered as cultural icons in Kahanistan, which had a 25% Jewish population before the war.) Then, Laila and her helpers wrapped towels around their heads to try to absorb as much gas as they could should the Doomani use it.

A bearded man of about forty, with short blond hair and a pot belly, picked up his M-4 and walked away from the printing press where he had been producing more of the blasphemous Virgin Mary cartoons (http://s73.photobucket.com/albums/i206/Kahanistan/virginmary.jpg) that had provoked a chemical attack on the local civilian populace. Morrison walked down a secret passage under a crate marked "Canned Tomatoes" into a corridor where a party that rivalled those hosted by the Doomani's allies in MassPwnage was being held.

Roughly half of this ghetto's GLOBAL membership was in this room, along with numerous other LGBT individuals, drug users, habitual drunkards, and general degenerates. A particularly well-hung, middle-aged man was engaging a young man of about 20 in a homosexual act. Behind them, displayed proudly on the dance stage, where naked men and women danced, took body shots, and copulated in full view of the other revelers, was a cartoon drawn by General Majani, as she was called by the insurgents.

It was her piece de resistance displaying her anti-Catholic hatred for all to see. A cartoon of the Pope, actually a composite caricature of all the most prominent men to claim that title (though focusing mainly on features reminding the viewer of Doomani pontiff Innocent VI) was sodomizing the Baby Jesus, identified as such with the letters INRI, for Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum (Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews) on his forehead. The pontifical caricature was holding the baby's legs apart and, though in a cartoon it was hard to draw, appeared to be thrusting the child onto himself sexually. Majani had brazenly signed her name to the bottom of it in English and Arabic script so large that even the blindest person could read it.

"Party's over, we've got company!" Morrison called. Instantly, the revelers ran for their clothes and whatever weapons they might have had. Few of them were insurgents; there was another warehouse with a secret passage to the party ground, through which civilians entered without knowing of the warehouse that was an insurgent command base.

Meanwhile, the rifle fire from above told him that Laila was engaging the Doomies...

Somewhere above the Haven Straights

“Alpha-Six-Six, this is Nest. Target has been identified to your direct east, I repeat, East. It is a Doomani-marked oil tanker. According to most recent satellite photography, it is carrying a Doomani flag, You are clear for mission procedure. Over.”

“Nest, this is Alpha-Six-Six, Ready to lock and load. Over.”

“Nest, this is Alpha-Six-Nine, acknowledging mission parameters. Over and out.”

The two SUF-7 aircraft banked hard and went on at full blast towards the Doomani oil tanker.

“Alpha-Six-Nine, this is Alpha-Six-Six, we are now one thousand furlongs away from target. Firing, over.”

“Acknowledged, firing. Over.”

From each aircraft a single Shockhound Avenger I ( http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8601244&postcount=27) missile was launched, aimed straight for the tanker.

At two hundred and fifty furlongs from the tanker, the aircraft turned and fled, without ever coming into naked-eye range of the Doomani tanker.

Fifteen minutes later, the complete gun camera view of both aircraft was already downloaded to the Navy computers.

Twenty minutes later it was emailed to Doomingsland’s foreign ministry.

Don’t you say you didn’t know what hit ya.

"I'm contacting them by radio. The frequency is 56.37. The radio is within a fake book within my private library. I tell the men about recent events in the area. These men are not in the country. They are most likely stationed somewhere near the border. Now are you going to unlock these handcuffs." Kevin said as he looked away from the men. He was literally stealing out his own country. This was close to treason, but knew that he needed to live at all costs. Kevin was the only man stationed in this area, and the link for the Canadstein government.

Imperial Foreign Ministry

"Shit, here it goes," Magister Nuntiorum Gaius Cassius Vespasianus grumbled as he looked the gun camera footage over and over.

"Well, time to bite the bullet," he looked over at his secretary. "Get me the Whyatican ambassador...time to fuck around with the infidels a bit." he smirked.

The tanker had been totally obliterated in the explosion, naturally. Now that attacks had commenced on Imperial shipping in Haven, a deal previously offered by the Whyaticans at the outbreak of hostilities with Automagfreek was now going to be invoked: All Imperial merchantmen operating within Haven would now be flying under Whyatican flags.

This was bound to injure pride, but there was one thing corporations valued above all else: money.

Allanean Central Command

“It is now time. Unravel the First Force Projection Fleet. Unravel the Water Buffaloes. We will be going to South Africa.”

“Furthermore… at my command, launch god rods at the following coordinates.” There is a rasping cough. Then, the voice lists off coordinates of Doomani military bases – air force bases, coast guard bases – in the Middle East. There are sixteen targets – to the amount of ‘god rods’ carried by the Allanean Thor satellite. Some of the bigger bases are targeted twice, or even thrice. Otherwise, all is normal.

All troops ready. We are now headed into Doomani territory. We are to be expecting heavy resistance and fierce combat.

The ships are moving slowly towards the South African coast. Aboard, SEPS, ECCM, ECM, CIWS systems are being put on alert, as sailors rush to and fro aboard the ships. All is ready and all is primed.

Many of us will die when we land in Africa. Some will die from disease and some from enemy hands.

Cannon and rocket launchers cycle, ready to fire their weapons at the shortest of notices. Ammunition pallets move back and forth. Aircraft are refueled in the bellies of immense carriers. All is prepared.

But those who die will have died for the noblest of all causes – Freedom. And Freedom shall always prevail.

rat.rat-rat-rat-rat.

All was silent.

The SpecOps sniper scrambled into position. From his position he had the sun at his back shining over a cliff two dozen meters behind him. He had managed to find an ideal location; his ghillie suit blended in perfectly with the shrubery around him. -he was in a sea of shrubs that dotted the whole face of the ridge about half a kilometer from where the Legionnaires were advancing. With the sun behind him it was very unlikely his flash could be seen.

It had taken Murat a minute to get to his position and he was still breathing heavily- a kilometer and a half sprint in mountainous terrain in the midday heat is something that will (albeit momentarily) wind even a Groznian soldier. And doing all this as discretely as possible doesn't make it any easier.

But his legs could rest -for now- while he took a bead on the position of the enemy. With his life training in the mountains he was more of an asset than any UAV. He saw a large amount of soldiers marching past what only vaguely looked like a human corpse. This all and their relative location he reported to the rebel base. They would need to know where to direct their mortar fire.

It was a shame they hadn't set up the surveillance system yet.


[ooc:wait for K'stan to post, Doom plz]

Hassan al-Jumani was setting up the surveillance equipment with the assistance of his allies. He barely understood the surveillance device, but as the closest insurgent who could remotely pass for an electronics expert (he was the chief IED maker of his platoon) the job of setting up the surveillance devices given him by the Groznians fell to him.

Hassan was a young man of twenty, who had been training as an electrician when Kahanistan fell. He knelt down by one of the surveillance devices, preparing to plug in a wire, when he suddenly felt uneasy. Clutching the AR-15 rifle he held in his hand, he looked around, not rising to his feet to avoid presenting a target.

"So... this looks like the final battle," said the young Arab man to his comrades.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)\

Gnaeus did not once let up; he continued emotionlessly, occasionally chuckling as he made a joke to his victim. By now he was nearly finished with all of her toes, which meant it was time to move on to another body part. He was not sure weather or not the man in the other room was talking yet; he did not particularly care. He'd stop when his superiors told him to. For now, he was having fun.

Nodding towards the two guards posted at the door, they strode over to the steel table upon which the torture devices were arrayed and retrieved a heavy, cast iron stove, setting it down at the foot of the table as Gnaeus unbolted a forward section. This would allow the end of the table to drop down; of course, there in lay the problem: because Alicia's feet were shackled securely to the foot and the section was so small, he would need to either unshackle her or break her legs in order to get it to drop down.

Not a very difficult decision for the young torturer.

While one of the guards worked on igniting the ancient stove, he looked up at the captive as he positioned his hands on her lower leg.

"You know what I want to know," he growled in a hushed tone, "I know you care for your friends, but quite frankly your resistance is only forcing us to enact more severe measures on them..."

As he spoke he swiftly snapped the bone of her lower left leg. As she screamed he looked back up at her, placing his hands on the other leg.

"Everyone has their breaking point, even you. What varies among men and women is the amount of time it takes to reach that point..."

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

"As promised," the interrogator replied to Kevin, standing up and walking behind him. He swiftly undid and removed the handcuffs, sitting back down in his own seat.

"You're doing well, now, Kevin. Now, I'm going to need you to tell me everything you know about the insurgency. Names, safe houses, escape routes..."

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

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

"Fucking pagan ****," roared Decurion Leonidus as he ducked behind the APC with the rest of his squad as a hail of 7.62mm rounds pinged off the armor.

Swiftly recovering, they stood and returned fire on the window, timing their shots so that there would always be a round going downrange and they wouldn't be caught reloading at the same time. He was now glad that he was carrying a DR-87; had he been carrying the same DAC-97 he had two weeks ago, the .40 caliber rounds wouldn't be able to penetrate that brick wall. The 6.7mm rounds he and his squad were now spewing downrange, however, could.

A full Centuria was laying siege to the insurgent compound, putting down a relentless hail of lead through every window so that if anyone was stupid enough to stick their head up or even a rifle up in order to blind fire, they'd end up with a missing limb.

Meanwhile, the 15.7mm heavy machinegun on the roof of a nearby Imperator-M tank swivled into position, opening fire on the building, spraying into the walls surrounding the window they were taking fire from and blowing chunks of it away with its massive rounds.

All around the building this scene was repeated; finally the centurion in charge gave the go ahead for the heavier weaponry to be brought to bear. The Imperator-UM armored personnel carrier, new to the Kahanistani theatre, usually sported a pair of 37x312mm automatic cannons on a modular remotely operated weapons platform alongside an ATGM pod or autoloading recoilless rifle. The APC Leodidus and his squad were taking cover behind happened to be equipped with four 37mm cannons; the infantrymen absolutely loved the things for support.

The crooning of the turret's electric motor was a soothing sound to the ears of the Legionaries positioned around the APC; seconds later, they were all nearly deafened as all four 37mm chainguns opened fire on the doorway. Each individual cannon had a rate of fire of roughly 700 rounds per minute; with four of them going at once, they had a total of 2,800 massive 37x312mm high-explosive rounds headed downrange.

Most foreign APCs and IFVs generally sported autocannons ranging from 20mm, to 25mm, to 30mm cannons; the Doomani, of course, simply loved their big, mean rounds, and had stuck with a 37mm autocannon for their Testudo IFV and Imperator-UM heavy APC. This particular weapon was fully capable of easily blowing through the armor of most comparable infantry support vehicles, and more than capable of blowing massive holes in the walls of fortified buildings. In this case, there were four of them shooting into a doorway.

All around the building the same was occuring; the APCs' 37mm cannons and the tanks' 15.7mm machineguns were simply raking the building, shooting all along the walls to kill anyone that may have been taking cover. Leonidus' track took a good ten seconds before it ceased fire; although the door would most likely have been totally disintegrated from the first round, they wanted to be thorough. Rather than simply destroying the door, they went a step further and made sure to annihilate sections of the wall around it to create a nice, wide gap for the infantry to move through.

Multiple large holes were blown in the walls on every side of the building; the heavy autocannons were now silent. Sporadic small arms fire from along the Doomani lines continued as they shot at anything that looked like it could move. They certainly were not concerned with taking prisoners.

"DEUS VULT!" roared Leonidus as he stood errect, his weapon trained towards the building, spraying into the gaping hole in front of him.

All the Doomani around the building responded similarly; roars of deus vult and other warcries rang through the air as the squad grenadiers began to pump tear gas rounds into the building in rapid succession, ensuring that the entire building would be completely saturated in the gas. Slowly, the infantry back away from the APCs and tanks they'd been taking cover behind, moving steadily and unwaveringly towards the holes in the walls, their rifles at the ready. The entire scene was unnerving; eighty Imperial infantry converging mercilessly on the building, moving forward with vicious purpose.

Meanwhile, the operation was being commanded from a nearby base. The UAVs currently devoted to it had picked up the thermal signatures of the partiers in the basement; further scanning from a satellite equipped with ground-penetrating RADAR had revealed the passage going to the other warehouse. Imperial patrols near that building immediately swung into action, with several CMPLs packed with infantry flooring it and getting there as quickly as possible. After surrounding the building and cutting off all escape routes, and following a scan by a UAV to ensure it was clear of thermal signatures of possible guards, they would covertly breech the building and set up where the passage entrance was and wait for the fleeing infidels to exit out their end...

The Kahanistani Mountains (Northeast of Negev Desert)

Just a few yards from Tiberius, Immunes Varus Helio was literally blown apart as a 14.5mm round hit him square in the chest; it was a nasty sight: the round, upon hitting, completely tore him apart, sending limbs and intestines flying about in a shower of blood and gore. Tiberius took cover beside a cluster of rocks, trying to make himself prevent as little a target as possible. The rest of his men did the same; shouts of "SNIPER!" could be heard on the radio channel as this same scene occured throughout the Centuria's area.

The orbiting UAVs quickly picked up on the thermal signatures of the enemy snipers, pinpointing not only their locations, but those of the insurgents with them. These positions were illuminated on the HUDs of the men; Trenturion Deodatus immediately issued orders to his squads to put suppressing fire along the ridge where the snipers were positioned.

The ensueing highly coordinated torrent of fire spewed forth by the Imperial troops was nothing short of astounding; each Trenturii was assigned, by the Centurion, a sector of fire which contained several groups of snipers and insurgents. The Trenturii, in turn, broke these sectors of fire down amongst their squads, which then put the fire down on the insurgents.

Their fire was timed so that no squad would be caught reloading; there would always be a round going downrange to keep the enemy suppressed. This would make it impossible for the enemy snipers to aim accurately. Simultaneously, the Trenturions would be coordinating with their crew-served weapons to further suppress the enemy forces. As this was happening, designated marksmen would aim carefully to pick off anyone foolish enough to pop their head up amidst the unending hail of steel. With the enemy now pinned in place, the kill blows could be delivered.

The Centuria's 82mm mortars, twelve total (all concealed behind cover), began dropping in rounds, clocked to burst a meter above the ground in order to maximize the killing effect of the round. Thermobaric rounds were used in this case; that, coupled with airbursting, ensured the concussion of the blast would completely tear apart those caught within the sizable blast radius. The mortar teams were working ferociously to get the rounds in as quickly as possible, working in coordination with live video feed from the UAVs in addition to the laser designators mounted on them to ensure that the roudns were dropping right on top of their targets.

In the event the enemy troops attempted to break contact and pull back, a pair of AG-6 Ballistae ground attack aircraft began making their approach. Working in coordination with the UAVs, they would proceed to engage in a strafing run with their twin 33mm rotary cannons along with their massive payload of cluster bombs. The UAVs simultaneously began scanning the immediate area for any other enemy troops; they quickly picked up the enemy troops trying to set up the mortar on their infrared, and one of the aircraft began initiating a strike against the position.

Banking and turning towards the target, the pilot of the aircraft lined up the position in his crosshairs, going into a shallow dive. Squeezing the trigger, his twin 33mm Excimer rotary cannons began to roar, spewing roughly fifty rounds of high-explosive incindiery ammunition from each cannon in the space of a few milliseconds. Passing over the position, he accerated and began to turn back towards it.

Meanwhile, with contact finally made in force with the enemy, an orbiting satellite scanned the area with ground penetrating RADAR. The data regarding the existance of an enemy tunnel network was transmitted to the troops on the ground; it appeared they'd stirred up the hornet's nest.

Another Centuria of air mobile Legionaries was also put on alert; they were now preparing to move in to cut off the enemy's escape in case they tried to flee overland.

The excruciating pain of having her leg crushed and her toes mutilated was making Alicia's mind scream. She was barely able to think even if she wanted to, and while she did have a breaking point, whether or not she would die of shock or internal bleeding before reaching it was a serious issue.

At this point, she had tuned out to her torturer's talking; she couldn't hear it over her own screaming.

---

First rule of combat: Suppressing fire... doesn't.

While some of the less experienced snipers and those who had not been military before the occupation did panic, cowering behind rocks and holding their fire, the more disciplined snipers knew that the enemy could not see them, or they would have been already killed, not that some unlucky ones did not catch bullets.

As a result, while the volume of sniper fire was reduced, the shots that still came were deadly more accurate against the Doomani.

The regular fighters, on the other hand, fanned out under orders if their squad commanders had not snuffed it during the initial barrage. One soldier was a waste of the Doomani heavy firepower.

Inside the lowest levels of the tunnels, the resistance was quite safe. The tunnels were modeled on those of the Viet Cong, (http://books.google.com/books?id=7t-XPOvtWUkC&pg=PA104&lpg=PA104&dq=%22b+52%22+vc+tunnel&source=web&ots=ysSV-Ez7qA&sig=1ZI9DQOEbsrnbmkhie5MrrHXglQ#PPA104,M1) and could in many cases not even be collapsed by a heavy bomber. Under mountains the bombing was even more difficult, which was why only the forward command post and entry of the main complex were not under the mountain. (It was easier to dig. They simply slanted the tunnels to go as deep as 50 meters underneath the mountain.)

---

Majani fell back, lightly wounded from a 6.7mm round that had struck her left breast from the side. Had it struck her head on she would probably have been killed, as her unit's best trauma surgeon had been killed while extracting a bug from a civilian.

Loading another magazine into her rifle, she noticed that one of the men with her had gone down. She ordered the other man to help her drag him into the secret passage; that statue might have held against a battering ram, but it wouldn't against a tank. As they dragged their injured comrade, knowing he would die but not wanting him to be tortured by the Doomies first, they sang the resistance battle anthem. (http://www.apfn.net/pogo/We-Want-This-Country-Back.MP3)

Inside the party chamber that the tunnel connected to, the sober partiers had fled, leaving only the most drugged partiers engaging in the most graphic acts of carnality.

[I]Sonofabitch! Edris thought to himself. Had he a battalion of Rangers on call he would have been able to hold this stronghold without too much of a struggle. But with 4 Operators with him and an army of rebels this would certainly be more interesting. Whatever happened though, the intelligence gathered from this engagement, if they survived, would be of much interest to Military Command.

Only five of us and an army of rebels.. he though to himself, could be worse. We were rebels a decade ago..

Infact Edris' experiences fighting in the Caucasus came as a great asset to him as he was in a battle such as this in the middle of the 3rd Russo-Chechen war; the war which marked the formation of the Republic. Those memories from his teenage years and his intense training begun to kick him into gear. He radioed his men and notified them of the possibility of having to retreat - in which case each man would disperse into the mountains and regroup in a predesignated position a day or so later.. from which point they would be airlifted out of there..or not. - he helped Antonov in the coordination of the counterattack. Those heavy birds were a problem and Edris knew how to deal with their deadly runs. By getting shoulder launched SAMs into the mountain sides opposite of the strafing runs of the aircraft, rebels could take aim and fire while the enemy plane veered off after its run.

The two other Operators took a number of rocket tubes and a launcher system and went off towards where the battle was being fought. They would support the rebels in whatever way they could. And in this case it was working as a lighting unit firing anti tank rounds at armor targets designated by Murat. Working together in this way they formed a highly efficient killing unit. The sniper would point out positions and like a spotter so that the firing team wouldn't risk its neck searching for one. The loader carried with him a large number of tubes and would load the javelin launcher system. The firing operator in his part, would sneak up only high enough to allow the electronic sights to get a lock on the target (this takes only 2 seconds) and immediately firing off an AT round and moving off. In this way, while the Doomani were busy with the rebels defending the base, the SF Operators could fire and vanish from vastly different vantage points giving the impression that many more men were in the area and had surrounded the enemy.

The other two snipers were on opposite sides of the large valley the Doomani were coming in through. Murat gave tactical information and intelligence on the enemy forces as well as providing targets for the rocket team. The other sniper, Anzor, advised the other rebel snipers while sniping himself. (not actally shooting himself repeatedly with his rifle but shooting the enemy..) His prefered rifle was an M95 mainly because he knew for a fact whatever he hit wouldn't be getting back up. ---Back in Groznyj he once killed 42 men with the gun. They were delegates and drug dealers in the Groznian Russian Mafia driving in a convoy through a forested ravine. With his M-95 Anzor disabled the first truck with a shot to the engine block. The ones in behind crashed into the crippled vehicle and from there it was a turkey shoot.--- He told some of the men he had come across to find a good position and not run from it unless they absolutely knew what they were doing, or else they'd be easy targets. The Operator just shook his head when he say several men riddled with holes as they ran from the Doomani supressive fire.

Idiots..


He took aim at the imagine sights of one tank.

deep breathe...

don't move asshole... come on.. just a little more

exhale...

CRACK!

The imagine sight of the Doomani tank shattered as the .50 cal round streaked into it.

Now to find a new camping site...

Kevin rubbed his hands for a second. They had turned a deeply purple and were slightly bruised. He looked back toward his interrogator. Kevin sighed and put his head back. "Once I tell you this, promise to me that you will release that girl and me. All my information is back at my apartment. It has everything you need. I will take you there, as along as the girl comes along too."

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)

"Very well, Kevin, we can do that. First I need you to show me where your apartment is so we can secure it ahead of time, then we'll head over there with the girl," replied the interrogator, producing a map.

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Gnaeus chuckled to himself as he bent the end of the table downwards with the now-broken legs, the feet now just an inch above the open flame of the stove. This was an old tactic favored by the Inquistion: the roasting of the feet over a slow fire.

Gnaeus now reclined in his own seat, right across from Alicia and began to whistle as the flesh beneath her foot began to bubble. So far he'd been carefull not to cause any internal bleeding; her vitals were also being monitored. If she began to go into shock, he'd be able to fix that with an IV line to ensure she kept feeling the pain...

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Leonidus stepped over the mutilated corpse of a fallen insurgent as he kicked down what was left of the ruined wall in his path, immediately bringing his rifle up to his shoulder. Scanning about amidst the gas-choked atmosphere, he saw nothing but ruins and the dead.

An arrow on his HUD pointed out the location of the tunnel entrance; it seemed it was in a basement of some sort to which he did not see any entrace to. Strange, he thought, though not entirely unexpected. There were still some infrared signatures lingering about on his floor, so he and his squad were moving carefully.

They were highlighted on his HUD through the walls, and their precise location was given on the minimap mounted on his wrist. Moving silently and swiftly, they approached. Three insurgents, two dragging a wounded one. Motioning with hand signals, he and his squad prepared to pounce.

They would give no warning, no oppurtunity to get away.

Approaching from multiple angles, Leonidus and his squad quickly swarmed them, opening up with their DR-87s. They'd been instructed to take Al-Majani alive...if possible, and so all of their rounds were aimed into the legs of their targets in order to immobilize them.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the tunnel, the Legionaries waiting there had finished setting up their ambush. Taking cover behind crates they'd set up around the tunnel entrance, they would be able to kill at their leisure anyone that attempted to flee capture.

Province of Aegyptus, Imperium Doomanum

All was relatively calm...prior to an Allanean godrod falling from the sky and slamming into the control tower of Cairo Air Force Base. It was totally obliterated in the ensueing conflagration caused by the impact of the rod; a second rod hit one of the runways a few seconds later, wiping out a column of parked bombers from the shockwave of the kinetic energy from the impact of the tungsten rod while putting an enourmous hole in the airfield itself.

This same scene was played out over and over as Allanean godrods slammed into Doomani bases throghout the Middle East, killing no less than five-thousand people in the process and destroying millions of denarii worth of military hardware and real estate.

This being the second time the Allaneans had used godrods in this theatre of operations, the response was a bit more together this time around.

Although Cairo AFB was one of the major bomber bases in the region, Alexandria still possessed a few squadrons of Sariels. They would have to do for now.

As they took off from their bases, Imperial orbital assets retaliated with kinetic energy weaponry against Allanean orbital assets in the area while a Doomani weapons satellite stationed in Haven began making its way towards Allanea's colony for a strafing run. In retaliation for the strike on Egypt and other provinces, a total of twenty-four tungsten rods would be released over Allanean Haven; however, in this case, because the Allaneans had stuck to purely military targets, the Doomani would follow suit, targetting air bases, factories, and shipyards.

As this was occuring, the bomber squadrons began making their way towards South Africa; their payload of Redemption anti-shipping missiles along with heavier, land-based Quinqereme missiles would primarily be targetting Allanean aircraft carriers in order to reduce their ability to retaliate in the region, although troop transports were a secondary target.

From the crate masking the secret passage, a grenade sailed over Laila's head as she and her friend dragged the wounded insurgent. Morrison and two others had come out of the tunnel, along with a drugged-up reveler wearing a T-shirt with the colors of the Pwnage flag, a symbol of freedom despite its alliance with Doomingsland. The reveler had followed the insurgents who had tried to evacuate the party in the confusion.

Protecting civilians was not part of Laila's job description. "We're all falling back, did you get the civvies out?"

"Most of them." Morrison threw another grenade, then raised his M-4 carbine, aiming at the head as he felt the 5.56x45mm round was unlikely to penetrate anywhere else.

---

Knowing she was doomed either way, Alicia had pretty much given up any hope she would live. She lowered her head, her curly dark hair falling over her reddened, tear-streaked face.

The Doomani monitoring her vitals would notice that her pulse had risen dangerously high, and if nothing was done soon, she would go into pain shock or even suffer heart failure.

Kevin's finger hovered over the spot. He looked away. A single tear rolled down from his eye. Quickly he wiped it away, with some sweat, and faced his interrogator. "So are you going to take me or not?"

He was finally going to get out of this place, but he had sold people out to get there. It was sick to even think of that. To save his own life, he had pretty much killed another person. What had he done? This was no way to live. Getting up Kevin started to walk toward the door.

OOC:K'stan, check TGs, sent you one this morning...

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)

"Shit, we're losing her," a voice crackled in Gnaeus' ear.

Rolling his eyes, he switched off the flame. Boiling flesh dripped from Alicia's feet; the stench was positively putrid. This was a stench all Doomani were used to: the stench of charred human flesh.

Nodding to one of the guards, an IV tree sitting in the corner of the room was wheeled up to the table. The line was removed; the guard produced a needle, plugging it into a vein on Alicia's arm. Quickly and effeciently, the line was hooked up; soon the soothing liquid flowed into her veins, bringing her back to the world of the living.

Gnaeus shook his head, sighing.

"We're not going to let you die anytime soon, Alicia," he said with a smile.

"This is only the first day, dear. I will break you soon enough," he said in a low growl as he began treating her feet for burns.

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

"Very well, let's get moving," the interrogator replied, opening the door for Kevin and motioning for him to exit.

An armored guard stood outside, taking Kevin by the arm and leading him down the corridor, the EID agent in trail grabbing his tactical load-bearing vest from a waiting guard. Kevin could hear the two speak in hushed, rapid Latin, but could not quite make out all the words as he was lead out yet another door and up a flight of stairs into a garage packed with parked CMPLs.

A waiting soldier opened the rear door of one of them, and Kevin was motioned to enter the vehicle. His own guard took a seat next to him. They waited in silence for a few moments before the agent returned. He now wore a load bearing vest over his BDUs, the sleaves rolled up, his TDX hanging from a leg holster.

Kevin caught a glimpse of one of the girls that had been captured with Alicia being forced into another CMPL before the door of the one he was sitting in was slammed shut and the engine started. The agent looked over towards Kevin and smiled,

"Ten minute ride to your apartment, you'll be on your way home soon enough."

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Leonidus dove for cover as the grenade soared from the hole towards him, quickly recovering as it exploded behind him. Showered with shrapnel and slightly stunned, he raised his rifle and got a burst off at the enemy soldier that had thrown the grenade.

His comrades returned fire as well, lighting up the insurgents as they attempted to fall back to the entrance. At this range they were not going to miss; that grenade blast had seriously wounded another one of the Legionaries, but there were still six of them shooting at six insurgents (one of them wounded, two of them being occupied with dragging the wounded individual) that most likely did not possess nearly the level of training they did.

They were not fucking around anymore; every round they fired off was going to be a head shot, although they had, by now, identified Laila, so they were carefull only to wound her. Their excessive training in room clearing tactics ensured that they were not going to miss.

For the short glimpse of the girl, Kevin instantly knew that the Doomanis were trying to trick him. The Doomanis smile was eerie and almost disgusting. Kevin knew that he should be happy that he still had a life, but this was not part of the deal. Kevin looked toward the agent. "That wasn't her. I don't want lame tricks. You are trying to break our deal. I specially wanted one and you tried to trick me. I want to see the woman's face to make it was her."

"No, you never specified which one. You simply said one of the girls, and now I'm releasing one of them with you," he continued to smile as the CMPL started out of the garage, the driver practically flooring it as it crossed the drawbridge of the Sanguinarium, heading towards the apartment complex.

"Fine, what the hell do you want for their leader. Also I want the other girl, the one I just saw, to be dropped off with me." Kevin made a big error. He pounded his head. 'What a stupid mistake.' he thought to himself. Those Doomanis had dumped him, but he was still bent on releasing that poor girl out of that hell.

He's not going to make it. Laila simply dropped the wounded man and shot him in the head. Better that than leave him for the Doomies.

"Retreat!" The resistance members poured back into the tunnel. Laila had a hip injury and was staggering, but still able to fight. They would attempt to lead the Doomani back into the tunnel. They'd gotten as many people out as they could.

---

Several of the tunnel entrances had been caved by the bombings, and of course the mortars that were protecting them were crushed too, for the most part. The ones that weren't had lost their crews and were equally useless.

The battle would now be in the hands of the infantry, now trapped outside of the caves.

"Retrieve the rifles from the snipers!" ordered the commander of the 200 or so troops outside the tunnels, Lt. Mohammed al-Razadi. He poured tandem-charge rocket fire onto the Doomies' armor and waved his arm in the general direction of some of the destroyed sniper nests.

---

Alicia was delirious from her ordeal. She barely heard the Doomani; the only thing she knew was that the torture was over, but for how long she didn't know.

Edris instructed a young Kahanstani of about 17 to cover him while he fetched ammo from dead runner. In an intense firing situation such as this it was far too easy to run out of ammo. Bullets whizzed around the Captain as he sprinted down and yanked the ammo containers off the corpse. He returned to a visibly shaken rebel. Edris looked down and pulled out a clip for the kid's rifle. As he pulled it out he heard a round whiz by him making a popping sound and a subsequent impact. When he looked up the kid's face was bashed in and through by the bullet leaving a crater in the front and back of the -now dead- kid's head.

"SON OF A BITCH!" he cursed and threw the clip at the corpse.

He hadn't heard from Antonov and could only assume he had been killed. The thought of the girl passed his mind in a millisecond. She had probably been killed in some gruesome way too. Such was war. Little had changed in the days since he was a freedom fighter for rebels holding off a professional army. From what he saw from the UAV before it had been shot he knew there was no chance in hell they could win this fight. Maybe if he could call in an air strike or artillery... but of course that was impossible.

He crouched there for a few seconds as all hell went on around him. In bare minutes the stronghold would be overrun by Doomani... if any of his men were caught it would be a political disaster for Groznyj. Of course they wouldn't break under interrogation - all SF Operators were veterans of the 3rd war and many of the 2nd and 1st. All had intimate knowledge of torture tactics ontop of their training. But every neighboring nation was either sided with the Doomani or against the Kahanistanis. Even the neutral ones had no interest in the rebel movement. The only logical conclusion would be Doomingsland's new northern ally. The Republic of Groznyj. As much as it was his mission to help these people regain their own rigthful homeland from the iron fist of tyranny.. that mission he had failed. His new mission objective was to dissapear without being caught. The pain to the man's pride was like being skewered by a red hot claymore. But there was no choice. He knew what he had to do and the rebels would think no less of him. By the time they left they'd all be dead or running for their lives anyhow.

"Edris to all men. Fall Back. I repeat. Fall Back to point Bravo."

He got up to leave, lifting his 230 lb 6'4" frame and then spoke into his comm once more,

"Murat, your my best sniper. Try to give the rebels and the team some cover fire as you pull back. Don't do anything crazy."

He cocked his head to the side slightly as a though passed through his mind. Then he promptly left.

The order was almost a joke to Murat and Edris. By telling him not to do anything crazy Edris was both contradicting himself and encouraging his friend., although he didn't mean it. The two of them fought together in the 3rd War. They were a sniper team, Edris was the spotter and more often than not had to engage in CQC or creat a diversion while Murat picked off targets with punitive vengence. In one such skirmish Their commander had told them not to do anything crazy or try to be heroes (this was when the Russian forces were winning the war). They had become cutoff from their company in the streets of Urus Martin. While they both ran for cover Edris managed to get surrounded by a platoon of 20 or so Russian soldiers. One among them a Spetznaz. There Edris kneeled, he had been thrown to the ground by his captors and held in place as the Russian Special Forces Operative pressed his side arm into the back of Edris' skull. (it was very rare for even hardened Spetznaz to execute a rebel looking him in the eye. They were superstitious and the rebels, the Chechen ones, had made a name for themselves as ghosts.) At that moment his brother in arms, Murat sent a 7.62mm round through the head of the SF soldier and and proceeded to walk out from his cover shooting the surprised soldiers - probably more surprised that this man would walk towards them shooting, this definitely added to the scare factor. - meanwhile Edris unsheathed his Kava (http://www.collectiblefirearms.com/Pictures/dag_0058-01.JPG) and dispatched the soldier nearest to him taking his rifle and mowing down 5 that were in front of him. They killed over half the platoon, more by luck than by skill (they were both teenagers at the time) and barely survived to escape the city because of their wounds.

After that event Edris developed into a more cautious man while it made Murat all the more fearless. He would do all he could to be a pain in the ass of the enemy and help the hapless rebels (most of whom Murat didn't even think belonged here) while he himself fell back. The sun was still behind him, the overhand of the rocks was a nice aesthetic touch, and the Doomani column which was before to his front, right, and left was now to his right mostly. He smiled thinking of his perfect sniping position. He drew a bead on his target. His rifle was a SVD-Dragunov fitted with a suppressor. More so than his .50 cal wielding team-mate he valued silent deadly accuracy.

He found someone that appeared to be important compared to the others. Whether or not he was, was impossible to make sure. He set his cross hairs just over bridge connecting neck from skull and ever so slightly to the side to counter the effects of the wind which he could judge with a degree of accuracy from the swaying of bushes. These men are as brazen as the Ruskies he thought to himself.

Then he let one fly...


[ooc: I intended for this to be a short post but somehow I got carried away. At least its better than the last one IMO lol.]

Najaster, Iudaea (Occupied Kahanistan)

Without a word being said, Leonidus and his men took up defensive positions outside of the tunnel entrance. They weren't foolish enough to pursue the rebels into a chokepoint that narrow; it would have been suicide. More Imperial troops began climbing down into the hidden party room, taking up more positions. They were expecting the rebels to come running back out their end any minute once the boys on the other side opened up with their machineguns.

On the other side of the tunnel at the warehouse, the Legionaries had finished setting up a pair of DMG-85 medium machineguns outside the exit of the tunnel. Crates had been stacked and furniture overturned, the soldiers forming a barricade perimeter outside of the tunnel itself preparing to light up the partiers that had thought they'd made it to safety as they exited.

It did not take long before one of the machineguns began to roar, pouring dozens of 7.8mm rounds into the tunnel with the appearance of a human figure at the entrance. There would be no escape for any of the Kahanistanis, insurgent or partier.

Back on the other side, Leonidus tore a thermobaric grenade from his vest, carefully pulling the pin out and charging it, preparing to put it into the tunnel. That one grenade would likely be capable of sucking all of the oxygen out of that tunnel...

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The convoy of CMPLs came to a hault outside of the apartment building. A soldier opened the rear door of the vehicle Kevin and his interrogator had been sitting in.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't think of anything else I could possibly want from you," he shrugged, turning his back to the prisoner.

The CMPL containing the girl that Kevin had seen earlier pulled up beside them, the rear door sliding open. First exiting were a pair of soldiers, helping the bound insurgent out of the vehicle before forcing her to her knees in front of Kevin.

"Let's go to your apartment," the agent said with a twisted grin, motioning for Kevin to lead the way.

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District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)

There was laughter as the torturers began filing out of Alicia's interrogation room, shutting the lights off as they went. She was simply left there, strapped down to a table in the darkness. Completely alone. In the adjacent monitoring room, Hermann had also been left alone, still tied to the chair, looking into the torture chamber, sitting in total darkness.

A few moments of silence were followed by the crackling of an intercom system. There was static for several seconds before it was interrupted by an ear curdling scream coming from the intercom, followed by a monotonous, Doomani-accented voice asking the question, "What is your role in this operation?"

A few more moments of silence were followed by the sickening noise of what sounded like the crushing of bone, bringing on yet another horrific scream.

This would continue on throughout the entire night as both Hermann and Alicia were forced to listen to their friends being tortured in neighboring rooms while they themselves were left in total darkness. Of course, there was also a good chance the individual being tortured would break well before the end of the night, with the involved interrogators starting to get quite creative with their methods of torture...

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The Kahanistani Mountains (Northeast of Negev Desert)

Things on the ground were starting to improve, albeit only slightly, with the neutralization of the enemy snipers (for the most part, at least). The Doomani still had two-hundred enemy soldiers to deal with, and were themselves outnumbered over two-to-one. Of course, the Doomani had one major asset the insurgents did not: air power. It was this, on top of their own superb training and discipline, that ultimately evened the numbers, even tipping the battle into their favor.

The Doomani were perfectly comfortable in the position they were in now. With the snipers gone, they were relatively safe from small arms fire. The AK-47s of the insurgents wouldn't be able to hit the Doomani nearly as accurately at the ranges they were firing as the DR-83s carried by the Legionaries, who were fully capable of taking head shots at that distance.

The UAVs had indicated that some of the enemy troops on the ground were starting to break off from the main group and retreat- probably lacked the stomach to carry on the fight. Little did the Doomani know, they were actualy Groznian special operations troops. Of course, to the Doomani, this indicated that the enemy's morale was waning; it was time to send in the cavalry and finish the job.

The pair of ACI-91 Gladiators that had been on standby were now called into action, along with their deadly cargo of air mobile Legionaries. Centurion Otho's plan was begining to unfold beautifully. Coming in low and fast, the aircraft would approach from where the rebels least expected enemy air power to appear: right behind them.

Their course took them around the rebel stronghold, moving up behind it. From behind, the aircraft would split off, heading towards each flank. Aware of the presence of enemy MANPADs, their approach would be swift and violent. Coming in at high speed, each aircraft unleashed a total of forty 82mm rockets on the flank they were to assault while their nose mounted 37mm cannon began laying down heavy fire to make sure there wouldn't be any survivors in an effort to completely obliterate the troops entrenched in those positions.

As the aircraft dropped altitude, touching down on the LZ, the turreted 37mm cannons rotated freely, selectively targetting enemy positions while the door gunner and his 15.7mm minigun put down covering fire for the twenty-four soldiers as they disembarked in a matter of seconds.

It did not take long for the cargo to be dispensed and the aircraft once more off the ground, splitting off and moving away at high speed over friendly troops, the rear door gunners continuing to hose down enemy forces with fire from their 15.7mm gattling guns. Meanwhile, the two AG-6s still on station proceeded with a consorted effort to strafe the enemy's center line with their 33mm cannons, also releasing cluster bombs to totally cover the positions in hundreds of tiny bomblets to kill or incapacitate as many insurgents in those positions as possible.

This was simultaneously supported by heavy covering fire from the Centuria's 82mm mortar batteries, who began dropping down rounds on any insurgent positions that had been untouched, coordinating with the UAVs so that their fire would be precise and deadly. If needed, fire missions could be called in from 152mm howitzers and 300mm rocket launchers.

For now, however, the infantry were prepared to commit to an all-out assault to crush the insurgents once and for all. The order was given for units along the flanks to close with the enemy; under the cover of machinegun fire, squads began advancing. They did not, however, break into an all-out charge; they instead proceeded to leapfrog: one squad would stick behind cover, firing on enemy troops as they rose to fire at the squad being covered as they advanced. Upon reaching their designated point, the second squad would take over the role as covering squad, neutralizing any insurgents that tried to fire on the second squad as they moved from cover to their own point, leapfrogging over the first.

This would continue as they reached their designated rally points, linking up with the air mobile squads on the enemy flanks.

The air mobile squads themselves had made the most of their short time on the ground, consolidating and taking up offensive positions to give them vantage points on the enemy troops along the center, or proceeding to finish off whatever enemy troops were still alive in their LZ.

In this way, the enemy's center was now being fired on from three sides, with the Doomani center force remaining in place to keep the enemy's own center pinned while they were flanked by the other Legionaries. At this point, all mortar batteries would be concentrating on the enemy's center in order to completely decimate it, supplementing the immense amount of accurate fire being put into the enemy by the infantry.

The sun blinded Kevin. All he saw was black for a few seconds. His eyes had to adjust to the light. A hand covered his eyes, as they slowly got use to the light. He had finally escaped from that hell. Kevin stopped and looked at the woman. It was a start. He stopped moving and got on his knees. "I want to talk to this woman first. What is your name? I'm not going to hurt you."

Slightly irritated, the agent rolled his eyes, nodding to the soldiers standing beside Kevin. The soldiers proceeded to draw their battons, viciously beating Kevin on his back and legs before dragging him before the agent, who shook his head and sighed, as if disciplining a child.

"Next time you do something without asking me, I put a bullet in the back of your head."

He smiled viciously.

The Legionaries proceeded to drag Kevin through the entrance of the building. It was already secured; Doomani soldiers stood in every doorway, their faces expressionless as the EID agent stepped through the entrance behind Kevin.

"Which way?"

District 17 block

Secrecy is only as secure as the strength of the weakest person in on the secret. Therefore, a guerrilla infiltration squad is only as strong as its weakest member.

Kathryn Robeson, the unfortunate insurgent to crack here, was the weakest of the infiltration squad. She had lost several fingers and the use of her left eye, probably to some kind of caustic chemical, she had been shocked, and things had been done to her that she had not believed even the Doomani capable of.

"I... I was going to break into the armory," she said, crying. "To start a prison riot."

---

City, Majani's base

"Grenade!" Laila called in Arabic as the Doomani weapon landed among the rebels, burning one unfortunate alive as it sucked the oxygen out. Laila mercifully shot the man in the head to end his suffering and, to her shock, the man behind her fell to the ground with a sucking chest wound. She and another insurgent turned around to see a Doomani machine gun. They'd found the party room!

If they looked around and saw her piece de resistance... well, she remembered what had happened when she'd rained her hostility onto Caesar's camp. Hell, the city would be lucky not to be completely massacred.

Dropping to her knees as the flames rose, keeping her weight off her injured leg, and taking a deep breath, she aimed her FN FAL where the machine gun fire was coming from. She couldn't see the gunner too well, but if his (or her; she didn't know if there were women in the Doomani military) bullets could strike her team, hers could hit the machine gunner. She raised the scope and uttered a brief prayer to Allah, then pulled the trigger.

---

Mountains

The insurgents in the mountains had read heavily on asymmetrical warfare. It was all they did when not training or trying to stay alive, given that there was little else in the way of entertainment in this hole.

The protocol for an engagement with the Doomani when artillery or chemical was a threat was to simply rush the Doomani advance. This would deny the Doomani the use of their air support, chemical weapons, and artillery (unless the Doomani wished to kill their own troops - which would surprise few insurgent commanders), but the rebels were still severely outnumbered, especially after the latest aerial barrage. At least this method would sell their lives dearly, enabling them to kill many Doomani before they themselves were to die.

Kevin was appalled by what the Doomanis did to this poor woman. They had no hearts or compassion. They seemed to only want to kill. After being beaten, it reinforced his ideas. Before being forced up, Kevin coughed up blood. Blood smeared his swollen face as he entered the building. He looked back toward the women, and then down to the ground. Leading the soldiers up a couple of floors, he finally stopped at his door. Rummaging through his pocket he quickly found his keys. Kevin opened the door and moved off to the side. Slowly he stated. "Here the information is behind the bookcase. Now can I talk to this woman?"

Aboard the USS Allanea

“Sir, this is your damage report!”

The Grand-Admiral blinked as he saw the listing come up on his computer screen.

USS Furious – reactor safety devices breached, crew forced to scuttle ship.

USS Ferocious – multiple missile hits, detonation in main ammunition magazine, ship sunk.

USS Rapid – triple below-waterline torpedo hits, ship sunk.

USS Anger of the Gods – loss of rudder control, collision with USS Precarious in close quarters. Ships sunk. At home, 3,500 personnel were killed in Doomani bombings, many injured.

“How does this happen?” – he looked at his aid – “How do two carriers get so close to each other…”

“No idea, Sir. We tried to get hold of the captains of both ships, but neither have been found yet… it appears…”

“Don’t bother with it. Likely they’re dead anyway.”

USS Alvin Toffler – fire in containment XD, SD, and RD, crew forced to abandon ship. Ship still burning itself out in quadrant A-5.

USS Cassandra sunk immediately by multiple missile hits.

“Just great. Seven carriers in a day. What else?”

“They sunk twenty LSV’s. We have saved some of the crew, but the rescue teams are still at it…”

“Jesus Christ.” - the Grand-Admiral suddenly looked at the screen in shock. “We lost five Water Buffaloes? Just fucking great. This means… how many personnel lost at sea?”

“We estimate approximately thirteen thousand, Sir, just on the Buffaloes.”

“This is turning out to be quite a war, isn’t it? Very well. Give the Buffaloes the okay to go and begin landing. Give them air cover with, say, five hundred aircraft, so that the Doomani don’t bomb them from the air as they land.”

“And one more thing. We have a combat satellite entering this area in four hours. I want you to aim it at the airbase these bombers came from – they’re being tracked on various sats as we speak – and hit it with eight god rods. After that, expend the remaining god rods on the enemy bases in the Sudan – that’s eight more, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Further, I want our aircraft complement to begin launching ASAT missiles – start with, say, about thirty missiles at the Doomani satellites above us. We have a large stockpile of them so this should be a nice first step.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Go for it, then.”

Allanean Central Command

“I would like you to divert all Air Defense Vessels in the First Haven Domination fleet, and all transport that are in it, towards South Africa. Yes, I know that there’s about a hundred ships and about fifty of them are ADV’s. That’s the problem with your stupid naval organization. Ships are never where you need them. Oh, and tell the boys in the Air Force to begin Phase Two.”

“Yes, Sir”.


Capetown Beach, H-Hour

It was the irony of history that on that day, the various hippies of Capetown have chosen this beach to be the location of their annual Rainbow Meet – or perhaps, Allanean Central Command chose the day deliberately.

Edmund Meerson, leader of Pacifists Of South Africa For A Better Tomorrow (POSAFABT), his wife and their baby were thus the first people to see the Water Buffaloes coming out of the sea.

They were the most amazing display of military might that Meerson had ever seen in his life. The two Buffaloes that parked next to their section of the beach were immense – the size of an entire ship. The howl of their turbines was deafening. Meerson watched in horror as a fellow member of the Rainbow Meet was sucked into one of the front vents, screaming inaudibly as his body was completely chopped up therein.

Then the turbines slowed down and stopped – and then the immense doors on the sides of the Buffaloes opened.

Meerson had no way of knowing it, but a Water Buffalo nuclear-powered hovercraft is capable of carrying an impressive 8000-ton weight – or ten thousand leg infantry.

The two hovercraft he saw had just heaved fifteen thousand troops between them into South Africa. The other hovercraft, spread out along the shore, have brought a total of two hundred thousand combat troops and one hundred thousand support personnel ashore. Additionally, twenty thousand personnel of various private organizations – notably the Miriel Brigade, the Sisters of Liberty, and the Daikatana Militia Wolverines – were also being deployed. Ninety-five enormous hovercraft, loaded to less then fifty percent of their capacity, had ended up being used for the landing.

It was that even that Meerson witnessed. Overhead, Allanean naval aircraft bombed the encampments of the South African armed forces, while red streaks of fire burst through the sky – as if through a veil, Meerson understood that these were the launch trails of some form of weapons. From the continent, he heard the roar of dozens of explosions as the Allanean Navy brought down it’s entire weight on the South Africans.

As Meerson watched thousands of troops clad in armor from head to toe stream up from the beach, ten-inch bayonets glinting dully on their rifles, the aircraft tearing through the sky above, and the explosion mushrooms rising from his homeland, something in his mind snapped.

He had always believed that the world was a vaguely safe place. No foreign army would invade his home. It was safe to promote complete and utter pacifism, shutting down the army and declaring the end of all wars – because, after all, the world had grown out of such violence, and only deranged generals and the military-industrial complex – somehow these were tied in his mind – still insisted on preparing for such outmoded violence.

And then he saw this.

To see these troops, to hear their battle cries ringing in the air, accompanied by music coming out of the loudspeakers on their bizarre, monstrous craft, to smell the smell of gunpowder and to feel the heat from rapidly-cooling engines on his face – all this had done something to Edmund Meerson.

He collapsed on his knees, supporting himself on his hands where they dug into the sand, and then raised his face towards the burning African sun. And howled.

Edmund Meerson, former pacifist and Rainbow Meet organizer, has taken only a few minutes to become completely, undeniably, and hopelessly mad.

Elsewhere, several hours later

General Benson, commander of the famous Furry Airborne Infantry Division, nodded to his aide as they walked into the abandoned government office that would later become the headquarters of the African Army Group. And there he gave his first order:

“Tell the boys to seize every runway, everything that even looks like a runway. Start setting up temporary runways. We’re going to be expecting guests soon.”

Whyatican First Army Headquarters, Luanda, Whyatican Africa
"General." a random aide said to General Tyrone Brown, as he watched videos of the Allaneans landing in South Africa.

The general didn't respond - he was too busy planning, thinking of his plan to strike at the Allaneans. Thousands of Whyatican contractors worked in security, construction, every sort of industry up in Doomingslandi Africa - their lives were endangered by the Allanean aggression. Bombing campaigns in that fragile area could easily kill millions, and Brown was not ready to allow it to happen. He had mobilized his army for motion - he did not tell them where, why, or when. All nine hundred aircraft, twenty-one hundred tanks, and hundreds of thousands of men, ready to move on the drop of a hat. The hat had yet to be dropped, though - the plans were still being made.

"What?" Brown dropped his concentration briefly, before looking at the video screen again.

"The Allaneans are likely preparing to bomb Doomani holdings in North Africa. As you know.."

"Yes, yes, I know. I'll know when the first Allanean plane launches, and only then will we strike. Have the army mobilized on the southern and eastern borders, and get the wets ready for a fight, too."

He referred to the navy, which most Army folk didn't respect too much. Assigned to Central Africa was the 33rd Carrier Battlegroup, which was not enough to hold back an all-out offensive, especially not of the sort used by Allanea. However, the powerful Red Sea Force was available if necessary, as well as the Doomani navy - so all the 33rd had to do was hold out for long enough for the Red Sea Force to arrive. But for now, the current state of military readiness would suffice - the buffer 'state' of Namibia was in between Whyatican Africa and Allanean South Africa, and the weak states around the two imperial powers would likely become large-scale battlegrounds in the near future..

OOC: Abstaining from attack on actual Doomani assets, both because Doom hasn’t posted yet, and because right now it’s not in my plans.

IC:

In South Africa

The Allanean forces were everywhere. Air defense vehicles, tanks, IFV’s, troop tents, the signs of the Allanean invasion were plainly evident. But there would be other signs of it asides from just tanks and infantry.

First and foremost, Allaneans have cancelled all taxes in South Africa. The South African government was no more, it’s functions taken over by Allanean military police and infantry. Only the courts still functioned – but criminals where brought to them by Allaneans. Businesses were deregulated and privatized, swaths of public land were sold to South Africans at extremely low prices, and humanitarian aid was distributed to the poor.

Second, the Allaneans were hiring – not only for constructions jobs of a variety of kinds, but also for the Allanean military. Any who enlisted was promised pay (at a rate an Allanean would have scoffed at, but that would be very nice indeed in South Africa and Lesotho), a uniform, and an Allanean citizenship.

Third, the Sisters of Liberty were at large – hunting down suspected Manus Dei (a reward was put out for every Manus Dei terrorist turned in) and any government official suspected with having cooperated with the sale of slaves to Doomingsland. In those rare cases where the pro-Doomani surrendered, there would be a rapid trial, followed by a penalty – customarily chosen by those whose relatives had been sold into Doomani slavery. The question would normally be only how long the victim would suffer before death. The property of the guilty would be distributed to those who had suffered from the slave trade.

This, however, affected few people on the personal level – so far, for those who did not choose to aid the Doomani, life would be actually getting better.

In the air

The hundreds of Allanean aircraft housed aboard the different carriers took off, landing upon makeshift airfields throughout South Africa. The crews carriers themselves then began unloading – divesting themselves of aircraft weapons and fuel, ground crew, and other contingents relevant to the two thousand combat aircraft inherent to the Air Armadas. The airfields were positioned within two dozen miles off-shore – within reach of the Allanean ADV vessels. After their unloading was done, the carriers would leave for Allanea.

But this was not the only thing that would happen off-shore. Engines howling, blotting out the sky, an immense amount of cargo aircraft arrived from Allanea, escorted by a variety of fighters. The air bridge was composed of 200 Archimedes Lever aircraft (carrying between them two mechanized infantry divisions) and 20 immense Ouroboros-D aircraft. These landed near the shore of South Africa, spewing forth eight mechanized infantry divisions and five armored divisions aboard fifteen aircraft. The other five carried immense amounts of logistic supplies.

Then, they turned around and fled towards Allanea. The BE-23’s would take a long time to be refueled, but even as they were being prepared for the next flight, a similar group of planes took off, to arrive the day later. The Ouroboros would be quicker, not needing refueling for their atomic reactors after just one flight.

In the meanwhile, a stranger flight of aircraft made it’s way into the area, and landed there as well – 500 Skyraider prop aircraft, belonging to the department of education.

On the sea

The different cargo ships which survived the Doomani onslaught began their landing on the shores of Mozambique the day after the first Ouroboros had landed in Allanea. They carried in five armored divisions, two SHBTs, and an immense amount of supplies – and considering their sheer mass, it was no miracle that Mozambique’s military, even though it was, of course, loyal to the pro-Doomani government of the Republic, was roundly and easily defeated.

In the meanwhile, in South Africa, cargo ships unloaded fuel and supplies, Air Defense Vessels arriving from Haven prepared to deploy along the South African shore, and the Allanean battleships and other vessels moved along the western coast to support yet another invasion – that of Namibia.

On the ground

The first attack came at dawn of the second day.

Ten helicopters of the 1st Ayn Rand Armored division had swooped low over the border, so low as to be undetectable by whatever semblance of RADAR arrays the Namibians possessed. They struck at one of the bigger Namibian ground bases, turning Namibia’s ten BRDM vehicles into ten burned-out hulks.

Simultaneously with that, three armored battalions of the Division had crossed the border, engaging Namibia’s array of armored personnel carriers in their bases. The light vehicles and their crews, not possessing even the lightest anti-tank cannon that could pierce a Nakil frontal armor, fought short, and yet desperate battles against vehicles that not only outnumbered and outgunned them, but were also able to strike at them from over the horizon with cannon-launched, GPS-guided anti-tank missiles.

From the sea, the Allanean Navy played a part in the short Namibian campaign – cannon and guided missiles destroyed the areas where Namibia’s tiny supply of artillery shells war kept, and plowed down key government buildings with the casual ease of a baby destroying a sand castle.

And still, there was more. The First Storm Battalion of the Furry Airborne Infantry division was the first to enter Namibia, followed by other groupings of the same division. While those were ‘mere’ leg infantry, unburdened by tanks or APC’s, the damage these troops could inflict – and did inflict – upon the Namibians – was truly amazing.

Sometimes, a Namibian soldier on guard would stumble and fall over, killed by a designated marksman firing a silenced ABR-8 rifle from two furlongs away. Another would stop on patrol, only to discovered a tall armored figure standing an inch behind him – and a nine-inch knife descending to meet his throat. Yet another would awake in his barracks because the Crack-Huffing Badgers – that was the name of the Storm Battalion – would tear into the place, throwing immense hand-grenades in front of them or firing flamethrowers into the beds of sleeping Namibian soldiers and laughing at them as they burned alive.

* * *

“PWNed, nooblet!” – screamed Sergeant McMurphy of the Crack-Huffing Badgers as he saw another Namibian roll off his bed, his clothing and body aflame. – “PWNed!” – he caught the man on the top bunk in his sights and squeezed the trigger, laughing as yet another Namibian became a living torch.

Around him, gunshots and explosions rang as Allaneans shot and bayoneted the last of the Namibian armed forces.

He was still laughing, his mind brimming with the joy of easy victory, when he felt a hand resting on his shoulder.

It was General Frederick Ronson, commander of the Furry Airborne Division.

“Can you drive, Sergeant McMurphy?”

And so it happened that, even as Allanean forces were securing their victory and digging in at new positions a hundred furlongs away from the Whyatican ones – the distance was chosen as not to give Whyaticans the impression that they were the target of an invasion – General Ronson’s technical was approaching the Whyatican positions, with a white flag attached to the cab.

“I am General Frederick Ronson, commander of Allanean forces in the Namibian Area of Responsibility. I wish to see your superior.”

The Kahanistani Mountains (Northeast of Negev Desert)

Tiberius squeezed the trigger of his DR-83 as one of the insurgents dove from his cover and attempted to charge the advance, striking the infidel in the head, sending him careening forwards, what was left of his brain leaking out of the gaping hole in the back of his head. Two of the seven men in Tiberius' squad had been killed; everyone else had either been shot or sustained shrapnel wounds at the very least.

”Neca eos omnes; deus suos agnoscet!" he barked over the gunfire as the entire hillside was encompassed small arms fire.

The squad he and his men were covering immediately hit the dirt as three 40mm high velocity grenades whistled over their heads in rapid succession, exploding in a nice little ripple along the ridge in front of them as the insurgents began pouring down en masse. The squad up front immediately opened fire, hosing down the insurgents directly in front of them from the prone position. A grenade landed amongst them; one Legionary disappeared in a torrent of dirt and limbs.

Tiberius and his men, meanwhile, sat back comfortably behind their cover, picking off the insurgents as they advanced. It was nothing short of a turkey shoot for the Legionaries.

They continued to fight with an unwavering ferocity, the fires of Holy War burning within them. The insurgents had signed their own death warrants the moment they began their advance; instantly the twelve crew-served 7.8mm machineguns covering the Doomani advance opened fire on the insurgents as they swarmed towards the Legionaries, completely raking them as they tried to close.

The Doomani center line fared best of all; they had not even begun their advance when the insurgents had begun their assault, and instead had been remaining in place to keep the insurgents pinned. The result was the center units having a field day as they leisurely lit up the insurgents with well-aimed rifle and machinegun fire from behind their own cover.

Centurion Otho’s plan was working almost perfectly; the enemy had acted precisely as he’d wanted them. He knew that pinning them in place and dropping artillery on them would force them to move from cover, and now it was happening. Rather than stopping the mortars altogether, he expertly directed the crews to walk the rounds in with the insurgents as they moved up, keeping the rounds dropping until the enemy was 100 yards in front of his own men. At that distance he kept the mortars dropping on that same spot both to keep from killing his own men, and to cut off the retreat of the rebels. By the time the insurgents had even gotten that close, there was a good chance most of them would have been shot down as it was.

Najaster, Iudaea

The agent turned his back to Kevin as he began barking out orders to the soldiers, who began rummaging through the bookshelf and fanning out throughout the apartment, tearing it apart in their search for valuable intelligence. They were efficient in their work, swiftly bagging everything of interest and storing them in crates, which were promptly removed from the room by yet more soldiers.

After several minutes, the agent finally turned back to Kevin,

”Are you still here? Get him out of here!” he barked.

He barely finished spitting out the words before a pair of Legionaries seized Kevin, one of them jamming a syringe into his neck and putting him to sleep.

Rolling his eyes, the agent spoke to the men,

”A transport will be here in five minutes, I want him on it.”

Saluting in their stiff-armed Roman fashion, they swiftly dragged their unconscious prisoner away.

Kevin would most likely wake up several hours later to find himself locked in a cell aboard a transport aircraft. Its destination: the covert Inquisitional holding facility on Cyprus. As for the girl Kevin had attempted to save, she was simply taken back to the Sanguinarium without a work being said and brought once more back into an interrogation room. Her hell was only beginning.


Leonidus spotted Laila popping her head around the corner and raising her rifle. He didn’t even hesitate; she was wanted ‘alive if possible,’ and he wasn’t about to put the lives of one of his men in danger over that of this filthy unbeliever. In a split second’s time, the red dot of his holosight was hovering over Laila’s forehead, and he was squeezing the trigger. The rifle snapped back as it spat out a pair of 6.7mm rounds; yet even as he fired he knew he’d been a moment too late.

The man on the machinegun staggered backwards from his weapon, cross-eyed behind his mask, which had been pierced right in the visor. The back of his skull was missing, what was left of his brain spilling out on the ground as he hit the floor. His assistant gunner was on the weapon the moment he’d begun to stagger back, immediately opening fire into the hallway, with the rest of the riflemen manning the barricade opening fire as well.

Leonidus grunted. Just another one of those days on the streets of Najaster.

District 17 Prison (The Sanguinarium)

”Who is your commander?” the monotonous voice continued over the loudspeaker, speaking to Robeson.

The unmistakable sound of a blowtorch being ignited could be heard in the background…

Murat took aim at another unsuspecting soldier... the next moment he was off with an express ticket to meet his maker.

From the corner of his eye he saw a group of Kahanistanis rushing toward the Doomani advance; as far as he could tell most all of them cut down.

Poor bastards he thought to himself. With the outcome of the battle decided his chances of escape were on a rapid decline. Pretty soon this land would be crawling with Doomani elements seeking out any stragglers. Now was time to move...Allah willing it was not too late.

Murat retreated slowly from his sniping position backing out from the bushes toward the cliff face. If he stayed low those in the valley wouldn't be able to spot him. He turned around and entered a small fissure in the rock gouged out by heat stresses over many years. he followed this fissure a good way until he could see less and less sky above him. Little did he know it but he was walking towards a dead end... well of sorts.

The sounds of battle were barely audible down here; the tiny canyon extended 35 feet above him and was getting narrower all the time. Eventually he came to a dead end. Beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks and covered in dust the soldier cursed in Russian. Chechen isn't a language too big on cursing and through time Russian words came to substitute for the lack of native curse words. Nonetheless he was stuck now. He didn't want to risk coming out the way he came and he couldn't climb out. This part of the fissure had no opening and he would have to walk many meters to find a sizable exit. Then he paused for a moment and noticed something. He could hear running water. Murat bent down and layed down his rifle putting his ear to the ground. Indeed there was running water down there. Probably and under ground river of some kind. But how in the hell is this going to help? he thought to himself. Just then a tremor caused by a large explosion far off shook the rocks all around him. He had just stood up when the ground below him had begun to crack and give way. The soldier picked up his rifle by the strap and lept forward as the ground where he used to be buckled and fell into a violently rushing torrent of water 10 feet below. Holy Shit.. There was another explosion, this time larger. He could tell because the tremor was more violent than the first. He didn't need to be told again; Murat got to his feet and sprinted back the way he came through the fissure. Behind him rocks fell down and he felt the very ground beneath him give way. A boulder crashed down just infront of him and knocked out the floor.

Murat fell freely for 10 feet before splashing in an ice cold rapid. The man did the best he could to stay above the water but in the pitch blackness of the subterranean tunnel this was impossible. In some parts the water submerged under rock completely nearly drowning him before he rose back into an air pocket for a second.. before being sucked down with the current again. The winding tunnel caused him to bash his body into the smooth walls repeatedly pulverizing his tough body. By now he had almsot drowned and was fighting to stay conscious. Only be sheer willpower was he still aware of what was going on and fighting to stay alive. Then, without warning he fell 40 feet off of a waterfall into a relatively smooth pool of water.

The pool was in fact inside a large cavern which was used for religious purposes thousands of years ago by pagans. There was a direct path outside from here but in the pitch darkness Murat didn't know this. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been in the rapid. He couldn't see anything at all. Not even tremors from the battle could be heard, especially over the roar of the falls. He splashed around trying to find something to hold on to. He had a few glow sticks he could use to the same effect as a torch and he figured he was badly injured from the ride: he couldn't feel his left foot and shin. Murat treaded water for a while before hitting his head on a semi-jagged rock which he used as an anchor while taking out a glow stick. Cracking it against the rock he was able to see parts of the caver. It was just huge. A village could fit in here with room to spare. What's more he saw some ancient artifacts of pottery and cerimonial items which he could not identify. Looking infront of him he became horrified: There not 5 feet away was a very dark place in the water which seems to be sucking water in at an alarming rate. Now he knew what had been pulling on his feet. Had he not caught a hold of the rock when he did he would be back under again. His relief was short-lived however: there was no way out but into the hole. If he tried to swim away he would be sucked in and he couldn't climb out; the moss on the wet rock made it hard enough to grip as it was. "Mother-fucker.." he said aloud once more in Russian. with that the sniper lept in the opposite direction of the whirlpool and swam for all he was worth....and was promptly swallowed by the void.......

What happened after being sucked into the hole Murat will never know. Having bashed his head on the rocks around the hole he went unconscious and somehow ended up on the side of a slower-running portion of the river in a small cave. He slowly came back to consciousness and gripped his forehead. "Owww" he moaned. He couldn't see it but there was a large gash in the front of his head and his hand was covered in blood now. He only knew this from the feel of the warm liquid as it was black as hell in there. He took out another glow-stick and slammed it against the ground. Slowly, he took out what was left of his pack. Nothing much actually. All his rations and equipment had been claimed by the river...including his med-kit. With nothing else he tore off a part of his left sleeve and after washing his head wound wrapped it. He was quite a sight to look at. The rugged face, lacerations accross his body, ripps all across his shirt and a camo bandana, and an immensely strong physique.. Murat looked exactly like Rambo. After treating himself he passed out and awoke some time later. He tried to get up but fell. Too dark inside to see what was wrong he dragged himself by his right arm out through a tunnel until there was enough light to see without the sticks. He was amazed that he was still alive. His body had been so brutally mauled it was a true medical miracle his body hadn't given out yet.

His left arm was fractured at the ulma and a fracture in his hand too. His left leg had a large laceration which went from jsut above his little toe to half way up his lower leg. That too was broken so that it was impossible to stand on it. He felt his ribs...he couldn't count how many were broken. Luckily his back was fine although it hurt like hell. He was now starting to feel the onset of a massive headache and his body start to hurt like hell with the shock passing. He noticed he still had his Dragunov on slung on his shoulder. Good. Atleast I can hunt with this... you have to be fucking kidding me... he though as he brought it before him. The rifle had a crack running down the length of, butt to receiver and the barrel was bent awkwardly. Useless for anything but a crutch or club. At least he had something to walk with. With all of this he walked slowly out of the cave until he came within sight of the entrance. Here he pondered what to do. His sidearm had been lost in the river and his rifle disabled. He had only his combat knife with him and no rations.. no medical supplies.. nothing. Without treatment he would die very shortly. He couldn't call for a medivac the entire operation had been blown to hell. He took one for the team and he knew it. They would all owe him many drinks for this one. He laughed and winced hard at the pain in his ribs. Then he laid down propped his back up against a wall and went into a slumber.

Shortly later he was awoken by a coyote moving towards him. It was night and he knew the coyote wanted him as a meal. With his knife in hand he didn't give the slightest clue he was still alive or awake. His kept his left eye opened just enough to see the silhouette of the beast. His hand tightened around the knife ready for the stupid animal to come close enough... The coyote greedily came forward to the soldier who was either dead or dying in his eyes. He came to about a foot and a half from Murat's face, eying his neck ready to make sure of the kill. Then with silent precision Murat stabbed his knife all the way into the animals neck, the point sticking out the other side. The coyote's eyes rolled up in its sockets and without so much as a yelp it fell dead on him.

Now he had a blanket and a meal.. There is a God afterall he thought comically to himself.

--

Even an inch from death a Wolf is still deadly...

--

The next day Murat had a small breakfast on the coyote. Its heart and brains made for an extremely nutritious meal that helped him get back on his feat. Using the dragunov as a crutch Murat walked towards the entrance of the tunnel doing his best not to limp or seem weak in anyway. His knife was grasped in his right hand- he hadn't let go of it since killing to coyote. As he rounded a corner to the exit he heard the roar of engines above him.

"Those aren't civilian engines... and they aren't Groznian" he said to himself.......

Whyatican Africa Southern Defence Front
A spotter tower noted the Allanean jeep incoming, the white flag noticed as an odd thing for an Allanean. All guns available were immediately pointed at the Allanean, awaiting the order to fire.

"Should we Party Van the motherfucker?" a sniper said, his gun pointed directly at the Allanean general's head.

"No, they've got a white flag up, maybe the Allaneans actually want to talk with their mouths instead of their guns." an officer in the tower said. The officer turned on his PA and said, "Stand down. Escort the Allanean to the headquarters. General Brown is there."

The thousands of guns pointed in Fredrick Ronson's direction dropped significantly, with only snipers continuing to aim at his head, in case he got uppity. Two armoured vehicles of Whyatican manufacture moved alongside the jeep, providing a heavily armed escort to the Allaneans, also having guns pointed at it in the remote case that it's a car bomb or something akin to that. The armoured vehicles stopped at the entrance to the headquarters, and the guards opened the thick chain gate slowly, the motors whirring incessantly. The guards motioned for Ronson to get out of his jeep, and the General and two guards escorting walked into the headquarters, maneuvering through the twists and turns until they got to a diplomatic room where General Tyrone Brown was.

He stood up, shaking the hand of his Allanean counterpart, and motioned for him to sit down.

"What is your business, General?"

_____________________________________________
Whyatican Africa, Southeastern Defence Front
The border between unclaimed Zimbabwe and Whyatian Africa had little on the Zimbabwean side - the Whyatican line largely served to prevent immigrants from entering Imperial territory, along with a mechanized division for offensives. With the rather noisy buildup of military force on the border with Allanean African holdings, the southeastern border had been ignored. This day, though, would see a short jaunt through the Zimbabwean state, increasing Whyatican colonial holdings significantly. Two Sariel bombers soared over the heads of the fighting men at the border - not impeded whatsoever by the meagre Zimbabwean military. Their mission was simple: Destroy the Zimbabwean government facilities. There was no declaration of war, no word to the Zimbabweans, as that would rather defeat the point.

As the firebombs fell on Zimbabwe, elements of the 102nd Mechanized Division began advancing through the enemy jungles, cutting down people, animals, essentially everything in between them and the Zimbabwean capital of Harare.

Mountain Battle

The rebels, fanned out and charging in a single rank, took moderate casualties in the charge. This was to be expected; their opponents were far better armed and trained.

Those who made it close enough to their enemies fought with riflebutts, knives and bayonets when their ammunition and grenades were exhausted. At this point, they were more interested in dying free and not being tortured to death than in repelling their foes, though they hoped to strike a lethal blow to the morale of the Doomani fanatics.

---

Capital Battle

Laila fell over, the grip on her battle rifle loosening. She was still breathing, but her eyes were blank. She seemed to have no idea of where she was, or the situation she was in. Blood was running down the young girl's face as she bled from her combat injuries.

Her piece de resistance was now in plain view of the enemy.

"You don't... worship... Mary, huh?" she said, faintly. She smiled softly, knowing that she would likely die before the enemy could torture her. "Ashhadu la ilah illa Allah, wa Muhammad rasul'Allah..."

Covered by a M-240 medium machine gun held by another insurgent, a combat medic approached her. He had been a lifeguard before the war, but his was the closest to medical training available in this unit. Head injuries were beyond his training...

---

District 17

"General Majani," said Robeson weakly. She had clearly been drained physically and emotionally from her ordeal.

The other girl was surprised to be coming back. "What are we doing?" asked Anna Howell.

Kevin woke up and felt the sting of where the syringe entered. His whole body hurt. He could see feel the places where he was beaten. When he checked those spots he could see the purple bruises. He cupped his hands and placed his head in it. He had utterly failed. The Doomanis had tricked him. Those bastards had no honor. They would simply deceive you to get information, of course offering something in return, then stab you in the back. Kevin had tried to save another person's life, but now that woman was going back to that hell. What had he done? Betrayed his country, sold out people, and failed at saving the unknown women. But now he was in his own hell. He had no idea where he was or what time it was. "Is anyone here?"

The Allanean looked at the Whyatican general and began.

“Look, nobody is stupid. We know that you mobilized your armed forces in Angola. And let’s be frank, you didn’t mobilize them against Sudan. There’s only two groups of people in Africa worth mobilizing against – Allanea and Doomingsland. And you’re not mobilizing against Doomingsland, because if you are, why wait until now? Doomingsland has been here for a while, we are a new kid on the block. It’s us you’re mobilizing against.”

“But the question is, why? You realize why we’re here – we haven’t really been subtle about it. We’re after Doomingsland, if you haven’t figured that out from the vast explosions in the North.”

“We understand that you may want to defend them – perhaps only because you fear the loss of civilian life and resources.”

“Let me assure you of two things – first, that we will conduct this war with restraint normally not customary in Allanea, doing our best to avoid collateral damage to civilians during the fighting. The second thing is, once we win, we will share the spoils of war with you. You will be richly reward in African territory, seized resources, and monwy. All you need to do is step aside.”

“Now, I realize you cannot make the diplomatic call right now – you’re unlikely to be authorized to sign treaties. Here’s what I would like you to do, however. I would like you to transmit the information about my offer to your superiors. My men will come back in exactly ten days, for whatever your answer shall be – positive or negative.”

“That was all.” – he dropped a stack of maps on the table, detailing Allanea’s territorial and money offers to Whyatica. – “This is our detailed offer, for your superiors, or whoever it is that makes the call, to ponder on. Thank you for your time.”

And then the general left.

As the Allanean man left General Brown's diplomatic room, Tyrone turned on his radio and said, "Guard units, Party Van the Allanean general." Party Van was Whyatican military parlance for "Try to capture the guy alive if at all possible, but failing that, kill him." Two guards escorting the Allanean general through the military headquarters heard the order, nodded to each other, and the guard on the left slammed the butt of his battle rifle into the back of General Ronson's head, and the one on the right pulled a tranquilizer round off his belt, leaned down to the downed Allanean general, and shoved the dart into Ronson's neck. The tranquilizer was sufficient to knock a man of his size out for some time - enough to bring him to an airfield and transfer him to the Doomani.

General Brown walked out of his office, finding the guards standing over the limp Allanean general. "Serves the son of a bitch right. The Allaneans killed thousands of civilians in the Holy Land, and I'll make the Allanean bastards pay. Get him ready for transfer to the Doomani, but not before I do one thing. Haul him on his feet."

The two guards obeyed their orders - they picked Ronson up by the armpits, and held him prone. Brown cracked his knuckles quickly and took a swing at Ronson's face, making a sickening thud against bone.

Slightly satisfied, Tyrone waved the guards away, who began hauling the Allanean man to a covered, armoured car on the other side of the building for transfer to an airfield, and to Doomani Africa.

The driver would have to be dealt with, too. He sat in the jeep impatiently waiting for the General, looking nervously at the guards around him who had guns pointed in a low-ready position in his general direction. A second order from the General - "Party Van the driver." came quickly, with the Guards around him doing nothing to alarm him, as he was in Kriegzimmer powered armour and injuries were to be avoided if at all possible. A rifleman perched in a high tower heard the order, and scoped out the neck of the Allanean driver with a tranquilizer round in his gun. After checking his aim a little bit, he fired the dart. The problem was the fact that the needle failed to penetrate the armour - it embedded itself in the armour.

The sting of the needle startled the driver - he pulled it out of his neck, staring at it in wonder. He suddenly realized what had happened, and he threw the dart away and reached to his gun. The Guards around him saw their error, and the five men around him simultaneously cocked their battle rifles and fired at the head of the Allanean man, essentially blowing his head off before he could fire a shot.

Whyatican Africa Southern Defence Front Airfield
The first armoured vehicle with Ronson in it arrived at the airfield, where a large transport aircraft with dozens of fighting men in it awaited. The vehicle itself drove into the massive cargo hold, depositing the secured stretcher with General Ronson onboard. With the death of the driver, the cargo aircraft could immediately depart, escorted by four SuF-8 Phoenix aircraft. It's first stop would be in Doomani Tunisia, and from there...nobody knew where Ronson would end up, or how he would end up dying.

When the general did not come back, the Allanean command expected it. They did not know however, whether he was imprisoned in Whyatican hands or Doomani hands, and how this would impact Whyatican response. It could be that the man would be interrogated and then the response given would still be positive.

And so they waited, day after day, for ten days, the aircraft pumping in more and more supplies and divisions – 200 Archimedes Levers and 20 Ouroborii every day, and, on every fifth day, a group of Water Buffaloes. The Namibian line of trenches and foxholes grew, and so did the military camps in Mozambique. Another Force Projection fleet was on the way from Allanea, but it’d take a long way to come.

On the tenth day, the Allaneans sent a short message to the Whyaticans:

Is there any response from your command?

The Whyatican forces in mainland Africa were essentially insufficient to stop a determined Allanean advance - with two hundred divisions in Allanean Africa versus the twenty of the Whyatican 1st Army. An extended planning session basically confirmed that - without significant reinforcement from Arabia or the Homeland, Whyatican Africa would not be able to hold off a determined Allanean advance for any amount of time. So publically, the Whyatican general opted to accept the Allanean deal. A message was sent to the Allaneans in South Africa;

We accept your offer. Whyatican forces shall not impede passage through neutral countries, however, if a single Whyatican is killed or the sovereignty of Whyatican Africa violated..well, you know the rest.

This was quite sure to infuriate the Doomani up in North Africa; seen as a betrayal, perhaps. A second, encrypted telegram was sent to the Doomani military headquarters in Iudaea and all other Doomani provinces, and, after translation to plaintext, the telegram would read;
ENTER THE BEAST DISREGARD PUBLIC DEAL WITH INSANITY, WE FIGHT TOGETHER. GNBROWN MTG IUDAEA THE WORLD WONDERS

According to the Doomani-Whyatican encryption formula, the first three and last three words were discarded, and "INSANITY" signified "Allanea". So in effect, the Whyaticans would not stop the Allanean advance through neutral Africa, as far as they knew, but the Doomani would know the truth in this matter. This - it would give more time for the Whyatican Army to send troops to Africa, allow the Arabian Guard to fully mobilize and form a beachhead on Eastern Africa. However, the Doomani were now temporarily left out to dry, and the only things in between them and the Allanean hordes was thousands of miles of African jungle, desert, and hostile natives.

“They’re claiming to want to have a deal with us, Field Marshal.”

“Riiiight. And I am supposed to believe that General Benson just took a long vacation?”

“A long vacation in the Sanguinarium, more like.”

“Oh well. I expected this.” – said Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, lying in his bed somewhere in Johannesburg. A young local girl was grinning at the Allanean officers from under the blanket to the Field Marshal’s left. Another one was getting dressed on the edge of the bed to his right.

“In this case… proceed as planned. Plan Delta-Africa.”

A simple message was transmitted to the Whyaticans:

You almost fooled us.


Navy

At the break of dawn on the eleventh day of waiting, a flight of five hundred A1 Skyraider aircraft took off from the Namibian coast.

They were headed towards the Whyatican carrier fleet – but they didn’t get there, because they didn’t need to.

Each of the small prop-driven aircraft was carrying a single long-range torpedo. When the pilots arrived within three hundred and fifty furlongs of the Whyaticans, they released the torpedoes.

The modified-targetting Kriegzimmer MT-2 torpedoes plodded happily at a normal 70 knots for the first fifty kilometers, and then accelerated to 200 knots, proceeding at a deranged zigzagging path towards the ships they targeted – at about forty torpedoes per each of the carriers, that was bound to make life really interesting for the Whyaticans.

Simultaneously with that, the Allanean First Force Projection fleet, parked off the Namibian shore, fired.

The launch was comparatively modest – composed of merely three hundred guided missiles, targeting airfields and air defenses in Western Angola.

Army

Twenty kilometers away from the Whyatican border, the Allanean line came alive. It was composed of approximately eight thousand various artillery pieces – detached from armor and mechanized infantry units – and four hundred MRLS systems. These systems now mass-launched guided MRLS rounds, showering the Whyatican positions with anti-armor submunitions, heavy armor-piercing rounds, and even FAE rockets that set everything on fire for hundreds of meters, and the artillery kept up a deranged barrage of HE, incendiaries, and mineclearing munitions.

As for defensive measures, the Allanean had every possible piece of combat electronics and missile defense turned on – SEPS, MTHEL, radar jammers – and had their units shielded by temporary trenching. Overhead, aircraft zoomed by, to launch guided missiles at the most entrenched Whyatican units from dozens of miles away.

This went on for the entire day.

In the meanwhile, two mechanized infantry divisions of the Allanean army entered Tanzania. They outnumbered the enemy two to one, they wore Samson armor, and the population had now already heard about the Allanean policies on taxes, slavery, and pro-Doomani officials who had made their relatives disappear. One thing, however, complicated their mission – the Tanzanians possessed a vast amount of AA equipment – about 400 various AA vehicles, that the Allanean army intended to capture unharmed.

The response was swift – four million dollars in bribes to Tanzanian officers, a sum smaller then the cost of a single tank, and for some reason, the AA equipment was left unguarded on the night of the Allanean offensive. On the final account, that also saved quite a significant amount of Tanzanian lives.

The Whyaticans could safely say they were not surprised. The carrier fleet, long expecting this sort of attack, had all sorts of anti-torpedo measures active - using anti-air missiles to shoot down the Allanean planes before they even got into range, as there was no possible way prop-driven planes could cover the distance and not be shot at, as well as the experimental anti-air laser defence systems in use on escort destroyers. Supercavitating close-in weapons systems under the waterline locked onto the torpedoes as they approached the fleet, which was rapidly turning into the wind to launch naval fighter/bombers to attack the Allanean advance. Scores of torpedoes dropped dead in the water, saving the ships and crews from a certain death. As if it looked too easy - two torpedoes impacted the IWNS Paralentum, lead ship of her class, creating a massive gash in her side. Damage control crews desperately tried to thwart the oncoming water, but to no use - her crew abandoned ship twenty minutes after the torpedoes hit, the Paralentum sinking to a rather unheroic end off the coast of Africa.

The sudden turn of the fleet had spared it much of the damage - supercavitating torpedoes were unable to maneuver without bursting the air bubble, causing them to go straight ahead past the fleet when the maneuver was completed, and now the Whyatican carriers were into the wind. Six wings of SuF-8 Phoenix naval fighters launched off, equipped with ground attack munitions. Using Gorrión del Mar missiles purchased through SUDI, the forty-two fighters in six wings each fired five Gorrión del Mar missiles at the Allanean lines, responding with a total of two hundred ten missiles. It was unlikely that this salvo would make it through Allanean air defences - but that wouldn't be all that would be returned.

The massive barrage at the Whyatican trenches did little damage - the trenchworks had been in place for many months and the fortifications enough to withstand even this sort of bombardment. Anti-air defences, such as the new THEL installations, kept up a valiant defence against the artillery rounds, their pulsing lasers destroying many munitions along with the anti-air missiles and gun rounds. Counter-battery artillery had had a lock on the Allaneans for some time, awaiting the order to fire, and the artillery captain did not wait for the order once the rounds started falling. He screamed the order to fire, and his battery of sixty M560A1 "Rain" MLRS vehicles opened fire on the Allanean lines, raining dozens of anti-vehicle munitions and fuel-air explosives at the Allanean positions. Combined with this power was that of the M460A1 "Broadside" self-propelled howitzer; a battery of sixty of these 203mm guns fired into the Allaneans as well, narrowly avoiding being destroyed by shellfire in order to return.

For the most part the infantry in the trenches ducked the hell down to prevent shrapnel from taking their faces off - the fortifications and trenchworks were sufficient to prevent most of them from dying, although when several shells impacted inside a trench, the dirt and fortifications collapsed, killing everyone inside.

There were several tricks up the African Defence Forces' sleeve, however - and it would be kill many thousands of Allaneans this day. The Sariel bomber, mainstay of the Whyatican bomber force, was nigh-invisible to Allanea's air defence in hte area, and had the bomb capacity to wipe out his artillery. From two armoured hangars in the north of Angola, a pair of Sariels launched, unimpeded by the war on the southern border. Rising quickly to 55,000 feet, the two bombers, each loaded with 27,500 kilograms worth of sensor-fuzed weapons, cruised to the front lines at a speed that would not give away their stealthiness.

As the two bombers arrived over the battlefield, they dropped their combined ordinance of 55,000 kg over the Allanean lines. The bombs would immediately break into smaller submunitions and home in on Allanean artillery, vehicles, tanks, essentially everything Allanean in the area. Each bomb could cover an area of 150 by 370 metres, but given the density of this battlefield, the overlap was pretty necessary. Given any amount of luck, the bombs, along with the missiles, and artillery, would devastate the Allanean lines and halt the advance.

Enemy missiles launched at airfields in Western Angola would meet a similar fate as their predecessors - THEL installations as well as random flak towers and anti-air missile batteries had no problems locking onto them and wiping out the enemy ordinance. Flak towers were the most vulnerable, having the slowest traverse rate, and much of those were destroyed in the west expanse of the country. The majority of the air defence was spared, though, because of the 'rather pointless' flak batteries. More flak batteries, manufactured in Arabia, would arrive in Northern Angola shortly to put up as rather large targets for Allanean missiles.

Whyatican Arabia, Unity Gun Installation I
Arabia had received it's first Unity Gun installation about six months prior - thirty guns, fresh from Mekugian factories, installed and test-fired against a random target on Colombo Island. Today, these thirty guns would prove their mettle against the Allanean lines, effectively immune from a response. Their turn rate and reload time was at about a dead grandmother's pace - aiming alone took quite a long time, and the loading of the hydrogen propellant and the 30" shell had to be done exceptionally carefully, otherwise the gun would go boom and kill everything around it. After some time, the thirty guns were finally locked, loaded, and aimed at the Allanean lines in Namibia, and the massive sound wave of 30 30" shells flying out of the Unity Guns erupted through Arabia, and everyone knew what it meant - war was coming.

Arabian Guard stations began calling up every man that was officially a member - calling them to their bases and stations, trying to raise twenty divisions to send to the African war within sixty days.

Whyatican Parliament, Miana, Whyatica
Emperor Paulus Whyatica I, accompanied by his Questarian wife, looked much older than he actually was - the stress of running a great power was much for a man of only twenty-three years of age. He stood in front of the Parliament on a podium. He turned the microphone on and said, "Members of Parliament, we have been wronged today. Today, the sixth of May, the United States of Allanea has brutally attacked us in Africa - hundreds of Whyaticans are already dead in their sneak attack against the 33rd Carrier Battlegroup, and the Paralentum has been destroyed. This has proved my long-since theory on the Allaneans, they cannot be contained, they must be stopped here before their mindless rampage kills millions of Whyaticans. I implore you, my Parliament, to issue a declaration of war against the United States of Allanea, and I will finally put an end to the murderous barbarian that is Alexander Kazansky."

The members of Parliament themselves tried to avoid bursting out in anger - and as the Emperor left the chamber, the official speaker, trembling, said, "We now take a vote on the declaration of war against the United States of Allanea."

Two hundred twenty-four out of two hundred twenty-five members answered a resounding 'aye', with the one Anarchist Party member voting nay. This man voted 'nay' on everything, and his vote was essentially ignored.

"So voted - the Grand Imperium of Whyatica has officially declared a state of war with the United States of Allanea."

Angolan theater of operations

Indeed, many Allaneans were killed in the barrage. Not quite as many as the Whyaticans hoped, since the Allaneans used SEPS to detonate sensor-fused munitions long before they reached the ground. But still, many people died, and dozens of cannon, IFV’s, and so forth were destroyed. Even more died when the Unity Gun projectiles impacted. In total, 450 various cannon were disabled or destroyed outright. So where approximately 500 different tanks, 400 IFV’s, and a variety of other vehicles.

The Allanean reaction was triple:

First of all, they switched to GPS-guided rounds for their MRLS system and cannon, now trying to precise-guide them into the very enemy positions. Counter-battery RADAR helped pinpoint the very positions of the enemy howitzers.

Second, while the Allanean RADAR could not in fact detect the Sariels, the Allaneans could do something different. In orbit, two Thor satellites powered up and fired their magazines. They fired 30 ‘god rod’ rounds at the Whyatican airfields. 2 more were fired at the particualr airfields from which satellite photography spotted the Sariels taking off.

Third, the mechanized infantry and armored divisions in Namibia, 40 in number, began their slow, orderly advance towards Whyatican territory.

This was no Battle of the Somme mass-charge. Rather, the infantry were well-spread out, moving in dashes – one half of a detachment would lie on the ground, spread out at wide intervals, covering the other as it advanced in a quick running dash and then dropped down into prone positions. Then, the original half of the detachment would make their own dash. This all was supported by armored vehicles, tanks – a single platoon could be spread out to over five hundred meters wide, with fighter-bombers and helicopters pouring fire into the enemy defense from above.

In this fashion, the infantry and ground forces were spread in width and length, making it difficult to carpet them with munitions. Within hours, they would be upon the Whyatican trench line.

Naval operations

From the Allanean fleet, three arsenal ships fired their ordnance – a complete weapons dump, flushing all VLS cells at the Whyatican carriers – with 3,000 Shockhammer missiles in total. Five more arsenal ships flushed their VLS cells, again aiming at the Whyatican defense lines.

The fact that at the very same time, the Allanean Second Force Projection fleet, and the Water Buffaloes attached to it, had arrived at the Cape and started steaming up the western African coast would seem unrelated.

Which it was.



Elsewhere, Twelfth day of the fighting, 06:00 AM Pretoria Time

The Allaneans had made their move.

Eight armored divisions – sans their artillery complement, which was still bombarding the Whyaticans from the South – were carried, by tank transporter, to the North. The manoever would have seemed to make absolutely zero sense.

For a casual observer it may have seemed that Alexander Kazansky had gone mad, trying to take Northern Africa by a demented armored rush all the way to Cairo. So it would have seemed when the Allanean armor had moved into Allanean-controlled Tanzania.

Noon, Praetoria Time.

The tank transporters and vehicle ferries had stopped only sixty kilometers into Tanzania. Tanks were dismounting off their carriers, checking their fuel and ammunition supplies.

And then, the force turned again, and went South-West.

At 13:00 PM, on the twelfth day of fighting, an Allanean force approximately equal to the Whyaticans in combined armored strength – 2,220 Nakil 1A2A’s, supported by the divisions’ auxiliary complement and 80 combat helicopters, had crossed the border into Whyatican Angola.

At 13:45 PM, the helicopters, flying at an altitude of only twenty to thirty meters, acting as skirmishers before a force that would only arrive at some point later, had strafed the Whyatican defensive positions in the South with guided munitions.

Some time later, the Allanean tanks would close in, attacking in rhomboid battalion formations. They used their 20mm AA cannon and the firepower of the auxiliaries against attacking aircraft, and Lightning-class series cannon-launched guided missiles against Whyatican ground targets at 25-35 furlongs away, switching to more conventional sabot projectiles when they closed in.

Thus, the Whyaticans were attacked from the rear.

Africa

The shit had officially hit the fan. The Allaneans were finally moving up the continent in force, and had even gone so far as to brazenly attack the Whyaticans. The sheer number of troops the Allaneans now had on the ground was more than enough to make the High Command sweat bullets; as a result, the Imperial Guard legions were activated in the Mediterranean. All of them.

Every able-bodied male Imperial citizen living in the Med was officially called into active service, rallying in their various assembly areas within their neighborhoods before forming into their larger units. While the sheer numbers of troops being activated would simply overwhelm Imperial logistics in Africa, the ones they could support would easily outnumber the two-million or so Allaneans.

Attrition reserves were so numerous that the High Command simply wasn't concerned with casualties. Allanea had made a grave mistake: they'd landed in force within a few thousand miles of the holiest city in the Imperium; there was no way they'd be allowed to make it to the walls of Jerusalem, let alone Egypt. This was Crusade: God's War, and it would be waged as such. No quarter for the infidel.

Mobilizing for Holy War was one thing; destroying 200 heathen divisions was an entirely different matter in and of itself. The Allaneans were making it rather simple for the High Command to come up with a response: their movement of eight armored divisions around an entire country certainly did not go unnoticed. After having twelve days to repair airfields and air bases, the ACID was in perfect shape to begin offensive operations against the Allaneans.

Their initial raid was nothing to sneeze at, either.

Eight-hundred Sariel bombers based out of Sicilian, Italian, and North African bases, escorted by an additional four-hundred Aquila II air superiority fighters based out of the Levant and dozens of North African bases. Their target: Allanea's armored corps in Africa, which was currently occupied with the Whyaticans.

The bombers were highly unlikely to be detected by Allanean RADAR due to the sheer stealthiness of the design and the wide formations they were flying in to ensure minimal RCS. Their payload: Twenty-four AC-106 JSHAAM armor-busting munitions. The delivery system, similar to the Joint Stand-Off Weapon (JSOW), utilized GPS tracking along with inertial referencing and an advanced glide system, allowing for it to be delivered from up to forty naughtical miles away. Each JSHAAM carries sixteen multi-staged anti-armor submunitions. The submunitions consist of two stages: the tracking stage, the neutralization stage.

The tracking stage utilizes a small rocket motor, which would carry the munition to an altitude that would allow for its air-to-ground radar and IR systems to locate a target. Once a target has been identified, the decent stage, a high-powered liquid fuel rocket motor, would engage. It would start off by engaging the rocket, which would shoot the weapon at high velocity into the vehicle's roof, where its tandem HEAT warhead would first blow through whatever ERA there was and then through the tank itself.

With the eight hundred Sariels releasing a total of twenty-four JSHAAMs each, the 2,200 Nakil 1A2s being employed by the Allaneans would have a total of 307,200 of these high-powered precision guided submunitions shooting into the roofs of their tanks; sheer numbers would allow for them to get through the APS systems found on the tanks. Because the missiles were impact and not proximity detonated, the Allaneans' SEPS system would be completely useless against them.

Meanwhile, Classis Atlantica, the Imperial Atlantic Fleet, began steaming down towards southern Africa. Their mission: annihilate the Allanean Navy. Simultaneously, Classis Asia, the Indian Ocean Fleet, began moving on the Allaneans, and would hit them from a completely different direction. The two Mediterranean fleets were also put on standby; the western fleet would be ready to exit the Straights of Gibraltar in hours if needed.

Response to the Doomani bombardment

It was true that the Allaneans would not be able to detect the Sariels on RADAR. However, there were – as there always are – other means.

For a start, the immense engines of the strategic bombers were vividly visible from infra-red observation sattelites. Second, the accompanying fighters would be equally visible on X-band RADAR, and as such the Second Force Projection Fleet aircraft, and the Allanean naval aircraft in South Africawould take off. In total, 3,000 fighter-bomber aircraft were rallied, flying in from the South and the East to defeat the Doomani by sheer weight.

As was customary with Allanean warfare, they did not close in at first – rather, they spammed the enemy bombers with a bombardment of a total of 10,000 MTAAM missiles (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8600838&postcount=23) – ten per every enemy bomber, approximately. Even when they missed, they filled the sky within ten kilometers of the detonation point with shrapnel, making it at the very least rather dangerous. After launching the missiles, the fighters turned and left.

And yet this was not everything. The Allanean Cyclops ABM sattelites, designed to shoot down much faster, stealthy MIRVs, have turned and fired - 40 sattelites, expending their entire firepower capacity of 860 laser bursts against the enemy aircraft. Yes, this was half of the Allanean Cyclops complement, and yes, the Allaneans knew well that the sattelites were not reusable.

Still, if it would prevent the destruction of Army Group Zambia, it was worth it.

Whatever remained of the massive Doomingslandi air armada was then fired at by the anti-air complement of the divisions – launching an impressive total of 3,200 Praetorian II long-range missiles at a stand-off range of 800 kilometers at the enemy bomber aircraft.

What remained would, of course, be free to bomb the Allanean tanks – if it dared entering into range of the Allanean SPAA-1 cannon and the long-range anti-air missiles launched from ADV's parked off the East-African coast.

And then there was the final Allanean defense – mobile MTHEL installation and SPAA-1 cannon firing on descending anti-armor munitions, backed up by salvo after salvo of high-altitude pumped electronix flux warheads from missile launchers, disabling the enemy munitions long before they reached the ground as mere unguided chunks of metal and explosives.

Still, casualties were heavy – though far not as heavy as the Doomani expected, as the Allanean active armor defense would weed out many of what passed through this multilayered defense. Five hundreds Allanean Nakil 1A1 tanks were destroyed completely, and over three hundred were disabled. Further, over six hundred Ashurbanipal tanks were destroyed, and five hundred disabled beyond battlefield repair.

Allanean navy response

Using the fact that the Doomingslandi Air Force was quite obviously occupied in trying to bomb the Allanean armored divisions, the Second Force Projection fleet had made it's first serious move.

Detaching from the fleet, and moving at their full speed, went the Water Buffaloes. They were moving at an amazing eighty kilometers per hours – and some of them, unbeknownst to the enemy, were completely unloaded, acting merely as decoys. Others were loaded only partially.

Several hours later, the Cote D'Ivoire military was witness – an impotent witness, since it was heavily outnumbered and outgunned – of the landing ten Allanean Marine divisions right smack on the doorstep of Doomingsland.

OOC: Obviously not posting anything about the Whyatican front since Whyatica has not posted.

Mountains

Despite the rebels drawing closer and closer, the morale of the Legionaries did not faulter; their unwavering discipline and sheer fanaticism allowed for them to simply keep pouring the fire down on the advancing enemy soldiers, who were now becoming very thinly spread. On Tiberius' end of the line, it actualy devolved into a melee as several of the charging insurgents slipped through the unending hail of machinegun and rifle fire.

The crazed rebel knew his time was up; he was baying for blood. Tiberius recognized that look in his eye and identified with it. Gripping the Kalashnikov by the barrel and swinging it as if it were a club, he went after Tiberius, who took a glancing blow to the head. His helmet was knocked off and he was stunned slightly but swiftly recovered, punching the rebel in the face and sending him staggering. He drew his gladius as the rebel tumbled over, quickly recovering to his feet. The rebel came at him, swinging the rifle wildly; Tiberius savagely charged his foe after dodging a blow, forcing his right shoulder into the man's face and tackling him to the ground.

Tiberius viciously roared, jamming his left palm into the infidel's face and tearing into it with his gauntletted hands, slowly crushing the bone as the man struggled to knock his muscular arm loose. As blood began to trickle down the side of the Kahanistani's head, he took a knee to his enemy's chest, quickly thrusting his sword into his neck, cutting the other man's yells short as he tore it out with a twist, partially severing it.

Heathen blood trickled down his grinning, scarred face. Finally letting go of the rebel's head with his left hand, he found that he'd nearly ripped the face off; the flesh had been torn loose, flapping in the wind, puss oozing from between the skull. The nose was totally crushed and the eyes were horribly mauled. His uniform was totally soaked in the man's blood; he loved that smell.

Gripping the head by the hair, he tore it clean off of his victims shoulders.

"Deus vult!" he roared in victory, holding it high his sword in his right hand.

Similar roars of victory carried down the line as the last of the rebels were finally put down, ending the bloody, suicidal charge.

A voice crackled in his ear a moment later,

"Give no quarter. Slaughter the wounded."

They'd be taking no chances; the rebels had shown they were more inclined to die then be taken alive, so the Doomani would honor their wishes. Warry of the possibility some of the wounded may have grenades on them that they'd be more than eager to set off to take one last Doomie with them, the Legionaries simply shot everyone from a distance, walking the hill and putting a burst into the skull of body on the ground.

There was now the issue of dealing with the tunnels; a second Centuria began arriving on scene to relieve the beleagured soldiers that had just come out of a bloody battle with nearly 30% casualties. They'd have the duty of setting up a perimeter around all of the surviving entrances. The High Command was certain the network was crawling with rebel troops, and they were currently debating what to do about that...

The Sanguinarium

The interrogator replied once more in monotone,

"Who is your team leader?"

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

Anna was given no response other than laughter by the Legionaries guarding her, who simply duct taped her mouth shut and tossed her into the back of a CMPL, which proceeded to head back to the Sanguinarium. She'd be back in her torture chamber within twenty minutes.

Najaster

How the fuck is she still talking? Leonidus wanted to ask aloud before a burst from the M-240 forced him to duck behind cover.

The 7.8mm machineguns responded in kind, totally lighting up the corridor and the enemy gunner, who would not have been able to fire the bulky weapon accurately unless firing from the prone position with his bipod set up; this of course would require him to lay out in the open.

Several grenades, which had been cooked for several seconds before hand, soared from over the Doomani side into the tunnel, detonating almost immediately on impact. A Centurion on a loudspeaker on either side of the tunnel ordered those inside to drop their weapons and come out one by one, or that they would simply collapse the entrances and burry them all alive.

Unknown Location

Kevin was alone. Completely and utterly alone. He sat in total darkness, unable to see...anything. The reality was that he was imprisoned in a 4x4 foot cell, and would remain there for quite some time...he'd be kept alive, of course. The Imperial Government would have use for him as a bargaining chip at some point, or perhaps as a propaganda tool. However, they would not be ready to let on that they were holding him until they themselves were ready, and that would mean driving the Allaneans out of Africa, or at least putting a cap on them.

Decurion Caius Retenus angled his squad in towards the cave entrance; this appeared to be the ideal hiding place for wayward infidels. His DR-83.II tucked tightly against his shoulder, he slowly stepped up to the side of the entrance, taking a knee. His squad moved in swiftly, their gear clanking as they stacked up along the sides of the entrance, his automatic rifleman setting up directly in front of the entrance behind a cluster of rocks.

Staring down the holosight of his DMG-83, Discens Publius could have sworn he saw a flash on his thermals. Tucking the weapon more tightly against his shoulder, he signaled to the others.

Possible hostile in the cave.

Signaling to his men, they prepared to breech the cave. Whomever was inside had to know they were there. Ripping a tear gas grenade off of his vest, the man immediately adjacent to him did the same; the two simultaneously pulled the pins out.

Counting down three seconds, both men whipped around the corner: Publius tossed short, practically rolling his grenade, while the other man tossed it further in. Backing back up against the outside of the entrance, they waited for the grenades to go off, giving roughly five seconds for the smoke to thicken before they both poured in, their rifles shouldered to meet whatever threats there may have been.

With the first two taking up positions on the inside of the cave, the other four came in behind them, slowly leapfrogging those two and advancing, their weapons shouldered, the machinegunner remaining at the entrance to cover them in case they had to pull back.

Their flashlights were switched off, their weapon-mounted infrared lasers turned up. They could see the beam with their helmet-mounted infrared sensors, which transmitted an image to their HUD allowing for them to see without having to wear bulky goggles that would severely limit their situational awareness.

Publius flattened his back up against the first corner they came to as a rifleman prepared to peer around from further back so he could get a quick shot off in case there was someone there...

Standard doctrine when fighting from a tunnel: Just sit there in the room, and let the tunnel rats come to you.

Anyone trying to infiltrate the tunnel complex would find punji stakes, fake paths, snakes, scorpions, spear traps, shotgun traps, grenade traps, even chainsaw traps... as well as arms caches rigged to go off in the face of an intruder, and if they were really unlucky, flooded pits where the tunnels hit underground water.

For those who made it past these hazards, the only people they would encounter were quartered four to a room. While two slept, two kept watch. This made for a lot of sleepless nights, but so did the prospect of a filthy opium addict coming into one's room at night and cutting one's throat. (Religion was the opium of the masses.)

As if this weren't bad enough, many of the tunnels were collapsed, so just finding an entry was no easy task. Furthermore, most of the good stuff was hundreds of meters away from the nearest entrance.

---

Despite the torture she had been through, anger surged through Kathryn's mind.

I am Spartacus.

"I am." She was lying through her teeth, of course, but she was determined to protect her leader in any way she could. She was in no mood to betray her friend, after having been made to name one name already.

---

The gunner with the M-240 was a strong man and held the weapon as an assault rifle. In these tunnels, with the enemy so large, they were hard to miss. What was even harder was scoring a head shot...

The rebels had sustained severe casualties and lost some of their highest ranking officers.

They didn't see any civilians; they had all fled, or been captured. A voice came back from the tunnel, fearful of the horrific acts the Doomani were capable of...

"Fuck you... and fuck your child-molesting religion."

Murat knew he was in immediate danger when he heard the engines roar up above him. He darted back into the cave just in time to miss the Doomani search team. He heard footsteps behind him and grasped his knife in his teeth using his uninjured arm to help navigate in the blackness. Earlier in the day, before he first ventured out, Murat tried to explore the cave system as best he could. He wasn't able because of his leg to search as much as he would have liked but what he did figure from the cave was that it large. Possibly huge. He couldn't tell how big it was but he knew it was complex. How or who made it was beyond him and at this point he couldn't give a rats ass in hell. One thing was in his advantage though and that was the multitude of redoubts and hidden recesses in the walls that would allow for an ambush. Murat cursed himself at the very thought. Here he was, ribs broken left leg mangled, a large laceration running up his foot to his knee bandaged by a torn piece of his BDU and his left hand was broken. He was in a condition that would put the average person in an ICU for weeks and require rehabilitation just to walk again...and he had to fend against a trained and dedicated cave search team. Of course their was little chance they would give up the search without finding him. He bled a lot on the ground near the river and had one glow stick left their. Plus there was that damned coyote he had killed. All in all he was fucked.

Fucking Great.

Murat moved painfully down the passage away from the exit. The muzzle of his rifle was covered in part of the coyote's pelt; it worked wondors for silencing the his beleaguered movements. Behind him he heard several clinks and then a bang. From the hissing sound he knew they were throwing gas in there. May be tear gas may be something to put him to sleep. He didn't care he had to keep moving. He rounded the corner to his left, he had a vague idea where this led.

More footsteps.

The soldier continued down the passage his entire left side throbbing with such an intense pain that just wouldn't let up. He pushed himself further ignoring the pain and the ruthless grinding of his jagged fractured bones against one another in his leg. He paused for a moment and almost fell over. He grimaced hard against the pain shooting through his spine. However soon he would begin to feel less and less pain. Not because of adreneline he was too weak now for another rush. He had lost a great deal of blood before and would soon go into shock. Eventually his heart would go out because of massive blood loss, severe body trauma and shock. Slowly.. he was dying. Yet still fighting against an unseen enemy for his life. He began to feel funny.. fuzzy too. He saw what looked like a troll run past the corner but he couldn't care less. All he wanted right now was to lay down rest and-

Murat snapped himself back into the real world. He blinked as stars slowly subsided from his view. He carried on once more. He heard the footsteps come closer. He quickly moved into a recess.. The footsteps came closer and closer and stopped. He was sweating bullets now. He noticed a bat detach itself from the ceiling and fly over and past him. Then the footsteps went farther away. In fact there was only a foot of rock between Murat and the Doomani. While this was a temporary releif it was also a very very bad thing. Murat knew the path they were on would quickly lead to him.

.. He continued forward again.

He came to another small cave around a pool of ice cold water. Here Murat's brain managed to puff another useful bit of insight- he remembered hearing from the rebels that the Doomani made extensive use of thermal imaging. Even though his body temperature was gradually dropping he was still alive enough to be seen. Then he took notice of the slime that covered the walls and overhang around the pool. Softly he laid down his broken rifle and carefully slid himself into the pool and submerged in there for what felt like a minute although it was only 22 seconds. - This did absolutely nothing to stop his internal death clock and only put it ahead by a few hours. - He was now on the brink of hypothermia.. Too exhausted to shiver he carefully got up accidentally bending his left leg and brushing it against a rock. The sound of sharp grinding bones was loudly audible and one could only begin to fathom the pain Murat felt, though much of it was blotted out by the shock that was taking him. He pulled the moss and slimy bacteria, an unworldly green and dark brown concoction of moss indigenous bacteria and bat shit, and draped it all over him. He arduously picked up his rifle and set off again.

With his deathly stagger and gruesome appearance he looked more like some watch of the un-dead than a Groznian Special Forces soldier.

He was freezing. He was tired more than he had ever been before in his life (and that's saying a lot) and he felt his body was about ready to give out. He just couldn't continue any further and found an ideal place to rest. Murat by chance stumbled upon a virtually invisible recess in the wall. It was covered over in moss just like the rest of the passage and was just deep enough to fit him standing up. Also it seems from the outside to be the last place anyone would hide. Since it resembled the wall identically unless one lit up the entire wall way only then was it barely noticeable. He closed it in front of him like a curtain and like a zombie went back into another realm not of this world.

Despite all this he still had his training with him. One eye remained defiantly awake, fully open and deathly serious staring straight in front of him. So that in the case that anyone walked past him he would be ready. His body went to sleep while still keeping a vigil. Murat had never been so in touch with his body and so near his mortality before.

John Tyler stood waiting near his phone. John was a man in his mid-thirties, blondish brown hair, and light green eyes. He had been waiting for about two hours for a phone call from Kevin. They were both Canadstein Special Agents. The CSA was created to keep tabs on other countries and to do some of the dirty work for Canadstein. Kevin was a fellow agent and John kept a message system with him. The both of them would give each other secret messages about events in occupied Kahanistan. John would have received a call from Kevin, but something must have gone wrong. They had never missed a message time. It was unusual. He continued to pace around the phone what happened to Kevin. John thought of what to do. He could either wait here or check up on Kevin. Coming to decision, John walked into his bedroom.

John was living in a ten floor apartment and happened to live on the tenth floor. It was only five blocks away from Kevin's apartment. John's living quarters were small but cozy. Getting on his knees John's hand reached underneath his bed. His hand reappeared with a black metal box. His other hand reached for his pocket and produced a key. John opened the box and took out his Beretta 92. All of Agents carried one or had one in their possession. His Beretta was ornately decorated. Though it just looked for show, John had become very well with this gun in the last ten years of serving with the Canadstein government. This gun had gotten him out of many mishaps. His nimble hands loaded in a magazine, then put the gun on his back waistline. Quickly he put the box back, and then walked toward his front door.

The main door to the apartment building opened up. John sat the blazing sun. He put on his sunglasses and walked out into the open. Things had changed since Doomingsland invaded. The other operatives and himself had to be more cautious now. Before it was easy to be low key and gathering information, but now you had to choose only one of those. After the walk John was in front of Kevin's building. He looked up and took of his sunglasses, then walked inside. The elevator ride was short, and he hurried over to Kevin's door. John knocked on it, but the door opened up itself. He walked inside and saw the place. It looked like every stone was turned inside. Stuff was everywhere and was out of character for the neat Kevin. There were no signs of Kevin anywhere. After looking for a while John, went back to the ground floor. He needed to know what happened. John went up to the main task and clamped down on the nearby bell.

"Is there anyone here? I need helping finding a friend?" John cried out.

In the tunnel, a hand grasped Murat's arm. Nearby was a flaming torch, the only source of illumination in this hell hole.

Reflected in the light was a somewhat pretty, badly battered female resistance fighter, an M-8 strapped to her back. She had lost an eye where a bayonet had struck her in the face, and there were exposed areas of bone on her right arm. Her beige combat jumpsuit was torn in several places and she looked, in short, like she'd been through hell.

"It's me... Angeline," she said. "This place is dangerous, if you don't know the way through."

Someone would have to get Murat through there before he got himself killed. She could only imagine what Antonov would do if he found out... probably kill Murat as a potential Doomani and her as a weak link...

Fighting the Doomani

From Tanzania, another formation charged. It was a group of fifty mechanized infantry divisions, five Boy Scout divisions, and twenty-five armored divisions. Additionally, twenty thousand native troops were also moved in, by train and truck – they were all that Allanea could muster at that stage, a far cry from the target number of one hundred thousand troops that Kazansky had expected.

This was exactly why the new offensive was launched.

Over nine hundred thousand combat troops moved nearly unopposed through Uganda. They used every means possible to get through – every road was filled with Allanean tank transporters, every train track – of which Uganda had plenty – was used for Allanean army trains (that is, Ugandan and Tanzanian trains seized by the Army). Tanks, trucks, anti-air vehicles with their missiles at the ready moved through the fields. Many supply units remained in Uganda. They were busy. They were making large amounts of strange tube-framed devices about the size of a car and shipping them North. For the same purpose, the Allanean Army also hired lots of locals at two dollars a day. The purpose, of course, was unknown.

For one day, the entire country became an Allanean staging area – and by noon, the first Allaneans entered Southern Sudan.

The first to arrive into the country was Marshal Abdullah Zarif, commander of Army Group Nile. He distributed a statement that at the evening of that day, he would deliver an address to the Muslim population of the Sudan at a local soccer stadium, explaining the reasons for the invasion. The address would be given after a soccer match to which many were expected to come, and would further be rebroadcast by radio and Allanean combat loudspeakers everywhere where soldiers parked their vehicles.

When the time came, Abdullah Sharif appeared in the centre of the stadium, wearing traditional white robes and desert sandals, leaning on an RPK-74N machinegun.

Faithful Brothers!

You ask me, why are the Allaneans here, why we impinge so upon the independence of your country!

And I tell you – I am sorry that we have to do it.

We do it, Faithful Brothers, because the danger is nigh – to both you and your brothers in occupied Kahanistan!

Do you know of the deeds of the Doomani infidel to your North? Martyrs were killed, women were widowed, children were orphaned! Thousands of faithful were burned alive in the streets of sacred Al-Quds, merely for the amusement of the Doomani infidel!

As he spoke these words, Allanean soldiers in plain clothes passed between the rows of Sudanese, distributing pictures of burning bodies, of mutilated corpses of the victims, and so forth. As Sharif spoke, a hiss of anger passed through the crowd.

Now they wish to come and do this to you – and far more! They will enslave your sons and make them fight each others in arenas for their amusement!

The hiss became a murmur – many of the Sudanese had already heard of these habits of their Northern neighbors.

Here I am, and my goal is to destroy the Doomani! And I am a faithful one, as are you, and I fight with the Allaneans, though they are not all of your Faith! Do you know why I do so? Because it is the will of Allah! For is it not said “And you will fight the unbelievers as they fight you”?

And the Allaneans do not fight the Faithful – they do not kill people because of their faith at all. But the Doomani are much worse then the Allaneans – they destroy our brothers, they torture our sisers, they enslave our children – they have as their goal the destruction of Islam!

And so if indeed we should fight the infidels as they fight us, should not the first goal of the faithful be the destruction of the Doomani devil?

Someone in the crowd – possibly an Allanean plant – shouted:

“But how do we fight them? We have no weapons, no army!”

And this why we are here for! – screamed Sharif – We will give you weapons! We will give you rifles, we will give you grenades and uniforms, and you will fight alongside the Allaneans!

Above the soccer field, a formation of five S-1000 heavy bombers passed towards the North. The Sudanese could not see it from here, but when they were in range, they would launch 250 long-range guided missiles against Doomani positions in the border. They also did not know that six hours later the two Native divisions Allanea possessed would begin a desperate human-wave attack against a position on a section of Doomani border only two kilometers wide.

Even now, Allanean soldiers with shovels and escavators are building defenses in Southern Sudan to protect you from the Doomani infidel! Even now we are preparing to fight to defend your women and children from the Doomani scum! Will you not rise to aid us in this defense? Will you rise to do the will of Allah, to become His holy warriors, to destroy His foes?


In the rear of the Allanean forces

In the meanwhile, the resupply flights resumed – by the evening of that day, ten artillery divisions would be flown in by the Ouroborii, and two more infantry divisions, as well as thousands of tons of supplies.. They landed at the very southernmost areas of Africa, where they would be shielded by dozens of levels of ABM and anti-air weapons, as well as the firepower of twenty-five maritime anti-air vessels.

Even as these aircraft were deploying, the Sisters of Liberty and the Girl Scouts of Allanea were operating a campaign of death in the Allanean rear. From every single controlled territory, former government officials – many now unemployed in the wake of the Allanean market reforms – that cooperated with the sending of slaves to Doomingsland were carted in to a small area of land near Johannesburg.

There, they were executed en masse, their bodies decapitated and then thrown into mass graves. By now, approximately twenty thousand people had been executed. The property of these officials was seized and distributed to the poor, as well as any property of the African governments that was not any longer useful given the reform. Thousands of square kilometers of land were privatized and given to locals as well.

In the meanwhile, a horrendous package was finding it’s way to Doomingsland’s leaders, through normal mail. It was a scroll, made from patches of skin, taken from executed collaborants at Camp Beta.

It is time for the First Punishment of Egypt.

The hand that grabbed him shocked him; he hadn't heard anything: he was too busy listening to the footsteps echoing softly in the distance. With a jolt he seized the arm that touched him and brought his knife to bear against his assailant's neck with a whiz through the dank air to. The torch light blinded him partially and he was able to make out whoever this was.. was no Doomani soldier. Only when he began to recognize the girl did he release her. She was one of the rebels. She looked even worse than he did but at least she was mobile. In a few seconds within meeting her he realized who she was: that girl Edris brought to the base and led them at first to Antonov. He didn't remember her name but how in hell she managed to arrive all the way out here was beyond him. He must have flowed 5 miles down to here.

His brows frowned and he spoke in a hoarse whisper,

"How the hell did you get here?

it just rolled off his tongue when he heard the footsteps get louder,

"Idiot girl! you've just drawn them to us. Get the fuck out of here and get rid of the torch for Godsake! Go! I'll try to cover you."

The girl seemed not to want to leave. In his mind he cursed ever coming to this idiotic land and his ill luck. The footsteps grew louder and faster. He was sure she could hear them now. There wasn't any more time. If she stayed any longer with that torch they'd both be dead.

He turned his head towards the rushing footsteps and then back to the girl.

"Look I can't walk and I'll only slow you down. Get the fuck out of here while you still can or We'll both be killed... run for it now or I'll kill you. I'm dead already.."

He stared at her one eye his with a glare as cold as stone seemingly staring into her very soul. If he was going to die he wanted to at least be able to take out one of these fuckers. He was through with running. Not that he could anymore at this point anyway.

The girl put out her torch.

"From each according to their ability... to each according to their need." She said this as if she had been brought up to believe it, and judging from her affiliation with a communist militia, she probably had.

She pulled the M-8 from her hip, grabbed Murat's hands, and proceeded to drag him deeper into the cave. "We never leave a comrade behind. Do you know what the Doomani will do to you? They'll skin you alive and let you dry out in the sun, and then they'll take turns with me."

Angeline was a big girl, about 5'8" and 165 pounds, but it was unlikely that as badly injured as she was, and having lost her stereoscopic vision, she'd be able to get Murat to safety if he were dead weight. However, she would drag him as far as she could... First, however, she rolled a concussion grenade down the tunnel with her good arm. This would collapse the tunnel entrance, but not give away their location; the collapse could just as easily have been caused by Doomani munitions that had failed to explode properly.

[ooc: K'stan please read your tgs!! before you post again!]

There were no words for how surprised Murat was by what he saw the girl try to do. To him it was as if she was hell bent on committing suicide for the both of them. He tried in vain to grab the grenade before she let it fly but he was too late. After explosions the whole tunnel went silent. A few rocks tumbled down the one side of the passage and then an eerie silence. The rapid footsteps louder and more frantic than before. He had to convince this crazy girl to leave him alone or they'd both get killed, knowing her from before he couldn't muster the means to kill her. With the torch out he took out his last glow stick. With a stern look that would make a young child cry he showed her his leg and then.. he slammed it sideways on the ground. The crack was sickening and even more so was seeing the leg bend in two where it was not supposed to bend; in the middle of the shin. He looked up. She would notice that he did not wince or show any hint of pain. He brought up his hand standing on one leg and made a fist. The middle bone leading to his middle finger was broken in half and a part popped up pushing up the skin with another disgusting crack.

"I'm deep in shock. I have less than an hour at this rate. I can't feel pain and it's starting to go numb," he said, "Do you know how cold it is girl?-

The footsteps echoed loudly in the hall now. The explosion may have sealed off one exit but that only meant he was trapped in a dead end.

-I can feel my heart beating slower and their are stars. I'm not going to kill you. And I am not coming with you.-"

He pushed her back with surprising strength given her condition.

"Be gone and get the fuck out of here while you can. I'm going to die like a man.

Murat drew forth his knife again and assumed a combat posture. He moved with great difficulty back towards the wall to a hidden enclave just large enough for him- the same one from before. Angeline wouldn't be getting this man to come with her on this day. He was convinced this was the end for him and he wanted to just figure out what the hell these men were really up to. Like a reaper he waited.

He broke the silence once more and for the final time;

"Take the glow stick and the torch."

The young girl took the glow stick and torch and ran off, as fast as her injured, stubby legs could take her. She was crying, but made a serious effort to suppress it. She couldn't have the Doomies hunt her down, but on the other hand, Murat would not last through the worst of Doomani torture, or so Angeline thought.

She took her weapon with her; she had considered leaving it for Murat but he seemed capable of ambushing a Doomie and if he failed, he would die soon from his wounds anyway. Angeline knew the tunnel like the back of her hand and would not risk attracting attention with the glow stick if she didn't need to.

[ooc: thanks]

Murat closed his eyes and a half contented smile formed on his lips. As Angeline's footsteps became inaudible the unmistakable presence of the enemy patrol only grew louder. He could hear them more clearly now. The girl had only managed to draw them to him faster. Not such a bad thing. he thought. Half an hour ago he was thinking about how he was going to make it north through the mountains but he came to realize after fleeing the Doomani that his wounds were a hell of a lot worse than he had thought they were.

The footsteps slowed and finally silenced. He knew they figured they found where the explosion had come from. It was pitch dark. And there were no flashlights. Just now he realized a major problem. He would never get to see his enemy without any light. He reached into his pocket. Astonishingly he pulled out an already used glow stick that was still bright. He put it back in his pocket.

There now was a soft deliberate repeating sound issuing from his left. He knew well enough it was that of a squad moving stealthily. In his mind Murat said a short prayer for his family. This was it and he was ready. For all it seemed it was the end of the line of a short but exciting life. The man's eyes opened in an instant almost shining as if from some light. He braced himself by setting the rifle against the back wall. He'd need it to get a boost. He brought his combat knife up and waited like a sentinel.