NationStates Jolt Archive

Unknown Ocean
27th March 2007

The ocean was in a frightful state. Several dozen ships had been sent out on an exploritory expedition, in hopes of finding lands that had yet been untouched by man. The truth was, the planet was massive. Everything that Zukariaa had ever experienced had been in what was likely an isolated corner of the globe. Because of this, it was believed that there were countless continents up for the taking by anyone who could find them. Zukariaans had already discovered the now strategically important continent of Arterus, which had been consumed by the hordes of Kraven and converted to it's mainland. Zukariaans had discovered many small archipeligos in the middle of the vast oceans of Earth. Zukariaans had gained a reputation for being avid explorers.

The problem was that in the vastness of the ocean, one could easily become lost. That was how Arterus had been found. And that was how a new land was discovered one day as this unlucky exploritory expedition became entangled in the power of the ocean.

Rain poured onto the decks like bullets, combined with the crashing waves. The men were miserable as they worked to keep their ships not only afloat, but on course. Despite their efforts, the pieces of shit that they were given continued to spiral off course, and contact was lost with other ships for several hours. Then the storm ended, and as morning came, the Zukariaans were relieved to see land.

Vast amounts of land.


Bridge of the SMS Finder
March 28th 2007

The commander of the fleet, as well as the captains of every other ship in contact, had gathered to discuss this discovery. After searching for hours on end, it was found that this island was in fact a continent, and stretched hundreds of miles in both directions.

"Gentlemen," began "Admiral" von Preussen,"As you know, we have discovered what looks to be an entire continent which may be totally untouched by the outside world. If this is true, it is only right that we claim as much as we can for the Zukariaan Empire before word gets out to the rest of the known world."

He looked around to see if anyone disagreed, which was obviously not going to happen. He continued,"As such, it is only right that we name this land 'New Zukariaa', and this ocean the 'New Zukariaan Ocean'. If everyone here agrees, I will send word to the Kaiser immidiatly, and colonization shall begin immidiatly, I'm sure."

Each of the men agreed, and the mainland was contacted and informed of the discovery. With the location easily reachable now that it was known, an entire fleet was sent to the new islands. An entire division of soldiers, as well as several contracted businesses and their equipment, were landed. A new wave of colonization was at hand.

http://www.maj.com/gallery/Zukariaa7777/Stuff/newlands5000.png

Unknown to the Zukariaans, however, was that they had discovered the beginnings of a series of massive continents and island chains that continued on for thousands of miles in all directions. It was a land untouched by modern humanity, where native kingdoms and their customs still rules the lands. In the north were two established native nations, warring for power over the island they belonged to.

It was obvious that word of this discovery would get out, it was only a matter of time. And then the nations of the world would come, just as Zukariaa was, and begin the conqeust of these new lands.

How this new landmass appeared was a mystery to the Whyaticans - with essentially global satellite view available to them, a massive new continent and island chain, unclaimed, appearing from nowhere was exceedingly unlikely. It was also exceedingly awesome, for there were natives to Oppress! and resources to Exploit!

Still, exceedingly unlikely.

The Whyatican Empire could not afford to fall behind it's rivals in the colonization of the new magically spawned continent - an expeditionary force of 195 ships and 3,500 marines would be sent, naturally, to exploit the natives and oppress the resources. Or the other way around. Hell, why not both?

Meanwhile, a new theory of the Earth and geography was arising in Zukariaan and Whyatican schools of thought - the 'infinite world, infinite universe' idea. The Earth was infinitely large and could expand on a moment's notice by great proportions. Naturally, this violated several laws of thermodynamics, but this was the only way these random appearances of massive continents could be explained. Really, the Whyaticans can't be fucked to explain it. It's magic, as far as they're concerned.

The first Whyatican colony would be established in an area called, not exactly creatively, "New Caladan", on the landmass due west of New Zukariaa. Expansion was inevitable, and the resources and magic women of the new land would become part of the Whyatican Empire.

The sun was setting as the 104th Janissary Brigade and their civilian charges took control of this fine land, dubbed 'New Canaan', in the name of the Imperator and his glorious and Most Serene Imperium. The regimental band played the anthem as the flag was raised over the assembled thousands and a cluster of prefabricated buildings and tents.

Just outside of this motley town was a mud splattered field full of various vehicles, vehicle shelters, and a crude airstrip. After all, something had to haul supplies to where they were needed. Several animal pens rounded out the outbuildings, the peninsula was solid black soil for as far as they had pushed inland, a good sign for the farmers that had signed onto this venture.

No one had any idea of the eyes that watched them from the hills...

The HNS Scorpion had been rapidly diverted from a standard patrol to rendezvous with a transport ship carrying small amounts of Harakian personnel. The patrol itself had been a relatively standard affair, just a standard patrol like so many small Harakian taskforces maintained, but this new mission was something different. They were to assist in the Harakian development of an entire new continent.

Or, to be precise, one part of an entire continent. Evidently it had been discovered by Zukariaa's prolific exploration teams, but they had not deigned to share the spoils with the world. Of course, no project of such magnitude could be maintained in absolute secrecy, and word had gotten out about it, most likely through some loose-lipped civilian contractor. As thick cloud cover had cleared from over it, a Harakian satellite transferred from surveillance duties in the area to take pictures of the area, and had established one simple fact. The continent included a lot of landmass, and undoubtedly a lot of nations would be involved. Tensions tended to run high, and claims tended to be made early. The Harakians would get theirs in early. Not too large a piece of the pie, while at the same time maintaining enough of a presence to be able to project power anywhere in the area. The centralmost two islands in the New Zukariaan Sea, as it was so aptly named, were claimed as Harakian, with the proper accoutrements filled out and broadcasted to the rest of the world. While a group of all-volunteer soldiers and colonists was assembled back in Haraki, the first Harakian souls to set foot on the claimed section of land would be one batallion of marines, rapidly mobilized from Haraki's nearest sizable naval base, and ordered to meet up with the Scorpion's task force for protection.

Of course, given the large scale involved, it would take days for them to reach the islands themselves. Once they arrived, they would be several weeks on their own, establishing a base camp which the larger transports carrying the volunteer colonial army and colonists could later use to land at.

It would be a slow process, but it would be a thorough one. Whatever their detractors could say about Harakians, they could not say they were not thorough. And from these simple beginnings ... who knew what could be forged?









OOC: Cleared with Zuk.

And for reference, the Scorpion is a light carrier carrying around 36 planes. It's accompanied by probably about a dozen smaller ships, none larger than a heavy cruiser.

New Zukariaa, Zukariaan Controlled Lands

It had been a week since the Zukariaans had landed in New Zukariaa, and since then, it had been reported that Whyaticans had landed in another huge landmass to the west. The coast was becoming more and more alive with movement, as the contracted businesses that were brought in from Zukariaa began to speed-build everything needed for a new colony. Of course, the worry of natives continued to be an issue, despite the fact that none had been seen.

That was, until..

"The hell? Are you seein what I'm seeing?" a logger said, lowering his chainsaw. Another logger looked up, and shared the firsts odd look. A group of what were presumably natives came out from the trees, they were looking just as strangely at the loggers as the loggers were looking at them. It was probably for the same reason, too. These people had.. green skin. One of them even had huge tusk-like teeth.

"What the hell is this? War of Worldcraft?" one of the loggers said sarcastically, looking at the strange looking natives who were carrying axes, of all things.

The natives said something in their own language before screaming at the tops of their lungs and charging the loggers. The loggers looked at each other stupidly for a moment before most of them dropped their gear and ran off. The natives ran down most of them; dismembering their arms, legs, and heads as they squirmed. One logger bravely stood his ground with his chainsaw and ripped one of them to shreds before having his head cracked open with a rock. As quickly as the slaughter started, the natives disappeared into the trees. The only evidence of what had happened was the dead native, still being ripped up by the brave logger's running chainsaw.

Soon enough, the scene was discovered. Colonial authorities ordered the native body be examined, as nothing of it's kind had ever been observed in nature. At the same time, the armed forces were being readied to track down the natives to their homes and force them to never attack colonials again, no matter what it took.

OOC-Yeah, I know. This was agreed on with a couple of other dudes. <.< XD

Zukariaa;12484599']New Zukariaa, Zukariaan Controlled Lands

It had been a week since the Zukariaans had landed in New Zukariaa, and since then, it had been reported that Whyaticans had landed in another huge landmass to the west. The coast was becoming more and more alive with movement, as the contracted businesses that were brought in from Zukariaa began to speed-build everything needed for a new colony. Of course, the worry of natives continued to be an issue, despite the fact that none had been seen.

That was, until..

"The hell? Are you seein what I'm seeing?" a logger said, lowering his chainsaw. Another logger looked up, and shared the firsts odd look. A group of what were presumably natives came out from the trees, they were looking just as strangely at the loggers as the loggers were looking at them. It was probably for the same reason, too. These people had.. green skin. One of them even had huge tusk-like teeth.

"What the hell is this? War of Worldcraft?" one of the loggers said sarcastically, looking at the strange looking natives who were carrying axes, of all things.

The natives said something in their own language before screaming at the tops of their lungs and charging the loggers. The loggers looked at each other stupidly for a moment before most of them dropped their gear and ran off. The natives ran down most of them; dismembering their arms, legs, and heads as they squirmed. One logger bravely stood his ground with his chainsaw and ripped one of them to shreds before having his head cracked open with a rock. As quickly as the slaughter started, the natives disappeared into the trees. The only evidence of what had happened was the dead native, still being ripped up by the brave logger's running chainsaw.

Soon enough, the scene was discovered. Colonial authorities ordered the native body be examined, as nothing of it's kind had ever been observed in nature. At the same time, the armed forces were being readied to track down the natives to their homes and force them to never attack colonials again, no matter what it took.

OOC-Yeah, I know. This was agreed on with a couple of other dudes. <.< XD

:eek:

The discovery of the huge landmass greatly interested the Reich's leadership. How such a place could have existed in it's current state, undiscovered for thousands of years baffled the Reich's scientists. That, along with bread pudding which they were still researching in order to become a culinary superpower.

A colonial force of 10,000 Soldiers, mostly Special Forces and a fleet matching the one of the Whyaticans numerically were immediately dispatched to seize a portion of the landmass in the name of the Reich. The mission was not only to secure the area against rival colonial powers, but more covertly, the cleansing of the native population.

The ones that weren't killed outright would of course be inducted into slave labor camps to produce various amenities for the billions of the Reich's more pure citizens. The more desirable areas of the land however would be converted into retreats for the Reich's upper-class citizens, high-level government officials not excluded.

He-Who-Speaks-To-Grampy-Bone adjusted his grip on the shaft of the fighting spear. He and his band of warriors had been marching for most of the night, his stretched rawhide war-shield heavy on his left forearm, his war bonnet offset to one side on his tanned face. But no matter, for soon battle would be joined against the trespassers; and they, the feared Iequ tribe, would win the day.

- - - - - - - -

Outside the palisade, Providence.

The morning fog hid the surrounding approaches to Providence, as they had decided to call it, under mournful ground level clouds of water vapor. Good conditions for a attack, not so great for the poor bugger on sentry duty.

Private Al-Razi of the 104th leaned against the wooden poles of the defensive wall. Damn this job is dull. He thought miserably. Here he was, a slave to the Doomani, and then came the Imperator. He was rescued, the only price his everlasting loyalty to the Imperator and selfless devotion to the service of the state. But had he gone through the hell of training, forged into a Janissary, just in order to ride shotgun on a bunch of transplanted farmers? Thats simply wasn't fai...

Running. Close. Who the fuck- He tried to turn but the spear caught him in the chest first.

The war screams of the Iequ filled the morning air.

"In conclusion, this new region provides an amazing new economic opportunity, one which our Empire cannot afford to pass up."

"From the folks who brought us Arterus. God Bless the Zukariaans."

"Sure; should we begin the involvement?"

"Yes. First we officially claim our little penninsula, then we move in and make it Errikan."

"Yes, sir."

***

The stormy seas off the rocky coast was far from placid, but presented little barrier to the landing crafts, which now swarmed the beaches. Large numbers of soldiers, accompanied by military and other vehicles as well as verious other support for the invasion moved to secure the location. With a bit of work, this point would serve to be the base for futher Errikan operations in the region.

OOC:
Official claim: map (http://www.maj.com/gallery/Errikland/NS/Maps/nz.png)
Will post more later, thanks.

The massive citadel ships crashed into the white shores, spraying sand and debris hundreds of feet. A cacophony of noise rippled along the shoreline as massive bow-doors slammed down across the beach, sending more sand flying. Black Smoke billowed from the massive transport ships stacks, staining the blue skies.

From deep within the massive ships came loud echoing bootsteps, clanging off the hard steel of the decks. Listening closely one could hear the growling of engines. A crowd had developed along the cliffs, about a hundred meters back from the shoreline. The green skins had emerged from their homes, to be met by a spectacle. Massive kilometer long ships, whos battlements and turrets spun into the sky. They watched as columns of armoured soldiers marched from the mouths of the steel beasts. They gripped their axes tighter, they had numbers on their side.

"My Lord; Natives have formed to the north of us. They carry melee weapons. No Firearms."
Lord Marshall Krocop poured over his charts and screens, ensuring everything was moving smoothly. He had no time for such pests. "Send out a company of Spartans. Have them clear out any villages in the area. They are to have access only to a few trucks. They need not waste our fuel on perusing about in IFV's and the like. Now, begon."
"But your lordship, they are numbering in the hundreds. Surely you would wish to send more?"
Krocop stood to his full height, towering above the lieutenant. He spoke softly, yet powerfully. Every word reverberated in the massive hall of his command ship. "You will send a company. If you question me again, you will not see any combat yourself. Is that understood?"
The smaller man took a step back and bowed, quickly leaving.

Captain Jokrovik held his breath. His company had entered the forest, a mile from the beach head in search for the Natives. He could hear their heavy breathing - it came with the weight they were carrying. They were close. Lust for battle had consumed his entire company. They strung their rifles across their back and had withdrawn their powerized short swords. Waves of white and blue arcs of electricity crackled from the blades, allowing for eerie shadows to dance about the forest floor. He could sense a charge coming. Jokrovik reached around to his back, unhooking his large studded shield. Has a commisioned officer, he had specific access to such a piece of defensive and offensive equipment. Everyone else had withdrawn their pistols. The enemies scent had grown strong. The silence had been pierced by a loud battle cry; hundreds of green bodies became visible swinging axes as they hurdled through the forest at the company of Artitsan Spartans.

ooc: I've been calling my troops Spartans before 300. Don't even bring it up, or I'll eat your face.

The axe cleft a large portion of Jokrovik's shoulder plate clean from the rest of his armour. He lifted his Shield to block another heavy handed axe blow, as he swept his crackling sword around him felling two of the man-beasts, leaving their bodies charred and smoking. He shifted his weight and spun, putting the native who had swung at his shield into an awkward tumble to his knees. Jokrovik brought the serated edges of the shield down in a spinning motion, severing the tendons in it's neck. Crouching, he looked around at his men. Some had fallen, but the natives had suffered far worse. His Spartans would parry wild axe swings, responding with short barks from their automatic pistols. The hydrashok rounds would tear the unprotected natives open from clavical to sternum, splintering bone and spewing out gore.

Jokrovik jumped back as an axe plummited down, catching his shield. The powerful force dropped Jokrovik onto his knees. In retaliation, he slapped the blunt face of the crackling sword against the aggressors flank, before rotating it, and drawing it across the natives stomach. Another charged at him from the rear, only to have Jokrovik jam his sword into the beasts orbital to the hilt. With his sword now stuck, the Captain was forced to fend off several other natives with the serated shield.

Calmly, over his comm network, he issued his next orders. "Everyone fall back to waypoint Hotel. Procedure Angel. Move now."

The remaining Spartans dispatched their nearest foes, turned, and sprinted back towards their original entry point. The natives in hot pursuit. The sunlight outside the forest was blinding, impossible to see beyond the treeline. Perfect.
As the Spartans crossed the treeline, a dozen or so stood up from their hiding locations, and lit their flamethrowers. The natives immediatly stopped, recognizing the ambush, and struggled to retreat themselves. It was too late. Flames doused the forest area, as cross fire from seperate fire teams poured rounds into other parts of the forest. Soon most would be dead; and soon the village would be captured. It was ineffecient in terms of Artitsan casualties, but damned fun.


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Back along the coast, trucks from the depths of the transports and brought out large cranes and tracks for them to run along. Massive generators and filtration units had been unpacked and pressed into service. The water from the ocean would be used to cool the generators, but filtered first of course. Hours later, the cranes would begin dismantling the ships themselves, bringing down large Battlements and structures which had infact not belonged to the ship in the first place. Prefabricated structures sped up the process, but there had been delays.

The tracks for the cranes had been extended up to the rockier, sturdier portion of the beacheads. Large backhoes had begun digging foundations, while the corps of engineers lay their concrete base, and constructed roadways from the ships. The plan called for the keels to remain as docks for other ships, but converted. The rest of the ships would be cannibalized to produce barracks, machine shops, and other necessities. Several days had passed before the first prefab structures were laid down onto their foundations. The Corp of Engineers now began turning the beach into a proper harbour area, laying down large segments of concrete and reinforcement. The machine shops had been some of the first buildings laidup to produce the equipment necessary. Once the docks and harbour were prepared the larger transport and container ships could make port. They contained larger cranes, which would be more at home in one of Artitsa's massive shipyards. Again the rail guidelines would also be unpacked, along with far more necessities to produce a deepwater port. It was going to be huge.

Excavation equipment would follow, with construction crews and civillian contractors. While this is all processed, large walls and turrets would be placed far around the colony. The first of four planned cities to grow from these fertile lands.

((I'll post claiming mah little island chain up north a little later. >.> ))

[OOC: This will be my claim post, I already talked about what I'm claiming with zuk so here is a map (http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y10/68157Silver/nz.png).]

The coast curved sharply in, a small rounded peninsula jutting out several kilometres into the water. It was, for all intents and purposes, an ideal harbour, and a perfect place for Haraki's first base on the eastern island. Surrounded by dense woods, it would not be ideal for an airbase, but a smaller offshore island was mostly free of trees and would do for now, until further construction and clearing could be done to establish real buildings and cities. The land itself was rocky and hilly, the shore inside the small bay sloping up gently into the treeline, but around it the coast was steep and rocky. The harbour itself would be protected from the ocean, which was what made it ideal.

The marines had already landed, and several marine helicopters flying from the Scorpion were maintaining cover over them as they established a base. Very little was known about the native animal life and development of the island, simply that it existed. The marines were doing their best building quickly, establishing a camp to house hundreds of soldiers over the course of one afternoon, but they would be vulnerable for several days until the colonist transports arrived with heavier building equipment and trained colonists and engineers. Of course, they were not really worried about natives. Satellites and air reconnaissance had picked up no signs of advanced technology, and with a defensible position and air support there was little low-technology enemies could do to them. It was more for precautions than anything else.

Once the colonists arrived construction would go much faster, and once the rudimentary airstrip on the offshore island was finished they could shuttle in supplies much faster by air, routed from Haraki through one of the larger colonies, through the marines' naval base, and finally to the island itself.

The Errikan Task force in Erdengrün, the large continent upon which the Errikan claim laid, did not take long establishing solid bases of operation; at five major points along the coast of the peninsula, now deemed “Grenland,” and an additional two across the Grenland Sea, the military was active in constructing fortified facilities that would support further Errikan operations in the region. All of these bases, while extensive and top of the line, were on the coast, as Errikan operations had yet to expand inland. That would change now.

Map ( http://www.maj.com/gallery/Errikland/NS/Maps/errikan_n_base.png)

***

The sounds of the helicopters echoed in the background as Philip looked over the landscape. Below him, the Errikan command center sat, sunk comfortably in to the land around the natural bay; it was a stark contrast, a large facility of concrete and steel, with heliports and bunkers and a grand airstrip, lay in a green land, with serene forests on the edge of the rolling grasses. Most of the construction was finished by now, and sod was being laid over the dirt that now covered much of the facility. Eventually, very little of the mainland base would be visible, and nature would seem to have swallowed up much of what it had lost. When civilian settlement proceeded, a town would surely grow up around the base, over the nature which had only so recently retaken that land.

He raised his eyes, looking out across the pristine bay, to the island, almost connected to the mainland by a shallow and rocky strip of land which was not always completely submerged at low tide. The island had seemed almost a jutting, rocky eyesore when the Errikans first arrived, and now served as home to an extension of the military base.

And yet, as he turned from the settlement, he saw the depths of the forests and plains, covering rolling hills and valleys, off into the distance. Far away, the edge of the great mountains which formed the spine of the peninsula were visible, though clouds drifted about before them. The Empire had established its grasp on the edge of this great land; now it would march into its heart in the boots of the Errikan Infantry.

A Rosbani fishing barge had run aground on an island in a storm, an awful storm. What the Rosbani fishermen feared was that they had left 50 crabbing pots out
in the ocean. They were hunting Queen Crab, a luxury in Jaredcohenia. They knew they wouldn't starve.

What they didn't know was that they had landed on the southern part of lands that Jaredcohenian satellites neglected to notice. How is it possible that highly advanced satellites can miss such a discovery?

Later, more stuff would come to the island. (OOC: too tired to post lolz)

Whyatican Landing Beach, "New Caladan"
Whyatican marines hit the beaches of this new colony, moving to secure critical positions along the coast and attack whatever natives were in the area. Satellite intelligence had not provided much - the forest cover made intelligence difficult and overflights had not proven to show much, either. The Whyatican landing beaches were some of the few areas not covered in trees and brush, and as the marine groups split into fire teams and began to explore the forest, they might find that their luck would change..

Ten marines crept through the brush and trees, finding nothing but seemingly cute and cuddly forest life-forms. Nothing that seemed to indicate a thread. Suddenly, however, a bush shook a bit, causing a marine to panic and fire a burst of his assault rifle into the bush. The marines rushed over to the bush, cutting away the branches using their knives, finding the corpse of a highly unlucky squirrel that was traversing the branches, the bullet ripping it's body apart. The marines completed looking through the branches, and continued their advance.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH", the scream that would soon be familiar to most Whyatican marines was heard by the group, and they saw at least fifty massive green-skinned monsters charging toward them with sluggaz and shootas. They were, at the least, two feet taller than the tallest Marine, armoured with plates of steel and the flayed skin of their victims. The biggest one had a much darker tone of skin, with some very primitive cybernetics grafted onto his twisted body.

"Fire!" yelled the leader of the Whyatican group, and the ten marines opened fire on the Orks with their assault rifles. Immediately two of them dropped dead, and shoota bullets whizzed past the marines, who dove behind trees looking for cover. Another mighty WAAAAAAAAAAAGH scream drove the Ork insanity further, them jumping over their own dead to get to the Whyatican marines. An unlucky man - the closest to the Ork assault - attached the bayonet to his rifle, and stabbed an Ork in the stomach. The blood squirted out of the wound, and the Ork screamed and smashed the Marine in the head with his Slugga, splitting the man in half.

"GET THE HUMIES PRISONAS, BOYZ!" the darker-green skinned one screamed, as he backhanded a marine into a tree, knocking him out. Three more Orks dropped to a fragmentation grenade thrown by a marine, who was promptly picked up and had his head ripped off by an Ork.

"WE KILL THE HUMIES LATER, TAKE 'EM NOW, YA GITZ!" the warboss yelled again, and a Whyatican bullet ricocheted off his armour. By now, two Whyatican marines had been killed and three had been taken prisoner, and the remaining five marines were preparing to retreat their position, when another group of Orks smashed through the trees and attacked them. Hit from two angles, two more marines had their heads split open and were killed, and the last three were knocked out and captured. Ork and human blood stained the forest, with at least forty Orkish dead to the five Whyatican dead..

“Sir?”

Philip turned, facing the man who had spoken to him. He was an ethnic Arterusian, being much shorter than an average Errikan at around 5’11” and a possessing darker complexion and different build. His buzzed hair, which was required of each active trooper, and thin beard were visible because he had removed his helmet, which he now held at his side.

“Yes, Lieutenant Gormund?” he responded, returning his salute.

“Our force is ready to move out, sir. We only await your command.”

“Excellent, I will be there in just a moment.”

Timothy Gormund saluted once more, placing his helmet back on his head, with the airtight seal activating immediately, as he turned and trotted down the hill.

Captain Philip Grant paused only momentarily to gaze back at the mountains once more. As he slipped his helmet down on his head, he thought for a moment that his group would be the first to introduce Errikan steel to the distant misty mountains.

***

The buzz of the peculiar flying monsters drove Ungaard out of his tree into the underbrush. Those strange things had been flying off in the distance for some time, but this was the first time that they had come this near.

As he pulled himself out of the scrub, brushing off his bleeding arm, Ungaard heard the laughter of his fellow males, who noted his desperate flight from the foreign creature and his ungraceful landing; such apparent cowardice would surely serve to humiliate him further if he did not act now. He stood, cleaning his tusks and balling his fists before giving out a deep, angry grunt and baring his teeth. Any who wished to challenge him could do so now. The others quieted down, though the snickering did not cease altogether. Though his dignity was fairly secure for now, he would have to do something soon to prove his masculinity.

And he would soon have his chance.

***

The girl held her clay jug tightly as she scrambled over the rocks. Her companions followed her closely, each carrying their own jugs or bags. They were scouting for various fruit, vegetables, nuts, and various other foodstuffs that they could use.

Those noisy birds had kept most of the scavengers hiding, but the girl was adventurous, and, while she still tried to stay out of sight, she led her group out foraging every day.

The birds had been quieter today anyway, aside from one that had just flown over.

So now she led her group into the open, across rocks in a small stream and onto a larger rock face. The sun shone down comfortably onto the rock, and the girl crawled slowly across it. As she came to the edge of the rock, she looked down edge; it was a five foot sheer face, dropping into the small, crystal clear river.

She set down her jug, slipping off her shawl and beginning to drop down off the edge. The others briefly protested, but she assured them that all was well and slipped down into the cool water.

After some swimming, the girl laid out on a rock to warm herself in the sun. She looked up briefly, and was surprised to not see the others swimming; she quickly brushed it off, however, assuming that they had merely been too afraid and snuck into the bushes.

Less than five minutes later, sounds coming from the other side of the shallow river roused her. She jerked up, looking at the source of the sound and listening intently, though her heart was pounding in her ears. What was that sound? It was rustling, something rustling, stepping calmly through the scrub, and it was getting closer. Hurriedly, pushed off the rock, quickly dropping back into the river and swimming as quickly as she could back to the rock she had originally slid down. Her heart still beating in her ears, she came to her rock face. As she reached it, however, she realized that she could not possibly climb to the top without help, and that her friends were long gone, hidden in the brush. Perhaps they were the smart ones. Perhaps she should have listened to them.

Now was not the time for such thought. Now was the time to escape. After briefly hyperventilating, she ducked under the water, swimming a few feet down the river, and hopping out beside the rock and into the bushes. Into safety.

Or so it would seem.

***

Captain Grant swung his rifle back, strapping it over his shoulder and dropping to the soft ground. This mission was just filled with so many damned frustrations. First there were bureaucratic delays, then, for what must have been the first time in Errikan history, technical difficulties hit the helicopters, which had been some of the most reliable helicopters in the world. All but one of them at once. So now the entire damned mission was well behind schedule, and Philip was beginning to despair; the odds that they would be the first to reach the distant mountains seemed long, at least to those who did not know of the greater delays that had kept each of the other group back as well.

“Where are you going?”

Philip turned around, looking back at the man who had spoken to him. He bore the Faust Uniform, with his helmet completely masking his head, and his voice heavily mechanized. However, Philip knew his friend.

“There is nothing else that can be done right now, Tim. I am just going to take a walk.”

“Mind if I join you?” Lieutenant Tim Gormund asked, slinging his own AE5 over his shoulder.

“I can always use company.”

Several minutes later, they climbed through the brush, pushing through the thicker bushes and stepping over fallen logs and rocks. They both seemed quite alien, these men with thick overcoats lined with Kevlar-like armor hiding metal skin and bearing only black slates for faces hiking through the green forests filled with life. Tim stopped for a moment, sitting on a fallen log and reaching for a ration bar. Philip paused for a moment, but decided to continue forward for a bit.

This choice would turn out to be significant.

He carefully stepped through the dried twigs, making as little noise as possible, and eventually came across the edge of the tree line. With no further pause, he stepped through the line and into the open.

The sun was very bright as Philip stepped beyond the trees, though his helmet spared him of the human sensation that comes along with it. His helmet and armor, in fact, while keeping him constantly safe from most anything that nature or an unprepared enemy could throw at him, constantly denied him of his humanity. Now would seem an appropriate time to shed that, if only for a moment.

Captain Philip Grant removed his helmet, breathing deeply as the sunlight washed over his face. Great God, now he felt alive.

And, for a moment, he looked stunning standing there; his helmet, at his side, his gun over his shoulder, his undone overcoat revealing his soft armor and, since he was wearing light soft armor, a limited extent of his hard armor. This shining moment was, however, just that: a moment; his first step forward did not land on secure land, and he soon found himself falling, face first, into the ground before him.

Philip regretted having taken off his helmet as he smeared the mud off his face and rose to his feet, also silently thankful that no one had seen him. Before him sat a beautiful little river, pristine and clear. He reached down into the river, washing the mud off his gloves and before using the water to wash his face.

***

The girl watched intently as the strange figure advanced from the forest. It was like nothing she had ever seen before; it was huge like an Ork, but wore giant clothes covering its whole body, and had no face, but a solid, black slab.

This was indeed a strange thing.

It reached up and removed its face, revealing the face of a man. So it is a man, then. But still a very strange man. Its – or his  face was very white, his hair short and light and golden as the sun, wrapping around his chin and mouth. He was astounding to look and, and frighteningly powerful.

That is, until he stumbled.

A very strange man indeed. But a funny man.

The girl couldn’t help but laugh, though she kept it quiet. He seemed to not have noticed her, as he continued with his business. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and hunkered down to watch this curious man further.

In the next moment, a scream and a grunt caught her attention.

***

Ungaard’s party stalked through the brush, moving very silently for brooding creatures of their bulk. His humiliation from earlier still stung him, but the group did not focus on that now. They smelled fresh meat.

Living meat.

Unknown to him, this was a true opportunity for Ungaard: not only for a meal, but to redeem himself.

***

A piercing scream erupted from the forest across the shallow way, catching Philip completely off guard. His training took over, and he dropped behind suitable cover, in this case a large rock, and leveled his rifle at the source of the sound. A small woman stumbled hurriedly out of the bushes on the opposite side of the river. She was very petite, and strikingly pretty. He would have guessed her age at around twenty years old, though he was certainly unfamiliar with this race. What was he wasting his time observing her characteristics for? She was a native! This was an immense discovery!

He had no idea how much more immense the discovery was about to become.

With a great bellowing roar, Ungaard, the great green beast with sparkling ivory tusks and a massive axe, burst from the treeline and into the scene of intercontinental developments.

For a moment, Captain Philip Grant was stunned. Here before him, emerging from the trees, were monsters; true great ugly beasts, with green, bloated bellies and shining tusks of white and running red which emerged from the forest and now advanced upon the river.

The shock wore off, and he saw a girl threatened to be cleaved in two by bloodthirsty ogres. With only a moment’s pause, he reacted.

***

Naalgahr licked his chops; the first meat had been delicious. They had easily snuck up on them – several young females, hiding in the brush. They had not even been aware, their focus turned to the river. He sunk his teeth deeper into the flesh, jerking it away to tear off a section and swallow it whole; the blood was still very warm, and dripped down his tusks. Ah, the taste.

But there was still more; another female, less than three yards away. She had been alerted to their presence, and now scrambled hastily towards the river. The last minute tension would toughen the meat, but oh, the struggle would be sport.

Before his comrades could advance on her, Naalgahr jumped down from the rock into the bush from which the girl had fled only moments earlier, tossing his previous victim aside hastily in his lust for new meat. The girl’s body tumbled against a clay pot, knocking it along with itself into the river. Naalgahr took no notice of this, however, as he stalked his prey, raising his axe in anticipation. However, it was at that moment that something else, something across the narrow river, drew his attention.

With a sharp whistle, Philip rose to his feet, aiming his weapon at the beasts. He currently counted half a dozen of them, though there was still movement back in the forest. The largest one was furthest back to his right – the least immediately threatening. Another, though, not much smaller than the largest, was ten feet from his position, and fast advancing on the girl. He would be the most immediate problem.

The whistle had gotten their attention, and they now gazed curiously in his direction; it seems they had never seen any man like him before.

Another thing it was apparent that they had never seen before was his rifle, as they showed no regard to it being pointed in their direction. This was both good and bad – it would mean that they have none of their own with which to attack him, a definite good thing, but it would also mean that it would be difficult to threaten them with it.

The closest one began to step forward once again, at the desperate girl. Philip fired a warning shot, which struck the ground before the beast. It briefly paused. Briefly.

Naalgahr eyed this peculiar man, bearing his strange weapon. At least it seemed to be weapon. It certainly wasn’t anything like an axe, though it did have a blade on the end (his bayonet); it was far too small to truly be intimidating. Still, it did do something very strange, perhaps he should not . . .

The nearest Ork grunted; Naalgahr glanced at his comrades, clearly awaiting his action. If he did not demonstrate his own bravery now, against this man – strange, yes, but still nothing more than a man, the creature that he had feasted upon more than once – then he could never live it down.

The girl could wait. This stranger would feel Orkish strength.

He let out a deep, long bellow from the core of his belly, bearing his teeth and tusks and spreading his arms while puffing out his chest. It was an impressive display, something that would stir any rival Ork. And then he charged.

The beast’s roar was very cool, though not that surprising. Philip swore beneath his breath, hoping that Tim had heard that. Something told him that this beast’s friends would not just walk off when their brother in arms was gunned down by this annoying little human. Still, he could take the first step.

A single burst from the AE5 served to do this.

Naalgahr felt the burst tear through his torso. Orkish hide was not baby flesh; it has to be strong, to withstand the claws and tusks of rival males, and even to minimize the damage from axes and clubs. Naalgahr, though not as tough as Ungaard, was one of the toughest of his group. Still, the rounds that could break Kraven Capital Police armor easily ripped through him, splattering his bodily fluids backwards into the trees. Still, he was not yet dead. His eyes dilated, his mouth agape and gasping for air, he stumbled forward, narrowly missing stepping on the girl and toppling face first into the river.

There was a pause.

It was broken by angered bellowing roars. These roars, while very similar to the late Naalgahr’s, were quite different in motivation; his had been a roar of intimidation, a roar which flexed one’s strength and illustrated prowess. These were not so pleased, not so routine. These were roars of revenge.

The Orks would make this stranger, this insolent human who had slain their comrade, pay dearly for his actions.

The first Ork to advance planned to leap from his own position to the opponsite side of the river, bringing his axe down upon the human’s head; this would have been a normal feat for an Ork, though it would have appeared stunning to an unfamiliar human; however, he was unfortunate enough as he stepped forward to catch his feet in the shawl on the ground, resulting in a humiliating trip off the rock and an ungraceful facial flop into the river. Perhaps he was actually fortunate, for the next Ork, advancing from behind his clumsy brother and seeking to clear the river in one bound, took a burst in the throat, one bullet tearing through just below the adam’s apple, another just above, and the third passing through the soft flesh beneath the jaw and into the head, which was nearly severed as the dead beast fell limply to rocks with a sickening crunch. Another was quicker, and luckier, bounding across the rocks and beside the Captain. A swipe of his axe was meant to cleave the man below the shoulders; it was not so successful, as Philip pulled back desperately at the last moment, sparing himself any contact with the deadly Orkish blade. One important aspect of him was not spared this contact, however, and his rifle was blasted from his grip, which had already been weakened in his dodge, and into the river.

“Oh damn,” he said, at a loss for words as the Ork raised his axe for a second blow. He had always known that he could be cut down in the field, in some random and backwater land of savages. But still, somehow he never figured it would be at the hand of a green, axe wielding monster.

And it would not be.

At that very moment a Faust Trooper advanced calmly from the forest, his weapon clearly switched to full auto fire as he unloaded fifteen rounds into the Ork’s chest, arm, and head, tearing the beast apart.

“About time, Lieutenant,” Captain Grant gasped, drawing his pistol and turning towards the river, “Was it the woman’s scream, the gunshots, or the inhuman bellowing that got your attention?”

“What the hell are those things, sir?” Lieutenant Gormund asked, stepping from his cover into the open.

“Some sort of demons that feast on young, defenseless girls,” he muttered quickly, firing several shots at the largest of the beasts as he dropped down behind a boulder. In fact, the rest of the monsters seem to have vanished into the brush as well. Perhaps they thought that his immediate backup consisted of more than one man. He stepped onto one of the river rocks, approaching the young woman who seemed incapacitated, “Did you call for backup? I seem to have misplaced my helmet.”

“Of course, sir,” he laughed, walking towards the captain, “I was just about to ask–”

He was cut off abruptly when one of the beasts, covered in mud and leaping from seemingly no where, attacked, swinging his huge axe with full force against his chest. He had no time to gasp. The Klage III body armor kept the axe out of his body, but it did not prevent the massive force from pounding the wind out of him and tossing the man like a rag doll. He toppled through the air before smashing against a tree and falling flat onto the ground.

Philip turned quickly, nearly loosing his footing on the slippery rock, to see his friend fall. He was certainly unconscious, perhaps dead. No, now was not the time for such thought. Now was the time for action.

The Ork gave out a grunt, perhaps out of frustration that he had not halved the man, had not shed blood. It was no matter, however. He turned the shaft of the axe in his hand, shifting the business end from the huge, broad blade to the opposite spike. This spike could not actually pierce the armor, even with the full strength of the Ork behind it. However, this would not be necessary if he came at the back of the neck, as seemed probable; this would decapitate him and give this Ork his wanted blood.

This would not happen if Captain Philip Grant had anything to do with it.

***

The girl stirred. She had been conscious the entire time, though in shock. She had always known the dangers of the monsters; she had always heard the stories of their brutality and insatiable hunger, their lust for human flesh; she had always heard of those ill-fated people who had come into their path. But this was here, this was now, this was so real.

And now she decided that she was going to survive this.

She held herself up as best she could, looking to the battle across the river only briefly. The strange man, and his new comrade, cut down the monsters, who had been the immortal shadows lurking the forests since her youth, as if there was nothing so special about it; they were merely fighting another enemy.

The girl’s distraction caused her to not initially notice the biggest of the Orks, Ungaard, advancing from the shadows. He sniffed, taking in her scent. The overwhelming fear that flowed off her only moments earlier was delicious, and she was a pretty little human female. Perhaps he could have some fun with her before it was done. Those other strange humans were a very strange development, and he could not shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to the flying monsters; this was no matter, as he could examine what was left of their bodies and follow their trails later, and perhaps get together a full warband to pursue their tribe. But for now he would take a bit of pleasure.

***

“Christ, give me strength,” Philip prayed silently as he moved to save his friend from the bloodthirsty monster that now advanced upon him, jumping from his slippery rock to the soft mud and angling his pistol at the brute. There was no pause, no second thoughts, no mercy for the beast that would butcher his fellow Errikan.

He unloaded his clip into the Ork.

Unfortunately, though the Ork’s skin was not solid enough to effect the trajectory of an AE5 round, the hardy flesh of this particular one stayed solid against the pistol’s shots, though several of the shots did draw blood.

Though the rounds did no serious damage, they caused quite a bit of pain, and drew the Ork’s rage against the source. He turned angrily, bloodlust in his eyes, spinning the axe back to its original position, upon the Errikan captain who now had no more bullets.

Seeing the great ogre, the green, eight foot wall of muscle and swollen flesh, advancing full force against him, Philip resorted to his Officer Sword; it was a largely ceremonial weapon, carried by commanding officers deemed worthy of doing so. The sword was the eternal symbol of Errikan honor, and to be presented one, professionally forged for the specific case, was a major ceremony. Still, officers were not expected to have to use them in battle. Especially not against a giant green monster.

The beast raised one more, finally triumphant, bellowing roar as he raised his axe, swinging it downwards at the Captain’s head.

He reacted quickly, leaning downwards and backwards. The axe passed harmlessly by his face, narrowly missing the brow of his nose. As the axe head sank into the mud, Philip brought his sword into place, first slitting the wrist of the monster’s axe hand and then, as he twisted his blade and pulled it upwards, cutting it free. The beast pulled back, the cries of pain echoing out his mouth as black blood spurted from his truncated wrist. Philip did not pause, bringing the sword forward in one fluid motion, thrusting threw the bloated green belly of his savage opponent. Rather than merely withdraw out the same line he had entered, as was customary, he drew upwards, slicing threw ribs and collar bone and exiting out beside his neck. The grisly beast toppled backwards, its far grislier demise finished.

Before the beleaguered captain could go to the side of his fallen brother in arms, he was yet again drawn away by the scream of the native girl.

***

She screamed desperately as Ungaard descended upon her, scuttling from the dirt to the river, towards the men who had so frightened her, the creatures which had killed several of the monsters. The girl pushed herself to the nearest rock jutting from the river, her legs falling into the water as she landed. Far from the comfortable and relaxing waves that had lapped at her only minutes earlier, the water now stung her skin as she frantically fought to escape her attacker.

Ungaard laughed at her weakness, hopping easily to the rock and pinning the poor girl with his foot. This would be better than he had thought.

“Stop right there, you disgusting fungal wart,” Philip said, immediately cursing himself in his head for not being able to come up with something better. He stood on a jagged rock, far too close to the Ork for his taste, holding his sword threateningly forward. It still dripped with Orkish blood.

Why did he need to do this? Backup was surely nearly there, and this creature would be forced to flee into the forest. Of course, this would mean abandoning the girl to her fate; she was a native, after all, and it was part of his job to contact them. Still, there would be other natives, why was this one so damned necessary? She was a defenseless woman, that’s why, and he couldn’t just abandon her to the teeth of some inhuman monster. It was practically out of a damned fairy tale.

Why then did he not return to his friend, and take his gun? His rifle! Why the hell had he not just grabbed his damned rifle and blown the f*cker’s face off?!

Unfortunately, it was a bit late for that.

Ungaard was almost entertained. This little human dared stand nose to nose with him. This was the sort of creature that he had always hunted, the sort of creature that had never before had the gall to stand before him. He would have been entertained if he had not been insulted.

The blood of his brothers did not particularly bother him. He was not a compassionate creature, and he viewed his comrades as expendable, troublesome insects. Their views of him mattered, of course, but only because they were important to his own power. He could care less if they were slain; it only proved their own weakness and gave him a greater portion of the spoils. And now the spoils were the blood of this insolent human.

With a final growl, and deep bellow, Ungaard pounded his fist against his chest. Philip was, quite frankly, getting almost as sick of the Ork battle cries and pomp as he was their smells.

A swing of the axe nearly caught him; it was much more difficult to avoid the blows at such close range, and Ungaard was a much more skilled and powerful axe man than the previous Ork. This would have to be ended decicively. On the next swing, he caught the under edge of the axe with his sword; he then turned it, gaining heavy leverage and twisting the axe around, to a position where it was effectively useless so long as it was held there. He then drew the tip of his sword, now facing downward, across Ungaard’s right thigh, genitals, and left thigh before drawing straight up, narrowly missing his left shoulder but slicing through his left tusk and the left side of his face. Ungaard let out a guttural squeal – at least that is the closest to what it was, the squeal of swine being the only other sound resembling this Orkish cry of agony – but only briefly, as he fell backwards, tumbling backwards into the river.

Philip counted briefly to himself before reaching down to the girl. Something wasn’t quite right. There should have been . . .

One more Ork emerged out of the river. He had been the clumsy Ork who had stumbled out of the line of fire and into the river at the beginning of the fight. It had taken him a moment to untangle the shawl – Orks were not know for their dexterity, especially while trying to swim. And then, after a quick breath, he had tried to locate his axe. This turned out to be a useless pursuit, but he did find something else. The human’s rifle.

He now climbed to a section of the river which was only four feet deep before standing to his full height and pointing the weapon at the human, turning his own against him.

Philip was not surprised to hear one of the beasts behind him, but he was surprised to see it clutching his weapon. Sure it had been smashed against a rock and dropped into the water, but he had seen them work after more than that. And now, he was doing what no Errikan ever expected to do: staring straight down the barrel of his own AE5.

It then became amazingly obvious that the Ork had no idea how to operate the weapon. He squeezed it and pointed it, jabbing in Philip’s direction, but it didn’t fire. None of his fat, stubby fingers were anywhere near the trigger. Philip breathed a sigh of relief. He raised his sword, stepping forward. The Ork was still out of his swinging range, but he could probably hit it if he threw the sword. Or, even better, why not go back now and grab Tim’s gun?

He had no time to follow any plan, however, as, seconds later, the sound of an Errikan helicopter cut over the trees. It was quickly followed by the helicopter itself, which swooped in low, circling their position and stopping on the far side of the river, the open door revealing a single rifleman standing before a mounted gatling gun. The Ork abandoned his attack, tossing the rifle aside and leaping into the river. He scrambled for the other side, where he could escape into the trees, but did not make it far. The Lieutenant had called in support saying that they were under attack by some sort of large beasts; accordingly, the rifleman held out his gun, not the gatling gun, and fired a heavy tranquilizer into the Ork. He continued to struggle for a moment, pulling up onto the opposite bank and into the mud before collapsing.

Faust Troopers advanced out of the woods, barely too late to see any fighting.

"So, any ideas what we're in for?" Andrew Menthio asked. He was a fresh recruit, right out of basic training.

"Trees. Water. Dirt. And natives like something out of a kid's nightmare," replied Erik, wondering why the kid seemed to have latched on to him as the font of all wisdom. "'Course, it's not them we've gotta worry about."

"How do you mean that?" Asked Andrew.

Erik sighed. "Well, to begin with, what've they got? Swords and spears, from everything I hear. They're tough, and they're mean, but so are we, and we're a lot better armed. No, what we've got to worry about is the other real countries. You weren't out of short pants when we were in Arterus, but trust me. Enough raw resources in one place, and they'll be fighting tooth and claw soon enough."

"Thank you, Ambassador," said Jenkins from the seat behind the two. "Care to throw any more pearls of wisdom before us swine?"

"Shut up," snapped Erik, even as the call came over the loudspeaker, "All hands to landing boats, prepare to make landfall."
***
General Marcus Herzon was the first to step onto the beach of the large island east of the Izistan claim. It, along with the three smaller islands west of it, and the numerous tiny isles, sandbars, and shallows that abounded around them, made up the Aesonic claim.

Even at sixty-three, the General never asked his men to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. It was an ideal which made his men very loyal to him, but also one that would cost him his life this day. As he planted the Aesonic Raven, an axe sprouted from his chest. With a look of utter surprise and slight indignation on his face, he collapsed onto the beach, his blood standing out in stark contrast to the white sand.

Erik swore loudly and creatively as he lowered his weapon, and, along with most of the other men clambering out of the landing boats, opened fire at the jungle from which the axe had emerged.

Even as they did so, with a savage WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! the edge of the jungle errupted in huge green forms. At first they fell as if scythed by the bullets, but then, even as the had began firing in unison, they had to pause to reload. It only took them a split instant, but that was enough to let one of the giants get in among the landing troops. Erik's curses took on a new urgency as he saw it calmly pick Jenkins up and rip his throat out with extraordinarily sharp teeth.

In his shock, he dropped his ammunition, and as the creature turned towards him, found himself with only his bayonet. It was a fine weapon, but he suddenly found it innaddequate. The giant stiffened, abruptly, and fell. Behind it stood Andrew.

"Nothing to worry about, eh?" He said, and turned back towards the main line of the giants. They had reached the lines in a few other places, but were being repulsed. Then, suddenly, they turned and fled as suddenly as they had attacked.

"Set up a perimeter!" Shouted a sergeant somewhere along the lines. "We'll make them pay for the General later! For now, let's get ready in case they come back."

Erik didn't think that was his sergeant, but it sounded like good sense, which counted for almost as much. He rushed to where the sand gave way to dirt, where several of his comrades were digging a trench, and piling the dirt into a hasty barricade. He drew his spade and hastily assisted them. After a few moments, when the trench was deep enough, and the barricade high enough, a pair of men rushed up carrying a machine gun.

Someone had righted the Aesonic Raven, which had fallen with the General.

<<<Atlantis X requesting to land on the new continent...>>>

OOC: Yes, I have been cleared, my claim is in yellow, South of Erriklands:

http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i47/ObssesedNuker/newlands5000.png

IC: A Month Ago...

The sattelite passed over the archipeligo of continents, snapping pictures and moving on to destinations unknown.

The pictures were beamed back to the HQ of the NKVD... the thought there was universal:

'How the hell did we miss that?'

Present Day...

The Vice Admiral stood on the bridge of the AC-13. It was the flagship of the 5th Carrier Battlegroup, they and the 23rd transport convoy were parked 15 kilometers off the coast of a part of the continent that Red Tide had laid claim too.

"SIR!" The sensors officer yelled, "It has been confirmed, RADAR detects aircraft and ships to our North, IFF says Errikland."

The Vice Admiral gave a curt nod and turned back to looking at the continent. Sattelite imagery suggested a mix of forests and plains, with jungles further inland.

"We must begin to land the troops."

Main Landing Zone... a few hours later.

Red Tide had come awfully prepared, a new continent entailed new risks so a entire Army Corp had been sent over. The first men crashed ashore along with their gear and vehicles on hovercraft. Soldiers, tanks, armored personnel carriers, and support vehicles rolled ashore en-masse.

Due to the soldiers being clad in their gas masks and body armor, to any natives it would appear to be as if they were being invaded by demons. Indeed, the few natives who were in the area ran off upon seeing the force assigned to secure the claim, they probably ran back screaming about demons aswell.

Red Tide was here, and it was here to stay.

OOC: Yes, I have been cleared, my claim is in yellow, South of Erriklands:

http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i47/ObssesedNuker/newlands5000.png

IC: A Month Ago...

The sattelite passed over the archipeligo of continents, snapping pictures and moving on to destinations unknown.

The pictures were beamed back to the HQ of the NKVD... the thought there was universal:

'How the hell did we miss that?'

Present Day...

The Vice Admiral stood on the bridge of the AC-13. It was the flagship of the 5th Carrier Battlegroup, they and the 23rd transport convoy were parked 15 kilometers off the coast of a part of the continent that Red Tide had laid claim too.

"SIR!" The sensors officer yelled, "It has been confirmed, RADAR detects aircraft and ships to our North, IFF says Errikland."

The Vice Admiral gave a curt nod and turned back to looking at the continent. Sattelite imagery suggested a mix of forests and plains, with jungles further inland.

"We must begin to land the troops."

Main Landing Zone... a few hours later.

Red Tide had come awfully prepared, a new continent entailed new risks so a entire Army Corp had been sent over. The first men crashed ashore along with their gear and vehicles on hovercraft. Soldiers, tanks, armored personnel carriers, and support vehicles rolled ashore en-masse.

Due to the soldiers being clad in their gas masks and body armor, to any natives it would appear to be as if they were being invaded by demons. Indeed, the few natives who were in the area ran off upon seeing the force assigned to secure the claim, they probably ran back screaming about demons aswell.

Red Tide was here, and it was here to stay.

OOC: Do you want to have the negotiations that we spoke about in TGs now?

OOC: Sure.

The Harakians had encountered very few of the natives. No humans or human-like creatures had been spotted, merely the ugly green beasts, which had been sniffing around the marine camp. Low swoops of Harakian helicopters had scared them off the first two times, and it was suspected they had merely been small scouting parties. The third time, they had come up to within sight range of the camp, and upon sighting the helicopter flyby had done very little to drive them back. Getting a better look, the marine sentries managed to snap several pictures, and all had shown the same blue tattoos carved into the creatures' chests. A blue spiral inside a triangle, over the left heart. Possibly a clan mark, or a mark of a warrior, or a specific tribe. They would not be able to tell for sure until further Orks were encountered, to see if they had similar, or any, markings on their chests.

The third encounter had ended unpleasantly. Observed from a distance, they had seemed no threat, despite their apparent aggressive behaviour to other nations' colonists. Once approaching a marine sentry post, they had been deemed dangerous, and a raking line of machine gun fire had been drawn in front of them. A ricocheting bullet had struck one in the shin, and they had withdrawn, to return in greater force.

The next day they had returned with nearly a dozen Orks, all with the blue markings. Another had more detailed, elaborate tattoos carved in his chest, neck, and painted on his face, and was larger than the others - theorized to be the chief. They had screamed guttural war cries in no language the Harakians had ever heard, and had charged the camp. A marine sniper had brought down the chief with a high-powered sniper bullet to the head right after the charge had started, and the rest faltered but continued the charge after being rallied by another one, who smashed his club into the head of one who tried to turn and run. They had been killed to the last as they covered the ground to the camp through the thin woods down by the shore. That had been the last encounter with the blue-tattooed Orks.

The colonists had arrived several days ago, along with the volunteer soldiers and a platoon of 40 Dragoons, Haraki's most deadly soldiers, modeled after the Reavers and Sentinels of Haraki's allies, Pantera and Automagfreek. They kept to themselves, only seen outside their erected prefabricated cabin in their full body armour and imposing helmets, hiding every aspect of their faces, their skin, and even their humanity. Their voice was distorted by the helmet, and mirrored, polarized plexiglass covered their faces. They were operating on an independent command, or at least were never seen taking orders from others, though one of them did meet with the commander of the regular army forces there frequently. They sent patrols into the thicker forest on their own, and returned by their own hours. They were, to all intents and purposes, barely a part of the mission.

*

Corporal Simon Hume was one of the volunteer soldiers on the new continent. Standard protocol was to ask for volunteers from several chosen professional divisions under an independent joint armed forces command, and his, the 20th Infantry "Highlanders" Division, had been one of the ground forces chosen for volunteers. He had elected to go overseas to the new continent with several friends from his squad for the main reason of doubled pay while overseas. Now he had been instructed to help one of their sergeants escort a group of colonists into the forest to look for a fresh water source. Around eight soldiers guarded only four colonists, as they headed inland and up the island, looking for high ground to try and find a spring.


In the brush, Kuchak crouched and waited. The strange intruders had been reported, as expected, by the vassal Chief of one of the underling tribes, to the High Chief who ruled the entire island, and he in turn had dispatched Underchief Kuchak, one of his trusted warriors, to assemble a band of warriors and test the mettle of this new threat after the group he had ordered the Underling Chief to send a scouting party to see who these intruders were, and the party had been wiped out. All the underling tribes lived in fear of the High Chief, and for fear of his warriors, led by High Warrior Tufek, who brutally punished any who dared to defy the High Chief's decrees. They were the largest and the strongest warriors on the island, and the High Chief's rule was absolute. He allowed the Underling Chiefs small degrees of autonomy in order to keep the system as it had been, but since Tufek's brutal slaughter of every male, female, and child in the last tribe that had chosen to declare themselves free of the High Chief's influence, none dared to hope for freedom any longer.

Kuchak had been on his way to the shore with five warriors he knew he could count on. As an Underchief, he was expected to wield power over any under him, and he could count on these five to be weaker than him, yet still stronger than the Underling warriors. They would find the Underling Chief, force him to give Kuchak all his warriors, and attack the new arrivals. Even should they fail, it would give the High Chief the information he needed on their fighting strength and mettle.

Now, though, he had a chance to prove himself undeniably worthy of Underchief status. The five warriors with him would serve as his witnesses and assistants to this latest act of bravery in service for the High Chief. He could smell them, their scents differing from the jungle around them so much that he had smelled them from up the entire hill and had descended quietly, trying to sneak up on them. There was one warrior for every two of the enemies, a less than fair fight. Kuchak was confident in his victory. Besides, none of them were sized right for fighting, none carried proper weapons, and four seemed not even to be warriors at all. They did not hold themselves as if they cared for fighting, and they did not scan the area around them for threats. They were small, weak, and ripe for the plucking. They would make a fine conquest. The males would be killed here, give Kuchak an opportunity to please his underwarriors by letting them play with the dying males, and the females would be presented to Tufek and the High Chief as a gift to show Underchief Kuchek's love of the Tribe. After he had his ways with them, of course.

Power, glory, the good books of both the High Chief and Tufek ... it was all within his grasp.


"Heck, what do you think of all this?" Simon asked out loud, his carbine shouldered but its barrel pointed down on an angle. He was not expecting an attack, but did not rule out the possibility, his eyes scanning the underbrush around him.

PFC Hector Stennis, another who had signed up with Simon from the 20th, shrugged from behind him. "I dunno, Simon. It's all good, but I can't help but feel like-"

He did not receive a chance to finish the sentence, as Kuchek leapt from the underbrush to his left and cleaved one of the other soldiers nearly in two with one vicious swing of his massive axe blade. A warcry went up from his mouth, the Orks' vicious, guttural language screaming of victory even as Kuchek's five warriors descended on the small group from the sides. The colonists screamed and turned to run, the disfigured body of the soldier falling messily to the ground.

"Heck, your back!" Simon screamed, raising his carbine instinctively at the figure approaching over his friend's shoulder. Even as Hector began a frantic dive to his right, Simon's finger squeezed the trigger, sending a hail of five bullets into the figure behind Hector. They slammed into the Ork's chest and knocked him backwards slightly, but he recovered quickly. He was the largest aside from Kuchek, and despite the pain and force of the wind being knocked out of him, knew he had to continue fighting. He turned his attention from Hector to Simon, who was slowly backing up, adjusting his aim for the creature's head. From behind him, Simon could hear a scream as the Sergeant had a large wooden spear stabbed into his stomach, and he could hear bursts of automatic fire. To his left, in his peripheral vision, he could see their machine gunner clumsily trying to set his squad support weapon up on a fallen log, facing towards the squad's attackers.

Simon's finger squeezed the trigger twice more, his heart pounding in his throat, just as the Ork began a charge towards him. Two bursts lodged themselves into the creature's upper chest and throat, and even as it fell its momentum carried it forward, falling at Simon's feet and shaking the ground as it did so. Simon recoiled in horror as the creature's blood began soaking into the ground. He had no time to think about his boots' appearance, as he turned and took a step into the slowly accumulating pool of blood as he turned to face the mess that was what his squad had been moments earlier.


One of the weak non-warriors was killed, as were several warriors. The odds were much more in Kuchak's favour, but he felt apprehensive. The little man had killed his top warrior with the small stick in his hands, and was quickly turning his attention to the others. Kuchak had no desire to die, and began a slow retreat back into the bushes. He would follow it up with another lunge, he knew, and disembowel the man that had killed his best warrior. After his other underlings took the brunt of the little man's fight out of him.


Hector got to his feet quickly, moving towards Simon with his rifle up and firing, past his friend and into the Orks making a mess of his squad. Simon turned to assist him, their twin carbines barking bullets into the jungle. Simon clearly saw another of the Orks fall, clutching its throat and screaming wordless cries of agony and terror. All he could think was Nice shot, Heck.

He could hear the sudden barking of the machine gun behind him, and knew that their gunner had gotten it set up properly. It was silenced after only a second, however, and replaced by a scream that chilled Simon's bones. Even as he turned, his left hand slipping under the barrel of his rifle, he saw the horrifying sight of an Ork launching itself into the air straight at him, and his left finger squeezed the trigger his hand had moved to. A grenade launched itself out of the barrel slung under his carbine, and smashed into the creature's chest, causing a very brief look of confusion on the Ork's face before it exploded right in front of it, sending the beast flying back away from Simon. He had turned to avoid the blast, but even so he could feel the searing heat of the explosion and could hear fragments of the grenade's casing impact into the pack on his back as he turned. He would be seeing spots out of the left corner of his eye for more than a day.

Hector was suddenly brought down by a flying Ork, its shoulder slamming into his chest and bringing him down to the ground with it on top of him. Simon could hear the breath leave his body and the creature slamming down on him knocked his helmet against the ground, hard, surely resulting in a concussion or worse. Regardless, he could no longer be counted on for fire support. For all intents and purposes, Simon was alone in close quarters with two - or was it three? - hungry, bloodthirsty Orks.

He backed away slowly, his gun barrel flashing between the two of them as the one on Hector rose and began slowly walking towards him even as the other circled to his right. He did not want to fire on one for fear of the other taking the opportunity to leap at him, and he had already used his grenade, his ace-in-the-hole. I'm fucked, flashed through his head.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention for a moment. Something black, or dark - maybe the third Ork? If so, it was nothing worse than what had already happened. His squad was dismembered and devastated around the forest, what remained of the colonist search party was huddled behind the fallen log with his dead machine gunner, hoping for safety, or fleeing.

A shotgun blast took the head off the Ork on the left. Even as the one on the right's head turned to see what had happened to its companion, a blast of very rapid automatic fire slashed across its stomach and up to its head, nearly separating it into two. Simon's head glanced around to see who his saviour was, only to see four Dragoons enter from each side of the clearing. Their identical armour, lack of insignia to show rank, and identical mirrored faceplates gave him no hint as to who they were, but by this point he did not even care. He was glad to be alive, and that was all.

One walked to him quickly, even as the others checked the soldiers and colonists for lifesigns, and another radioed their location to a helicopter. "You were lucky," it said, its voice regulated by the helmet so as not to be muffled, giving no hint as to the identity of the speaker. "Next time you will not be."

Simon nodded, dumbfounded. No words could be given to what he was feeling.

"Most of the squad is dead," one of the Dragoons reported in. The one facing Simon, towering nearly half a foot taller than him, merely nodded.

"You were lucky," it reiterated. "There was a sixth beast that retreated upon our arrival. It would have disemboweled you very rapidly had it been given an opportunity."

Simon swallowed, but nothing moved down his throat. The Dragoon's words rang true - he had thought there were more than five Orks. The relief he felt was indescribable once more. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"No thanks is required. We both serve the higher cause that put us here."

Simon wondered if he was talking about a deity of some sort, but realized he was merely referring to the mission.

"Our mission is not yet complete, but your transport back to the base is arrived," the Dragoon stated mater-of-factly, and turned away from Simon. He did not gesture, and did not speak - though, Simon realized, he could have spoken and not transmitted through the voice regulation, speaking into a headset on the inside of his helmet to the other Dragoons - but his seven compatriots formed up near him and they all left into the forest on his left.

Mere moments later, a Marine helicopter hovered a metre off the ground, and Simon was helping get the live colonists onto it, followed by the dead one, followed by his soldiers. Most were dead. Two groaned in pain, betraying the life left in them, and Hector was unconscious and probably concussed.

Simon would make a point to ensure the mission commander that all forays into the wilderness would need to be in force, and would need to be alert at all times. Preferably with air cover, and heavy weaponry. Maybe if they could get some tanks.

On the ride back to the base, he considered what his life would be like as a Dragoon.

OOC: Sure.

OOC: Would you like a to make another thread, or should I? Or should we just do it here?

"Hey, Heck? You okay?"

Hector's eyes slowly opened, and he could see a blurred image of a person standing over him. As he blinked several times, his eyes came into focus, and he tried to sit up, only to find Simon placing a hand on his chest to keep him down. "Keep your head down. You've got a bad concussion, the doctors say, and you shouldn't move your head quickly, or even at all. You could die if you get concussed again."

"Oh, fuck..." Hector groaned, lying back down slowly and folding one hand over his chest. His entire ribcage hurt, massive and painful bruises and cracked ribs commonplace. "What happened? I remember we were getting slaughtered by those things, and then ..."

"You got jumped. Knocked you to the ground, gave you a concussion, broke a few of your ribs."

"What happened after ...?"

"I almost got killed by a third I didn't see, some Dragoons saved my life. Better still, when they came back to the base they brought the co-ordinates of a few fresh water sites near the base. I'm supposed to be part of a platoon going out to escort some colonists to check them out, since I'm the only living and coherent one who's encountered the beasts in the wilderness. The colonel considers me something of an expert."

"You're glowing with pride," Hector pointed out sardonically.

Simon laughed. "Watch it, or it might infect you too. That was a damn nice shot you got on one of them."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you've been out for a day or so - one of the analysts found out something strange. You know how all the ones we've seen near the camp had those blue tattoos on their chests? Well, it turns out the ones we killed in the forest had red markings, much more ornate - a series of concentric triangles from the midpoints of each, inside a concentric circle. They were also bigger, more aggressive, and braver. We figure it's marks of different tribes."

"Huh. Funny, that."

"Oh well. Different tribes means they're not unified, which makes it unlikely they could band together enough to form a coherent attack on us." he checked his watch. "Shit, I gotta go. The chopper's leaving in ten minutes. I'll come check up on you later, buddy." He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, straightened up, shouldered his rifle, and headed for the door.

Hector managed a weak "Catch you later," as his friend walked out the door and towards the waiting helicopter.

OOC: Would you like a to make another thread, or should I? Or should we just do it here?

OOC: Lets do it here.

OOC: Lets do it here.

OOC: 'kay.

IC:
To: The Red Tide
From: The Errikan Empire

Greetings.

We have taken note of your fine nation's recent expansion into the area around our colony, and would like to discuss the nature of relations in the region, including our military bases, shipping through our shared strait, and further territorial expansion.

OOC: OH! Yeah, for that we are gonna want to start up another thread...

IC:

Official Message
From DSRT Goverment
To: The Errikan Empire
"We accept. How about we send representatives to that island in the middle of the bay?"
End Message

OOC: OH! Yeah, for that we are gonna want to start up another thread...

IC:

Official Message
From DSRT Goverment
To: The Errikan Empire
"We accept. How about we meet on that island in the middle of the bay?

OOC: Alright, I'll do that now

IC:

To: DSRT Government
From: The Errikan Empire

That would be perfect. We shall meet you at the attached coodinates at 0800 tomorrow.

Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12508043#post12508043)

Word of a new region, untouched by the modern world, had wound its way to the throne. Tales of surveys turning up the possibility of rich deposits of important strategic materials, and even the all-important oil, spurred the Imperium on where it had not before sought to gain new territory. A new Arterus, it was said, one without the poisoned hand of the CA to claim it. A few handful of satellites were tasked with mapping out the region and monitoring any claims; early on it was decided that the Imperium would try to claim the largest of the islands just outside the northwestern continent's bay/sea.

Public word was given and people sent word that they were willing to join the government's charter. As happened with Tryne, it soon became clear that a vast majority of people belonged to a single ethnic group, in this case those who called themselves Altairans and who felt more connected to their ancient heritage than the lands to which they were born. They came from all over, having sold all except that which was needed for the trip to fund their tickets. The government was naturally pleased, another ethnic group would have a land to call their own and any tensions that existed would evaporate. Scores upon scores of chartered cargo ships and vacation liners were packed with people, possessions, and supplies enough to build a temporary settlement. A surface strike task group and an air warfare task group were shaved off from one of the home fleets to show the flag and protect the civilian fleet from pirates. It would take some weeks to formally establish a presence on the chosen territory, but word was quietly spread amongst those known to covet territory in the new lands that the Imperium would be most... displeased if someone were to swipe the Imperium's desired territory out from under its nose.

Tuteloburg Military Base, 0800

The base – now finished – was bustling with activity. A full division was being readied, and there was a constant flow of airplanes flowing in and out of the new airport. In the two days since the initial contact, as that battle was now being discreetly called by most of the commanders, there had been extensive raiding on the part of the Orkish natives, which was quite surprising considering the utter lack of any knowledge of their very existence prior to the event. This had interfered with their scouting activities.

“Damned monsters,” Timothy coughed, his breath steaming up before his face; his armor had, actually, protected him from any major harm, though he may as well have been struck by a truck. And though his friend had doubted that he still lived after the blow, his reinforcements could see, as he could have if he had worn his helmet, his vitals were stable. Still, the lack of serious injury did not stop it from hurting like hell. “They’re muddling things up pretty well.”

“We will show them, Tim,” Philip said, holstering his pistol, which he had just finished cleaning, and advancing beside his friend at the edge of the balcony on which they stood. Another soldier, a Captain Luke Matthews, chimed in.

“We will drive them back and purge them with steel and flame, just as we did to the Youlandis, the Arterusians, and all the other savages that stand in the way of our Empire, gentlemen,” he stopped, noting Timothy, “No offense, Tim.”

“Of course not, Luke,” Tim said, facing his companion, “I know that when I took up this culture and donned this uniform I became an Errikan; it is your – our – civilization that defines us, not race.”

“Of course,” Luke repeated unconvincingly, leaning on the balustrade and biting into his apple. There was a brief pause as he did this, and the strong wind nearly drowned out the sound of marching troops in the background.

“How’s our girl, then?” Tim asked, breaking the silence shortly thereafter. Though he did not show it outwardly, this caught Philip’s attention. Luke seemed just as willing to redirect the conversation.

“She has been doing better. Brant has been working with her, and seems to be making significant progress.” Joseph Brant (born Tao Pangalanan), perhaps the most influential ethnic Arterusian in the Errikan government, was a leading diplomat and one of the Empire’s greatest experts on language; it was his brilliance that made him so successful, being the original poster child for Arterusian conversion to Christian civilization, and which brought him to the frontlines of every contact the Empire had with a heretofore unknown people. He had once boasted – to the Emperor, no less – that he could get the entire language and history of a people out of a half dozen savages in less than a week. And he had yet to be proven wrong.

Philip was more concerned about her well being than Brant’s progress in getting her language; there would be plenty more human natives to investigate, and this one had been thoroughly traumatized by the incident. He doubted he would ever forget the image of her weeping and wailing at the sight of the mangled body of another young native in the river.

The bodies had been collected and were now being examined. The handful of human bodies – presumably the girl’s comrades – had been gutted and chewed upon by the beasts, and thus were not particularly useful. The four Ork bodies that they gathered had also been mutilated, albeit with bullets and steel rather than teeth, but were still very useful for anatomical examination. The Ork that they had captured, however, turned out to be far less helpful than his cold brethren; upon regaining consciousness, he began yelling and smashing about his cell, and no attempts to calm him by anything other than chemical means had brought any results. He chowed happily on whatever raw meat they provided – beef, pork, fish, poultry – though he would not touch any fruit or rations that they dropped in there (admittedly, the rations do not outwardly resemble food). It seemed it would be a great deal of time before he was of any true use. Oddly enough, the body of the largest Ork was never found.

"Three years?" Erik was angry and didn't care who knew it. "Three sodding years?" He threw the letter on the ground. "I don't believe this," he growled.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," said Andrew, sitting on the bed next to Erik's. "I've got another five years in this boil on the bottom of the Earth.

"No, you don't know," growled Erik. "So I'll tell you. I fought in Arterus, I fought the Undershi, I was on the first ship into Laquasa Isle. I've served my country for years. Was supposed to be a year of simple, straightforward occupation duty where the worst the other guy could do was throw rocks at you, and then I retire with a nice cozy pension."

"Didn't expect the other guy to be so big and green, did they?" Asked Andrew.

Erik growled and stalked out of the barracks, announcing, "I'm gonna go volunteer for a raiding party. I feel like killing something, and I won't get in trouble if it's big and ugly. Unless it's the sergeant of course." There were laughs at this. "Besides, if I buy a piece of the farm, they might ship me back home sooner."

The base was still in the early stages of construction. A low but thick wooden palisade topped with barbed wire had been constructed, a few yards into what had been the jungle. The trees on the outskirts had been cleared- partially for use in the construction of the palisade.

Glancing about, Erik quickly found a raiding party being assembled. There generally was at least one out in the jungle at any time of day. Erik had heard that some of the smaller islands had fallen relatively easily, or had been completely without natives. This was not such an island.

The raiding party slipped through the jungle. They were all on high alert. To begin with, Erik was far from the only one whose tour of duty had been unexpectedly- and unwelcomely- extended. For another matter, although they all doubted that something as big as the creatures they were hunting could move quietly, it wouldn't pay to forget that this was- or had been, according to the flag that still flew on the beach- their jungle, and they probably knew there way around.

Maybe they had religious principles against stealth. Maybe they just couldn't be bothered. For whatever reasons, a group was sitting out in the open around a fire.

"At a guess," whispered the lieutenant leading the raiding party, "This would be some sort of guard post. Which means if we keep heading this way, we'll probably find something to guard."

There was one sentry facing away from the fire, although he hadn't spotted the men approaching, their clothing blending in with the jungle, and their faces painted to match.

"Let me, sir," said Erik softly, and the officer nodded. Erik attached a silencer to his weapon, and took careful aim. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the guard fell forward. He fell with quite a thump though, alerting the others. Still, they were taken by relative surprise, and by men with superior weaponry. This time, none of them was able to close with the raiding party.

To his surprise, Erik found one of them had merely been knocked unconcious by the firefight, not killed. He raised his weapon to finish it, but the lieutenant said "Hold your fire, soldier. Orders are to bring back a live one if we can."

Erik began to protest- these things were the reason he was stuck here after all- but the lieutenant raised a hand and said, "Trust me, by the time the lab boys are done with it, it will wish it were dead." Erik considered, and then nodded, but found another objection.

"Sir, we were relatively quiet on the way here. How're we gonna stay quiet dragging this brute back?"

The officer merely smiled as he held up a radio. A single helicopter probably could have lifted the native, but two were sent. Erik found himself wondering why, even as he helped haul the creature into the sling. To his surprise, he found the reason was to give the raiding party a ride. Not that he minded, the copters had made enough noise that every native in the jungle would probably be bearing down on that camp soon.

"Four natives dead, one captured, and not a man lost," said the lieutenant. "Not bad."

"Yes sir," admitted Erik, "But can that luck last three years?"

The other man didn't answer. Erik hadn't expected him to.

[Too damned lazy to bother with the aftermath of the attack, blah blah. Lets just skip ahead.. Yeah I'm getting rid of teh native population.]

Another day, another gassed village.

Corporal Maro hummed a cadence and looked through his binoculars as the artillery pounded the collection of huts a kilometer away from his position. The inhabitants tried running, but he could adjust the artillery's aim faster then they could could cover ground. When the last runner had been overtaken by the nerve agent and collapsed to join the rest of the twitching corpses, Maro relaxed. Give it half an hour and the KD will have decayed away to safe levels. But until then...He pulled out his handy deck of cards; solitaire time!

The man, who was supposed to be one of the most ruthless and dangerous men in New Aeson, looked singularly nervous. He often did, the sole ordinary exception being when he looked completely terrified. Not for the first time since being assigned as his guard, Erik wondered how much of the Baron’s demeanor was an act. If it was an act, it was a very good one. Erik had only seen him act out of character once, when a drunken marine had swung at him in one of the hastily run up bars. A couple of moments later, the marine had been flat, face down, on the floor, nursing a broken arm and rib.

If that had been a slip, it had been hastily rectified, and the man once again seemed afraid for his life. “You’re absolutely certain that there are no natives left on this island?” He asked for what probably wasn’t the ten thousandth time, but certainly felt like it.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Erik replied, “Yes, sir. There weren’t very many on this island to begin with. They’re still clearing them out on some of the other large islands, and gods only know how many there are on the mainlands, but this island has been completely secured.”

“Good, good. What about wildlife?” This was a new question, and one which caught Erik rather off guard. Still, he had made it his business to know what there was on the island that might kill him if he got careless, so he was prepared to answer. It also had some relevance, given that they were currently walking through a path in the jungle. However long the animals had had to evolve to deal with the natives, it had apparently been long enough to teach them not to come onto the paths when there were men- or rather, in the case of the natives, things shaped like men- on them. Nevertheless, Erik carefully watched his step. Snakes, especially the smaller, deadlier types, often showed a complete disregard for such niceties of self-preservation.

“Mostly birds and small game, sir. There’re a few boars and a handful of big cats, but most of the big game on the islands was killed by the natives. There are also some big snakes- I think the term is constrictors- and some smaller poisonous ones.”

“Excellent. Simply excellent,” the man clapped his hands with a child-like glee. “Snakes are ideal for one facet of the objective, although we may have to import some large game for the other facets.”

Erik had served long enough in the military to realize that it was never a good idea to ask unnecessary questions- indeed, that it was sometimes a bad idea to ask necessary questions- but this sorely tempted him. Still, he resisted, weighing what of his curiosity had not yet been ground down by the military against the wrath that would undoubtedly descend upon him if he began poking his nose into things that were not his business, let alone should he discover any of them.

He found the latter carried rather more weight, which did absolutely nothing to stop him from speculating. His first thought was that the island would be turned into some sort of private game reserve for the high and mighty in the Aesonic government. However, he quickly dismissed this, for a number of reasons. First, you would not send a man like the Baron (the only holder of that now otherwise defunct title in New Aeson) Harkon for such a task. Second, Military Commander Blak had yet to show any inclination towards such frivolities. Third, and the clincher in Erik’s mind, if one were to create a game preserve for some of the most important men in any country’s government, one would make it rather an important order of business to remove those animals which presented a deadly threat and did not offer any excitement as game.

The only other idea that occurred to him would be some sort of prison. Provided even rudimentary patrols to prevent someone with a raft from escaping, exile to such an island would be a life sentence in all probability, if not a death sentence. Importation of dangerous animals would only increase the probability of a death sentence, and therefore lower the presumably practically nonexistent rate of escapes.

Erik made a mental note to himself, to avoid doing anything that could get him sent here when he finally made it out of the army. The last thing he wanted was to finally finish his duty to his country, only to be sent back to this godforsaken place, especially as, for one reason or another, it appeared there was little to no intention to make it into a proper settlement. Then, annoyed with himself for losing track of his immediate duty, he snapped his attention back to the trail.

He was just in time to throw out his arm to prevent the Baron from treading on a small, innocuous seeming snake. “Careful, sir,” he said, speaking quietly. Some of the men who had been serving on this particular island longer said that loud noises were likely to startle the snake and cause it to strike, “That’s one of the snakes I told you about. It’s got enough poison to kill you before you realize what’s happening.”

“Fascinating,” said the Baron, kneeling down to examine the snake. He remained motionless, looking at it, for a long time. Eventually the snake moved slowly towards him. He waited until it was within arm’s reach, and then, fast a striking serpent himself, his hand lashed out, catching it just behind the head. He lifted it in such a way that, no matter how much it twisted and convulsed, his thumb and forefinger held its head away from his flesh. “I have a collection of snakes,” he said, producing a small jar with a lid punctured by several small holes. “Many of the poisonous ones are brightly colored,” he continued, popping the top off and carefully dropping the snake in. “And those are the one that evolved their poisonous nature as a matter of self defense. ‘Don’t trod on me’ scream the colors. These snakes are dangerous only if aroused, though it is easy to arouse them by accident. This snake though,” and here he tossed the jar to Erik, who caught it an placed it in a specimen bag he carried- this not having been the first time the Baron had stopped to collect a specimen, “Gives no warning. Had you not stopped me, I most likely would not have noticed it, and it would have killed me. It is a predator, and all the more dangerous because it does not seem it. Such is the lesson we must learn from the animal kingdom. To be daunting in defense, and unexpected in attack. Come, there is one more island to examine.”