NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: These attacks are in retaliation to the assassination attempt on Lorkhan’s presidential leader by tribes belonging to Gravedom’s territories. In no way is this an attack or planned occupation on the government of Gravedom itself.

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The sixty man strong Blitzgard Company marched under the canvas of silver twilight into the territories of Gravedom. The whole night prior, these lands were bombarded and strafed by Lorkhan’s aerial units and artillery. Most of the tribal warrior’s defenses had been destroyed, and in the early hours before the sun’s light dominated the sky, the Varjsoldat Corp dominated the ground.

They are armored from head to toe in sleek black combat gear. Their body is conditioned to carry the bulk of the armor without significant compromise of mobility. They are faceless, their plated helms concealing their visage and offering top of the line display options and air filtration systems. Clenched in their palms are the optimal Odi-ARMS 15 assault rifles. They are trained from the age of three to be the epitome of a warrior, with loyalty specifically to the state and the new order. This is their first exposure to a real world conflict, but their opponents are bandits, thugs, and scoundrels ruled by anarchy. Though the riders of Gravedom don’t yet know it, the Varjsoldat are a mere mile from flawlessly proving their worth to their blooming empire.

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Military Executor Holden Kraft sat leisurely behind a number of visual terminals in the military command center of Thrawn District, Jarten Prime. From here he could personally view every action of his perfect troopers via satellite feed connected to the Varjsoldat helm-cams. To the right of the video screen were several monitors assessed by a team of staff workers. Communications between Varjsoldat crack troops were relayed while generals and other leading officials within the government listened in.

“It is time to see if this plan of ours was worth the government spending and the billions of dollars Odi-ARMS funneled into this project.” a shadowed figure spoke from a catwalk elevated seven feet above Kraft and his men. Though most of his form was concealed in darkness, he wore a white business style jacket buttoned over a black shirt and white tie. His hands were gloved in black leather and his leather skinned boots matched. Smoke puffed from his lips as he spoke and flicked a cigar between his right hand fingers.

“Patience.” Kraft firmly responded to the spectator as he rubbed the stubble of his jaw. “I would hope that at least you would place just as much faith as I in the outcome of the future...”

Everything in the last several months had run smoothly for Kraft. It was he who had plotted the assassination attempt on Tiber Valias, and delivered the co-ordinates to the Ajoi assassins. It was he who anticipated the failure they would face in their attack, all the while insuring that others within the Phalanx would be accused of the atrocity of treason. Each step was merely a catalyst for the next in his ultimate plan. Tiber Valias had grown weak. His obsession with preserving old ways had set Lorkhan years behind the rest of the world. The Varjsoldat were one of the bits that would fix that critical flaw. The only tool Kraft needed to perfect was time.

For the Ajoi riders living in the boarder settlement of Kuvek, the early morning hours were business as usual. Bombing raids and artillery strikes were just as typical as a foolish raiding party attempting to move in on Lorkhan’s territory. Men still woke with the rise of the Sun to prepare for their daily errends. Women readied breakfast for families while slaves performed menial tasks. Though the government of Gravedom looked down on slavery, outside of the capital law was not relevant to every day life. Warlords and chieftains made the rules, and any who opposed them often found themselves in shallow graves.

“Vordan du har klart gaket?*” a tall burly tradesmen asked a smaller man with a rifle slung around his waist.

“Ilka ben goeda.**” The man responded as he dug his teeth into a rich apple. The curious merchant behind the food stand continued to pester the sniper for more detailed answers, bur the shooter merely waved his palm and dropped a few coins into the trader’s apple stock.

“Vloke!***” the merchant shouted angrily as he pounded his fist on the table.

In a tent nearby, a young man and his wife woke their two children and readied them for studies. The next room over an older man related to the family was bargaining off a slave whore acquired from another tribe to a teenager.

“Hebt u een nieuws van de Igoji voorpost gehoord? ” a red bearded man asked of a black clad hooded rider. The rider merely shook his head. Igoji was damaged heavily from the night prior’s bombardment. Kuvek dispatched several soldiers to the outpost to help defend and repair the area, and were meant to report hourly. It had been three hours since last contact.

The red bearded man sighed. It was no surprise to him what most likely had happened, and for now it was too dangerous to send out more scouts to investigate. He would have to wait until tomorrow to send out a recovery party. The man waived the black clad rider off and returned to the main room of the tent where his grandchildren eagerly awaited his lessons.

His son and daughter in law smiled upon his arrival. He had just knelt down to kiss his grandchildren on the cheek when the sound of gunfire rang like a dreadful rapid siren. Bullets tore through the tent and the family dropped to the dirt floor. The slave trader, by no choice of his own.

*How did you manage to escape?
** I am good
***Damn
**** Have you heard any news from the Igoji outpost?

The Abyss. That was the term used to label Lorkhan’s inner political world. Men and women welcomed themselves to a world of power, ignorant of the dark endless labyrinth of conflict and treachery that was presented by the NSSC's iron grip on the nation. Constant struggle and assassination happened around every corner, as rival sub-factions pushed for more clout. The only barrier keeping the dogs from completely tearing the republic apart was Tiber Valias’ Oculmagt. Valias stood side by side with his personal agent and the handpicked leader of the shadow agency. He was masked in a snow white baklava that hid all of his features save for emerald green eyes and a dark brow. His uniform matched the color of his mask, completely white save for the intricate red barcode that symbolized his station in the Oculmagt. It was the only mark of the agency that existed, but everyone who saw it knew what it meant.

“Kraft has made a bold move.” the spy announced soft-spokenly to his leader as they both monitored two screens, one of the Varjsoldat battle and the other a feed from a camera hidden in Kraft’s command room . “To order this attack on the tribes of Gravedom without your consent would make it seem like he is in a rush to prove him self for so much more than he is worth. A hero. An avenger. A man who wants attention yet needs none is a man with ambition that exceed their station.”

“He is indeed bold.” Valias nodded as he spoke firmly. “But the Ajoi did challenge my life, and they continue to present a problem to our western boarder. If he wishes to make an example of them while testing the effectiveness of our Varjsoldat, then I can not reprimand him for killing two birds with one stone old Friend.”

The agent has no name. Names are for the individual, the singular entity. One man can only be in one place and see one thing. Perform one task and listen to one tale. The agent is everything. He is everywhere and knows every tale. Yet he is nowhere and no one at all. The agent has no name.

“Your trust in your friendship with Kraft has compromised your ability to read between the lines my liege.”

“If he is up to something that we should know about…” Valias says with a brief pause and a sigh, losing his attention to the sight of a Varjsoldat charging a helpless Ajoi civilian, stabbing him to death with a fixed bayonet. “Then I would assume you would know, and have evidence to show for his treason. Unless of course my trust in your effectiveness and mythological status has compromised my ability to accept that you might have the potential for failure after all. The potential to be, human.”

For a brief moment the agent shows emotion. It is so fleeting that not even Valias or his ever vigilant bodyguard Amarth notice it beyond the agent’s mask. The agent does not bother to consider a retort. The Grand Nasier has challenged him, and the faceless one will waste no time in proving his worth. For in the dark treacherous world of the Abyss, even a man who is no one at all can disappear if his value comes into question.

The Ajoi had been cut in half by the surprise assault by the mysterious force so fast that they barely had enough men to rally appropriate defensive measures. The encampment was defended on four sides by twenty foot tall outposts armed with machine gun nests and rocket propelled grenades, which served as their most lethal and strategic defense position. Unfortunately for the Ajoi, the Varjsoldat were backed by superior firepower and tactics. The guard towers managed to hold off the Varjsoldat advance only until a Varjsoldat sniper or heavy weapons specialist brought the Ajoi guard’s down.

With the separation of Ajoi forces, many being sent to the old outpost, their militia was down to one hundred and fifty. Numerically the odds were in their favor, and the addition of their assault quads and mounts gave them a light of hope to ward off the attack.

“Who are they?” the Ajoi chief shouted in his native language as he ran from his tent. The man in front of him was firing a machine gun turret toward the general direction of a dug in Varjsoldat fire team on the other side of the dirt road.

“I have never seen them before. They are not PDF, but they must be with Lorkhan. Only the Teutonic Legion and Lorkhan have this kind of firepower, and only Lorkhan such skilled soldiers.”

“How many?” the chief demanded.

“There can’t be anymore than three or four squads. Maybe a whole platoon.”

“Damn it.” the chief shouted. “Order the retreat of all women and children under the age of twelve. Put everyone else to arms. We’ll have about two hundred solders then. That should push them into retreat.”

Zola Squad had been charged with the sole duty to find and detain the Ajoi chieftain and his family, while the rest of the platoon handled the rest of the encampment. Though with their mission came all the glory, it also meant that as the advance group they faced all the threats that came with running in first. Right now one of those threats was being pinned behind an over-turned camper pot marked with bullet holes from a 50. Cal machine gun.

“Nagel!” one of the black clad Varjsoldat soldier’s said to another armed with an Odi-ARMS SMR-7 rocket and grenade launcher. Nagel was a corporal and his commanding officer, Kojet, was a staff sergeant. In the Varjsoldat however; it was not uncommon for the soldiers to develop personal bonds with one another that superseded standard military protocol.

“Are you going to finally get to put this boom stick to use Kojet?” Nagel responded, tapping his weapon against his palm while crouched behind Senya, a woman who was as deadly with a rifle as they had come.

“I need you to fire two rounds at the building and car to your nine o clock.” Kojet, as Nagel had expected, allowed the informality to slide without scolding. “It will provide enough of a distraction for Senya and Melko to hurry into the house across the street. There’s a window on the second story adjacent to that machine gunner. You’ll have the element of surprise and height to your advantage. Both of you get moving.”

Secretly, Kojet was unsure if his strategy was as good as he made it sound. Then again that was the duty of an officer. Even if he didn’t have a good idea it was his job to make it into a good one. The home he was about to send his two best troops into could’ve been far more dangerous than the street they were pinned down on, but before long camping behind the bullet ridden vehicle would lead them into an early grave. This had to work.

Nagel poked his weapon out toward his target. He pumped it once and then a second time, and aimed it at the market. One click of the trigger sent a grenade crashing through a window. A second click spiraled a rocket into a nearby car. Senya and Melko were on their feet sprinting the moment they heard the heavy ordnance connect with an explosive bang. Gunfire from the Ajoi defender had briefly stopped as Kojet had expected. Mere seconds later it had picked up again, but by now Senya and Melko were already raiding the unfortunate residents of the home they were dispatched to.

The home had five men armed with AK-47 variants and throwing weapons. Melko took care of half this threat with a well placed fragment grenade that managed to neutralize three of them before they invaded the home. Senya relieved another of his ability to stand with two shots from her side arm, bringing the masked Ajoi fighter down a flight of stairs. The man spat out blood and attempted to fire on Senya upon landing, but Melko finished him off with a bayonet to the heart and a quick slash across the throat.

“How noble.” Senya thanked her comrade dryly but still with sincerity. The two moved up the steps in formation, ready to meet whoever else showed themselves with an attack in mind. The pair broke once they reached the top floor and moved to clear both ends of the hall. Melko found a child and his mother huddled into a corner, tears streaming down both of their faces. He had his orders and he’d have to abide by them despite his thirst for blood. That didn’t eliminate them as potential threats however, and so he switched his weapon to non-lethal rounds and fired on both of them.

Senya’s luck was not as rewarding. The fifth fighter in the home heard the gunshots and thought his child and wife had been cold bloodedly murdered. He launched himself out of a closet firing wildly at Senya, forcing her to quickly leap into a roll that would bring her in close to her attacker. Nineteen years of conditioning had made the Varjsoldat amongst the most agile on the planet, and Senya was the best at this specific trait of her breed. In close quarters combat she was second to none, and the woman even dropped her weapon to free both of her hands. She grabbed the man’s assault rifle and with amazing strength she yanked it from his hands and flung it clear across the room.

The man cursed and flung violently trying to hit the girl, throwing poorly placed punches that were easily avoided and countered with swift knee strikes and forearm blows. The Ajoi man was large and fueled by rage, but he was clumsy and poorly trained. He managed to land a head butt that cracked Senya’s visor only slightly, and tackled her to the ground. He struggled to choke the life out of her but she quickly grabbed his wrists with her hands before he could reach her throat.

“Interesting.” Senya told herself, noting she had never been in this peculiar situation with a male mounted upon her. “This is not as pleasing as I was led to believe.” The man roared angrily, unaware of the dark humor the girl was jabbing him with while fighting for her life. “If you don’t know what you’re doing with the tool, you shouldn’t be allowed to use it at all.”

She struggled her leg free of the man’s weight and thrusted her knee with great speed and force into the man’s groin. The man’s roars quickly went from anger to agony, and in his moment of pain he loosened his hold on the girl. She curled her lower body and pressed her feet up into the man’s gut. With all her strength she catapulted the man off of her and sent him flying through the air. He was met first by the glass of a nearby window and second by the streets below.

Just as she had risen up to her feet, Melko rushed into the room with his weapon drawn. Though she could not see his concerned face beyond his armored helm she knew it was there. Typical of her nature the girl laughed in the face of war.

“Clear.” she stated, chancing a look out the window at the broken carcass in the streets below. The girl felt an overwhelming rush of emotions flowing through her all at once, and suddenly felt very connected to this place. Senya had made her first kill in her life here in this room. It would not be her last.

“We have a job to do.” the girl mentioned, pointing to the window as she picked up and holstered her side arm and slung her rifle out from around her waist into the palm of her hand. “Let’s make sure our friend outside has company when he meets whatever incompetent gods he prays to.”

Cheiftain Ogo had faced one long night of bad news and his morning was shaping up to be no better. First he had lost the encampment’s key outpost and many of his advanced troops while losing half of the Ajoi fields to bombardment. Now his encampment had been under siege by more troops than his men could handle. A retreat had been ordered, but many of the fleeing forces had been met by yet another platoon outside the town cutting off the exits.

“Even if we do manage to survive this, our slave pens have been destroyed and our slave’s freed.” one of the Ajoi slavers cried to the chieftain. “Our market is ruined. Our very way of life destroyed before our very eye -”

A bullet whizzed past Ogo and met the more exposed slaver square in the forehead. Blood squirted out of his wound and sprayed on Ogo’s beard. The chieftain seemed more concerned with the unwanted dye that had now drenched his silvery hair than the death of the man beside him.

“Petzk.” Orgo summoned a nearby warrior, draped in a black cloak and scarf armed with an old AK-74 assault rifle. “Our situation is dire and we can not hope to hold off much longer. I need you and Kirg to take my grandchildren out of this place through the Barrow Tunnels. I will lead our remaining forces to charge until the last man. We will give them blood!”

“I have not heard any word from Kirg since the attack, but he was last spotted at a fruit tent. Do you think he is still alive my chief?” Petzk inquired anxious to do the bidding of his chief, though envious that he would not earn the right to battle to the death beside him.

“Kirg is a survivor.” Orgo told him, brushing past Petzk to acquire a rocket propelled grenade and mount it onto his quad bike. “He’s in town somewhere. As long as we’re seeing Lorkhan’s new black skulls drop to the ground, we know he’s still shooting. We’ll send a signal of some sort so that he’ll meet up with you. Take the children to capital. Look for a man named Quandar. They’ll be safe there and he‘ll know what to do with them. Now go!”

Petzk did not hesitate to follow the command of his chief and rushed off toward the grand children immediately. He hustled them onto a horse and threw a brown cloak on them to shelter them from the sights of war and camouflage them from the distant eye. He hopped on a nearby horse, black as the color of his attire, and double checked to assure his weapon was loaded. With a final nod to his brother’s he rode off.

In the distance he could hear the final battle cry of his brothers as they rushed their enemies in the streets, and several rockets shot up into the air signaling an order of retreat to a wayward assassin.

~FIN~