NationStates Jolt Archive

ooc: this is a closed rp between me, Kraven, and Warmaster. If you have an ic reason to be in this then post in the OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=13074433#post13074433)

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A Matter of Life and Death

Act I: A Storm on the Horizon


Capital Grozny, Chechnya…

Knock Knock Knock…

The chatter inside the room fell silent and an armed guard opened the door. Through the black shades an expression of awe and respect could be noticed. He saluted at once but was casually waved off by the individual standing before him.

The men in the conference room all stood in unison, the president included. He walked forward to the man who had just made his presence felt in the room. The two tall powerful figures saluted each other and shook hands. The new arrival had a blood soaked bandage wrapped across his forehead and his left arm was broken. Given what had happened to him in the past week it was nothing short of a miracle that he was alive. That he could even walk was something inexplicable by all the surgeons who operated on him.

“Welcome home Lieutenant General McGreen”

“Mr. President.” Replied the officer.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well enough thank you very much Mr. President.” McGreen took a glance around the room; senior members of government and top military brass all arrayed out before him at the table. He looked at them for a moment with his only remaining good eye and turned back to Ramzan Urmev, “should we get started?”

“Yes at once. We’ve all been briefed on what happened but I’d like a more first hand account of what exactly happened there.” Urmev turned then turned back again almost forgetting something. He pulled a pair of medals from a box. “By the way. Congratulations Lieutenant General.” After fastening the medals to his uniform and shaking his hand, President Urmev took his seat.

Except for two the two guards flanking the door Chester McGreen stood alone. Behind him was a map of the former city of Yeltsmin, now a smoldering ruin being digested by the Kraven war machine for raw material. With a little difficulty he clasped his hands behind his back and spread his legs. He took a breath and began the account of what went on in Yeltsmin.

“With respect. The Kraven war machine is unlike anything we have ever faced before. Their soldiers are more machine than human. From experience I can tell you the small caliber rounds used by our marines in the city were somewhat ineffective against the more heavily armored parts of their soldiers. They will shell an area until their command structure is convinced no threat remains and afterwards they will launch a massed assault. This is what happened in the city. After the broken ceasefire my men began engaging Kraven ‘feeler’ teams. Once they had scouted enough they began the shelling. They would shell the front and then advance their target envelope as their ground troops advanced. At that point in the battle most of my officers were dead and so were over half my marines. Fear factor played a large part in routing the front lines and I believe we should begin a crash education program for our soldiers.”

A man at the table interrupted McGreen’s speech. His face was clean shaven except for a large mustache. “Lieutenant General. I just want to make sure this isn’t some sort of typo; you’ve included in your report that there were over two-hundred thousand of these enemy soldiers within the city in a matter of a few hours?”

“That is correct General. I’ll reiterate what is said in my report. The Kraven military used its allies and auxiliary forces in order to tie up the city defenders. Once they established a beachhead they began flooding the city and overwhelming our positions almost at once.”

“Why weren’t they dealt with in an airstrike?” General Osman Kadiev replied. He was answered by the man sitting across from him, Admiral Uzuyev.

“That is because our fighters were intercepted by the Pudite navy. Several large raids were made on enemy positions in the city but we lacked the overall aircover to maintain air superiority. We had to rely on the Spizanians to cover us.”

McGreen resumed, “Yes. Our forces have been gassed by the enemy on several occasions. The Kraven army seems to be more inclined to use conventional means however.” A number of pictures and an estimated schematic of Kraven tanks and aircraft were being passed around the room between the commanders. “That is about it. Thank you.” McGreen took his seat at the table.

General Kadiev turned to face the president. “Mr. President. We have to prepare the inevitable; a full scale invasion of our country. They are going to have a hell of a time getting all that armor across the mountains.”

“General Kadiev,” Urmev began, “we are at war. You have the authorization to do what you have to do to protect Chechnya from this threat.”

The general nodded. The next few hours would be spent going over troop dispositions and logistics, overall defensive strategies and plans for a counterattack. The Federal Intelligence Agency would be working over time from now on.

* * *

The parliament building was a feat of architectural engineering. It’s many domes and tall pillars shimmered in the light of the sun. The building itself was enormous and the surrounding courtyard matched the building in splendor and size. It was the middle of the day and the circular marble fountains were again host to the daily assortment of people sitting and eating lunch. However there was something different about this serene day. The magnificent art work adorning the walls of the parliament building were still there and so too were the Greek columns, their white marble glittering in the light. It was the flag in the middle of the marble tiled courtyard; it was at half mast. There was a sound too, that of boots and heavy engines and the clinking of arms. The air smelt thicker of fumes on this particular day too. A truck full of regular soldiers passed by a café somewhere in the city.


“Did you here what happened?”

“No, what?”

“We’re at war.”

His girlfriend’s eyes widened, “We, what? With who?” she said in a tone of disbelief.

“Some place called the Kraven Corporation.”

“You mean those religious nuts who took over Kahanistan last year?”

“No that was Doomingsland. Kraven attacked them many years before that. We were still teenagers then. Well I was at least.”

“Oh,” replied the girl, “You mean that country all the stories are about?”

“Yeah the very same.”

“I used to stay up all night as a little girl when my uncle told me scary stories about them. I had the worst nightmares.” Her expression turned immediately to concern and lines arced across the young woman’s pretty brow, “No..” she said only to the nods of her boyfriend sitting across the table from her, “we can’t be going to war with..them”

“We are. Didn’t you hear the news?”

“No what happened? Why are we going to war?”

“Well they –“ the manager turned on a tv set and raised the volume. The entire café quieted as the news report came on. The couple turned their attention to the screen.

This is Vernon Kubelti on CNN with some very important breaking news. Our nation has come under attack by the Kraven Corporation and a number of its allies in what has been a completely unwarned invasion of Chechen territory. At midnight last night the city of Yeltsmin in central Arterus was attacked by a massive hostile force and its defenses were overrun. There have been several major battles in the land, sea, and air as Chechen and allied forces fought to repel the invaders. We will keep you updated with all the latest progress on this story. In response the president and parliament have declared war on the Kraven Corporation and all those in collusion. We take you now to President Urmev’s speech earlier this morning to Parliament.

President's Speech (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12567760&postcount=94)

The girl gasped and held her hand to her mouth. Her boyfriend put his hand over her free one. Her cheeks and eyes were reddening and warned of tears. She turned to him with a frightened expression on her face, she truly was afraid. But as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved she could read that something was not right. He was smiling back at her gently.

“It’s ok Alara, it’s alright. They’ll never beat us.”

Tears began rolling down Alara’s young cheeks. The café was in full discussion with a crowd gathering around the tv, taking in every word of their president’s speech. A few noticed with sympathy Alara’s emotion.

“Have you heard the stories?! When I was thirteen someone told me what they did to the women they captured and what they do to the women that aren’t fit to make…” she couldn’t continue but her boyfriend tried to comfort her.

“Look I said don’t worry about it. We have to be strong that’s all.” He wiped his hand over her cheek and continued, “Look, Chechnya has one of the proudest armies in the world. Those idiots just made a big mistake fucking with us. They’ll never get to Grozny or Istanbul so don’t upset yourself. Besides…there’s something I have to tell you..” His expression grew slightly graver as he looked into Alara’s eyes.

“Ne Aslan?” (What Aslan?) she said in Turkish.

“Well…after I read the news and talked to a couple of friends of mine in the army… I’ve decided to enlist in the Marine Corps.”

“NO!” Alara screamed. She was standing now fists clenched at her sides and trembling. Aslan stood up too to hold her but she pushed him away from him and backed into the window. “No..no no no.. you can’t be serious! No Aslan you can’t! You didn’t!”

“Alara listen to me it’s for the best –“ Alara was shaking her head and crying in her hands now, “Dammit look at me,” Aslan said in a soft voice while pulling her hands away from her face, “If I didn’t enlist I would have probably been drafted anyway. This is going to be a huge war. They’re not going to throw away my life if I train as a Marine.”

At this Alara pushed Aslan away. “No! Fuck you! Aslan I love you Goddamn you how can you do this to me?!” she buried her head in his chest and wept as he tried to comfort her.

“I leave for training in a week. 2 months after that I’m ready to fight.”

“I can’t believe this is happening… I can’t believe it’s real I want to wake up from this nightmare..”

* * *

A nation was preparing for the inevitable onslaught of a determined war machine. It had seen the devastation and havoc it had wreaked on its former neighbor Kahanistan and now experienced it first hand overseas. The only difference this time was, that the Kraven Corporation was dealing with the people of Chechnya.

Across the country every military unit was reactivated and began receiving its orders. The highest priority was denying the Kraven forces a beach-head and a chance to establish their presence and create inroads into Chechnya. With the navy weakened as it was it would fall upon the shoulders of the Army and Air Force to repel the invaders.

The Chechen Army is divided into three separate Corps, which aren’t actually corps but sections of the Army. The first and largest is the Republic Corps which consists of the regular army. Well trained and supplied the soldiers of the Republic Corps can make more than a match for most armies of the world. Originally they consist of just over a million troops but with activation orders their numbers have been tripled. The second is the Marine Corps. Highly trained individuals specialized in landing and urban warfare operations they have already proven their worth in fighting insurmountable odds during the battle of Yeltsmin. Highly motivated and mostly career soldiers, the Chechen Marine would constitute the same as a commando or special forces operator in most other nations. Working as part of a large cohesive unit they are the hammer if the regular army is the anvil. There are roughly 840,000 of them. Lastly the of the three Chechen land warfare sections is the Ranger Corps. A Chechen Ranger is no ordinary person. Mountain warfare is their area of expertise although they are still highly trained in other forms of warfare. They are the most highly trained and untested group in the Army and there are only about 160,000 of them in the service.

Trains full of soldiers rolled over tracks toward coastal cities and army bases. Fields of armor were reawakened and a great beast began to roar to life. Carried mostly by train, armored elements made their way toward the Chechen coast. Civilian flights were grounded in order to make room for military supply and transport flights and citizens watched the unfamiliar sight of young men in uniform patrolling the streets and walking in file amongst them in the civilian centers on their way off to deployment to some scenic part of the country. In the course of a few hours the nation had made a polar shift. It was amazing that all this chaos was in fact organized and organized efficiently. Everyone had a job to do. Public Works employees put up billboards advertising enlistment and patriotic commercials penetrated their way into televised commercial time. At some points throughout the day emergency broadcasts would be issued over the radio and television as tests and giving helpful tidbits of information to concerned civilians (what to do in the event of a bombing, the country will not be in flames by morning, yes the grocery store is still open, yes your kids still have to go to school, if you live on the coast consider moving inland to a relative, etc. etc. etc.).

Meanwhile towed artillery and mobile guns began making their way to near-coastal positions. Each coastal city would have its complementary garrison. The general plan was to have separate army groups defending certain sections of the eastern coast along the most vulnerable positions. For now the military would simply be assembled and readied to move out and fight. With well over two thousand miles of coastline it was impossible to defend it all at once. The Army would have to wait for the FIA to give the word on what the most likely Kraven point of attack would be. Units kept in reserve would be able to deploy to the front as reinforcements to crush enemy invading forces. Or so was the essential plan.

While Army units were given orders to move out to bases in the east and work on fortifications began, the western coast of Chechnya would also too be strengthened. It was much more vulnerable and important than the east. An enemy coming from the east would have to trek over a thousand miles of mixed terrain and mountains to get to the capital. However from the west an invading army could make its way to the many rich cities along the coast and move easily through the European-style landscape.

At the same time the engines of many different aircraft in the many air bases of the country roared to life. The frequency and magnitude of air patrols had increased ten-fold, and AWACs planes would ensure a protective radar blanket off the coast to give an early warning of enemy action.

It was not even a day after the concluding events at Yeltsmin but this unassuming and quiet country was already lacing its boots. No time would be wasted in the coming weeks in preparation for the inevitable.

* * *

Azron AFB, Northeastern Chechnya…

Trees and mountains as far as the eye could see. A giant wilderness penetrated by a dominating plateau was host to the Chechen strategic air base. Here on the tarmac 17 B-2 Spirit bombers sat. Another 5 were grounded due to maintenance concerns. A few hours prior the presidential order had been given for a coordinated assault on the Kraven mainland; the targets being known industrial plants and large power stations. The most damage and confusion that could be caused by so few bombers would be a raid on an enemy’s all important industry and utilities as proven during the Second World War. The fuel trucks drove away from the awaiting stealth bombers, each sitting like a black hawk waiting for its chance to take to the skies. The pilots had all been briefed on their mission. There would be no hope of rescue in the near future if they were captured by the enemy. This was the first time in its history that Chechen bombers would fly an offensive mission deep into enemy territory. The bombers were laded with 2,000 lb high-explosive and cluster munitions bombs.

17 black planes rolled onto the runway. Their engines roared to life and two by two they took off towards their mission.

“Tower this is Zero-Fifteen, requesting clearance to take off.”

“Roger that Zero-Fifteen take off clearance granted; take off immediately.”

Maj. Kurtay turned his head to his flight commander, his copilot and nodded. Their mount of war began moving forward and gaining speed. In front a row of black wings were visible slowly moving into formation and climbing high into the sky. Buildings and radar domes whizzed and the white topped mountains moved in the distance. Their Spirit took off from the ground and Maj. Kurtay steered his plane toward the first mission waypoint. Mission updates would be received throughout the course of the raid. This was a 10+ hour mission if they made it back alive. Every pilot new well the often badly ending Kahanistan infiltration missions utilizing stealth bombers. They knew there was a difference this time though: the pilots and planes were Chechen, not Kahnistanian. They weren’t going to fly a stealth plane directly over a radar station and in full view. No, they would go straight into the guts of the monster that had provoked them and bomb factories and power plants of the enemy, anything that would trip up Kraven a little and delay the invasion. They chose to go where eagles dare.

"The fighting rages on and on,
To challenge me you must be strong.
I walk your land but don't belong;
Two million soldiers can't be wrong..."
-"M.I.A." by Avenged Sevenfold

* * *

Twenty-two days ago.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: Lord Ishamael, Commander-in-Chief, Southeast Asian Theater

Greetings in the name of the Sacred Emperor. Matters have changed politically and strategically, and this message has been sent to inform you of any changes. Ever since the fleet left, CHARIOT has considered the possibility of the war spreading to Chechnya, the nation that owns Yeltsmin. After conferring with the Kraven Corporation and considering our own tactical options, we have determined that Chechnya is a far more opportune target than Southeast Asia. Furthermore, once the Chechens are removed, Southeast Asia will be stripped of one of its key allies. The Most Imperial Highness himself has perused the preliminary plans and has approved them.

Accepting, then, that Chechnya is now the primary target, your orders are as follows. Yeltsmin has been neutralized, and Southeast Asia is no longer of concern, for the moment; therefore, set a course IMMEDIATELY for Tiraeum, where supplies will await you. Spend no longer than two days there, as time is a factor. Moving at cruising speed, plot a direct course then for Chechnya. You will ultimately be called upon to shrug off any counter-attacks and land your troops in Palestine; from there, the plan indicates our rough goals, but you will have significant freedom to determine the course of the invasion from there. Politically, we are indifferent to limited use of terror, but this is NOT a campaign of total extermination; collateral damage is immaterial to a point, but we expect you to use restraint. The reason for this is that a surrender (which must be unconditional) will very probably give us control over a significant portion of Chechnya...which is hardly useful if all the civilians have been slaughtered and the infrastructure has been razed. Nonetheless, speed and force are essential. We have the advantage of numbers and, pending further reports from the Intelligence Division, technology; the Doomani have territory nearby, so resupply should not be difficult even in the desert.

Further information (maps, notes, cultural and political information, demographics, estimated force strength, etc) is attached. Blood and Honor.

Signed,
Imperator Jakran Vuell, Head of the Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces

* * *

Ishamael was sitting in the Officer's Club of the Betrayer of Hope when the message came. His handheld computer, clipped onto his belt, buzzed and vibrated, drawing his attention away from the glass of whiskey he was drinking. Setting the glass down on the bar with a clink, he reached for the device, opening his Inbox and reading the only new message...one labeled RE: TOP PRIORITY EYES ONLY. Reading through it quickly, his face hardened while his eyes flickered with frustration. Certainly a justified feeling. He'd been sent all the way out to the Indian Ocean...only to get turned around and sent to a nation he knew next to nothing about. He looked up, looking at his second-in-command, High Admiral Ludo Anor, who was off smoking in a corner. Apparently his eyes conveyed the meaning of his message, because Anor put down his cigarette and strode over to the bar.

"What is it?" he inquired, borderline roughly. "Something important, I'm sure." Ishamael didn't answer, simply handed him the computer. Anor read through it quickly, his expression turning quickly from irritation to outright anger. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled, handing the thing back. "Are you fucking kidding me. We get sent out here while our Corporatist buddies finish off Yeltsmin, and now we get turned around, all our plans screwed up, because CHARIOT decided that these Chechens were a better target than the fucking Asians. I don't fucking believe this shit. It's..." Ishamael cut him off before he could go further. "Shut up, Ludo. Bitching about it won't get us anywhere. These plans, these orders, are from Lucifer, and we both know you'll do exactly as he tells you, and you'll fucking jump to it, too. So it's simple. Put out your damn cigarette, get up to the bridge, and issue the necessary orders."

And, since Ishamael was the one in charge of the task force, the great High Admiral Anor had no choice but to toss his cigarette in an ashtray and storm off to the bridge, teeth ground together, muttering and cursing under his breath as he straightened his uniform.

* * *

Four minutes later, the great armada began to move. The majority of the aircraft in the air as a security measure returned to the carriers, leaving only the early-warning aircraft airborne. Turning west, the fleet hurried away. Their destination was Tiraeum, one of the newer additions to the Empire; located on the fringes of the CAD, it had once been a haven for refugees unable to emigrate to the Borman Empire or Generia. The Legions had occupied it some years ago, fortifying the borders and constructing the cores for new cities. A few million Imperial citizens lived there now, more than half in the port city of Tiraeum itself, a key resupply point for ships whose courses didn't take them past Kregaia itself.

It took eight days for the fleet to reach Tiraeum, but when it did, the pace of everything seemed to double; the entire armada had to be resupplied in two days, something that took the full attention of the Tiraeum port facilities, given the fleet's vast size. The fuel tanks of all ships were topped off, as well as the huge reservoirs on the supply ships. Quick checks were made of the armada's computer systems as the dock workers labored through the night. The day after the fleet arrived, at noon, the supply process was finished, and half an hour later, the armada weighed anchor once more, this time on a course for Chechnya.

Hours slid by. Day turned to night, a moonless night that hid the thousands of ships gliding across the water. Night blazed into day, and day blackened into night again. Two weeks passed by, days and nights where every wave was the same, and the Legionaries, cooped up in their transports and largely inexperienced in naval affairs, began to fidget with boredom. Fights broke out now and then, quickly suppressed, but each one demonstrated that the voyage was taking too long. The Legionaries were weapons, meant to unleash hell with their feet on the ground and their guns in hand; the long trip was taking a heavy toll on their patience, and it remained to be seen how long they could keep order on the ships. The journey continued, and the fleet drew nearer and nearer to Chechnya, passing the rough mark at which the Kregaian presence would begin to draw serious attention from the Chechen military. No doubt political warnings and notices would be coming shortly...warnings which the Kregaians had every intention of ignoring completely. The journey continued, and the fleet chopped through the seas, a bullet aimed at the heart of Chechnya.

"Desperate, meaningless
All filled up with emptiness
Felt like everything was said and done

I lay there in the dark, I close my eyes
You saved me the day you came alive

Still I try to find my way
Spending hours, endin' days
Burning like a flame behind my eyes
Drown in out, drink it in
Crown the king of suffering
Prisoner, slave 'til in the skies
Disappeared the only thing
Bittersweet surrendering

Knew that it was time to say goodbye"

-Foo Fighters, Come Alive

Narhon Int. Airport

It was another beautiful Valkan day outside the plane's windows. Trollies and buses hustled luggage and fuel between airliners and figures dressed in color coded vests busily went about their business outside. About 150 meters away was another passenger plane, a large Yarvut 457 who's 4 engines could each swallow a small van. There on the ground underneath the nose was a large suitcase with several men who looked like guards standing around it and talking to what appeared to be its owner. One of the guards pushed the owner and another brought a dog to inspect the luggage. They pried open the bag and found something inside. By their reactions to it it must have been something big because they hauled away the owner immediately.

Adam took his hand off the window. I'm finally home. He turned to face the empty seat next to him. For what felt like an eternity he stared at the empty seat. His mind went blank and to anyone else it'd look like he was in a daze. Then it hit him: everything that had happened in the past week and the reason why the seat next to him was empty.

A lone tear ran solo down his cheek.

The trip he had taken to Yeltsmin to visit his girlfriend for spring break had turned into the greatest national catastrophe in recent history. As he gazed into the fibers of the seat's cushioning images flashed before his eyes. The bomb blast in the bus, the burning university campus, being conscripted by a gang of resistance fighters, running for his life from mercenaries, the detainment camp, his reunion with Ana, the escape, the highway, and finally her death. A surge of emotion flooded his body and it felt like the cabin was closing in all around him even though it wasn't. He had suppressed these feelings for the entire flight. Ever since Yeltsmin he had been in survival mode and now he was truly safe. The human body has a habit of changing modes in an instant.

Adam put his face in his hands and started crying. The memories of Ana's dead, lifeless face and the conversation he had with her just before she died kept making reruns of themselves in his head. He breathed big constrained sigh and rested his head back on the head rest. The seatbelt sign was off now and the lights had been turned up. In a few minutes he would be back in real sovereign Chechen soil and in the arms of his family. He was safe and back home but Ana wasn't there with him. As far as he could her beautiful body was rotting amid the mangled carnage of all the others who had died on the perilous trek across the Yeltsmin highway. In reality, it had probably already been ground up and processed into raw material for the Kraven war machine. The horrific truth of Kraven operations would reveal themselves to the Chechen high command and public in due time.

Adam let out another sigh. I'm here but she isn't. God I miss her... but she'd want me to go on still... He thought to himself.

"Brother are you coming? We've landed."

"Oh what? Oh yeah, right." Adam replied to the stranger walking in the aisle.

There were no security stops in the airport this time for the new arrivals. They had already been screened for signs of mental illness and flown free of charge with full accommodation back to their homes. By now the news was old; everyone knew and the nation was already getting ready for a major conflict. The invasion of Yeltsmin landed a heavy blow on the Republic. The city was lost in less than 24 hours although the military death toll reached into the hundreds of thousands on both sides and millions of civilians had been killed. In addition the fall of Yeltsmin brought with it the loss of important oil refineries and a strategic military base. Needless to say the battle made headlines in every news agency in the nation. Tales of the horror and the valor of the defenders and citizens fueled greater passion among the populous. The initial shock of the public quickly evolved into a furious unified demand for action. They may be emotional and compassionate people, but no one would tell you they weren't a tough people.

Adam walked into the terminal with nothing but the clothes on his back. He noticed an increase in armed guards as opposed to when he left here for Yeltsmin. He saw his father waving to him and his mother holding a hanker chef to her face along with a few other relatives. The reunion was anything anyone would expect given what had happened except that Adam wasn't crying and seemed if anything only somewhat appreciative. After what he had been through, it wasn't anything out of normal.

They managed to squeeze into the van and pulled out towards the airport exits. The guard pressed a button opening the gate and let them through. They drove through mild traffic in the palm tree lined road ways which wound in and out of the airport complex and took the exit onto the highway toward the coastal city of Narhon, one of Chechnya's most beatiful and scenic east coast cities. The San Francisco of Chechnya if you will. Traffic wasn't nearly as bad as normal on the highway today. The faint smell of ocean air was detectable as they drove closer to the city. Much of the east coast of Chechnya had a very rich ecology and an ideal coastal climate. The mountains which were a little farther inland made the view facing inland astounding; purple mountains against a green landscape and a crystal blue sea. Of course the land past the mountains was about as rugged a highlands you could imagine flanked by deserts and slashed by mountain ranges.

"The whole family came Adam. All your friends too." Adam's father said finally breaking the ice.

"They did? All of them?" Adam replied surprised.

"Everyone. When we heard what happened on the news and everyone knew you were there... they all started calling if you were ok."

"Oh." he replied.

"Are they all there now?"

"Yes they're all waiting to see you.. We-we've been worried for you." the emotion came through in the father's voice.

"Thanks." Adam said faintly. His father reached his right arm back to hold his son's hand. When he was done Adam turned his attention back to the details whizzing past outside. The trees, the cars, the signs, the small towns on the outskirts of the city, and the mountains barely discernible in the distance.

"Ana" he whispered to no one, to God.

* * *
Arterus, The Unreachable Sea
Aboard the RNS Kurt

The Ohio class submarine made its way slowly and silently through the dark depths of the Unreachable Sea in south eastern Arterus. In the dead of night hundreds of feat below the surface the submarine carried out its operation. A school of fish swam along side the submarine and the little hitchhiker atop its back. They were still hundreds of miles from the release point. The point of no return.

Life in a submarine sucked to say the least. It required a different kind of person and a different kind of mentality. For a special operations soldier... life in a submarine was unbearable. It was hell in a different kind of place. At least that is what Captain Edris thought about it. He was a veteran of the war for independence and had was the commanding officer of the operation in occupied Kahnistan. The failed mission who's purpose it was to fund and train rebel groups and terrorists in the Kahanistani mountains in the goal of starting a proxy war against the Doomani which would result in Kahanistan regaining its former homeland... The operation was a total failure on all accounts. Not only had the rebels the Chechen SFs were helping get obliterated by a surprise Doomani attack but a sniper on the team was captured by Doomani special forces in the mountains. The resulting political backlash became an object of controversy and headache for the Urmev administration and led to a court marshal of Captain Edris, one he narrowly was acquitted from. Nevertheless he was one of the best of his kind and that was why he was picked to spearhead this mission into occupied territory.

He had with him a handpicked team of 14 men. Each one had his own area of specialization and was a crack soldier and potential one man army in his own right. He knew from the start when he read his orders that the mission was probably one of the riskiest ever imagined by his government. He actually laughed as he first read it in his room; what on Earth kind of nut job actually thought this up? was his reaction. Still he knew the severity and the importance of his mission. It was a recon mission. Inflitration of Kraven occupied Yeltsmin to asses the enemy situation on the ground and to make contact with the local indigenous populations and find if they are collaborating with the enemy. There was no set time for extraction or plan for it either. Essentially the jungles and mountains of Yeltsmin would be their home for the next length of time. Edris knew that this time the odds of survival were greatly against him and his men. No one goes on a mission like this without taking heavy losses, it was inherent in the business.

But none of this made life in a submarine suck any less. Maybe if he was living in a yellow submarine it would be better but it wasn't. And they wouldn't even let him play that damn song in his bunk either. His only means of respite was a cramped and unused SF mini sub which would take him to a very unfriendly place. If there was a time to question why one had decided to join the military this was it. But Edris had his orders and his sense of duty to his country. This was what he lived for and he knew it and his men knew it. The lived for this as well. Sitting in his bunk cleaning his carbine Edris cracked a smile. At least he could admit he was crazy.

Somewhere In Chechnya: Near Narhon

The hillside was green, lush with thick grass, flowers blossomed across the field, a meadow in full spring, the night sky was dark, and this field was lit only by the full moon that loomed overhead, like some great denizen of the sky it watched with absolute complacency, never feeling, never judging or demanding, and never changing, it would always be there in one state or another, be it a full moon, a total eclipse or some other transitional state that the moon would often go through between full moons…

Below this great denizen of the clouds, was a lone man, a lone man of questionable repute, he pottered around the field with a nervous gait, unfolding a large white roll of cloth down one side of the hill, making a single long, white line… then using a pen knife he cut the roll off from the section he’d just laid then secured it into place with several small rocks…

The man was still very nervous he muttered to himself under is already exasperated breath,. Knowing full well that they would be here soon and he’d spent too much time lauding over the town near by and how they, who had judged him so badly and pushed him out of their society would soon pay dearly…

He picked the roll up and laid it out across the other line, forming a large cross, he sighed to himself, they were so cruel to him, because of his anti social behaviour, the fact that he didn’t like being around many people and mainly was a recluse who lived alone in a one bedroom apartment, only leaving to collect food and other essentials, people deemed him a pervert… a paedophile… but he was non of them… he just didn’t like people…

He especially didn’t like it when people put out his windows, and threatened to kill him if he was seen out on the streets… he became upset by their hateful words…he hated people… they judged him, they judged him wrong, and now it was his turn to judge them…

A radio had given him the means, he’d managed to make contact with the Main battle fleet outside Yeltsmin and was given orders by those on board to prepare, they gave him co-ordinates, instruction and the means to carry it out… they said that in five days they would arrive… and following that… they would arrive in force…

The man was happy, he gleefully clapped his hands together as the plan came to fruition and how all those who had hurt him were going to pay…

Then he mind snapped back into reality, he set the radio transceiver up and began to broadcast on a closed, encrypted frequency, he spoke the co-ordinates into the microphone that was translated into a series of garbled noises and grunts, Kraven Battle language… and lit a signal flare…


Within a few minutes loud jet engines could be heard high above in the clouds that had formed in little patches here and there, before it descended lower and come around for another run, the craft were transports, heavy ones designed to reach the target zone, drop the contents and leave, whether they made it out was not a concern …

One by one little black objects leapt from the open door of the transports, each of them dropping a through the air a little before a big white canopy opened up behind them, they were Paratroopers, each of them drifted towards the ground with some speed, each guiding their parachute with the guidance device and steering themselves towards the white cross and the flare…


The first hit the ground with a thud… then all of a sudden the man suddenly came to his senses…

What had he done?

He’d done the worst thing he could have ever done, worse than what they had accused him off… He’d openly invited Kraven to attack his homeland and his people, the Trooper landed with a crunch, his heavy jackboots flattening the blooming flowers that were now underfoot, he stood up to his full height and looked directly at the man with red glowing eyes of the gas mask that penetrated the mans soul and caused him to loose his nerve, he broke down, loosing control of his bodily functions and began to cry…


He pleaded with god, begging for forgiveness, he’d done the worst thing he could have ever done, and it was too late… they were here now…

The others landed around him until a full Special Operations squad of twenty-five now stood looking at him…

He could speak, he tried but his lips could only tremble in fear…

The Troopers rhythmic breathing that was drowned out by the aircraft now became apparent and now added to the already terrified state of the man…

The Trooper cocked his head to one side, before drawing his side arm and killing the man with a bullet to the face, it was simple. Clean. And pure, the corpse of the man dropped to the ground, blood oozing from the .50cal round that was now lodged in the hillside….

The Price of betrayal…

They were here….

37 miles east-south-east of Narhon

Two CAF F-16 falcons streaked through the sky at full burn towards their intended targets. The Kraven vtols which had somehow managed to penetrate Chechen airspace would not be allowed to leave now. However the transports had not been properly identified and per procedure the Chechen pilots would first have to identify them.

The twin aircraft slowed to match the speed of their prey. They were now in visual range of the transports, vtols the such the pilots had never seen before in their lives... they would become all too familiar with them too soon in the future.

The silence of the cockpit was host to the cool humming of the plane's engine. The tone sounded as the radar locked on one of the transports and the others were acknowledged by the firing computer.

"Go check out who's they are."

"Roger that." The wingman increased throttle and flew by just 20 meters from one of the transports. This was the confirmation they needed; the Kraven insignia was the automatic death warrant of the transports. The wingman slowed his craft to get back into position with the other fighter.

"They're the enemy. Are we cleared?"

"Control this is Ecko 1, bogies are confirmed Kraven transports. Are we cleared to engage?"

The reply came back in that familiar radio voice, "Take them out."

"Roger that control." replied the flight leader non nonchalantly.

The two pilots, missiles already armed, let loose their payload; the missiles screaming forwards to hell in high heaven and impacting the rears of the large Kraven vtols. Both went down in flaming wrecks into the sea.


Meanwhile in Southeastern Narhon...

The van pulled into the the drive way of a rather large house surrounded by a large courtyard and walled in. Many different cars lined the driveway and outside the steps of the wealthy abode a large group of people stood and waited. All attention was turned to the van which was making its way to the front of the house. Adam's father killed the engine and stepped out. Adam was immediately assaulted by worried relatives almost before he got out of the van. There were so many of them: aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws, grandparents. He hadn't really realized it until now but his entire family had come here. That was all of his relations. Adam did after all have a very large family and what happened in Yeltsmin was indeed something extremely tragic but he had only now begun to appreciate that so many people cared and worried so much for him. He met them with hugs and kisses and tried not to cry as he looked into the eyes of cousins and aunts. There must have been about 110 people present there.

What followed into the evening was a greeting which eventually turned into a party of sorts. The first thing that was looked to was getting Adam into a shower and giving him a fresh pair of clothes. After this he was whisked away to the kitchen to eat a very generous meal prepared by his mother and her sisters. It was weird being this special but then again what had happened back there was nothing normal. Over 4 million civilians died.

After he finished his meal, of which he didn't have the appetite to finish, he followed the others into the courtyard. Here a young nephew of his asked him what had happened. His uncle scolded the boy immediately but Adam insisted it was alright. He took a seat flanked by his 3 brothers and 2 sisters and started telling them all what had happened. Adam gave his family a full account of what had happened start to finish in Yeltsmin. It was getting darker and like a suffocating blanket a silence smothered the family after the story. This silence was then broken by the exclamation of an older uncle who decryed the Kraven government and declared they would pay ten fold at the hands of the Chechen army.

With the story out of the way the family broke up into groups which conversed and hung out. Food was brought out and some of the little kids watched a movie or ran around playing games. The adults gathered together and began discussing matters of varying gravity about the current state of Chechen affairs.

Adam gathered with a group of close relatives who were all the same age as him; a brother, a sister, several cousins, and a group of close friends. They sat and talked for a long time after eating again. He was hugged tightly by his and his cousin's friend, an attractive girl who was weeping heavily and thanking God that Adam was still alive. The others looked on sad and grateful at this. At one point or another all the girls would end up braking up in tears and either embracing Adam or running off to a bathroom. His brothers and male relatives looked at him with the deepest respect like he was a hero.

They were sitting in a group about 16 large against the wall facing in towards the house which was about 40m away. A large man in fatigues walked towards them with a confident gate. Adam recognized who it was at once; his eldest brother, Ibrahim, who was a Sargent in the Army.

"Adam?" he asked. Adam got up at once and greeted him.

"Selam aleykum Ibrahim abi!"

"Aleykum selam Adam." he replied. They talked a little bit and Ibrahim said hello to those who were with Adam. He had a glad look on his face but in his eyes something gravely serious was there. Adam could tell, he could read his brother better than anyone since he was little.

"Adam I want to talk to you. The guys too," he said looking at the intent faces surrounding him, specifically the male ones.

"What is this about?" Adam asked. He knew already but asked anyway.

"You know we're going to war. This concerns all of you men." This piqued the interest of the male in the small crowd. "Ladies if you'll excuse us." Ibrahim said politely with a smile.

Once they had gotten away from the group of girls who were now engaged in a conversation of their own, Ibrahim turned toward the group of guys.

"We're going for a little walk." he said and turned and opened the gate toward the street.

The Troopers had moved fast, they had to, already they had received word via the Command Relay that the transports had been hit and that more than likely Chechen authorities would start looking for what ever the transports had dropped…

They moved swiftly through the forest, moving in a staggered formation and using their low light vision of the Optical Mags, switching off the distinct red glow, a real give away when your trying to move silently and without being spotted, they leapt over branches and felled trees until a clearing had appeared…

The lead Trooper held up a hand and the others had stopped, it was a farm house, beautiful and wooden, an old quaint building probably occupied by an elderly couple…

The lead Trooper switched the night vision over to thermal graphic and got a heat readout of the house… two occupants, sat down in one of the rooms, possibly a living room, the fire crackled away giving a large heat signature, while the rest of the house only had a gentle glow….

They stood up and moved forwards, each of their steps were timed to make as little noise as possible, each of their steps were careful and sure, but with the utmost speed and efficiency…

Their assault rifles were held ready as they moved towards the house, within seconds they were at the front door, a large jackboot broke the door down, kicking it off its hinges and moments later, The Trooper stormed in, weaponry ready…

The man leapt up from the chair, panicked at the sudden noise and grabbed the shot gun off the wall, he checked it was loaded when the Kravenite storm trooper entered the room, his eyes suddenly flashing red as that distinct glow returned…

“Oh… Fuck…” The man said trying to bring the shot gun up to his shoulder, his wife screamed in fear as the massive trooper calmly opened fire, spraying both with bullets in a single clean sweep of his weapon. The others entered the room and surveyed what had happened, with calm, uncaring efficiency they turned around and left, leaving the lead trooper to pick a log out of the fire and throw it against the curtains, the heat from it quickly ignited the fabric and within seconds, the front room was ablaze…

The Trooper looked at his work with uncaring and cold complacency, before leaving himself and continuing on his way…

The house, made of wood soon was in flames and the trail of destruction was growing longer and longer…

The Troopers continued through the forest until the forest ended, the lush green trees now gave way to a roaring highway, the troopers crouched down low, looking at the road with cold indifference, before the lead trooper pulled up his tactical map, and surveyed their location…

Due west, 5klicks from their intended targets, this is where they would split off, the trooper turned around and pointed and five of the troopers and issued them their orders…

“Command relay directive… Infiltrate Civilian Sectors… Once Established, Orders are… Maim, Kill, Burn…” The Trooper spoke, his vox caster made his voice sound more machine like than anything else, and the cold uncaring nature of his voice dripped with mindless devotion…

“By your Command…” The other five spoke, getting up, checking their equipment and then crossing the highway during a lull in the traffic…

One however was too slow, and a large pickup truck ploughed into the trooper sending him skidding across the floor before coming to a halt, the breaks of the pick up truck brought the vehicle to a screaming standstill, thick black tire marks cut across the road, as the trucks front was severely damaged… the driver, shook up got out…

“Shit… Shit…” The man looked around, seeing a body lying in the road, his began to shake…

“Hey buddy…. Are you alright?” He ran up to the body, hoping to god that the person he hit was still alive… he’d only been going at around 40mph but the impact was enough to damage his truck, shake up his nerves and send what ever he hit one hundred yards up the road…

“Hey….” The man finally reached the body…

“Hey…. What the fuck?” The man said as he noticed what it was wearing…

“Oh… fuck…” The guy spoke as he realised what he’d hit… he looked down into the mask of the trooper, its red eye sockets had been blacked out, and the trooper lay still…

“Shit… this is one of them, Capitol Police or some shit…” The man started to smile…

“Shit man…. I’ve just bagged myself a Kraven scumbag…. Hahaha!” The man laughed and started to dance a little… he was going to be hailed a hero…

He leaned in close to the troopers face mask… unafraid of what was lying before and not for one second thinking their might be more…

“Did you like that bitch… you just got owned… and not by a soldier or some weapon… by a potato farmer…”

The red eye sockets suddenly came to life, the red glow lighting up the mans face and all of a sudden penetrating his soul, causing him to scream in terror as a large black gloved hand grabbed the mans throat, the sheer power of the troopers grip caused the man to choke as the trooper stood up, then with little effort the man was hoisted into the air and an 18” bayonet, gutted him like a fish, letting his entrails spill out onto the road…

The Trooper let the body drop to the floor and continued along his way…

“Trooper JJH 884, Reporting, Everything Nominal”..

“Understood… Rejoin Group…”

“By Your Command”

The incident of the Kraven transports had sparked a flurry of activity at military intelligence. Just how two large transports could have gotten through was cause enough to be surprised but what was worse was the parameters of the incident. It was obvious they were not on a recon mission and that they had dropped something on Chechen soil. Just what that something was no one knew yet. While the information the military was working on was shared with the city police authorities it was agreed that none of it should be shown to the public unless they wanted to start even more trouble. Army intel was feverishly pouring over maps and debating possible scenarios and trying to pin point where whatever it was was dropped using details from the known flight path of the Kraven transports. Figuring out the puzzle would have taken a little longer had it not been for the gradual trail of destruction the Capitol Police were leaving in their wake.

Route 17 North to Narhon

It had been a long evening for Neylan Merbey. She was on her way back to the city after dropping off a friend at the airport and all her friends in the city were going on a girl's night out and she didn't want to miss it. Things were going well until she saw the tail lights of a stopped pickup truck in the middle of the highway. Traveling at 70mph and in a rush she almost rear-ended the pickup but managed to slow down and pull along side it. She opened the passenger side window and was about to curse off the driver when she saw there was none. Then she realized the mangled front of the truck. And then the body laying in a pool of blood in front of it.

"Oh My God!" she gasped and called the police.

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

This was the first big piece of evidence. The next was a farmhouse not too far from the high way which had been burned to the ground. This was no coincidence thought military officials and the police chief who were on the case. Several police helicopters with floodlights and IR sensors were called on to scan the area. A few lanes of the highway were cordoned off with police tape and over head a helicopter flew by. A few moments later they found the last piece of the puzzle..

That old field..

"Chief," said a middle aged woman, "take a look at this." she shown a flashlight into a dual depression in the ground. "Look at the shape of this depression, these are foot prints."

A team of forensic specialists had gathered around the site of the Capitol Police landing. It was quickly surrounded by police and military police. The forensic team noted the unusually large footprints probably caused by a very heavy person landing via parachute and the dead man in the middle of the field. His name was Ömer Hakim and a quick background check showed him to be an anti-social blogger active in many anti-government forums.

The horrific conclusion of this was hard to swallow but it was undeniable. The gravity of the situation was best expressed by Police Chief Erhan Hussein:

"There here..."

Military gunships were dispatched at once in an effort to track down the Capitol Police team. Judging from the amount of foot prints it was estimated at between 20 and 30 troopers but forensic teams were still looking for any more. Back in the city in the police headquarters an investigative team brainstormed with army intel officers on what the enemy's plan could be. Recon? Scouting for an attack? A probe of Chechen defenses? A terror cell? Being so close to the city there were too many possibilities to go through. They could be anywhere judging by the estimated age of the footprints and the time the dead truck driver and burnt farmhouse were reported.

It was obvious to the men making the decisions that a list of priority had to be drawn up. Details of waste treatment plants, train stations and major tracks, transformer stations, and power stations were assembled in a list of how important each was to a city and how much damage could be inflicted if any of them were hit. They had to think like terrorists taking apart their own lands infrastructure piece by piece and seeing what the most fruitful target was. They all knew it was a race against time and every second they wasted was a second closer to something big.

Then one of the men in the room spoke, "what about the nuclear power plant?"

Everyone stopped and stared at each other..

Narhon Nuclear Power Station, south of the city..

The power plant was a medium sized one. That said it was huge. It supplied all the power to the city and surrounding area through its 2 reactors. The area around the plant was forested and it had a constant security detail. Security patrolled the plant and kept guard at the gates with MP5s. However because of the recent increase in national alert a further 18 soldiers armed with G3s were stationed at the plant along with a humvee complete with .50 cal mount.

A guard walked across a catwalk overlooking row after row of massive generators. It was another boring day on the job and that annoying humming of the generators just would never stop. He prayed desperately that something interesting would happen... the idiot would get his wish answered soon enough.

* * *

It is a very difficult thing for a large nation to not notice a vast armada of over 5,000 ships on the high seas. And so it was that the Kregaian fleet assembled had been tracked and observed ever since it was thousands of miles from entering the greater Mediterranean Sea. Still, in today's age of politics and war there was always a duel of powers or a nation trying to assert its strength in the world by sailing a show of its strength around the vast stretches of the known world. For these reasons the Kregaian navy was for the most part ignored until it reached a thousand miles from the entrance of the greater Mediterranean. It was from this point on that Chechen Intelligence began actively tracking the course of the Kregaian fleet with vested interest. There was a lot at stake and this could or could not be a false alarm. With the Kraven invasion looming nothing could be taken for granted.

Days past and every day new satellite pictures showed the fleet moving closer and closer. Given a high level of priority, hundreds of pictures were taken of the Kregaian fleet. Every ship would in short time be analyzed and referred with any existing databases for any tactical information. Any special markings on submarines were recorded in an attempt to acquire an accurate gauge on the number of submarines there were since if any surfaced they would do so in different places and at different times.

As time went by the general mood toward the pictures got more and more anxious. At only 2,200 miles away from the furthest held Chechen territory a military transmission was issued to the Kregaian fleet. This message would be followed by many more like it twice a day and gradually increasing in hostility of tone. The first however, was purely diplomatic.


___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________

Open Transmission.

From: The Republic of Chechnya, Ministry of Defense
To: Commander of Kregaian Fleet

Commander, your fleet has been observed for a significant amount of time by the Republic and its course lends its self to assume you will be entering the Mediterranean Sea. To the knowledge of the Republic of Chechnya there are no wars of any other nation in the area with or concerning yours. In this case we ask the meaning and purpose of your fleet's current voyage.
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________

The Troopers had been moving fast, avoiding any more unnecessary conflicts and moving with speed in mind, their equipment had been stowed away properly on their webbing and the lead Trooper kept checking the map every so often, to ensure that they were on the right track, sure enough however, the constant blinking marker lights of the cooling towers and pylons showed themselves above the forest..

It was beautiful in a strangely mystique way, the lights blinked on and off, looking like some giant creature winking at you in the distance, while the large flood lights that lit the work areas gave the steam rising from cooling towers a silvery glow, making this massive power plant seem all the more… magical..

Within an hour or so of travelling, the Troopers had reached the outer fencing, once again they moved with silence, switching off the distinct glow of their goggles to prevent being spotted in the distance, they all crouched low as they approached the edge of the tree line and prepared to take in the tactical date that was being fed to them by the high angle orbital satellite that had positioned itself over the power plant…

The tactical display pinpointed key areas to the lead Trooper, it designated the two reactors as the main target, but also gave a detailed read out of the general layout of the plant, the fences, the gate house, the humvee parked in the car park, and a real time tactical read out of the guards movements, the Troopers knew what to do, almost instinctively, acting on pre-ordained orders that the Command Relay dictated…

The first two, Troopers climbed up into the trees, using rope and their heavy set boots, they clambered up the thick bark and into the tree lines where, using their Thermographic Vision systems, pinpointed guards, and more importantly… the Driver and gunners of the Humvee…

The weapon was a standard issue Special Forces, KC47, it was similar in design to the M16 assault rifle, but was given an extended barrel and fired a slightly smaller calibre round in comparison to the 7.26mm round that they normal used…

The Smart linked weapon brought a cross hair into the tactical hud of the Trooper, who then aimed for the Gunner while his comrade aimed at the driver….

At the same time, the others below took up position next to the fence, and using some heavy duty wire cutters began to dismantle a small section of the fence, two other Capitol Police took up position, laying prone, near the main gate, watching the guards in the hut… they watched TV and laughed and joked about a comedy show, parodying Capitol Police Troopers shopping in a hypermarket…

They took aim at the guards, their optical zoom functions allow them to zero in and aim at the guards with pin point accuracy, much the same as the two before them who were dealing with the hummvee..

It was like a synchronised watch, each of them acted at the same time, from the moment the first wire was cut, the four Capitol Police fired in unison, the muzzle flair lighting up the forest as the rounds leapt from the barrels and streaked through the air….

The lead trooper continued to cut through the wires until the gap was big enough for him to fit through, at which point the swiftly moved through to the next fence…

If the intended targets had been killed by the four Capitol Police snipers, then targets of opportunity would be picked out, any guards that stepped out into the open would be dealt with in the same manner…

While the rest of the team, passed through the hole in the fence, to the next fence, where small portions of C4 were placed on the iron bars, in order to dislodge them and allow access to the facility…

All the time, the Four snipers would cover the main group of Troopers as they worked away…

Private Oman stood with his hands on the grips of the .50 cal turret in the humvee. His mind idled over the current events in his homeland and the last thought that went through his mind just as the slug impacted his forehead was something about being assigned the most mundane possible guard duty in the Armed Forces.

Below him, Private Fuad didn't have time to notice the meaty crack above and behind him when a bullet with his name on it bore through his skull showering brains and bone fragments all over the head rest and back seats. His head fell limp into the pages of the novel he was reading.

At almost the same time both regular security guards, wielding MP5s and dressed in blue-gray uniforms, who were manning the main gate were dropped by the sniper fire. The one took a bullet perfectly to the forehead and rested body limp and face dumbstruck over the back of the chair's head rest. The other who had just bent his head to light a cigarette caught a bullet to the side of the neck just nicking his left jugular vein. The man stood and screamed with his hand to his neck, blood drenching his left side and fell over backwards knocking the door open. He lay dead and bleeding half on the road outside.

"What the fuck was that?!" a soldier yelled in shock.

"Get down we're under fire!" another replied. He raised his rifle and fired off a burst of 7.62mm rounds into the tree line. A trio of rounds ripped down his torso and fell the man where he stood. The dozen other soldiers guarding the front entrance retreated to the cover of the lobby entrance and began returning fire into the trees.

The squad leader yelled into his radio set on a frequency open to local authorities and the security detail inside, "We're under attack! I repeat we are under attack at the plant entrance! Requesting reinforcements!" A round flew through his face a moment later and he crumpled over backwards onto the pavement.

A few guards stood paralyzed with shock to being taken by surprise, this was something the soldiers were trained for but not them. They stood frightened not knowing what to do when a Chechen soldier looked at them and ordered them to get inside.

Inside the lobby around a dozen security personnel came in running from other parts of the complex. They took cover at the corners to the corridor running across the back wall of the lobby and behind the concrete beams which protruded from the walls. A couple guards ducked and took cover behind the security desk, their submachine guns aimed at the exit. The security desk had a steal plate lining it so that it could be used as effective cover. Who the hell had thought of designing this into a nuclear power plant must have at least entertained the notion of what was currently happening.

Back outside the soldiers had been taking heavy casualties from the gun fire. None of them had a visual on the enemy and with the flood lights shining down on them they were broad targets. A soldier turned from behind the humvee to bear aim but was met immedietly by a round which penetrated straight through his heart and embedded itself in the concrete wall behind.

A second soldier flung the armored door open and clambered inside the truck. Round ricocheted inside and off the armor plating of the truck as the soldier inside pushed past the dead body of Pvt Oman who had a hand sized hole in the back of his head.

The soldier got up into the gunner's nest and pulled back the lever on the machine gun. Meanwhile a soldier using a concrete obtrusion as cover nearby took a bullet which shattered his knee cap and fell backwards onto the wall. His comrade pulled the screaming soldier back into the lobby.

The soldier in the humvee pulled the trigger and began raking everything in front of him with .50 lead hail. The young man in his early twenties bared his teeth and let out a roar as all his rage was channeled through the large caliber weapon he was firing. Tracers flew off into the night and some bounced off of trees, taking chunks of timber with them.

The squad outside was reduced to a handful of soldier within a minute and a half. A lot of the soldiers outside had been killed and only several remained outside supporting the brave man on the gun turret.

Back inside a soldier hurried in with a screaming comrade over his back and another ran inside and jumped over the security desk to take position behind it between the two other guards there.

As this was just beginning, a law enforcement official was arguing with a military official over dispatching a gunship to the power plant as a safety measure. The phone rang and the police commissioner picked it up putting it on speaker, the woman on the other side patched him through to the live audio feed of the events unfolding at the power station including the squad leader's request for help. At once the military officer who had so staunchly opposed diverting resources and wasting gas picked up the phone and sent the order.

The nearest AH-1Z Cobra gunship to the power plant changed course and started heading at top speed toward the power plant. In fact several SWAT teams and an armored cavalry unit were dispatched too, however these would arrive after the climax of whatever was going on was done.

* * *

One Week Prior

It was the dead of night. Thousands of miles east of Chechnya the squadron of Spirit stealth bombers began closing in on their targets in mainland Kraven Arterus. They had flown far apart from each other in different courses to better evade any sort of detection. So for it was so good and they were now beginning to enter in the hopes of flying through the overlapping radar nets of the Kraven Corporation. Now each bomber was roughly a thousand miles out from the Kraven mainland. Their targets were industrial in nature; chosen from satellite reconnaissance photos several large raw material processing plants and several factories producing tanks and other Kraven military vehicles.

It was a vengeance strike more than anything else. Just to say point out that Kraven had gotten itself into a serious fight.

"This is Zero-One flight commander, last mission log prior to bombing run. Approaching final entry way point. All systems green. Status of other aircraft unkown. No enemy contacts. Proceeding with mission."

The mission commander flicked a switch on the control console. In a few hours they would be over their targets and in the heart of Kraven territory. The inside of the cockpit was dark except for a dim red glow. Outside nothing was visible, the new moon making the night all the more invisible. What was also invisible were the other 20+ bombers scattered across a thousand miles of stratosphere flying in the night. Radar was turned off and radio silence was used. They were now all flying where eagles dare.

"My Lord, incoming transmission from the infidels!"

The shout brought an intrigued Lord Ishamael hurrying across the bridge from the tactical display over to the communications tech who had yelled out. He was pointing to his screen, which indeed showed a short paragraph headed by a line declaring it was from the Chechen Ministry of Defense. Ishamael nodded, then ordered, "Forward a copy to Korronis and to my handheld. I'll take care of this." He walked back to the tactical display, and seconds later his handheld computer buzzed with an incoming message. Ishamael now took the time to read through the message, chuckling to himself as he did. The Chechens plainly had no idea at all just who they were dealing with. The interesting thing was that Ishamael didn't even have to issue any orders. If nobody else found out about the message, nobody would react to it. All he had to do was not tell anyone. Ishamael smirked, and wondered what the Chechens would do when the Kregaian fleet simply kept going.

* * *

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: High Command

Attached is a message sent to the fleet by the Chechen Ministry of Defense. I have decided that the best course of action is simply to ignore it, and in light of that fact, I formally request that you do not independently reply to said message. Blood and Honor.

Signed,
Lord Ishamael Sadow

* * *

However, things were not the same. Once the Chechens realized they weren't going to get a reply, they might try additional diplomatic response, but they would prepare for war. One might mistake a fleet of thousands of ships for a show of force once; however, it would now be abundantly clear that this fleet was heading to Chechnya and didn't intend to turn around. Both sides, now, had to be ready.

Safeties on the cruise missiles of every submarine were turned off, making them ready for launch on a minute's notice. Computers ran simulated firings of practically every weapon emplacement in the armada. More and more aircraft were brought into the air on a never-ceasing vigil against Chechen threats. The flag of the Imperium waved from thousands of flagpoles as the great armada continued on.

The Humvee was dealing out a lot of fire power, it was a problem, at the range it was at, it was quite capable of scoring direct kills against Kraven armoured targets, and so it was targeted again, but not before it had felled one of the Troopers up in the tree, the round struck him directly in the chest and cleaving opening the armoured bulk, before spilling precious life blood onto the ground below, within a few seconds the heavy corpse followed, hitting the deck with a thud…

Rounds continued to pepper the trees until the other Trooper targeted the vehicles fuel tanks and opened fire, spraying the vehicle with lead, either they would kill the gunner or silence the vehicle for good, preventing it from being used by the ground forces…

Two troopers now entered the guard hut, and began strip the two corpses of weapons and ammunition, and prepared to intercept any forces, that would enter via the main entrance, they ran a few hundred yards up the road and set up two charges of C12 at the sides of the road and angled them inwards, so that the blast would be directed inwards, then a few yards further up they set another two, the first ones would go off, destroying what ever vehicle was there, then the second charges would go off, trapping the convoy in a self made road block…

Meanwhile, the main squad of Capitol Police now broke into the compound and moved swiftly through the gap in the fencing and made their way across the compound to the nearest bit of cover, a small substation hut…

The soldier in the turret of the Humvee continued to fire into the woods, the flame issuing from the muzzle of the gun was enormous and so too was the sound which drowned out all the other small arms fire in the area. Enemy rounds pinged off the Humvee all around the soldier and hit his weapon. Sparks flew in the face of the soldier as the .50 cal was disabled by a hail of slugs. The soldier clambered out of the truck as rounds whizzed past his body taking out large chunks of the concrete wall behind him.

The remaining three soldiers outside began retreating towards the lobby which was now host to 20 defenders. As rounds whizzed past each of the three men outside they walked backwards into the lobby 2 firing while one reloaded, their training making it so they didn't even have to think.

When everyman was inside the ranking soldier ordered the lights inside to be turned off. With the lobby lights off and the courtyard lights on the defenders would have a slight advantage over the attackers. 3 soldiers of the remaining 4 active, 6 living, took up positions at the sides of the entrance in case the attacking troopers thought sneaking in the side and throwing in a grenade would be a good idea..which it now wasn't.

In the back of the lobby one of the wounded soldiers passed away, his screams turning into a dull moaning as his entire side from leg to arm issued an unstoppable torrent of blood onto the white marble floor.

edit: will post on Karaman later.

The two Troopers in the guard huts waited, looking out for any incoming hostile forces, their detonators held ready, while one covered the entrance to the hut, the other watching the road ahead…

The rest of the squad now advanced each of these behemoths checked their weapons and prepared for the main assault, they moved with one fluid motion, covering each other and moving towards the lobby doors, the first trooper stepped into the open using his Optical systems to pin point the defenders of the main building….

A torrent of lead flew out of the building, striking the ground around his feet, several of the small calibre rounds striking armoured areas and ricocheting off into the air, the Trooper quickly fell back to the rest of the squad, reporting that the area was heavily defended…

Several smoke grenades and flash bangs were thrown into the front of the lobby, filling the area in front with smoke and hopefully disorientating the defenders enough to allow one trooper past to the Humvee that waited on the other side…

Quickly the Trooper rushed through the smoke, the dense, acrid smoke was distinctly Kraven, almost jet black and thicker than anything you can imagine, it hung and drifted around before slowly dissipating but still giving the air a distinct black hue..

The humvee was quickly started, luckily the rounds hitting it hadn’t caused too much damage, only one of the tires had been popped and the glass had been broken, but that didn’t matter, the HMG had been obliterated and was of no use… but again that didn’t matter…

Quickly, the Trooper fired the engine, gunning its engine until he was satisfied that he was ready to go, he put it into forward gear and gunned the throttle some more, spinning the vehicle around and heading towards the gate house, within seconds he flung the massive vehicle around in a U - Turn and headed back towards the lobby…

He gunned the engine some more, changing up a gear, until it hit the steps, holding down the throttle the beast climbed the steps at a frightening speed, as the Troopers now rushed out behind it…

Through the smoke, all that could be seen were the headlights of the hummer and the deafening roar of its engine, then it made contact with the glass doorway of the lobby, the noise and chaos was intense, bullets from the defenders impacted all over the vehicle as glass was shattered and sprayed across the room..

The vehicle bounced as it road over a table, its massive engine struggling to keep the thing going, as behind it, the Capitol Police emerged through the gaping hole…

The Humvee continued through the lobby, taking out the main reception desk until it came to a halt a few feet through the back wall, bringing down masonry… the Trooper’s head impacted off the steering wheel snapping his neck through the shear force, as the other Troopers took advantage of the sudden chaos, and opened fire on targets picked out by their Optical systems, each one brought up with thermal Graphic imaging, while the lights of the Lobby had gone down, it meant nothing to the Wolf Brigade Special forces who were trained to fight using Thermalgraphic….

Assault rifles hammered away, while the Capitol Police spread themselves into a standard Firing patter, covering each others weak points and ensuring that they would be able to complete the goal of this mission…

Narhon Power Station: The Breach

The Chechen defenders would never had expected the enemy to blast through the lobby entrance with their own personnel carrier. The metal bars holding the shattered glass wall in place crumpled to the force of the military truck. The three men who had been taking point reacted as best they could but immediately after the truck had past them and they had begun to resume fire, through the lingering smoke a dozen red eyes appeared before silencing the three men for good.

The last unwounded soldier knew something was horribly wrong when he saw the headlights of the humvee gleam through the fading black smoke. He grabbed on the collar of a firing guard and made a run for it away from the armored reception desk. The other guard managed to jump out of the way in time but the other wounded soldier screamed and held out his hand as the humvee crushed him and flung him through the concrete wall.

The lull in fighting after the break in was almost non existent. The lights inside flickered on and off and sparks blasted down from the ceiling above the smoking humvee. Concrete dust permeated the air further lowering visibility and broken brick fragments fell atop the humvee which was half way through the wall.

A number of the guards were so stunned by the break in that they couldn't offer any tangible resistance to the Capitol Police troopers who flooded into the lobby. The last remaining soldier and hand full of guards that remained retreated further inside the complex after the soldier yelled for them to fall back.

^*^*^*^

Meanwhile outside the Cobra gunship arrived a moment too late. Its crew immediately spotted the figures advancing into the building and the tell tale signs of a large fire fight; the bullet strewn walls, the bodies laying everywhere, etc. The gunship opened fire on the last of the figures entering the building with its 20mm gattling cannon, the explosive anti-personnel rounds exploding the wrecked entrance to the plant.

"Shit there in!" the pilot reported, "HQ, be advised Cobra-2 was too late, the enemy has entered Narhon Nuclear Powerstation. I repeat they have entered the power station. Will monitor from the outside over."

"Roger that Cobra-2, HQ out."

^*^*^*^

Running further into the power plant and laying down suppressive fire all along the way, the lone soldier knew they didn't have much time and were quickly being overrun. Him and a group of guards burst through the heavy metal door into the generator room. This room was connected via a few corridors to the central control panel which had direct access to the dual reactors. It was the fastest way to the reactors, the obvious target.

The last living Chechen soldier, PFC Panzeh Makaeb shouted over to the captain of the guards from across the catwalk,

"Is the control room barricaded?"

"Everything's ready. We have a bunch of technicians in there."

"Good we should be able to hold them until--" At that moment the guard captain's face was splattered with PFC Makaeb's blood and the soldier fell limp into him.

"Holy Shit!" he screamed, "There here! Open Fire!!" he bellowed, unloading his MP5 at the troopers ahead.

There were 24 guards in the generator room and a further 4 in the control room. A torrent of automatic gunfire met the advancing troopers and many of the guards were good shots too. The underlining factor which would determine the course of this last desperate gun battle would be the caliber of the weapons. The 9mm handgun rounds of the MP5 just didn't have the kick to breach the armor of the troopers and only prolonged and concentrated fire was able to fell them.

* * *

Some time later, around the time of the Kraven invasion...
Chechen Naval Intelligence Command HQ (NICOM), Istanbul

Colonel Abramov stooped over the desk comparing a set of satellite pictures taken of the identified Kregaian fleet, beads of sweat on his old weathered face. It was the middle of the night and the 30th hour of his insomnia. This was just one of those things and his wife knew him all too well for it. Once he had 'that feeling' about something, he couldn't sleep until it was resolved. This was one of those things and what was at stake was everything. Col. Abramov drained the remainder of the contents of his cofee, extra dark. He furrowed his brow and put a hand to it before sitting down on a wooden chair by the table and he let out a sigh.

"Goddamn this can't be a coincidence" he said out loud to no one in particular. He looked back at the array of maps and pictures and notes splattered on the table and lit a cigar. "Alrighty then, back to work" The colonel once again went back to his daily routine of checking every photo and recording the Kregaian fleet's progress, a daily task for him ever since he took personal oversight over the job a few days prior. Every day the Kregaian fleet sailed closer and closer to the shores of Chechnya without the slightest attempt at seeming inconspicuous. Every day 48 diplomatic messeges were sent twice an hour to both the fleet and the Kregaian government and none were returned...

Then the colonel looked at another set of pictures he had seen a dozen times before just like all the other hundreds of photos and something in his head clicked. The fucking idiot I am! he thought to himself. His eyes widened at the revelation he was just now receiving; from above its almost impossible to determine the flag one is bearing but somehow possibly due to some wierd draft in the wind, there it was plain as day for all to see: the Kregaian war banner. The colonel remembered it from studying the Kregaians in the academy for his advanced degree as a military analyst. If the bristling guns and super-active carrier decks and unussually frequent aircraft flights and weapon tests weren't enough of a giveaway apart from the ignoring of every attempt to contact them and their suspicious course, this was the straw the single piece of irrefutable proof that brought to reality Colonel Abramov's inner suspicions. Then he just realized something else.

Chechnya was under attack by one of the world's most feared titans. In 4 days it would be caught offguard by one of the world's most succesful conquesting empires. Not even the most hawkish Chechen generals would sue for a war against either of the two on even terms. Soon they would be fighting both on totally defensive terms. And what of the extremely remote chance that he was wrong? Chechnya would have thrown itself unwittingly into an even worse predicament drawing in international scorn and giving legitimacy to its enemies. This would have to be pursued first through diplomatic channels rather than military to ensure Chechnya did not shoot itself in the foot.

Colonel Abramov immediately rushed to awaken his superior officer who was smoking a pipe at his desk and checking off a list of ordnance bound for the eastern front. The commander listened to the colonel whose judgement he respected since the two had known each other well, screw the entire team of analysts on the case - the commander knew that when the colonel had a gut feeling he was right everytime. In a short span of time the news was sent up to the presidency, NICOM had determined that a Kregaian attack was 'to be expected and without warning within the next 5 days...'

The president, Ramzan Urmev, would later be remembered for having said to his war cabinet, "I don't give a shit what you have to do, send word through the Doomani for all I care. This is their last warning."

There would be no more foreplay, this was the final warning before the shit hit the fan.

To: the Government of Kregaia
From: The Republic of Chechnya, President's Office

-Redirected to Kregaian fleet and Kregaian government-

As you have no doubt recieved hundreds of messeges from us which you have been so keen to ignore there is no need for Chechnya to reiterate itself.

However the Republic of Chechnya is currently in a state of war with the Kraven Corporation and will not hesitate to defend itself from any would be threats to its national safety. Your fleet has spent the past week sailing directly for Chechen waters. The game you are playing does not have us fooled. State you intentions and turn your fleet around at once.

As this was sent the order too was sent for massive redirection of Chechen land and defense assets. Everything had been readied for the Kraven assault but now the Republic would have to use half its forces in each front. Hopefully shore defense assets could be moved in time and in the mean while the plan for a first strike against the enemy was being thought up.

An order was also sent out for a recon mission of the enemy fleet. As per standard procedure the enemy fleet would either broadcast a warning or send up interceptors to shadow the recon jet and escort it away. If it was fired upon without first dipsplaying any brazen action or intent to harm then the declaration of war would be obvious. It was a known suicide mission but at least one crazy pilot was available for the mission. Taking off from an airbase in western Chechnya, the pilot would make contact with the enemy fleet in his S-3 Viking while they were about 1,150 miles from the Chechen coast.

The days of judgement were looming upon the Republic of Chechnya. From the East and from the West there was a Storm on the Horizon...

The Troopers had moved quickly and were now inside the main facility, they swiftly made their way along the corridors using information taken from the Security consoles dotted along the way, each of them stood in formation, marching in time and ensuring everyone heard the clump of jet black jackboots against the concrete floors… an Omen of doom..

The assault rifles were always ready, in case further hostiles were ahead., they came to a junction point, ahead of them was the Control room and to the right the Generators, to the left was the main reactor room, it was heavily guarded by massive blast doors that prevented radiation from leaking in the case of a reactor break down…

However, this proved a problem, and would need to be remedied quickly…

“Control room, Access point Three..”

“By Your Command”

The lead Trooper had identified an air duct that would allow a small squad access into the space above the control room, one by one the Troopers climbed up after removing the heavy panel with a series of short bursts to the bolts holding it in place..

The climbed up the metal ladder until they were in the cavity above the control room… each of them walked with sure footing, each step carefully placed, one of the Troopers pulled out a small pack of C4, his intention was to bring the roof down on the control room in a controlled explosion then drop through the gap and exterminate the occupants inside…

The Trooper placed the charge on the ceiling and the others stepped back, crouched low in the darkness, everything enhanced by the Optical systems giving them a clear view of the cavity…

The trooper placing the charge, stepped back a few feet to the rest of the squad, and detonated the charge, it was just the right size, enough to bring down a section of the wall big enough for them to drop through, but not big enough that it would bring down the entire ceiling…

Masonry and bits of ceiling dropped to the floor, filling the room with smoke and thick acrid dust, the air was heavy, the lights flickered on and off, some being broken… the noise still echoed through out the control room as the first trooper dropped through the hole with a thud…

His heavy jackboots impacted with the floor, before he stood up to his full height and stepped to one side, bringing his weapon to bear, as another two dropped down, both following suit, moving out of the way and readying their weapons… in all of the confusion and the chaos and the sudden shock of the blast, the defenders inside would have no time to react to the Troopers that were now inside…

Sacred Emperor Lucifer, reclining behind his desk in his office, raised an eyebrow at the suitcases stuffed full of small half-pages that the attendants had placed in front of him. Darian Aurelius, the devious Minister of Foreign Affairs, selected one and handed it to him. Lucifer skimmed over it; it seemed to be a fairly generic 'cease and desist' request...except that there were whole cases of them. He glanced at the suitcases and inquired incredulously, "How many of these are there?" Aurelius showed a shadow of a smile as he replied, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, "Two thousand, three hundred and four were received in the last twenty-four hours. This is...well, Great Lord, it's insane. Almost a hundred messages an hour. This is more likely to provoke us out of simple irritation than deter us."

Lucifer stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I honestly see no reason to reply to this trash. Throw them away." Aurelius cleared his throat before replying, "Well, Divine One, there is something more. After this pattern continued for some time and we refused to reply, the Chechens sent the following message." Aurelius tossed a transcript onto Lucifer's desk, and the Sacred Emperor lazily unfolded it and read.

To: the Government of Kregaia
From: The Republic of Chechnya, President's Office

-Redirected to Kregaian fleet and Kregaian government-

As you have no doubt recieved hundreds of messeges from us which you have been so keen to ignore there is no need for Chechnya to reiterate itself.

However the Republic of Chechnya is currently in a state of war with the Kraven Corporation and will not hesitate to defend itself from any would be threats to its national safety. Your fleet has spent the past week sailing directly for Chechen waters. The game you are playing does not have us fooled. State you intentions and turn your fleet around at once.

Lucifer smirked as he finished reading. "Another waste of my time, Darian. Ignore it. And have the fleet continue on."

[ooc: I really hate this crappy post but its necessary to get this stupid preliminary stuff out of the way for the good stuff]

The S3 Viking with reconnaissance equipment and extra fuel tanks made its way on a course toward the Kregaian fleet. The pilot knew he was probably going to die but the man was such a crazed nut case that he craved the opportunity to go down in the history books as well as in a blaze of glory. While the recon plane would close into visual range with the incoming fleet ground control monitored the development closely. They were waiting to sound the alarms and prepare the first strike at these newcomers. Some people sailed around the world with a thousand ships to prove a point. No one did it with a thousand transports tagging along.

In response to the recent revelation and realization of what was looking like one real bad dream, the nation's entire stockpile of Rufous class anti ship missiles had already been activated and a barrage of them would be ready to greet the oncoming ships as well. The entire west coast was going on alert.

* * *

Narhon Power Station:

The sounds of gunfire crackled away outside the hall. The night shift workers of the facility were scared out of their minds. This couldn't be happening, this is what happened in those action movies. Homer Simpson was a fat white guy who loved donuts. He loved donuts. He had a wife and kids and right now wondered why he had to be here, why was he crouching under his station with beads of nervous sweat dripping down his hand and those of his coworkers. The shots echoing loudly continued. Homer looked at his watch. It was about 2:30 in the morning. He looked up again at the 4 men in blue guards' uniforms clutching their MP5's nervously, having taken positions by the door. The firefight grew in intensity, its sounds muffled and reverberating through the halls and ventilation ducts. What sounded like pieces of a wall being shot through was followed by a loud scream. Then it hit him harder than a brick..

This was real and he was probably going to die.

Then there was a thud directly above all of them.

"What was that?" one of the workers asked. No sooner had he finished than the lights went out and the ceiling collapsed. The red glow of optics sets was the only precursor to the flashes of fire and lead hail which rained about the room. The men in the control room didn't stand a chance; each one was slaughtered like an animal where he stood or sat.

Blood had now lined and splattered all across the walls. The main control panel overlooked the massive room containing the reactors. There was a large smear of blood across the window leading down to Homer's bloody hand. The room was full of dead bodies, blood, and several mindless Kraven troopers.

Meanwhile the guards in the generator room fought for their lives totally unawares to the fact that they had been completely flanked and that their fates were all sealed. They were forced to fight moving backwards against the relentlessly advancing Capitol Police Troopers. The 9mm Parabellum rounds just having little effect on the heavily armored troopers. The catwalk was littered with dead bodies clothed in blue and gray and stained with blood and shredded with holes. For the 9 men still alive and firing wildly there was no hope.

Outside meanwhile the AH-1 Cobra had been circling the building continuously keeping watch on the situation. The convoy of BTR-80's and humvees was by now only minutes away from the power plant.

Second Lieutenant Jehu Viraz, flying alongside the three other planes that formed Third Talon, glanced at his Balefire's instrument panel as he began turning the plane. All he could see was blue skies and a gentle ocean...a boring assignment if ever there was one. Third Talon was patrolling on exterior picket duty, an assignment which placed him as far from the fleet as doctrine permitted. Four Balefires, cruising along searching for anything that dared make a move towards the Kregaian armada.

His long-range RADAR beeped.

He glanced at it. Surely not. But there it was: a single signature, on an intercept course for the fleet. One plane. He sighed, and radioed the information back to his carrier. "Base Three, this is Third Talon leader, sector nineteen...we have one incoming Chechen aircraft. No database match. Engaging." He opened the throttle, pushing his plane to supersonic speeds and enjoying the feel of the acceleration as he armed a pair of medium-ranged Methuselah AAMs. Almost...

In range.

His finger squeezed the trigger, and two missiles lanced out from their hidden launchers, momentarily revealing the Balefire despite its stealth capabilities. With a quick request to his wingmate, a second plane launched two more missiles towards the errant plane. Jehu didn't know why the idiot had come, but whoever was flying that plane was about to die. And below, over the smooth seas, the great armada continued, heedless.

Several Days after the Kraven Invasion
0530 Hours, Linalopolis AFB
Kregaian Fleet 980 miles out...

http://img524.imageshack.us/img524/7020/b52990483djf8.th.jpg (http://img524.imageshack.us/my.php?image=b52990483djf8.jpg)

"This is Marvell One all systems checked requesting take off clearance."

2nd Lt. Hassan Urmeni gave a brief glance at his flight controls and made eye contact with his co-pilot. The two nodded at each other, greedy grins forming on both their faces. The men of the 5th Bomber Wing were eager to get into the fight.

"Roger Marvell One, runway is clear good hunting. Tower Out." Without hesitation Marvell One began moving off down the runway followed by the rest of its bomber squadron. The heavy bombers of the Chechen Air Force climbed up into the sky to join the others. Squadrons taking off from different airbases all across the west of the country slowly began linking up and assorting themselves into formation. The entire operation was choreographed perfectly; western planes taking off on time to rendezvous with planes which had been flying westward from the east for a while now. The formation of aircraft gradually grew like a snow ball as it moved westward. Finally 211 B-52s flew in a single massive formation a few hundred miles off the west coast of Chechnya.

At the same time the bomber formation was joined by multiple wings of fighter aircraft; that of 324 F-14s and 212 F-15s serving as escorts to the graceful giants. The F-14s with their long range radars and AIM-54 Phoenix missiles flew ahead of the bomber formation and the Eagles flew a close escort in multiple formations around the main body of bombers tens of thousands of feet up in the sky. This strike mission was the greatest undertaking of its kind in Chechen history and there was nothing to precedent it.

The B-52s were all heavily laden with weaponry, as much as they could physically carry and taking full advantage of all the weight savings their modernized designs and parts offered to them. 2 Rufous (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=530199) AShM missiles, 4 AGM-84A Harpoons, and 1 AIM-54 Phoenix missile mounted externally on each wing and a further 27 Harpoons stored in the bomb bays made up the total mission ordnance for each of the bombers. This meant each bomber could fire off 39 anti shipping missiles at the enemy fleet for a potential total of 8,229 missiles flying at the sailing Kregaian fleet. The long range AIM-54s were more of an afterthought just to be safe. With so many escorts it was thought just to maximize usefulness and offensive capability each bomber should be armed with a little defense of its own.

The formations would advance to 220 miles from the Kregaian fleet at which point the bombers would unleash their payload. Targets for the bombers had been preselected and calculated using information from satellite images of the fleet. The targets were all already chosen, all the crews had to do was push the button. As always an AWACS would be in the area on the constant look out for aerial interceptors although the F-14s still had their own 180mi radars. Also 2 modified B-52s carrying electronic warfare countermeasure packages were present to try and jam any incoming enemy missiles.

The Kregaians may have thought that they would have been able to sail right into port and start firing...they may have thought the Chechens were complete fools...they probably did. But what they didn't know, and they soon would very well, was that Chechnya was serious and it wasn't going to sit around playing games all day.

http://img147.imageshack.us/img147/7714/b2050404f1740g005vb0.th.jpg (http://img147.imageshack.us/my.php?image=b2050404f1740g005vb0.jpg)

Meanwhile, as the Kregaians would without a doubt be alerted to the massive radar return of the Chechen bombers and their fighter escorts a second secret mission was underway. 8 B-2 stealth bombers had taken off while the main force was underway and would attack from west-north-west while the main force would approach from the north-east. Each of these stealth bombers were armed with 20 Harpoon ASMs and would launch their payloads at 220 miles out. Had circumstances been different they would have been the preferred launch platform for a nuclear strike but such a thing would undoubtedly trigger a response large enough to effectively disable the entire nation even though things did look really bad for the Republic.. even desperate almost..

0630 Hours
Approaching Kregaian Fleet

The 211 stratofortresses had arranged themselves into a massive staggered formation which stretched 4 kilometers wide forming a virtual wall of bombers, some in camo, some painted gray, all bristling with weapons. The weather was absolutely perfect on this particular day in May; today was a good day for battle. Through a large cloud a hundred heavy bombers emerged at once and proceeded. The AWACS searched for long range radar contacts and relayed information to the formation from mission HQ. From the formation the F-15 Eagles could be seen flying in squadron formations. Some were near the the formation flying within a kilometer and others were miles away but still a there guarding the formation like sheepdogs charged with protecting the flock.

http://img100.imageshack.us/img100/6964/f14no16ko6.th.jpg (http://img100.imageshack.us/my.php?image=f14no16ko6.jpg)

Ahead the F-14s flew in many delta formations awaiting the moment when they would have to come face to face with the enemy and issue the official greetings of the Chechen government. The pilots were all a little tense but full of determination. Their country had been invaded after all by Kraven and each and every man had been itching to do some good for his country and family. That was after all what they were really fighting for and as time went by it would sink in. A certain Lt. Chunkaev hadn't realized it yet, well he knew they were defending their home that was obvious, but it hadn't really sunk in yet the magnitude of what he and his brothers were fighting for. In the coming days, weeks, months, the war would become less a war for country but a war for survival. The government wouldn't have a need to use propaganda for it was a fight of the people and state.

But it was still early. The war had just started and to most of the Chechen public the war was on tv and the radio. In time it would be in their backyards. In time Kregaian and Kraven tanks would be rolling through the streets of their neighborhoods tossing their cars aside, blowing holes in their homes. But it was still early and none of that had happened yet. This was a fight and a struggle for more than a government but for a way of life, a culture, a religion, a history and tradition, it was a war for family, loved ones, and in the end: survival.

It was here the first shots were fired against Kregaian Empire, the hub of pagan worshipers who seeked to extinguish all those in Chechnya who practiced Islam and rape their bountiful land of its resources and good people. This day would go down in the history books whether it be written by Kregaian or Chechen scholars only time would tell. But for all it was worth... a truly titanic struggle had begun.

OOC: Groz, I left the fighters out of range of your planes because I know you have longer-ranged AAMs, so it's your move.

IC: It had been over an hour since Third Talon intercepted the enemy scout plane, and since then the fleet had been on a state of elevated alert; the Chechens had to be coming. They wouldn't simply send one aircraft and leave it at that. Either a missile barrage or a flight of bombers had to be on its way, and Ishamael had no intention of being unprepared for either. Picket patrols had been tripled, and at the core of the fleet, hundreds of fighters were being kept in the air on standby, a reserve to reinforce whatever sector of the perimeter happened to encounter the enemy first.

History would later record that at 0648 hours that day, Second Talon, of II Squadron, 86th Air Group, made extreme radar contact with a large flight of Chechen aircraft. History would later record that at 0649 hours that day, Second Lieutenant Davian Lycurgus contacted HDMS Betrayer of Hope, the flagship, to report the information. History would later record that immediately thereafter, a massive response force was organized and sent towards the Chechens. But from the inside, to those who were actually there, all that could be seen was the jaws of the Kregaian military closing on a long-awaited treat.

Satellites were immediately devoted to observing the enemy flight, and the BattleNet went to work, calculating targets, trajectories, speeds, and a thousand other scraps of data that would help give Kregaian pilots the edge. Back at the core of the fleet, the carriers went into overdrive, beginning to scramble thousands of fighters to protect the fleet. An entire air cohort, 2,700 Balefires supervised by a number of AWACS, hurtled towards the enemy contact, which was now clearly distinguishable as over two hundred bombers and their fighter escort. The Kregaians were confident entering the fight, more confident even than usual: they were sitting in the F/A-104 Balefire, a plane on which the greatest expense and attention had been lavished, a plane which would carve a bloody swathe through Chechnya before much longer. It was fast, insanely maneuverable, extremely stealthy, and armed to the teeth...worth every penny spent on it. These pilots felt like sharks eying their prey, and soon they would get their chance to feed.

[ooc: about time =) let's get this party started]

0650 Hours
Mediterranean Sea

The radar officer looked over his instrument panel, the AWACS scanning for any radar contacts.. none so far. The flight was 340 miles out from the Kregaian fleet and without a doubt a reaction force had been scrambled. The only problem was that there was nothing on the radar. Not a thing. To use other words it was quite...too quite.

The long range radar beeped twice picking up a faint contact. The signatures multiplied and grew revealing the imminent threat to the entire mission. Without hesitation the radar officer relayed the information to the crew calmly but with haste.

"Contact! Mulitple hostiles inbound vector Two-Three-Zero ... Eleven Hundred Knots.." The radar officer looked on as the number of contacts only seemed to grow and grow without end. The stealth capabilities of the Balefires had eluded the radars of the AWACS until they were only little over a hundred miles out.

The information from the two AWACS was relayed to the bombers and to their escorts. Although the number of enemy aircraft was unknown, the forward AWACS was able to give a better estimate on their number, this was further helped by the long range radars of the F-14s. Still, they were fighting an enemy who was on a whole 'nother level technologically.

Every fighter pilot armed his AAMs and the B52 crews armed their AIM-54s in case they would need to be used. The F-15 squadrons were carrying AMRAAMs capable of hitting targets at over 20 miles and they would engage after the F-14s. The F-14s meanwhile broke into combat formations and armed their weapons. Each carried 6 AIM-54 Phoenix missiles and 2 short range advanced dogfighting missiles.

Combat information was fed through the AWACS to the wing of F-14s further supplementing their powerful radars.

"Wing leader to all units, select your targets and prepare to fire two FOX-THREEs at a time fifteen mile spacing on my mark." spoke Maj. Ruslan. A chorus of confirmations came back from the squadron leaders in the air wing.

They were in range and heavily outnumbered 8 to 1 but that would not deter them from their mission objective; making sure the bombers got in range to fire at all costs. There was a hundred miles and change to go before the bomber formation was in range... 20 minutes at the most before they could fire their long range payload and get the hell out of there.

Alright we're almost in range thought Maj. Ruslan to himself. Eight to One. God protect us from these bastards

"Launch weapons on my mark....Three...Two..Mark! Fox-Three!" spoke the major.

"Fox-Three!"
"Fox-Three!"
"Fox-Three!"
"Fox-Three!"

Went the reports from over three hundred fighter pilots as a hail storm of 648 Phoenix missiles guided by their own, the F-14s, and the AWACS radars shot forth from the wide formation of fighters. The missiles flew forth almost simultaneously and sped forward and up in rocketing flames approaching Mach 5. The AIM-54 Phoenix missiles would all climb to 100,000 ft, high above the Kregaian flight formation and then nose dive toward their targets using the altitude advantage to attain psychotic speeds of Mach-7. With the three levels of radar guidance, the kinetic momentum of their speed and a proximity fuse, the chance of evading such a weapon, regardless of countermeasures was slim and the best bet was to try to get out of its range. It was unknown, however what other countermeasures the Kregaians had up their sleeves.

Fifteen miles further the F-14s would fire off another two intercept missiles each. This was the plan so that the enemy wouldn't be able to simply turn tail and outrage the whole 1,944 AIM-54s and leave the wing with no long range answer to whatever the enemy possessed.

Meanwhile back at mission HQ the supervising commanders of the mission watched closely to all the information of the unfolding events. Satellite recon was able to track the enemy flight giving visual confirmation of the grave news the AWACS had given; 2,700 enemy aircraft were hurtling toward the main force. The only good part of this news was that the 2nd flight of stealth bombers was by now just about almost in range and still totally undetected. However the main punch was being carried by the main force, 211 of the 552 B-52s in Chechen service. Almost half the total amount of B-52s in the Chechen Air Force and they were badly needed for ground support operations against the Kraven invaders as it was. A mission failure simply was not acceptable.

For this reason the the third part of the mission was set into motion. After the defeat at Yeltsmin the Chechen Navy had little left in it to repel a naval invasion. The 1st fleet was mostly destroyed in the battle but the greatest number of surviving ships were the Chechen nuclear submarines. 86 were still in service. Since it had been judged that the 1st fleet would focus on defending the east coast against the imminent Kraven attack there were no notable surface ships to defend the west coast. What there was however were submarines. 62 boomers and attack subs made up the western naval defense of Chechnya and of those 46 Ohio Class strategic missile subs existed and were called on for the mission.

Far away from the Kregaian fleet and nearer to shore the SSGNs carried a host of Harpoon and Triton II SLBMs. The Republic had never been big on having a nuclear stockpile and the Triton IIs were instead carrying kinetic kill ordnance. Using a modified MIRV each missile could target 5 naval or ground targets and send a heavy depleted uranium kinetic warhead onto it similar to the way a nuke functions...but without the blast.

It was a provocative move on the Chechen's part. If the missiles were identified they could be taken for a strategic nuclear strike. However if Chechnya was nuked the international response would no doubt be hell for the Kregaians, not to mention that the fallout would invariably drift into Doomani controlled territory to the south of the country. Still as provocative a move it may have seemed to some, it was nothing compared to sailing 5,000 warships to invade someone.

The mission update was sent to the submarines captains who prepped the launch tubes. A kinetic round traveling at 18,000 mph was a hell of a punch.

Submarine Captain Isa Celal was a career naval officer and at 46 this was his second wartime engagement and first time using his ship's SLMBs for real. He checked the mission update and nodded imperceptibly. He wouldn't send a reply to base, he was expected to carry out orders without question and without creating extra radio noise. Submariners were largely solo hunters after all.

"Code Thirty-Four! Prep the launch tubes." he spoke commandingly to his crew. The lights were a dim red and the room was filled with the screens of display monitors.

"Launch tubes 1 through 8 go for launch!" replied the sailor.

"Input target data and launch missiles on my mark.."

"Aye Captain." a number of button guards were opened and fingers hovered over the shiny red buttons.

"Fire." Captain Isa said with no emotion whatsoever.

At that instant 4 Trident II SLBMs were launched along with 28 Tomahawks. They each jumped out of the water and in a blast of flame rocketed for the sky and their targets.

Ishamael stared, unblinking, at the display. The 12th Naval Air Cohort was moving towards the enemy, a much smaller flight of Chechen fighters and strategic bombers. The Chechens were continuing on their intercept course, having launched over 600 AAMs which were rocketing into the sky, no doubt about to plummet downwards onto the fighters. He called to no one in particular, "Hold," and returned his gaze to the display.

* * *

Normally the stealth capabilities of the Balefire, some of the best in the world, would have protected practically all the pilots from the enemy missiles. But there were so many Balefires that if a missile's guidance system couldn't pick up one, the chances were good that it would be able to find another. However, the pilots were disciplined, and continued on their current path exactly as before, despite the urge to bloodshed that smoked in their brains.

The AIM-54s turned downward and shrieked towards the Balefires, 40,000 feet below.

The order crackled over the pilots' radios: "Full attack."

At once the Balefires accelerated with terrifying speed, afterburners blazing to life and hurling the planes like arrows towards the Chechen fighters. An instant afterwards, two, then four medium-ranged Methuselah AAMs rocketed out from their launchers and streaked towards the enemy, seeming to race the Balefires, who by now were at their maximum speed of Mach 3. Another pair of short-ranged missiles was launched from each plane, as the more confident pilots began taking their planes through complicated maneuvers that the steel frames were barely capable of; supports groaned and rivets rattled, but it was better than exposing oneself to the Chechens. The Balefires began to slow down as they entered dogfighting range...and the battle was joined.

* * *

However, back on the bridge of Betrayer of Hope, an equally dangerous threat had been discovered. Satellite imagery had captured the launch of thirty-two submarine-based missiles; twenty-eight were Tomahawks, cruise missiles easy to write off...but a quartet of SLBMs had been launched at the same time, targeting the Kregaian fleet, and for all anyone knew, they could have been nukes. It was difficult to believe the Chechens would use nuclear weapons without provocation, but then, they were fighting for their survival; there was no telling what they might do. As such, the fleet could not afford to ignore them. As soon as they were detected, dozens of Valhalla-class SSBNs surfaced and, having programmed their missiles for proximity detonation, launched a dozen Pandemonium II missiles apiece. Normally these were designed for ground bombardment, but with the BattleNet calculating intercept trajectories, it was possible to use them as anti-air missiles, which was exactly what the Kregaians were doing; in fact, for the moment the Kregaians had no other options, as the Chechen SLBMs were too far away from the fleet for traditional air-defense measures.

Life is a waterfall
We're one in the river
And one again after the fall
Swimming through the void
We hear the word
We lose ourselves
But we find it all....
Cause we are the ones that want to play
Always want to go
But you never want to stay
And we are the ones that want to choose
Always want to play
But you never want to lose
Aerials, in the sky
When you lose small mind
You free your life
-Aerials, SoaD

“All flights be advised radar spikes detected.” Came the cold voice of the AWACS operator.

The waves of AIM-54 missiles launched at the enemy horde seemed to have had little effect. The radar was overwhelmed with the shear volume of radar contacts and they were launching their missiles. Soon after that they would close into dog fighting range and the real fight would take place. The 324 F-14s were going up against nearly 9 times as many of the enemy, veterans of war and operating more advanced weapons of war. And the missiles were coming...

"Bismillah hirahman nirahim..." He whispered to himself. 2nd Lt. Alan Maskhadov looked through his helmet visor at the instrument panel. His aircraft's radar augmented by those of the AWACS picked up front elements of the endless airborne horde. His hands sweated inside his gloves. It was his first actual combat engagement since joining the Chechen Air Force. He was only 21, not even married yet. The man had his entire life ahead of him and he was here among thousands of others just like him ready to fight to protect that way of life that they all knew and loved.

The radar spike warning began blaring, it wouldn't be long before judgment would come. Alan's eyes were fixed straight ahead of him and his hands gripped tight on the flight stick. The radio began to crackle to life wing commanders began issuing orders to their wingmen. Time began to slow down and everything seemed to become unreal as if it were a dream.

Alan was sweating heavier now. He just noticed that he was almost hyperventilating and had drifted above the rest of his squadron's formation. Still what was seconds felt like hours to him. A flash of some indiscriminate thought passed through his mind and was gone in an instant. There were two animals inside the man, both were fighting for control of his being. The one was scared to hell that its home could be invaded and would not accept that what was happening was real. The other was enraged that anyone would dare think Chechnya fertile ground for conquest and was committed to repelling the invaders.

The radio was more alive than ever now, men were shouting maneuvers and aircraft dispensed chaff and flares and were branching off at full burn. Alan's hands had eased off his stick slightly and the blaring of the radar lock warning and the frantic screaming of his RIO brought him back to reality. This was real. Chechnya was being invaded. He was really 38,000 ft up in the air flying in a jet plane. And if he didn't do something in the next two seconds he was going to die..

He blinked his eyes hard and regained his grip. Already the swarm of missiles had descended on his wing and fighters left and right in the distance were being blown out of the sky. Alan launched his countermeasures and pulled hard on the stick. His plane lurched and rocketed into the sky in a fearsome arc at full burn leaving contrails in the sky against a background of hundreds of contrails.

The sky a beautiful picture of blue and cirrus clouds up above. It was streaked with the white lines of missiles and the contrails of evading aircraft. There was a new addition to this painting.. the explosions of the many stricken F-14s, their flaming remains gracefully falling to the sea in plumes of fire and smoke.

"Vector One, Vector One! Requesting immediate assistance we are fully engaged with the enemy. I repeat we are fully engaged and need assistance now! Goddammit! How many of them are ----" came the frantic voice of a wing leader on the radio, it was cut short and static followed..

"Roger that Vector One, Eagles inbound." replied the wing leader of the flight of F-15s. Shit he thought to himself, this isn't good.

Regardless of the odds the 212 F-15 eagles now turned towards the fray and began to engage. The wings of F-14s were nearly decimated and wouldn't last too much longer in a sustained fight. Most of the pilots that had survived the massive initial onslaught were fighting a totally defensive and evasive battle. In the middle of the sky 74 F-14s flew within a slowly shrinking defensive bubble. Stretching miles in diameter this was their zone of the sky. The bubble was constantly pervaded by attacking Kregaian fighters and as the number of defending Chechen planes decreased the bubble came closer to collapse.

For all they lacked in actual combat experience the Chechen fighter pilots were still something to be taken seriously. Relying on the skills acquired through heavy training and large scale mock-air battles the pilots did the only thing they possibly could have done. Instead of attempting to fight their Kregaian counterparts head to head they would fight as a single organic unit. There were 2,700 Kregaian fighters and only just under a hundred Chechen fighters which by some miracle were left out of 324. By any text book assessment this fight was over before it started and very well the Kregaian tacticians probably thought so. Instead of turning and running (doing so at this point would be nothing short of guaranteed suicide) or facing the enemy one on one, (which would be equally a guaranteed death sentence) the fighters quickly formed up into their defensive spherical formation. Of course a good deal of fighters were lost in the time in between. However, once they had quickly established their position the odds were adjusted more in the Chechens' favor. With the sheer number of aircraft in the given volume an attempt to take out the Chechens with missiles could easily end in a blue on blue situation. So instead guns were most likely to be used by the enemy. The problem for the enemy was this: to engage they would most probably go with guns (~2.5k planes wrapped around ~70) however the problem was that every Chechen fighter was protected by another and another and to fly through the bubble and in through the middle was to bring the guns of all those inside on the intruder. As well as this tactic worked the numbers didn't lie. There were simply too many enemy aircraft for the amount of friendlies. Inevitably the Chechen pilots would run out of ammunition and be overwhelmed completely. Their tactic was the only way however, to buy themselves and the bombers some more time by giving the Kregaians an unexpected headache.

Meanwhile the F-15s closed in on the embroiled fur ball in the sky. Before they engaged their wing leader sent a radio message to the AWACS battle commander asking for the B52s to launch their AIM-54s. The request was accepted and the order relayed to the formation of bombers. A moment later a hail of flame erupted from the formation of B-52s and a single volley of 422 AIM-54 missiles rocketed toward the mass of enemy fighters. The risk of a missile hitting a friendly was good enough to take, there were simply so many damned enemy fighters - whoever had been planning this mission didn't think the enemy would send up their entire force of fighters despite the evidence of the carriers to support as many planes - that something was bound to hit something screw stealth at this range... the advantage of stealth was mostly null at this point anyway. The Kregaians had succeeded in gaining the jump on the Chechens. Had the general watching the battle known of the number of enemy interceptors he would have ordered the mission aborted immediately so a proper response could be gathered. The trap had been sprung however and the stealth capabilities of the Balefires had deceived the AWACS into anticipating a far smaller (and more malleable) sized force.

The pilots of 212 eagles screamed toward their destinies and fired off their med-range payloads at the upcoming enemy fighters. Their hundreds of AMRAAMs rocketing into the enemy just as over 400 phoenix missiles silently from this perspective and invisible save beautiful white contrails like the strings of a harp charged headlong into the enemy haze of fighters.

The Eagles would fly through and entwine themselves with the enemy in the massive classic style dogfight. For miles in every direction there was nothing but the guts of an epic aerial battle between two air forces. Guns and aircraft were blazing and there were constant explosions and plumes of smoke falling from the sky into the blue abyss below...

Physically, not much separates an Imperial soldier from a member of any other armed forces. In fact, physically, very little does, other than the distinctive uniform. Square-jawed, muscle-bound fighters are to be found in every branch of every military in the world. The difference is mental. To call it a 'killer instinct' would be cliche and slightly misleading, but there is something there. You can see it on the parade ground, when hundreds or thousands of Legionaries march and drill in unison. You can see it on the battlefield, when tanks roll forward and shells rain down and the Legionaries stride implacably over enemy soil. It is nothing more or less than the soul of a murderer, and more than anything, it is this that fuels the Imperial war machine.

* * *

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that the Chechens put their backs to the wall. It was the only reasonable thing to do; dozens of their aircraft had been destroyed in seconds and they would have had, most likely, less than a minute to live had they not taken drastic measures. But still...a globe? One squadron, apparently blood-drunk, plunged into the thing to try to continue the fight normally. Every one of those dozen planes exploded in a puff of yellow-tongued flame.

What to do.

Synapses fired in the savage brain that was the heart of the armada. The nerves of the BattleNet flickered with electricity, carrying thought and will to the hundreds of cells that were the Balefires. And like an amoeba splitting, a good 1,080 (two air battalions) sloughed away from the main group and headed for the oncoming Chechen F-15s. Straight into a flight of missiles.

Rolls, simple turning, advanced electronic countermeasures; there's a lot a pilot can do to protect himself. But the Balefire was never designed to take hits. Speed is its only armor. And when hundreds of AMRAAMs streaked toward the Kregaians, the value of skill and experience was greatly diminished. It is a truism of war that when death comes, it is always a lottery. Random chance sent two hundred and sixteen missiles flying straight and true to their targets. Random chance detonated two hundred and sixteen missiles in the air adjacent to Kregaian fighters. Random chance sent those fighters falling at terminal velocity to the ground below, the rush of air quickly putting out the fires on the flaming fragments of steel fuselage. And eight hundred and sixty-four Balefires were then in the fight again. Dancing, weaving, snapping and clawing; dogfights in the air are no different, really, from their namesake. Explosions mingled with the chatter of gunfire as the Chechens and Kregaians strove to survive or to conquer.

Meanwhile, the main body of fighters, now shrunken to somewhat over half its original strength, was retreating. That ball of fighters could stay put; if they broke formation, the Balefires could sweep in and end them all, and the Chechens knew it. No, they would stay put. The real danger was the four hundred-some AIM-54s rocketing towards them, and so the Kregaians did what any sensible pilots would do: they put the Chechens between them and the AIM-54s.

This was hardly a death sentence for the Chechens; fewer than a hundred fighters physically can't block hundreds of missiles, and that doesn't account for the gaps between fighters. But it was an easy maneuver, a small price to pay for even a single Chechen casualty. Soon, however, the missiles were through, and the Kregaians had to deal with them on their own. Short-ranged missiles streaked out to counter, taking down most of the incoming threats, but despite the subsequent emergency maneuvers and all the Balefire's advances, thirty-seven planes were destroyed and their pilots instantly killed, all their stealth and speed and all the millions invested in their construction worthless. But now the main body was standing off from the Chechen fighter-ball...and in a hail of hundreds of missiles, still moving backwards to get out of the Chechens' range if at all possible, they began sniping.

"Mace Four take my wing I'll take the lead."

"Copy" came the terse reply. All around the battle raged on despite the odds the Chechens continued to fight for the success of the mission. The F-15 and its wingman flew together engaging a nimble enemy Balefire.

"I have tone...Fox Two" the short ranged dogfighting missile streaked and arced towards its target. The missile flew underneath the belly of its target and continued on into the horizon of nothing. The the Eagle pilots were strained to their limits in trying to play cat and mouse with their counter parts. The Eagle was an excellent air superiority fighter but this new enemy was something else.

"Goddammit!, switching to guns.." The enemy pilot swerved to the left across the axis of the engaging F-15, the pilot let off a burst of gunfire which missed its mark. As the two planes swerved in opposite directions again it what was something like a figure-8 the F-15 pilot let off another burst of gunfire which ripped into the enemy stealth fighter tearing a gash across its stabilizers and putting holes through the engines. The wing surfaces of the war fighter shattered and broke off and the engines shut off and re-ignited sending the plane crashing down in a massive fireball.

"Splash One!" shouted the victor. Just as he said this, taking his leave for his wingman to take over some enemy missile shot down directly in front of him. Immediately his wingman's aircraft exploded into millions of pieces in the direct hit. The numbers were simply overwhelming...

In the meantime....

"Holy shit that's one hell of a battle over there.." spoke the Chechen copilot to the pilot.

"Just focus on the mission so we can get the fuck out of here... are we in range yet?" he replied bitterly. This was the most harrowing part of any bombing raid, the seconds leading up to the release of the goods.

"Almost there sir... open bomb-bay doors."

"Doors opened."

Flying toward the Kregaian fleet the 211 stratofortress bombers were just about in range. The planes kept formation at altitude and opened their payload doors. Behind them a thousand contrails stretched like the lines of a highway infinitely towards the aft horizon. Then the momment all had been waiting for had at last come and the order was given by the AWACS mission controller.

"All bomber crews launch payload and R-T-B"

No sooner had he said this then the hell had been unleashed. 211 B-52s each carrying 4 Rufous AShM and 35 AGM-84A Harpoons released their payloads; 8229 anti shipping missiles bound for the enemy fleet.

"Missiles Away!"
"Missiles Away!"
"Missiles Away!"
"Missiles Away!"

The large anti-ship heavy missiles detached and their boosters igniting shot forth leaving large clouds of combusted fuel behind them. The external Harpoons detached and their rocket motors kicking in flew forth in front of a dragons flame. Several at a time from each bomber the 27 missiles carried inside the belly of each bomber dropped out and ignited as planned. Words have difficulty describing with what force was launched during those seconds following the launch order. One can only imagine the launch of an MLRS system and multiply it by several thousand. Nonetheless over eight thousand golden javelins of fire and smoke hailed forth from the arrayed legion of aircraft. The swarm of missiles left an enormous report of smoke behind them which dwarfed by far the contrails and condensation trails left by the bombers. Immediately after this launch the bombers began to turn back. Crews young and older guided their planes along their flight paths and back toward home soil. The mission had been accomplished. What was left now was the trip back home.

A few moments before hand...

The dogfight had been extremely vicious for the defending F-14 pilots. The fact that any had survived up to this point at all was a testament to their training and skill... or perhaps even luck. As the Kregaian fighter planes pulled back the Tomcat pilots kept formation until they realized why the enemy had retreated. Given the amount of volume they were flying through and the small number of F-14s and that each Phoenix missile was guided by its own radar none of the Chechen fighters were down by friendly fire as the missiles shot right passed their general area; except for about 2 dozen very close calls. The withered force of 48 F-14s were getting low on fuel and ammo would be a concern shortly. Now that the enemy was at range they would use their long range weapons against them and the odds were tipped once again grossly into the Kregaians' favor. There was only one sane thing that could possibly be done at this point. The bombers had released their cargo, the main force of Kregaians had retreated to a further position and the Eagles were locked in a losing battle against a larger force of Kregaian fighter aircraft.

"Oros One to all remaining pilots, turn to heading Two-Seven-Zero at full burn and pick your targets. We repay our brothers' help to us."

And so at full-burn the remnants of the original 324 F-14s flew towards the heated dogfight to aid their brothers in arms. If they could get into the dogfight in time the Kregaians wouldn't be able to use their longer ranged missiles effectively and they could buy more time for the bombers to high tail it out of there. Just how any of the pilots would make it out of this battle alive was yet to be seen. For the moment however, they fought on pushing their machines and their bodies to the limit.

The key mission objective had been accomplished. What was to be done now was to survive the mission and get back to Chechen soil safely.

It was an error nobody could have seen coming: none of the traditional Kregaian auguries or the knowledge of the mechanics could have predicted it. Moreover, it was a very simple thing. But that did not prevent it from affecting hundreds of lives. The error was not in command, not in execution: not in any endeavor undertaken by a single being in the fleet. It was, rather, a mechanical problem, a fault in the complicated wirings that allow drones to function; and so the UAV assigned to monitor the area, hundreds of miles out from the fleet, failed to detect the launch of the Harpoon missiles.

This error was short-lived. The missiles quickly passed out of the zone assigned to that particular drone, but it was another heartbeat after they passed into a new zone (rapidly closing on the Kregaian armada) before their presence was detected and the data was sent, via the omnipresent BattleNet, to the Betrayer of Hope and the Imperial command apparatus. Two seconds more passed before the appropriate response was prepared: missiles were armed aboard the Imperial capital ships, and a thousand Balefires swooped down out of formation, guns blazing and missiles streaking, wreathed in flame, from their launchers, trying to shoot down as many missiles as possible. The three-tiered interception system on the ships came into play with typical efficiency, with MIMS missiles shattering clusters of Harpoons in bursts of smoke and shrapnel and fire, RAMs screaming in to pick off the remains. As the remnants drew nearer, in the last second or so before impact, CIWS opened fire, flinging a metal storm at the oncoming threats. But when eight thousand missiles are targeting you, you will take losses. And so not only was a carrier crippled, and the mighty flagship HDMS Domitian damaged, and three missile cruisers left with devastating internal fires after impact had detonated its VLS missiles in their tubes: the mighty battleship Triumphant, flagship of the 49th Squadron, was sinking beneath the tranquil waves.

* * *

Ishamael stared impassively at the tactical display. Five capital ships were glowing a bright red, showing that they had sustained lethal damage. He didn't need the BattleNet to tell him this, of course. Looking behind him, he gazed out through the Betrayer of Hope's bridge window and saw the burning wreckage of the Triumphant slipping beneath the foreign ocean surface. Most generals would have offered a prayer for the souls of the dead and the dying, but Lord Ishamael does not let a little thing like the deaths of thousands of his men crack the ironclad dispassion that armors his heart. Instead, he turns to Anor and remarks, "We should have seen it coming." And while he can stare at the twisted remains of a carrier that once held thousands of men and not bat an eye, his gaze smokes with rage at the thought that his men, in some way, have failed. Luckily, the gods answer the questions of their favorites.

"Sir?"

Ishamael turns to see a short tech in his middle thirties, looking quite angry himself. "Sir, readouts from the drone that was monitoring the area the missiles were in show that it didn't detect them. In fact, sir, it's not detecting anything. The sensor suite malfunctioned." Ishamael nods coolly, and replies "Bring it back and replace it. Dismissed," before turning back to the display and studying it. The strategic missiles the Chechens had launched before were on their way, perhaps less than a minute away, and soon the fleet would be dealing with them too. The good news was that the battle in the air was all but finished. As High Admiral Anor barks out orders to keep the fleet prepared for the incoming threats, Ishamael pictures the vicious dogfighting, each man's lifespan measured by sheer luck, and smiles to think that the Kregaians have that particular battle in the bag...and then his mind returns to the present battle, sharp as always, and the blood sings through his veins as he smiles in anticipation.

The sharp tone of an audible alarm brings his head snapping to the side like a viper seeking prey. Behind and around him, the clatter of fingers on keyboards and everything from angry mutters to furious cursing arise. The reason? A swarm of red dots on the tactical display begins moving towards the armada, as pop-ups display the known data about the threats. It was a flight of Harpoon and Rufous anti-shipping missiles, headed for the core of the armada.

High Admiral Anor roared over the commotion, "Pick your targets and take your calculations! Fire when ready!" This was a very simple order indeed, enough so that the only message that had to be sent to the fleet was 'Case 7', the code to do exactly as Anor had ordered. The missiles were far enough away that there was plenty of time to calculate and evaluate speed and a number of other important factors, and sure enough, as they drew within range of the air defenses, hundreds of missiles rocketed out to intercept them, spraying shrapnel across the sky and peppering it with explosions. The cloud of missiles continued on, passing layer by layer and shrinking all the while, until the last few slammed into their targets. Another battleship and a missile cruiser, the Venomous and the Mithridates, were sunk by the attack, but most poignant to the onlookers was the sight of the mighty Vengeance-class dreadnaught, the Crusader, its command structure finally breached by no less than three Rufouses, destroying the bridge and rendering it lifeless in the water as fires glowed through the empty spaces that had once held the bridge's windows.

* * *

In the air, a fierce battle was raging between the Chechens and the Kregaians. The original dogfight of around a thousand fighters against the Chechen F-15s had been expanded by the arrival of the remaining F-14s and, finally, the other seventeen-hundred or so Balefires, and yet as Lieutenant Varus Arkain gritted his teeth and hurled his Balefire through a downward-twisting barrel roll just as a Chechen F-15 that had dropped in behind him an instant before opened fire with its 20mm cannon. He glanced at his tactical display and saw the enemy fly overhead and start to follow him down when a stray burst of gunfire riddled its left engine with holes and sent the plane spiraling in flames down to the ocean below. He saw a stray Chechen fighter roving, possibly damaged, around the outside of the battle, perhaps counting on the sheer chaos to hide it, and gunned the engines toward it, already arming a missile. An audible alarm informed him he had been locked onto, and reflexively Varus twisted his Balefire away, its incredible maneuverability serving to evade the missile by mere feet as it flashed overhead and continued dumbly onwards, its guidance system defeated by the Balefire's stealth and jamming capabilities.

* * *

It was clear to both sides: this battle was over. It wasn't that the Chechen pilots were less talented or less determined: in fact, they fought with a ferocity equaling the very best the Kregaians had to offer. However, two things weighed the battle in the Kregaians' favor. Firstly, the Balefire was simply a more advanced plane. Presenting the stealth capabilities of the Aquila, impressive speed and jaw-dropping maneuverability, as well as advanced electronics, the Kregaian craft were faster, nimbler, and practically invisible on radar. Secondly, the numbers were absurd: several hundred Chechens against almost three thousand Kregaians, and considering that imbalance, the kill ratios were impressive for the Chechens. However, there could only be one outcome, and eventually the Chechens had to break and flee, with a dozen F-14s and 68 F-15s rocketing away. The Balefires let them go, unwilling to stray too far from the fleet, and they slowly turned tail and returned to the carriers.

* * *

The fleet, meanwhile, was busy repulsing yet another attack, this one launched by the Chechen subs. The Tomahawks, relatively slow-moving, were not nearly as much of a concern as the SLBMs, despite the former's numbers. For all the Kregaians knew, the SLBM's contained nukes, and thus a huge percentage of the Kregaians' interception capabilities were focused on them. VLS missiles in their thousands arced towards the Chechen targets, but given their average performance as anti-missile missiles, they had little impact, and instead it was the MIMS missiles that inflicted real damage on the Chechen threats first. Given the Kregaian expectations, it came as a complete surprise when the SLBMs split to release five kinetic penetrators apiece. Within two seconds, renewed dozens of MIMS missiles rocketed to blast them off course, thus rendering them mostly harmless. However, not all of them were so easily deflected, even as the slower Tomahawks were swatted easily from the air. RAMs then rise to meet them, picking them off one by one, the force of explosions hurling penetrators off their course.

Two seconds.

One second.

The fleet's CIWS batteries open up, sending sheets of bullets towards the remaining missiles.

Impact.

A heartbeat, a pulse, an infinite, abyssal second hangs in the air while penetrators punch through layers of steel and missiles belch forth fire onto their targets' hulls. And when that pregnant moment fails, Betrayer of Hope stands unconquered, with five punctures in its central citadel where the penetrators tried and failed to enter. Three cruisers are claimed: one with its engine skewered and exploded, another with its VLS missiles detonated in their armored cells, and the third paralyzed by a Tomahawk hit to the bridge. Two dreadnaughts and a battleship suffer serious damage, and a carrier's deck is warped by a Tomahawk hit, but otherwise the Kregaians have acquitted themselves well, and at last the skies are silent. And so the fleet presses onwards.

The last victims of the aerial battle hurtled in balls of flame and debris into the Mediterranean Sea, smoke trails curling like strings up into the heavens. The last of the Chechen Air Force had left the scene their mission complete. The Kregaian's too, were on their way back to their ships. There was a final great splash in the waves as a fiery F-14 crashed spiraling and disfigured into the sea. The spray of sea water lashed itself upon 2nd Lt Hamud's smoke-blackened face. Bearing his teeth they shown like pearls giving him the appearance of a smiling chimney cleaner. Hamud looked around and floated. The sky was still full of contrails and smoke - now being blown away by the eternal winds of the sky - and the battle was over. The once burning F-14 sizzled in the water and finally sunk beneath the waves forever. Aside from the sky which would be clear before sundown, it was as if the battle had never taken place even though it had already claimed thousands of lives and costs untold billions of dollars in damages in less than an hour. Hamud looked around again.

He was all alone. He had served his country by taking the lives of its enemies and defending the lives of his countrymen and women. In the coming minutes bobbing up and down at sea it dawned on him: he was not going to be rescued and no civilian ship would sail within 500 miles of the Kregaian fleet. He would pay the ultimate sacrifice for his country floating out here in the middle of no where underneath the beating sun. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink So he began praying to God and thinking of his family and his life. And he prayed and he prayed over and over and over...

* * *

The mood was grim at the dozens of Chechen airbases as the planes began to return. Every bomber was accounted for. Of the escorts the returning number was pitiful, sometimes only one or two battered and smoking planes returning to their fields. They had suffered an 85% casualty rate among the escorts in their first encounter with the enemy. Many of the pilots emerged from their cockpits stone faced, still under the protective emotional shock of battle. After debriefing they would return to their barracks or go and seek medical attention for shrapnel wounds (many of the surviving aircraft were total wrecks, making it a wonder how any of them managed to fly home in one piece - this adding to the miracle that they weren't all annihilated due to overpowering odds in the first place. One F-14 lost part of a tail fin on its flight home.).

The emotional reaction of most of the pilots was withdrawn and cold, many sat in their bunks or over a tea thinking of the morning's events. There were no loud vows of vengeance on this day: reality had either silenced or killed all of those characters on this day. None of the men cried, probably due to the fact that some of the female pilots were. Nonetheless the unanimous resolution was to get back into the fight and stop the Kregaians.

Meanwhile statistics of the battle and information taken from satellites on damages inflicted made their way to the president, air marshal, and the other top brass who had been overseeing the battle. The casualties were appalling but so too were the number of reported enemy interceptors launched to meet the Chechen air wings. The math was done in the report: Chechnya had lost 5.4% of her available fighter aircraft in the one battle. The damage done to the Kregaian fleet was significant but too small given its size. The president sighed and looked at the general of the air force.

"I am a ground commander not a aerial specialist..." said President Urmev, relating to his previous role of General of the Army, "General Tanju," he said, "How do you suggest we proceed with this?"

The General cleared his throat and looked at the president through his glaring blue eyes - a fitting color for the eyes for an ace pilot.

"Mr. President, if we hold back the Kregaians will only have more available to them when they land. My pilots are already flying sorties day in and day out against the Kravenites. If we allow the Kregaians to entrench themselves after they land the effectiveness of the Air Force will be diminished. I say we continue to hit them as hard as we can before they try to attempt a landing, and then carpet bomb the hell out of their formations."

The president nodded in agreement. "Very well general you have a point. What about their supply lines?"

"Sir, by all accounts it seems that the enemy is hoping to use their own stores from their fleet and pillage off our land to maintain operations. We haven't seen any supply ships but Rear Admiral Ishmeal says he's ready to deny entrance to any additional unfriendly ships."

"Good." said the president, deep in thought. "Thank you men. Dismissed."

* * *

Before the first wave of B-52s had even returned home the next wave of assault was being prepared for the night. 182 B-1B Lancers of bomber command would take off in multiple formations and engage the enemy fleet at range. The mission was designed to be a fast attack mission taking advantage of the higher speed of the Lancer over the Superfortress. The planes would get in range to fire, and taking advantage of their light stealth abilities and speed and high tail it out of there. The enemy fleet would be closer to landing by now and alert fighters stood ready with their pilots in their cockpits awaiting the call to duty. The bombers if in trouble could rely on the fast reaction of scores of patrolling aircraft augmented by many more waiting on their airfields. Each Lancer carried within it 12 Harpoons ASMs making for a total of 2184 missiles. This time, they were targeted at the transports and support ships of the enemy fleet.

As the Lancers began taking off into the sunset and another large wave of B-52s were being prepped, another operation was underway.

It had been determined that the most plausible avenue of assault for the Kregaians would be to take the city of Karaman located in mid Palestine only hundreds of miles away from the capital of the nation. Karaman possessed the largest port in the region and made for an excellent staging position for an invasion of the country. Aside from the rushed and forced evacuation of the populous - who would have to go to relatives or move to a accommodation camp - and the movement of the army into it something else was underway.

Over the isle of Kıbrıs (Cyprus) a constant stream of heavy transports, C-5 Galaxies and C-130 Hercules transports airlifted mobile Harpoon launchers and tubes of Harpoon missiles to aid in the defense of Karaman. They were quickly deployed by ground crews to sites all over the southern coast of Kıbrıs and would be operational in time for the attack. Over a hundred launchers were being flown in, others arriving in the dozens by ships on the north and then driven to the south of the island. With the ridiculous amounts of ammunition available, if the island could be held Kregaian dreams of conquest could hopefully be delayed in favor of the Chechen defenders.

High Admiral Anor, laptop on the table in front of him and a tumbler of whiskey on its left, scrolled pedantically through the damage reports. The self-diagnostics on all Kregaian ships made damage reports incredibly quick and accurate: loss of tonnage, cargo, crew, armor, weaponry, or overall efficiency were all recorded in a single document to be perused at will. And so here he was, at 2100 hours, trawling through a sizable account of the damage inflicted in this morning's battle. It made for depressing reading: this was mostly because of the relatively heavy casualties the fleet had sustained. While frigates and destroyers could be tossed away like matches, battleships and missile cruisers and carriers could not, and too many of those ships were rusting beneath the waves.

He typed in a note on the right margin of the report: Increased air cover! Too many of the enemy missiles had penetrated the inner air screen, and despite the awesome efficiency of the Kregaian MIMS-RAM-CIWS triad, a number of key vessels had been sunk. Anor heard his teeth grind involuntarily as he remembered the sight of the Triumphant sliding into the ocean. It was to be expected by any Navy man with a grain of experience, but the fact that capital ships had sustained heavy damage so early in the campaign was foreboding.

Growling deep in his throat, the Admiral got up, snatching his whiskey, and strode to his quarters' bathroom. He poured the amber liquid down the sink, and massaged his temples, trying to soothe his pounding headache. Figures screamed through his head, and images of burning ships, of him on his knees before Sacred Emperor Lucifer, stammering out why, exactly, he had lost his fleet and humiliated the Imperium...the need for perfection, for perfect reaction and foresight, tortured him and drove him to this world of armadas and armored warships and VLS. He regretted throwing away the alcohol; drinks always helped him chase the pressure away. It was a weak moment, hardly his first and not to be his last, and slowly, minute by minute, Anor conquered it. He straightened to parade-ground stiffness and examined his dress uniform, hanging in his closet. That was strength.

And outside, with the silence broken by the roar of takeoffs from the carriers and the steady hum of thousands of reactors, with the darkness broken by the lights of the carriers' air decks, the Kregaian fleet cruised on, deeper into enemy waters.

* * *

Lucifer yawned and stretched languidly, making the binder shift on his lap. He shifted again in the armchair, making it fall to the ground. He waved off the servant that tried to pick it up. It was a report from Ishamael, containing a copy of the losses sustained and a complete account of the action. Apparently Anor had confided a certain amount of foreboding that capital ships had already been lost. Lucifer snorted. He'd thought the Admiral was made of stronger stuff than that. Most likely he had drunk himself into a depressed stupor before coming up with such thoughts. Losses, losses...immaterial, all of it. Lucifer had ordered a reply to be sent that stressed the point: He did not care how many ships were lost as long as the campaign was a success, and a sizable percentage of Chechen fighters had been eliminated in one battle...by a mere fraction, moreover, of the armada's full strength. His underlings had apparently missed that little tidbit: the losses were irrelevant, and what mattered was that the Chechen ability to maintain any kind of air parity was slipping away fast. If they tried another little sortie like that, before they knew it their air force would be cut to ribbons and they might as well surrender.

He'd ordered Ishamael and Admiral Anor to continue running simulations. While the losses did not disturb him, they were proportionally heavy, and moreover, stealth or not, a number of Chechen bombers had been missed entirely. Therefore, drills and simulations would be run continually to ensure that any holes in the Kregaian air defenses were filled. This was the first major test of the MIMS-RAM-CIWS triad, and it had demonstrated itself to be exceptional in all trials: now it was time to see how good the thing could really be. Lucifer was especially looking forward to seeing the titanic Betrayer of Hope and its sister ships prove themselves...it was almost enough to make him hope the Chechen Navy decided to come out and play.

0930 Hours Karaman, 3 hours after the first raid...

A convoy of military transport vehicles roared down Highway 31 taking the designated emergency lane into the massive city. Behind was a seemingly endless expanse of suburbs and farmland and desert stretching out as far as the eye could see. Ahead was a sprawling urban mass stretching miles up and down the coast. The soldiers in the back of the truck were professional soldiers of the Chechen Army, Republic Corps. Their convoy of trucks drove past droves of cars and buses heading in the opposite direction; those who would decide to abandon their homes at the bequest of the government's warning and the children sent out by parents who would stay behind. One soldier, a newly enlisted private of 19 caught a glimpse of a little girl looking gloomily out the window of a large bus, her grandmother asleep next to her. The private smiled at the girl but the child just looked at him through her big eyes with an expression of despair about her. The soldier watched the bus trail off behind him as his transport descended the offramp and the bus continued down the clogged exit highway. He turned his gaze back to the inside of the transport full of other soldiers sitting and holding on to their rifles, their packs set between their legs. There was something foreboding about the look that girl gave him. Even though she was just a child, he thought to himself, it felt as is she knew what he was about to get into. The young grunt snapped himself out of it. Fuck it they weren't going to lose and he knew exactly what was going on. They were being invaded that's what. First in the east with the city of Narhon and now in the west with Karaman. His father fought for the independence of the land he called home and the home of his love and family. There was no way he was going to let some pagan invaders push him out of his house.

Martial Law had been declared almost immediately after the Kraven and Kregaian threats were made known. The general Chechen defensive strategy was to garrison every major city and possible inroad to the nation and divert forces where needed when it was clear where the enemy would land. Up till this point in the war no one, not even the National Intelligence Service had a definite picture of where either foe would land. Kraven battle language was giving NIS code breakers a hell of a time to decipher it and the Kregaian language itself was alien to practically everyone in the country. At least with Kraven there were many well documented precedents to go by, especially what had happened to the Kahanistanians. The Kregaians, however, were something totally new.

Despite all the confusion there was still a good clue as to where the enemy would strike. If only there had been more time to prepare possibly the defense of the new western front would be much easier. The city of Karaman offered the best inroad to Chechnya's interior: the city and the surrounding farmland and utilities offered and excellent staging area for a sustained invasion and the highly developed docks (some of the most highly developed and well funded in the nation) would make for a very convenient and easy offloading of men and supplies. As it was now becoming painfully obvious where the enemy was heading for focus was being shifted toward the defense of the city. Army units stationed in cities and bases were called to wait on standby for any major counter assault that would be needed and others were already on their way. Essentially Karaman had the Chechen Army as its reinforcements. The only problem was how long it would take for those reinforcements to arrive and the number of fighting men in the city at present.


2100 Hours Karaman.
21 Hours to Kregaian Landing
Walker Research Facility, Chechen Field Head Quarters

The Humvee braked to a halt and the front passenger door opened, a pair of military boots stepping onto the asphalt. There were sandbags in place and machine gun and anti-tank emplacements already set up and men were moving at a busy place in every direction. A flight of UH-60 Blackhawks flew overhead, the legs of their passengers dangling out the sides. The Lt. General and his entourage entered the building and took the elevator down to the central security room of the complex, now commandeered to serve as the control room for the 14th's head quarters.

The general entered through the automatic sliding doors into the large circular room and every officer inside saluted in unison.

"At ease gentlemen, back to work." grunted Lt. General Rashiid Kullarak. The Army Officer was a veteran from the independence war and he'd defended a besieged city already. As ranking officer in the area he had control of 163,852 Republic soldiers and a single division of 33,480 Marines based at the docks. He had been briefed in Grozny only earlier that day and he knew that reinforcements were on their way in a constant stream and he had the full resources of the Air Force in the theater at his disposal as well as over a dozen naval submarines waiting on standby for anti-ship missile bombardment missions. What he faced was an invasion force estimated at the least at 1.5 million given the sheer number and size of enemy transports. When he peered over the maps laid out on the center table and the footage on the flat screens what he saw was little of a surprise to him; on his way to Karaman he had immersed himself with reports on the situation. He knew that the enemy was going to attack Kirdan, Mavi-Deniz, and Yuridek shipyards without a doubt. The three were sectors of the city comprising miles upon miles of coastline and encompassing the largest docking and port sectors of the city. Those sectors also offered the greatest area for assembling of a force; simply swaths of paved land used for moving shipping containers and other industrial port side activities. Mavi-Deniz (meaning literally "Blue Sea" in Turkish) was the largest single port in the country. Rashiid knew he did not have nearly enough man power to garrison the city and hold an effective defense at the port to deny the enemy a beach head. And since elements of the 6th and 7th Armies would not arrive until after the enemy had landed he would need all the help of militia he could get.

"Colonel. What's the status on our personnel figures?"

"Sir, the entire 14th Corps is fortifying the city and digging in. The 10th Marine Division says they've secured the docks and are laying mines and setting up defenses. All units say they are fully supplied sir."

"Get to the militia figures."

"We have already 1,932,673 men between the ages of eighteen and forty five signed up in the city militia. House to house recon units suggest that the amount of people ready to fight is far higher: a large percentage of the city's population... only a little over half a million people evacuated the city sir."

"Ok..." The general gritted his teeth while he thought. Throughout the past week propaganda had been broad casted everywhere to get the public ready to fight. Of course it wasn't really needed; the people were of one mind since the attack on Yeltsmin and most wouldn't let the enemy into their neighborhoods without their having a say in it. The Lt. General realized that much of the fighting would be conducted by local gangs of men and possibly women too defending their local areas and homes from the enemy.

Another man may have choked up at the thought of so many normal people heroically taking up the fight to defend what was rightfully theirs in the face of overwhelming odds but the general was not an emotional man. He took the cigar out of his mouth and spoke through his thin white mustache, "Colonel we have 20 hours if that before the enemy arrives. I want all local services in the city to distribute food, water, and most importantly weapons and ammunition to the people of the city. Weapons and ammo are our biggest concerns. The people need something to defend themselves with."

"Yessir!" responded the colonel with a stern look on his face and a crisp salute. He immediately left and began coordinating with city officials.

Lt. General Rashiid, an ethnic Arab, began taking a leading role in the organization of defenses. He had brigades of heavy armor and all the air support he could hope for and an entire city determined to fight. He was already in a much better position than his colleague in the Marines, Chester McGreen.

* * *
Meanwhile, Isle of Kıbrıs (Chechen Cyprus)
By about this time the 941 Harpoon launchers on the isle of Kıbrıs were set up and ready to fire off their salvos. The decision was made to split up the launchers as much as possible so that a successful enemy attack on one launch site would not disrupt the overall capability of the launchers to inflict damage on the enemy's backside. The launchers were nothing more than a large military truck, unarmored, with a launch rack on its trailer. Several to a dozen of these mobile launchers would be positioned in somewhat concealed locations in very close proximity to an ammunitions stash of harpoon tubes for quick reloading. In all there were a hundred sights across the southern end of the island and some of the mountainous areas. The island itself was defended by local militia and a battalion of soldiers. It was also home to Kıbrıs AFB, an important fighter and bomber base which would provide some of the air support in the coming battle.

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To: General Lucullus

I looked over the report. You did well bringing it to my attention, General, because this coincides nearly exactly with an order the Sacred Emperor issued a few hours before you contacted me. Instructions are to use our space weaponry to neutralize as much of the defenses on Cyprus as possible. Airports and missile sites are, of course, to be given priority; the goal is to render the island’s defenses incapable of striking our aircraft, thus completing the first objective of OPERATION TITHONUS.

My orders are as follows:

1. Strategic Command is to immediately undertake all necessary preparations for a series of kinetic-energy projectile pinpoint strikes on Chechen air bases and SAM sites.

2. Once the aforementioned preparations are complete, the attack is to be launched, with regular reports given to the High Command, which will issue the order to cease fire when it is deemed necessary.

Blood and Honor.

Signed,
Imperator Jakran Vuell, Head of the Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces

* * *

Space is vast.

Nobody can truly understand who hasn’t seen it; numbers on a piece of paper will do only so much. Nobody can truly understand who hasn’t seen that endless sable field, spattered with enough stars to convince anyone the universe is truly infinite. A boundless vacuum, the void of incomprehensible vastness, before which even the titanic mass of planets and stars is nothing.

Trust Kregaians to look at such a vision and turn it into a weapon of war.

The Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces owns and operates 160 weapons satellites in space. Ten are located in each of the two Trojan LaGrange points, the most gravitationally stable points in Earth’s orbit. Another twenty are stationed in the LaGrange point between Earth and the Moon. The remaining 120 are spread out in low Earth orbit, all of them equipped with nuclear, chemical, biological, and kinetic weaponry. The primary weapon is, of course, the godrod. Each is 500 kg, made of depleted uranium, and reaches impact velocities of 20 km/s…making for a truly awe-inspiring impact energy of 100 terajoules. 23.9 kilotons of pure force.

The godrod is an extremely powerful weapon, and best of all, it has almost pinpoint capability. It has a remarkably small circle of accuracy considering the closest distance they are ever launched from is geosynchronous orbit. Combined with the many Kregaian spy satellites scattered throughout orbit, the Strategic Command is capable, with mere minutes of warning, of unleashing a rain of deadly projectiles and destroying any structure on the planet.

The targets: Kibris Air Force Base, and every other airfield and SAM site identified on the island.

Down at Strategic Command, a few final commands were typed into interfaces. Miles and miles above, Demiurge weapons satellites revolved slowly on the spot and locked onto their targets, data streaming in from the BattleNet. Calculations were made, electricity was charged…and some tech, his name meaningless, pressed a button that sent a godrod from eight different satellites thundering into the atmosphere, burning like Jupiter’s thunderbolts. Another few seconds, another volley roared, and another, and another; they were aimed to blast apart the hangars of all five air bases on Cyprus, as well as to blast craters into the runways, thus shortening their effective length. In the end, a full sixty godrods, twelve volleys, had been fired. Operation TITHONUS had begun.

As a final gesture, designed more to cause terror than to hinder military effectiveness, a single 300-kiloton nuke was launched from one of the Kregaian satellites, exploding at 400 km above the earth. This would spread radiation in a radius of roughly 1200 miles over Central Asia. Even the very edge of the radiation’s effective area didn’t come close to the Kregaian path of invasion, but then, this strike was not intended to do anything more than cause disarray among civilians.

Isle of Kıbrıs,
Kıbrıs AFB
In the Dead of Night....

Leaning on the hood of a humvee two Chechen bomber pilots enjoyed a smoke together under the shadow of their flights and the glittering stars.

"I can't believe it man.. we're actually being invaded by a country full of some fuckers we've never even heard of." said one to the other.

The other inhaled a breath full of smoke and exhaled up into the warm air. Bringing his cigarette holding arm down in a slow arc he replied, "I know brother I'm as taken aback by this as you are. But let me tell you" he pointed his finger to emphasize the point, "when the order comes I'm going to send those fuckers to hell with a smile on my face. It's only a matter of time before.... the hell are those?"

Both men raised their heads to the 5 dozen twinkling lights growing exponentially in the sky and outshining every other star. The first bomber pilot was only able to mouth the word "fuck" and let his cigarette drop out of his mouth before he, his buddy, the truck, and the two bombers shadowing them were incinerated by the orbital kinetic warhead...the cigarette was vaporized before it had even hit the ground.

There was no warning to the attack what so ever. The air base was behind schedule for several major renovations including an advanced detection system which would help identify and track ICBMs mid flight for national defense. Instead in a literal hail of meteors the entire island was pounded by the orbit-borne projectiles, each enshrouded in a cloud of superheated plasma as they raced towards the Earth at over 40,000 miles per hour.

Like a scene from the Armageddon the god rods struck the air base with impunity totally annihilating the control tower and head quarters building in a blast of fiery plasma and shattered concrete and granite. The runway of the air base became strung with craters formed by blasts of vaporized tarmac and rock shot up a hundred feet into the sky. The amount of power was nothing short of overkill. As the bombers stationed on the tarmac were ripped and shredded into millions of pieces of shrapnel cutting anyone in their way to pieces a rod struck the base's fuel depot. The explosion from the depot lit up the night and the surrounding fields to the point that the mountains in the south were illuminated and vehicles parked close by had parts melted. The massive upheavels of flame were soon engulfed by pitch black smoke blacker than the night and silhouetting itself against the backdrop of stars.

As the airbase burned in the night the single long-range radar station which would provide early warning against an enemy air raid and which was situated atop the mountains of the island was not beyond harm. A long metal rod glowing in the heat of reentry made a perfect hit with its target smashing through the white spherical dome and driving itself into the heart of the installation and into the mountain rock underneath. The force of impact rocked the foundations of the installation and caused a number of cracks to run down the face of the cliff. Rocks the size of apartment buildings burst horizontally outward sending the entire cliff face tumbling down the slopes of the low ridge line.

It was not only the above two military sites which were targeted: the Kregaians had made correct assumptions that in the event a dedicated military airfield was unusable the Chechens would opt for any available alternative means. Kıbrıs International Airport, a humble sized civilian airport which served flights to many nations abroad was subject to the orbital bombardment. The dual runway was ruined with several hits and the airport terminal (which thankfully was only run by a skeleton staff and devoid of innocent civilians) collapsed in on itself after being hit. Glass and other debris was shot out the windowed sides of the building and the roof blown out. The structure caved in on itself afterwards settling in a massive heap of twisted metal, concrete, and glass. The other 3 airfields on the island were also hit and rendered unusable although two of them were little more than glorified dirt roads to begin with.

In addition to this a number of SAM sites guarding the mobile harpoon launchers which had ended up prompting this attack were struck by the god rods. Although this further weakened the air defense net of the island, the concentrated power of the Kregaian orbital weapons and the spread out and camouflaged spacing of Chechen launchers greatly limited the damage done. While the island's air assets sat inflames and most aircraft not destroyed were left grounded by the ruined runways, most of the 900 mobile harpoon launchers were left intact and the majority of their SAMs as well. Due to the placement of the mobile launchers in hard to access and easily concealable areas in ravines and forests, the natural usage of mobile SAMs by the Chechen military proved to their advantage.

They had been visible, even from so far away; tearing through the sky, quite possibly falling faster than anything in history. Burning with the fire of ten thousand stars, their sonic boom lagging several seconds behind them, the godrods screamed across the heavens like avatars of the Destroyer, the Kregaian god that embodies all fury and all force. They fell, and they struck, and those that happened to see the satellite feed were dazzled by the flash of light that marked the conversion of almost two dozen kilotons of kinetic energy into the force of impact. And when the screen cleared, there they were: the airports of Cyprus, crumpled and smoldering like a discarded cigarette.

* * *

Gripping his flight helmet in his left hand, Lieutenant Ramius Vahan climbed into his cockpit and strapped himself in as a flight crewman removed the ladder he had climbed up on. His Balefire, marked with three C's on the nose to show his triad of Czardaian kills in the last war, would be the first of Alpha Squadron, 106th Fighter Wing to enter Chechen airspace, and he intended to do so with style. Images of glory and medals flickered through his head as he lowered the windshield, strapped on his helmet, and ran through the final pre-flight checks. Waiting as the diagnostic system scanned his weaponry, engines, airframe, and electronics, Ramius mentally offered a prayer to the Destroyer, to bless him in battle, and to the Preserver, to keep his wife in good health.

The diagnostics readout showed only green, and Ramius lost no time in flashing the thumbs-up to the hangar controller, who nodded and pressed a button. Immediately the elevator his fighter was on began to rise, lifting him to the light-flooded flight deck of HIMS Oracle. As the elevator halted, he rolled forward, and a voice crackled over his radio: "Lieutenant Vahan, you are cleared for immediate takeoff. Over." Grinning to himself, the officer felt the mighty kick as the catapult propelled him forward. He opened the throttle at the same instant, and the Balefire rocketed over the flight deck and slowly pulled off the ground, soaring up into the night sky. His orders were to fly in circles above the carrier until the rest of his squadron joined him, and this he did for the next fifteen minutes or so, until his eleven squadmates were prepared to join him.

"All right," he ordered, turning his aircraft west-northwest to face their targets in Cyprus and pitching the aircraft up. "Form up in your talons. Engage enemy contacts at maximum effective range. Begin supercruise on my mark." He paused, fastening his mask over his mouth and beginning the climb up to the Balefire's operational altitude of 63,000 feet, thinking longingly of the battle to come. "Mark." The squadron accelerated, speeding up past the speed of sound, rocketing over past the lights of the fleet and over the black Chechen waters. Behind them, where the carriers' lights still blazed against the dark night, engines roared and sirens wailed as bombers began to take off as well, assembling for the second wave of the assault on Cyprus. From a hundred different vectors, fighters roared towards the island, missiles armed and ready, their burning exhaust the only thing marking them separate from the all-embracing night.

* * *

Armor yourself in silent divinity, and they shall appear.

He stood, as he had forever and would for an eternity, in the Cathedral of Ascension, in the heart of Korronis; the worshipers had been sent away, the fires lit, and the incense burned, in order to accord his august personage with the opportunity to commune personally with his peers. The Great Pantheon. The Seven True Gods.

It was a dark place, reminding him of his true home, the Hall of Confluence in his Palace. The similarities were blatant: here, as there, pillars reached up towards a distant ceiling wrapped in abyssal darkness; here, as there, the great hall led towards an object of worship, whether altar or throne. Here, as there, Lucifer of Domain Halcyon was at home.

On his left and on his right, fires burned in golden bowls, their slow blaze filling the air with sweet smoke and not only throwing aureate light upon the altar but also plunging crevices in the ornate decorations of the great temple's Holy of Holies into a deeper shadow. Among the smoke, among the light, among the shadow he stood, eyes closed and arms thrown wide to embrace his divine peers. He found that path to communion, staring at the same time into the depths of his own soul and into the heights of the universe. Armoring himself in silent divinity, he stepped into heaven yet never left the Cathedral, and his gods appeared.

Brothers.

Brother.

It has been too long.

Too long, too short. Both are the same to we who are eternal.

Brothers, I offer before you a great sacrifice today: I offer you a nation of the unclean and filthy, a society of the damned. My warriors, armed with the Truth and with your blessing, have begun to wage war against this empire of iniquity, and in your names, we shall sweep through them. They shall be ours, brothers, every one; billions of heathens to be molded as you command. I offer this to you. And you know what I want in exchange. I want to see as you see, to think as you think, to stand on the threshold of divinity and peer inside. I want ascension.

You speak dangerous umbrage, Lucifer. You always do. Divinity is not to be bought and sold.

No. But it may be given. And if any man can claim the right, I can.

As always, brother, you tread the edge of insult. Of death and madness. But we are all chosen. We are all brothers here, and you give us another nation of the impure to cleanse. Such an act must be rewarded, and rest assured that your wish shall be granted. So you shall return, Lucifer, and leave our Cathedral and return to your own home. Oversee the prosecution of your mortal war and leave us to conduct our own tasks. There is an eternity of labor left to us yet, and we have nothing but time...

Silent divinity sinking into every pore, the god-king awoke.

Minutes after the attack...
Suleyman AFB

The sound of the air alert sirens blared..

The air was still moist from the day's showers..

His boot splashes through a large puddle and he keeps his pace.. almost there.

There is no time for a ladder, no time for extensive preflight checks..

With a grunt the young pilot jumps atop the left wing-root of his bird..

Helmet's on, his fingers run through hastened cockpit checks and he ignites his engine... the sound of dozens of other engines roar in the night..

Checked in the radio and all systems go, he taxis his fighter onto the runway, squadron-mates behind him, beside him, and taking off in front of him. His time comes, he doesn't need anyone to tell him what to do..

Up in the sky its a different world. The cool hum of the F-16 engine drones in the background and the cockpit is dimly lit with the light of a myriad of electronic data screens. The compass read 2-7-0, direct south. emerging from behind a dense cloud the moon shown through and bathed the several dozen fighter aircraft in the sky, alert fighters of the 36th Combat Air Wing from a number of different squadrons.

"Alright, this is CAG speaking, all fighters assemble into six-wing formation." came the voice of the 36th's CAG over the radio. "Everyone get a wingman, I know your not in your squadrons but that's how it goes."

None of the pilots were briefed before hand on what their mission objective was. They were all pilots stationed on alert readiness in case the Air Base needed to get a bunch of planes in the air immediately. The CAG was briefed by the AWACS in the air and he relayed the information to the rest of the wing.

In a very casual tone he began, "This is Toga-One, everyone pay attention to this. Kıbrıs has been attacked, we don't know what but it's not nuclear. Kıbrıs AFB has been hit hard, their giving no response. Command expects some kind of attack and so far there's nothing. Our orders are to loiter in combat formation above the island and meet any threat. We can expect reinforcements in twenty..."

That was it. The first strike by the Kregaians on his homeland had been launched and Kıbrıs was in flames. 2nd Lt. Hakan exhaled and put his flight mask on, strapping it in place. They were almost close enough to see the island now, flying high in the air above the sea. Several minutes went by, and the wing of F-16s and F-15s soared through the night, planes in slanted linear formations of 6 fighters each in 7 formations.

2nd Lt. Hakan looked out the side of his cockpit at the other 3 planes, 2 F-16s and an Eagle in his formation. A rather motley arrangement to be sure. It was without warning that the radar on his console beeped the signal of contacts. There were many of them and in frighteningly close range. Hakan looked at this with alarm. A moment later the radio came to life as the AWACS mission operator gave the grim news to the entire wing,

"All units be advised, enemy contacts sighted. Number is unconfirmed at this time, estimated at a several dozen strong..."

There was something wrong.. They outnumbered their enemy.. then why were they still maintaining their heading?

The AWACS operator came on the wing's radio once more with an answer to Hakan's question, "AWACS speaking, enemy formation is most probably several times its apparent size on radar maintaining speed and altitude. We can't get an accurate fix on their size at this range with their stealth capabilities. Reinforcements are ten minutes out at haste. Base wants your guys to pull back and regroup."

The flight CAG shot back apparently annoyed with the mission operator, "Osiris-Two, the enemy is too close for us to pull out at this range. Are we cleared to engage?"

"That is an affirmative Toga-One."

"Very well keep us advised."

"Will do Toga-One, good luck and Godspeed."

2nd Lt. Hakan and all the other pilots in the air with him heard this conversation and armed their missiles. It was evident that they were going up against a numerically superior foe.

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Meanwhile the SAM sites unaffected by the Kregaian godrod strike made ready for any sort of attack by the enemy. The loss of the island's central radar dome was a significant set back for the air defense network of the island but the sites were still equipped with their own short and medium range radars. Most of these SAMs were U-13 (http://pvo.guns.ru/images/sa11/sa-11_2.jpg)s, Chechen mobile SAMs ussually mounted on the back of a truck or adapted armored hull and with a range of 42 km carried four to a launcher.

Upon hearing reports of the extent of the damage done by the kinetic attack, Chechen SAM officers, left temporarily without centralized command made the decision to turn on their radars and scan for air targets. With such an overlapping of coverage fields there was the benefit of an increased chance of detection although the SAMs were not networked to each other, only to the now smoldering radar installation. SAM technicians hastened to try to network their overlapping coverage zones together but the lack of any centralized network made this difficult; techs had to reprogram their radar operating systems to execute the proper set of commands to allow for networking with the other U-13s in the area. The problem was that this required a reboot of the system and thus a temporary cessation of radar coverage. In the end some officers decided to go ahead while most of them opted to keep their radars working continuously. The double edged sword to all this was that those missile sites that were rebooting would be unable to engage the enemy but would be invisible to radioactive homing warheads while the others would be much more susceptible to the enemy's attack however with the benefit of being able to hit back from their concealed locations in the wooded mountain slopes.

The stage was set for battle and all the while the focus on Kıbrıs allowed for valuable time for reinforcement of Karaman and organizing a prepared defense.

The tactical display glowed like a demon’s eye, displaying the squadrons of Balefires approaching Cyprus like so many stilettos aimed at the heart of a sleeping victim. High Admiral Anor immediately dispelled the mental image. Hardly appropriate; the Chechens had been blooded, yes, but they were as tenacious as vermin and would be just as irritating to eradicate. Even now the satellites were beaming data to the Betrayer of Hope, displaying all available information about the Chechen craft rising to defend the island. There were roughly forty of them in the air at the moment, a similar assortment of aircraft to that which had probed the fleet earlier. Anor smiled. The Balefires outnumbered them by well over twelve to one: a squadron of Balefires for each Chechen. It was almost dishonorable, this kind of dogpiling…but Anor bit his tongue. One did not voice such things to Ishamael: Ishamael was a man who obeyed his Emperor, and Lucifer had commanded the defeat of the Chechens. As the saying went, “The only difference between the will of the Emperor and reality is that reality is slightly less assured.” Anor glanced at Ishamael, tall and cold, looming above the glow of the display and studying it as a stalking lion might study a gazelle. If anyone could hand Chechnya over to Lucifer, he could. The Admiral turned his gaze back to the display. There was war at hand.

* * *

Lieutenant Ramius Vahan’s heart raced as he sped forward at a speed not far shy of Mach 3, listening to the chatter of the other pilots. Forty-eight squadrons in all, around five hundred aircraft…enough, it was firmly believed, to run roughshod over Cyprus and eliminate the threat to the Kregaian rear it represented. His radar began to ping as the Thunderbird AWACS craft detected Chechen fighters at extreme range, streaming data across the LED screens before him.

Closing the all-squadron channel and opening that of his own squadron, Ramius scanned his screens. Forty-odd Chechen contacts, and eleven squadrons of Balefires approaching extreme range: the other thirty-seven were approaching from different angles, to cover the entire island. Knowing that the Chechen fighters had to be quickly neutralized for Operation TITHONUS to proceed as planned, Ramius ordered: “Alpha Squadron, slow to launch speed and arm four AAMs.” As he spoke, he deftly adjusted the flaps of his craft and slowed it, feeling the G-forces tug at him. Highlighting a pair of enemy fighters on his targeting screen, and noticing the data attachment that showed it was being targeted by other aircraft as well, he armed a pair of missiles for both. “Prepare to fire on my mark…Mark.”

Forty-eight Methuselah missiles sprang forward from their launchers, streaking towards the Chechens and accelerating up to speeds well over Mach 5. For a split second Ramius watched them go, rocket engines spraying fiery exhaust into the night as if forty-eight new stars had blazed to life. Then he issued orders to his squadron again, as was standard: “Advance at maximum speed.” As he did so, he pushed his speed back up to Mach 3, streaking away towards the Chechen fighters, seventy kilometers away and closing fast. As he thought of the battle ahead, he remembered an obscure verse from the Kregaian holy book, Twilight of the Gods:

I am the Purger, the crushing malice that drags you to the depths.

If vipers could smile, they would have recognized the grin stitched across his face as he rocketed into battle.

ooc: hope you'll excuse the hollywood shit I'm about to pull

The radar spike warning blared in Maj. Hussein's cockpit warning of the imminent danger he was in. They were still flying in formation and at 40,000 ft. The AWACS operator shortly afterward gave him the news he already knew. He and his men were about to die in other words. Underneath his face mask he bared his teeth as he absorbed the information coming to him: there was no time, no time for thought, no time for a proper order, they were too close to turn away... but not too close to.. no it was an idiotic idea.. it was their only option..

Maj. Hussein barked his orders to the rest of the wing before plunging his plane into a nose dive straight towards the island, "Everyman make for the mountains! Dive! Dive! Dive!"

No one was going to argue the sensibility of his order, immediately all 42 fighters dove their noses towards the dirt at full burn leaving a wake of countermeasures behind them. The Chechen fighters were in a life and death race with the Kregaian missiles, if they could hit the deck under cover of the island's mountain ridge there was a chance they could clear the Kregaian missiles which were still out at sea.

The fires and silhouettes of smoke were visible to 2nd Lt. Hakan and getting larger with the rest of the Earth dead in front of him. His heart beat furiously at 180 bpm, sweat rolled down his temples and his dark blue eyes stared wide open and unblinking out ahead of him. There was no thought in his mind only adrenaline, the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins and of his plane which knew there was only do or die. He had to make it low enough in time.

"Holy Shit!!" screamed one pilot on the radio.

"Pull up Goddammit!" barked the CAG, the grunting sound of him fighting the enormous G-levels on his body coming through in his speech.

The fighters pulled up hard each leaving sharp contrails in its wake. They came down not all at once but they came with a roar as they just barely cleared the hard deck. Hakan pulled his jet 40 degrees into the air, his engine blasting at full burn in a fight to kill his downward momentum. Just barely he cleared it, farmland streaking past him at hundreds of miles per hour, his exhaust setting a hapless how on fire behind him. The fighters came down like meteors, most clearing the ground by mere feet or inches at speeds over 800 mph. Not every pilot was able to make it through this hurdle however. The screams cut short of pilots could be heard over the radio of the wing as two of the jets in the group either pulled up too late or blacked out and shot into the ground like cannon shells, ending in a massive eruption of flame. Another F-18 cleared the ground, but at 1,100 mph flew straight into a concrete house, killing the family inside instantly and hurling itself and most of the house 800 meters away in what looked like a breathe of dragon flame.

Humans are human. People are people. Not everyone is able to put their faith so readily in God's hands and do what they have to do. Some people get scared and hesitate. Those people merely put a seal onto their fate. Several of the pilots either froze or dove too late and lagged behind the rest of their comrades. In front of them they saw the dozens of white lights of afterburners but too far away. They needed to be with those lights to have a chance at survival. The dozen or so missiles assigned to each Chechen jet, which managed to clear the ridge line made their way at five times the speed of sound towards them. Radar warnings blared and pilots panicked as it was now too late for them. Fighters were shot out of the sky, missiles hitting their frantic aircraft like sledgehammers, 11 or so more missiles streaking through the explosion of their wreckage and into the farmland behind them, they were annihilated and bore testament to the fate the others had so narrowly evaded. At least one of the Chechen pilots managed to eject before his plane was literally shot right out of the sky..

Maj. Hussein glanced at his console looking at whom he still had left with him, 3 quarters of his wing were still in the air. The enemy contacts were now confirmed by AWACS after they had fired. There were so many and constantly more contacts were being added to the long range scan as they were gradually picked up by the two AWACS in the area. Hussein couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was practically a guaranteed suicide mission at these odds. They had more aircraft than his wing had missiles. He needed to know how far out the reinforcements were and what the hell was going on with the island's air defenses.

"Osiris-Two, Toga-One: What's the word on reinforcements and ground cover Over."

The reply came back, "9 full squadrons at 80 km, Command says their readying everything they have but it'll take time. SAM units are on standby-"

"Patch me through to their commander"

"Sir the command structure is disorganized at the mom-"

"I don't give a shit just get me whoever's in charge![I]" snapped Hussein.

A moment later a new voice came over the radio, [I]"Lieutenant Furkan here what'dya need?"

Hussein replied, "Lieutenant this is Major Hussein, commander of Chechen aircraft in the area. What is your situation? The enemy is 70km out so be quick about it."

The Lieutenant was taken aback slightly by the last part of Hussein's sentence.

"Yes sir... I have 53 air defense sites under my command, about over half our total strength. Currently regrouping our command and-"

"Are your radars on or off soldier?" Hussein cut him off, getting to what he wanted to know.

"Uh, no sir. After the attack we turned them on to scan for enemy threats."

"Turn them all off. AWACS call sign Osiris-Two will notify you when to turn your radars back on." The ground commander was obviously very confused as to why he would be asked to turn off his radar.

"Sir?"

"It is highly likely the enemy will use anti-radiation ordnance to attack your position. Stay invisible until the command is given do you understand me soldier?"

"..yes sir." replied the ground commander, slightly shaken in his voice.

Major Hussein was playing a dangerous game in this battle. He was one of the few decorated veterans of the Chechen Air Force and had viciously fought off attempts by brass to make him a flight instructor saying he preferred being ready to be in the fight at any given time...as he was now.

"All units hold pattern north of the mountain, stay as close to the deck as possible.." He ordered to his pilots. A moment later the AWACS flight operator came back on the line questioning Hussein's decision to take command and control into his own hands for the time being. The infuriated major only shot back citing rank difference.

The plan was simple if it were written on paper, but formulated on the wing in the middle of battle was a stroke of genius, and making it all work would require a miracle. Major Hussein had the trap laid for the attacking Kregaians and he and his men were the bait. He had to hope that Lt. Furkan could contact as many SAM officers as he could to spread the word. But what weighed most heavily on his mind in this hyped state of adrenaline was whether or not his reinforcements would arrive in time. He didn't know how many were on their way; AWACS said HQ was preparing all it had in the area and the closest elements from Suleyman AFB were 80 km out... it was all going to be very close. Meanwhile the radar domes under the SAM officer's command up linked with the circling AWACS (they had at least been designed to do that quickly) and subsequently fell silent. Hundreds of surface to air missiles pointed up into the starry night in anticipation of their prey and their crews waited their orders in utter silence.

As he streaked toward the enemy, moving at just over a kilometer a second over the unfamiliar Chechen shore, Ramius listened, angrily, to the report on his squadron’s attack. “…radar contact lost; estimated enemy casualties: 24%. Be advised, suspected enemy reinforcements massing at 134 km.” It was frustrating, indeed. He’d expected the missile strike to wipe out at least half of them…and there they were, grouping over the mountains, mostly intact. Infidel fuckers. But they’d learn soon enough.

However, he was shocked to hear the next message that crackled over his radio. “Be advised, all units: we have lost radar contact with approximately fifty Chechen ground targets.” His mind raced. He had literally instants to figure out a plan and inform his squadron…everything had to be faster at Mach 3. The Chechen SAM radars were off, and satellite imagery had confirmed that there were Chechen reinforcements waiting in the wings. But why? And of course the answer was obvious. It was a trap. Once the Kregaians were engaged, the Chechens would turn on the SAMs and send their reinforcements in. Obvious.

The only question was what he could do to prevent it going off exactly as the Chechens wanted…and then he remembered one of the truest axioms of Kregaian warfare: “With speed and ferocity, suicide becomes the key to victory.”

He had it.

Quickly opening a channel to the AWACS plane controlling the 106th Wing, Ramius ordered, “This is Lieutenant Vahan. All fighters approaching from the south and northwest must immediately sprint to engage enemy reinforcements.” The AWACS operator tried to ask for a reason, but Vahan roared, “Shut up! Do it now, or the blood’ll be on your hands!” He closed the channel, and was rewarded a second later by hearing the order: “North and South arms, sprint to engage enemy reinforcements.” That meant roughly two thirds of the forces committed to Operation TITHONUS, thirty squadrons in all, would even now be hurtling up to maximum speed and making for the enemy reinforcements. Whereas the remaining third of the fighters, the group of which his squadron was a part…

Twenty-two kilometers and closing.

He ordered his men to launch missiles again, another twenty-four Methuselahs rocketing away towards the enemy, and then to accelerate back up to Mach 3. The seconds ticked by.

Thirteen kilometers and closing.

Activating full ECM measures, readying flares, and resting his finger on the trigger of his fighter’s 23mm autocannon, Lieutenant Ramius Vahan of Alpha Squadron rocketed towards the enemy fighters. Operation TITHONUS was about to be decided.

The contact console beeped and dozens of icons flashed to life represented by a number of larger missile icons bearing speed, direction, and altitude vectors. The operator immediately notified Maj. Hussein's wing. However since they were still flying in the cover of the mountain out of the enemy's LOS, there was a good chance they would remain unaffected by this salvo. The interior of the radar plane call sign Osiris Two was bathed in darkness punctuated by dim red light emanating from the crew's stations. The large aircraft flew alone in the night sky many miles away from the battle but nonetheless it played an integral role and was the indelible command link between HQ back on Suleyman AFB and the fighters in the air. The radar scanning systems of the plane continued working over the battlefield monitoring the position of enemy and friendly units. Kregaian stealth technology had made its presence felt so far: at range the number of contacts was difficult to confirm and detection range was more limited. It was at least good that the enemy favored flying in large formations, at least for the radar operators that is.

There was another notification beep and several icons flashed once on the screen. It was the 30 or so Kregaian squadrons changing course to intercept the 9 inbound Chechen squadrons. There was no time for Maj. Hussein to give out any orders, there was no way for him to know what was going on and his head was in the battle he was soon to be immersed in. Ground command had a direct feed with the AWACS and was monitoring the entire operation as it was unfolding. The operator aboard the plane contacted the reinforcement wing; "Zulu-One this is Osiris-Two over. Be advised large enemy formation on intercept course distance 180 kilometers. Strength roughly 30 formations Over."

The radioed reply came back in a voice distinctly different from Hussein's, "Copy that Osiris-Two please advise.." The wing commander was asking for his orders whether to engage the enemy or what. He was out numbered over 3 to 1. A moment later a new voice made its presence, this time speaking directly to Captain Kan.

"Zulu-One this is ground command. You are to draw the enemy away from Toga-One's zone and link up with additional units inbound over."

"Roger that command." he replied. It was then that the now too familiar voice of the AWACS came back on the line,

"Zulu-One be advised enemy interceptors traveling just shy of Mach 3 Over."

"Copy that... Looks like we're going to be forced to engage before we link up with reinforcements."

With that the 147 F-14s under the command of Cpt. Kan turned away from the battle zone and back towards dry land. They would try to lure the enemy away from Hussein's trap and hopefully would be forced to engage not long before the bulk of Chechen air power made its arrival.

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The streaks of missiles rocketed over the mountainous ridge to the left and over Maj. Hussein's cockpit canopy. He watched as dozens more of them like heavenly javelins flew past and trailed off somewhere towards the middle of the island. Several had achieved fleeting locks with a few Chechen jets not close enough to the mountains and arched down in an effort to catch their prey. These too ended up impacting the Chechen soil, one hit square with a cow making it the second bovine casualty of the war, the first from 'enemy fire'. Pieces of steak and ground beef flew in all directions for a hundred meters showering other cows in ... cow.

Enemy contacts were now beginning to register with his radar suite.. a lot less than he saw before on the AWACS uplink. They were coming in fast and closing in with the island. It wouldn't be long before the moment of truth. "All pilots prepare to engage. Over the ridge on my mark" It was calm and silent. That was a almost comic deception of what was to come. Before sunrise the shattered skies over Kıbrıs would be herald the beginning of the bloody air war.

The enemy were now almost in range. By the time ground radars lit them up they would be well within the envelope and it'd be too late to turn back. Hundreds of black missiles pointed at angles into the starry sky like pikes readied for a cavalry charge. Finally it was time.

"Toga One to all ground units, HIT IT!" Hussein yelled into his mask. "Wing on my lead Now." he ordered to his pilots. Following his lead they turned and rolled upwards at full burn rocketing over the northern mountain slopes of the ridge. Trees and ravines flew past the fighters, flying Mach 1+ only tens of feet off the ground in a single general formation. They arched over the tops of the ridge, over the smoldering wreckage of the radar installation, back into the infinity of the starry black night sky.

Holy Shit Lt. Hakan thought to himself. Just as he and the rest of them cleared the ridge the sight in front of his eyes was stunning; uncountable dozens, from what he could gather possibly hundreds of white lights and missiles tails roared forward now kilometers ahead of them towards their targets.

"Fire at Will! and stay with your wingman!" barked Maj. Hussein over the wing radio.

The targets were lit up on his display like candles in the night. He acquired a lock on and pressed to fire. "Fox-Two" shouted Lt. Hakan as he let loose an AAM shooting off ahead of him its smoke passing him at hundreds of miles per hour. They were closing with the enemy at insanely fast speeds.. it was going to turn into another all out dogfight. Lights flashed all around, trails of missiles shown all around like hundreds of lighted arrows shot into the night, their smoke trails visible behind them. The motley wing of Chechen fighters let off its first salvo against the enemy and sped forwards to confront their besieged foe. The trap was sprung. The grizzly voice of the CAG came on once again to the wing radio. This man loved giving orders..

"Break back to the island, SAMs need time for a second shot."

Some of the fighters let off burst of gunfire, trailers illuminating their ammunition as it went out, at the enemy as they passed by each other. The ground SAMs couldn't fire while their boys were intertwined with the enemy up in the sky, One more salvo and they could reload and await further orders. The fighters broke off just as they passed by with the enemy and dove downwards to gain speed. They sped off breaking contact back toward the island giving the ground SAMs clearance to empty their remaining loaded ordnance. After that it was a free for all.

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Meanwhile back at Suleyman AFB hundreds of fighter jets were being readied and taxiing onto the runway. Every air base in south eastern Anatolia and Palestine was doing the same, preparing its main force of fighters for assault. General Tanju had ordered as such. He wanted to send a message to the enemy, he wanted to redemption for the humiliation that was the first raid on the enemy fleet, and more importantly, he wanted to take out as many enemy aircraft as possible. Every Kregaian fighter jet that couldn't fly brought the Chechen Air Force that much closer to theater air supremacy. Something which would be totally vital in the coming war and defense of the country.

Second Lieutenant Errol Varus, one of the techs aboard his Thunderbird-class AWACS craft, wiped sweat from his brow as he focused on the controls before him. His plane was attached to the 219th Wing, one of the units on the Kregaian right wing. Even now, the thirty-six Balefires of the 219th were screaming towards a Chechen group, hoping to trap them before they could reinforce the fighters currently engaged with Lieutenant Ramius’s men. Thirty-six aircraft moving at maximum speed, in preparation for a major attack. It was a lot to handle.

Motion on his tactical display drew Errol’s attention. Glancing at it and tapping one of the symbols representing the Chechen fighters, Errol opened a data window that informed him that the infidels were, of all things, moving away. That would end their threat to Ramius’s center group, but it wasn’t as if the Kregaians were going to simply let them go…Errol touched his earpiece and declared, “219th, be advised: Chechen contacts are fleeing.” He then turned to the tech next to him, assigned to the task of staying in touch with the Betrayer of Hope, and inquired, “Orders?” The tech didn’t respond, clearly distracted by someone talking to him, but after a second replied, “Ishamael wants you to split the group. The 219th, 223rd, 305th, and 417th are to pursue. The rest are to engage SAM defenses and the infidels attacking Ramius.” Errol nodded, and conveyed the orders.

* * *

Three-quarters of the Kregaian right wing, 144 fighters in all, sloughed from the main group and hurtled off in pursuit of the Chechens. Even at maximum speed, the heathens couldn’t outrun their pursuers, and as an added bonus, the slower F-15 fighters would force the whole group to lag, unless the F-16s abandoned their comrades…and that would be no victory for the infidels. That left 216 fighters on the wing, who, now that they needed no longer to chase after the Chechens, turned southwest and, launching a pair of HARMs apiece at the newly-activated Chechen SAMs, moved to confront the remaining Chechen fighters, currently locked in combat with Ramius’s eighteen squadrons.

Those very pilots were, at the moment, suddenly fighting for their lives. SAMs and AAMs rocketed up like the spears of angels, and at such close range, the Balefires’ vaunted stealth was greatly reduced. ECM and flares were still useful, but by far the fighters’ most valuable weapon was maneuverability. They twisted through the sky like chain lightning, at such speeds that two pilots, having lost control of the Balefire’s chaotic aerodynamics, slammed into each other, annihilating both fighters. Ramius himself sweated as he fought his plane’s controls, trying to balance the maneuverability that could keep him alive in this rain of missiles but would also destroy his plane if he wasn’t quick enough. Finally the storm abated…leaving the wreckage of a good twenty-two Balefires scattered across the foreign soil of Cyprus. Almost two squadrons, destroyed. Ramius gritted his teeth, his vision flashing red with fury. It couldn’t be borne. Shouting into his radio, he commanded, “Launch HARMs at will and engage the Chechens at maximum speed!” Following his own orders, he deftly prepared, targeted, and launched two HARMs, before slamming open his throttle and rocketing towards the enemy. The only way to keep this battle from quickly turning into a rout would be to engage the Chechens as tightly as possible; not only would the Balefire’s maneuverability make it a deadly force in such an engagement, but at that kind of distance, the SAMs would be rendered useless. And so his forces thundered in, the 194 of them left alive, twisting their planes through complicated evasive maneuvers even as their 23mm cannons spat depleted uranium at the Chechens. The battle resembled nothing now so much as a giant tangled ball of string…except a thousand times more deadly.

But even then, hundreds more Balefires were moving in from the north to trap Hussein’s men, blasting the SAMs apart as they went. And in the darkness beyond the island, hundreds and hundreds of Imperial aircraft were massing for the second phase of Operation TITHONUS.

The radio chatter of the battle filled the control station of the AWACS. Maj. Hussein's plan had taken the Kregaians by surprise but it wasn't enough to change the odds far enough in his favor. The operator sat at his station relaying information to the participants in the battle and trying his best to keep a handle on things. It was difficult though, when the voice of someone familiar could be heard screaming and followed by unremitting static. It was painfully obvious to the operator; Maj. Hussein's wing was soon to be annihilated in the fur ball. Meanwhile however, the radar screen beeped as several group contacts changed heading and direction away from the retreating 9 squadrons under command of Cpt. Kan.

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Cpt. Kan glance at his plane's console. The enemy were closing on his group fast and they'd by sure be in shooting range shortly. His only option at this point was to turn his air wing around and engage the enemy.. that or be shot down by sure. "Zulu One to all units turn and engage the enemy, Horizon-One formation." After his command the 194 aircraft in his wing began making their maneuvers and changing their heading, leaving contrails behind their wingtips as they turned in the high altitude. The reflection of the moon shone like a lamp tens of thousands of feet below them on the surface of the water.

This time they had outnumbered their enemy but the winner of this skirmish was still to be decided as the Kregaians held the advantage in technology; just as the Pudite carrier strike group held against the Chechen Navy, succumbing to its repeated attacks only due to its not being intended for full out blue water battle and the great size advantage of the Chechen fleet in Yeltsmin.

In any case they were almost in range by this point. Cpt. Kan spoke through his mask in the midst of the cool hum of his jet's twin engines. He gave the order and together the fighters of the wing accelerated and tried to pick their targets. The cockpit rattled from the air turbulence shaking Cpt. Kan in his flight seat. His mind flew through all the drills and practice he had gone through in preparation for this moment of truth. Fullburn, Missile Lock, Fire, Countermeasures, Evasive Maneuvers, Stick with your Wingman, etc.

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"Toga-Six bandit on your six, get the fuck out of there!"
"Couger, get him off of me! Couger? Couger! Son of a ----"
"This is Toga-One, where in fuck's name is the cavalry?"
"Toga-One, Command HQ reports ETA thirty minutes."
"Mother fucker, we'll all be dead by then. Shit, Break Hard Right!..."

Meanwhile Maj. Hussein's wing of fighters were in the thick of a vicious air battle with the enemy. The planes weaved and jetted past each other and missile trails and cannon tracers went off into the night in the shattered skies. A number of large explosions lit up the sky over the island of cyprus and planes and debris rained down over the island. Chechen U-13 mobile SAM launchers fired missiles into the sky whenever they could ascertain a reliable lock, which despite the number of enemy aircraft in the sky was difficult at best, and a blast of rocket motor followed by an arching trail of smoke soared up into the night to join the battle in the starry heavens. The planes themselves could not be seen, only their after burners shooting single or double bars of fire momentarily into the night, the flaming tracer rounds of their gattling cannons, the trails of their missiles, or their burning wreckage hurtling to the Earth could be made visible, if only briefly. The result was what looked like ghosts shooting at each other high up in the stars. Had their been ancient inhabitants on the island they would surely have thought it was an actual battle between their gods and evil spirits that was going on. In a sense this wasn't so far from the truth.

The fight was brutally intense but wouldn't last for very long. The odds were just too lopsided and the defenders too few in number. Further more fighting a night battle in the sky was no easy gambit. One by one the Chechen fighters were shot out of the sky, some being lucky enough to have the chance to eject, others being blown to pieces outright. Lt. Hakan flew covering Maj. Hussein, his new wingman. Ahead of them were two Kregaian Balefires flying to get out of a missile lock. Maj. Hussein got a lock and fired off an AAM, the missile flew wide and missed its target. The four planes were locked in a 120 degree circular arc, Maj. Hussein piloted an F-15 and Hakan a Falcon. One of the two Balefires broke from his wingman and disappeared from view, apparently abandoning his partner. The remaining enemy fighter attempted to out maneuver its pursuers and simply turn faster. For a moment this was working and it would shortly be out of angle for guns. This was until a stray burst of gunfire crossed the path of the three fighter jets ripping a line of bullet holes in the Kregaian jet. Smoke poured out of its engines and an instant later several Balefires and an F-16 rocketed across the Hakan's heading, almost crashing into him and his wingman. Lt. Hakan pulled hard on the stick and was now able to get his quarry in his sights. He let off a burst of gun fire and watched as the technologically superior enemy aircraft spewed thousands of fragments from the gun hits and tore itself into a hundred flaming pieces as it tumbled end over end in a downward arch.

It was in this moment of success that the Kregaian pilot who had made his escape earlier before reemerged, this time behind the two of them. The radar lock warning blared in the cockpit and Hakan wondered where the hell his CAG and wingman was when he needed him. His though was answered all too soon as Hussein's voice came on the radio, "Shit I can't control her, must have flown through his jet wash..." Hakan pulled hard and rolled left and right trying to shake the vengeance seeking pagan's lock on but he couldn't do it. He looked back wildly with his one hand on the canopy and the other on the stick and saw a flash of light coming straight towards him. This was it.. He knew he had lost, he had done the best he could in the defense of his country and failed this day. His arm reached for the ejection lever and he pulled it and braced his head. The canopy burst off the plane and shattered across the tail fin of the Falcon. The seat rocketed into the air and a blast of 300 mph wind like hitting a brick wall rocked the pilot's body. He had ejected just in time because his plane was blown out of the air in a spectacular fireball, the dark figure whizzing past it which was the victorious Kregaian pilot. Lt. Hakan was knocked out cold from the ejection and wouldn't regain consciousness until after the battle.

Maj. Hussein meanwhile, fought to control his F-15 Eagle as his right engine burnt out. Barely managing to fly the veteran pilot faced himself in a precarious position of being under attack while heading straight down in an unpredictable manner. A hail of 23mm shells impacted with the rear of his plane, the heavy depleted uranium rounds gutting his plane's engines and tearing its wings to shreds. Bullets flew out the intakes of the aircraft as they tore the makings of its engines to mangled and twisted pieces of rotating metal. The skins of the wings sheared off the plane and the vertical tail fins disintegrated in the air. The Eagle burst into flame and the internal warning systems which had been blaring fell silent. The aircraft was dead. And it was tumbling downwards and in flames. The enemy fighter broke off the attack, his opponent obviously defeated, whether the Balefire pilot circled to watch his prey descend in a fire ball or went to engage other Chechen fighters was unknown in the blackness of the skies.

Inside the burning plane Maj. Hussein fought to get out. His plane was well beyond saving. The cockpit heated up to 140 degrees F, and the flames blackened back of the canopy and illuminated the inside in yellow light. Outside the world was spinning and the ground was getting closer and closer. The whistle of the wind flying into the canopy was almost drowned out by the noise of the inferno behind him. Then the major noticed. That whistling sound. His ejection seat was inoperable, it had probably malfunctioned, but in any case he'd probably eject upside down anyway. That whistle, where is it coming from? the seasoned veteran thought to himself. It was getting hotter and he only had seconds to spare. He found it; a round from his attacker must have entered in one end and exited the other of his canopy, just barely missing his head. Hussein began punching the sturdy glass of the canopy in order to break it, the metal hinges were mangled and fused to the rest of the plane making it impossible to open normally. The glass was still too thick. He took out his fire arm, now with only seconds left between him and literally the whole world, and began firing at the glass around the large cracks and hole made by the 23mm shell. At last a large enough chunk broke off and a jagged hole just big enough to squeeze through was made.

Maj. Hussein pushed himself out of the canopy and the wind whistled in his ears. His face contorted in pain as the flames burned his arms and back. He couldn't fit his parachute through the hole, it got snagged. 11,000 ft in the air and tumbling end over end sticking half way out a burning jet fighter, Maj. Hussein quickly slipped his arms out of his pack. He was freed too quickly than he had anticipated and was able to grab onto his parachute with one arm before being thrust out of his plane. He screamed again as a shard of plexiglass tore open his side sending out a mist of fine blood.

He tumbled through the air with his parachute pack in one hand and with a 42 million Naxar (Nahar, Chechen currency) ball of flame behind him. Still perfectly conscious, he angled his body away from beneath the flaming wreckage and put his arms into the parachute pack. Without a moment to waste he pulled the zip cord and felt the parachute fold out above him. He watched as his plane fell to the Earth beneath him, exploding once, and crashing to the forests in an enormous mushrooming ball of flame. He thought it was over until his parachute jerked. He looked up and noticed a large gash in the chute, that and a number of dangling cut cords; no doubt cut from being yanked through the broken glass of the canopy. Immediately he released his main chute and once again plummeted to the ground. He deployed his reserve chute with the side of the mountains flying towards him. The chute didn't have time to deploy fully and only partially slowed his descent. Maj. Hussein descended not too far from his crashed plane, through a thicket of trees and was knocked out by a large branch which, if not for his helmet which was still on, would have cracked his skull and killed him. He would hang by his parachute dangling in the trees for the remainder of the battle....

Captain Marcus Rennes was not one to count his chickens before they hatched. Or at least that’s what his subordinates said when they tried to justify the fact that, quite uncharacteristically for a Kregaian soldier, he never showed signs of happiness when he had an enemy on the run. And so he flew, leading the four wings that pursued the Chechen reinforcements, with not a smile but simple steely focus written on his face. The picture of calm. Until, that is, the Chechen fighters turned and faced their pursuers.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and repeated himself when he saw his radar displaying incoming missiles, hundreds of them, soaring towards his men. “Evasive maneuvers!” he barked over his radio, and was gratified to see on the radar his pilots responding instantly, activating ECM jammers and slowing down in order to be able to maneuver at all without tearing their aircraft apart. The Balefires, free now to use their borderline-dangerous maneuverability, twisted out of the way of the incoming missiles…but there were too many to dodge completely. Eleven pilots died screaming, engulfed in bright and searing flames, and Captain Marcus knew that number would increase rather sharply if something wasn’t done about the Chechen pilots hurtling in. “Attack,” he ordered calmly, and he himself armed a pair of AAMs, let fly, and accelerated into the fray. It took several seconds for the two fighter groups to collide, but when they did so, the violence of the gunfire and the explosions formed a near-constant roar…the music of slaughter. The Captain dived and twisted and fired like the rest, like the Chechens, both sides united by their nerves, their courage, and their anger.

* * *

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Ramius laughed madly as his plane cork-screwed through the heavens, guns blazing and missiles whooshing whenever he found a firm target…which was rare. The battle had dissolved into a tangled melee, just as he’d planned, with the Chechen SAMs picking off any Kregaian foolish enough to emerge into the open, and the interior glowing with the light of afterburners, explosions, and tracers. It was truly an awesome sight, more glorious than the most splendid fireworks, but it was a sight born of war and illuminated by the tools of destruction. One by one, Kregaian contacts disappeared from his radar screen, their passing heralded by final prayers or screams heard over the radio, and one by one the Chechens did the same. Before long, only two-thirds of his own squadron remained, four of them reduced to wreckage strewn across Cyprus, but Ramius didn’t care, because the reinforcements had arrived, launching HARMs as they came, trapping the Chechen fighters in a swarm of Balefires. Ramius kept laughing, convinced that he could smell the familiar scent of victory…but any soldier knows how elusive victory can be, and the Chechens were no amateurs. Meanwhile, two squadrons detached themselves from the main group (both of them blooded, reduced to ten pilots apiece) and hurtled off towards the enemy AWACS craft, missiles armed and ready. And so, wreathed in flame and gunfire, the battle continued.

Minutes after Midnight... over the waters between Anatolia and Kıbrıs..

The planes screamed past each other at high speeds and immediately dozens of aircraft maneuvered trying to create angles of attack against one another in the early morning sky. Tracer rounds flew off in ever direction and short range dogfighting missiles streaked off towards their targets as the two air wings clashed in an all out duel in the sky. Cpt. Kan was flying with a cool head and had a lot less stress on him than his counterpart Maj. Hussein who had been shot down over Kıbrıs. His force currently outnumbered his enemy but it was still a tough fight. The intense training of the Chechen pilots kicked in and all the mock dogfights they had been through made the action a lot more familiar. Falcons and Eagles clashed with their Balefire counterparts and struggled to get target angles or evade their pursuers.

Cpt. Kan pulled hard on his flight stick and his small and nimble F-16 narrowly missed being raked by 23mm cannon fire. Rolling in a downward arc through the air he kept his pursuer occupied as his wingman aligned his F-16 into position and let off an AAM turning the hunter into the hunted. Kan was a career fighter pilot in his late twenties. Flying had been his life's dream and the man was utterly patriotic to his nation and its cause. Though not Chechen, he was a Turk (the ethnicity making up roughly half the nation) and his father before him flew in the air force. The man was a strict by-the-book character who showed little to no emotion while on duty. He showed none now as friends of his were being blown out of the sky besides him and flaming tracers shot up past his canopy. His mind cared nothing for the danger he was in or the emotion in battle. He was dead set on killing his enemy in the most efficient manner possible. The man was essentially like a machine and the grueling drills he put himself and his pilots through turned every action and thought into muscle memory.

Of course he realized it already: the only reason why he and all his men had not been blown out of the sky by now was their training. No doubt there level of discipline would come as somewhat of a surprise to at least some of the enemy pilots who had expected half-assed inexperienced pilots flying slightly outdated machines in a futile effort to defend a sick and dying country ripe for the pillaging. No.. that wasn't Chechnya. Sure its customs were different than that of most other countries and influenced by thousands of years of violent and colorful history and Islam but it wasn't backwards. If anyone thought Chechnya, the home and mother of 1.6 billion lives, would fall so easily they were in for a severe awakening. And Kan was dead set on setting a good first impression...

"Zulu Two, formation three-o'clock high. Troy." he spoke coolly to his wingman, pointing out a group of several Balefires flying ahead of them and directing the attack pattern he and his wingman would use to engage them. "Copy that Zulu Leader moving to engage." Came the reply of his wingman. The two Falcons arced upwards at full burn acquiring lock ons with some difficulty on the enemy fighters. Focusing on one of the enemy fighters the pair closed in as the small formation broke up in evasive maneuvers. Like a pair of dolphins steering their prey into the trap, the lead fighter piloted by Cpt. Kan kept his lock and let off a burst of gunfire which missed the enemy pilot but served to hasten his evasive maneuvers. Instead of slowing down to maintain his attack angle, Kan streaked by the doomed enemy fighter and banked hard to get back in the fight. At the same time, while the enemy fighter pilot was probably wondering what the hell happened or focused on paying his dues to his would be attacker, the second Falcon come in for the attack from a totally different angle letting off a short range AAM homing straight for the radar illuminated target.

The success of this little bit of teamwork didn't put a smile on Kan's face. It didn't even register an emotion. One more bandit down. Next target... Just then a pair of enemy Balefires swooped into engage. In the moonlight they were dimly visible in the night sky over the vast sea. Kan immediately sent his fighter into a gauntlet of violent evasive maneuvers; twists and turns in an effort to shake his enemy off his tale. The high G's and sporadic changes in heading would make a match for a man with even the strongest of stomachs. Those Kregaians must have been excellent fighter pilots, regardless of the planes they were flying, in order to keep with Kan and not accidentally crash into any of the other 300 planes in the air. A burst of gun fire raked his plane and put holes in his right wing causing a malfunction in his right aileron hampering the control of his aircraft. As he fought to maintain an edge over his two pursuers his wingman and another two F-15 Eagles arrived behind the two Balefires forcing them to either brake off pursuit immediately or be shot down. It really was their training and skill which was keeping them from all being blown out of the sky. Outnumbering their enemy also helped.

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Meanwhile...

The last of the fighters over Kıbrıs had finally been shot down or had ejected giving air control for the moment to the Kregaians. Ground-based mobile U-13 SAMs continued scanning the skies, with over 90 of them scattered around the island concentrated in the south-east and around the mountains they still posed a threat to any aircraft in the skies. Without any worry for friendly fire (they got the word of the allied air defeat via AWACS and thus the cue to fire at will) they were left to fire with impunity on the targets in the air. Vulnerable mostly by their radar systems and while they reloaded their sets of 4 SAMs.

Ever Air Base in the region had been put on alert after the god rod attack. Each one was gearing up for a major counter attack to eliminate the Kregaian air threat in the corridor. From a number of air bases in Palestine and the larger bases in Anatolia, up to a thousand fighter aircraft were undergoing final preflight checks and either topping off their tanks or finishing strapping on their AAMs. Hundreds more were readied for standby. Additional AWACS and EW planes began taking off from airfields to better observe the upcoming battle and attempt to reveal enemy communications (even though the Kregaian language was totally alien to the Chechens, not to mention whatever code and encryption system they had in place).

At the same time all this was going on, one of the original pair of AWACS covering the air battle, call signed Osiris-Two, was being targeted for attack by a group of Kregaian fighters. Too busy to notice, the techs on board didn't realize they were being gunned for until it would be too late. It was the stealth capabilities of the Balefire playing tricks with the Chechen Air Force again and it wouldn't be the last time. While the large airliner sized plane would dispense countermeasures and attempt evasive maneuvers in a futile effort to save itself, its sister plane over a hundred miles away would be ready to take over command relay duties in the battle.

The last Chechen plane exploded, torn apart by a flurry of bullets that detonated its fuel tanks, and Lieutenant Ramius breathed a sigh of relief. His men had long since fled that area of the skies; as the ratio had tipped in their favor, the Kregaians had been forced to scatter, as the SAMs below increasingly were able to launch massed volleys at them, something which, stealth or not, had taken its toll on the pilots. He had begun the battle with 216 fighters in his center group, and he had escaped with just over two-thirds of his force intact. Heavy casualties, by any standards, but something to be expected when confronting an enemy reinforced by hundreds of SAM launchers. However, those wouldn’t be a threat for much longer: the second wave was beginning to arrive. Wing upon wing of A-16 Overlords filled the night, over three hundred of them, prowling at extreme range like ravens waiting to feast upon a corpse. Before long the command to attack was given, and the night was lit by the thrusters of roughly seven hundred HARMs, aimed at Cyprus’s vast array of SAMs. At the same time, the order came from the Betrayer of Hope, crackling over the radios of Ramius’s surviving pilots: “Move north to assist against enemy fighters; be advised, enemy fighters are massing over Anatolia and Palestine. Conserve fuel and watch for sudden assaults.” At once Ramius’s group turned northeast and rocketed off at cruising speed. It was downright sluggish compared to the Balefire’s supercruising or maximum speed, but it couldn’t be helped; the Chechen fighters scrambling on the mainland meant that this battle wasn’t nearly over, and using up all their fuel would be a poor way to begin that part of the fight. It would be several minutes before the Balefires were even at extreme range. Ramius hoped Captain Marcus could hold on until then.

* * *

The Captain, meanwhile, was fighting for his life, a rock-hard pillar of discipline in the midst of the wild storm of war around him. Twisting up, down, left, right, and every direction conceivable, in maneuvers that made his airframe groan with stress and threatened to render him unconscious, he wove through the fiery battle. His plane shook as his gun rattled off burst after burst and whenever a plane exploded too near to him, but his stony face didn’t change a bit, not even when red lights blazed in his cockpit and an alarm wailed piercingly, informing him that he had been locked on to by a Chechen fighter. Without missing a beat he twisted right and down, then rocketed left and snapped his aircraft around in the smallest turning circle it was capable of to face his foe, letting off a burst of cannon fire to eliminate the other pilot. He grimaced. These pilots were infidels, true, and thus naturally inferior, but as heathens went these men were experienced and inventive. His men were outnumbered, and some of them were not nearly as experienced as the Chechens. Those had been weeded out quickly, and their planes had splashed into the ocean in pieces some time ago. Luckily, the veterans in Marcus’s group were as capable as the Chechens, allowing them to better use the advantage of technology…but then the problem of numbers came back into it. It was a hell of a mess, he reflected, with the kill ratios seeming relatively equal on both sides…a rate at which the Chechens would win simply by attrition. Marcus gritted his teeth in frustration. He could only hope his reinforcements arrived before the Chechens’ did.

The dogfight north of Kıbrıs had finally concluded in the victory for the Chechen pilots at a heavy cost. As the remaining enemy fighters either fled or crashed into the warm wave below a force, a shadow of that which had flown to this very area a quarter of an hour ago, victorious and exhausted remained above moonlit in the dark night skies. Cpt. Kaan radioed his wing's success to the AWACs operator and received orders for his pilots to RTB. With the surge of victory, though not without an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and relief, the remaining Chechens fighters, 61 of the original 192 turned in the air and in loose formation headed back to their bases.

While the moon was still high in the sky the action this night was only increasing. Across the entire region the air assets of the Chechen Air Force were mobilizing and ready to strike. The initial fight over Kıbrıs had been lost and the fight to the north of it had been won. Now, as Kregaian aircraft ravaged the island's defenses in order to protect the flank of the invading armada, the primary response to the Kregaian sortie was heading on a course from scores of different vectors, East, North, Northwest, etc. Large EW and AWACS flew up into the air to monitor the battle and maintain proper theater control for commanders back at the air bases. The times of take off had been discussed via a secure net conference between Air Force generals at the different main air fields to ensure that the interceptors arrived in three large waves like hammer blows on an enemy which had been in the air for quite some time. The first wave of aircraft, totaling 424 had finally taken off from their air bases and were set on an intercept course over the island of Kıbrıs. The planes were all F-14s and F-15s. Their squadron leaders had been briefed on the battle plan and the epic size of the air battle which was to take place and all the warnings of low visibility and what else. In just under 20 minutes they would be in range to fire and then engage.

"Tracker scanning.... target acquired! Missile Locked!"
"FIRE!"
"Cycle Loaded. Tracker scanning... target acquired! Missile Locked!"
"FIRE!"
"Sam away!"
"Let's reload her! Ahmed. UP!"
...
"Yessir! Trolley ready. Loading."
"Fuck! Radar SPIKE!!"
"Clear the launcher!!"

The Kregaian missile arced down and impacted the U-13 mobile SAM launcher while it was being reloaded. The operating crew all ran for it after the radar lock warning had begun blaring. The explosion killed one man and left another two critically wounded, bleeding profusely and in unbearable agony. In the midst of their screams the trees surrounding the launcher were in flames and a Kregaian attack plane flew over head.

The U-13s stationed all around the island were being taken out with frightening speed. Although they were far from helpless, in fact they were constantly firing missiles into the sky while not reloading, they were still wide open to enemy wild-weasel aircraft. Although they were able to shoot back at the enemy, the situation was a very tenuous one. There was really no defense once locked on and therefore it was kill before killed. Furthermore an enemy strike of this proportion had not been anticipated nor was there any time to prepare for a raid of this scale. The U-13s would very soon run out of missiles if they weren't destroyed first.

As the last of the U-13s on the island were finally destroyed the remainder of the Harpoon launchers were left essentially undefended though not yet unconcealed. Depending on a mix of luck and the skill of the crew at concealment most of the Harpoons were safe for the moment. The unconcealed ones would be undoubtedly taken out first obviously. As everything stood at the present time... the threat to the Kregaian fleet's rear was at the mercy of their air forces until the arrival of the Chechen fighters... which wasn't very long.

OOC: Sorry for the brief post, it's exam weekend for me.

Lieutenant Ramius grimaced as he heard the news over his radio. "Be advised, all units, Captain Marcus and his men are KIA. Lieutenant Ramius, pull your men back ASAP and withdraw to carriers." Clenching his jaw in frustration, the battle-hungry pilot reluctantly began turning around and making the journey back to the Oracle. The entire force, what had once been the center of a huge pincer movement, followed suit, retreating back to the steadily progressing fleet to refuel and re-arm. Over Cyprus, the Overlords continued to blast away at anything showing itself, but the number of targets was very small with the SAM sites gone. Save for the few Harpoons that were inadequately concealed, there was nothing at which to shoot, and before long the island was silent except for the roar of hundreds of jet engines.

The Chechens were massing, swarming like furious hornets in the night...and they were on their way. Extreme-range radar from the fleet, outlying AWACS planes and drones, and satellite imagery painted a picture of hundreds of fighters moving back towards Cyprus at maximum speed...ETA, eighteen minutes and counting. The Overlords, having completed their task, fled back towards the fleet, where wisps of fog were beginning to gather. Passing through, they rubbed shoulders with hundreds upon hundreds of Balefires, the second wave of Operation TITHONUS, visible only by the glow of their engines, circling like vultures, dangerously close to stall speed to save fuel. The Kregaians, too, had been busy.

They came, then, the first touch of the hammer-blow that was to come; ten wings sprinting away from the huge array behind them, silhouetted against the Moon to a viewer at sea level. Three hundred and sixty Balefires, rocketing towards the foe, while behind them the shapeless mass of fighters, from which they had come as if spawned, writhed and roiled like a great and nameless beast.

The 424 fighters closed in on the battle zone and pilots began arming their weapons; all air to air ordnance. They had been briefed that the island's airfields had been taken out in a surprise attack and two engagements had already taken place between Chechen and Kregaian fighters. The score: 1-0-1. The pilot were fresh and eager to chalk up another victory and set the momentum straight early in this unexpected war.

Ten years the Republic of Chechnya had been in existence. And in that time it had never lost a war; the smaller wars against the Russayan Federation to the north or nations of the Gordonian Alliance in the south. The Chechen Air Force had built up a lot of self pride among its pilots and officers in that time. They had come to expect total domination over their opponents. Whether it be because of a sheer disproportion of skill and training or through technological superiority they had always managed to come out on top and dominate the skies of their country's theater of operations, thus helping to ensure the powerful and stable position Chechnya endures to this day..until this day rather. For it was not the case here; the Chechen airmen as they would soon learn if they had not found out already; were matched in skill and training by their new adversaries and were far behind in technological regards. This would be no walk in the park and it would be a rude wake up call for an Air Force which up till now had dominated the skies against those below its level. This was the real world of world powers.

As their aircraft approached the final way point the Chechen pilots changed their formations and steeled themselves for the upcoming battle. A number of AWACS were in the sky but barely a radar contact existed and what was visible was impossible to make sense out of. Once again it was the enemy's stealth making it impossible for an effective long range missile volley. They knew the enemy was out there...somewhere.. but as the AWACS kept searching and refining their radar findings to get an accurate fix on size, vector, and location, the first wave of Eagles and Tomcats hurtled into the oblivion. They would have to close in with the enemy to engage Mano-a-Mano but first they'd have to run the gauntlet of the Kregaian's first volley...


And in the meantime of all this the stream of thousands fleeing Karaman began to lessen. The battle over the island was just beginning to make breaking news as reporters on the island finally managed to feed the footage to major news agencies and tv networks. Citizens, many stayed up on this night, listened intently: families and couples gathered around their radios or television sets to listen to the news that was being broadcast. The enemy fleet was close over the horizon and a massive air battle was underway to contest the airspace of Kıbrıs. The most shocking news was that the island had already been hit and Army surface to air mobile launchers had fired back on the enemy. To a nation of people it was the best entertainment in years. The reality of what was happening would take a little longer to hit home. They were under attack. Who knew what would come to them in the following days and weeks and possibly even months. All of a sudden it was a strange and scary world. All was defended by the heroism of the military...

Captain Scott Drusus, commanding officer of the 75th Wing, its Alpha Squadron, and appointed leader of the ten wings screaming directly towards the Chechen contacts, murmured prayers as his men roared towards an enemy fighting for his life and his country. He was a pious man, offering rich sacrifice weekly when he wasn't on active duty, and praying daily regardless. He firmly believed that his success in battle and his promotion to Captain could be attributed to this devotion, and his faith allowed him to meditate as true Kregaians did in prayer: looking inward while simultaneously allowing one's perception to expand outward, unlocking the universe by revealing oneself.

...and so we raise our hearts and souls and bodies to you, Lord of Conflict, offering them on the great altar of battle to your glory. Asking nothing do we serve you in your ineffable power, yet do we serve in the surety of ultimate victory. Let your hatred flow into me and harden my heart; let my sword arm be filled with the infinite waters of your anger. The infidel and the heretic shall fear me, for before me and around me and in me you stand, Dreaded One...

The enemy were within range. With his eyes open, seeing his instruments but acting automatically, Drusus armed a trio of Methuselah missiles, knowing that his men would do the same, as ordered, and, routing the signals from the BattleNet to his targeting system, locked on and let the missiles fly. A split second later, his men followed suit; a thousand and eighty missiles, like glowing hornets, rocketing towards the heathens.

Strengthen our souls. Sharpen our minds. Shape us to our holy purpose. Blood is the truth, and you, Lord Pharazon, are the prophet; as we call upon you, we know that victory eternally is ours, for you are the commander, and you are the bannerman; you are the sword and you are the shield; you are the strength, and the purpose, and you are the blood that spills from mortal hearts to anoint us with the truth. All power and glory to you, Ar-Pharazon the Slayer, Herald of Battle and Blood, for blood is, blood was, and blood shall always be.

The Balefires tore the sky apart like diamond knives, black fuselage blotting out the stars, lit and shadowed by the white-hot exhaust of their engines as they hurtled at maximum speed towards the Chechens. But meanwhile, from the writhing, shadowy mass of aircraft lurking between Cyprus and the fleet split two groups, one from the left and another from the right, each of them six wings strong. Laboriously, and slowly (so as to minimize infrared radiation), the two forces swung out wide to the flanks, awaiting the signal to charge in and attack the enemy...

Hundreds of radar spike warnings blared in the cockpits of the incoming Chechen fighters. It was as if the missiles had come out of thin air. At once the 424 fighters scrambled into evasive maneuvers in a frantic attempt to out run the enemy wave of missiles. Afterburners flared in the night and countermeasures were deployed to try and confuse the enemy missiles. As the missiles closed pilots fought with their planes to make last second hard maneuvers. But there were almost 3 missiles for every fighter out there. In the span of a few seconds flashes of light from the explosions could be seen all over the sky..hundreds of them. A civilian fishing ship which happened to be underneath the action bore witness to the slaughter. On board the skipper's son, a kid of 14, had been bored messing with camera and ended up filming the carnage which was unfolding tens of thousands of feet above him.

They had lost over half their number but regardless of these losses the initial wave of fighters turned around to reengage their enemy, now for the most part painted on radar by the AWACS. The 191 remaining fighters were now heavily outnumbered but still had a mission to accomplish. Missiles were armed as they closed into firing range. The F-14s fired first: each fighter loosing a pair of phoenix missiles. The F-15s followed suite shortly after and were joined by the F-14s, each firing off a pair of AMRAAMs at the enemy; 568 missiles in total. With their main armament of dogfighting missiles they would close in with the enemy and vie for control of the skies the old fashioned way.

Captain Drusus blinked in surprise as just over half of the Chechen contacts vanished. His men now had an advantage of almost two to one, turning an even fight into a heavily unbalanced one. However, there was the small matter of the 550 or so missiles streaking straight towards them.

ECM packages blared and the Balefires launched flares, but it is impossible to maneuver when traveling at Mach 3. It simply can't be done. No plane is strong enough to perform acrobatics at that kind of velocity. And so all the fiendish maneuverability that made the Balefires so effective at close range was useless, and thus they had no choice but to rocket more or less straight into the oncoming wave of missiles.

Losses were immediate and significant. The terrifying part was that at such speeds, every man was simply a passenger; his plane would either take him to hell with it, or not. It was all up to the luck of the draw, as the saying went. 360 fighters went into that storm; 214 emerged, over a third falling in a million pieces into the moonlit ocean far below. Drusus swore violently. Unacceptable. The blame for this was almost certainly going to fall on his head. However, as he rocketed into battle, he had each of his men launch a pair of AAMs and he prayed the Chechens had no more time for a second volley.

Meanwhile, on each wing, 360 fighters circled slowly, under complete radio silence and receiving and transmitting no communications whatsoever. Total blackout. The time had not yet come for them.

Shattered Skies: Kıbrıs
Round 1


"He's got a radar lock!"

"Shit, break hard! break!"

"Keep your formation and stay with your wingman"

"...roger that"

"..copy"

"Mayday-mayday. This is Eko Six, my RIO's dead; we're going down.."

"Jinn Squadron's been blown out of the sky.."

"Shut the fuck up if you don't have anything useful"

"Here they come."

"...bismillah hirahmam-nirahim..."

"I got tone..Fox Three!"

"Fox Three."

"Fox Three"

"Splash one.. eat it bitch..."

"Taro-Five, my wingman's down; hostile on my six. I can't ----"

"You're not getting away from me you prick.."

"Harem-Two, cover my six; I'll take the shot"

"Copy that Harem-Four"

"He's on your six break hard... break dammit I can't get a shot... get the hell out of there!!... Fuck!!"

"Bastard..."

"Squadron sized formation ten-o'clock high, moving to engage.."

"Damn this fucker's good"

"Some one get him off-----"

"Where the hell's our back up?"

"Nur-Eight take the shot"

"Fox-One"

"Nice kill..."

"I'm out of ammo; returning to base"

"Hard to see a damn thing out here.."

"Was that our guy?"

"God please no.."

"Wing leader to all units, confirm your targets before firing."

"Fox-One"

"I'm switching to guns"

"..eject! eject!----"

"Mayday-mayday, Guard-One going down. I think I clipped his wing over."

"Fuck, Sky-eye what's the sitrep we can't see for shit"

"We can't get a proper fix at this time"

"It's a goddamn furball that's what it is"

"impossible to confirm a kill...Shit!!!"

"dammit how many of them are there?"

"This is Zak-Nine, I'm out of ammo and low on fuel over"
"I think we're winning"

"How can you tell I thought we were losing"

"Sky-eye can you give us an assessment?"

"I got tone...Fox-One"

"Fox-Three"

"I'm going down!!---[sound of flames]--"

"Nice kill.."

"Thanks for stealing the kill...asshole"

"Anytime brother"

"This is Sky-eye, all units be aware the number of aircraft has decreased significantly. We can't ascertain who's is who's yet though."

"Thank you Sky-eye, keep us posted"

"Will do. Over."

"Where are our reinforcements?"

"Reinforcements are operating under radio silence until they engage. They will arrive shortly....All units be advised of the possibility of additional enemy wings in the vicinity.."

"Only thing I hear is good news.."


War is hell. The battlefield is a meat grinder. The sea is chaos. And the sky is insanity...

Blood in the rocks
Blood on the streets
Blood in the skies
Blood on the seas
If you want blood...you got it.

Operation TITHONUS was an interesting procedure. If there was one thing absolutely delightful to a Kregaian general, it was a perfectly executed plan. It could be argued (and historians often did so) that on a basic level, Kregaian soldiers were conditioned to carry out the intents of their commanders perfectly, rather than exercise initiative. This might or might not have been true, but Ishamael himself had drafted the plan to neutralize Cyprus, and he had no intention of his strategy collapsing this early in the conflict. And at the moment, everything was going perfectly.

* * *

Captain Drusus grimaced as he watched another pilot of his own squadron die, his plane flying apart in flame. His jaw rattled and his very bones shook as he mashed down the button to fire his chaingun, 23mm rounds hurtling towards the Chechen aircraft in his sights. These pilots were good, judging by the losses they'd inflicted; the Kregaians were down to around half the aircraft they'd started with, while the Chechens had kept their loss rate considerably lower. Drusus tasted bitter bile in his mouth: this was a colossal failure, for Balefires to be beaten by these Chechens...infidels were beating him. And he would be lucky to get away with a demotion. He had two choices: somehow turn the situation around and defeat the enemy alone, or call for reinforcements and be fully responsible for the debacle he'd gotten his men into.

The captain knew what he had to do, and swallowed his pride as he spoke on the command channel, "This is CO-75. Request reinforcements immediately, over." He knew that the AWACS was relaying his message back to the flagship as he heard the simple response, "Roger." He gritted his teeth, and accepted shame, for he knew that he had just bought victory at the price of his own honor.

* * *

The jaws of TITHONUS closed.

Three hundred and sixty fighters on each side. Thirty squadrons, ten wings, three and a third air groups, and that was only half of it. As the Betrayer of Hope gave the order to attack, seven hundred and twenty throttles opened, seven hundred and twenty sets of afterburners activated, and from east and west, seven hundred and twenty advanced fighters rocketed in at Mach 3, already arming AAMs and seeking target locks. They launched, a pair each, and then another, almost three thousand Methuselah AAMs streaking towards the tangled mass of Chechen and Kregaian pilots, the latter of which were trying to get out of the dogfight as best they could before being exposed to their comrades' weaponry. Squadrons moved slightly north to cut off the Chechen route of escape as the Balefires advanced on the trapped infidels, moving in for the kill.

1:15

The Kregaians had chosen their tactical retreat at just the right moment for the Nokhchi'yin pilots. Over half of the original force of the first wave had been lost and by this point most of the survivors were either bingo on fuel or nearly out of ammo. They'd be down to throwing stones at their enemy had the fight continued any longer. Still, despite the odds and the harrowing fight, most of the pilots were eager to continue the fight regardless of the limitations of their aircraft. The rush of battle and the honor of having laid down their lives in defense of their homeland and loved ones had energized them with the kind of military zeal modern commanders have wet dreams about. Even though the natural reaction was to pursue, wave Alpha did not have orders to retake the skies over Cyprus. It's orders were to engage the enemy here. Still, this wasn't enough to prevent attempts to change the plan.

"Sky-eye, this is Arial-One, I've assumed command of Combat Talon Alpha, requesting permission to pursue the enemy"

"Negative Arial-One. All forces remain in the area and wait to be relieved by reinforcements"

"Roger Sky-eye. Arial One out." there was a noted mark of disappointment in the pilot's voice.

http://i37.photobucket.com/albums/e68/GrayWolf116/comic1.png

There was no activity for the next few moments until radar IDs started popping up on fighters relayed with the AWACS. One pilot thought his radar was malfunctioning until it became blindingly obvious that they were all doomed. As the 3,000 missiles closed in on the talon the remaining fighters turned tail and did the best they could to avoid the enemy onslaught. However there was nothing that could be done but eject over contested waters in the middle of the night...

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The first wave was obliterated...

Meanwhile news of this reached command and the order was sent out to recall the second wave. They would consolidate with the final wave and mount a counter attack against the enemy aircraft which were now in the sky. It would be the deciding battle of the night. Another twenty minutes went by before the combined forces of the Nokhchi'yin Air Force had organized themselves into squadrons dispersed over miles of sky. They approached the known location of the enemy aircraft as a large almost crescent shaped band stretching miles in each direction. This way their first salvo would converge on the enemy, and the Kregaian numerical advantage in first shot kill capability would be dispersed over a larger area and not over a single formation.

The fighters, F-15s, F-16s, and F-14s from land bases, held formation and their trained pilots began arming their payloads for the imminent fight. The mood of pilots was one: they were past fear and pre-battle shivers, over 600 of their country men and women had been killed by the enemy. Everyone had lost a friend by now. And it was time for cold unforgiving vengeance. For those involved; from the politicians watching, the generals commanding, the AWACS operators observing, to the pilots fighting... everyone knew this was a critical shot at redeeming the impeccable honor and pride of the Air Force. It was the motherland which was at stake after all.

http://i37.photobucket.com/albums/e68/GrayWolf116/comic3.png

648 planes in all...858 pilots chose the targets they were given via AWACS (even if most could only get a general area target due to the enemy's stealth, missile/AWACS/and flight radars would perform the necessary corrections as distance to target decreased) armed their weapons and fired their first salvo, 1296 long range missiles followed by another salvo of 364 AIM-54s by the F-14s about 10-15 seconds after the first.

OOC: Short, crappy post; I'm sorry, I've been busy and tired as shit lately.

IC: 1080 fighters, in total, had gone into that fight. Captain Drusus's men had certainly suffered heavily, but then, the wings had gotten off very lightly indeed. Drusus's men were low on ammo, missiles, fuel, and morale, and were sent back to the carriers, leaving approximately seven hundred Balefires waiting for the inevitable Chechen response. The Kregaians had been bloodied, but not defeated, and Ishamael had suspected that it would be at this point that the entirety of the enemy's available air power would be coming for them now. This was the contest, the balance point: everything the Kregaians had done would be for nothing if they lost now, whereas if the Chechens lost, the gateway to the mainland was open. There could be no doubt: the enemy was on his way, and despite a slight numerical advantage, the Kregaians had to be prepared.

Drones were sent out in a wide fan around the sector of airspace the Chechens were expected to attack from, their sensors idle for the time being, and only the smallest practical use of their engines keeping them in the sky. Meanwhile, an air group, 108 fighters, swooped down to extremely low altitudes, as they and the rest of the Balefires similarly turned off their sensors, slowly circling and waiting. The Chechens would quickly find the main group: after all, they had not moved from the site of the battle, making their location easy to guess without need of radar. Then the final battle of the night would begin.

"Check your targets.. prepare to engage the enemy"

2nd Lt. Said Kharbatov flicked a switch on his console and moved his gloved hand back to the flight stick to steady his plane. He was part of a small formation within the greater whole of the combined attack wave. He couldn't dare look to his side or down at his console. There was no way he could no that this night could be his last but the oncoming battle left him with such a rush he both wanted to run away and dive headlong into the thick of the battle at the same time. Super-heated exhaust rocketing out the ass end of his plane at thousands of degrees centigrade ensured he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

"I got 'em on radar!"

"Copy that enemy formation dead ahead."

Said gripped his flight stick a little harder. He couldn't get any sort of lock yet from this range; he'd have to wait a little bit longer. The tomcats with their advanced radars and longer range missiles fired first as they got into range. Said and hundreds of other falcon pilots watched as a hundred and five AIM-54s streaked off into the night, shining like little fiery white stars with a little trail of smoke illuminated just behind. The speed at which these disappeared off into the distance was surprising and given the ranges of engagement the sheer size of this aerial battlefield was made more aware by the pilots.

Not even a minute later the rest of the fighters had gotten into range to fire their standoff weaponry. A single order was given and each fighter fired off its two long range missiles in succession. These were joined in by the tomcat pilots who loosed another missile or pair of missiles each. Upwards of fifteen hundred stars flew off into the distance and were lost to the eye though on radar they were as visible as the moment they had been launched.

The fighter aircraft continued on and their pilots steeled themselves for the inevitable return...

I am just a stranger
Might lead to just a little danger
Come child, I'm gonna take you
To a place inside of me that's achin'
Always take you to the limit
One foot hangin' off a precipice...

They were coming.

The nature of aircraft (these days, they tend to be pretty fast) meant that any kind of speech given by the commander had to be extremely quick. In fact, it ended up consisting of merely a few sentences. After all, as Pericles had said, to the brave a few words were as good as many.

"Men, these infidels are coming to meet us," the commander had growled, "and when they do, it's the final test of the night. Defeat them here, and the way east is open, the way to glory and victory. The gods are with us tonight. Blood and Honor!" The final statement was mirrored by a roar from those pilots who were not maintaining radio silence, a tribute to the ferocity of their race.

The missiles appeared on radar seconds afterward, a hundred and five of them. A number, in short, wholly ineffective to deal with the six hundred or so Kregaians circling around in the Chechens' way. ECM jammers switched on, the Balefires split and went into complex evasive maneuvers, and when the barrage was over, only eight Balefires had been destroyed. The pilots felt confident. Cocky.

The price of skill is arrogance.

Keep it comin'
Keep it comin', yeah

Because of this, it was something of a buzzkill for those same pilots when, seconds later, well over fifteen hundred contacts showed up on radar, as clear a sign of danger as if each one had been transmitting the message, "We'll fucking kill you." The pilots reacted professionally, of course, but now things were getting a little crowded, with six hundred fighters and one and a half thousand missiles. It was as if the formation collapsed in on itself, and soon it resembled some crazed model of an atom: a core lit by the tangled, fiery glows of thrusters and the bright blazes of explosions, from which a stray fighter might burst, weaving desperately in an attempt to shake the enemy missile. And when the dust had settled, 542 Balefires suddenly did something unexpected.

Their ECMs, radars, infrared sensors, and pretty much everything else, switched off. They were now, for all intents and purposes, invisible: they might have shown up (albeit faintly) on infrared and LIDAR scanners, but such things did not work at the distances that now existed between the Chechens and the Kregaians. And it was in this state that they waited for the Chechens to come closer...closer...

And suddenly the time came. The drones, now spread widely around the area and, hitherto dormant and practically undetectable, blazed to life, lighting up the Chechen fighters with any and every applicable sensor: infrared or LIDAR if they were in range, radar if not. And now, although they were still hidden, the Balefires could see the enemy. They immediately launched two-thirds of their store of AAMs each, a brutal opening barrage aimed at ripping apart the core of the enemy fighters before the battle was even joined. That made roughly 3600 AAMs rocketing towards the Chechens, followed closely by the Balefires, who now charged forward to engage at close range.

Always took you to the limit
One man fallin' off a precipice
Come on, feel regeneration
Come in, feel the enervation

By the time the Kregaians had launched their wave of missiles at the Chechen fighters the Chechens were too far in range of the enemy to simply run away and come back again. There was no choice but to face what the enemy had thrown at them. They had been caught in the pagan trap. Shouts of "Radar Spike!" and orders for evasive maneuvers as well as a great number of explicatives came through the radio and the greater formation of aircraft began to dissolve and shred itself apart in mid flight.

"Hold your Fucking Formation! All pilots return to your formations. That is a direct order!"

Reluctantly the pilots who had swerved away pulled their aircraft back into the formations of their squadrons. Angry protests came back at the CAG on the radio but he silenced them with a tone of voice making no attempt to disguise that fact that he wasn't going to take any shit from anyone. What on Earth was this man thinking?! Chechen squadron leaders (or Ichkerian as they were sometimes called since in fact.. many weren't even Chechens: they were either Cherkess, Adygei, Ingush, Ossetian, or one of the dozens of Caucasian ethnic groups that made up the Republic) were known within the services for their often near-suicidal battle tactics...but this was clear insanity...or so it would seem. In fact the wing was pretty much doomed from any on paper observation. They had six times their number in missiles alone rocketing their way and were lit up fifty different ways by enemy electronics. The only way out wouldn't be without an obscene number of casualties.

Colonel Movladi Suleimanov sat in his cockpit thinking. He had to pull something out of his ass that would save all their lives and right now. Lucky for him and for the other six hundred and change pilots flying around him he thrived on pressure. He flicked a switch which adjusted his radio to only his current squadron leaders. "Listen we don't have much time. Form your wings up on my lead. We're going to pull a Jagger"

There was a string of confirmations, some of the squadron leaders were devoid of emotion but most replied with a note of nervousness in their voices. A Jagger was a maneuver developed by Otto Jagger, a deceased Chechen ace and later Air Force general. It was a tactic used to confuse enemy missiles & radar, or incoming enemy fighters.

The main formation was led by that of Col Suleimanov. His squadron in delta formation accelerated ahead of the rest and then held its position. Meanwhile the squadron leaders had explained to their wingmen what was to be done and simultaneously every squadron formation came into, forming what essentially was a miles long narrow cone of fighters in their own formations comprising a larger formation of the cone. It was slender and imperfect like an icicle on the side of a house. The planes continued towards the hail of enemy missiles which by now had all their targets locked on a very small compact position.

The formation of hundreds of fighters continued. If it weren't for the moon light it'd be impossible to organize this formation so quickly. Still jets sometimes almost crashed into one another and at least on one occasion two F-15s hit each other, although no damage was done to either craft. The large formation continued on and it was almost comic to look at. Like a swarm of bees in a cartoon the literal spearhead roared forth to meet the enemy swarm of missiles.

Finally with only mere miles separating them Colonel Movladi blared "Break Now!!!" Without a second's hesitation every single fighter aircraft pulled onto an independant angle and its pilot pulled as hard on the stick as he could, pushing the throttle to the max. The Chechen fighters all dispensed their radar countermeasures and a few over anxious pilots mistakenly dispensed heat flares too; though these would be wholly ineffective against the long range radar guided AAMs sent by the enemy. The long slender cone of fighters utterly disintegrated in a few short seconds. It seemed to be pulled out and unraveled from the tip to the end like banana peels; every pilot pulled hard in a heading facing directly out of the center of the circular cone (perpendicular to the tangent of their position on the circle that is to say). The swarm of black dots dispersed and replaced itself with millions of shards of chaff and decoys.

Colonel Movladi could see the incoming missiles right on top of him as he gave the order. Being at the absolute tip of the spear his was the most vulnerable position in the entire formation. With no set direction to turn in he pushed the throttle to the max and rocketed towards his fate. Behind him fighters broke hard in every direction out from the center and and full burn, attempted to evade the juggernaut of enemy missiles. Kregaian AAMs streaked past him towards their intended targets... thousands of them drawn towards the center and out. In the next few seconds the colonel's life hung in the balance. Only a few seconds, as planes struggled to evade and cope with the stresses of high speed maneuvers, and missiles rocketed past in every direction. But those seconds seemed to be hours, in a state of slow-mo Movladi bared his teeth under his oxygen mask and pulled hard on the flight stick of his F-16. The nimble plane released its chaff and flew past several missiles by only feet. It then did a barrel roll missing one and then another by an even closer margin. The colonel was flying straight up now with a fifty foot long pillar of holy flame underneath him pushing him towards the heavens. He was in a spin which turned into a helix and then arced in a graceful yet vulnerable way back over itself and back towards the sea. His plane was heading straight down from an altitude of 34,000 feet. As he pulled back on the stick, bringing his aluminum steed to bear in a long under swept arc, time began to catch up with him and readjust. He was alive. He could feel the stick in his hand and the seat underneath him and the rudder pedals under his feet. The sound of his jet came back to him. Then he reality that this wasn't over yet. He brought his plane around again and checked his radar. The solidly built fighter pilot in his late thirties didn't even have to give any orders. "All pilots on me." he said in a monotone voice which was grave and fierce at the same time. Two wingmen from his squadron rose and took their positions at his sides half a length behind him.

Miraculously the entire wing began reconstructing itself. Without word the pilots that remained took up their positions in the newer, smaller main wing. It was an amazing site but one thing was gravely apparent. This was the great number of fighters which were missing from the new formation. Three hundred and thirteen aircraft with Chechen insignia remained in the air. They flew with one mind towards a now hated enemy. After what had happened none of the pilots felt fear. It had been washed from their souls on this night. Every man and woman were less human and more machine. They took on a new character, something that went beyond professionalism. Radio chatter was more direct and had a feeling of roboticism to it. Emotion was gone.

God or gods knew what the Kregaians were thinking at that moment when they realized there was still a large force of Chechen fighters heading towards them, unwavering as their will to die for their homeland.

That missile strike had been absolutely perfect. That missile strike had been guided, it seemed, by the Destroyer Himself, the Lord of Blood guiding the Kregaian weapons to their targets. The infidels were doomed now. No way out. None.

But what the racist, predatory Kregaian ideology has so much trouble comprehending was now to face them straight on: just because they come from a different country, just because they don't offer up thousands of their own countrymen to sate the hunger of appalling gods, just because you call them infidels...it doesn't make them any less dangerous. This is common sense, the simple truth, and fate was ramming it down the Kregaians' collective throat.

Three hundred and thirteen Chechen pilots now hurtled towards the Kregaians, and they were mad. One shocked pilot spoke for the entire air group when he proclaimed on an open channel, "Fuck."

In seconds, with both sides rocketing towards each other, the battle was joined. Dozens of pilots died in seconds, victims of the Chechens, who flew with a fury that the Kregaians were hard-pressed to compete with. It was a tangled clusterfuck, and the death rate was higher here than it had been all night. Time for backup.

A hundred and eight fighters, the ones that had been lurking at low altitude for quite some time now, suddenly blazed to life. In a dangerous move, each pilot emptied his stock of AAMs at the tangled mass above: even though Kregaian missiles could not lock onto Kregaian aircraft, the compact space meant that Kregaians would undoubtedly be lost simply by flying accidentally into the missiles' courses. But, Ishamael had calculated, the sheer shock and power of almost a thousand missiles streaking towards a pinned-down enemy was worth some Kregaian blood. And as soon as they were in range, the new arrivals pursued Chechen targets, splitting into pairs to double up on a single target, 23mm cannons blazing.

Planes and pilots on both sides hurtled past each other, bathed in silver moonlight. The reflection of the moon below on the calm seas gave a serene backdrop to the war being fought. It was like two men fighting to the death in the Garden of Eden. There was something wierd about it.. almost unreal. All you needed to do was take a step back for a second and look. It was so bright and clear out you could see the faint silhouette of the island off in the distance if you looked hard enough. At this time of night the world seemed like a void: the sky was brilliant with thousands upon thousands of stars, the moon shone like a heavenly being, and the sea below: its image of darkness and blue punctuated by the reflection of the moon distorted by hundreds of tiny waves was something else. It was surreal. Turning your gaze upward however you saw something else: humanity. From a number of miles away you could see it all bathed in moonlight. Black silhouettes raced in arcs around one another, hundreds of them, like birds of prey in their prime performing some sort of dance unknown to any outside observer but as timeless as the Earth itself. War is as old as mankind. When Man first stepped onto the Earth he brought war with him. The battle continued, suspended midair in a place somewhere between the celestial heavens and the old Earth; neither here nor there but in the void. The outlines of contrails and exhaust sketched themselves into the void, filling it up. It was punctured by fast arcing lines zipping through and tearing apart its very fabric. Something was crying. A flash of light and then another. Small flickers of stardust falling back to the Earth, disappearing half way, swept back into oblivion by the void. Silhouettes bathed in flame fell like tears back into the infinite seas below. Something or someone was crying this night. Could it be God? that his creations were murdering each other? Was it the Earth? that the offspring of her womb would attack each other in such a way and shatter her moment of peace with the heavens? Or was the mothers who would learn later that day that their sons had died defending their freedom? the wives that their husbands had died for them? All of them were crying or maybe not: what did it matter? Life would go on as it had since its creation and the Earth and heavens would continue their eternal dance in celebration of God's glory. But the Chechen way of life, Nokhchi neq' daakhar, timeless though it maybe was not immortal. Something was worth fighting to keep alive...

http://img380.imageshack.us/img380/7576/chechenroundel1tw6.png

Bashkha! Colonel Suleimanov thought to himself. Excellent. He pulled the trigger and a hail of tracers battered his adversary's plane, ripping its stabilizers off and sending the plane into a self destructing barrel roll, debris literally everywhere. He had defeated one pagan. Now there were three more to contend with. 23mm rounds barely missed his plane and he pulled into a hard maneuver to evade...

Despite a ferocious return the odds were still very much against the Chechens. Their's was still a losing battle despite undergoing which - for all accounts and purposes - was a miracle. Outnumbered by more than 7 to 3 and by more advanced aircraft it was by no small feat that they were giving the Kregaians such a hard run for their money. Still, being outnumbered in a dogfight is much worse than being outnumbered on the ground or at sea. In a dogfight there are three dimensions of attack and the disadvantages of being outnumbered are multiplied. Still they kept on. Despite the enemy firing through its own ranks to hit them, despite an extra hundred enemy reinforcements, despite being outnumbered by one of the most fearsome Air Forces in the world, they kept up the fight. Gradually their number was whittled down like the blade of a sword striking a stone pillar repeatedly. The pilots fought with their machines until they were out of missiles. They continued until they were out of bullets. Then they still stuck in the fight, covering their wingmen and keeping extra enemy fighters occupied; either by drawing them off or engaging them with nothing but a radar lock, forcing them to break pursuit and evade. They fought on with all the tenacity in the world, some fought for God, others for their government, but all fought for each other and for home. It was something which gave them more steel than anything their enemy could imagine. Plane after plane was hit and either exploded on the spot or went down in flames. No parachutes opened up: the Kregaians were good on their mark and no one who went down survived to eject. It wasn't something unlike the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae.

The fighters, the bulk of the 2nd, 3rd, and 9th Fighter Air Groups suffered heavy casualties as the battle went on. It was only a matter of time and attrition that the Kregaians would have their victory in this battle and subsequently uncontested access to Cyprus in the time being. The Chechen pilots, having fought scores of the enemy, had by now nothing left to throw at the enemy. Their tanks were near empty from the demanding fight, their wings were bare, and their magazines were empty. There was literally nothing more they could do at this point. So a handful of fighters, a token of what once was the 2nd, 3rd, and proud 9th, 36 in all, deployed whatever counter measures they had remaining if at all and gunned their engines for all they were worth, passing the design limits and pushing the mechanisms to their full physical potential (thus ruining most of the engines in the process beyond repair). Colonel Movladi was among these retreating fighters. He had somehow managed to get his men out of an impossible situation and give their respects to a shocked enemy. He was the sole reason any of these other 43 men and women were still alive. And he was alive too. Some how he'd dodged close to a hundred missiles and thousands of bullets and made it this far. Then his engine broke down. A thud and a bang and a blast of flame out the back of the falcon. Then smoke and a dead engine. Colonel Movladi Suleimanov cursed his luck and checked his radar before the failing power went out. The enemy was pursuing. His plane slowed slightly and the other aircraft on his side streaked ahead. The thought of what to do know was never more clear. It was the only choice and a fitting death. Nothing was more right or felt more right. He made one last impromptu speech to his wingmen, now a mile ahead of him. "This is the CAG speaking. It's been an honor serving with you all. Give these bastards hell tomorrow, for me. Suleimanov Out." he said.

He thought of his wife and his sons and daughter. Ibrahim and Alexander. They'd both fight in this war. His last prayer was for them and the next moment he brought his plane around to bear on a heading towards the enemy. They changed heading and came for him and opened fire. The colonel grunted and went into evasive maneuvers, spinning and swerving hard. A number of missiles were launched and tracers of bullets zipped past him as if he were traveling through the stars. Somehow he managed to survive the pass and took his plane into a dive. The enemy fighters followed. He pulled hard on the stick, reciting a last prayer in arabic, ashadu ana la illaha ill allah, there are no gods except for Allah. Finally, his plane stalled and came to a stop, pointing its nose at the moon. The moon rose over his cockpit and 23mm rounds tore through his plane, shredding it like a paper nothing. A round tore through his chest vaporizing his heart and exiting through the canopy, spraying it with blood. Through his dying eyes Movladi saw the moon shining through a head sized hole in the cockpit, surrounded by a corona of bright red blood. A missile impacted the dead falcon and it erupted into a ball of flame, shooting flaming pieces of debris in every direction. Another missile shot through the explosion like an arrow and continued towards the moon until it was lost. Then the remnants of the falcon, burning out and dispersed, falling back towards the Earth, vanished in the sky, the void. A final tear had been wiped away. No more tears...

"They're flying well," High Admiral Anor had remarked. "Very well." His jaw had tightened in frustration when Ishamael had ordered the backup group to fire through their own comrades, but he held his silence. Perhaps it had not been necessary, Ishamael reflected; his men had been flying well, and the weight of numbers would have told in any case. But, he reminded himself, he was going to have to defend that decision to the second-guessers back at High Command, so he had better have some confidence in it.

An aide cleared his throat behind Ishamael, who turned to see what the matter was. The aide crisply stated, "Sir, Colonel Asdanus is on the line." Ishamael nodded and replied, "Patch him through." Immediately the image of the wiry and irate Colonel Asdanus appeared on one of the bridge's communications screens.

"Colonel."

"My Lord," the officer began, his face red with anger, "why in the name of the gods did you just order my men to be fired on? I'm looking at the tactical display, and I see almost half an air group wiped out because of that little maneuver! My men, Ishamael!"

"Calm down, Colonel."

"What the fuck are you playing at?!"

Ishamael fixed the Colonel with a frigid glare. "You may consider yourself suspended pending further notice, Colonel. And I strongly recommend you consider your words more carefully, because if you address me without the honorific another time, I'll have you killed. Ishamael out." He terminated the connection. Looking at Anor, who still looked skeptical about the whole thing, he said softly. "It worked. The Chechens are flying like devils out there, and the tactic worked. That's all I'm concerned with. And I will not accept questioning of my orders."

And in minutes, the fray was over. The Kregaians controlled the sky. Up until this moment, it would have been fair to doubt Ishamael in his role as commander of the invasion. He is just an amateur, one might say, a politician trying to play soldier so that he can copy Rahvin's fame. But the Chechen Air Force had been dealt a heavy blow tonight, and from here, the way to the Chechen coast was pretty much clear. A single cohort, 3,300 men in all, was sent to Cyprus and began landing on the coast; it would spread across the island, crushing what opposition remained and holding the island in the name of the Imperium. The Balefires returned back to the carriers, leaving their dead behind, as, haloed by air patrols and drones, the great fleet lumbered ever eastward, to whatever dawn might bring.

"Colonel Alaev, TSENTKOM on the line."
"Yes this Colonel Alaev speaking, 1st Cyprus Brigade." with an aged voice coarsened by years of cigar smoke.
"Hold I'm redirecting you......" the phone clicked as the line went through several encryption protocols, "Name, rank, and ID number."
"Colonel Rustam Alaev, five, three, one, one, six, eight, six, four."
"Verifying....." the phone clicked several more times and the line was through, all this in only about ten seconds.. "Colonel, this is Major General Dagiev, Central Intelligence Command. What is the state of your forces?"
Alaev knew this was serious. "My men are all ready to fight sir. They're ready yesterday."
"Good, marine. You have orders to mobilize and hold the island. Marshall Law has been declared. We expect the enemy to land an expeditionary force to capture the island at any time. Our spy satellite will make a pass in three hours, we'll send you what we've got then."
Alaev's brows furrowed. His eyes widened. "The enemy is landing sir? What happened to the Air Force?"

There was a slight pause. 1008 fighter aircraft had been lost that day, fully a ninth of the entire fighter force of the country. 1,428 pilots and airmen had been lost. It was more than a bitter pill to swallow this early in the war, it was a cyanide pill.

"The enemy has taken the skies at heavy cost. You will have no air cover. I cannot say when the Air Force will be able to launch any more sorties. For the time being colonel, you and your men are on your own. Holding that island right now is your highest priority. We will keep you posted."
"..Yessir. These bastards will go to hell."
"Chechnya expects nothing else. For home and honor."
"For home and honor.

Colonel Alaev put down the phone. His mouth was still wide open. He bent over and picked up the cigar which had fallen from his mouth when he heard the news about the Air Force. The other services had a lot of faith invested in the Air Force. The colonel killed the cigar and threw it in the trash can. He immediately summoned his XO. The first ground fighting between Kregaian and Chechen forces would be on this island. He was going to make sure he gave the enemy a good first impression. Chechens were famous for their legendary hospitality.

Cyprus had 6 cities and dozens of major towns and villages. A mountain ridge went across the south of the island and along the southern edge and and a kind of wall was formed running west-east along the north eastern part of the island. The geography was typical of any Mediterranean setting; rolling countryside flanked by uniquely rugged hills and mountains. Plans already existed for the defense of the island. There was a single armor company and 4,000 infantry. Crucial to the defense of the island was the Brigade's organic field artillery battalion. This included 2 platoons of 155mm M1096 Paladins, 8 mobile howitzers in all, a dozen 155mm towed howitzers and 26 105mm light artillery guns. There were also quite a few 120mm mortars. All these had been pre-arranged to give overlapping firesupport to every inch of the island, with the most obvious point of landing, the south east strip of coast line (also home to one of the two cities) in the center of the most fields of fire. The base was situated a few miles from the airport in the center of the island near the other city. It held most of the soldiers on the island who, by now were moving out to their designated positions; defensible sectors along the coast and garrisons in the cities. The tank company consisted of 2 MBT platoons, 8 M1A2s total, 3 forward observers, 8 M2A2 Bradleys, and 2 SAHMMVs, Humvees outfitted with a turret holding 8 small surface to air missiles, most ideally suited for anti helicopter operations.

At the same time the troops dug in and took their positions, awaiting word of the enemy, civilian officials were alerted and the civilians centers put on alert. People hid in their homes or in bomb shelters while law enforcement officers and militia irregulars armed themselves to the teeth at armories and gun stores. On top of that virtually every house hold had a gun. Radio communication would be cut to short range radios only. Motorcycle messengers and land telephone lines would be used to alert civilian officials and garrisons of developments. At the same time a small number of SOF Force Recon Marines took to the sea in converted speed boats. Forming a satisfactory perimeter around the island they switched on radar devices to get an early warning of which direction the enemy would come from. All eyes were on the sea. They had no idea when the enemy was coming but now was when they were expected. And with a full scale land invasion imminent on the mainland... Colonel Alaev expected his enemy wouldn't take their sweet time with this mission.

* * *

Then they came. Radar boats picked up the incoming and their special forces crew retreated back to the island where they would later on be involved with the fight. With several hours warning and a general idea of where the enemy would land, Colonel Alaev was able to redistribute his forces in preparation for the enemy landing. This wouldn't be any D-Day landing and there weren't any formidable fortifications and pillboxes to man. What was available was the man power of thousands of overly proud and confident Chechen Marines. They didn't know whether there would be a small force or the whole Kregaian army coming to meet them; their commanders had been told of an expected expeditionary force but it didn't matter. To every Marine, there was no doubt in the world that a lot of enemy soldiers would rush onto the island and a lot would die. They were notorious for their pride and dedication to the Corps. Being the only land force dedicated to naval operations, as any marine force inherently is, they were the black sheep of the Army, looked at differently by Rangers and regular Army soldiers. The sea wasn't Chechnya's military specialty, it was the highlands where they claimed invincibility. As a result the Marine Corps was one of the most heavily indoctrinated services of the military. Some would say they were almost fanatical. Not religiously fanatical or fanatical for their country, but fanatics of their Corps. It was something only professional soldiers of other nations could understand..

Colonel Alaev relayed his order to Captain Tsankiev to keep his tanks and armor in reserve. He didn't know when he would have to rely on heavy armor support and he wasn't going to throw every piece out on the chess board blindly. Marines dug into fox holes dotted the countryside up from the beach. FOs from Cpt Tsankiev's armor company scanned the expected coastline several kilometers inland from concealed positions. Their optics and radar sweets scanned for visuals of the enemy or any other signs.

The Kregaian assault force met a prepared reception as they traversed the beach. As their landing craft dropped them off, they were allowed to advance half-way into the beach before all hell broke loose from the dark island. It was only just over an hour before sunrise...

"Delta Company requesting heavy fire support on grid B-six, six, four, nine, three; by D-seven, two, three, nine, one. Fire for effect."

"Roger that coordinates received...firing for effect"

The marines manning the artillery battery operated like machines, this was no different than their training missions except that it was an actual enemy they were firing against and real people were going to die in an overly violent way. The enormous 155mm towed howitzers, twelve in all, fired round after round downrange, each one roaring in the night. Their macho blasts were augmented by a chorus of smaller, but still impressively loud 105mm light guns which went off at faster intervals. Even though the guns were far spread out, to each operating crew it was like their comrades were right next to them, it was so loud.

One marine carried an artillery shell and placed it in the breach. Another rammed it into the gun with a long metal pole. This man got out of the way and another handed over a powder bag which was thrust into the breach and then it was closed and locked. The crew commander read out the deflection angle and this was confirmed by the firer, who, as soon as he spoke was given the order to fire as the commander brought his arm down in a fast swinging motion. The firing pin was pulled and the entire barrel lurched back and back into place and a deafening roar of thunder and a brilliant flash of fire erupted from the muzzle of the artillery piece. All this was done and repeated every six seconds.

"Let's go!"
"Up!"
"Red twenty one!"
"Red twenty one!"
"Deflection!, three-three-zero"
"Three-three-zero, verified!"
"FIRE!"

All this continued on and turned the strip of beach the enemy was landing on into a total kill zone. Soldiers and vehicles advancing up the beach towards the country side would be torn and blasted apart by the constant artillery fire of 38 guns and dozens of 120mm heavy mortars. Additionally the 8 155mm self propelled howitzers, having received their fire missions, began firing in unison. Their first salvo were tear gas shells to make the enemy advance more miserable if they didn't have any gas masks. The following rounds sent down range were all high explosive shells.

Opposite the beach the dull thuds of artillery could almost barely be made out by a careful listener with above average hearing. Whether or not they were firing all the way back inside the island did not remain a question when the round began turning the tourist-attraction beaches into killing fields. Dug in their foxholes marines witnessed as their enemy advanced along the beach, hundreds upon hundreds of them, and met the steel rain of the 1st Artillery Battery, 9th Marines, of the 13th Marine Infantry Brigade. Flares were shot up over the beach from light mortars further behind, and illuminated the entire beach as if it were day. In a few hours these wouldn't be necessary. But with the enemy all lit up, Marines outfitted with night vision goggles and M16 assault rifles and anti tank weaponry began laying down a hail of suppressive fire on the enemy. As long as they were pinned down on the beach, they were good as dead. And what remained of the mobile U-13 SAMs were ordered to guard tactically important positions, such as the defenses along the beach and artillery battery.

The welcome carpet had been rolled out. And it was red with blood.

The blood's on the wall
So you might as well just admit it
And bleach out the stains
Commit to forgetting it
You're better off empty and bleak
Than left with a single pathetic trace of this
Smother another failure, and lay this to rest...

* * *

The depths of the landing craft, a vast hangar packed with cranes, ramps, crates, war machines, soldiers, and a canal packed with neatly lined-up hovercraft, each carrying thirty-six Legionaries, lit by flickering fluorescent lights far overhead, made for an unnerving scene. The water in the canal sloshed and lapped gently at the sides of the armored hovercrafts, while the pathetic light simply cast deep, writhing shadows over the black, faceless helmets of the Legionaries. Overhead could be heard the roar of engines and helicopter rotors, from the two carriers Ishamael had sent to escort the lone landing ship, while the men of III Cohort, Legio CIV waited for the great sea-doors at the bow to open.

Lieutenant Nero Kesh, the six-foot-six, two-hundred-pound CO of A Platoon, was widely regarded as the most badass of the officers in the Cohort, and so it was he, standing helmetless at the bow of the first hovercraft in line, who bellowed out the traditional pre-battle speech.

"Listen up, you shit-eating cocksuckers! For days now you pussies have been bitching about floating around pointlessly while the fucking pilots get to have all the fun. It's plenty fun to talk shit when you're safe on the goddamn boat, isn't it? Well, in about ten fucking minutes, you're gonna be out there getting shot at by the fucking enemy.

"You motherfuckers have been trained, you've run the drills, you've shot the fucking target...but in a couple minutes, you're gonna run right the fuck into a defended beach, and let me tell you, there ain't much tougher than that. Word from the pussy-eating flyboys is that the Chechens know what they're doing, and they're fucking mad. They're gonna try to kill every last fucking one of us, boys.

"Well guess what the fuck is wrong with that? We're fucking Kregaians! So we're gonna leave this goddamn metal raft, jump onto the beach, and start taking lives, and no fucking infidels are gonna stop us. I'll race you shits to the top of the fucking beach and so help me gods, if any pussy is stupid enough to get himself shot, I'll kill his whole fucking family myself. Lock and fucking load, boys! Time to kill! Blood and Honor! Blood and Honor! Blood and Honor! Blood and Honor! Blood and Honor!"

And as the Legionaries roared themselves into a bloodlust, the sea-doors opened with a great clang, the icy black water rushed in, and the hovercraft whirred to life, pushing A Platoon out to sea.

* * *

Console yourself
You were better alone
Destroy yourself
See who gives a fuck
Absorb yourself
You were better alone
Destroy yourself...

* * *

They were coming from the southeast, as opposed to the rounded southwest corner, because as Lieutenant Kesh had put it to a subordinate earlier that night, "We're going this way. But tell you what, you swim ashore and climb through the fucking mountains, and we'll just mail your body back when we find it." And yet, things were suspiciously calm. Despite the wing of fighters flying cover overhead, and a dozen helicopter gunships whirling through the sky, the shore was quiet as the grave. The whir of the hovercrafts and the glare of their spotlights were the only disturbance on what might have been a quiet moonlit night.

The hovercrafts maneuvered so that they were in a horizontal line instead of a column; all in all, there were twenty-seven hovercrafts, each packed with thirty-six men, and another twelve men stood in each helicopter gunship. Over eleven hundred infantrymen in all, the core of the Cohort. The beach, too, was silent, and this was when the trap became obvious. It was simply ridiculous that the Chechens would have nobody here, which left the only possible conclusion: they were hiding, and were going to unleash a shitstorm when the Kregaians hit dry land. The only thing the Kregaians had that would be able to withstand the hail of small-arms fire would be the tanks. Four much larger craft, carrying five Despoiler MBTs each, tagged along with the hovercrafts, and those tanks would be the pillars of the Kregaian strategy.

When they landed, everything stayed silent. For a little bit. Well over nine hundred Legionaries dashed, crouching, up the beach, assault rifles at the ready, while with a roar, the tanks rolled down the ramps of their transport ships, their turrets swiveling back and forth, sweeping the beach.

Halfway up the beach, all hell broke loose.

* * *

I'll chain you to the truth,
For the truth shall set you free;
I'll turn the screws of vengeance
And bury you with honesty;
I'll make all your dreams come to life,
And slay them as quickly as they came
Smother another failure
And lay this to rest.

* * *

Shells rained from the sky. Somewhere, mortars and howitzers were tearing the beach apart, blasting crater after crater into the sand. The Kregaians ignored the falling shells, simply sprinting forward. The Legionaries ignored the bodies of their comrades, because they were not fools: there was nothing they could do for the dead or the dying, and the only way out was dead ahead. The tear gas, when it came, was harmless: anyone with a helmet on, which was everyone, would have the gas filtered out before they breathed in. The worst it did was make vision rather difficult indeed, but then, the Legionaries' infrared filters made even that quite harmless. On the other hand, when the frontrunners cleared the gas, they caught sight of the Chechens' foxholes, and the enemy marines opened fire.

The entire front rank dropped to the ground: some for cover, others because they were simply dead. However, the Legionaries expertly returned fire, letting off three-round bursts interspersed with 40mm grenades from the launchers mounted on their assault rifles. Those who followed hurled frag grenades into the enemy's foxholes before similarly taking what cover they could. As the rest of the enemy line came into contact with the charging Kregaian lines, the sound of gunfire became deafening, and explosions seemed to be everywhere. The Chechen artillery was still tearing holes in sand and flesh alike, and things in general did not seem to be going well.

Then the tanks showed up. Firing punishing bursts from their 25mm autocannons and the 20mm HMGs mounted in the commander's cupola, they hosed the Chechen marines with suppressing fire, backed up with a 125mm high-explosive round every few seconds. Twenty tanks advanced up the beach, pounding away at the enemy defenses, while overhead, the Balefires used their infrared sensors to locate the enemy artillery. They, as well as the helicopter gunships that were now moving in, launched a pair of air-to-ground missiles each, making for almost a hundred missiles streaking towards the howitzers and field guns. The helicopters veered off as the Balefires began turning around for another pass, searching for landing sites to deposit their troops. Six went left, six went right, skirting around the main battle to find quiet spots a little inland from the beach. Hovering low, the gunships let their troops off after sweeping the area with gunfire to ensure any Chechens around kept their heads down, after which the troops began hurrying back to the main battlefield.

"Deflection Four Four Zero!"
"Four Four Zero Verified"
"FIRE!"
The artillery cannon roared and rocked back with a deafening thud sending another shell into the night. It's roar was followed by its sister guns all firing independently. The roar of a jet emanated as a Kregaian fighter flew over head. The crew ignored this, or they just couldn't hear it. The crew loaded another round into the breech and fired.

Meanwhile U-13 mobile SAM crews were going berserk. Only a few minutes after their artillery had begun its shelling their position had been determined by the enemy and a swarm of aircraft were descending on their position.

"Sonofabitch! it's the whole enemy air force up there!" spoke the radar operator inside the armored vehicle.
"Take out what you can"
"Roger...locked on!" while the operator continued, the officer in charge who happened to be in command of the surrounding several mobile launchers spoke on the command frequency radio.
"Command relay, this is Skywatcher Six, We have HEAVY enemy air assets converging on our position over be advised."

The dozen or so U-13s on station in a 3 kilometer ring around the artillery began firing their heavy missiles at the heavy concentration of enemy air assets; fighters and whatever helicopters came too close. One after another the missiles rocketed forth into the night riding white pillars of flame, illuminating the country side for a brief moment before arcing and disappearing into the distance. 39 missiles were launched in succession and the crews had to reload.

"Fire!" Another blast and another 155mm shell sent towards the enemy. The artillery crews were oblivious to the danger. They were deep inside the island in the midst of Chechen anti air cover. But there was no air support and the centralized radars of the airbase and mountain top were no longer in existence. All of a sudden dozens of rockets flared from every direction in the distance towards the sky. Reports were radioed in of the enemy attempting to land troops with helicopters in order to surround the battery. That wasn't going to happen. Chechens don't simply get flanked.

Had it not been for the silver moonlight shining in full, it would be pitch black outside, however one could operate at night with some degree of efficiency even without night vision. This made it airborne target acquisition that much easier. Soldiers with heavy 22mm guns took aim at targets in the sky and let loose.
"Deflection Verified!"
"Fire!"
All around tracer fire lit up the night from dug in positions, humvees, and APCs, filling the sky with lead. They were very little effective against the high speed fighter jets of the Kregaians, but those weren't what they were looking for; it was the enemy choppers and gunships which rip apart an otherwise unguarded ground force in the open.

"Fire!"
The barrel roared and belched flame, rocking back in its nest. The ground shook once more and from nowhere steel hail battered the artillery battery's position from the sky. Explosions and red hot shrapnel filled the air and shredded heavy artillery pieces like a hot knife through butter. All the large guns were hit. Broken and mangled barrels and pieces littered the ground around former 155mm howitzers. Their crews for the most part dead with a lucky few alive or unscathed. The 36 light guns didn't fair well either, all being silenced. The Chechen artillery battery had finally been silenced and so early in the battle. While local officers conducted damage control, rounding up surviving crews and loading up their weapons, APCs continued firing into the night, some from concealed positions or make shift fortifications. The general rule was to keep moving to avoid getting killed so these wouldn't stay put for long.

At the same time defenders along the beach were facing heavier and heavier enemy contact. Marines looked with wonder when their all powerful artillery ceased shelling. The fight became all the more personal when they could see their enemy, charging ferociously up the shores for their blood.

"For the homeland!!" a marine cried with his fist in the air.
"Aaooh!" came the reply, magnified a hundred times. They had their war cry..

From foxholes and farm houses the marines maintained a withering wall of lead on the enemy soldiers. Marines shot; killed or badly wounded, were taken to the rear where they could be loaded into APCs. Colonel Alaev didn't have the fortifications and heavy weapons to make this a stationary fight. He planned on maintaining superior mobility. APCs fired 20mm incendiary rounds from their Bofors chain guns at advancing enemy infantry and light armor. In the moonlight the beach and country was bathed in dim silver light. The enemy was painted jet black. They were faceless, soulless, heavily armed and motivated. However the advantage of the moon was that you could operate with a wider field of vision not having to be restricted to NVGs. However it could have been pitch dark without any difference; the enemy landing could be seen as plain as day. So far in the opening bouts of the battle the Marines had sustained light losses, easily shrugged off. They weren't the ones charging uphill under enemy fire and until this point, 155mm artillery shells. But despite the readiness of the defenders enemy armor began proving its merit. Without it the Kregaians could have expected to paint the Cyprian beach with the color of their dead with the at first glance invisible wall of defense lined up before them. Of course as with any naval landing, enemy heavy armor was expected and so AT teams were set up, interspersed between dozens of other regular foxholes. Running $162k per CLU and $78 per missile, they were highly valuable and highly effective infantry tools. Seeing the enemy behemoths in front of them being offloaded from landing craft, several javelin teams took aim, planning to capitalize as much as possible on their enemy's momentary stage of vulnerability coming out of the landing craft. Across the landing site under two dozen of these heavy AT missiles were launched. But fire was checked; how many more of the Kregaians were inbound was unknown and supplies of heavy hitting AT missiles were severely limited.

Firing from any point of cover they could find with their rifles, cheap RPGs, and grenade launchers, marines held their positions in fox holes and commandeered buildings. Enemy helicopters flew over head and raked marine positions with rocket fire and machine gun bursts. FOVs, heavier APCs converted to carrying a suite of electronic and optics senors instead of any weapons, picked up signatures of helicopters moving around the sides of friendly lines. It didn't take long for the forward observers to relay this information to Humvees and APCs nearer to the action, who in turn adjusted their sensors to achieve locks. APCs fired at the helicopters attempting to land troops out of the way of the frontal fighting with their radar directed 20mm auto cannon rounds. The crew inside could see the helicopters on their FLIR as bright as day, so to speak, as black outlines of heat and exhaust gave away the helo's as clearly as mud on a white suite. In addition, there were some Humvees outfitted with stinger missiles. Once they achieved their locks they fired. Of course a number of helicopters would get through, but they would in smaller numbers and their dismounted troops would face small, mobile units of several IFVs set with blood thirsty infantry just itching to dismount.

Still with the loss of heavy artillery as Colonel Alaev was just learning of, the Chechens were soon losing their hold on the coast with the Kregaians' heavier weapons coming on shore. Again, Alaev had anticipated he would need concentrated direct fire support at some time or another. He got hold of his radio man in his forward command post where he observed and directed the entire defense of the island and issued orders to his captains and majors.
"Red Wolf, come in this is Eagle One over." he called into the radio.
"This is Red Wolf standing by..." came back the extremely calm and apparently bored voice of Captain Tsankiev.
"Advance to top of summit X-thirty-one and begin providing fire support. Enemy armor is advancing up the beach, they are your primary targets."
"Yes sir, right away sir!" came back the reply of the young officer, eager to get into the fight and engage enemy tanks.
"Captain Tsankiev,"
"Yes sir?"
"Your orders are to find and kill enemy armor. Good luck."
"Understood sir."

Closing the link Cpt. Tsankiev gave his orders to his tanks.
"Alright fuckers the party's started and we're late. Advance to the southern face of the hill and fire at will. Priority targets: enemy tanks! Remember to stay mobile! No more than three shots stationary."
The inside of the tank rocked and rumbled as its powerful engine lifted its 69 ton mass up the hill, bulldozing trees, with ease. Coming over the summit in his lead tank, Cpt. Tsankiev was the first too witness the battle in progress several kilometers below him. One of his FOVs weren't to far from this position of high ground. Tsankiev put down his binoculars and closed the hatch. The world existed only inside the confines of steel and the hum of the engine now. The enemy tanks were clearly visible on the FLIR sights.
"Target acquired, sabot!"
The loader shouted back the confirmation and took the APFSDS round out of the ammo compartment and rammed it into the guns breech.
"UP!!!"
The gunner, with his target in his sights, a Kregaian MBT, pulled the dual triggers and the tank roared thunder. The breech shot back and the loader was already loading another sabot into it.
"UP!!!"
The tank cannon roared again and it was followed by that of its brothers, sending supersonic depleted uranium arrows down onto the enemy tanks below. It was like a shooting gallery although how well enemy armor stood up to their firepower was yet to be seen. Every three shots the tanks would shift their positions on the low mountain side. They were watchful of enemy air cover.

Meanwhile 120mm mortars continued to pound the beach and mobile howitzers sent barrages of 155mm HE fragmentary shells at the enemy, moving to a new position every few salvos to avoid detection. They would fire two salvos of four rounds each, angled and timed to impact at the exact same time on target, and then would move to another position and begin firing again. Their crews were determined not to suffer the same fate of their comrades at the artillery battery.

For now, the marine positions held and continued to fight to repulse the enemy. However with the decreased amount of artillery available, they would have to pull back gradually if the enemy amassed enough men and especially heavy armor on the shores. Still, casualties were thankfully not in proportion to those of the enemy storming the beach.

The pilots, unfortunately for them, had their orders. Which not only meant that they were diving into a hellstorm, they would not and could not move. As the enemy SAMs rocketed up at them, the Balefire pilots simply had no time to get out of the way, and paid dearly for it. The close range and the surprise of it ended up killing twenty pilots, taking out more than half the aircraft in the sky. The later volleys, of simple bullets, did nothing against the Balefires, who by then had rocketed out of range; however, they had not been the real targets.

The gunships, which had been attempting a flanking maneuver, were caught by the Chechen fire. The choppers were armored, true, but armor only went so far, and these were not small rounds. A total of five, almost half the gunships, sustained hits to the engine and were lost with all hands. Sixty Legionaries, killed in a whirl of rotors, flame, and twisted metal. Not pleasant.

However, the rest of the helicopters made it. Three gunships on the right, and two on the left, found clearings and disgorged their squads, who hurried off into the night, making full use of the available cover. And now, since they were no longer carrying squads, the gunships reverted to the role they had been made for: ass-kicking monstrosities. Rising to hover at three kilometers altitude, practically the whole battle was in view. The Chechen tanks, who even now were opening fire on the Kregaians and thus revealing themselves, were the first to be targeted. The five gunships each launched a quartet of Manticore anti-tank missiles: overkill, definitely, but the Kregaians rather needed to keep an advantage in heavy armor if this attack was to succeed, and the gunship pilots were taking no chances.

Not waiting to see what effect the missiles would have on the enemy armor, the choppers unleashed waves of 70mm rockets on the Humvees and APCs: these would be quite a threat to the helicopters if they were left alive, and so again, the Twilight gunships hit hard. Specifically, they hit with two dozen 70mm rockets each; ten dozen darts of death, spearing right towards the enemy. Hoping that this would silence at least some of the enemy, the Twilights then went into overdrive, beginning to swoop over the enemy lines so that they could open up with their remaining missiles and rockets, and perhaps most deadly of all, their 30mm cannons. But as a veteran pilot (which, coincidentally, not one of these men were) could have told them, swooping over a heavily-armed enemy when you're a helicopter pilot (HELOs being practically impossible to hide) is rather a dangerous tactic...

* * *

Matters on the beach were rather more up-close and personal. The tear gas had dispersed without effect, which simply meant that, in the moonlight, one could see the explosions and the bodies and the sprays of blood all the better. The Legionaries had managed to take cover behind the tanks, behind the corpses of their comrades, or behind rocks or trees: those who had not found cover were dead or dying while their own comrades in turn hid behind them. It was that simple.

The AT missiles, when they came, were (thank the gods) largely ineffective. The M146 Despoiler is one of the most brutally powerful, and expensive, main battle tanks on the modern battlefield, and has been likened to a bunker on treads. Man-portable missiles simply did not have the punch to get through its front armor, and that did not even take into account its interception systems. Only two of the tanks were destroyed by the AT missiles, and those were because the drivers had unwittingly offered their top as a target, one of the weakest parts of a tank.

The Chechen anti-armor kinetics, however, when they came, were far more dangerous. You can't intercept weapons like those, and only the very front of the tanks had armor thick enough to stop the penetrators from ripping them apart. Hence, the order was given for every tank to face the enemy, ignore their fire, and promptly return fire with their own anti-tank munitions, despite the five additional tanks that simply stood burning, their crew dead; empty, consumed shells. It was like something out of the Revolutionary War, tanks simply lining up to hurl depleted-uranium penetrators at each other.

The position, enraging as it was for the Kregaians to admit, was untenable. The Chechens had artillery, far better cover, and entrenched infantry, whereas the Kregaians had suffered casualties approaching 40%. There were only two things they had going for them. One, the boats had made a run back to the troop transport, and were returning with more tanks. And two, air cover. There was a single squadron of A-16 Overlord light bombers stationed on each carrier, as per Kregaian SOP, and now they were being called in. Twenty-four close-air-support aircraft moved in like veteran hunters stalking exceptionally dangerous quarry, loaded down with an arsenal's worth of ordnance.

As soon as they launched from the carriers, they hurled their four AGM-70 Manticores apiece at the Chechen Humvees and IFVs, those which posed the greatest threat to them; the things were designed for far longer ranges than this, and were designed for taking out tanks. Needless to say, they packed quite a punch. When they drew closer, flying at 5,600 feet, the Overlords dropped their bombs; 5 cluster bombs and 4 general-purpose bombs, all of them laser-guided, and all of them aimed straight at the Chechen infantry trenches. The Kregaians were throwing everything they had into this. This was the first contest on terra firma between Chechen and Kregaian, and it would be unacceptable on countless levels if the infidels triumphed.

OOC: Sorry, I need to get back into the habit of writing things on a more personal level, through the eyes of characters; I just was in kind of a hurry to write the last few posts. I want to keep up the pace, but then, not at the expense of quality. I'll try and balance them better.

[Jokhar Kala (Grozny), Presidential Palace war facility, conference room]

General Kidaev stood with his arms crossed, observing the ever changing data screen on the wall in front of him. He was flanked on either side by a Lt. General McGreen and Colonel Villichidze. Other members of top brass were in the room, including the President, Ramzan Urmev, himself. Radio transmissions between commanders were broadcast live as well as status updates on the unfolding battle.

One of the colonels spoke, assessing the situation. "Colonel Alaevs not going to be able to hold out. He may hold the beach now but enemy armor and air support will eventually drive him back. There aren't enough men on that island to defend it." This upset a few of the men in the room. The Colonel was an Army colonel, regular army that is, and there was a long standing animosity between Marine and Army commanders in the Ichkeriyan armed forces. Another Army commander was about to open his mouth to agree; that landing more troops onto the island or organizing a tactical retreat was the only possible decision when none other than Lt. General Chester McGreen, his body still brutally hammered from the lost battle of Yeltsmin over a month previous, spoke.
"You're forgetting that those are Marines guarding that island. My Marines were able to kill a force the size of an army and save half the city with only a division worth of men back in Yeltsmin. I agree with you that they will need reinforcements eventually, but Alaev is a perfectly competent colonel. He knows what he's doing."

As McGreen finished speaking he adjusted his stance and gripped his cane harder, making every subtle attempt to make his pain invisible to everyone else in the room. More than a month had passed and his body belonged in an ICU. His doctors had said after performing multiple surgeries that if he was any normal man he would have been dead before he reached the operating table. One look at his face told a story of what he had been through. Scars ran down the back of his neck and the sides almost like tiger strikes. Some were from his war wounds and others from surgical incisions made. Across his face he had a single large scar which reached from his upper right forehead across his right eye to half way down his right cheek. The eye was replaced by a glass eye but the general wore a black eye patch over it. His left arm was still in a sling and he used a walking cane which he would probably need for the rest of his life. The pain he felt in his legs, especially the hips and knees, as he walked and fought against limping was excruciating. The once permanent smile which always made him such a likable fellow was gone forever, replaced by a permanent grimace as if he was constantly in deep serious thought.

He finally found a position of relative comfort where his body wasn't feeling as though it was being stabbed by fifteen knives and straightened his back. If any Army commander wished to argue with him before that they were silent now. Marines had every ounce of confidence in their field commanders and expected them never to crack in tough situations.

"Hmmph" said one commander, in full defiance of the air of Marine pride filling the room. He pointed to several points on the map, "Look at this, he's placed his main artillery battery behind a ridge in the middle of the plains. Kibris isn't exactly a flat island either, he should have placed them in the mountains." He stated matter-of-factly.

All eyes turned hovered over the areas Major Hamud Obekev had pointed out. The Ranger officer had a point and he didn't care who was in the room. The man was only 26, very young even for a major in the Rangers, however despite rumors of his having strings pulled for him to facilitate his rapid rise through the ranks, he was a genuinely adept soldier and commander, something which was quickly noticed by the unconventional Generals in the Ranger Corps. The Rangers considered themselves above the petty bickering between the Marines and Army. They didn't have to destroy and recreate their recruits or brain wash them into almost blind loyalty to their service in the armed forces. By simple virtue of the reality that was the day to day life of a Ranger, his training, the very organization of the Corps itself, and the missions they undertook, they were the most dedicated and motivated troops under the Ichkeriyan banner. Often Ranger recruits of the lowest ranks would work with or in special forces teams, coordinating with other services...they were that good. And they knew it. Every Ranger knew that any Ranger could easily demolish any Marine or Army soldier any day of the week and in style. They knew this but they never flaunted it. They were the least publicized of the Corps and were very modest. They didn't care for renown or fame within the ranks of the military because they dominated at every major competition. An Ichkeriyan Ranger may not talk much about his greatness or about the softness of other services or other countries' militaries, but he was never fucked with and for good reason.

Ignoring the subtle jab in the ribs by the far lower ranking Ranger officer, General Ridayev of the Marine Corps spoke again about the overall situation. "Still the enemy's main target is not Kibris. They will strike at Karaman so they can land their entire army and have a place to dock their ships for repairs. This battle is only a foreshadowing of what is to come. True they will be able to launch missiles into Anatoly but their navy already has that capability. They want to make sure we don't launch wave after wave of harpoons at their rear while they're landing. Mr. President we've succeeded in delaying the enemy landing for a few days by turning Kibris into a threat. It is unlikely the Kregaians will make a landing attempt with a battle already underway. They know they have to take the city soon."

Urmev said nothing and only nodded his head. He stroked his mustache with his thumb and index finger, deep in thought. Without looking up he asked the general, "How long can Colonel Alaev hold out without support general?"

"The worst case scenario is that he's unable to stem the tide and we lose Kibris anywhere between a few days to a week. The best case scenario is that it takes closer to a month and he forces the enemy to divert their troops to deal with him."
"Then we must land reinforcements" replied the president.
"Mr. President, my unit is ready and more than willing to assist Colonel Alaevs men." said the young major barely after Urmev had finished speaking. Several pairs of eyes turned on the youngest man in the room and before any of them could utter a word General Ridayev continued speaking, half to the president and half to the major. "An air drop is out of the question until the Air Force can control the skies or at least guarantee safe passage." The cue for his entrance in this conversation, Air Force General Tanju piped in.
"The Air Force is redeploying its forces in the area sir, they'll be ready to mount operations in the theatre within seventy-two hours. Additionally if I may Mr. President, although we do still have fighter aircraft in the area, I would advise against using them now. The enemy has to this point deployed vast numbers of aircraft on all its missions and what planes we have on standby would be overwhelmed."

Urmev took this all into consideration. He knew the best chance his country stood at repulsing the enemy landing was to postpone it as long as possible so that Karaman could be reinforced. He also realized that the enemy seemed to favor using overwhelming force in order to eliminate its targets as quickly as possible, while simultaneously callous to their heavy losses. From years of fighting the Russians it was clear to him that his enemy once again underestimated them. Ichkeriya had not the respect of Kregaia and this would work to her advantage.

"General Kadiev, the colonel will need elite forces to reinforce his situation and hold him over in the time being. I want a mobile force ready within twenty four hours." He turned to the Air Force general, "General Tanju, will the Air Force be able to fly an escort mission in that time frame?"

"Of course sir."
"Good." he turned to the Marine general. "General Ridayev, you know what I want. Have a force ready to reinforce Colonel Alaev and operate under his command. Use whatever means you find suits you best to get their safely."

Once the three top brass affirmed his orders Urmev spoke again, "Men, the enemy wants this to be a quick war. They expect us to simply surrender to them and allow them to rape our land and enslave our people. They do not know who we are and what happens to those that try to invade Ichkeriya. I want you to keep in mind that we can wear down the enemy quickly if he continues to take losses such as he has."

The commanders in the room nodded in agreement with the president. He himself was a former general and had either commanded or fought alongside most of the other men standing in this room. Their respect and loyalty to his word was absolute. Ichkeriya would be fortunate it had a commander in chief who knew firstly how to command.

"Allah Akhbar" he said.
"Allah Akhbar" they replied. All except for Lt. Gen McGreen, who in fact was Greek Orthodox.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the isle of Kibris...

"Radar spike!"
"Ibrahim! Get us into some fucking tree cover! Deploy smoke! All units head for cover and deploy smoke!"

The two tank platoons scattered as best they could into the woodland around them. They deployed first a type of smoke, meant to hide the massive IR signatures of the turbine engines of their M1 tanks. Their heavy 65 ton frames moved with surprising agility into cover, breaking down and crushing trees underneath them like twigs. A massive cloud of smoke stretched in a zigzag along the face of the hill and the tanks retreated in its cover. The anti tank missiles came and by their sheer numbers managed to score multiple hits on the small number of tanks. When it was all over 3 tanks had been destroyed completely and fourth had been completely disabled, forcing its crew to abandon it. Two further tanks were slightly crippled, having taken missile hits but surviving them thanks to their heavy armor. The last two tanks were completely unscathed.

Captain Tsankiev was killed in the attack and succeeded by Master Sergeant Sinan Ozbek. Assuming command over the armored company, Sinan ordered his two Stinger Humvees to protect his tanks from further air attacks. They continued their attacks again afterward, this time after moving to a different location a kilometer from where they had been attacked.

Meanwhile the over situation was beginning to change. Colonel Alaev's men were able to hold the enemy at the beach and force the surviving hostile infantry to take cover behind their heavy armor. Right now the only thing standing between Ichkeriyan victory were the enemy's tanks. If the enemy could hold out until their reinforcements arrived, as was no doubt they were on their way, the Ichkeriyans would in all probability be driven off the beach. In fact they were being driven off of their defenses already. Enemy air attacks had inflicted heavy casualties leaving a couple hundred dead. The helicopters could be dealt with when they were dumb enough to come in close but like any land army, the Ichkeriyans were very vulnerable to enemy air power.

However, retreat was totally unacceptable unless they were driven back by the enemy on the ground. Colonel Alaev instructed his commanders to hold their positions and attempt to destroy the enemy beach head. Meanwhile he ordered his forces in the rear to redeploy into the mountain overlooking the current battlefield. From there they could easily defend themselves and cover a tactical retreat.

At this point Alaev decided to play his trump card. He had, among regular Black Hawk transport helicopters, 22 Apache AT helicopters and a few lightly armed scout helicopters. What Alaev knew was that soon the enemy would probably overwhelm his defenses and push him back forcing him to make a tactical retreat for the morning. What he also knew was that the enemy position at the beach was precarious as was his own. They were stranded until reinforcements arrived. Until then he could hope enemy air support would either be somewhere else or not in the area.

He gave the order authorizing a brief deployment of the attack helicopters. The enemy was open on the beach and their tanks with their considerable armor were the only things keeping them their.

The helicopter pilots got their orders and immediately sprang up from makeshift landing sites twelve miles behind the battlefield. With a cruise speed of 171 mph they had an eta of four minutes. Alaev was counting that this would be within the envelope and enemy air power would not be able to react before his helicopters concealed themselves back into the rugged and beautiful landscape.

The skilled Marine pilots flew their attack helicopters just over the tops of trees, followed river beds, and hugged the contours of the rugged terrain as best as they could. The feats these men achieved in just getting to the battlefield trumped anything ever made in an action movie. They did not have to get close to the enemy at all. In fact they could be miles away and fire their weapons. The advantage they had was the low mountain/hill which also hosted the tanks. The helicopters slowed down and reached the crest of the hill at 921ft over sea level. They could easily engage the enemy tanks miles away with the added help of their altitude. The missiles would follow an attack pattern which would cause them to directly hit the top of the tanks, their most weakest part. Any helicopters which had been intercepted by enemy gunships (highly unlikely given the nature of helicopter warfare and how they hugged the terrain/how the enemy gunships were preoccupied) had broken off to engage them. The rest now over the hill locked onto their targets dead ahead and fired. Their were twice as many tanks as the choppers so they fired two salvos with some helicopters firing off a third.

There anti tank hellfire missiles may have been overkill, they may not have been. They were overkill for most armor but this was a new threat. In any case the helicopters weren't going to stick around for long. After each helicopter fired off its rounds at its targets it retreated back behind the mountain and into cover. Each pair of helicopters did this as they arrived. There was no single formation of helicopters rather, they were all within sight of each other once they reached the hill. After that they broke off into pairs and went their own ways, dispersing back over the forests of the island.

Colonel Rustam Alaev looked over the events unfolding in the battle. From what he was hearing and seeing, the enemy was pinned down. If he were the commanding Kregaian officer on the beach right now he would gets his tanks to make an armored rush at the defenses. In his eyes it was the only way out. However Kregaian and Ichkeriyan forces in all probability had different views of how to fight war. For Alaev, mobility was crucial and having to retreat wasn't that important as long as the loss could be made up by counter attacking the enemy. He could barely imagine what it must have been like for the Kregaian commander on the ground at that moment, probably thrust into command after his CO had been killed. Then again he didn't care and didn't have time. He and his men had a job to do. In all likely hood the battle for the island wouldn't end here. There were a good number of cities on the island and geography favored guerrilla tactics. Time would tell if things would have to come to that.

Distant explosions glowed briefly in the distance as several of the enemy tanks exploded, destroyed by the gunships' missile attack. The embattled Legionaries, those that saw it, raised a cry of "Blood and Honor!", the ancient war-cry of Kregaians. At least temporarily, the surviving Kregaian tanks were free from the threat of the Chechen kinetic penetrators as the infidels redeployed their armor. This freed up the Despoilers to continue hammering away at the entrenched Chechens, hurling shell after shell into their midst and still pumping bursts of 20mm and 25mm fire into them, punctuated by the occasional 81mm frag grenade.

Lieutenant Kesh, completely unfazed by the bullet wound in his side, roared obscenities as he directed his men. Crouched behind a rock outcropping on the beach, he had killed three Chechens that had been foolish enough to poke their heads out, but this had merely whetted his bloodlust. The tattoo of the Quinquales, the five-armed cross of the Imperium that was inked on every Legionary's body as well as his campaign tattoos, seemed to burn as he surveyed the situation. The beach was a mass of craters and bodies, and Kregaian casualties were rapidly approaching fifty percent; however, since the tanks had arrived and his men had found cover, the rate of deaths had decreased. Even now, the armor transports were unloading another twenty tanks, the armor attached to the Cohort's 2nd Battalion. Things were starting to look up.

It was just as this thought occurred to him that a voice crackled over the command frequency. "Be advised, radar suggests that roughly two dozen enemy gunships have taken off and are moving to the coast." The lieutenant then heard the officer in charge of the sixteen remaining Balefires, having taken command after his superior was killed, reply, "Copy. Engaging now."

* * *

The officer in question, Lieutenant Quintus Cato, smiled grimly as the enemy gunships showed up on his radar. He had not been happy at being assigned to ground support. Not one little bit. Technically, yes, Balefires can function in that regard, hence the "A" designation in "F/A-104 Balefire". But they are not very good at it. He'd voiced his concern to his immediate superior, who had yelled at him for questioning his orders. But it was little comfort that his superior had been vaporized when his plane was destroyed, because nineteen of Cato's comrades had died with him. Now, however, it was gunships against air superiority fighters...which was far more his style. Not to mention what the aircraft was designed to do.

Cato ordered his men to highlight the gunships, get a lock, and then arm their Methuselah AAMs, all while wheeling around to face the enemy at just below Mach 1. It was not difficult to do so: gunships were deadly opponents, but the problem was that they were well-nigh impossible to hide. Kregaians often suffered heavy casualties among helicopter pilots, because they are so exposed to enemy fire. And so, on Cato's mark, a good sixty-four Methuselahs launched, hurtling towards the sizable group of Chechen gunships.

However, regardless of what effect the Kregaian missiles had, it was too late to stop the Chechens from launching their own. If Cato had been able to see an advanced tactical display, rather than the much smaller version in his own cockpit, he would have noticed that the tanks had suddenly been lit up, but he certainly could see the AGMs that streaked away from the enemy choppers and rocketed towards the coast.

* * *

The tanks still had their interception systems: the commanders' 20mm heavy machine-guns automatically fired a burst in the direction of the incoming missiles, and the anti-missile penetrators were launched to intercept and detonate them. This was very effective at dispatching the missiles, but it left fourteen, one more than the number of tanks left, and these missiles were stronger than the Chechen man-portable AT missiles. In a flurry of explosions, the tanks exploded, gutted by the enemy attack. Only two survived, out of sheer luck.

Lieutenant Kesh, striving desperately to separate his rage from his reason, now weighed his options. He now had twenty-two tanks: the pitiful remnant of the original force, and the fresh reinforcements that were rolling up the beach, avenging their brethren with punishing shells. He had half his original infantry, a force of light bombers that continued to rain 30mm fire on the enemy, and above all, he had the gods on his side. These options might very well disappear if the Chechens continued their spirited defense, and so he had one option left. The last thing the Chechens would expect a pinned-down, thoroughly weakened force to do.

He opened a channel to all forces and gave the order to charge.

Immediately the Kregaians rallied behind their tanks, which, despite being unable to drive at full speed due to the terrain, still easily outstripped them: the Legionaries were in shape, but it would have taken an Olympic sprinter to keep up. The tanks fired volley after volley of shrapnel shells into the Chechen positions, each capable of shredding a squad of infantry, backed up by their multiple secondary weapons, from chainguns to the grenade launcher, and the assault-rifles and rifle grenade launchers of the infantry. They drove steadily up the beach, ignoring their losses from enemy counterfire, as overhead the Overlords continued to fire at the ground forces as well. If the ferocity and firepower of this renewed assault did not break the Chechen line, nothing would.

* * *

Meanwhile, as Lord Ishamael and High Admiral Anor listened to the reports of the Kregaian landing on Cyprus, the fleet was drawing ever closer to its target: the coastal city of Karaman, gateway to the Chechen mainland. The final preparations were being put into effect: thousands upon thousands of Balefires crowded the night sky, and simulations were being run to predict what would happen in the initial bombardment. It would be another two hours before the entire fleet was in range, from the guns of the battleships to the ICBMs of the submarines...an irritatingly long time after the Kregaians had waited so long already, but then, after this next two hours, the action was likely to continue for some time. In the depths of space, satellites moved, their thrusters moving them to their pre-designated bombardment stations. In two hours' time, Karaman would feel the thunder of the gods.

Isle of Kibris, Republic of Ichkeriya

The engagement window of the helicopters was less than forty seconds. That's all the time they spent hovering above the rise before firing and running away. A lack of air coverage and luck led to there being enemy aircraft in the immediate vicinity. A few of the attack helicopters managed to get away, to slip silently into the cover of the terrain and get their tales the hell out of there. But the majority were SOL. Despite deploying flares and taking evasive maneuvers - there really is little a helicopter can do against its scourge: the jet fighter - twenty of the twenty two helicopters were shot down. The Kregaian's tactics of overwhelming first-shot force simply totally overwhelmed them. The surviving two attack helicopters survived because they had turned around to leave just in time.

Dawn of a new era. View of Lance Corporal Said Aduyev. Time: 6:34, May 28th
http://fc08.deviantart.com/fs23/f/2008/017/0/3/Aperture_to_hell_by_EdenEye8.jpg

"Alright men pull back!" shouted a Company Commander to his men. The Marines nearest the beach abandoned their positions and began running towards the rear, covered by their comrades behind them. APCs and make shift AT nests maintained a withering barrage of fire more intense than before in order to cover the retreat of the front line. As the Marines mounted they turned around to provide covering fire for those that had been covering them. In this way the forward battalions guarding the coast retreated from the sea and into the mainland.

There was plenty of cover and they were on home soil. The cities of Kibris were prepared to mount a defense and so wouldn't fall without a fight. Cluster munitions from the mobile howitzers continued to rain on the beach as per usual and the volume of mortar fire increased. Alaev's overall plan was to envelope the enemy and hopefully isolate individual units from the main body of advance and crush them. His commanders had reported that the flanking attempt by Kregaian airborne infantry had been repulsed. Ichkeriyan Marines and their armor had responded to attempts to attack them on their sides but had come out victorious. At some points hand to hand fighting had occurred. This was a first in this war. Marines had finally met their foe Mano-a-Mano.

For the time being Colonel Alaev was in good spirits. He had several reserve elements who had not entered combat yet and supply units had not reported any trouble. He had lost about a battalion worth of men during the worst of the fighting and that was mostly thanks to the enemy bombing his men in the open. It was something he couldn't allow to happen again. Also his main artillery battery had been silenced. Men were on the scene seeing if there were any light guns they could salvage; the heavy pieces were all mangled pieces of scrap now. Additionally he got word that a commando force, a battalion of airborne Rangers would arrive within the day to reinforce him. This was good news although what he wanted was air support and heavy armor.

Still, things could be worse and the enemy had taken horrendous losses at the first landing attempt. Their reinforcements would land only to find the corpses of hundreds upon hundreds of their fallen comrades and would advance noticing the lack of many dead Marines. In fact a number of Marines were whooping with joy despite the lead flying in the air and had genuine smiles on their faces. Their sadistic pleasure was encouraged by their commanders. Morale was high. Perhaps... some commanders dared to imagine behind the front lines or in Command HQ, perhaps this war wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps they had a strong shot at winning this war without having their homeland reduced to ashes... only time would tell how wrong they'd have been to think this..

At last, they were gone.

Lieutenant Kesh, sitting on a rock as a medic cleaned and bandaged his bullet wound, surveyed the scene. The beach was being cleared of the dead, and it was a slow task: a mass grave had been dug, and one by one the bodies were being blessed and dumped inside. The foxholes and trenches the Chechens had dug were being occupied by the Legionaries, who simply faced inland rather than seaward. They had taken yet more casualties as the Chechens retreated: the infidels had put up quite the fighting retreat.

It had been a little over an hour since the battle began, and for quite some time things had been looking bad. The Chechens had fallen back, true, and the Kregaians now controlled the beach; the rest of III Cohort's equipment had been transported ashore, and if it hadn't been set up yet the process was nearing completion. A makeshift command center had been set up, all the remaining tanks were ashore, Baal anti-air platforms commanded the skies, and artillery batteries were being prepared for transport, for whenever the Kregaians continued the offensive. However, infantry was needed to control the island, and it was simply stupid to believe that half a Cohort, 500 Legionaries or so, could possibly occupy Cyprus. The enemy had a significant advantage in numbers still, and after the battle had ended Lieutenant Kesh had had a long discussion with the general in charge of his Legion, and had secured backup: two more Cohorts were en route, which meant another 120 MBTs, three times as much artillery, and most importantly, 2,232 Legionaries, fresh and armed to the teeth. Until then he would just have to sit tight: he did not have the manpower for an offensive, but if the Chechens decided to counterattack, they would get more than they bargained for.

Kibris

It was 9:58 in the morning now and the Ichkeriyan force had regrouped and reorganized further inland. The morning's battle went well considering the amount of enemy armor that was at hand. By the standards of most modern nations of the day, Colonel Alaev's choice to abdicate the beach would be considered a colossal blunder. However he had been taught differently and he hated staying in a single fixed position for prolonged periods of time even if he was on the defensive. The enemy had air superiority for the time being at least and could call for air support whenever they wanted it. Enemy air had inflicted the majority of Ichkeriyan casualties during the landing too. No, Alaev had the whole island to his own and could draw on support from every populated settlement. Additionally he had a hunch that the Kregaians wouldn't land their whole army just to capture the island and its six cities. Central Command issued him a report which supported his belief. Furthermore detailed satellite photos of the enemy landing craft and the beach head were available to him. His forces were under orders to stay concealed while the enemy had just landed and were visible plain as day on the photographs.

There was no doubt the enemy would soon advance further into the island, either to capture cities or to seek out the Ichkeriyan regiments in the area. The order was sent to the concealed mobile howitzers. Using coordinates given by satellite intelligence and Marine Force Recon SOF units, the howitzers began firing cluster munitions at enemy heavy weapons. The main priority was the enemy artillery pieces being fielded ashore and after that any enemy tanks in close vicinity to one another. The mobile guns fired a single salvo, four rounds each angled to impact simultaneously, and then immediately went on the move, changing their position to ensure enemy counter battery fire would hit nothing but dirt.

Meanwhile back at the dozens of camps, Marines finished their meals, stuffing final bits of chow into their mouths while grabbing ammunition, and hurried off into their units, having cleaned their weapons before. Several battalions broke off from the main Ichkeriyan position and further split up into companies, each keeping in close contact with the others. They got into position waiting to engage the enemy, using intel from forward observers to predict where the enemy was most likely to advance. Support units waited just behind, ready to give their comrades a hand if things got too dicey.

The game was on. The Kregaians in this operation had an island to capture and an enemy force to defeat. What Col. Alaev wanted more than any thing right now was to be able to call in an air raid on the enemy beach head. The Air Force, however, had problems of its own.

1000 hours.

The vast fleet throbbed with activity. Karaman was far, too far for the human eye to see, but that did not at all inhibit the sense of purpose that filled every man in the fleet. The anticipation was palpable: after days of sailing, days of waiting, the appointed time was finally here. Every gun, every missile in the fleet was aimed at a single target, and the attack on the infidels' mainland had finally begun.

Lord Ishamael, from the bridge of Betrayer of Hope, had the honor of giving the order, despite it technically being High Admiral Anor's prerogative: the latter had deferred as politely as he knew how to Ishamael, a sign of respect. And so, Ishamael listened on the command channel to the lengthy sermon being given by a priest attached to Legio CXXI in preparation for the actual attack. Phrases like "purgation of the vile heathen" and "go forth, to secure the Emperor's victory" drifted to him, intruding in his reverie: this was the true beginning of his moment of glory. Karaman would be pounded to dust, and then he and his Legions could go ashore to bring glory to his name. His. Ishamael's. All the whisperings in the Inner Court that he would never equal Rahvin would be silenced when he brought Chechnya to its knees...

He shook the dreams from his head as the priest's sermon ended. Reaching for the microphone, he simply proclaimed, "Blood and Honor." And with that signal, the storm on the horizon suddenly broke.

The missile submarines, from just beneath the surface, began with a blistering barrage of Pandemonium II's, perhaps the world's most deadly conventional missile. Rocketing up into space, the flock of just over 5,500 missiles turned, like angels of death, ever so slowly, until they pointed down towards the city of Karaman. And then they hurtled down like spears of divine wrath, slamming down at Mach 24. They were designed to disperse incendiary bomblets instants before the missile itself struck its target and (since these had not been programmed to penetrate, Karaman being a soft target, not a hard one) detonated on impact. No other weapon followed such a flight path, although the barrage that followed was quite varied.

The supercapitals fired their colossal 32" guns, sending 96 massive shells in a single volley towards the distant city. The noise was deafening, dwarfing even the sound of the dreadnoughts and battleships following suit. In seconds, hundreds of 18" shells filled the air, each packed with high explosive. Finally, the missiles were launched, from dozens of advanced, fast, and devastating Lepanto cruise missiles, each capable of sinking a battleship, to several thousand Vanquisher anti-shipping missiles, designed for destroying warships but easily adaptable to blowing up buildings. This vast armament was all turned on anything that looked like a runway, even a makeshift one, a radar station, or an air-defense installation. But the worst was yet to come.

Although they could not be aimed well enough to take out specific targets, even such weapons as these could not miss an entire city of sixteen million. A good thirty weapons satellites now occupied the space over western Chechnya...all of them aimed squarely at Karaman. One by one, they were launched: the mighty godrods, the most powerful kinetic weapons ever devised. One after another they tore, glowing, through the night, moving faster than most eyes could follow, down onto Karaman. It seemed to go on forever, the thunder of their incredibly fast fall through the atmosphere more deafening than any noise that the Kregaian guns could hope to make; the awful roar seemed to drill inside one's head, to shake it from the inside out, rattling windows and even causing solid buildings to shake slightly. And after an eternity of such a bombardment, sixty godrods had been fired.

Phase One had been completed.

Back at the carriers, the aircraft, already scrambled and ready to go, moved east towards the city.

OOC: Edit coming soon to add in bits about Cyprus theater.

Karaman. (http://img135.imageshack.us/img135/4082/mapkaramanxm5.png) Population: 16,345,234. The city serves as the largest western port in all of Ichkeriya and is the central hub for all major sea trade in the region. Everything from raw materials to crude oil to spices and imported goods makes its way through those massive dockyards. Giant cargo ships the size of major skyscrapers are regularly seen by the hundreds daily. The city itself is situated around a large partially enclosed bay which is formed by the inlets of two major rivers which flow from the nearby Sinan mountains, whose foothills begin only 10 kilometers from the outskirts of the densely developed urban areas. Even though it is one of the more grimy cities in Ichkeriya, Karaman is known for its beauty. The downtown financial district located around the Barqal River is home to many fancy sky scrapers and high rises. Around the portion of the river which opens up to meet the Bay of Karaman, three massive skyscrapers exist, two on the north and one on the southern banks. Vynazz Tower (http://www.essential-architecture.com/LO/001-gherkin3.jpg) on the south and the Kershun and Jalal (http://roadsofstone.files.wordpress.com/2007/03/30-st-mary-axe-gherkin-london.jpg) in the north. At a height of 321 meters each, these towers dwarf the other office buildings in the financial district and are surrounded by plazas and neatly groomed green space. A view of the setting sun reflected on the widening river Barqal between these three mammoths and all the sceneray and city around them, the ships in the harbor and out at sea included, makes for a truly epic tourist attraction.

Karaman...

The calm before the attack was almost hypnotizing. A few hundred thousand people had fled the city before, taking heed of the impending danger, but the vast majority remained in their homes. After all this was there home and most had never even heard of a Kregaian or whether or not it was any different from an aboriginal cuisine they may have seen in a tabloid. Amazingly life seemed to continue as normal despite the fact that just over the horizon was a giant armada preparing to pounce. Police and the military enforced a strict curfew at night but during the day the people found themselves too restless and bored to simply stay couped up in bomb cellars and basements all day long. They went out and shopped and worked like any normal day. The only difference was that there were no tourists and the docks were eerily empty of traffic. Executives complained in vain to city officials about the millions they were losing every hour the docks were empty like this but in vain. And tourism agency complaints fell on the deaf ears of the military who allowed no one without proper cause to enter the city. The citizens themselves behaved as if there was no war.

Then the Kregaian missiles came. Military radar sites had picked up the inbound waves of enemy projectiles and began scrambling their forces into position and alerting civilian authorities who operated under the control of the military. The alert sirens blared and people on the street began to make their way back home and into their cellars as fast as they could.

It was a day just like any other. Supposedly we were at war but you wouldn’t notice it by the looks of the city. It was as if nothing was wrong; life just went on like normal although you had this feeling in the air that something just wasn’t right. The city was quieter. There weren’t as many cars honking or animals barking on the street. People seemed a little tense and nervous. You may not have noticed as an outsider but there was a collective feeling in the air that something was up. As for myself I was out buying groceries at a local store when the sirens went on. Everyone in the store just stopped talking when the alarms went off outdoors. It was like something from a movie but real. The cashier and I looked at each other in the face and said nothing. There was a sick expression of fear on the young woman’s face. An instant later people began hurrying out the store to see what was going on. People began running on the street and a bunch of cars tried to swerve between the people crossing. The manager came running from upstairs and offered at the top of his voice his cellar for all of us to use. I got out onto the street before he was done talking; I had to get home. Out on the street everyone was in a rush to get to safety. There were no taxis or busses stopping so I had to go on foot. My apartment building was only a few blocks away so I figured I could get there before the bombs fell. I started walking fast down the street as it wound its way up hill and took a left at the corner where the perfume shop was. I noticed that they were closing up the shop as we shuffled past. At first we walked fast but the crowd started to get more and more nervous and I soon found myself running with and past other people on the sidewalk. An army truck full of soldiers drove down the street past us, in the opposite direction of where we were all heading. I finally found my apartment and got inside the building. There were too many people in there and I knew I’d never get to my apartment on time so I turned around and headed toward the cellar. I got inside and there were dozens of other people in there too. At first the lights were still on. I saw a police officer trying to keep some order in the place as people from our building kept pouring in. I found a few of my friends from work sitting boy the wall and I joined them. I could tell they were scared and I was too but they were happy and relieved to finally see me. ‘Where were you? We were worried for you!’ they told me. Not long after I heard a great rumble in the Earth. The ground shook again and again and at first people screamed but after that they fell silent. I was so scared. Dust fell from the ceiling and we all looked up praying to God the concrete ceiling wouldn’t cave in. Then the lights went out. How long exactly they kept bombing us I can’t remember, but we were in there for a very long time. Fortunately for me and my girlfriends, I still had my bag of groceries with me.
-- Zara Baraev, Karaman resident

The naval bombard had what effect any such bombardment has on a civilian city. The Kregaian missiles fell from the air onto the city below, plowing through buildings at insane speeds. Apartment buildings were totally smashed through by the kinetic force of the missiles and the explosive charges made many highrises explode out from the inside, spraying concrete, glass, and bits of unlucky bodies out in all directions and falling to the ground below in a heep. The fire was indiscriminate and merciless. It did not matter whether it was a bank or a school, it was leveled and pounded into dust by what hit it. People cringed in fear and held onto loved ones or in some cases complete strangers as the ground was pounded meters above them and they said prayers, sometimes out loud and in groups for their safety. Still there were many people who never made to safety in time. On Menutka Memorial Highway, which runs through the city, falling shells and rockets blew apart entire rows of cars and drove the other drivers into a frenzied panic. Traffic ground to a halt as cars crashed into one another as frantic drivers tried desperately but in vain to get out quicker. Smart drivers and passengers ditched their vehicles and tried to find some cover during the bombardment. Their vehicles were metal coffins and scores of people were cremated within their own cars.

Amazingly a number of news choppers hovered in the air, providing a first hand video account, uninterrupted of the entire bombardment. Nothing like it had ever been seen before and it was broadcast on the news. The scene was like hell incarnate. Heavy missiles fell from the clouds above like meteors in a hail. Thousands of them could be seen and cameras zoomed into the sky to track individual missiles as they fell, ultimately into some crowded apartment building or road full of vehicles and most likely, people. The explosions from the enemy canon fire were everywhere. They hit with earth pounding roars and sent 70 meter tall cargo cranes toppling into the bay like they were a bunch of legos. The supports bent and snapped like dry twigs, hurling the cranes at high speed directly into the water with a thundering crash and groan of steel yielding to the compelling force of gravity. Ships caught underneath were in some cases punctured by the heavy cranes and shoved down into the water. Containers full of expensive imported Van Luxemburg luxury and sports cars were hurled like toys and crushed underneath cranes and observation towers. The sound of metal snapping and crushing was sickening. The bay itself moaned in pain as it was torn asunder by the merciless bombardment.

The rounds of shells impacted against the sides of buildings and towers skyscrapers, sending debris falling towards the ground hundreds of feet below and crushing anything in its way; people, cars, other buildings. Several of the tall skycrapers in the north east part of the bay were felled like mammoth pieces of timber by the cannonade and missile swarm. One building, measuring 1,123 ft, the Networth Tower, rippled all along its western face as naval artillery shells of all sizes ripped into her and exploded, sending house sized chunks of debris out into the air from spectacular balls of flame. The massive tower groaned as its supports and inner columns struggled with the strain of bearing its load. Finally a number of 32 in. shells bored straight through her spine, exploding within the central column of the building and on the far end, sending debris and chunks of concrete and steel flying out the other side. The building cracked and broke in half. By now a gaping hole the size of a 20 story apartment building had been gouged into the side of the tower and dozens of massive holes shone clear through, shining eerie rays of light through its shadow onto the buildings and people behind. With a gut-wrenching moan, the steel beams finally yielded to the pressure and bent over or snapped outright. The entire top 500ft of the building fell over counter clockwise like a hand on a clock and dove straight into the ground below like an enormous spear. The building pierced straight through the top of another office building, slicing through its roof like bread through butter and sending a massive blast of glass and concrete out from all sides of the building, literally exploding it. A massive dust cloud emanated from the scene and the standing portion of the tower collapsed in on itself spewing concrete and dust in all directions, very much like the 9/11 collapses.

Every where shells rained like hellfire, destroying what or whoever was caught beneath them once they landed. Schools, orphanages, hospitals, none were spared and the death toll mounted. It wasn't safe on the streets. If a person wasn't killed by a falling building or the blast of impact, they faced shrapnel sometimes the size of cars and suffocating clouds of pulverized concrete. As gas mains ruptured parts of the city began to burn. There was little that could be done. Entire neighborhoods were turned reduced to gray rubble by the Pandemonium II rockets and the larger and more dense the group of buildings, the worse the destruction was. Gigantic blasts were common place and filled the landscape of the once iconic city. While the ports, the financial sectors, and the residential zones of the city were being ground into the ground by the devastating fire, a further threat awaited the city.

From high above the Earth's atmosphere Kregaian orbital weapons platforms released their projectiles targeted onto the city itself. The scene of hell manifesting itself was completed. Yeltsmin's Bane had arrived on the homeland.

This is Peter Uzbek of ITV News, chopper five. The scene before me is just...I can’t explain it. Buildings are falling everywhere before me and there are missiles and shells falling like rain from the sky above us. I can’t believe we haven’t been hit yet- Oh God! Shit look over there! [the reporter sounds a lot more frantic now and his voice breaks] Our rival agency NNN chopper has been hit by a cannon shell. Oh God, are you getting this?! It just exploded in the air, the rotors flew out every where. Just a moment ago I was looking at the reporter of that chopper. [The camera pans to Peter] Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re watching this remember at any moment this could our last. I just want to say from all of us on chopper five, to our families, we love you. [Light shines on Peter’s face and he looks up. The camera follows revealing the godrods] Good Lord! Oh my God, Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you getting this?! It’s, there are what appears to be meteors raining down on Karaman. Holy shit! Look at that! I can’t believe my eyes! No, no, Noo! Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God! One of those meteors …. SHIT! Joey are you getting this?! [The camera is knocked out of the cameraman’s hand and dangles below the chopper on a line, looking straight up. The chopper banks but is caught by an orbital projectile. The last thing the camera transmits is a ball of flame…]

An orbital projectile, traveling at dozens of times the speed of sound, hypersonic, and encased in jets of plasma hotter than the surface of sun, will destroy anything it hits with the surgically concentrated power of a small nuclear bomb. They are awesome weapons of terror and pinpoint strikes reserved only for the most required of high value targets. When the roaring ball of flame came thundering down from the heavens to the top of Vynazz tower on the south side of the the River Balqar, hearts skipped a beat and for a moment time stood still. The three identical sister towers were known as the royal eggs of Karaman and were the central piece of every post card and tourist promotion of the city. They had become icons of the city and each had cost billions. The glass domed roof of the tower shattered in the breif microseconds before impact; the millions of shards of glass melted and vaporized and became one with the superheated plasma approaching them. The innards of the observation deck at the top of the building instantly burst into flame or melted. There was a couple who had hid here, finding some perverse romantic pleasure in being in the thick of the action and in such a risky, yet technically safe position. Well they paid for their mistake and were atomized where they stood in millionths of a second if that. The orbital round dove itself perfectly into the center of the tower's top. It buried itself within the structure and bore straight through its supportive core. The top dome of the tower caved in as if sucked into a black hole and collapsed into the hole created by the meteoric round. From the outside there was nothing happening in the fraction of a second the meteor took to reach ground zero. Then it hit and punctured through the basement levels and slammed into the earth with force of the hammer of Thor himself. The shock wave emanated out from the epicenter underneath the building and instantly killed the hundreds or more of people in hiding throughout the area. They were killed by the shock wave and overpressure, from first glance they'd appear to show no visible signs of death but inside their organs were totally atomized. Cars and buses were hurled up into the air and slammed against the walls of buildings which disintegrated before they reached them from the force of the shock wave. The Vynazz Tower itself exploded from the base up; blue shards of glass and other random items flew out from the building in all sides like a fragmentary grenade of the size. The shockwave traveled up the now spineless structure and obliterated it. The building imploded upwards as the shock wave traveled up. Molten jets of metal and concrete shot out of the hole in the top of the building and as the dome collasped in on itself, creating more pressure at the top, only further increased by the forces of the falling structure, the top portion of the Vynazz tower exploded in a marvelous mosaic of molten material, glass, and other debris. It all came crashing down to the ground as if in slow motion. From far away it looked like the blue shards of the building were falling harmlessly like rain onto the shattered ground below. In face they destroyed anything they fell on and the entire scene demolished several blocks of prime real estate completely. A jewel of the city had been murdered by war.

http://img501.imageshack.us/img501/8217/blarg1gg4.png

As the bombing and shelling went on, gradually pounding the city into a wasteland with each passing minute, the Wolf's response was waiting for its moment. Soldiers, hundreds of thousands of them, gripped their rifles tightly and waited out the storm either in the city or in military camps on the outskirts. Armored tank divisions with thousands of tanks and APCs waited to rush into the city. The Generals had their meetings and made their final preparations and patiently waited for the first part of the storm to pass. 6 Divisions of Marines and 2 Republic Armies stood at the ready for their foe to land and fight them man to man. Mean while the Air Force had relocated hundreds of aircraft and was ready to contest the skies over the city for supremacy.

Some where in the Karaman Dockyards, a single Marine stood outside smoking a cigarette. He calmly smoked it as if nothing was happening, despite all the danger around him. He passed the nearly finished smoke to a Ranger standing next to him. The two officers looked out past the carnage of burning hulks of ships of every type and size at the clear horizon. Shells flew over them and the trails of missiles could be traced in the sky, thousands of them.

"Well it looks like they're serious after all." said the Marine to the Ranger. The Ranger finished the smoke and threw it to the ground.
"Hah. They'd better fucking hurry. My ass is getting bored."

A red glow had appeared on the horizon. Had it been a few hours earlier, one might have thought it to be the rising sun: it certainly seemed to be the right size. But as every Kregaian knew, from the sailors on the decks of the warships to the pilots flying cover above, although to them it had the same beauty that a rising sun might have had to a poet or to a nature-lover, the glow represented not the rebirth of the sun but the death of Karaman.

The bombardment had been cruelly effective, and it continued to fall on the Chechen city, the thunder of the fleet's massive guns echoing hollowly across the landscape. The very ships that were firing rocked from the incalculable recoil of the weaponry they mounted. It was peculiar how this scene could be viewed in so many ways: a human-rights activist would have thought only of the lives extinguished with each fallen shell; an economist would have thought of the labor and the financial investment that each shell represented...Lord Ishamael, of course, thought of each shell as another stepping-stone crossed on the path to victory.

* * *

There is nothing-nothing-more terrifying than being in a city under fire. The shells and the missiles scream overhead, and detonate, shaking the ground beneath you. Some corner of your mind that is still rational whispers to you that anything that can make solid earth and concrete shake beneath your feet is something that can kill and maim you and all those you love...the city becomes a maze, with some buildings still standing and others reduced to misshapen collections of dust and brick fragments, with a steel girder poking out, perhaps, here and there. Fires burn in the distance; the screams of the burned and the dying tear at your heart, the infernal glow twists your shadow into an ever-shifting, ebony monstrosity, and the heat...the awful heat...sweltering even from so far away, you shudder to think what is happening to the poor souls trapped in the blaze. You are powerless, utterly powerless. Your gun and your money and your talent means nothing; how much you can bench-press, how much you earn, how much your friends like you: your life fades away, because what can possibly be more important than the death which stares you even now in the face, daring you to blink? And what can you do but despair? You cannot stop the shells or the missiles shrieking across the sky and hitting your city, blasting apart yet another building you worked in or played in or grew up in...no doubt the Chechens would consider it a blessing when the Kregaians landed: something, finally, that they could fight. Something they could see, and something that would bleed.

* * *

The landers did indeed begin moving. It was an impressive sight: from within the core and the rear of the great armada, well over a thousand troop transports began lumbering to the fore, as above and around them the guns of the fleet kept firing, punctuated by occasional waves of missiles (the Kregaians did not want to use up all their missiles so early). Viewed from far above, it might have resembled some bizarre form of mitosis: the transports were sloughing off from the rest of the fleet, ringed by a flotilla of missile cruisers and destroyers to prevent air or missile attacks. Speaking of which...

A huge portion of the Kregaian airwing had been gathered, looming above the sky (to follow the obvious metaphor) like a stormcloud. This was not like Cyprus: this was the main event, and a foothold had to be secured. Furthermore, while during the mainland invasion, the aircraft would have to be divided, of necessity the entire Kregaian airwing was present here at once (save for the few reinforcements dispatched to Cyprus, of course). That gave the invaders rather a considerable advantage in numbers: an entire Air Armada, 5,400 fighters in all, was escorting two Air Battalions (1,080 planes) of Overlord light bombers, and an Air Group (108 planes) of Behemoth heavy bombers.

The Kregaians were not fucking around.

As the bombers moved eastward to the city at a leisurely pace, the Balefires, as doctrine dictated, moved to extreme AAM range and launched a pair of missiles each, forming a blistering, tangled, and lethal web of missiles. They then accelerated to intercept speed, spreading out as they did so, so as to approach the Chechens from other angles than simply straight-on. As the huge formation shifted, it soon resembled nothing more than a titanic hand, the grasping appendage of some dark god, reaching out to apprehend the brave Chechens.

Into hell we seek our Freedom...

The whispering hum of a turbine engine and the crack of debris under its treads heralded the coming of the tank. As it rolled by at about the speed a man jogs, a burnt out GMW was crushed underneath its 65 tons of armor and steel. Painted on the side of the turret was an Ichkeriyan flag, but instead of the sleeping wolf and nine stars emblazoned upon it, there was a skull and two tank shells crossed underneath it.

Men, woman, and all those brave souls who will fight today... I salute you. Today our nation has witnessed a grave tragedy and in the coming minutes the enemy will set foot on Karaman. Some of you remember the old wars which we fought for our God given independence and which we fought so that our children and wives could live in peace and safety. I remember fighting a battle, much like this one. Today is the day where we will have to prove to the world once again that this is our place on Earth and no one elses. Chechens, Ingush, Ossetians, Turks, Adygei, Kabards, Georgians... we are all part of Ichkeriya and today as always we fight together as brothers and sisters...

Sweat ran down his face already. The battle hadn't even begun yet. His pack jostled up and down on his back as he ran with the rest of his squad towards a city square. War paint smeared his face and in his eyes a mixture of fear and rage broiled. An APC crossed their path at an intersection and looking to his side he saw a fleeting glimpse of another column of Ichkeriyan infantry. He breathed in and out; this was for real. A pile of rubble passed him on his left, then a shop with shattered glass windows and the insides a mess with all sorts of goods scattered around. His squad ran into a cloud of dust, it partially caked his throat and dried out his mouth. As they came running out of the smoke and dust they found themselves running through an unearthed graveyard. Bodies lay everywhere, men, women, even some children. Many had shrapnel wounds, others lay disemboweled or decapitated. PFC Tener averted his gaze to his left as he stepped into a large puddle. There he saw a burnt out sports car, its occupants cremated in their seats. The blood from the puddle splashed over the door.

I can not promise you that the fighting will be easy. Death is the inevitable toll of any war. But there is something I can promise you. You fight for everything you have. For everything that is your soul and which you love. Your family, your land, your honor, your loved ones, your country. We fight, not for empty glory or fortune as our enemies do, but for our very survival. Know that there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered wolf and Allah will see us through to victory.

Master Sergeant Torayev watched and waited for the enemy to approach. His thumb hovered over the chrome detonation switch and his eyes were fixed upon the street in front of him. The building shook as a shell hit close by but his body was as still as a cat about to pounce. From where he stood, leaning against the wall, he could see his men, M16s locked and loaded, their barrles pointing into the road below. He looked across the street and saw shadows and empty windows. He couldn't see them, but he knew his heavy weapons specialists were there waiting. For a fraction of a second his gaze flew over what he could see of the city around him. He was amazed by how quickly their enemy's fire power could turn such an important city into a gutted wasteland. A stray dog in the street below immediately captured his attention. It was a shepard dog, built and proportioned like a wolf. It was covered in pulverized concrete and dragged the tattered half of a leash behind it. The dog pathetically trotted across the street and disappeared into a building without so much as a yelp.

Know that God almighty is with you and all of Ichkeriya is with you. The enemy believes us to be beneath him; a people, not worth the land they inhabit or the air they breathe. They, the Kregaians, see us as nothing more than animals and infidels. They care nothing for our customs and traditions, they would gladly spit on our rich history and on the graves of our ancestors and believe in the superiority of their civilization despite the fact that they are animal sacrificing pagans! My fellow Ichkeriyans... our enemy's greatest flaw and sin is that they expect us to be cowards. They expect us to surrender to them our city, our lives, and ultimately our very freedom!... Here and now on this day of 28 May let all the world know who the Ichkeriyans are. Let the enemy see us as reincarnations of the reaper himself and fear the very mention of our name. They will pray to their false gods for our mercy when it is all over and will shudder at the very mention of this war for generations to come! You are all well trained and prepared for whatever the enemy has to bring and I have no doubt in my heart that every one of you brave men and women will make us proud. For Freedom and Honor! We fight to preserve that which is right and our God given right to our native land. You are but the edge of the sword. May God be with you. Freedom and Honor.

2nd Lt. Zara Molbek let the words of the president echo in her mind. She couldn't help but feeling touched deep in her heart by what she heard over the radio. His words were so true and were broadcast on all frequencies so that in all likelihood even the enemy had heard the transmission. She and her plane were but the edge, the blade of the sword and she felt ready to bring that sword down upon their enemy. Hundreds of aircraft flanked her and she remembered her briefing before undertaking her mission. Fighter planes from all across the country were alerted and would be entering the battle over the city. There were over 8,000 fighter jets in service. She knew that once she had run out of fuel or ammunition she would return to base, rearm, refuel, and head back out again. This wasn't going to be a single engagement air battle, it was going to be drawn out and protracted, pitting the best of both sides over and around the city. Zara armed her air to air missiles and flew along with her squadrons formation as they turned towards the city. Friendlies were coming in from all sides. AWACS prowled the skies along with observation aircraft which all had different roles: relaying command directives, live video feeds, directing air support, etc. The entire operation had been planned out hastily but effectively. Everyone knew what their job was and that was a good thing.

* * *

Karaman, coinciding with the Kregaian landing ooc: i.e. they aren't charging into the middle of the bombardment
On the ground the full might of the Ichkeriyan military poured into the city. Massive artillery batteries stretching out over miles and miles of mountains in the Sinan range, pointed their guns towards the city and waited for the order to shell into oblivion approaching enemy landing craft and landing sites. Tanks rolled into the city and were followed by APCs. Infantry took their positions, creating strong points and bottlenecks where resistance was less but behind which forces stood ready to ambush. They had the advantage of knowing the layout of the city and maps were distributed to field officers. Some street signs still stood too, making things a wee bit easier on the defenders.

Garrison units which were tasked to stay in the city emerged from their makeshift bunkers and began taking up their positions as well. Anti aircraft guns and disassembled SAMs were hastily set up on the roofs of buildings which still had them. Despite the horrific devastation, Army Engineer teams were on hand and able to make use of the public service resources of the city. It would be their job to erect road blocks and report friendly mine fields. It was impossible to fortify the whole city but important areas could be cordoned off with the heavy concrete blockades or convenient roads the enemy were likely to use.

All around them the city burned or lay in ruins. People trapped in burning buildings leaned out of the windows crying out for help from no one who was able. Thousands lay trapped beneath the rubble of buildings, immobilized or trapped in hollow spaces. The city may have appeared dead after the hours of bombardment but in reality it was every bit as alive as anything else. All sorts of non combatants stayed huddled up in their shelters and hoped for the worst to pass. Others, overwhelmingly men, took up their weapons and formed into groups, usually locally oriented and composed of men who knew each other well. Seniority or respect usually determined the pecking order of these militia bands. They were all over the city and had no command structure or orders. They were civilians who would fight to defend their homes and neighborhoods.

On the streets civilians cheered and civilian combatants chanted war cries as they caught sight of their own military entering the city. The sheer number of tanks, APCs, trucks, and soldiers was stunning to most of the people who had never seen such a concentration of armed forces in their lives.

* * *

Their squadron was completing their flight across the mountains and into the city's airspace when the RADAR notification beeped.

"Courtesy of AWACS, enemy formation of aircraft approaching the city from the sea.."
"Do we have permission to engage over?"
"Viper One, Negative, I repeat we do not have permission to engage."
"What the hell are they waiting for?!"
"Multiple RADAR contacts sighted. Do not engage, you do not have authorization to engage at this time."
"Fuck it..." "Command Relay this is Viper One. Why are we not allowed to attack the enemy? Over."
"Viper One this is Command, the order will be given shortly, standby."
"Copy that." Lt. Col Mayev swore and looked out in the direction of the city. He knew the enemy would be pounding anything it could find in there as long as the skies were left uncontested. He figured General Tanju wanted to wait for enough aircraft to have reached the final waypoint before calling the attack. No use sending in planes in a steady stream he wanted a big entrance followed by a flow of reinforcing squadrons. This was in fact what was happenning. Duman Mayev banked his F-14 and his squadron proceeded to circle around its waypoint awaiting the order to proceed. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of playing out the mission in his head, Mayev got his order.

"Command to all squadrons, you are Go to proceed. Good Luck."

About time.. Lt. Col Mayev thought to himself. He rolled his plane into the direction of the city and accelerated in its direction, flanked on each side by the rest of his squadron. He looked on his RADAR console and an expression of confusion came across his face. Thousands of enemy missiles were flying over the city. Towards what? Incidentally the order to proceed had been given just after these contacts had been spotted and so instinctively Mayev held his squadron back, flying just over the western foothills of the Sinan mountains as the missiles took their course over the city and eventually, obviously, plummeted back to Earth as their rockets spent the last of their inboard fuel. Mayev and a number of other squadron leaders wondered if this was supposed to be some sort of intimidation technique. There was no other rational explanation for why the enemy would flood the sky of the city with AAMs when there were no Ichkeriyan fighters in the area at all. It was common knowledge that Army helicopters had been grounded until relative air supremacy was declared. In any event this odd turn of events stalled the Ichkeriyan air advance into the city but only for a little while.

It gave them an excuse to gather more aircraft and now over 1,900 fighter aircraft were within the combat zone of the aerial battlefield. They proceeded with their orders, now with the much more reliable RADAR contacts provided by AWACS after the enemy had gave themselves away by firing. They were heavily outnumbered, again, for now. However they had the might of the entire Air Force involved in this theater; aircraft form all over the country were constantly inbound and within the next 2 hours the entire Air Force would be over the city. Another 20 minutes would herald the coming of another 2,700 aircraft; 5,800 within the hour, and the rest within 2.

Locking onto their targets, the fighters, an assortment of F-14s, F-15s, and F-16s, fired their long range missiles in the standard tactic of waves. In 3 waves of close succession, 4,900 standoff AAMs were fired at the enemy formations targeting the first ranks of enemy fighters. The fighters closed ranks with the enemy over the space of over the space of hundreds of square kilometers. The battle had begun.

From the tip of the Lance...

Waves of heat radiated off of the tarmac from the searing midday May sun. The Argos mountains in the distance were still snowcapped at this time of year and the early summer blooms of the Kifalos trees were in full effect; covering the green forested hills of the mountain lowlands in rich brush strokes of white and gold. Even here miles inland the smell of the ocean breathed into the air riding upon wave after wave of air blown in by the winds from the sea. That smell, mixed with the scent of the Kifalos flower created a uniquely beautiful aroma which was native to this part of Ichkeriya only. Local tradition for hundreds of years told that this special time of the year, when the winds of the sea mixed with the fresh mountain air and Kifalos blossom, was the season for lovers. The stunning beauty of the landscape and the cool breezes alleviating the heat certainly did make it an ideal place for romance; but this was a time of war and not of love. The Aegaeian Whitetail sprang off its slender feet and gracefully flapped its powerful wings down towards the Earth and rounded them back up again. She shot up into the air with the smallest of effort and head pointed towards the mountains flew off: her jet black body, betrayed by white feathered spinal line and fine white tail feathers, shrinking into another silhouette joined by others of her kind in the sky above.

The cause of her disturbance thundered on down the runway where a moment before the Aegaeian Whitetail stood, scanning the human wonder in this natural world. An equally black body rocketed past the spot, breathing in air greedily and turning it into blue white tails of dragon flame behind. The man-made bird began to rise, as gracefully as the Aegaeian Whitetail and as effortlessly it climbed higher and higher into the dark blue sky. Her shrinking silhouette too, was joined by others of her kind. They came following from behind and awaited up high in the skies above to join their brethren and begin their mission.

"Mace One, this is Hammer Squadron, nice to see you could make it." the pilot spoke into his radio. He was flanked on both sides and above by his squadron of Lancers strategic bombers. The Tomcat of Mace Squadron could be seen in the distance.

"Haha, we'd never miss a chance to cover your asses." The Tomcats maintained their formation miles away, and Maj. Nizram spotted the squadron leader dip his wing in their direction in emphasis.

"Copy that Mace One. Freedom and Honor."
"Freedom and Honor brother."

The squadron of B1 Lancers numbered at 27, they were of the Hammer Squadron, 5th Bomber Air Group, and based on Taros AFB just a short car ride from the small city of Taros, lying along the foot hills and winding valleys of the Argos mountains along the western coast of Ichkeriya. They were being escorted by the Mace squadron of F-14s attached to the same air base. The fighters had a picture of a medieval knight wielding a heavy mace emblazoned on their tail fins. The bombers had something similar: a figure resembling the Norse god Thor swinging a large war hammer and holding a shield in the other hand.

The squadron was just one of many organized to attack the enemy fleet during its state of vulnerability. The Kregaians had dispatched a large contingent to cover Cyprus and nearly all their air assets were involved in a single large raid on Karaman. On the mainland Ichkeriyan Air Force Commanders and strategists simply could not believe what news the intelligence reports brought to them. The thought of sending everything they had at once into a battle was tantamount to insanity in Ichkeriyan doctrine. The time it would take to organize that many aircraft, the wasted fuel spent in hours of loiter time, the command and control nightmare... it was utter nonsense to the Ichkeriyan command establishment. Once the enemy Balefires and attack aircraft went low on fuel they'd have to turn around, and the time it would take to land and stow all those planes would mean they'd have to leave well before they were running on fumes.

On the other hand the Ichkeriyans had indeed scrambled all their fighters, but they had the advantage of comparatively unlimited air coverage time over the city. The Kregaians had better have someway to cope with the inevitable slaughter which Ichkeriyan Generals were convinced would take place once their planes had to turn around and flee from hundreds of blood thirsty and pursuing Ichkeriyan aircraft. It was the big flaw in the tactic of overwhelming Karaman airspace with aircraft, was the view of pretty much everyone observing and participating in the 3rd dimension of the battle.

Meanwhile the sleek black bodies of the Lancers cruised on towards their quarry: the massive enemy Armada. No doubt intensive measures had been taken to protect Kregaian landing craft and the naval air superiority fighters were probably briefed on how to respond to a likely raid. In truth the enemy air presense was simply too great in the area and expectations were that the Army would be more than a match for the invaders once they landed.

The target of the Lancers were the easiest targets of the Kregaian fleet: the outlying frigates and destroyers, as well as any auxiliary ships which were with them in the outer ring of the enemy armada. There was no massive raid, there would be, however a constant round the clock run of attack sorties on the enemy armada. To slowly pick away at the weakest members of the pack and any luck hits was the plan. To bleed them to death. The Kregaians would have to deal with the logistics and military command nightmare of managing an ongoing ground war and attacks to their naval flanks.

The Lancers would fly to within maximum range of about 220 miles and fire off their AShMs at the enemy. Afterwards they wouldn't spend any time waiting to say hello, but rather would turn around and gun it back to the main land. At present a total of 112 Lancers and a further 96 escorts flew towards the Kregaian fleet from all sides in a semi circle from the south, around clockwise, to the north west (bypassing the Cyprus theater).

In the mean time the nation's inventory of B-52s were being prepped for their bombing missions which would begin shortly afterwards. Already heated arguments flared up among top brass as to how the assets of the Air Force should be used. The considerable ground force brought by the enemy meant that heavy airsupport would be needed eventually. At the same time the enemy navy was their base of operations and a large threat which could sail all the way to the all important cities of Aegaeia Kala or Istanbul and attack there. But the Lancers were better suited to raiding the enemy navy; they were faster and a hundred times stealthier than their counterparts. Having the RCS of a small to medium fighter and supersonic capability would be essential in evading vengeance minded enemy defenses.

* * *

In all of Ichkeriyan avation, in fact in the entire Armed Forces in general, there was one common piece of dissatisfaction shared by every man and woman from cook to General. That was the usage of world standard equipment. Only in recent years was the military given the funding to acquire foreign made military hardware, such as the Rufous class AShMs. However the overall state of the military was a level behind most premier world class armed forces. This was already becoming evident in the early stage of this war. FOr now it was a grievance, later it would be a painful annoyance, and it'd only get more pronounced. The immediate response was to develop weapons systems native to Ichkeriya. These obviously would be based and inspired off of the performance flaws of current equipment in use.

Already Ichkeriyan engineers and scientists were at work developing anti shipping weapons which were easier to mass produce and would be more effective than standard grade Harpoons and Tomahawk missiles. Also, illegally by international law, civil and military engineers were at work reverse engineering the Rosdivan Rufous heavy anti shipping missile. It was illegal under international law, but this was war and no one seemed to care very much. Eventually a new heavy anti missile system would be developed and put into use as an improvement over the Rufous and more suited to Ichkeriyan warfare tactics.

The same was true for every part of the Armed Forces. Advancements were being studied for the aging fleet of Lancers and B-52s. One a stealthy and sexy supersonic heavy bomber, and the other a lumbering, highly reliable, cheap bomber and military icon. This was how the Ichkeriyan Armed Forces slowly began creating their own identity. It didn't matter how many international copy rights they'd break in the process; they would do what they needed to gain the upper hand in the war and would mask the shadier means done to achieve the sought ends.

In the present a way to mass produce effective anti shipping missiles was needed. The Harpoons were somewhat effective but were inevitably consumed in vast quantities due to their ineffectiveness against heavy armor and tight enemy air defenses. The Rufous anti shipping missiles were in limited supply. No doubt that for the next few months at the least, the Republic would have to buy these heavier modern ASMs from abroad and risk transporting the valuable cargo back to home ports. This would be a necessary and ongoing operation until domestic missile production could meet the demand.

However that was all the very near future. In the now, 112 bombers with 2,240 Harpoon ASMs and 224 Rufous AShMs were being transported towards the Kregaian armada and would be in range to be fired over the course of about an hour. More would follow in time...

Karaman burned.

From the sky, it was nothing more than a blur of grey, concrete-hued paint smeared crudely over a canvas of an indiscernible color; the sea glittered in the sunlight, far below, while clouds drifted, meandering, along their paths. Of course, such views came in patches; the vast columns of smoke from the city obscured much of the lower atmosphere. Not to mention the dust from countless buildings collapsing in the same rough time period.

The channels did not crowd with obscenities and comments as the radar displays lit up with thousands of enemy missiles: these pilots were, on average, more experienced than those that had fought over Cyprus, and more simply, had learned the Ichkeriyan tactics that their comrades had faced a few hours before. Indeed, the Kregaians had anticipated the enemy attacks, leaving more space between talons, squadrons, wings and groups, meaning that the vast formation spanned many kilometers. And when the Ichkeriyans attacked, the response was something as simple and silent as the activation of ECMs on every single fighter. The Balefires slowed as well, their speed soon below Mach 1 and falling, not only to conserve fuel but to enable them to maneuver. Finally, with seconds left before the missiles would begin hitting their targets, the pilots began launching flares and chaff, playing havoc with both infrared and radar guidance systems.

The entire sky erupted into chaos as the missiles arrived at the Kregaian formation. Whole squadrons were destroyed instantly, blasted into infinitesimal fragments by the Ichkeriyan weapons, while their comrades weaved and corkscrewed around, trying to evade the locks of the missiles on their tail. On a tactical display, the formation would not only have stopped moving forward, but would have begun looking like a twisting mass of spaghetti, or like an advanced depiction of an atom's energy levels, thousands of fighters swirling around within its rough boundaries. Explosions punctuated the breathtaking image as missiles detonated, some claiming a victim, others destroyed by the Kregaians or exploding amidst chaff or flares.

Before the explosions had even died down, the formation resumed, gunning yet again to attack velocity, still forming a vast semicircle to engulf the enemy fighters, and hurtled towards their enemy, leaving almost ten percent of their number amidst the mangled wreckage of their aircraft far below. Heedless of casualties, like a maddened boar thinking only of the death of its prey, the Balefires rushed onwards, waiting until the last second to launch short-range missiles: this way, the enemy would be trapped between dodging the missiles on his tail (and what with several thousand missiles involved, this would be no easy task) and evading the incoming Balefires, who would arrive guns blazing mere instants later; furthermore, the shorter the range the missiles had to cross, the less time the enemy pilots would have to react. This, of course, was exactly what happened: once the missiles were away, the Balefires had mere seconds to cut speed and begin maneuvers, doing so with the expertise given by countless hours on academy simulators and in previous missions, and as they twisted to pursue their newly acquired targets, chainguns roaring away, the Kregaians could not repress a certain confidence that stole upon them. Everything, it seemed, was going well.

* * *


"In the gloom, the gathering storm abates
In the ships, gimlet eyes await
The call to arms, to hammer at the gates
To blow them wide, throw evil to its fate..."
-"The Longest Day" by Iron Maiden

In the depths of the transport ships, rather than listen to an inspiring speech by the most badass officer in that particular cohort, the Ichkeriyan President's speech was broadcast over the intercom. Gales of mocking laughter greeted such pronouncements as "Know that there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered wolf" and "Let the enemy see us as reincarnations of the reaper himself and fear the very mention of our name". It was an intimidating sight: hundreds of ferocious, powerfully-built men crammed into their landing hovercrafts, slowly bobbing the ship's canal, most with helmets on, transforming them into faceless killers, but some eschewing them for the moment, their faces streaked with barbaric war paint.

A few minutes after the speech ended, the doors of the landing ships groaned open and the hovercraft whirred out, packed with yelling Legionaries, and followed by the larger armored transports carrying the tanks. The noise was deafening: every shell and missile passing by, despite the fact that they were far above the sea, boomed and thundered horrendously, with only the helmet's built-in anti-sonic earplugs keeping the soldiers from sustaining permanent damage to their ears. Above them, they knew, drones were whirring around, highlighting targets in the city for the vast firepower of the fleet's guns, from key street corners and strategic locations to artillery batteries on rooftops or around the hills surrounding the city, aided by satellites in orbit overhead. With targeting data fed to them by the nimble and stealthy drones, the great warships of the fleet were able to use rocket-assisted shells to pound the enemy defenses.

"All summer long, the drills to build the machine
To turn men from flesh and blood to steel
From paper soldiers to bodies on the beach
From summer sands to Armageddon's reach..."

Of course, the Ichkeriyans were not idiots. As soon as the hovercraft came within range of coastal artillery, shells began raining down on the Kregaians. The escort of destroyers and frigates picked off a significant portion of them, interception missiles streaking from their launchers and CIWS guns blazing. Of course, not all of them could be stopped, and the hovercraft soon rode the swells of dozens of shell impacts, spray splashing all over the fatigues and Kevlar armor of the Legionaries crouched inside. Although it was extremely difficult to hit such small, moving targets as the hovercraft, thousands of Legionaries were killed by stray shells that destroyed their transport. The destroyers were now unleashing what few surface-to-surface missiles they had on the Ichkeriyan shore defenses, suppression fire to make the Legionaries' landing a bit easier.

It was a truly awe-inspiring sight, as it was whenever the Imperium invaded another nation. As far as the eye could see, for miles up and down the coast and for kilometers away from the littoral, hovercraft and armored landers dotted the ocean. The sky was darkened by the vast conflict going on between the fighters overhead, and closer to ground, a wave of helicopter transports and gunships was coming in from the sea, the holds of the HELOs packed with Legionaries and their missiles already streaking out to flatten the defenses in their way, whether they were AA Humvees, SAM batteries, APCs, or mobile artillery. Their guns blazed as they swooped over the city, ignoring their own losses as Ichkeriyan counterfire poured into them, shredding their fuselages, hitting their fuel tanks, and transforming them into glorious, searing fireballs. Drones whizzed by, weaving between the gunships as they sought rooftops on which to land their troops, constantly on the lookout for enemy positions, which it then tagged and uploaded to the "hit list" back aboard the fleet's computers. They, too, suffered from the Ichkeriyans' vigorous defense, forcing the fleet's commanders to keep rotating in new drones to replace those lost. The lower regions of the sky became a hazy hellhole as the smoke from burning buildings and recently destroyed war machines, Kregaian and Ichkeriyan alike, clogged the air. Occasionally a smoking fighter from the contest far above would plummet down and collide with a street or a building, causing a huge explosion. Abruptly, however, the fleet fell silent for a few minutes...and its next volley was its most powerful yet, targeting the shore in a massive barrage that swept across the coast.

And at last, the culmination of all the events set in motion ever since the fleet was sent to Yeltsmin, the first Kregaian hovercraft touched the shore and lowered its front gate.

"Overlord, your master not your god
The enemy coast dawning gray with scud
These wretched souls, puking, shaking fear
To take a bullet for those who sent them here..."

They landed within minutes of each other, spread out over an area of dozens of kilometers: the unit designated Army Group North had been sent to land north of the city, in order to form one half of a gigantic double envelopment, a pincer movement that with luck would cut off Karaman and crush its defenders; Army Group South were doing the same in the south. But the other 2 million or so Legionaries landed either on the southern peninsula of Karaman, the southern half of the city, or on the northern urbanized areas.

They charged forth from their hovercraft, guns at the ready and already following the commands of their officers, a fluid and vicious assault. Their main battle tanks drove forward, driving shells into the enemy defenses and sending bursts of chaingun fire into any Ichkeriyan foolish enough to show himself. Legionaries took cover behind the tanks or anything else they could find, leaning out to hurl grenades or to put a burst of fire into some Ichkeriyan's head. The artillery from the fleet continued to pound down on the Chechens, careful coordination allowing the creeping barrage to advance as the Kregaians did while preventing friendly fire. Step by step, they advanced farther up the beaches and towards the city itself.

Meanwhile, an entirely different war was being waged several stories up. The gunships had suffered heavy losses, despite liberal use of their flares and other (limited) countermeasures; however, having used their weapons to destroy the artillery and anti-air emplacements on many of the skyscrapers nearer the coast, they had managed to land a considerable number of troops. Having started off with a few thousand helicopters, roughly 60% were left, but they had landed an estimated 27,000 Legionaries on various rooftops in Karaman. The soldiers were even now fighting their way through the buildings, leaving snipers and ATGM-carriers on the higher levels to pick off Ichkeriyan armor and infantry below.

* * *

EDIT: Part about bomber raid and Cyprus coming soon.

Pre-requiem..

Golden rays of light clawed through the thick acrid smoke of the burning city below. High above the sun blazed as if it were the lone sentinel on watch, commanded by God himself to observe the wills and ways of mankind. Brown wisps of smoke and dust swirled in the otherwise pristine skies above the devastated city. They were like a blemish, a stain on what was natural and beautiful.

Out through the clouds the fighter aircraft soared forth, leaving swirling wisps of vapor behind them. The fighters had assumed their engagement formations and had fired off their standoff weapons. They now hurtled towards the enemy, weapons hot. Up and down aircraft bobbed in relation to each other and each of the pilots, men and women, stared straight ahead, one hand on the control stick, the other on the throttle, feet working the rudder pedals.

Closer and closer they came towards the enemy; far below the outskirts of the city had become visible: it was massive. Only a fraction of an hour ago they had been flying over white peaked mountains dividing arid desert from temperate coastal paradise. The enemy were far greater than them in number and were confident of an easy victory. Every Ichkeriyan fighter knew in his or her heart that they had been underestimated by the enemy and they’d fight to make their foes realize their grave sin. Victory was the only foreseeable outcome.

---

A lock of golden blond hair stuck out from the side of the flight helmet. The slender graceful arms betrayed their skill and strength, delicate yet powerful hands wrapped around flight stick and throttle. Chest, adorned with the Air Force emblem of the winged wolf, pulsed up and down, the only sign of fear and the reality that the moment had gripped her. Her beautiful face was partly veiled by the flight mask and her eyes, a deep and pure ocean blue, stared straight ahead.

Zara’s heart raced, beating against the inside of her chest, threatening to break out. She could feel the blood coursing like a torrent through her veins and the adrenaline begin to work its way through her slender body. She gripped the flight stick more tightly now. This was her moment and she had never felt so alive before in her life. She was moments from potential obliviation but she had lived more in these past few seconds than she had in the whole of her 22 years of life. She was the youngest of her squadron and the only woman. In order to survive she was the fiercest any of her squadron had ever known, but now…she was truly afraid. And Alive.

“All squadrons fire!” came the order over the radio and she pushed the button on the flight stick, releasing an AAM which streaked on ahead over her in a trail of white smoke. Hundreds of trails of similar smoke were visible on both sides as far as the eye could see. Only a moment later the RADAR spike warning blared and without even glancing at the RADAR display she knew she would have seconds to live.

Pushing the throttle into afterburn and pulling hard on the stick she launched her F-14 into a vertical climb releasing chaff and flares as she arced upwards. She tensed the muscles of her chest, legs, and abdomen to keep blood from draining out of her brain. The 8-G turn caused her vision to tunnel but she was able to maintain control.

She did not need to look back, she knew perfectly well that she had evaded the three missiles which had tailed her in her climb. Combat chatter began to fill the radio now and a dark silhouette shot past her side. The battle had begun in earnest.

---

Some squadrons of Ichkeriyan aircraft were able to close in and pass their Kregaian counterparts traditionally but many others found themselves thrown into defensive or offensive combat the moment they had managed to avoid the enemy missiles. Training and proper countermeasures had saved a great deal of lives and prevented the Icherkiyan force from being blown out of the sky by their enemy. Regardless a good number were shot out of the sky by the initial pass.

The seconds were still ticking within the first minute of the engagement and already the skies over the city began to rain with the falling pyres of defeated aircraft. Both sides grappled with each other for control of the skies over the city and the dead and defeated on both sides began to mount. Missiles shot forth and arced in every conceivable angle and direction towards their targets. Flares and chaff were dispensed and missiles exploded within the false signals or veered off course. Especially deadly, wayward heat seeking missiles began to lock onto new targets within this contorted mess of targets, friend and foe. A few unfortunate pilots began finding themselves fighting to evade their own sides’ missiles.

The battle which the Kregaians had approached with such uniformity had already begun to out spill its bounds. The engagement zone expanded from sheer entropy; there was plenty of chaos to go around. At first it was the airspace over the city but the battle continued to grow and to expand as pilots fought in a life and death struggle to out maneuver their opponents and stay away from masses of enemy aircraft. Squadrons of Ichkeriyan pilots contested the blue sky over part of the sea, their mortal duel with their Kregaian counterparts moving further and further out to sea.

---

At the same time thousands of feet below a pair of Ichkeriyan F-14s played a game of cat and mouse with 5 Kregaian Balefires. The two fighters stayed close to one another and were locked into flying in high-speed circles only a hundred feet from the ocean surface. The water rippled as the aircraft flew just above at a couple hundred miles per hour. Their wings spread eagle, the two F-14s showed surprising maneuverability for such large interceptors and kept their pursuers on their toes, weaving one way and the other way in an attempt to shake them. Only a few miles away another F-14 of their squadron, engulfed in flames, plummeted spinning into the sea, hitting it at over 400 mph.

As one of the Balefires opened its cannon on the rear of the two F-14s, the pilot of the lead aircraft swerved the plane violently to the left, breaking formation. Several other Balefires broke off to pursue, eager to finally see their prey lose its nerve. With barely its wingspan in altitude underneath it, the F-14 which had broken off entered into a suicidal roll. Its pilot banked to the left and right to shake the three fighters behind it. Finally the pilot rolled her aircraft, for a brief moment she could see the beautiful blue waves only 50 feet below her, and an instant later she pulled hard on the flight stick and hit the air brakes, slowing her plane almost to a stall.

2nd Lt. Zara banked her plane to turn left in a wide arc, she had already predicted without thinking it what would happen next. As the trails of bullets streaked past her, dark phantoms zoomed ahead of her, immediately maneuvering to evade.

The after burners kicked to life and she was pushed back into her seat as she accelerated safely out of stalling speeds. She could hear her wingman screaming for help on the radio. He’d be dead any moment and she knew it but there was nothing she could do for him until this threat had been eliminated. She didn’t have time to notice that the coast of the city was a faint outline along the horizon now; she was now the prey turned predator. She pulled back on the stick as the last of the enemy aircraft climbed up into the air and attempted to get out of her grasp through aerial acrobatics. But it was too close and Zara’s reactions were virtually catlike. No sooner had it jetted past her than its hull became riddled with 20mm bullet holes. 213 knots and the superior machine disintegrated and rolled violently clockwise into the sea. Pieces of shrapnel and debris filled the air and bashed against the wings of Zara’s plane as she flew past the wall of water which had rushed up as the Balefire crashed into the sea.

She was already locked onto her second victim by the time she past the wreckage of her first. The enemy pilot, no doubt frightened and shocked at having the tables turned in such a manner, weaved left and right, ever climbing into the sky, as he tried to shake her off of him. Zara seemed to almost sense her opponent’s actions as he turned only to find she had anticipated just such a move. The young woman did not think, she fired the missile the instant she heard the tone and watched as the missile literally punched through the graceful enemy fighter and sent it exploding in a fiery arch down into the sea.

Where had the third gone? Her wingman’s voice was still yelling on the radio and she barely had time to register her amazement at his survival. Then all of a sudden her RADAR warning light buzzed on and the alarm sound blared in her cockpit. He was right on her and closing. In fact he was in a perfect angle of attack and had her in his sights. Zara’s youthful heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened in shock as her RIO shouted his surprise. For an instant time stopped and she was floating out of her seat, out of her cockpit. The faces of every one she had known and loved shot through her mind like a bullet train and the last face she saw was that of the only man she had ever loved, who died during a simulation.

Zara never noticed the shadows which streaked over her. She hadn’t even heard her RIO’s shouts of joy and all at once the out of body experience collapsed like a bubble and she was back in her cockpit. All the senses and sounds of the present flooded back to her and took her a second to comprehend what had just happened.

“Tally-Ho on the bandit! You’re lucky we saved your pretty ass there Leoma. You Owe me.” her callsign was the same as her squadron’s name and meant ‘lion’. Zara gave a flirty laugh which was full of honest amazement, “..you know damn well I don’t and won’t bastard…” she added sincerely, “Thanks.”

“Anytime babe.” Responded the eager pilot who had saved her life. The other seven F-14s turned around and fell into position with them. Zara’s wingman who had earlier been on the brink of meeting God flew up along side them. He was quite shaken, having come so close to death, but the renewed surge of life after his encounter with the reaper filled him immediately.

“Enemy formation Zero-Nine-Zero High. They’re going 500 knots.” He said noticing a formation of targets on his RADAR. The squadron leader replied all business, “Roger that looks like a bomber formation. Leoma Squadron split into three groups Delta on me.”

The 10 F-14s of the Leoma squadron formed into three triangular formations forming a single larger triangle at the corners. They climbed high into the sky to gain altitude and attempt to get the upper hand on the enemy formation of bombers, coming in from the side above them in the clouds. They had spent much of their fuel and only had enough ammunition for one pass. It was okay though; bloodying a few bombers was enough, they’d RTB to refuel and rearm and other squadrons would take their place.

---

As the Leomas sped off the situation with the rest of the battle was beginning to look more severe. A number of squadrons had been decimated, caught in the middle of the numerous furballs which had formed. These were the most dangerous areas and where the enemy achieved the most kills. They had numbers pure and simple. Many Ichkeriyan pilots were fighting to survive while some others managed to stay on the offensive. And every second that went by, as each Ichkeriyan fighter aircraft fell burning from its dance with death in the sky, another full squadron of fully armed and fresh aircraft came in from the south, east, or north in a constant stream. Casualties were undoubtedly heavy and significant, but they were somehow managing to hold their own and every desperately needed reinforcing squadron provided the Ichkeriyans with the means to continue the fight for the shattered skies above Karaman.

edit: bit on the ground fighting to come a little later

High Admiral Anor stared at the tactical display, lost in thought. Karaman swirled with activity, thousands of aircraft struggling for air supremacy. Indications were that most, if not all, of the Ichkeriyan Air Force was on its way to reinforce the beleaguered city; a foolish move, in Anor's opinion. Rushing thousands of aircraft across the continent to bolster the city's defenses would deplete their fuel; even with refueling planes accompanying the reinforcements, and thus remove the advantage of fuel that the Ichkeriyans currently enjoyed.

Furthermore, as he scanned the tactical display, he wondered why the Ichkeriyans thought putting all their bets on Karaman was a good idea. True, the best time to stop an amphibious invasion was often by crushing it at the outset. But the city could not hold forever; the fleet had many more fighters available, and he was confident in the power of Rahvin's forces on the ground. Rahvin himself was currently barking out orders to be relayed to the various Legions, managing the envelopment maneuver around Karaman, obviously relieved to be directing land combat at last.

A new glow on the tactical display drew the admiral's attention to the board again. Most of the space was devoted to projecting an image of Karaman, including the air battle above the city and the pincer movement around it, but inset was a tactical image of the fleet itself, and at the edge, a new enemy contact had appeared. Manipulating the controls, Anor zoomed in on the area, revealing nineteen Ichkeriyan contacts, all with the radar cross-signatures of fighters. However, as Anor well knew, sending fighters, especially so few, against the fleet was astonishingly foolish, and so he barked orders for drones to move closer, so that they could use LIDAR to confirm whether the enemy contacts were fighters or bombers. In the meantime, he called out, "Scramble two squadrons to intercept enemy contacts."

* * *

A matter of seconds after the order was relayed to a nearby carrier, twenty-four pilots began sprinting to their planes from the standby room where they had waited, drinking coffee and eating snack bars, and within a few more minutes, they had scrambled and were hurtling out at maximum speed to intercept the incoming enemy contacts at the edge of the fleet. However, the enemy, although moving roughly a third of the speed of the Balefires moving to intercept, were far away. Just as the drones reached LIDAR range, confirming that twelve of the Ichkeriyans were bombers and the other five were fighter escorts, the infidels launched long-range AShMs at the destroyers and frigates at the perimeter of the fleet.

The Balefires couldn't stop the missiles, but they could pay the Ichkeriyans back in full. Rapidly approaching extreme AAM range, the pilots armed their weapons and prepared to open fire on the escorts: once they were gone, the bombers would be as helpless as a lame deer against a pack of wolves. As they reached extreme range, they launched three missiles each at the Ichkeriyan escorts, making no fewer than seventy-two missiles racing towards the five enemy fighters, as the Balefires rapidly closed in.

* * *

The destroyers and frigates, meanwhile, which had been targeted by the Ichkeriyan bombers, although not prepared for the raid which they were now being subjected to, performed their tasks ably. Frigates were well-suited to defend against the missiles, it being their primary designated role as part of the perimeter of a Kregaian fleet. The destroyers were not so specialized, and yet were, like all Kregaian ships, constructed with an eye towards surviving missile spam.

However, effective as these designs were at preventing widespread devastation, the ships could not simply shrug the attack off. The bombardment was fast and vicious, and it often took only a single AShM to sink the warship it was targeting. As the CIWS chattered and interceptor missiles whooshed out amidst smoke and fire to pick off the incoming Ichkeriyan AShM's, one by one ships were twisted by the impact of the enemy weapons, water pouring into jagged holes in their hulls and black, filthy smoke billowing out. No fewer than five frigates and four destroyers were destroyed or crippled.

However, as more and more Ichkeriyan contacts appeared, in small groups but distributed in a wide arc all around the fleet's perimeter, it became obvious what the enemy was doing: light, continuous raids to disrupt the fleet as well as to tie down Kregaian fighters. There was no easy response; the enemy was coming from all directions, almost continuously, and if the Kregaians continued to rely on rapid response from the carriers, like they had with the first enemy raid, they would keep losing ships in the outer perimeter, little by little. The only answer was to send groups of Balefires, two squadrons each, around the extreme edge of the fleet, patrolling along with the AEW aircraft and drones, which would then intercept and attack any incoming bombers. Hopefully, this tactic would incur heavy losses on the enemy raiders, and would force the Ichkeriyans to abort their plan.

Army 38th Artillery Battery

Sunlight gleamed off the ash colored 203mm howitzer barrel which pointed up into the sky over the city in the distance beyond the horizon. Out in each direction towards the north and south the barrels of other heavy artillery pieces stood ready and waiting in utter silence. The 38th Army Artillery Battery was positioned here in a large field at the outskirts of the Sinan foothills. Some thirty 203mm howitzers and several dozen 155mm field guns were positioned over the space of the field. A road cut across in front of the battery of guns and was bordered on its western side by a long row of hedges. Beyond this was another field which was home to several dozen surprised cows who looked at the men running between tents and trucks with suspicion.

The men manning the artillery pieces all stood at attention awaiting their orders and coordinates. They waited at attention like obelisks at their stations, each man stern faced, each man sweating in the heat and the anticipation brought about by suspense. A flock of transport choppers flew towards the city off in the distant out to the north and over to the east the Sinan mountains loomed majestic and uncaring over the artillery batteries on standby.

Finally the order was given and cannons at once roared to life as shell after shell of cluster munitions shot forth towards the city. The shock of the initial volley as it broke the deceptive silence was shattering and almost as if by cue hundreds of birds flew out of their nests and the cows, frightened, ran for cover underneath their trees.

Karaman

The waters out from the shores of the city where enemy landing craft had been sighted were pumped full of cluster effect munitions. A constant hail of artillery fire fell upon the waters being traversed by Kregaian landing craft, so much so that the water appeared to boil on all sides with the millions of pieces of shrapnel and the constant detonations occurring over the water. Despite the welcome mat which General Ibrahim T. Vaznakh had rolled out for his uninvited guests, the main event wouldn’t start until the enemy had finally gotten onto dry land.

As the Kregaian Legionnaires landed and rushed forth from their landing craft they were met by a meteoric hail of artillery fire. This was easiest for Ichkeriyan artillery forces to do in the southern landing sectors of the city where there was some open beach for the enemy to cross before he actually entered the heavy urban city complex. With most of the waterfront buildings already knocked down by the enemy’s opening bombardment, friendly artillery was free to pound the beach into nothingness without fear of rounds impacting buildings. The artillery bombardment was constant and not a second went by when shells were not falling on any stretch of beach. One could only imagine what went through a soldier’s mind as he ran onto that meat grinder of a beach, shells exploding above him, spraying the ground below with smaller grenade sized bombs and shrapnel, turning advancing soldiers in front of him into clouds of red mist.

The landing parties were also met with small arms fire from positions within the city. Republic soldiers moved in teams between windows and bombed out floors of ocean front buildings – most of which were fully functional 4-5 star resorts only a few hours before – stopping to lay down suppressive fire onto the advancing enemy lines. The roughly fifteen km stretch of beach running from the south of the city to the entrance of the bay was turned into a total hell zone with small arms and anti-tank fire coming from defenders within the city and a constant hail shower of artillery shells from above. In Ichkeriyan custom, first impressions are very important, and even more important is to make good on receiving a new guest even if they are uninvited. Ichkeriyan culture has a reputation for legendary hospitality and today was no exception.

The Kregaian soldiers lucky enough to make it past the first gauntlet were met immediately by further troubles. Republican soldiers taking positions amongst the rubble of the waterfront property made first contact with the enemy as they made their way off of the hellish beach. There was no easy way into the city from here. Some points had access to a road which led into the city and others small walkways. Also much of the beach was fenced off. There simply weren’t many open areas of ground which connected the beach with the rest of the city behind the long column of ruined buildings which lined the beach. Many units had only taken up their positions and fortified them only seconds before the enemy had landed, such was the effect of the naval bombardment. Here Republican soldiers fired on Legionnaires coming in from the beach from their positions and many instances of hand to hand combat took place as the two opposing sides rushed to meet each other so quickly.

A little further to the north, the 5 km long and 1 km deep peninsula which formed the southern ocean wall of the bay faced a tougher time weathering the enemy assault as it in some cases took Ichkeriyan forces longer to move into position. Tanks rolled onto the scene moving between resort hotels and financial firms and restaurants.

As the fighting began in the southern half of the coast, reaching untold levels of ferocity in such a short time, the northern half of the city’s coastline began to experience its share of the blood lust. Artillery fire had to be more careful here to avoid hitting buildings potentially full of civilians as there was no long unbroken stretch of beach as there was in the south. Regardless the first rows of buildings along the water front would have to be sacrificed and the artillery fire came down like the hammers of hell onto the landing Kregaian troops. Explosions rippled up and down the coast as artillery kept up a ferocious barrage on the enemy to inflict as many losses as possible. Meanwhile Marines and Republican troops advanced towards the enemy landing zones.

Drones flying above the city provided excellent spotters for artillery and forward field commanders were able to call in direct artillery strikes onto positions under threat of being overrun instead of relying on the general bombardment to take care of the enemy. The first Icherkiyan forces acting in defense of the city met with the enemy just as they approached the coast and further troops were being deployed behind them. Every now and then a fighter jet in flames came crashing down onto the city, smashing through a row of buildings in a ball of flame and sending concrete and cars flying everywhere or into an empty parking lot.

The level of brutality showed by Ichekeriyan armed ground forces was stunning. The level of humiliation inflicted from having been invaded and having a major city devastated boosted morale and instilled into soldiers a level of professional hatred which motivated every step forward and every call for artillery. Devestated buildings along the waterfront were further pulverized by the hail of 7.62 and 5.56 mm bullets emanating from Ichkeriyan soldiers on the ground and from the chain guns of APCs and tanks. The Kregaians with their haughty bravado and intimidating figures were met with hails of bullets and aimed guns. As the battle progressed, with great speed as the first waves of enemy troops were pushed into the city by fresh landing troops, snipers took up positions amongst the rubble and Ichkeriyan infantry retreated and counter charged. Behind every rubble strewn corner was a machine gun nest, in every window a sniper and veiled behind every shadow an AT gun or rocket launcher. Kregaian Legionnaires who got close enough were engaged medieval style by Ichkeriyan Marines who used their combat knives with deft skill. NCOs with their foot long kinjals (the traditional Caucasus hybrid dagger/short sword used for thousands of years) were eager to drive them into the flesh of their enemies or to slit the throats open of any soldier disorientated of his surroundings. If it hadn’t been clear earlier it was surely becoming obvious now; every square inch of the Karaman would have to be contested. And it was a large city.

A new dimension had been added to the opening bouts of the battle for the city with the arrival of enemy choppers depositing rapid action forces behind Ichkeriyan forward positions within the city. 27,000 Kregaian soldiers had managed to be landed onto the tops of buildings and other open areas and Ichkeriyan soldiers caught between them and the landing forces quickly began to feel the heat. Even so, with the constant surge of units from further inland these rapid insertion teams began to find themselves under attack from both sides and completely encircled. Hundreds of men died as they fought to contain the enemy’s spirited attempts at breaking their lines and the greatest horrors of urban warfare began to manifest themselves upon the Ichkeriyan defenders so early in the battle.

--

Some blocks of the city became occupied by Kregaian airborne forces and had to be contained. These islands of enemy control became thorns in the side of Icherkiyan defensive efforts and field commanders took the initiative to sweep these areas clean. With heavy armor and numbers on their side, Republican soldiers and Marines began encircling these pockets of resistance and began to tighten the noose. Friendly forces within some of these assaulted high-rises found themselves heavily outgunned and surprised by the enemy. Response teams moved in and some building garrisons were readying to defend their floors from the enemy arriving on the rooftops. As enemy gun ships arrived gunning down soldiers on the tops of buildings, unloading their troops, only to be shot down seconds later or continue their mission, defenders inside the buildings moved upwards in anticipation.

The fighting within these high-rises was intense, where Ichkeriyan and Kregaian soldiers met each other face to face and fought, often separated only by feet of space. In some cases soldiers simply set fire to the upper floors of enemy occupied buildings when they could, trapping the enemy on the roof. In other cases they simply aimed a gun up there and fired at the building with anything from under barrel grenades, to APC chain guns, to tank cannon, to mortars.

Meanwhile the waters of the bay were not spared from the unfolding battle. Two Ohio Class SSGNs of the Ichkeriyan Navy silently slipped into the massive bay, unnoticed by the enemy fleet or anyone else for that matter. They were acting under the command of captains of both submarines. No order had been given for them to enter the harbor, in fact the Ichkeriyan Navy wanted to preserve whatever forces it had left in order to spearhead an offensive one it had regained its strength after the losses at Yeltsmin.

Commodore Rishniv and Commodore Turbek had spoken with each other prior to making their decision to proceed. They decided that they were not going to simply stand by or run away while the city was under attack and would take matters into their own hands. Such a mission would be considered suicidal by any Ichkeriyan Naval Officer or probably any Naval Officer of any other nation. Undoubtedly such risk of crew and material would be cause for a court marshal and both commanders knew this very well. But to both of them and their zealous crews it did not matter at all. The defense of the motherland came before everything else.

Rising to periscope depth, the submarines on opposite ends of the bay were indistinguishable from the carnage of broken ships and other debris floating on the water. Performing data readouts on the current combat situation on the surface the commanders of both submarines waited. Now was no time to compromise their position and Ichkeriya would need a weapon in the city if it was overrun and claimed by the enemy.

* * *

In total there were 1.72 million combat ready soldiers within striking range of the battlefield. These were theater ready troops. The other 3.48 million soldiers of the Ichkeriyan Army were stationed around the country and would take longer to move into position. The defenders of the city were on paper heavily outnumbered by their attackers. Only 405,000 soldiers were within the actual city itself being deployed to the front lines. 70,000 were currently entering through the metropolitan areas to the east as the first Kregaian landing craft made their way ashore and the first of a hundred and eighty thousand strong army were entering from the south as the first pagan boots laid foot on the sands of the city.

In the north a force of roughly a 110,000 soldiers had been moving along down Highway 50 south towards the city, passing by the city of Al Nashif. Al Nashif was a port city of 183,000 and straddled the coast for about 7 kilometers. Forward scouts and reconnaissance drones had spotted enemy landing craft approaching from the north of Karaman. This force of 1 million Kregaians would come directly on top of the moving column of only 110,000 Ichkeriyan infantry and armor. Immediately the force moved into action. With the Air Force tied up in the skies above, air support was unavailable to call in. Organic artillery batteries began deploying and taking aim at the enemy forces landing ashore and Ichkeriyan Republican units began moving into position to counter assault the enemy landing. With such a large attacking enemy force they were unable to contest the landing of the entire shore with such few men. Instead their best bet was to hold the city of Al Nashif and mechanized units began rolling into the city and troops hurriedly began to fortify their positions.

Meanwhile tank battalions and armored divisions began moving toward the coast to assault the enemy forces advancing. Artillery began its fire although despite having hundreds of heavy guns, they weren't able to provide as much of a coverage that was available for the city. A further 760,000 soldiers were inbound on the same path south towards Karaman, however they would take time to arrive and were still a ways off.

Overhead, the sky is gray, smoke and dust clogging the morning. Fighters flicker and explode overhead, winking out of existence constantly. The buildings, the ground: everything shakes to the march of feet and the thunder of artillery. Screams and war cries vie to drown out the chatter of chainguns and the whirr of rotors. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and yet only a distant corner of your mind actually notices you are under fire. Instinct rules everything. You are an animal, and humanity means nothing.

This is how it feels to be in Karaman right now.

* * *

It’s not how you’re thinking
Like you’ve been right
You’ve been living a trade-off
Believe your own version
Believe your own slavery and drain out your soul
What can I do, when there’s so many liars
That crawl through your veins?
Like millions of spiders
That seek out their victims
And ruin their minds, so watch out…
-Guns N Roses, “Oh My God”

* * *

The hallway rattled with gunfire as Ichkeriyan bullets whizzed past the Legionaries. The two Ichkeriyans, behind an overturned desk at the end of a hallway lined with offices, squeezed off occasional bursts, enough to keep the Legionaries’ helmeted heads down: only a quarter of the squad, a single fireteam of three soldiers, was present, the rest being elsewhere on the floor, pinned down by other small Chechen groups.

PFC Davedan, commander of his fireteam, grumbled in irritation as he looked for a way out of this situation. It would be the action of a rank amateur to charge the Ichkeriyans, with their massive knives, especially when they had cover and his men had nothing other than the corners they were hiding behind. Nor was he particularly happy about the idea of wasting a grenade on two worthless infidels. He smirked behind his helmet’s faceplate: even a grenade was worth more than they. Looking around the office, however, there didn’t seem to be any other option, and so he reached down to his belt and retrieved a grenade…but before he pulled the pin and threw, he remembered something from basic training, a maneuver mentioned by an instructor for urban combat. He tapped on the wall, then struck it lightly with his palm. Thin.

Turning to his fireteam, he raised a hand and gestured furiously, talking in the hand motions Legionaries used for silent communications. When he finished, the two men on the opposite side of the hallway nodded, PFC Davedan backed up, and, lowering his shoulder to achieve maximum force, hurled himself through the office’s thin wall. Not pausing even to shake the dust and splinters from his black fatigues, he moved past the computer desk and chairs that dominated this particular office and rammed through the wall opposite that by which he had entered…sending him into the hallway where the Ichkeriyans had taken cover, on their left. Where they had no cover.

Before he was even fully out of the wall, Davedan whipped up his SG-752 assault rifle and opened fire, quickly spraying a burst at the head of one before he knew what was happening. The other quickly reacted, whirling around instantly and raising his own rifle to take aim at Davedan’s head, but before he could fire, Davedan put three rounds through his left eye. He slumped back, the upper left quarter of his face a bloody, caved-in mass. Davedan exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His first kills. Looking at the limp bodies, sprayed lightly with blood, a distant corner of him remarked at how…easy it had been. As his sergeant had said back at boot camp, before the war:

“War is not pretty. War is not helpful or kind. In war, you will kill, and kill a lot. At first you will do it for self-preservation, because you are afraid. Kill or be killed. Then you will kill for honor, because it has grown easy. And at last, you will kill simply for your own amusement. That feeling of contempt, that hatred of the enemy: that’s the mindset that all our training is ultimately aimed at creating. You’ll feel it someday, and if you’re any kind of man, you’ll enjoy it.”

Looking at the cooling bodies of the Ichkeriyans as his men moved down the hallway to join him, Davedan knew the sergeant had been right. He could do this again, and again, and each time it’d be a little easier.

Feeling oddly elated, the Private First Class motioned for his men to follow him and moved into a service stairwell. They descended floors rapidly, their bootsteps echoing oddly inside the tall but narrow area. The rest of their squad, so their HUD informed them, was regrouping on the third floor, in preparation for breaking into the parking garage underneath the building. His was the only fireteam in the squad left above the twelfth floor, and Davedan mentally berated himself for allowing the Ichkeriyans to slow his men down. However, as he rounded another flight of stairs, he was greeted by a sight so shocking as to shake him completely out of his reverie: the ninth floor was ablaze, the fires extending well into the stairwell and blocking the passage downwards.

The PFC held up a hand to stop his comrades, who stared for a moment at the roaring blaze, then turned to Davedan. One simply shrugged, while the other remarked: “Motherfuckers.” His heart pounded as Davedan realized he had to find a way out of this. Responsibility, he realized, was quite a burden in the line of fire. He offered a quick prayer to the Destroyer, pleading for the god of war to show him the way…and then the answer hit him in the face. Turning to his men, he smiled, although they of course could not see it beneath his helmet’s faceplate, and ordered, “We’re going down, gentlemen. I’m on point. Let’s go.”

Backing up to the tenth floor landing, the PFC felt the wooden door. No heat. Good. He took a second to center himself, then raised his right leg and slammed his boot into the door, just left of the doorknob. The door shook, but nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, Davedan tried again, kicking the door wide open this time. Snapping up his assault rifle, he swept the room that he had just battered into. His men stalked through the dark office, flashlights beaming under cubicles and into dark corners, checking for any hidden Ichkeriyans, as he felt the floor in various places, explaining his plan as he did so. Finally, he found a spot on the floor that was cool compared to the rest of the tenth floor, and, forming his men into a triangle around it, lowered his assault rifle at the floor, and opened fire. Fighting the recoil, which mounted despite the burst fire, he moved his rifle in an arc, matching that of his Legionaries, cutting through a round section of the floor and weakening it considerably. Abruptly ceasing fire, Davedan stomped through it with a heavy boot, allowing a cloud of dense smoke to boil out: while there was no fire in the room below, the smoke had filled it completely. Realizing his flashlight was useless, Davedan simply rolled a frag grenade into the room below, backing away from the hole to avoid the inevitable shrapnel and motioning his men to do the same. Seconds later, it exploded, with a loud thump, and the PFC jumped down to the burning ninth floor.

“Fucking infidels,” he growled to himself as he landed in the smoke-filled room. One interior wall had cracked and buckled under the heat of the fires in the adjacent rooms, and Davedan could see them blazing and crackling, hotter than anything he’d ever felt in his life. Beads of sweat welled up on his skin, beneath the black fatigues. “Fuck it,” he muttered, moving aside so his men could follow him down. As he walked into the second hole, the one his grenade had made, two thumps behind him told him his men had jumped. Davedan peered down into the eighth floor. No smoke. No fire. He grinned. “We just broke out the kill-jar, boys. Let’s rendezvous and then get fuckin’ underground.”

Hopping down into the eighth floor, he inhaled fresh air with relief. The filters in his helmet prevented him from being harmed by the smoke, but whenever the filters started working, the air quality in his helmet always deteriorated. His men followed him, dropping with heavy thumps behind him…and then Private Varus hissed.

It wasn’t a hiss, really. Simply an intake of breath. But something about it made it the coldest, most sinister sound Davedan had ever heard. Turning, he saw that Varus was actually crouching on the ground, looking at something. And as he followed Varus’s line of sight, underneath the front of a desk, he saw something. Buttocks, to be precise. Which meant that someone was hiding.

Davedan gestured for Varus to be quiet, but Varus had this stance, this poise; Davedan had often seen his cat act like this right before it pounced on some poor bird. Tension growing within him, Davedan watched as Varus slowly walked up to the side of the desk…and suddenly, with speed that surprised even the PFC, Private Varus grabbed the edge of the desk and hurled it backwards, exposing two Ichkeriyans huddled beneath it. Terror and hatred filled their eyes as they gazed up at the blank faceplates of the Legionaries. One was wounded: he had a shallow but bloody shrapnel wound across his scalp and a much deeper array of wounds on his left arm and shoulder. He lay, groaning, in the arms of a woman, probably a secretary, who was trying to stop the bleeding from his scalp. Varus slowly reached up and removed his helmet, the savage grin on his features now plain for all to see.

“We don’t have time for this,” Davedan began irritably, but Varus waved him off, barely even paying attention. Slowly, with a horrible air of amusement, the dark-haired Legionary raised his assault rifle to point directly at the bleeding man’s groin, before squeezing off a burst. The wounded man screamed in pain and thrashed, blood seeping from the destroyed tissues into and across his pants. He, however, was at least smart enough not to try to do anything. The woman was either more temperamental or less intelligent, and she leapt at Varus, trying to claw him with her long fingernails, screaming like a banshee in her native tongue. With an easy sort of casual cruelty Varus batted her aside, sending her sprawling backwards, stunned. Turning back to the maimed man, Varus widened his grin still further as he reached to his belt for his combat knife, having dropped his assault rifle. Grabbing the wounded Ichkeriyan by the hair, Varus hauled him upright and subjected him to an awful rain of blows, vicious backhands followed by volleys of punches. His nose quickly shattered, spraying droplets of blood across Varus’s face as the Legionary struck again and again. Feebly the wounded man tried to fight him off, but there was no matching a wounded cubicle-dweller against a trained soldier. Varus quickly broke the man’s jaw as well. The woman, seeing this barrage, stood unsteadily and tried to attack Varus, but before she could, Private Fedor held her back, watching as Private Varus beat the Ichkeriyan to within an inch of his life, laughing all the while.

At last Varus’s laughter faded to chuckles, and even those soon failed. The private, tiring of his game, stepped to the side of his victim, who by now was struggling to breathe past all the blood in his nostrils and mouth, making a horrible gurgling every time he gasped for air, and held his combat knife to the man’s windpipe. “Let’s see how long he laughed,” Varus chuckled, and, looking directly at the helpless, horrified Ichkeriyan woman, began sawing through the man’s neck. Flesh came away easily, and the man’s eyes widened as he gasped still more, trying to move air through his destroyed throat. Varus strained to saw through the vertebrae, but gritted his teeth and finished the cut.

As he picked up the messily severed head, blood dripping and scraps of flesh hanging from the neck, he smiled at the woman and remarked, “Better for him if he’d died from the grenade.” The woman clearly didn’t understand a word of Kregaian, but could not fail to mistake the taunting tone. “Friend of yours?” Varus inquired in English as he stepped closer, bloody knife in one hand and gory trophy in the other. The woman simply spat in his face.

Varus wiped the saliva slowly away, before looking again at the woman, and this time there was no mistaking the murder in his gaze. Wrenching her away from Private Fedor, he began mauling her, plunging his knife into her over and over again, stabbing furiously, his teeth bared and yet more blood spraying over his face, before forcing her head back and cutting through her neck just as he had done to the other, ignoring both Fedor’s chuckles and Davedan’s pointed comments that they had no time to play Inquisitor. Dropping the knife and picking up the two battered heads, Varus kicked through the nearest window and, roaring “Blood and Honor!” at the top of his lungs, hurled the grisly objects down at a passing platoon of Ichkeriyans soldiers on the street below.

Given his idiotic behavior, standing helmetless, covered in blood, yelling a battlecry, and hurling severed heads at the enemy (his rifle, moreover, still lying inside the office), PFC Davedan was not at all surprised when Davedan’s head exploded in a shower of gore. Kind of ironic: he’d taken two. Now he lost one. Regulations required that Davedan call “Sniper!” which he did, laconically, and then growled at Fedor, “Fucking idiot had it coming. Let’s go.”

They found the stairwell again, and after glancing up at the burning ninth floor, hurried down to the third floor, where they found their squad lounging in a conference room, a guard at each of the doors, the rest busy eating their way through the breakfast pastries laid out for a meeting. Their squad leader, the stocky but cold-faced Subaltern Arrius, inquired of the two as they walked in, “Where’s Varus?” Davedan saluted and replied, “Sir, counting us, there were five people on the eighth floor. Three of them are now headless. Varus found it difficult to keep up after that.” The Subaltern smiled. Maybe. It could have been a trick of the light. “Probably something fucking retarded. Well, boys, finish your fucking scones. Lock and load: we’re headed underground.”

* * *

So give it away
Like they're not gonna fuck you
How long can you bear him
To come back and haunt you
To burn past your feelings
And cause you to suffer
You're starting to bleed
They don't discover
Before its too late
What will you offer
In way of a healing
I'm so confused, abused, misused…
-Guns N Roses, “Oh My God”

* * *

The battle raged across Karaman’s beaches and down the floors of its skyscrapers. The Legionaries gave no quarter, killing civilians and soldiers alike, and striving to evade the Ichkeriyan forces prowling through the city. The towers themselves were lightly held, in most places: however, at times the Kregaians encountered much stronger resistance, put up by Ichkeriyan soldiers who put up barricades in the stairwells or bombed the elevator shafts that the Kregaians were fond of rappelling down. Bit by bit, inch by inch, step by step, the Legionaries fought their way down, down to street level. Overhead, the surviving helicopters continued to range, hunting down tanks and pummeling enemy squads with chaingun fire.

Conditions on the beach were appalling. As cluster fire from Ichkeriyan artillery tore holes in their ranks, the Legionaries simply kept moving, their comrades’ blood saturating the sand. Blowing holes in fences and makeshift barricades with grenades or simply driving tanks through them, they flooded onwards, a tide of black-armored, faceless killers. The AT men in each squad quickly assembled their launchers and loaded up, firing away at any Ichkeriyan tank that dared present itself. Sergeants and subalterns roared curses and battle cries, driving their men onward. The earth shook under the bombardment of the fleet’s artillery, pounding the Ichkeriyan defenses still further.

The thick, advanced Kregaian body armor, employing both ceramic advanced materials and carbon nanofibers, is capable of withstanding hits from armor-piercing rifle rounds, in places. It made for a fearsome sight: a wave of Legionaries advancing out of the trace smoke left by the artillery barrages from both sides, coolly letting off burst after burst at the Ichkeriyan defenders, shrugging off multiple bursts from their enemies before falling at last, their faceplates reflecting the carnage as Karaman burned. In the north, the fighting quickly became much fiercer and closer; knives were drawn in places and the Legionaries were forced to employ the Krav Maga they had been taught in basic training. However, the Legionaries did not like close combat. It narrowed the odds too much. Their advanced weaponry, armor, and vehicles were a considerable advantage, and the Ichkeriyans not only had physical strength matching that of the average Legionary, but massive close-combat weapons to boot. Armor or not, one of those things could slice a Kregaian open from balls to brow, as the saying went.

Meanwhile, behind enemy lines, the insertion troops were encountering greater and greater resistance as they fought down. Almost every group had either been destroyed by the Ichkeriyans or had battled its way to ground level, but this was where things became difficult, because while in the buildings they had effectively had their backs to a wall, now they could be flanked or encircled. The only advantage gained was that now the Kregaians from different buildings could reinforce each other. Where before, squads or platoons operated independently, now platoons, companies, or even whole battalions could work together, coordinated by the BattleNet. With this advantage, it was possible to drive out the Ichkeriyans from whole blocks…but it could not go on forever. Continuing to expand the pockets would leave the defenses in each place too thin. The Ichkeriyans would focus their mass in a single place, break through, and then annihilate the Legionaries at will. Luckily for the Kregaians, they didn’t have to expand very far.

These Legionaries had an advantage that their comrades on the beach did not have, or at least had in small quantities: cover. The ruins of Karaman provided countless hiding places, allowing them to protect themselves while they drove towards their targets, and their targets were quite often very close by. In fact, there were only two kinds: some groups were assigned to simply lift a manhole and enter the sewers, while others had to fulfill a much more difficult task, namely to reach and take control of a subway station. It was easy to find the stations (a tech with the fleet simply had to go online and visit the City of Karaman’s website), but it was somewhat more difficult to fight one’s way to them: the Ichkeriyans were not idiots, and knew that such transportation nodes would be extremely important territory in the battle. As such, they would be defended by able and well-armed soldiers. The sewers, by contrast, would be much less fortified: it was impossible to control that much area at once, and there were entrance points everywhere, namely manholes. The trick there was to avoid getting lost, but Kregaians had done this trick before: by placing a disguised, automatic transmitter near the manhole, it could take care of all their communications needs: it could serve as a relay for communications with the fleet which would otherwise be difficult to pick up underground, and by constantly transmitting its location, it gave the Legionaries a reference point and automatically mapped their progress, so that they did not go in circles. Soon, thousands of Legionaries were roving around beneath the city, unseen by the Ichkeriyans above, and able to outmaneuver them effortlessly.

* * *

Meanwhile, the flanking maneuver was proceeding excellently. Fringe reconnaissance units and satellite imagery had shown that a force of over a hundred thousand Ichkeriyan soldiers had been moving southwards on a major highway towards Karaman when Army Group North had begun to land. After an initial bombardment by organic artillery, the Ichkeriyans had fallen back, towards Al Nashif, attempting to fortify their position there. They were not idiots: they knew the Kregaian military character. Kregaians attacked: that was the way of things.

Lord Ishamael would not be predicted. Not by infidels.

At his orders, the Twentieth Legion halted along Route 50, as the other 500,000 or so men of Army Group North marched south-southeast to Karaman, their advance screened by fast-moving light armor detachments and mechanized infantry scouts, searching for hidden enemy positions, fortifications, or minefields. The air was absent the turmoil typical of such landings: the Ichkeriyans had practically all of their available defenses, so the Kregaians guessed, over Karaman, and while the Kregaians had reserves, the raids on the fleet were draining that pool of manpower. Besides which, the critical moment had not yet arrived.

As the rest of Army Group North moved towards the besieged city, the Twentieth Legion prepared to cover their rear. Soldiers set to work demolishing the highway itself, using cratering bombs and shaped explosives to destroy or render the road unusable for three kilometers north of the Army’s position. And as an added present, they planted mines for four kilometers north of the demolition, as well as for a kilometer to the east and the west of the roadway. Inactive mines; the Imperium had a tactic for times like these. The engineers attached to the Army, meanwhile, a task force of no fewer than 3,600 men, labored to dig trenches, build makeshift bunkers, and in general fortify hills and other strategic positions, positioning heavy weapons teams in well-disguised trenches and pits. Snipers and ATGM-carriers prowled through the countryside, expertly disguising themselves with the available cover and waiting for confirmation that the enemy was coming. As the Twentieth fortified and dug in, the Kregaian grip closed around Karaman.

Perhaps the Ichkeriyans would come out and play; they would pay in blood for doing so, and learn what must inevitably happen to their kind at the Legionaries’ hands. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and would stay holed up in Al Nashif for the remainder of the battle. Which would remove them from the equation entirely, and allow Ishamael’s forces to crush them at his leisure after Karaman fell. Neither option was particularly appealing for the Ichkeriyans, but soon they would face a choice. Time was running out. In the south, although a force of roughly 180,000 Ichkeriyans was entering Karaman to reinforce it, Army Group South was sweeping northwards, and would enfold and crush the enemy. The insertion units were fighting savagely to secure the sewers and subways, the main force was pressing inland from the coast, the northern flank was guarded as the Army Group there marched steadily towards the city. Within several hours, Karaman would be under attack by three separate armies, in three separate directions.

The pieces were falling into place.

* * *

Oh my God, I can’t deny this
I’ve been taught just to murder and fight this
To bury it deeper where nobody can find it
Cause nobody wouldn’t know
Ooh, if it opens your eyes
This is better than a good compromise
I was willing to be lost in the shuffle
If only you had let me know
Ooh, well it’s on with the show;
Like the tides out on the ocean,
The waves already set in motion,
The only one in the game that’s lost is you.
-Guns N Roses, “Oh My God”

Karaman.... welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. You'd think there'd be more fire and meteors would constantly rain from the sky...well the occasional flaming wreck of a Kregaian or Ichkeriyan jet or helicopter was close enough. But what strikes you is how gray everything is. The city really has been pulverized to rubble. It all looks the same to you; Every street and corner looked just like every other street and corner. You thought you saw a Kregaian soldier out of the corner of your eye taking aim at you from behind a pile of rubble only for it to be a shadow. You thought you saw a shadow out of the corner of your eye only for it to be a Kregaian soldier taking aim at you. Allah determined who lived and died. Allah and the man behind the trigger. You run down a cratered street which earlier in the day was being driven over by luxury sedans, keeping your head low to avoid snipers towards where the fighting is going on. But the fighting is going on everywhere. You see a squad of soldiers running your way, they're young: probably only conscripts, telling you only death awaits any further. Your Sergeant punches the kid who spoke across the side of the face and reminds him this is his country he's supposed to be fighting for. The handful of 18 yr olds join you in your journey further into hell.

Running past a foreign made car in flames you take a glimpse of the horrific features of the faces of its charred occupants. Your foot hits something soft and you almost trip; you've just stepped on the torn open stomach of a little girl, pale from death and bloated from spending hours lying in the sun. There's a little burning feeling moving up your throat and this is when you realize that at any moment that could be you in the car or lying on the ground; stomach torn open and face bloated and pale. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? You're only 20 and you've joined the military to get a free ride in college and not have to serve in the future. 2 years ago your decision seemed like the smartest thing in the world; killing two birds with one stone. Now your parents are a thousand miles away in Ziivgi-Yaat glued to the television worrying about their son. You're friends are watching the news coverage of the battle and realize after a few minutes that you told them all you were going to Karaman. Meanwhile your sweating through your clothes from the heat and your own nervousness as you try not to get killed while running headlong into what is at this moment in time the most dangerous place on Earth.

There's an ear shattering blast and you see a wall of dust and wind blown out across the intersection in front of you. Another soldier is thrown by the explosion into a telephone pole and falls to the ground limp. You can hear the flames and hear the monstrous engines of heavy armor just around the corner. As you reach the burning hulk of the APC you see the carnage; the blackened hull ablaze, the arms of its occupants laying charred and scattered. All of a sudden it lurches heavily and is shoved to the side, crashing into a boutique store and bringing the whole side of it crashing down. Behind is a very familiar sight. Its an M1 tank and the commander is shouting at your squad to get the hell out of the way as his gunner aims the turret down the road. The rest of your squad is sprinting across the front of the tank and you follow suite. As you clear the front end of the tank your see what it is for the first time, the Kregaian Despoiler MBT. Subconsciously you run a little bit faster, not wanting to get caught in between this duel of titans. As you make it to the clear you hear the commander shut his hatch behind you. A the shock wave from the blast throws you flat on your face and the sounds of the battle and your buddy shouting to you are replaced by a clear ringing noise. You're on your ass and as you get up you see the tank behind you. There's a huge black gash on front side of its turret and the tank is surrounded by flames. As you're hoisted to your feet by another soldier you're hit by a rush of wind as the M1's barrel roars with its reply to its adversary's opening punch.

Finally what seems like an eternity later you arrive at where presumably all the action is. The enormity and dark humor of the irony isn't noticed by you as your NCO instructs you to take up positions. For the first few minutes there's nothing and your hearing finally comes back. You begin to wonder what the hell you're doing here in this part of this huge city when a battle is raging at what looks to you as every other place than here. You're mind clears and you say a little prayer to God that this is the case. A man shouts "Contact!" and everyone, you included open fire. The recoil from your G3 is heavy and you aren't comforted by the fact that what it hits rarely if ever gets back up. There are a few figures some 20 meters in front of you and you fire but they disappear before you get off a round. An explosion sprays dirt in your face and as you duck your head to reload you see a fellow soldier staring wide eyed up at the sky. Turning him over you see a massive hole in the back of his head and see is gnarled brains inside. You turn to throw-up and no one needs to tell you that you're being overrun.

The next minute is an absolute blur for the rest of your life. All you remember is that you somehow ended up back with the rest of your squad and another somewhere in the city. You have no idea where you are, you've never actually been to Karaman before. There is a highway overpass above you and there's a chunk gouged out of the road above and a semi dangling from it, balancing on a dozen iron reinforcing bars. This must be a neighborhood of some sort from the looks of it. You're sergeant is arguing with a new face; a heavily built man who has the look of someone to whom war is nothing new. Then you notice a number of other soldier dressed differently than you. You look at their patches and you realize: these are Rangers. One of them gives you an angry look and you shift your gaze. A few moments later a man yells out and your heart stops...


* * *

The ground shook with the impact of another titan naval shell or another building which had just collapsed. The very dust which had collected on the ground was thrown back up into the air by the shock and it shook some men off their feet. Private Aman got down to a knee and began firing his battle rifle in the direction of the enemy...which pretty much was everywhere. He fired and thought he got one but wasn't sure. The bullets from the enemy whizzed past his head and he could hear the cracking as they flew past him supersonic. Further down the road to their left he could hear a number of armored vehicles duking it out on both sides.

The cracking sound of gun fire erupted again very close this time. A group of Kregian infantry had stumbled upon their position and were trying to take the intersection. Private Aman was laying prostrate on a slope of rubble and fired his rifle down the road. This was the first time for him that he had been fighting the enemy face to face so far. If he lived it certainly wouldn't be his last. He was calm as he fired his shots and next to him a soldier set up an LMG and began firing it in long bursts down the street. The rest of his squad of a dozen and change had taken positions around the intersection and were attempting to hold the position. Aman could hear over the racket of the fire fight that his sergeant and the Ranger officer had gotten into a fierce argument. He couldn't tell what it was about but somehow the moment he turned around he saw his NCO pointing at him and the highly athletic commando walking his way.

"You're coming with us, son" he said and Aman got up and followed him and the other two Rangers. They moved quickly around the side of the building which was at the intersection and reached the skeletal remains of a bombed out concrete building. The lead Ranger made a series of rapid hand movements which Aman could barely understand at their speed. The other two nodded and sprinted off climbing the rubble onto the second and then onto the third floor of the building. The Ranger motioned for Aman to follow and set off into the building. The building itself was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. It was a maze of blown out walls and rooms and bare concrete corridors. Rubble was everywhere and random items were strewn about as well as papers and a number of computers. This was probably a small local office building or a bank.

The two moved down a dimly lit corridor into a relatively well preserved section at the far end of the building, arriving into a ruined and dimly lit office workplace full of cubicles. The lights flickered on and off; the building was probably running on a generator to still have power after the bombing. There was something off about the large room, something didn't feel right. This about a bombed office building in the middle of a besieged city. Pvt. Aman held his weapon tightly and watched the Ranger's every move. The man moved slowly in a stance down an isle lined with cubicles and looked inside one of them. He immediately turned towards Aman and motioned for him to get to the corner of the room to cover the other door. The private didn't understand what he meant and asked "What?" The commando looked like he was going to kill the green horn right there when he heard something. Aman heard it too. It sounded like a slab of concrete or sheet rock falling off of a wall and onto the ground and something else. The pause before the next action afterwards felt like an eternity.

The Ranger ran sideways and fired into the wall where the sound came from. Bullets came back out of the wall and there were two explosions as one grenade flew out a section of the wall and the Ranger's exploded in the door way. The first Kregaian who came out through the smoking wall was cut down by a burst of bullets from the Ranger; two to the chest and one in the head. A flurry of gun fire tore through the multiple cubicle walls and ejected stacks of paper everywhere. Aman began firing at the wall and tried to take cover by a cubicle. A grenade blew one such working space into oblivion and shards of shrapnel flew through the thin walls of the office working spaces just missing Pvt. Aman's head. He heard a man screaming. The Ranger all the while kept moving and firing making it impossible for anyone to come out of that hole in the wall without it getting cut down. There was another explosion and the lights went out. There was a lot more rapid fire and computers and monitors cracked and exploded as they were riddled with holes in the cross fire. As the lights flickered back on Aman caught sight of a Kregaian infantryman straight in front of him. He was facing the other way and didn't notice Aman at all until he heard the click of his rifle. Idiot! Aman couldn't beleive his stupidity and luck. The Kregaian turned around in an instant and caught sight of the scared Aman. Aman tried to rush him with his battle rifle, trying to smash the but of the rifle into the Kregaian's face plate, but the other soldier batted it away with his rifle and smashed Aman in the face with a smack from his gun. Apparently he was oblivious to the existance of the Ranger or he must have thought it was Aman who was running the show because he seemed interested in nothing else but Aman.

The Kregaian stood there for a second, Aman could guess he was smiling sadistically underneath that helmet of his. He took a step forward and raised his rifle, even underneath his armor and fatigues it was obvious he was a heavily built man and a real sportsman. The young soldier lying on his back could see the muscles tense up as the finger squeezed on the trigger.

Duel of Champions

MSG Zakhav raised his G3 to fire at the Kregaian in front of him. As he did so the other turned to face him and brought his own gun to bear. The two men reached for each others rifles and both fired shots off wide. The two men locked together each trying to overpower the other as their rifles fired until empty up at the ceiling. Zakhav broke his lock with the Kregaian and hurled the ass end of his rifle towards the other's face. The Kregaian soldier stepped to the side and batted his rifle away with his and pressed his up into Zakhav's throat, choking him. Zakhav's arms were both to his side and he couldn't break his enemy's pressure on his neck. In a lightening quick motion he dropped his rifle and reached his right hand down towards his groin and brought it back up again in a quick motion.

The Kregaian grunted beneath his face mask as Master Sergeant Zakhav cut his forearm with his razor sharp kinjhal. Blood dripped from the cut in the Kregaian's arm and Zakhav went at him again with the long dagger. Face to face, the Kregaian reversed Zakhav's stab towards his ribs and brought the knife upwards into Zakhav's ribs. The man was as strong as a bull and Zakhav couldn't keep the knife down or break the Kregaian's arm lock. Instead, pressed up against a cubicle wall, the Ranger punched the Kregaian in the ribs with his left arm which was in an under hook and managed to drop the knife with his other hand. Zakhav dropped to a crouch and grabbed the Kregaian's left leg with his free arm and launched him and himself into the ground, crashing through the wall of another cubicle. The two men wrestled on the ground for position throwing punches and elbows at each other's ribs as they both rolled around the floor on top of each other. Zakhav had been a star wrestler all through high school and college and was a master at combat Sambo. But this other man was good. Zakhav wrapped his legs around his opponents waist and squeezed while he tried to administer a choke. The Kregaian landed a series of massive punches into Zakhav's ribs and kidneys forcing him to let go. As the Kregaian broke his head free of Zakhav's lock, the Ranger managed to tear his helmet off. At this point both men had lost their helmets and were fighting face to face. Sweat from the Kregaian fell down onto Zakhav's face as he raised his large arms to land a series of finishing blows to Zakhav's head. Before he could do this however, the Ranger had already moved his legs to effectively block his opponent from connecting any sort of punch with Zakhav's head. The two continued to wrestle from this position, Zakhav trying to once again choke the Kregaian, this time with his legs, and the Kregaian fighting to break his grip and stomping on the under portions of the Ranger's legs with his heals.

The Kregaian finally broke Zakhav's grip but as a concession, was kicked hard in the face by the Ranger as he rolled backwards back to his feat. The other man staggered back and wiped the blood from his mouth. Both men stood in their respective fighting stances staring at each other and breathing hard. The Kregaian smiled sadistically before he moved and Zakhav was able to anticipate his next move through a trained eye. He ducked out of the way of a hard punch and elbowed the Kregaian in the chin. He followed up with a punch which fell across the Kregaian's face, whipping his head back. The Kregaian responded, however, by locking the Ranger in an under and over with his arms and going with the momentum of Zakhav's punch, launched the Ranger over him backwards and into the floor behind him. The Ranger managed to land on his feet although that didn't stop his head from hitting the ground hard enough for him to see the Milky-Way for an instant. He spun over to his stomach and pressured into the Kregaian, his force pushing his opponent up to a higher stance, and took a shot for his legs. He charged the Kregaian hard into the ground; his shoulder impacting his stomach like a freight train. The two men struggled for position as the Kregaian clasped his hands together under Zakhav's chest as hard as he could. He was just tiring himself out, however, and Zakhav began to go to town on the man's ribs, punching them repeatedly over and over again.

He worked his hands towards his opponent's grip and pried the fingers off one by one. As he broke the grip he pushed into his opponent, trying to take him down to his back but the Kregaian had something else in mind and was able to shuffle to the side just in time to catch Zakhav's thrust and get on his side. The two spent the next minute wrestling on the ground here trying to get position. Neither of them had thought about trying to use a knife, they were so focused on grappling. Finally, Zakhav was able to reverse his position on his opponent: as the Kregaian threw his legs in to break Zakhav's base, the Ranger did a kamikaze, a wrestling move in which the man on bottom does a roll propped up on his shoulders while scissoring his legs in the air to break his opponent's grip and end up in an offensive position. It worked and as the Kregaian frantically tried to break out, Zakhav was able to trap the man's leg in his arms. He constricted his legs on the Kregaian's chest and began to apply pressure through his arms and entire body on the Kregaian soldier's leg. Every muscle in Zakhav's body tensed as hard as it was able to and he could feel his opponent shuddering in his grasp. He kept on the pressure, his arms and legs burned and his muscles screamed at him to stop but he knew he needed to squeeze as hard as he could as long as he could. Finally it happened and the leg popped. The Kregaian, by the looks of him and his skill as a fighter, was a seasoned and hardened veteran. Even so he couldn't suppress a grunt and a scream as his femur was broken in half by Master Sergeant Zakhav. The leg bulged out where the bone was broken in two and the Kregaian soldier writhed in the immeasurable pain of his broken leg. Zakhav, sensing his victory grabbed a radio next to him and hurled it at the Kregaian's head. He scrambled over to his long knife and brought it to bear over his enemy's sternum.

At this point Zakhav looked into the Kregaian soldier's eyes with a fierce burning for vengeance. The Kregaian shuddered and shook as he fought as hard as he could through his fatigue and pain to push Zakhav's knife away from his heart but the Ranger had him beat. Zakhav's head shook and beads of sweat and blood rand down the sides of his face as he stared his enemy directly in the eyes. The Kregaian let out a roar as he struggled to force the knife back up but with last thrust the long dagger was driven straight into his heart. The Kregaian started shaking and his mouth gaped open and finally he began to stop as his pupils dilated.

MSG Zakhav pulled the knife out of the man he had just killed and rolled off of him. He sat down with his arms and knife between his legs, breathing heavily. It took a while for him to catch his breath and finally he looked back at the Kregaian. That man must have been someone important he thought. Never in his life had he fought someone that good.

Back to Work..

Zakhav got back onto his feet and picked up his rifle. He checked it once and after staring at the dead Kregaian's rifle for a second, decided to sling it over his back and take the foreign gun. He took the gun and examined it in his hands. It was well made he could tell that but he had no time to conduct a thorough inspection. He checked the ammo and scavenged more magazines off the dead man. With an indifferent look towards Aman, who was now just getting up on his feet, said "Thanks for covering me. Come on." and he hurried off through the blown out hole in the wall.

Outside the firefight continued in the streets and the squad of Ichkeriyans and Kregaians were fighting each other now only barely 10 meters apart. As MSG Zakhav and Pvt Aman reached on opening on the second floor overlooking the gray rubble strewn street the Ranger threw out a flash bang which exploded just feet from a couple of Kregaians. He ducked back into the shadows and moved to another bombed out room in the shadows. As bullets filled the opening he was just in he heard a loud ear splitting grinding noise that only comes when large amounts of metal scrape over each other, like nails on a chalk board but much deeper and painful. Aman looked up and had to blink a few times to make sure he saw what he was seeing. The semi began sliding off of the curved overpass and the iron bars which had protruded from the gash in the side of the raised road simply bent out of the way. The 18-wheeler started to roll over onto its side and cab first fell onto the middle of the street, its trailer bringing down the top two stories of a 4-story apartment in a shower of bricks and dust. A grenade was thrown seemingly out of nowhere and the next instant a gigantic ball of flame erupted from the cab of the semi, swallowing the entire section of the street. Aman began firing at the enemy soldiers in the street below, some of them on fire, others hiding behind cover from the immense heat. Mean while machine gun and sniper fire came at the Kregaians in the street below from the floor above and Zakhav tested out his new toy. Meanwhile the squad of Ichkeriyan soldiers, taking their cue, ran around the side of the building to flank the Kregaians moving back along the street. As Aman fired his rifle he felt a surge of adrenaline and a mix of pure pleasure and furious rage. He'd almost been killed a few minutes ago and now he was more than willing to exact his own vengeance. He fired a 5 round burst of rounds into a flaming Kregaian and watched the enemy soldier go down in a heap, still on fire. He watched as the others retreated from where they came - they were in a kill zone with one exit and a wall of flame on the other side and so only had one way to go - and a smile formed itself on his face as he saw his squad take them by surprise cutting down the remainder of the group. No sooner had this happened than the Ranger, Zakhav, tapped him on the soldier and told him to move out. Staying here would be suicide and they had to join up with other elements of their military. By chance two isolated squads of Ichkeriyan and Kregaian soldiers happened upon one another. Fortunately the Ichkeriyans had a fireteam of Rangers with them.

* * *

Meanwhile across the city the fighting reached a new fever pitch as both sides hurled themselves at each other and sections of the city turned into total meat grinders. At midday all of the militia elements of the city had been activated and bands of men began emerging from their cellars in armed gangs intent on getting in on the action and the glory. As the Kregaian advance pushed inwards into the city, bands of fighters began materializing behind their front lines armed with small arms and anti tank weapons mostly consisting of RPGs. The city itself was in total devastation from the incredibly heavy bombardment of the Kregaian armada assembled over the horizon. Ichkeriyan artiller continued to pound enemy landing sights into oblivion with HE and DPICM shells and as the calls came in, battery elements began redirecting their fire on specific parts of the city, however Ichkeriyan ground commanders were reluctant to call in artillery strikes on their own city as their could be civilians in hiding and in every war it was the civilian populous which felt the blows of battle the hardest.

As the fighting continued more Army elements made their way into the city, the devastation increased proportionally as the distance to the coast decreased. The 180,000 strong 5th Army in the south had begun making its way through the metropolitan sectors in the south of the city, moving northwards to reinforce already embattled friendly units. Tanks and APCs and armored trucks flooded the streets and roads of outlying neighborhoods and slums. Ichkeriyan civilians who had stayed in their homes looked out their windows at the sight before them. The tanks rolled by their houses shaking the ground as they went and proudly displaying national and unit colors on their sides as they went by. Some people looked out and cheered waving sheets or weapons from their hands. It was a big morale boost to the people who had endured a morning's bombardment of the city, living in the relative safety of the less important metropolitan area of the 16 million strong city, and who had to witness as their city was reduced to rubble and ashes. In one poor neighborhood an Ichkeriyan child ran out onto his front lawn past his home's gate and onto the street. He stopped dead in his tracks and was lifted up by his scared mother who took a step back, holding the little boy's hand in her own. A truck full of serious looking soldiers drove past them and was followed by another and another and another in a procession which seemed to go on forever. Above an Mi-24 Hind flew over them and was followed by several others, soldier's legs dangling out their sides. The young mother looked up at the sky and for the first time noticed the hundreds of contrails etching themselves upon the canvas of the sky above. The realization came upon her that fighter planes were fighting way up there and those explosions meant people were dying. She turned her head down and looked at the city in the distance. There were great black and gray plumes of smoke rising up into the heavens from the city and she could hear the dull thudding sound of artillery and explosions in the distance. Frightened, she hurried her son back inside the house as his father came outside to see what was going on. The woman put her hands up to her mouth in shock and her husband put his arm around her asking what was wrong. She raised a slender arm up pointing in the direction of the city and her husband's jaw dropped. Of the three iconic towers of the city, one of them was obviously missing. Meanwhile the young boy, probably only 4 or 5 barely, stood with his arm wrapped around a supporting column on the house's patio. Both his parents came towards him and rushed inside, telling their parents who had gotten up to see what was going on to get back inside. Inside the father unlocked his gun case and took out a 12 gauge shotgun and began loading it. He hid it under the couch in front of the TV and began standing vigil by the windows and keeping a keen eye on the TV news reports.

As scouting reports came back to General Midvavi, commanding the 5th Army to the south of the city, from General Giorgi Dzamakov of Army Group 2 further south describing an enemy advance to the south of him, the general began to reform his rear guard. He did not want to be flanked and although he had another 700+ thousand soldiers further in the south it would take days for the first of them to arrive. A corps of units were ordered to turn around and not to continue with the general advance, but rather to prepare to engage the enemy to their south. Recon teams and drones were dispatched, news reports, though sporadic, were able to give General Midvavi an extra eye watching out for the enemy's souther advance. Across hundreds of square kilometers his artillery batteries began deploying and command and communications centers were refortified and troops redeployed to different sectors in the south. A number of intuitive tank commanders ordered their platoons to top off their tanks at local gas stations, taking advantage of the opportunity when there was still time.

Meanwhile units were dispatched to advance and engage the enemy. These were essentially skirmishers. Their job was to make first contact with the enemy and engage them, assessing their strength while at the same time staying on the offensive. Dozens of armored companies and smaller tank platoons moved out to find and engage the forward elements of their counter parts. The first smaller scale tank and armor skirmishes were about to begin here in the south.

Tobrek's Folly

Meanwhile in the north General Torbek continued with his reinforcing of Al Nashif and surrounding towns and cities. The man was a believer of operating from fortresses out on a battle field although many of his colleagues thought he was a fool in this aspect. Due to the fog of war, chaos, and other communication problems which inevitable surface in the opening bouts of a massive battle involving millions of combatants, General Ibrahim T. Vaznakh, lead commander of all armed forces in the vicinity of the Karaman battle zone, did not get the news that one of his generals had halted his advance and instead ordered his forces to fortify Al Nashif and the other small towns and villages in the surrounding area.

Even as the battle moved forward and all the other commanders acted in accordance with the mobile-offensive doctrine of the Ichkeriyan Armed Forces, he opted to have his men secure the city and establish a perimeter. It was only a few hours after the initial landings but his forces were still waiting to engage the enemy head on. Gen. Torbek wanted to lure the Kregaians to his positions and hold them up. Instead he allowed them to set up beach heads with nothing but artillery fire and occasional tank skirmishes holding them up. Idiot The man was a true modern day George B. McClellan. And his subordinates could not stand his inaction. They, like every other Ichkeriyan field commander, wanted to keep moving and engage the enemy before they could establish a foothold. That time had passed and now they had to act before the enemy could execute a pincer movement down on the north of the city.

Due to the great emphasis on individuality in Chechen culture and its theme through Ichkeriyan military doctrine [for example, in much the same way as German tank commanders during the 2nd World War, Ichkeriyan tank commanders are ordered to acheive an objective. Exactly how they do that is up to them. This is because no one knows the situation on the ground better than the commander at the scene, not the general sitting in his headquarters a hundred miles away], a number of Ichkeriyan commanders hinted to their subordinates what they should do. Under the guise of pursuing forward enemy scout elements, some entire batallions began breaking off, led by their commanders eager to defend their homeland and achieve glory. What awaited them if they died was eternal paradise and they would be considered martyrs for the cause. The rewards for victory were not much less than the former.

* * *

All in all the battle of Karaman which had begun on a warm summer morning in southern Ichkeriya had gotten into full gear. The enormity of numbers of the landing Kregaians served a dual purpose. Casualties due to Ichkeriyan artillery fire concentrated on the southern beaches were sure to exaggerate casualties by at least some noticeable degree but at the same time the assaulting forces swept into the city like a tide, there were simply so many of them. By a little after noon the battle lines had been drawn and already were beginning to intermingle and begin the process of disintegration which is inevitable of any prolonged urban battle. Ichkeriyan soldiers on all fronts along the west of the city met their counterparts and both sides fought with an especially fierce tenacity. The Kregaians had numbers but the Ichkeriyans were on home soil and had a city of potential reinforcements; already units of the city's militia had come active and were going about their mission of supporting the professional troops and filling in the gaps. Armed gangs of local men became fighters who would with time turn the symmetry of the battle on its head. They numbered in the potential millions being ordinary citizens with small arms and anti armor weapons. Ichkeriyan citizens took it upon themselves to defend their neighborhoods and while most of the women, children, and elderly hid in their homes, cellars, shelters, or other gathering places, many of the men and most especially the youths became restless and determined to defend their part of the city.

And as the battle progressed the air battle raged on overhead. Forces from around the country were moving towards the front which was the 10,000 square kilometers around Karaman. Kregaia had gotten what it asked for.

"There is nothing more fierce than a cornered Wolf...
-Ichkeriyan proverb

Private Titus Archal blinked away fatigue as he stared down the barrel of his grenade launcher. He was concealed between a boulder and a sizable shrub on the side of a cliff, bits of shrubbery draped over his body to reduce his visibility all the more. With the help of his spotter, who was prone on a small ledge some distance above, he commanded the entire path below. And what a weapon to do it with, as well: he, as part of a heavy weapons team in the Twentieth Legion, had the privilege to sit behind a 25mm rapid-fire grenade launcher, capable of tearing through light vehicles and utterly slaughtering infantry contingents. With luck, he could reduce a whole Chechen company to half-strength before they could figure out what to do. And it wasn't as if he was alone, either. There were three hundred others like him in the Twentieth, scattered throughout the area, each with a spotter and each commanding a key location. There were another three hundred Spiculum ATGM-bearing duos spread out in similarly concealed locations, and although he doubted all of the Twentieth's heavy machine-gun forces were dispersed around here, he imagined a fair percentage of them were.

None of this, however, alleviated his boredom. He stared out over empty terrain, the sun at high noon blazing overhead, his hiding place shielding him from the heat, which would have been sweltering, encased as he was in his black body armor and fatigues. He resisted the urge to growl with boredom as he surveyed the unmoving countryside. To the south, a column of dust rose as a convoy of trucks passed by, no doubt headed to reinforce some detachment somewhere. He began tapping his fingers on the barrel of his grenade launcher idly. It was all pointless, he thought to himself. The Ichkeriyans wouldn't budge from their hiding place. He was being sent here, to wait in the heat for hours, just on the off chance that the infidels decided to take the road south and force a way through to Karaman. Not that he would disobey. He smiled a little at how ridiculous that notion was. But he didn't have to be happy about it.

Ironically, it was mere seconds later that, on the overall command frequency, a message suddenly came through, saying: "Be advised, all troops, Ichkeriyan detachments are moving south in isolated groups. Remain on alert and await further instructions." Private Archal grinned. Maybe today wouldn't be a total loss.

* * *

The bridge of the Betrayer of Hope was a stellar example of ordered chaos. Yells were traded back and forth between techs, light and sound filled the air as the tactical displays showed every nuance of the battle, making the scene feel for all the world like a busy stock market. Lord Ishamael flitted from display to display, often remaining silent; the beauty of Kregaian command structure was that the overall commander, in this case himself, only had to give fairly broad orders, such as "take that city" or "hold that position", and that only occasionally. By and large, mid- to low-level commanders bore the weight of responsibility. He brushed a stray strand of black hair out of his eyes, glaring out at the gun deck of the flagship, where the massive guns were still firing, albeit with greater intervals between volleys than before. It was taking time. Too much time. The Emperor would not be pleased.

One of the techs called out, "My lord, incoming transmission from Korronis." He paused. "It's the Emperor, sir."

Speak of the devil.

"Indeed." Ishamael's voice was calm. Anyone who had spent more than six months in the Inner Court without being banished or assassinated knew how to control emotions. But Lucifer would not have called simply to offer congratulations. It was bad news. And even for his favorites, it was dangerous to cause bad news to reach Lucifer.

"He wants to speak in private, my lord."

Ishamael nodded and turned to his right, where a booth with secure communications equipment for private calls awaited. Striding in, he closed the soundproof door behind him, dimmed the lights, and sat on the leather couch that filled most of the room, staring at the wall-mounted plasma screen. With a brief flicker of white light, the face of the Emperor suddenly appeared, and Ishamael lowered his head in respect. The Emperor was a middle-aged man, but retained the good looks of his youth, short golden hair rising above a hard, almost expressionless face; however, even on a screen, over a distance of thousands of miles, the eyes unnerved Ishamael. They always had, and, he suspected always would: a shark's eyes, a predator's eyes, inky pools that sometimes swam with imperceptible whims and sometimes blazed with frightening passions, hate in one instant and joy the next. Neither hate nor joy shone from this eyes at the moment, but although his face was almost completely blank, Lucifer had left hints of stern disapproval here and there, knowing his servant would observe it, and be all the more struck by it for its subtlety.

"Ishamael."

"Great Lord. I must confess I'm surprised to hear from you."

"I'm surprised that you have to."

Ishamael looked up. That look was unmistakable. The Emperor was not happy. He held his silence, however; he doubted Lucifer was finished.

"Karaman is taking too long, Ishamael. Time is a factor. It took long enough to subdue Cyprus, and indeed, I understand the first wave there was bled white before taking the beach. You only have so many men, Ishamael. If you take too many losses at Karaman, you might as well give up now."

"Divine One, don't worry. I have a plan."

"I know you have a fucking plan. You submitted it to me, if you'll recall. The flanking maneuver is probably going to work, Ishamael. If it doesn't, then it's the mid-level commanders who'll be taking the blame. The flanks should do fine. It's your center I'm concerned about. The bulk of your men are there, and if you take too many losses there..."

"My Lord," Ishamael said, allowing his determination to flow into his tone, "I am aware of these concerns, believe me. I understand your position. You just have to trust me. You ordered me to take the city, Great Lord, and I will obey you in this as I have always."

"Yes, you will." The finality in Lucifer's voice was unmistakable, and so it was hardly surprising when the screen went blank an instant later. Ishamael took a moment to compose himself further before walking back out onto the bridge. Lucifer would be watching over his shoulder closely from now on. Rahvin, he thought with a snarl, was no doubt back in the War Room in Korronis, chuckling at every slipup, no matter how minute or whose responsibility it was. This had to go well. This had to go smoothly. He offered a rare prayer to the Destroyer, all but demanding that his flanking troops move faster. The clock was ticking.

* * *

Explosions rang in Subaltern Draco's ears, rattling his helmet. Grenades, nearby. He didn't bother looking around; that would be like standing in the ocean and looking around to find what was getting your feet wet. Not to mention, it would be insufferably amateurish to gawp like a fool when the heathens were shooting at his men. His family was counting on him, and the thought of letting them down made the quinquales tattoo on his left shoulder blade seem to burn. Unhooking a frag grenade from his belt, Draco signaled a fireteam of his men to do the same, counting silently before hurling the grenade and immediately spinning back behind his cover. A muffled thump marked the detonation, followed by a few high, feminine screams and a grunt, barely audible over the background chaos of the battle of Karaman. He scowled. Foolish of the infidels, to confine so many of their weak down here. The women and children especially; the more foolish of the men prowled the streets with what weapons they could lay their filthy hands on, idiots seeking to resist the will of the Imperium. He leaned out to squeeze off another burst, a spray of good, reliable 6.7mm AP rounds tearing through a Chechen soldier's throat and releasing a spray of blood from the jugular.

As the second fireteam unleashed a volley of 40mm grenades from the launchers mounted on their assault rifles, one of them being shot in the gut in the process, the Ichkeriyan counterfire dropped to minimum. Probably only one or two soldiers left now. Turning to his soldiers and gesturing briefly, fingers flickering in silent communication, Draco received nods of confirmation from Fireteams Three and Four, who raised their weapons and moved onto the platform. A single Ichkeriyan soldier, helmet tossed aside, spun out from behind a vending machine and screamed a challenge of some sort as he opened fire; however, the rounds sailed harmlessly past Private Acarnis's head, one glancing off his armored helmet. In response, the infidel received no fewer than six bullets in the face, fell twitching to the ground, and lay still. At the end of the platform, a mass of Ichkeriyans huddled, eyes swimming with fear and hate. What would it be like to be in their place, Draco wondered. As he strode onto the platform, following his men, and walked casually past the blood-soaked Ichkeriyan bodies, he regarded them.

The Legionaries must have looked like aliens, or demons. Tall men, dressed in simple black fatigues with thick pads of armor strapped over them, the crimson five-armed cross of the Legions marked on their arms. Helmeted heads swung from side to side, staring at the Ichkeriyans, assault rifles held loosely across chests. Of course, what was worse than the dark, looming presence, worse than the facelessness, was the knowledge of the cruelty these men were marked with. Draco imagined himself as one of the infidels, staring at the men who would in all likelihood be his executioner. He scowled. Weakness, the trademark of infidels, not to mention the antithesis of the Imperium.

Raising his assault rifle to his shoulder, the Subaltern commanded in a low, dangerous voice, speaking English fluently, "All of you are going to leave when I say so and run up the street, towards the city center. You know where that is?" Nods. Some, anyway. No doubt not all of them spoke English. "When I tell you, you will leave this station, and run in that direction. You will not stop. I will have men watching you, and if you stop for any reason, you will all be killed." He held up a hand, smiling to himself, though of course they could not see it, paused, and then let it drop. "Go." The Ichkeriyans ran, sprinting and panting, shoving to be the first out of that subway, to escape the corpses of their defenders, to escape the vile, godless Kregaians, who had violated their land and seemed to be completely psychotic to the last man. They stormed up the steps, flooded into the street, and ran northwest...towards the Ichkeriyan lines. If the city's defenders weren't paying attention, they would gun down their own countrymen, mistaking the crowd at long range, perhaps, for a band of Kregaians. A few stayed, of course. Young adolescent males, all of them. The four of them, all looking to be twelve or thirteen, pressed their backs to the wall, defiance flitting about their faces in stark contrast to the fear that was written in their eyes. "Trying to be brave?" Draco hissed. "There is no bravery for infidels." Turning his back on them and walking away, he nodded to his soldiers, who took brief aim, and opened fire. Blood spattered the tiled walls.

He was in control of the subway, now, and he used his handheld computer to access the BattleNet, tagging this location as "taken". Most of the other subway stations near Kregaian troops were already under the Legionaries' control, and the few that were not blinking green, as "taken", were yellow, to show they were contested. Draco suspected it wouldn't be long. Furthermore, more and more Legionaries were pouring into the sewers. Perhaps best of all, Draco had received a notice over the command channel that the Immortals were on the way. Now, that was good news. Draco had seen battle before today, had killed before, but Immortals made him feel like a beginner. Just looking into those cold metal masks made him shiver. A smirk twisted his face at the thought of those merciless warriors standing toe-to-toe with the Ichkeriyans. The smirk grew into a smile as he let himself hope that he might get to see it himself.

Fatima District, South West Karaman

...Day Three...


The entire city was visible before him as his feet dangled out from the Black Hawk. Enormous plumes of black smoke rose up from places in the city and every so often a building went up in a cloud of smoke and dust as an artillery shell or bomb hit it. The helicopter shuddered underneath but the Chechen paid no notice. His eyes were fixed on his target as it came closer and closer.

“Twenty seconds..” the pilot spoke into his mouth piece. The Ranger leaned his head outside the chopper and looked at the Chinook and Hind gunship in front of him. If it's so important not to fall into their hands why don't they just send a few artillery rounds into the building? he thought to himself. Another ding signaled another hit from a Kregaian rifle. They were becomming more frequent now. He frowned. The minigun operator looked at him with a wide smile, "Behind enemy lines baby! The bitches won't see it coming." The commando did not return the smile and instead continued to smoke his cigarettes.

“Viper Three, rooftop’s clear.” The gunship made a low pass over the top of the target building, a large structure whose façade was dominated by blue windows crisscrossed with the concrete of its skeleton. The Chinook slowed to land on the roof while the gunship banked in a turn. Marines ran out of the helicopter and made to secure the rooftop.

The Ranger’s Black Hawk flew in a circle around the building, waiting for clearance to drop its human cargo. It was then that he noticed something wrong. Numerous figures dressed in black fatigues burst out of the lower terrace on the roof. The Ranger aimed his G3 at the men on the lower rooftop and yelled into his mouthpiece to warn the pilot. As he did so a streak of flame raced towards the Hind gunship hitting it in the tail boom. The pilot’s voice came through on the radio as he fought in vain to regain control ending with silence as the gunship slammed itself into the side of an apartment building.

At once the Black Hawk pilot pulled the helicopter into a dive towards the level of the roof top. A firefight had already started and the Ranger could see already a fallen Marine being dragged back to the Chinook. A bullet hit the door gunner and he fell limp at the controls of the minigun. The Ranger pushed him aside and took control as another Ranger fingered off rounds from a sniper rifle. He let loose with the minigun firing at the lower terrace of the roof top. The black figures scattered, but not before one was shredded into three pieces in a cloud of red mist. He never had time to notice the next rocket which was fired at the Black Hawk. The pilot cursed but couldn’t react in time as the helicopter was hit in the tail. Black smoke billowed out the tail boom and the helicopter began falling. The pilot, wrestling with the controls, managed to put the Black Hawk into a spiraling dive. The two Rangers held on to the door bars of the helicopter as they were pulled back by the spin.

“Shit! You’re gonna have to jump!” the pilot yelled, not taking his eyes off the controls. The Rangers looked at him then looked at each other and nodded. The terraced roof of the building passed them in their descent and the fire fight still continued, its participants paying no attention to the falling chopper. The chopper banked sharply around the side of the building, just missing hitting its corner. The two Rangers grabbed onto the side of the chopper and both hurled themselves out towards the building. They crashed in through the windows, using their wide shoulders as battering rams and rolling on the way in. The one Ranger crashed into and broke a white desk with his fall however. The building shook as the Black Hawk they were just in crashed into the ground. The sounds of the fire fight on the roof were only audible through the shattered windows. The two knew they had to get up there pronto or their Marine buddies were going to be dead.

“Edris! Edris how are you brother?” called the first Ranger to the one who landed through a desk. The second groaned as he threw a broken two by four off him.

Edris coughed and rose to his feet. He stood six foot two inches without the boots. He sported a goatee and a beard along the ridges along the sides of his face. “What do you think? I just fell through a desk”

The other man, of darker skin, a slimmer build, and a few inches taller (also clean shaven) stood smiling as he looked down and cocked a fresh 7.62 x 51mm round into his K31 Karkarov sniper rifle. He shot a quick glance to his left looking into a hallway past a broken down door. The other commando got up and dusted himself off before drawing a .45 ACP tactical handgun.

“Where’s your rifle?” asked Murad. “It must have fallen when we jumped” came back the reply. The sniper shook his head but was jolted out of his mocking gesture by a loud bang from outside. The sound of shouts and then of the whining of a dying motor and whirring blades came through the broken windows. Both men ran to the window just as the Chinook from the roof fell engulfed in its own black smoke towards the ground and landed with a crunch.

"Time to move" said Edris. The two men, armed with a sniper rifle and handgun ran past the broken down door and into the hallway. The objective was some where else in the building but their first priority was to help the Marines stuck on the roof. They found a service elevator and opened the door with ease since the electric lock wasn't functioning. Edris poked his head into the shaft and looked up. "Elevator's up there. We won't be able to climb." Murad simply gave him a dismissive smile and aimed his Karakov at the steel cable in the middle of the shaft. With a single shot the cable snapped and the 1,500 lb elevator hurtled down the shaft sucking in air through the door until it crashed the the bottom.

* * *

It was the morning of the third day of the battle. Karaman had been under constant siege the entire time, most of those within it barely getting any sleep at all. Words such as hell hole or Stalingrad didn't come close to describing the street to street carnage which was continually unfolding. Misdirected artillery fire on either side eliminated entire blocks of buildings taking with them innocent civilians caught in the crossfire and soldiers on both sides. Cafes and markets were raided by opportunistic soldiers on both sides looking for something wholesome to wolf down before getting caught in sight by the enemy. The city was under a constant din of gunfire, mechanical noises, shouts, pounding artillery strikes, and the occasional roar of an Ichkeriyan or Kregaian fighter. The worst part of it all were the bodies...

Hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians, possibly over a million - the death toll would not be known for some time to come - had been taken by the wrath of battle. People lay trapped in collapsed buildings and others had lay dead on the streets for over 70 hours. Their bodies blackening and bloated in the heat and sunlight, they gave off a sickening smell which one just could not seem to get used too. Something about the smell of dead human flesh just makes it impossible for another human to ignore. The death toll was even among all levels of society; women and children, the elderly, the young, none were spared from the snares of the battle. From the red hot shards of shrapnel from artillery shells or the uncaring bullets of the Kregaians, no one was spared.

The sight of the dead only did one thing for Ichkeriyan morale. It elevated it. It was like a shot in the arm or a constant and lasting adrenaline rush. Soldiers were enfuriated and began to thirst for blood. Surviving male family members (though at times female too) became keen on avenging the death of a loved on or entire family. Cries of Allah Akbar or Chechen war chants were as common if not more frequent than the Kregaian battle cries of Strength and Honor. In the three days of the battle a wave of civilians had fled from the onslaught of the Kregaian advance, like forest animals hurrying to escape a firestorm. Over a million had fled in the exodus. Most were forced to travel on foot. The military could and would not lend them their vehicles and could only try and point them in the direction of clear roads.

Many others however, stayed. Most of these were either fighters heading the call to arms, doctors staying behind to treat the wounded, or the elderly who simply refused to leave their homes. It was very common in this nation's culture for its elderly to stubbornly cling to what they knew as theirs.

Advancing columns of Kregaian soldiers were met with constant sniper fire and hit-and-run guerrilla attacks. The advantage of technology began to break down as one ventured further into the city. A foreign soldier would find himself constantly under attack by what seemed to be an armed city. Of course in reality it was far from that. The actual number of citizens committing themselves to the fight was low in comparison to the majority who took a few shots and then ran and hid for their lives to brag about their service to their country another day around a table with friends and a kettle of tea.

In Ichkeriya, practically the entire male population has had military training. Though by no means does this make every man a professional soldier, it does mean that every man knows how to work and aim a rifle; which is a big plus in situations such as these. Thus an armed and dangerous populous kept an invading enemy wary and on his toes at all times. No where, not even a command post deep in occupied territory was safe from sniper fire. In many cases it was common throughout the city for groups of fighters to wait in buildings for Kregaian soldiers to walk past. Everything from grenades (standard issue and home-made) to molotov cocktails to glass bottles full of bleach were thrown down at the passing soldiers. They were very obviously not welcome. The wide availability of RPGs and fire arms made only the most dedicated and pronounced thrusts vulnerable to skirmishing by fighters. And when they weren't being sniped at by fighters, the Kregaians found themselves fighting the Ichkeriyan Army, greatly outnumbered but in possession of the city's full support and under great morale.

* * *

General Vaznakh listened intently to reports coming in from the front. He wasn't happy but things could be a lot worse. The fool Tobrek had found himself blocked by the Kregaian army from entering the city and requested to withdraw in order to regroup. Vaznakh was just about to relieve him from command when a stray Kregaian artillery shell hit Tobrek's staff car killing him. General Isa Saoudullah had succeeded him and was now maneuvering his forces back into and ordered attack. However much time had been wasted and Saoudullah had made it no secret to Gen. Vaznakh that he was not going to be able to enter the city any time soon. He was busy battling a force almost 10 times his size. With three days past the enemy had already taken the beach and made his presence felt.

General Saoudullah knew that he couldn't just halt the enemy advance and get into the city at this point. However what he could do was give them more things to worry about and that was exactly what he was doing. After spending some hours reorganizing and having field commanders briefed the Ichkeriyan 4th Army began its move south again. Mines along the roads and areas of the country side slowed the advance and minesweepers were called up to clear mined roads and other forces were forced to stay away from roads all together, slowing the advance, but not to a horrible degree.

General Vaznakh knew that the advance from the 4th Army would be slow. He had around 400,000 troops committed to the battle in the city. The enemy's encirclement strategy had begun to take its toll on his forces as they were forced to cede over the northern edges of the city and were losing the western coast north of the bay to the enemy. A pocket of control however, still remained between the bay and the enemy, a few kilometers wide and this space was being hotly contested.

South of the bay the Kregaians had taken control of the entire coast. In three days of fighting the peninsula had become cut off from the rest of Icherkiyan support. Several times forces had broken out or broken in to reinforce troops trapped under fire in the 5km long strip. Here the fighting was at its most intense in the entire city as citizen and soldier alike fought to keep control of the ground they held with their backs to the wall against the vast numbers of the enemy and rapidly diminishing ammunition supplies. The rest of the city south of the bay was a warzone too and it was impossible to tell where the front line was. About a kilometer of gray area between Kregaian and Ichkeriyan zones of dominance was a no mans land and was populated by dead bodies and soldiers on both sides. If there was every a place in the world that fitted the chilling image of Stalingrad the best, this was it.

* * *

Rooftops...

The Kregaian soldier was crouching behind an air conditioning unit, firing controlled bursts from his assault rifle at the Ichkeriyan Marines just across from him on the upper terrace. His black fatigues gave an air of self confidence and professional strength, as well as making him look like some sort of battle tested commando... which in all probability he was; the soldiers which took the building weren't grunts by any means and had the Marines pinned down and surrounded.

He never noticed the figure emerging out of the shadows and creeping towards him. The helmet-less Ranger grabbed the top of the Kregaian's helmet and slit open his throat with his knife. Now he had a rifle. A moment later he heard the distinct crack of the Karkarov. He gunned down a startled Kregaian soldier just as he turned to fire at him. Another crack sounded out, here a hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Edris threw a grenade which hit a soldier in the back. The explosion tore apart the man as he frantically tried to throw it back. Now the tied began to turn and it was the Kregaians on top where were surrounded. They fought to the last man but were eventually eliminated, their dozen black figures littering the terraced roof.

A Marine 2nd Lieutenant called out to Edris, "Friendlies!"

"How many wounded?" Edris shouted back.

"Five dead, two wounded but able to fight. There are six of us sir."

As Edris started to speak again a man shouted out. He ducked just in time as a missile flew over his head. There was another crack and Edris caught sight of a black silhouette stumble and fall off of a crane near the building.

---

A minute later everyone knew what he had to do. The target was somewhere in the basement of the building near the utilities control area. Edris would take two Marines with him and sneak towards the target. Murad would take the other four Marines, including the two wounded, and create as much noise as possible, fighting his way down. The two groups would operate parallel with each other and support one another until they met up at the target room. None of them actually knew what the target was, only that it was a top secret high clearance government testing&research facility which needed to be destroyed before the enemy had realized what they had stumbled upon. Murad, Edris, and the Marine Sergeant had the necessary key cards to enter the bomb-proof facility....

The building itself was a private medical research lab located not far from the City 5th Hospital. Edris stood standing on its roof looking at the other men dressed in green fatigues and the sniper Murad in his brown and black combat gear.

"Alright then...Let's move."

"The black rain is falling
Contaminating the ground
The human race is dying
The dead are scattered around
What is the price of a bullet?
Another hole in the head
A flag draped over a coffin
Another soldier is dead..."
-"Black Rain" by Ozzy Osbourne

* * *

The gods are in the rain.

Lieutenant Sicarius scanned the deceptively dull street, a path through the desolation of Karaman. He might have used the term 'empty', if one was only referring to human life. This street, and the block around it, and the blocks around them, shook to the tramp of Kregaian boots, but in this area there had been neither hide nor hair of Ichkeriyan civilians. Alive, anyway. He could not keep a grim scowl from crawling over his face: it was difficult, even for a hardened veteran such as himself, to look at the bodies scattered through the street.

It was a nightmare landscape, a shell-shocked deathtrap that even for the Kregaians was beginning to take a toll on their nerves. The greener soldiers were jumpy, weapons always at the ready, patience frayed by days in this hellhole. Sicarius looked around, thanking the gods that his helmet filters screened out most of the stench.

The buildings were gutted; the seaward bombardment had simply disintegrated the upper floors of many of them, and fires had taken a heavy toll on the rest, with black smoke staining metal and stone. Rubble was strewn through the streets and alleys, along with trash and miscellaneous debris. And then, of course, there were the corpses. Eyes bulged out from faces, for those that had faces left. Rags of flesh clung to some, and on some, rats nibbled even now. Flies buzzed around the bodies, an awful drone that was even more constant than the distant chatter of gunfire. Dark veins stood out on the pallid flesh of the infidels, and mismatched body parts lay here and there, blasted apart by the Kregaian shells. The gases of rot bloated the chests of all the corpses with intact chest cavities, and blackened tongues lolled from half-closed mouths. And there was the rain; the black rain, the twenty-six-hours-and-counting rain that ran darker than night from the ash and the smoke and the filth it carried into the sewers of Karaman. Twenty-six hours of mud. Twenty-six hours of sludge.

Three days, and more to come, of nightmarish slaughter.

How much more of this? whispered the voice of exhaustion, the voice that had grown insidiously louder over three days of near-constant battle. In the name of the gods, look at the bodies! HOW MUCH MORE?

Sicarius didn't have an answer. And so he did what all Legionaries were trained to do when they weren't thinking independently: follow orders blindly.

Yet on the other hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling of something looming behind him, and for some reason whenever he looked around he kept thinking of something his grandmother had used to say when he was a child: “The gods are in the rain.”

He waved his platoon down the street, a single Viper IFV rolling along behind them, its tracks churning through the puddles, raindrops pinging off its black armor. Its turret swiveled back and forth, 30mm autocannon pointing at window after bombed-out window, on the off chance an Ichkeriyan dared to present a target. This morning they had encountered no resistance as they marched deeper into the city: Sicarius prayed things stayed that way. The Ichkeriyans had proven themselves resourceful, devious, and tenacious, and the city was taking far too long to conquer. Rumor said Lord Ishamael was livid, and Sicarius shuddered to think of how Lucifer felt about it. He knew quite well that his platoon was one of thousands, but it was still prudent to drive his men onward; with the commanders so impatient, failure would be swiftly punished, and success equally swiftly rewarded.

“Keep moving, men,” he called. “Earn some fucking promotions.”

He himself continued to scan, heading up his squad, searching the shadows for lurking threats. No telling what the infidels could be up to. Suspicious, isn’t it, his sixth sense nagged, that they let you get so far… He tried to ignore the voice. It wasn’t as if every bit of progress had to be a trap; Karaman had taken a ferocious, unrelenting pounding, and the Ichkeriyans had to have a breaking point. They had to. It was preposterous, he growled to himself, that a tenth-rate band of infidels had defied the Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces three days. Unconscionable. Unheard of.

“Get yourself together,” he snarled at himself. Just because his men were losing their edge didn’t mean he could go to pieces on them. His distraction would be the death of them all. He forced himself to focus despite his exhaustion, trudging down the street as the IFV rumbled along behind him. It was difficult to see clearly; even accounting for the low visibility, all of Karaman seemed to fade into the same dull gray if you stared at it for any length of time. Still, he did the best he could with years of experience, eyes sliding over alleyways and shattered windows and anything in the street that might offer cover.

Abruptly a soldier in the middle of the column, on the opposite side of the street from Lieutenant Sicarius, stiffened, slowly raising his rifle and scanning the building next to him. Sicarius opened a private channel to him and barked, “What’s the matter, soldier?”

“I heard something,” he muttered in reply. “I thought I heard a click or something. Like someone loaded a new mag.” He sounded less sure this time. Sicarius sighed with exasperation. “You’re on edge, son,” he growled. “Take your fireteam inside and check it if you want. But you’d better be sure about this.” The Legionary snapped off an affirmative and after some hushed discussion with his fireteam, the four of them went inside the building (apparently a bank, from the sign above the entrance), while Sicarius ordered the platoon to halt and wait for the bank to be cleared.

Minutes slid by. The Legionaries stood stock still, the raindrops pinging off their helmets, assault rifles held across their chests. Faceless heads swung back and forth, continuing to look around for threats. A few shifted their weight from one foot to the other, rocking back and forth impatiently.

Nobody was expecting it when roars of surprise and the chatter of gunfire came over the radio, followed by ominous silence.

“Sandro, get your men in there and find out what the fuck is going on!” Sicarius bellowed, leveling his assault rifle at window after window. The subaltern nodded and lost no time leading his men towards the bank.

He never made it. Grenades seemed to come out of nowhere, rattling around for a brief second before exploding…and the aftermath was not pretty. A few of the mangled, revolting corpses had been torn apart, sending putrid flesh splattering here and there, but worse was to look at the shredded bodies of the fallen, torn apart by shrapnel and the blast. Such sights numb thought; instinct rules in times of danger. Sicarius was vaguely aware that he had rolled to cover behind a pile of stone rubble and that he had yelled for his men to do the same.

No use.

The Ichkeriyans, he saw as he poked his helmet up, were showing themselves at last. Aiming out the broken windows at the exposed Kregaian contingent, the Legionaries who could not find cover were being cut down mercilessly, their armor useless against the storm of gunfire. The Viper turned its turret towards the Ichkeriyans and opened fire, huge 30mm slugs literally tearing apart one infidel who was too slow or stupid to duck down. However, the Viper could not be everywhere, and it seemed that the enemy could. Shots began to rain down from the other side of the street…the one against which Sicarius’s cover was utterly useless. He reacted with lightning speed, snapping his rifle up and letting loose several bursts, but while he was rewarded with two screams, a burst hit him as well, fired by someone he couldn’t see, and while two of the bullets were stopped by his armor (which still transferred the impact to him, producing the feeling that two sledgehammers had just struck his abdomen), a third penetrated like a hot knife through butter. The agony seemed to paralyze him; perhaps the bullet had severed a major nerve or something. It was moot, because in this state he could only watch as a pair of RPGs struck the top of the IFV, the second penetrating and destroying it, and as the last of his men was cut down in the crossfire.

Forty more bodies to rot in Karaman.

The minutes dragged by for what felt like hours, white-hot pain searing Sicarius’s belly. He slowly removed his helmet, tossing it weakly away, which brought the thunder of war and the dreadful stench of hundreds of thousands of steadily-rotting bodies into his ears and nose. He could feel himself bleeding out as he stared around, the rain falling in his eyes, seeing the corpses of his own men, sprawled in the puddles of the street.

Soon a band of Ichkeriyans walked out of the bank and searched the bodies, stealing grenades, weaponry, and valuables. A few administered contemptuous shots to the forehead or the groin, desecrating the bodies of their Kregaian enemies. Eventually they strode over to him, only to notice that the lieutenant was still alive. Their reactions were typical; lips curled in disgust and hate, and some grinned in anticipation. One of them stepped forward and leveled a pistol at Sicarius’s forehead. The lieutenant mustered all his strength to spit, but it fell short. The Ichkeriyan simply chuckled, but as he cocked the pistol, he noticed the bleeding bullet wound in his abdomen. Falling silent, he simply shot the Kregaian there instead, emptying the clip into his gut. Sicarius grunted with the pain, but bit his tongue, determined not to cry out.

“Slower this way. Hurts more,” the Ichkeriyan soldier said in mangled English, smiling a horrible smile. The smile of a man who was committing murder and enjoying it. Sicarius had seen that one in the mirror quite a few times. He said something more in their barbaric language, and his friends laughed. Lowering their weapons, they walked away, leaving the Lieutenant to gurgle out his last breaths.

He thought of home. He thought of the little house in the valleys of Miradin where he had grown up, of the friends he left behind and the family that had died off one by one. He thought of the fighting in Czardas. He thought of the reward that awaited him in Paradise, and the blessing of the Emperor upon him. Strangely, though, those thoughts were of no comfort. By far a better salve was to remember what his grandmother had said, whispering across decades as he lay dying amidst the ruins of a broken city.

“The gods are in the rain,” he whispered.

Tears ran down the Lieutenant's dirty cheeks as he felt himself growing colder, blood pouring from between his fingers. He stared down at the wound, watching with failing eyes as the blood mingled and flowed together with the falling rain.

The black rain...

By the gods, that awful black rain.

* * *

"Politicians confuse me
I watch the body count rise
Why are the children all marching
Into the desert to die?
The human psyche is twisted
The madness rising again
Another empire falling
I watch them dying in vain...
Blood brings black rain."
-"Black Rain" by Ozzy Osbourne

Karaman, Ichkeriya
Day Four...
Tactical Map (http://img254.imageshack.us/img254/2416/mapkaramantacticarc5.png)

I. The Rain
A dark curtain of rain fell upon the ruins of the once thriving epicenter of southern Ichkeriyan shipping and international trade. It was sometime in the late afternoon of the fourth day of the battle for the city but the sky was dark with the rain and thunder laden storm clouds which had arrived unexpectedly by both sides in conflict. It was dark and the skeletons of high rises and sky scrapers cast long foreboding columns of shadow upon the gray and wretched remains of devastation. Twisted spires of iron and steel shot upwards in the air like the bones of a dead animal, cracked shards of concrete handing on like so many patches of putrid flesh still on the bone. Every so often a flash of lightening shot across the sky through the clouds from one end of the city to the other, illuminating the silhouettes of the dead testaments to Ichkeriyan wealth like monsters against the sky.

The rain brought with it flooding and disease. Rats which had feasted on the bodies trapped under stories of rubble scurried out of the flooding spaces, leaving partially eaten bodies to putrefy further underwater. The rains were torrential and the runoff began to overwhelm the city's utility system. The collapse of skyscrapers had sealed off sewer and drainage pipes directly underneath them and so created clogs in the massive underground pipes which led ultimately back into the sea. Sewers and drainage systems quickly filled with the addition of so many cubic meters of rain water and soon enough storm drains and man holes began spewing water back into the streets. As the run off of water began finding its way into areas below sea level, those trapped in bomb shelters and under rubble especially, found themselves faced with death by drowning if they could not find a way out. As the many thousands perished above ground from the fighting, thousands more still died gruesome deaths, paralyzed after 4 days under rubble or drowned in groups in inescapable shelters covered in rubble. The calamity was absolute.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The battle for Karaman had finally reached its turning point. Ichkeriyan soldiers were being pushed back by the relentless Kregaian advance despite putting up a defense which went well beyond descriptions such as ruthless and valiant. The real problem was that there were simply too many of the invaders and not only that, but the main elements of the 4th and 5th Armies, commanded by Generals Saoudullah and Midvavi respectably, were completely tied town fighting the massive flanking elements of the Kregaian northern and southern army groups.

As of the fourth day of the battle, the Ichkeriyan 4th Army commanded by Gen. Isa Saoudullah had left Al Nashif, leaving behind its command and reserve elements in the city. It was faced with stopping the advance of roughly a million Kregaian soldiers (who continued to land continuously despite round-the-clock artillery fire) in the north of the city. In the open fields outside the city Gen. Saoudullah sent his dedicated and motivated troops to lock horns with the side of the Kregaian Army Group North, attacking enemy formations in a crescent shaped advance from the north to the east. The blunder of the late General Tobrek had set the 4th Army back but Isa Saoudullah was determined to rectify his predecessor's mistakes while it still wasn't too late. Aimed at attacking the enemy's advancing columns en-route to the city and launching assault forces at enemy landing sectors, the Ichkeriyan counter offensive to the Kregaian's northern pincer stroke could not be ignored.

During this time, the Ichkeriyan 5th Army, commanded by General Midvavi, had found itself faced with the brunt of the southern Kregaian advance. Consisting of only 175,094 soldiers at this point, the 5th Army had the duel concerns of halting the Kregaian advance from the south as well as entering the city and reinforcing losing positions in the south of the city. Gen. Midvavi decided to order the majority of his armored divisions to advance against the oncoming Kregaians. With the 3,546 M1 tanks he had on hand, he ordered his ground commanders to skirmish with the enemy and put up a stiff resistance, to ultimately fall back only when certain defeat was almost imminent. Meanwhile artillery batteries consisting of thousands of heavy field artillery pieces and mobile howitzers (learning from Soviet tactics, Ichkeriyan ground forces are usually very artillery heavy) would lay withering barrages of covering fire against the Kregaian advance elements and eventually to cover the tactical retreat of armored units once the weight of enemy numbers began to be too much. General Midvavi now had his back against the city and even that was not a solid wall on which to lean up against. He kept in contact with the upper echelon commanders within the city, mostly through Gen. Vaznakh who was in overall command of the entire operation, mainly to determine the solidity of his own position. The last thing Midvavi wanted was have his men penned in on both sides by the enemy and have their fates sealed.

The tactical situation in the heart of the city, where the bulk of available Ichkeriyan forces had entered and were now engaged was not much better than that of the other ground sectors elsewhere. In four days of fighting the Ichkeriyan main line - if such a thing could be accurately drawn on a map - had fallen back from the coasts. A field HQ had been established in the middle of the city in order to more effectively relay commands and keep the fight ordered. The last thing that was wanted was for Ichkeriyan elements to lose contact with one another and with HQ and get isolated. The Kregaians had managed to push the Ichkeriyan main front elements back roughly halfway through the city. The entire north of the city had been taken by the Kregaians as well as the eastern strip of coast from both the north and the south. The center of the city was still under the full control of the Ichkeriyan Army which had to deal with the flood of civilians, a human tide fleeing the onslaught of the Kregaian advance. Word of the atrocities committed by Kregaian troops towards innocent civilians, the old, women, and children, sent shock waves through the populous and enraged Republic troops to a sadistic level of vengeance. By now Ichkeriyan soldiers, even the grunts who were young and untested, were all eager to meet the enemy and were ever more thirsty for the blood of the pagans. Collection points were hurriedly assembled in parking centers, parks, and stadiums, for civilians to evacuate the city. All kinds of vehicles, scores of military trucks, and scores more of commandeered civilian vehicles arrived to be filled with families and stragglers and anyone looking to get the hell out of the city. Between the Mephusta River to the north and the Jadal River to the south, a safe zone was made in the city. Here people fled to, hiding from Kregaian patrols, avoiding heated skirmishes between the two sides, and ducking from sniper fire to reach the bridges which linked the city central to the northern and southern thirds of the city. During the 4 days of battle, blockades had been erected put into place and platoons on station on river crossing were ordered to demo charge in case a general retreat had to be ordered. This would buy time for Ichkeriyan forces and civilians in the city center. This was obviously a last resort.

With the heavy down pour of rain, all sorties aimed at air supremacy had been called off. In a kind of unspoken agreement, the Air Forces of both nations took a break to recuperate after the nearly 3 days of bitter aerial dogfighting. The only aircraft in the air now were mostly helicopters although at times these too were grounded. Many pilots risked it all in order to carry out their orders, airlifting wounded or civilians off the battlefield, or transporting fresh troops to hot spots or dropping crates of food, ammunition, and medical supplies onto entrenched Ichkeriyan positions. Ichkeriyan forces put up heavy resistance throughout the city, but along the waterfront sectors, every effort was made to deny enemy access in order to prevent other units from being flanked. In one sector, the peninsula at the mouth of the bay, the surviving elements of the Army 21st Division and Marine 52nd 'Screaming Tigers' Regiment, totaling 19,880 men, were trapped and quickly running low on ammunition and supplies.

II. 'No Man's Land'

The road was a dim gray and pools of dirty water and mud gathered on the ground in the unceasing rain. Burnt out cars were on either side of the ugly gray road and the houses were all pockmarked with bullet holes. One of them was half collapsed, exposing the inside of the two story building, bricks and concrete everywhere. Presently a crow sat perched on a telephone pole and cawed. It looked with curious indifference to the human drama which was unfolding itself on the street below. A head popped out from behind a broken waist-high brick wall. The figure made a gesture with his arm and a dozen men began sprinting to the opposite side of the road. Several flashes of light followed instants later with the distinct sharp cracks of gunfire erupted out from the sides of several buildings less than a hundred meters down the road and one of the Ichkeriyan soldiers fell in a heap in the middle of the road. The others took cover behind whatever they could find around the concrete buildings and a soldier shouted where he saw the enemy positions. Bullets began flying in both directions up and down the street filling palm trees and cars full of holes and chipping chunks off of buildings and the asphalt road. All the while the man shot continued writhing in pain in the middle of the street. He clutched his abdomen and screamed in pain as the blood - washed with rain water - seeped through his fingers.

A fellow soldier shouted encouragement to his fallen comrade and a moment later the squad medic called for cover. As he dashed fool heartedly into the middle of the street a round sent him spinning to the ground at his right. It knocked the breath out of him but he got back up and continued towards the soldier lying just meters ahead of him. He grabbed the wounded man by his straps and began pulling him to safety when another round hit him in the leg, again knocking off his feat. A few of the other soldiers yelled at him to get out of there as they continued to send rounds down range. Maybe if they could provide enough fire support they could keep those bastards' heads down long enough. The medic grasped the harness of the wounded man with one arm and crawled back to cover on the left side of the road. Safe behind a wall he began cleaning the victim's wound. It bled profusely. Bullets smacked into the concrete wall he was hiding behind and men screamed insults down at the enemy but all he could care to think about now was that he had to stop the bleeding soon or this man would die. With all the adrenaline pumping through him he didn't have time to notice he had a bullet wound in his shin. Presently it came to his notice and he examined it for a moment. Lucky. he thought, Just grazed it.

At the same time an elderly woman came hobbling down the road towards the Ichkeriyan soldiers. She was running frantically, as fast as her old frame would allow her, screaming incoherently in Turkish all the while. A soldier yelled at her to get out of the way but it was no use. The 23 year old grunt watched as sprays of red mist shot out the old woman's chest and her whole large frame came crashing to the ground in a puddle, her head covered by her decorated head scarf. The soldier continued firing as if nothing had happened. He had seen the same thing repeat itself over and over for the past four days and the initial shock at witnessing human death had become dull and unfeeling to him. He saw what he though was a silhouette move in a bombed out building and promptly fingered off a dozen rounds into it. He saw with satisfaction as his rifle's large caliber rounds created a dozen noticeable impacts on the concrete.

There came the roar of cannon fire again not too far away and the hum of an Ichkeriyan diesel engine. PFC Viktor Marakov didn't look behind him as an APC came into the road and began firing 25mm auto cannon ammunition down the road. At once the fire at the opposite end began to die down to a murmur of a response and another squad of soldiers ran out the back ramp of the APC. All of a sudden his small squad was absorbed by a greater unit and his orders were to advance and take the enemy position down the road.

He followed the rest of his squad as they fanned out down this residential, mostly Turkish, quarter of town. He didn't notice the body of the old woman he had warned a minute earlier as he ran past. Presently the smell of rotting meat drifted to his nostrils and he noticed he was standing near a butcher's shop. In a moment's lapse of consciousness he saw a piece of sujuk, (a type of sausage commonly found in Islamic countries, spiced up to such a degree it would stay without going bad for years on end) and snatched it placing it in his pocket. The powerful spicy scent of the sujuk revived his senses a little and made him more alert. Without uttering a word his commander led them forward again to a side door in a building. A single boot smashed the door in and the men poured into the building, not one of them still had a flash bang left. Inside they moved briskly through a long corridor using their NVGs to see in the pitch black passage. The open door to a kitchen on one side and another room containing washing machines inferred this probably was a small hotel of sorts. They came out into an empty lounge. None of the men noticed the smashed or missing bottles of alcohol at the mini bar on the side wall. Nor did any of them check behind the counter to see the waiter, tied up, beaten, and shot in the back of the head.

The ever present cacophony of battle had seemed to have subsided within the lounge and it was as quiet as ever. The squad leader stepped cautiously through the empty closed door, its glass frame shattered all over the ground. As he did so the ground shook from an explosion just over the wall to his right. Stunned, he froze for a moment, a round caught him square in the chest and knocked him over through the door onto his back. He coughed blood once and his eyes rolled back into his head. A few soldiers ran into the courtyard, trying to find some cover to fire from as there was little to none in the lounge. A hail of gunfire caught two of them, bits of dirt and marble springing up around their feet as they were riddled with bullets and sent to the ground ultimately. The lone soldier in the courtyard keeled behind a fountain statue of an angel. He statue was broken up as rounds flew into and through it and the lone soldier loaded a 40mm grenade into his launcher with a determined face. He swung around and sent the grenade straight into the window where the sniper was firing from and blew it out. As this happened a burst ripped through the right side of his chest and sent him to the ground. He was still able to breathe and tried to roll over to his side to crawl back behind the statue.

Meanwhile PFC Marakov was laying prostrate on the ground as he tried to get an angle to fire at the Kregaians in the terraced building at the end of the courtyard. There was an explosion. As Marakov regained his senses he saw men rushing out a second door in the back of the lounge, weapons drawn. There was blood splattered all over the wall and limbs lying on the green granite floor. The Kregaian was first to fire and sent a burst of hot led into the back of another Ichkeriyan soldier. The man screamed once in pain and fell to the ground on his face limp. Marakov responded in kind, Sending rounds flying on full auto into the Kregaian's face, tearing apart his helmet and destroying his head until there was only half an unrecognizable shard of skull remaining. The soldier behind this man fired point blank and hit Marakov in his left side. He fell to the ground writhing in pain. As he looked up expecting the end he saw a fellow soldier bash the Kregaian in the head with the butt of his rifle. Another Kregaian came up from behind with a knife and taking him across the face with his left hand, slit his throat with his other. Marakov had picked up his rifle again and fired at the second Kregaian soldier. The man was thrown by the force of the rounds over a small table and into a wall where he fell back to the ground lifeless.

The other Legionnaire had regained his senses and brought his weapon to bear on Marakov who still lay on his back with his head inches from the mini bar. Marakov pulled the trigger first... a single click and he knew it was all over. The Legionnaire's face mask had a half missing, exposing the powerful features of the man underneath it. Marakov could see the wide grin growing on the man's face as he tensed the muscles of his arm to pull the trigger. In an instant Marakov's mind flashed back towards the faces he had known in his life and to his newly wed wife. He heard the crack ... but was surprised to see it was the Kregaian who had been hit, clutching the river of blood pouring out of his chest, his expression was one of the utmost astonishment. His head soon bent over, the life went out of him as he sat against the legs of a coffee table in Ichkeriya.

Viktor craned his neck to his right and looked back too see his squad mate who had rushed out into the courtyard and placed a grenade into the sniper's nest. His name was Arhuz Doghan and he was only a year older than himself, expecting a baby daughter in the fall. He smiled at Viktor and raised his right arm making a 'V' with his fingers. A moment later his face winced in pain and Viktor saw what it was: with his left arm Arhuz was clutching his right side and it was completely covered in blood, so much as to have created a puddle beside him. Viktor's expression turned to that of shock and he knew the other man realized what he saw and they both knew the grim reality better than anything.

"Allahu Akbar! Brother!" screamed the soldier in a loud and proud voice.

"Allahu Akbar!" called Viktor back. A tear came down the side of his face as he saw the man who had saved his life, who was going to be a father, slump over and cease to be. He raised his gaze to the battered statue tower over the dead Arhuz and thought of how fitting it was. Izra'il, the Angel of Death, was right there above him to gently remove his soul from this world and bring him to eternal peace. As he turned his gaze back to his wounds a crow flew over and perched itself momentarily on the statue over Arhuz, cawing several times before flying away. The last thing Marakov was able to remember was the sound of boots and of shouting as what he later figured was a medic ran over to him and the strong spicy sweet smell that met his met his nostrils.

9th City Hospital
Karim Dist. (SE-Cent Karaman)

"Get that man off the floor!...Anna, we're running out of Glyconol and Morphine, I need you to bring me at least four more vials of each...Hey! Remember to stop the bleeding first, whatever you do!...Ok how is this one? Sniper wound to the leg? Ok. Hey there sweety what's your name? Havva? How old are you? Nineteen?...Thanks Anna...I want you to look at Anna's face the entire time until I'm finished ok? She's a mother of three and one of my best nurses.."

Dr. Khassan Katayev set about working on the young woman's mangled knee. A Kregaian sniper had taken a shot at her as she foolishly ventured outdoors and she was brought here by her boyfriend and her brother. Dr. Katayev's large muscular hands went to work patching up the girl's knee; this was his 38th surgery of the day. As one of the few remaining doctor's of the 9th City Hospital he had been inundated with the wounded, civilians and soldiers, all four days since the fighting began. A former national Judo champion, he had the level of stamina few other's in his field possessed to maintain the level of focus needed to treat so many patients. He did not notice as two powerfully built Ichkeriyan Rangers walked into the ward followed by several obviously fatigued Marines.

Karaman's 9th City Hospital was one of the few still in operation this late into the battle. Most of the others had been completely demolished by Kregaian attacks, evacuated, or commandeered by the enemy as well equipped field hospitals. Most of the doctors here had fled for their lives. Of the 48 full time doctors on hand, 15 had been killed when rocket and artillery attacks struck the hospital, killing twice as many nurses and many more patients. In the 3 days following the bombardment the other doctors had run, too spooked for fear of their lives, or simply unable to cope with the level of wounded pouring ito the hospital. Only three doctors remained and just over a dozen nurses had stayed and risked their lives to help the wounded.

The two Rangers and a Marine who walked into the ward were immediately greeted by a tired nurse, a thin woman of about 40, who promptly asked them what business they had there and whether they had any wounded. One of the Rangers made a arm gesture towards where the doctor was working and the nurse began talking in rapid Chechen to him. The Ranger nodded and a Marine medic went over to the operating table to assist Dr. Katayev. At the same time the Ranger stepped towards Dr. Katayev, seeing as he was almost finished with the operation and now leaving the medic and nurses to bandage the woman's leg, he spoke.

"Doctor, I am Captain Edris Leteyev. We have to get you and these people out of here.."

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The street was quiet, the rains hadn't come yet. It was early on the third day of the battle and the sun was shining brightly, gleaming off of all things glass and metal. The previous operation had been a success, if by destroying the objective was all that was needed to justify such a description. The two helicopter transports and the Hind gunship which had inserted them had all been shot down taking the ten Marines along with them. 7 more Marines died in the fighting through the objective building. Nearly every man sent on that mission had died. The resistance met in the building had been heavy but the number of Legionnaires defending it was low. Most had been taken out on the rooftop. The objective itself was some sort of biological laboratory along with several computer mainframes. Lt. Murad had opted to place barrels of explosive liquids on the structural points of the building and demolish the whole structure instead of just the objective. It had begun raining soon after they were outside.

There would be no air support for them and no evac. Instead they were given new orders to march to any one of two hospitals and safely escort those inside back into Ichkeriyan controlled territory. They were given directions from a map of the city although most of the roads were totally blocked off by rubble and none of the landmarks described were still standing or in any way shape or form recognizable. After hours of marching in circles, and asking for directions from several bands of fleeing civilians, they finally found one of the objectives: The Giorgo Municipal Hospital. The building seemed largely untouched except for where an artillery round had blown out a large chunk of a corner and roof.

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

Edris and the Marines under his command entered the building through the front door. The inside was identical to nearly every other bombed out building in the city. Broken glass and furniture lay everywhere and here and there were smears of blood along the ground. Edris could sense there was something wrong about this building. Only moments after entering, one of the Marines found a dead body, shot in the face and slumped against a wall. They cautiously continued into the building but it was empty, no sign of anyone at all. Edris couldn't help but feel an eerie tingle shoot up his spine as he could almost sense they were being watched and followed. The only comfort was that Murad was on station on a building rooftop with a clear view of the hospital, covering them.

Edris and a veteran Marine entered a small patients ward. All the beds were turned over and the monitering equipment smashed. There were various blood staines across the floor and in the middle of the hall there was a seven foot long smear blood in the shape of two outstretched hands, as if being dragged.

"Check the OR." Edris whispered to the Marine who was the same age as him. Without uttering a reply the soldier moved forward, weapon raised and at the ready, towards a dimly lit room with a single table in the middle and a flickering lamp overhead. He quickly entered the room and swept both sides with his M4, nothing. He raised a hand signaling the all clear when suddenly the voice of one of the other Marine's came through on the channel.

"Sir we've found them, second floor main room. Oh My God..."

The tone of the soldier's voice was obviously one of horror. Edris and the other Marine rushed upstairs into a large and long room taking up most of the second story of the hospital. Edris stopped short the moment he entered and was nearly knocked over from behind by the Marine.

At least seventy bodies, some lined up against the walls, others sprawled out on the ground or laying over tables, were in the room. Inside were the other four Marines, their weapons lowered, looking at the gruesome massacre that surrounded them. The young, the old, women, and men, were all there, shot and killed; some in execution fashion, others evidently mowed down where they were as they ran from the murderers. Blood stains covered the walls and many of the bodies were either riddled with bullets or evident of knife wounds. The people who lay dead in rows had been shot in the head and had their hands tied behind them. Several men lay in the middle, mutilated, those who most likely tried to fight off the Kregaians. They had seen three days of bloodshed but none of them had seen anything anywhere close to this scale of human slaughter.

"He's alive! Hassan!" cried a Marine, kneeling next to a youth of less than 17. The teenager was barely alive, beaten heavily, his face swollen all over. He coughed up blood as Hassan, the medic, ran over to him and tried to treat his wounds. The kid was sitting up against a corner wall in the middle of the room near a desk. He was sitting in a dark pool of his own blood and had stopped bleeding. Just by looking at all the blood and the pallor of the boy's skin the medic knew he was already too late. The kid's eyes met Edris's concerned face and he struggled to raise his right arm, pointing directly in front of him. "My...sister..." he said, before falling unconscious again.

As the medic struggled to try and save the boy Edris lowered his weapon and his jaw dropped and his eyes widened in shock. Lying their infront of him was the naked body of a young woman, she had to be in her early twenties, beaten and bleeding out of every orifice. The expression on her face was one of the greatest suffering Edris had ever seen in his life. Slowly he bent over to the girl and placed blanket over her body. He closed her eyes with his hand and sat kneeling besides her for some time. The other Marines stood watching and the medic had also gotten up: the young man was dead.

"Contact! Second floor! Three...Four...Six contacts; armed. They're heading your way." Murad barked on the comm channel. A moment later a loud distinct Crack! rang out from outside followed by two more in rapid succession. Automatic gunfire erupted in the room ahead of them. "Fuck!" came through on the comm channel, the impacts of gunfire clearly audible in the background. Another Crack! rang out and Edris had already bashed open the door with his shoulder.

The first Legionnaire had already brought his weapon to bear, he looked in human with his face helmet on. Before the man had time to fire Edris took him down with a shot straight through the eyes. The other Marines fanned out behind him, weapons drawn and ready to send a wall of lead down the hallway. However the Kregaian soldiers were not that easily overrun. Several of the men broke through doors or jumped through windows further into the building to get out of the way. A few others took aim to fire from where they were. There was no cover whatsoever inside the hallway.

As Edris aimed his G3 downrange to fire something hit him square across the head and sent him flying face first into the concrete wall. His entire view of vision was filled with blue and white stars and he blacked out completely as he fell to the floor....

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

...As he came to his senses Edris winced and put his hand to the side of his head. "Don't touch that sir, lay still." said the medic. Edris was lying on his back, his head propped against the wall he fell against. His hand had been bandaged and blood soaked it in blotches. The medic was busy finishing a dressing for his head. Lying directly in front of him - on the left side of the hallway that is to say - was a dead Kregaian Legionnaire. On top of him was the body of a Marine, the veteran Edris had come to respect in the day past. The bodies of the others were everywhere in the hallway.

"Kregaian patrols two hundred meters East. They're passing by us..." came Murad's voice on the com channel. A few seconds later Edris blacked out again.

III. No Surrender


"Command this is Eagle Six, we're almost out of ammo and we've lost half our men. We're almost down to throwing stones at the bastards! Krieg is threatening to break through sector Charlie and all our armor is shot to hell. I don't know how long we can hold out before being overrun."

"Eagle Six, you will hold that position until I give you the order to fall back. Knife the enemy if you have to! They must not be allowed to breach!"

Colonel Yusuf spat on the floor and cursed. A bullet streaked just over his head, missing him by mere inches. He knew he and his men could not hold out much longer. They had to find a way to break out or all hope was gone. What armor they had on hand hand either been either destroyed outright or totally immobilized. Most of the tanks they had which had not been destroyed had their tracks shredded by near misses and were in any case out of ammunition. Having taken 40% losses since day one, the two units trapped were beginning to take casualties at an accelerated rate due to fatigue.

The 21st Division along with the Marine 'Screaming Tigers' regiment had taken up positions along the peninsula in the southern mouth of Karaman Bay. Somehow they had managed to hold their position for the better part of a week, almost being overrun on half a dozen occasions and cut off from the rest of the Ichkeriyan Armed Forces several times. By this time however, the Kregaians had managed to fully isolate the two Ichkeriyan units from the rest of their force. They were now almost out of ammunition and virtually the entire force was a casualty. However they kept fighting, their commanders as well as the ground troops not even entertaining the notion of surrender. Not only was it the greatest disgrace imaginable to a military person to surrender on his own home ground, but it was already well known how well Kregaians treated those they had parity over.

Presently the Ichkeriyan units had their backs to the harbor fighting along a three-sided perimeter which was steadily shrinking. The 52nd Marines occupied the north of the perimeter and the 21st Army Div were entrenched along the west and south. The center of the perimeter was a command center and collection point for the wounded where Army Corps Doctors performed triage. What Col. Yusuf found himself fighting for now was an ever narrowing strip of industrial dock lands.

Col. Yusuf looked around him. Everywhere men where running: running towards a new position, carrying a bleeding incoherent soldier on a stretcher, or whatever else. It was still raining heavily and he had to keep his head quarters inside. This container loading area would probably make a fitting last stand for him and his men he thought. There was a large empty area in the middle and to the north was a maze of industrial containers stacked stories high. He presently glanced that way: a number of the containers were toppled over onto others creating bridges and dead ends. His strip of control was barely a 2 kilometers long and only extended 600 meters westward.

He had just under 20,000 men under his command. In fact he had just been a subordinate until the Brigadier General had been shot and his executive officer after him was crushed by a seven story crane. Over a hundred meters or so west of him the dock loading area stopped, bordered by a barbed wire fence, a security checkpoint, and a road after that. Apartment buildings bordered it after that. To the north and south was just more dockland, at least a hundred or so large ships were docked along the length of the peninsula. Actually, there was a single large blue-water fishing ship docked right next to him...this was something to keep in mind.

All of a sudden there was a series of loud bangs and what sounded like war cries. All heads looked up. Large plumes of smoke rose in the north and the west and the south. A Humvee came hurtling towards the colonel and stopped feet from him.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he asked. The soldier seemed half shell shocked but he still had himself under control. He did not even have to speak, Col. Yusuf knew exactly what had happened. "So it's begun..." The soldier inside the Humvee merely nodded. "Kopalous's men are falling back colonel, they've had to abandon their armor and are all on foot."

The colonel simply nodded taking all this into mind. The middle aged man was faced with the fact, more aware of it than any other time in his life that his time was quite possibly coming to a close. "Tell the major that we are going to make our stand at the container loading area."

"Yes sir!" replied the soldier before he left.

This is it. he thought to himself. "The bastards aren't going to have us easy.." He strode over to his command tent and got on the radio. The communications personnel all had nervous looks on their faces. The mere presence of the colonel seemed to suggest to them that all was well though in truth it was far from such.

"This is Colonel Karim Yusuf, acting commander of Sector Five forces. Get me General Vaznakh on the line, this is top priority; Broken Arrow... General? Yes sir they are dead, I am in command. Sir my forces are in the process of being overrun by a renewed enemy offensive. We need anything and everything you can throw at us to get us out of here... yes sir I know. Thank you sir. Freedom and Honor."

Colonel Yusuf set down the phone and looked up. "A-Tens inbound, we're going to break out or die here."

---------

The 17,324 surviving men of Sector Five forces began falling back to their staging area in the wake of the enemy advance. Meanwhile a strike force was being formed and charged with punching a hole through Kregaian lines along the waterfront of the bay to allow an exit avenue for Colonel Yusuf's forces. At the same time a flight of A-10 Warthogs was being given their orders. With the weather, all other high performance jets were grounded. It had not been time yet for the more rugged dedicated ground attack aircraft to shine and this was their moment. The first squadrons of 8 aircraft each broke from loiter patterns and began flying low over the city so anyone on ground level who saw them would see them for only a second at most, towards the engagement zone. More squadrons of A-10s were meanwhile taxiing off the runway at Karaman International Airport. Within minutes the entire Ichkeriyan offensive in the southern third of the city had been focused into two major thrusts, the first into enemy lines and the second towards the embattled 21st and 52nd units. A force approaching 50,000 was advancing towards them and further south west the weight of the army in that sector was moving along to deliver a strike at enemy positions. Casualties would probably be high, but no Ichkeriyan unit would be allowed to left behind and at humiliated at the mercy of the enemy...

OOC: More to come shortly.

IC:

As the saying goes in Kregaia, fury is rewarded.

Four days. It was unprecedented for heathens to hold out this long against the onslaught of the Imperial Kregaian Armed Forces. Lucifer had been seething with fury, and that failed to compare to Lord Ishamael's terrifying rage about the slow pace, for Ishamael was also afraid, afraid of the humiliation if his advance stalled. The stall...it haunts his thoughts, the specter of his nightmares these past three nights, because the stall is failure.

Ishamael knows how the Emperor rewards failure.

But just as he fears he will be relieved of command, just as it seems the Legions have been truly humiliated, after days of pressure, the Ichkeriyan infidels are finally beginning to crack, and victory has placed herself once again in clear view.

In the north, the bulwark of the Twentieth Legion prepared to hold back the advancing Ichkeriyan Fourth Army, as the rest of Army Group North hurried south; already the forward elements were inside the rough boundary of Karaman, driving south towards the river. At the same time, the elements of Army Group Center north of the bay pushed on southeast to meet with Army Group North, as a wolf's jaws meet when biting through the throat of prey. The river was the ultimate goal; they would mass on its banks, waiting, like a cobra with fangs bared and hood flared, before the strike.

The strike that would crush Karaman and bring the heathens to their knees.

Everything comes to an end.

* * *

A rapid series of clicks echoed over Private Archal's radio, which was itself a sign: for simplicity and security, the Legion's communications system had been put onto shorthand as opposed to full-worded orders. He knew the patterns, as did all Legionaries, and instead of the rhythmic clicks themselves, he heard, Enemy approaching, hold and defend. He smiled beneath his helmet. Showtime.

It wasn't long before he could see them: a convoy of light vehicles, trucks and IFVs, moving south on the path below him. No doubt they were moving to engage IV Cohort: they were certainly heading in that direction.

Little did they know that they were fucked.

He took careful aim as they passed within comfortable range of his 25mm rapid-fire grenade launcher. Briefly he checked the launcher and the grenade belt that fed it, took aim down the sight, and then he waited. Behind and above him, he knew, his spotter had taken out his assault rifle, moving as slowly and smoothly as possible so as not to attract attention, as well as the detonator for the few mines scattered on the dusty path. Archal waited a few more seconds, and then watched with glee as the mines detonated, tearing apart the two IFVs in the front of the convoy. Immediately, before the Ichkeriyans could figure out what had caused the detonations, he opened fire, his launcher making a distinctive thumping noise as it spat grenade after grenade at the enemy convoy. In seconds, three armored trucks and another IFV were destroyed, blasted apart by the flurry of explosions. As heavily armed Icheriyans hurried out of the remaining vehicles and searched the cliffs for their assailant, Archal switched his fire onto them, cutting them down like vermin as they sought cover desperately.

They were beginning to organize, though; the survivors hid behind their vehicles, and the turrets of the IFVs swung toward him. He hurled himself back as bullets hammered the rocks around him, sending razor-sharp flakes of shrapnel flying through the air. They pinged off his helmet as he hurled himself backwards to avoid the flying bullets, narrowly avoiding a burst that tore through where his head had been an instant before. His spotter continued to lie prone, aiming his assault rifle carefully at anything that poked out from behind the Ichkeriyans' cover. He fired at one and managed to hit the top of the enemy soldier's skull, blowing it off and killing the heathen instantly; however, the enemy noticed him as he did so, and like an idiot, the green soldier scrambled to his knees, in preparation for running away. Archal winced as the Ichkeriyan bullets tore through him, shredding his flesh and leaving him a bloody, lifeless rag lying on the rocks.

Archal, recognizing that his part in this particular engagement was over, slunk away. He would wait for the enemy to leave, retrieve his launcher and set up in a different location. The Legionary smiled to himself: he, along with his spotter, had destroyed several vehicles and killed a few dozen Ichkeriyans. Not bad for the work of less than a minute. If they came in force, of course, defenses like his wouldn't work, and the Kregaians would have to find other options.

But as things stood, it was a good start.

* * *

Supreme Commander Ievas Halcyon puffed away on a thin cigar as he surveyed the ruins of Karaman’s port districts. He’d seen pictures of the devastation of Aurdania, during the Czardaian War, but even though the city wasn’t leveled…yet…he couldn’t deny that seeing it with his own eyes made it far more personal. He’d always had a penchant for art; he came from the same family as the Emperor, and had spent millions on assembling a tasteful collection. However, as with all true Kregaian conservatives, he believed that actions were themselves a form of artistic expression…and the ruin of Karaman sang to him, a concerto of unequaled horror; he could almost hear the jarring notes, stirring tones of patriotism and heroism vying against looming, insatiable darkness, the all-consuming shadow of Kregaia.

It was jarring, horrifying, music as terrible to hear as the battle itself was to see. But it was true, and in that truth lay beauty.

The ground fluttered as light bombardment continued against the Ichkeriyan holdouts penned up in the container loading area. 105mm mobile guns pounded away at them, trying to crush and kill them beneath the labyrinthine jumble of cargo containers. A waste of ammo, really; intended only to keep them on their toes until backup arrived. It would take more than light guns to wipe the enemy out.

Ievas was the commander of the 54th Mechanized Infantry. His men, as well as the 62nd Mechanized that had been temporarily placed under him, had been among the first into Karaman, driving like a knife into the city. They had penetrated deeply, breaking at last the Ichkeriyan wall of resistance and holding a sector of the city for hours against frenzied enemy counterattacks…and they had paid dearly. Thousands of the division’s Legionaries were KIA, and in total, they were at three-quarter strength, along with the 62nd which had fared slightly worse, suffering the death of its commanding officer and his second-in-command. After relief had arrived, the 54th had been hurriedly pulled back to the docks to lick its wounds, and had spent the last three days pressuring the heathens holding out at the tip of the peninsula, while he had been put in charge of the 62nd as well. 30,000 or so troops against an enemy who was outnumbered, (hopefully) demoralized, and running out of ammo. Supreme Commander Ievas sighed. Like much of the rest of the battle, this was progressing far too slowly.

On the other hand, Lord Ishamael had finally agreed to divert resources to crush this irritation. The front lines were moving forward again, deeper into the city, and it would not do to let these heathens remain here, a dagger held at the back of the invasion force. What air support could function in the pouring rain and flashing lightning was being prepared, the heavy guns were moving into position, and thousands of Immortals had been moved to the docks to deal with the Ichkeriyans. The Supreme Commander chuckled around his cigar; he wished he could see the looks on the infidels’ faces when they met the Immortals.

Abruptly his earpiece crackled to life. Anger washed over him; he had left orders not to be disturbed…but when he heard the message, adrenaline spiked through him and he immediately began hurrying back to his mobile command center.

Enemy attack aircraft had been spotted…moving in his direction.

* * *

The command info confirmed it. A-10s, aircraft he was quite familiar with, as they had been the standard ground-attack aircraft when he first joined the Legions, were on their way, and he had mere minutes before they started pounding the shit out of his carefully prepared assault forces. Just as problematic was the probability that this was the prelude to a breakout attempt by the beleaguered Ichkeriyans.

Fuck.

There was only one possible reaction. Kregaians didn’t defend, not when they could avoid it. He would hold the initiative. He smiled at the irony; here they were, catching him with his pants down…but in minutes, he would do the same to them.

“Get every AA asset we have on those A-10s. Are the Baals in position?”

“Yes, sir,” replied an officer, clearly distracted as he gazed at the information flashing across his screen.

“Feed them the data and tell them to fire at will.”

“At once, sir.”

What if they get through?

He shook off the doubt. He couldn’t afford doubt. He couldn’t afford to think of the image that flickered at the edge of his mind: thousands of Legionaries massacred in minutes by the enemy bombers.

“Are the Immortals ready? And the guns?”

“Both, sir,” another officer responded.

“Order a one-minute barrage, maximum rate of fire. On my mark.” Supreme Commander Ievas paused, waited a few seconds as his techs relayed the order, and then continued, “Fire.” Immediately, he heard the massive roar of hundreds of guns firing at once. They’d only get off four shots or so before the minute ran out, but in the meantime the Immortals would make final preparations and storm into the container area, guns blazing. Ievas kept an eye on his watch as the seconds melted away, and after exactly sixty seconds he called out, “Order in the Immortals.”

* * *

The Emperor is my master, and rightfully I serve him unto the last shred of my very soul. Swift may his triumph come, that he will rule over this earth forever and ever. Truly, my master is Death’s master; asking nothing do I serve his divine will, yet I serve in the certain knowledge of glory everlasting.
-Excerpt from the Oath of the Immortals

* * *

“We are the only truth,” his first drill sergeant had barked at him during basic training. “We are named Immortals, and not because we live forever. Every one of you will die in the service of the Iron Throne. But we give ourselves fully to the will of the Emperor, and as the Imperium does not die, neither do we. Serve your Emperor, and death has no power over you.”

Those words were just as true today as ever.

Tyran Savanus, Immortal, stared out at a world of heathens, polluted and defiled. Battle, for him, was not a matter of rage as it was for the Legionaries, but rather a thing of moral outrage, a cold indignation. How preposterous it was, that these vermin did not hear the call of the Emperor. How disgusting that they did not know their place: to grovel for his mercy and accept his divine judgment. How revolting, the way they stained his world with their presence, defying him when he had proclaimed they must be cleansed.

Today he would have his part in the cleansing.

Any second now…

“All Immortals, advance and crush opposition.”

There it was.

His fellow Immortals were already moving, assault rifles held at the ready as they hurried into the maze of containers, stacked several stories high. Flashlight beams from the lamps clipped to their weapons crisscrossed through the artificial canyons. The Immortals searched for their enemy, helmeted heads swiveling back and forth to search every cavity and shadow. The fireteams separated, leaving space between individuals and moving in a series of three bent diamonds. As they approached an intersection, the Immortals created even more space, each soldier executing the standard tactics perfectly.

Abruptly, as the first fireteam entered the intersection, four Ichkeriyans stood up on the top of the containers, where they had been lying down, and aimed down at the Immortals. However, the Kregaians’ deathmasks were just as functional as the helmets of other Legionaries, and night vision gave the enemy away. As they aimed their weapons, they found themselves under fire from the seven or so Immortals who had noticed them, and they toppled, falling thirty feet into the intersection, riddled with bullets, hitting the concrete below with a sickening crunch.

They split up after that; there wasn’t room for a whole squad of a dozen men to be used effectively, and so the fireteams went their separate ways. Throughout the container area, almost two thousand Immortals stalked, fireteam by fireteam, some climbing up to the tops of the containers to provide cover for their ground-pounding comrades. Already, gunfire echoed over the bay.

It was a good night for battle.

* * *

Even before the Immortals entered the Ichkeriyan container area, the Baal anti-air emplacements scattered around the docks tracked the A-10s inbound. The Kregaians had had a good three days to fortify the areas they had taken, and there was no better place to put the anti-air resources than around the docks. From there they could reach, with missiles, the airspace around most of the city, whereas if they were placed in the streets, their fields of fire would be severely limited by the skyscrapers that were still standing. It was good foresight, too; when the storms ended, and the Ichkeriyans took to the skies once more, not only would they face rested, re-armed Balefire formations, but also a wall of SAM emplacements.

The Baal Mobile Anti-Air System was commissioned at the beginning of Emperor Lucifer’s military reforms, with state-of-the-art detection and targeting systems, backed up with almost a hundred advanced surface-to-air missiles.

A-10s were renowned for their survivability. But on this particular occasion, their odds were looking rather grim.

As the enemy light bombers moved closer and closer, already well within the Baals’ range, the order to open fire finally came. Targeting data streamed via the BattleNet into the computers, and the crews quickly primed the missiles needed for the first volley, arming them as the missile mounts automatically swung towards the incoming Ichkeriyan aircraft. There was an instant’s pause as dozens and dozens of Baals prepared to fire…and then, with a colossal whooshing noise, hundreds of Sultan anti-air missiles streaked from their launchers towards the enemy Ichkeriyans like a school of ravenous piranhas.

The first volley was away.

"It had all happened before, and it would all happen again."


Karaman...
Night of Day Four

The first squadrons of A-10s, 32 aircraft in all, flew in four separate wing formations towards the target zone. It had been known when the order was given by the commanders and it was known by the pilots that this particular mission was high-risk. They were flying straight into territory which had been under enemy control for three solid days without any air cover. AWACS reported the skies were clear but that said nothing of concealable ground-based anti-air systems. There was no doubt on anyone's mind that they were going in hot. But there was also no hesitation between the pilots. Perhaps an untested pilot from some other country would balk at such orders but such behavior from a member of the 35th Ground Attack Wing was unheard of. Pilots of the 35th, like the rest of the pilots of the Ichkeriyan Air Forces, were highly trained and battle tested veterans, the lot of them having fought against the Soviets.

As Maj. Zovra Alanov guided his war bird towards the target zone his mind flew back to a very similar November night ten years earlier during the liberation of the city of Zorathu from Soviet Bloc control. He was only 20 back then but he had already seen more combat action than most pilots of his steed could claim to their credit in their careers. Back then as now it was raining and back then as now he had been ordered into the Bear's Den as it was called in Ichkeriyan jargon. The game was very much the same now as it was then with a few exceptions. Back then he along with his comrades were fighting to establish their freedom and independence. Now he was fighting to maintain it and against a completely alien enemy. He couldn't remember every hearing of Kregaia before rumors of their invasion.

It would only be a minute until they entered the engagement zone now. Maj. Alanov gave a cursory check to his cockpit instruments; all analog and very much the same as they were a decade ago. In light of the digital armies of the modern world he was flying an antique. Regardless little else mattered once the bombs hit the ground.

Buildings hurtled by underneath him, the fires and explosions of skirmishes and flash points illuminated sections of the city in the distance. Streets lit by emergency power or lit up by the Engineer Corps passed underneath. There was no high-tech helmet-targeting gadget. His plane didn't have any fancy gps-optics link-up with HQ to guide his munitions to the target. There was no high-tech helmet-targeting gadget. He had the smoke marking friendly positions, an outline of the target area from his briefing, and his own intuition to put his bombs on target and make his cannon's aim true.

He armed his weapons as his squadron entered the engagement zone. This had all happened before, and it would all happen again.

"Incoming Radar Spike! Fuck their everywhere, bastards were waiting for us!"

The Radar Lock warning blared and that evil red light flashed on. Maj. Alanov pulled hard on the stick, pulling his out of formation as the other seven attackers in his squadron did the same. He could see the glows of the dozens of SAMs heading for his wing as he dove towards the deck and launched countermeasures. His nerves were cool but his heart was racing with adrenaline. All of a sudden he was ten years younger; he was fighting the same enemy but with a different name. This had all happened before, and it would all happen again.

The swarm of missiles the Kregaians had launched headed straight for the growing number of A-10s entering the Sector. Though heavily armored as far as aircraft go, the Warthog wouldn't survive a direct missile hit. Quickly, one after another ground attack aircraft were blown out of the sky, their flaming frames hurtling ballistically into the urban scape underneath them. Flares and chaff were dispersed and pilots struggled with their hydraulic controls as they tore through the sky. Casualties in the first squadron were almost total.

Regardless, somehow, a number of Ichkeriyan attack aircraft had managed to make it through the first wave of SAMs. Their pilots, not at all intent on sticking around but more than eager to repay their respects to the enemy, loosed their ordnance on positions ahead of the plumes of ghost-white smoke. Most of these smoke drops had already been overrun by this point anyway.

As the A-10s dropped their ordnance - cluster munitions and napalm alternating between squadrons - they let loose with their GAU-8 30mm cannons, spraying torrents of DU rounds which tore through whatever they hit: human, vehicle, or building -- at the end of long crimson streaks of fire like dragon's breath.

As they passed over the A-10 pilots high tailed it out of there, making one pass and promptly gunning it home. The first waves had taken horrendous casualties averaging out at 70%. Despite the numbers however, the other three wings of comparable size to the first, were still on orders to carry out their attack. Only those flights still on the ground were given the order to wait on the tarmac idling until the word came to take to the skies over the city.

A few minutes earlier on the ground...

Sector-5
Civilian Designation: Tsentral-Shipping Docklands

"Eagle Six to all units... I know what you may be thinking. We're low on ammo, cut off, and completely surrounded. But I can tell you straight that those Kregaian bastards have no idea what they are getting themselves into. I've given the call for Broken Arrow. Our guys are pushing forward to buy us an opportunity to break out of here so here's our chance. It's either do or die at this point men and I know which I'd prefer. Eagle Six Out." Col. Yusuf put down the radio and frowned. This could very well be his last hour. But would he have had it any other way? To die in service to his country, family, and people. . . to fall in a final attempt to break the enemy's grip on him. . . no he wouldn't want it any different.

He stepped out of the trailer which made his head quarters into the rain. Inside soldiers doused gasoline on whatever they did not remove. Every static defense had been evacuated, removed, or destroyed. Trucks and armored fighting vehicles rolled past in the rain; the wounded had been loaded onto vehicles already, every one of them who could kept a weapon at the ready pointed up out of the windows of the humvees and trucks. The dead meanwhile had been dealt with differently. Rather than allow them to the whim of the enemy, on the request of a Marine major as part of a larger plan they had all been loaded onto the fishing vessel docked in port. 114 Marines were now on board the fishing vessel. They had taken with them all manner of heavy weapons, from rocket and grenade launchers to mortars and heavy machine guns, in an hour the fishing ship had been turned into a floating gunship. They'd provide a good diversion as the rest of the force vacated the docklands. The Army would advance southwards to punch through enemy lines while the few thousand Marines would cover the rear and face the advancing Legion hordes.

"Crazy sons of bitches..." the Colonel said to himself before lighting a cigar. He took a G3 rifle handed to him by a fellow soldier and stepped into a waiting humvee. A stray artillery shell landed nearby showering the truck with bits and chunks of broken concrete and earth.

hmm.. this be post # 911. . .

OOC: Fuck it all. Jolt ate my damn post after I spent the last two hours writing it. Since I don't have the patience to write it all out again, in a nutshell, the Immortals were pressing forward but being hampered by the lack of cover in the artificial canyons/rooftops formed by the stacked containers. As they're moving, the barrage of bombs, napalm, and bullets hits, inflicting significant losses on the Immortals in the area where the bombs landed, but they continued to fight anyway. I feel bad because this puts something of a blip in the IC continuity, but God help me, I refuse to waste another hour and a half trying to type it out all over again.

Marine 52nd "Screaming Tigers" Regiment...Devil's Brigade,
RCT-1 (First Recon), Bravo Company, 3rd Platoon..

Sgt. Mikhail Vedeyev looked up as the A-10s streaked over him and doused the forward enemy ranks in waves of hellfire. Men were shouting, bullets pinged off of every metal surface and the night was illuminated by the fire of battle. Then in an instant he snapped himself out of it and hustled back another 30 meters to take cover behind an over turned fork-lift. His platoon's CO, a 2nd Lieutenant shouted over to him from the other side of the transport isle between the stacks of cargo containers.

"Charlie Company's pulling back behind us and so's the rest of 2nd battalion. We have to stay here to cover their retreat so we don't all get killed." 2nd Lt. Islam Yandarbayev had dirt and blood all over his face and wore the ragged features of a man who's been one bullet away for longer than he had first expected.

Sgt. Vedeyev shouted back across to him after firing a covering burst in the direction of an approaching silhouette. "Ha! Who says we're getting out of this alive sir?! I just want to kill!"

The platoon's CO nodded with a smile returned by his XO. The two men continued firing along with the rest of their platoon. The men of Alpha Company, 3rd Platoon held their position as enemy figures emerged out of the wall of flame ahead of them. They trained their sites on targets they could confirm and fired with discipline keeping in mind their near exhausted ammo reserves. A Corpral next to Mikhail took a bullet straight between the eyes, toppling over backwards from his position. Mikhail shifted his position to take his fellow Marine's place, and continued firing, not looking down for a second at his dead comrade.

"Tiger Three to all victors fall back I repeat we're moving back Over." the voice of 3rd Platoons CO came over the comm. At once the Marines disengaged and began moving back from the front line. Sgt. Vedeyev abandoned his position just as a mortar round turned the fork lift he was crouching behind only seconds earlier into a pile of slag. He switched out his magazine, readying the first 5.56 round in the chamber of his M4. Ahead of him the other members of his squad were running. The sound of artillery and mortar shells picked up, spraying more shrapnel and taking down more Marines as they retreated.

Sgt. Vedeyev breathed hard; sweat ran down the sides of his brow and into his eyes. He lifted his dirt crusted hand to sweep them clean as he ran past another squad of Marines who were covering his platoon's retreat. The men were firing intermittently, hard faced and paid no notice to him as he ran past them.

"Tiger Three all victors, halt here and take up positions."

Mikhail took cover behind a container and pointed his carbine down range as another Marine crouched by his leg and his squad took up positions. The Marines which had just been covering them now ran past them: two men were shot down to the ground just in front of Mikhail. Neither of them moved. A moment's noticed was all that was paid to pair. They were dead but he was still alive and so was the enemy.

Another hail of gunfire and grenades came thundering down the long street-sized isle and Mikhail's squad returned fire; a pitiful chorus of single shots in response to the incessant hail of enemy fire. Despite this, these Marines were trained to have their shots count. Mikhail leaned out of his cover and fired several more rounds down range.

"How much fucking longer do we have to stay in this fucking shooting gallery?! We're all going to die if we stay here! We're all going to die!" came the frenetic voice of 2nd Platoon's commander. Mikhail shook his head. He was dumbfounded that that man had survived this long; he gave up long ago trying to figure out how he became an officer in the Ichkerian Marine Corps.

"Alright Tiger Three all victors Move! Move! Move! Back to the staging area!" Came the young voice of Lt. Yandarbayev on the comm.

Without pause Mikhail's squad got up and bolted for the end of the cargo depot. All he thought about was putting one foot in front of the other. He saw the boots of his platoon members in front of him and to his sides. He heard a crack of a bullet whizzing past his ear and the impact it made in the back of another Marine's skull. The man fell straight to the ground in one motion - dead before he hit the floor - and Mikhail leaped over his body in a full out sprint. The staging area was just in front of him; if only he could get there, if only God would spare him a few more seconds he could get out of the kill zone..
<><><>


The staging area was total havoc. Disoriented Soldiers and Marines wandered aimlessly amid dug in troops and the hordes of retreating soldiers. The Army soldiers had finally made it out of the staging area; it had taken them long enough and they were blazing a trail through enemy resistance to link up with friendly reinforcements. Remaining APCs and Humvees didn't waste any time waiting for Marines to hop on. The last two remaining M1 Abrams tanks and a number of APCs formed a last wall of resistance between the enemy and the ranks of retreating troops. Their Marines had long since given up any chance at making it out from this battle alive: their greatest honor and duty was to die in the line of fire saving the lives of their fellow Marines and they were prepared to do just that.

All it would take was one good bombing run or a well placed blanket of artillery and the lives of thousands of Marines would have been forfeit. Much of the staging area was flat concrete, the buildings that had existed there before had been for the most part demolished. If it wasn't for the Rangers who had been weaving in and out of buildings like ghosts, eliminating any and all Kregaian forward observers who could radio in artillery strikes, the game would have been over, at least for the Screaming Tigers, a long time ago. The fates of many of those Rangers were all but sealed by this point too. Those who chose not to die out in the open covering their Marine brethren's retreat would merge back into the shadows to function as snipers, saboteurs, and falling behind enemy lines, find the best ways to hinder and hurt the enemy before attempting to make it out back to friendly positions if they survived that long.

Mikhail couldn't believe his eyes. Ichkeriyan Marines retreating in such a fashion. It had come as more a shock to him than the horrors of the battle he had just lived through. A convoy of unarmored Humvees was starting to leave; his commanding officer had told him and the rest of the platoon already that they were getting the hell out of there; the Marines that were staying behind were staying behind to die and buy them time and the wounded were ahead of them not behind them.

Mikhail sprinted towards a Humvee and jumped into the passenger seat as a PFC Kazbek took the driver's wheel.

"Holy shit! Can you fucking believe we survived?!" he yelled to Sgt. Vedeyev with a massive smile on his face.

"Yeah shut up and get us the fuck out of here!" He ordered back to the younger Marine. "Arslan! Get on the .50 cal!"

"Yes sir!" the grunt replied. Sgt. Vedeyev leaned out the opened door of the Humvee and began firing off rounds behind them as the Humvee lurched to a start. The last of his platoon except for the Lieutenant had made onto the trucks and were firing back into the enemy advance. He stared intently at his commanding officer as the mid twenties officer walked backwards firing his M16 until he ran out of ammo. As he turned to run back into the truck a round caught him behind the knee and sent him to the ground on his knees.

"Stop the fucking truck! Halt!" Mikhail yelled to his gunner as he jumped out of the vehicle. He ran over to the Lieutenant who was crawling on the ground, yelling in pain. Ahead one of the Abrams tanks standing guard erupted into a massive ball of flame, sending parts of its turret in all directions. The enemy started to penetrate the front line, flanking the dug in Marines and armor. Many of those Marines, now totally out of ammo and surrounded had mounted bayonets and charged the enemy, some managing to get into hand to hand combat, most being shot down without mercy. Mikhail fired his rifle at the advancing Legionnaires and Immortals until his magazine went dry. He dropped the weapon and pulled out his .45 cal standard issue sidearm.

He fired off several rounds and grabbed onto the Lt.'s BDU.

"You crazy fuck leave me!" he grunted in pain.

Mikhail picked him up onto his back and ran back to a waiting Humvee. The entire platoon had formed a wedge sending down a torrent of 5.56 and .50 cal fire to provide cover. Mikhail ran as fast as he could to the nearest Humvee, but it wasn't easy grabbing the Lt.'s leg in one arm and holding his .45 in the other. The truck was only right there and he saw the look of his platoon mates horror when a bullet tore through his thigh and another one caught itself in the ceramic shock plate on his back. He was so close he wouldn't accept failing now. Totally ignoring the searing pain shooting up his thigh and his back, his veins coursing with adrenaline, he got back to his feet and dropped the Lt. (who was doing his best to shoot at the enemy) onto the back seat of the Humvee.

"Let's Go! Let's Go! Let's Go!" the driver called as he did so. He made for the front passenger seat and as he did so another round hit him, this time grazing his helmet knocking him to the ground; the impact from which finishing the work of the first bullet and fracturing his femur. Mikhail screamed in pain as a fellow Marine hauled him up into the Humvee and the truck took off.

He eased his head on the seat, still pumped full of adrenaline. He looked behind and saw the second Abrams tank go up in flames followed by the rest of the column. It wasn't over yet for him though. Kregaian infantry; Legionnaires along with a new force began flooding the staging area sending a hail storm of rounds down at 3rd Platoon as they and the rest of Bravo Company gunned it out of there.

"Take this Sergeant." A Marine handed an AK-47 to Mikhail and he popped his head out the side of the Humvee, adding his to the rest of the fire team's gunfire from the Humvee. The burnt out hulks of armor and vehicles littered the staging area and the column of Humvees that now were the chariots of 3rd Platoon weaved in and between the scorched vehicles. The bodies of the dead were shockingly numerous - Sgt. Vedeyev was taken aback by just how many men had been killed in the operation - and the Marines of 3rd Platoon whizzed past them. With the enemy chasing close behind there wasn't any time to relax. The lead Humvee swerved, narrowly missing a burnt out amphibious Marine transport, and the rest of the trucks in the column barely avoided crashing headlong into it also. As they negotiated their way out of the killing field that was the staging area one of the sergeants called the platoon's attention to a large fishing vessel to their left in the distance.

"Pyscho Mother Fuckers.." The Marine behind Mikhail said aloud. A few of the Marines had to look twice to understand what they were seeing before they resumed providing covering fire.

The fishing vessel was a hornets nest of tracer rounds and RPG smoke trails. The number of Marines on the ship had apparently tripled and they seemed to be in no short supply of ammunition. Machine gun crews and regular Marines had taken up positions all over the ship and were laying a barrage of small arms, anti tank, and even mortar fire at the Kregaians who were advancing into the staging area. Furthermore, instead of simply sitting there like a duck, the Marines on the ship had taken to starting its engines and pulling out of port, cutting the ropes and throwing the planks over board.

The diversionary, and seemingly suicidal, action of the Marines on the fishing trawler had come not a moment too soon and in moments 3rd Platoon had finally made its way out of the hell hole of the docklands and back into the city. They way ahead was relatively calm and serene in comparison to what they had seen before; theirs was now a trail being blazed by the more lumbering force that was the Army. With his leg in a makeshift spling made out of a bandanna and a spare LMG barrel, Mikhail adjusted himself in his seat and turned back to 2nd Lt. Yandarbayev behind him who seemed relatively recovered and fully alert.

"Sir." the sergeant started,

"What you did back there was crazy Mikhail.. I owe you my life"

"You owe me a fucking bear sir, in point of fact."

Almost astoundingly the men in Humvee burst into laughter.

The Ichkeriyans were finally putting up their last stand. As the Kregaians stormed into the staging area, they were met by a hail of fire from a boat crowded with the enemy. There seemed to be no limit to their ammunition, and under cover of that withering barrage, the enemy was escaping right under the Legionaries’ noses. Full trucks of enemy soldiers were speeding away, and although some of them were destroyed by mortar rounds or anti-tank missiles, most of them got away completely intact, the enemy Ichkeriyans cheering with joy at having escaped the tightening Kregaian noose. Many were wounded, but the injuries would heal. Most of those soldiers would live to fight another day, and within minutes after the attack on the staging area, the battle was over: those Ichkeriyans that could escape had already done so, while some were trapped and others, almost exclusively wounded, had been taken alive.

It was highly disappointing to see so many Ichkeriyans slip out of the trap, but then, they weren’t out of danger yet, and besides, the point of the mission had been to eliminate a threat to the Kregaian rear. It was now gone, and the Kregaians controlled the mouth of the bay. As the center of the city, it was important, and furthermore the invaders would need its infrastructure to supply their armies as they pushed inland. It was the centerpiece of the next phase of Kregaian movement, meant to isolate Ichkeriyan resistance around the bay and take control of the center of the city. Army Group South still hadn’t reached the city itself, and would soon encounter the enemy 5th Army, and forces had been massed in the northern third of the city to cross the river.

In fact, they would be launching their attack any moment now.

* * *

It had been quiet on the riverfront for some time. Too quiet, in a city where the populace is either evacuated or at risk of being slaughtered and where the streets, in places, had literally run red with blood. In the shadows, amongst the rubble of ruined buildings, the Kregaians had prepared a massive arsenal of weaponry and equipment; the river had to be crossed, and the bridges couldn’t be used: they would have been wired with explosives from the minute the bombardment began all those days ago. Hence, the river would have to be crossed some other way, and one way or another it would require a hell of a lot of covering fire.

25mm rapid-fire grenade launchers lined the Kregaian-held bank, concealed by rubble pulled over around them, only the barrels protruding. Several batteries of artillery, including heavy guns and even a few massive Colossus 460mm howitzers, had been positioned in “clearings” (the Kregaian name for plazas and areas razed thoroughly enough that buildings did not block the field of fire of artillery) hundreds of meters from the river bank. Tanks and IFVs full of Immortals lurked in side streets behind the shattered husks of buildings, ready for the order to cross the river, and snipers and rocket teams crept in the shadows, on rooftops or in whatever niches they could find. That left only one piece of the puzzle.

Lord Ishamael himself gave the command to proceed over the river. The order trickled down through the various generals and finally to the officer in charge of the artillery batteries. With a simple nod, he relayed the order to fire to his subordinates, and with a ground-shaking roar, the guns opened fire, hurling a wave of shells into the Ichkeriyan-held side of the river. The rest of the Kregaian forces soon followed suit; grenade launchers opened fire on anything that moved, unleashing flurries of small but deadly high-explosive rounds, snipers scanned the streets for targets, and those bearing anti-tank missile launchers fired away at any vehicle that looked like it might get in the way. In short, the covering fire was brutal, meant to destroy anything in the way and prevent the Ichkeriyans from returning fire.

After over twenty minutes of artillery fire (the others having given up, not wanting to waste ammunition), the next phase began. Massive vehicles, bigger than eighteen-wheelers and too big to drive two down a single street, rolled down the streets towards the river: bridgelayers, brought along for times exactly like these, with massive adjustable bridges on their backs. As suppressive fire continued to pour in from the Kregaian batteries, they stopped at the riverside and their thick hydraulic arms slowly began extending the bridges. Bridgelayers, and their associated bridges, were highly expensive: they were made of extremely tough material, a necessity for supporting the weight of tanks and other vehicles, and often they had to function without supports or foundations. This was one reason why supporting fire was so essential; the cost of replacing them was hefty.

In a few minutes, four bridges extended over the river, each separated by a block or two. As soon as they were stable, tanks rolled out of the side streets where they had been hiding and moved to cross, cannons swiveling left and right, searching for the enemy. The artillery fire was aimed deeper into the city, away from the bank: without this, friendly fire would have been inevitable. As it was, it required excellent coordination to keep that barrage creeping forward without hitting Kregaian assets. Behind the tanks came IFVs, which split up into small groups once they were on the other side; some released their infantry, to screen the vehicles and protect from enemy ambushes, while others kept the Immortals in reserve, using their autocannons to support the troops. As the armored convoys crossed the bridges, the fighting resumed, and viciously; although the Ichkeriyans had been forced to find cover or retreat with the artillery raining down on them, the presence of the tanks and IFVs gave them an immediate target. In the meantime, however, the Legionaries began to stream across the bridges, backed up by squadrons of tanks and armored vehicles, weapons at the ready, driving towards the center of the city.

Shells rained down on the banks of the Mephusta river as the Kregaian Legionnaires attempted their crossing. Ichkerian forward elements had been driven back from the banks by the relentless enemy shelling. Now tat the enemy had begun heir crossing of the river it was the Ichkerian's turn to rain steel. 634 155mm field artillery guns had had been trained along various points down the Mephusta river to inflict the greatest amount of losses possible on the Kregaian crossing. A few blocks back from the river on the Ichkerian side tanks and armor as well as numerous teams of soldiers and irregulars hid in wait for their enemy; their orders being to wait for the enemy to march straight into the hornets nest before opening up on them and advancing straight into the Kregaian lines at maximum speed. 9 Divisions of Infantry and Armor waited camouflaged and hidden amongst the rubble staggered along the Mephusta. A Brigade made up of several battalions was set up along the northern edge of the massive 11 story rubble of the Vynazz tower, its orders to hold the position at all costs. Flat trajectory artillery guns were positions behind pieces of rubble and the soldiers manning the position along with their armor made good use of the massive hunks of concrete and slag steel as cover. Directly to their north across the Mephusta were the Kershun and Jalal towers which towered ominously over them. Despite the intense bombardment and fighting after wards, both of the buildings still cast a blue shine in the sunlight which was just now starting to poke its rays through the retreating brown and dust colored cloud color. The three towers were positioned on opposite banks of the Mephusta River just before it opened up into the mouth of Karaman Bay. From what was left of the terraced palm gardens infront of the rubble of Vynazz tower, soldiers could see the shot up remains of the bridge which linked both sides of the city; the major Alkhan Bridge which was now strapped with four hundred pounds of C4. The rubble of Vynazz served as an artificial hill in a vast clearing of leveled buildings and commanded a good view of the whole city. Of course, the rubble was over 130 feet tall.

Meanwhile CAS aircraft went in to make their bombing runs before the air battle would resume in full force, creating large plumes of smoke over the banks of the river as they dropped their ordnance. Anti-tank mines lied in wait for the Kregaians as they advance across the river. A-10s made their last straffing runs before the Kregaian Fighters made their return and so too the battered but ready Ichkerian Air Force and the artillery continued to pound the river and both banks with cluster munitions which would cut infantry in the open and light skinned vehicles to shreds if they were unlucky enough to be caught by a blast.

At the same time as this, the Ichkerian advance in the southwest half of the city began to slow from fierce Kregaian resistance. At first it seemed they had been taken by surprise by the surge of Ichkerian numbers from seemingly no where, but forward elements of the Ichkerian army were being met by increasingly numerous contingents of Kregaian forces. Men died in droves and snipers wrecked havoc on both sides while tanks and armor duked it out between each other, with the majority of armor duels going to the Kregaians with their better armor and weapons. In the middle of all this a fishing boat continued to provide firesupport to forces on the land, shooting at any Kregaians it could find on the waterfront of the bay and providing close mortar support to troops in the vicinity as it made its way to the mouth of the Mephusta River, easily visible among the wreckage of sunk and abandoned ships due to the two towers which shot up into the sky.

....And among all the chaos a periscope just breaking the surface of the water made its way gradually to the mouth of Karaman Bay where the ruins of a bridge formerly under construction lay while another periscope and antennae breached the waters near the clutter of a ship which had taken a direct hit from Kregaian naval artillery...listening in.

http://img293.imageshack.us/img293/6240/subpersiscopekaramanwx1.png
Periscope View from IHK Jelel, SSGN-13

In the air, the skies were finally beginning to clear. Sunshine poked through the dust clouds and the few remaining columns of smoke, replacing the rain which had ended some time ago. This might be seen as a good omen by some, a simple welcome sight by others, but what it meant was that the air battle would be resuming soon. Already, Balefires were moving back towards the city at full speed, hoping to take control of the air before the Ichkeriyans could respond. However, the enemy had managed to get their light bombers prepared earlier than the Balefires had been, and these were now flying around the river, dropping bombs and contributing to the general chaos.

The Ichkeriyans were trading shell for shell now, using prepared howitzer positions on their bank of the river to rain fire on those attempting the crossing. The forward elements of the Legionaries quickly found out that the enemy had hidden tanks, snipers, machine gun positions, and more a few blocks back from the river, which resulted in severe casualties for those groups unlucky enough to stumble across them. These tanks and infantry soon began a counter-advance, which the Legionaries fiercely fought with their Spiculum ATGMs and suppressing fire from whatever cover they could quickly find. The battle had begun again, with tens of thousands of enemy troops lining the Mephusta, and even as the Kregaians strived to avoid minefields and enemy ambushes while sweeping buildings for snipers and Ichkeriyan soldiers, they faced an enemy with his back to the wall, a good defensive position, and the same unyielding determination the Ichkeriyans had displayed all through the battle.

Kregaian artillery, meanwhile, began to move around, so as to prevent counter-battery fire from the Ichkeriyan guns. Scouting squads of Legionaries and drones launched from the Kregaian side of the river would pinpoint enemy guns, which would quickly be subjected to a hail of shells. The ruins of the Vynazz tower was a consistent target too: sending infantry at that thing would be nothing short of suicide, without first using artillery to silence the Ichkeriyan defenders. When air support arrived, A-16 light bombers would be putting a heavy priority on bombing those ruins.

Similar scenes occurred in the south of Karaman, as the Ichkeriyans lost the element of surprise and their counter-attack began to stall. While the Kregaians put up fierce resistance in the enemy center, much greater pressure was put on the Ichkeriyan right wing: the commander in charge of those forces had elected to attempt a breakthrough on the enemy's right, flanking the attacking enemy forces. The Ichkeriyans were no fools; they knew that the Kregaians possessed stronger and more advanced armor, and thus they quickly took steps to avoid facing the enemy toe-to-toe, using essentially anti-tank snipers armed with ATGMs against the Kregaian main battle tanks. Helicopter gunships whirred around, depositing squads of troops on rooftops to clear buildings, while using their superior vantage point and powerful weaponry to gun down any Ichkeriyan sniper who had the bad luck to be seen.

The soldiers of the 26th and 38th and seven other Army divisions pushed forwards against the Kregaian landing forces towards river. Tanks and APCs opened fire upon the advancing Kregaians forward squads as they walked into the trap, spewing white hot fire in an unforgiving and utterly merciless hail at the enemy, forcing even the Kregaians to fall back towards the river. Ichkerian artillery elements, 4,238 field pieces and 986 mobile howitzers, were tasked towards the elimination of the enemy front along the river. The Kregaians didn't fall back without an answer of their own, however. Casualties sustained by Ichkerian soldiers in this sustained assault were high although not debilitatingly so. As the front line was pushed back towards the banks of the Mephusta river the momentum of the assault began to falter as the enemy began to fall back on their numbers; artillery returning fire of their own and relatively 'fresh' reinforcements pouring over from the other side of the city. Eventually the assault ground down into a stalemate in which the enemy couldn't be pushed back any further. Artillery on both sides pounded the several wards of the city along both sides of the river into dust; reducing entire housing blocks and hundreds of years old buildings in seconds to rubble. Most if not all bridges along the river had been detonated by this point, taking whoever was on them with them into the water and leaving the enemy with what few bridges left and what they had of their own.

Meanwhile the ruins of Vynazz tower smoldered as pillars of concrete and twisted hulks of steel exploded in midair with th eimpact of artillery rounds. The soldiers on the wreckage had their orders to hold the area at all costs until ordered otherwise. Thus they stuck it out, hunkering down as the smoldering ruins which had only just barely stopped smoking a mile high plume of acrid concrete dust, were once again subjected to a second hellish bombardment. Casualties were taken, men were wounded or outright killed in droves but they remained were they were, awaiting the Kregaian assault which was expected to come some time soon.

Behind the front line the rest of the Army waited to get into the fight, using the time it had to reorganize and reinforce its defensive position along the Mephusta and its offensive against the Kregaian army in the south west of the city. Civilians were evacuated en masse all the while.

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

The fateful assault on the entire south west section of Karaman, aimed at punching a hole through the Kregaian's established lines of defense and swarming through in one massive wave had utterly faltered and begun to show signs of breaking down altogether. Instead of punching a clean hole right through the middle and encircling entire Kregaian divisions as was hoped, the offensive only managed to push the Kregian army back a kilometer or so towards the sea. As the enemy regrouped after the initial surprise of the massive assault they began pushing back with their superior numbers. Men died in droves as commanders led entire battalions into the fog of war and were never seen again. Thousands upon thousands of artillery guns opened fire on positions held by the enemy and area thought to be command posts and concentrations of armor and troops.

In the south, General Icarus Protheron was making his fortune with every passing hour. He had been placed in command of the entire Eighth Army, part of the southern wing of Army Group Center, and although he'd been taken by surprise by the Ichkeriyan counterattack, it had been his rapid, textbook reaction and the fierce resistance of the men under his command that had turned the tables on the infidels. The Ichkeriyan surge might have succeeded had it not been for the savage, bloody resistance of a few divisions in the Army's center, which despite being badly mauled in the kilometer-long retreat had succeeded in stalling the enemy advance.

General Protheron responded with a simple flanking maneuver, the same strategy that had worked so well for classical commander like Hannibal and Alexander and one that was usually the first maneuver taught in any battlefield tactics class at Kregaian military universities. Diverting reserves, especially armored units and artillery, to his left, he then hurled his left wing against the enemy; by advancing a kilometer, the Ichkeriyans had created a narrow bulge, and if his left wing broke through, not only could the Kregaians quickly surround the enemy but also flank and destroy the Ichkeriyan troops inside the salient. His reputation was at stake here, gambled on this single counterattack: failure meant bearing the blame for every setback so far at Karaman, while success meant potentially eclipsing Lord Ishamael as the hero of the battle. Guns thundered, soldiers ran and bled and died, and here in the southern section of the city you could practically see the generals pulling the strings.

* * *

The Ichkeriyans fought wildly for every meter of ground, pushing the Kregaians back to the river despite their best efforts. Weight of numbers then began to counteract that attack, and the front line swayed back and forth as a result, shifted regularly by rallies and counterattacks by the Ichkeriyans and strikes by the Kregaians. New bridgeheads were hurriedly being thrown across the river; the more points that the Legionaries could cross at, the thinner enemy resistance would be stretched. Artillery on both sides of the Mephusta continued to duel, although despite both sides' guns moving around, counter-battery tactics employed by both attackers and defenders had shrunk the total volume of shells being fired by attrition. Indeed, at the moment, attrition summed up the nature of the battle at the river: the Ichkeriyans had massed strong defenses here, and the river was the last natural barrier between the Kregaians and their field headquarters; hence, they were putting up a hell of a fight, and they had the resources to continue to do this for some time.

Luckily for the invaders, the cavalry was on the way. A force of hundreds of Balefires was rapidly streaking towards the far side of the city, with an almost-equally large flight of Overlord light bombers following behind it, and with heavily-armed gunships flying below, only a few thousand feet above the ground, tirelessly mapping and attacking enemy snipers and fortified positions. The mission was simple: the fighters were there for escort purposes, while the gunships and light bombers were to provide air support, wiping out enemy armor, defenses, and in general punching holes in the Ichkeriyan lines. The quicker the Kregaians broke through, the better.

The situation was looking grim in the eastern sector of the city as Ichkerian divisions were being driven back by a sweeping tide of Kregaian Legionaries. The city was reduced to absolute rubble and the fighting had re-risen into an all out fight for survival on both sides. Entire blocks were engulfed as fire and dust as Kregaian bombers attempted to knock out forward Ichkerian positions and sniper nests. The Ichkerian Air Force was having a hell of a time keeping the skies clear; due to sheer attrition over the 10 days of fighting and the number of aircraft the Kregaians were able to put up in the sky at any one time, the IAF was no longer able to mount massed air assaults in the 10,000 km2 airspace in the "Karaman Sector". Instead engagements were limited to smaller sorties by wings of air superiority aircraft of varying types. In the days after the counter offensive had been launched-saving the beleaguered and encircled brigades in the Nisachi Peninsula at the mouth of Karaman Bay-the attacking army had been driven back by the tidal wave of Kregaian troops, forced to forsake all the ground it had succeeded in liberating from the Kregaians in the surprise surge. They were now being forced back towards the Hasha River, which ran north east through the city towards Karaman Bay....

******
Jalal District, South Eastern Karaman...

Murat Vadaashvili lay prostrate in the window of a 6-story department store, bombed out like every other building in Karaman, but still resembling a building like not too many others. He had parted ways with Captain Edris a few days back when he decided to stay back and give covering fire as Edris and the few Marines with him evacuated the doctor and his patients back to the city center. Lying next to him was a man he had only met the day before; a college graduate student in particle physics and according to his description a former Judo champion from his village in Midisia Province in central Ichkeria, Falk König was a mere civilian but had quickly proven himself a more than capable spotter for Murat.

The smell of dust and stale air and gasoline fumes filled their nostrils as they both lay in waiting for the next wave of the Kregaian onslaught. Waves of dust swept over the streets below them, blowing pages of newspapers over burnt out vehicles and charred bodies. The dead body of a dog lay in the middle of a twenty-foot crater blown out by a Kregaian artillery shell. König looked through his spotting scope out at the district in front of him-shelled into rubble-and cracked his neck this way and that.

"So why is it you think these bastards have come for us?" He spoke in a pronounced Udarian accent, almost identical to Bavarian.

"Does it matter? I have no clue. They probably just want to take our resources and expand whatever empire they have." Murat replied.

"These Kregaians are different though, wouldn't you agree? It's as if they aren't afraid of death."

"They're a lot better caliber than Soviet troops that's for sure my university friend. But they kill civilians just as rabidly as the Soviets do. No, infact they make the Soviet Bloc troops look like pussies. There's no doubt in my mind that they're grunts actually enjoy killing as many women and children as they can get their filthy hands on. I can't tell you how many-"

"Contact Front; left of the Binan (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b2/Eastern_European_car,_unknown_model,_seen_in_Sofia,_Bulgaria_September_2005.jpg), you see 'em?"

"Gotcha."

"Looks like a platoon, see the officer? Passing the Binan now. Range Two. Three. Two."

"I see him"

"Wait for artillery..."

*Crack*

"Nice shot. They're not taking cover: must think it was the shrapnel. Check the medic. Wait for the shell..."

*Crack*

"That's for shooting our doctors and wounded."

"Good shot, they have no idea what hit 'em. Let's go to town."

"With pleasure my academic friend."

"Machine gunner, behind the van..."

*Crack*....*Crack*....*Crack*...*Crack*....*Crack*...*Crack*....

"Hear that?"

"Armor.. fuck."

The Kregaian APC advanced into the road underneath the view of the sniper team and in seconds of arriving came to a stop and zeroed in on the position of the two. Led flew and chewed up the entire floor just as the two men hightailed it out of there. König jumped a hole in a bombed out portion of the building, followed by Murat and the two continued running to flee the area. They jumped several other buildings until finally relocating in a high-class pent-house with trees on its top.

******
Near the Banks of the Mephusta River...

The Ichkerian Army was unable to destroy the Kregaian landing operations as they began several days before. With anti-tank weapons and anti-personal traps rigged they retreated slowly as time went by, fighting viciously all the while and taking many casualties. Much of the soldiers brought into the fighting were civilians armed with AK-47s and RPG-7s. A flood of refugees had fled the Kregaian advance, fully aware of the killing and genocide which was occurring at the hands of the enemy. As was to be expected of fervently patriotic Ichkerian men and women they armed themselves. Droves of men and women of all ages, teenagers, young college age citizens, the middle aged, and most surprisingly of all the old and infirm, came barging on Ichkerian headquarters and positions demanding orders. The armories, a federally mandated part of all major Ichkerian cities, were ransacked by thousands of civilians, grabbing any thing and everything they could: bullets, knives, rations, rifles, shotguns, hand grenades, water canteens, two-way radios, body armor, and even the limited supply of People's Army uniforms.

Thus Divisions of Ichkerian forces which by any point of view, should have been in full on disorganized retreat at this point in the battle were in many places holding the line, reinforced by paramilitaries. Despite the grim tide of battle, morale was counter intuitively high among the ranks. Karaman was seen as a test of Ichkerian will and resolve and that it had lasted this long against such a large and determined enemy was a point of pride among soldier and civilian alike. Although on the other side of reality were the thousands and millions of civilians trapped within the city caught in the cross fire or fleeing Karaman into the surrounding suburbs and country side.

For all the hooha and borderline pyschotic willingness of those doing the fighting to repulse the enemy with such ferocity, something which no doubt would have caught more than a few Kregaian officers and grunts by surprise; the mathematical reality was very against the Ichkerians. The highways connecting the city to the rest of the country were absolutely choked with vehicles, mostly civilian as orders from some generals had their troops traveling cross country and using the highways only when necessitated by the circumstances. Something which no doubt saved countless lives and confusion by allowing civilians to flee without running into armies full speed, but which also slowed down the advance towards the city, and thus reinforcements. However the army was never far from site and this kept many people calm as they evacuated Karaman. The visibility of Ichkerian aircraft overhead had similar effect.