Panama, 2030 - Second Tiberium War
0523 hrs.
Day 01
Pre-Launch: Rally Point Alpha
It was the end of the year, though no snow had fallen to rest along the globe's equator.
The War was nearly three months old, yet its termination and our Armageddon felt nigh.
The Forgotten were forgotten no longer and the South was yet to taste freedom.
Colonel Jason Michelis had a problem. His commanders in the Global Defence Initiative's higher echelons shared in that same problem, though they looked to their colonel to solve it, as they often did.
Commander MacNeil, aboard his flagship Kodiak, had been previously tasked with supporting Michelis' current mission, but an impending ion storm had delayed the young commander by at least twenty-four hours. This left Michelis pacing about his mobile command vehicle stationed within Rally Point Alpha, a plain outside Uatsi, Costa Rica. Weeks prior, MacNeil and his Forgotten allies, had assaulted and taken the lands that had once been used to imprison the mutants and their leader. It was upon that newly won ground that Michelis' forces were mustered and preparing to launch their upcoming mission. With Tratos, the mutant leader of the Forgotten Faction safely secured and the allegiance forged, the future now seemed a little brighter under the Tiberian sun.
Still, Michelis paced.
After the pacing had failed to calm his vivacity, Michelis decided to sit down in a nearby chair and ponder the situation further. Delays were never welcome, especially in a situation as volatile as that in Panama. The campaign against Vega had proven to be as much a crusade against the rabid NOD general's drug cartels as it was a conventional military maneuver. Michelis' mind swam around the potential civilian casualties that arose from the sudden removal of the illegal occu-opiate that had been pressed onto them by NOD. It disgusted the colonel how, despite the spread of the lethal alien growth Tiberium, Vega had still managed to leech even more life from the dwindling populace. He regretted not being able to ferry them to safety, as per his orders.
"Strictly military business, Colonel," his superiors reminded him. Draw a treaty from Vega first, deal with the casualties second.
The intel on Vega was nebulous at best. His base of operations, up until recently, remained a mystery until Tratos provided its location. MacNeil's own subordinate, Lieutenant Shaundra - pointed out the only sure fact that was garnered from the unruly General's propaganda and burst transmissions: that Vega was his own best customer when it came to the opiate cartel.
If that was true, then Michelis' chances of mission success had surely doubled. Under the influence, Vega would also be under the merciless and unforgiving knife of Kane, the patriarch of NOD - the root of all their problems.
Under that knife, Vega would surely panic, make a mistake, lose.
With Vega removed, the axe could then be fully prepared for Kane himself.
Like Commander MacNeil, Michelis adored winning and despised losing, though unlike MacNeil, Michelis aimed to keep his own bravado in check. True, the young commander was a rising star among GDI officers, but the lives of Michelis' men and their preservation yielded a personal glory that was irreplaceable.
A Central American campaign with an entrenched enemy, surrounded by a substance-dependent population would cost lives; more lives than Michelis was willing to spend, though was committed to spend.
Glory was glory.
Still, glory or not, the weather afforded no avenue. It was MacNeil's job to draw first blood against Vega's home territories. The main armies of GDI advanced from Costa Rica, but the true fighting in Panama would be left to Michelis and his cohort. To the North, short of the famous Panama Canal, MacNeil would strike hard and suddenly against Vega's power grid. Several power plants and major hydroelectric dams lay relatively undefended. The power they supplied fed life to the NOD forces that garrisoned the region, which was tasked by Michelis to conquer.
Vega would literally be in the dark as his rule was usurped from beneath him and Michelis made sure that his officers would take full advantage of that darkness.
MacNeil would not fail. He never failed. Michelis prayed that the same providence guided his command as well.
In prayer, Colonel Jason Michelis found the respite he sought.
He wondered if MacNeil was a believer. He would not have been surprised if the younger man was not. This war and the rampant crystal resource that fueled it was enough to strip any man of his faith.
Michelis wondered if Vega was, too, a believer - if he had chosen a deity beyond his opiates.
It no longer mattered, because in twenty-four hours, Vega's judgement would be upon him, with Michelis and his men serving as the steel gavel.
Michelis poured over the digital versions of his battlefield maps. In the weeks following MacNeil's liberation of Tratos, he had striven to prepare both himself and his men for the impending final push into Panama.
Tratos spoke of it and EVA confirmed it: Vega was just outside Pedregal, in the province of Chiriqui. His main base was located upon a desert island offshore to the Golfo de Chiriqui. Only one concrete and steel bridge connected the island to the mainland. Tratos speculated that the bridges were reparable, though actual physical confirmation was yet to be made. Only one highway entered Pedregal from the provincial capital of David. That was to be Michelis' main route of advance. His method of progression would be to seal off that road and use local Tiberium to fuel his efforts into Pedregal.
According to Tratos, the single bridge was heavily defended and thus posed a problem: bottlenecking. The colonel would not be coaxed into a killzone by sacrificing the brunt of an armoured advance across said bridge.
The quickest way to dull the tip of a spear is to blow the bridge it stood upon.
But, there was always another way.
Before Michelis could finish his thoughts, a transmission request blinked to life on the colonel's communication screen. It was from the Philadelphia Orbital Command Station, the heavenly head upon GDI's earthly shoulders. Michelis patched it through his Electronic Video Agent also known as EVA.
It was an encrypted recording from CENTAC, Philadelphia's central tactics division and it was urgent. EVA decrypted the audio-visual message and played it as ordered:
"Colonel Michelis:
CENCOMM confirms dispersal of ionization concentration over Grid 44-A5.
MacNeil given green light for Operation CANAL.
Stand by for deployment orders.
Caution: Ionization levels render satellite imagery assistance inoperable until further notice. Rely on current existing topographical information and reconnaissance.
Stand by."
The message ended and the Operation was a go.
The Launch: Halls of Montezuma
How will history remember the War? Will it be worth remembering?
Will it be worth recalling just how close to the edge we actually came?
The feeling that we had already toppled over will never leave our minds.
MacNeil was swift in his assault.
With naught but a handful of armoured units and specialized infantry, the commander had not only succeeded in his vocation of destruction, but also in seizing the entire grid. GDI reinforcements had only begun to relieve MacNeil's battered fighters by the time Colonel Michelis' expeditionary force touched down.
From his mobile command and control station, the colonel surveyed the area, cursing his inability to acquire long-range scanning. Silently, he uttered misgivings against the heavy ionization of the atmosphere, billowing ever fiercely with each passing season.
Regardless, surprise was still on his side.
At the forefront of Operation CANAL's opening stages were the infantry of the 22nd Regiment. Engaged in a pitched fiery exchange with them were patrol units of the Vega Home Guard.
They were close, sweeping Vega's doorstep before dropping a golden anchor upon it.
There were no fatal casualties in that initial firefight, only some wounds, easily licked.
Not a terrible start, mused Michelis, who surveyed his men inspecting the motionless bodies of their foes. Those corpses were removed of their identification and burned, their weapons along with them.
"Landing Zone secured, Colonel." The voice in his ear set was that of Major Goode, a commander in the 43rd Armoured Brigade, who landed in support of the 22nd. The Major reported from his position among the inbound dropships.
"Roger that, Major," replied Michelis, "begin landing your troops and form a five-kilometer defensive perimeter. I want Wolverine and Titan patrols along the roads. Also, deploy your engineers to sweep for mines and Eye-Ee-Dee's."
"Roger that, Colonel. Goode out."
Michelis held great faith in Major Goode. There was no need for paranoia when fine officers were in charge of finer men at arms. Another report chimed in and Michelis replied, saying, "Colonel Michelis here: Go ahead."
It was chief engineer Lieutenant Colonel Jeffryhs, his Highland accent ran with a static viscosity through the receiver, "Jeffrhys reporting, Colonel. Th'Em-See-Vee is ready t'be deployed at your discretion, sir."
To this, Michelis replied, "Along the road, Jeffryhs. Lay pavement and deploy your sensors ASAP."
"Aye, colonel, but the pavement'll take time."
"Understood, but Vega will try something and we have to be prepared. That, I am sure of - out."
Bare ground - good ground - was a blessing. To pave it is a godsend against the potential invalidity of that ground, be it via sub-terrain assault or from being cratered by enemy fire. Michelis knew the value of pavement all too well and made it his engineers' initial base-building priority.
Michelis pondered the disposition of his troops and officers. He also pondered those of Vega, as any commander would. Surely, Vega was alerted by now to GDI making camp along his only avenue of escape. From his interactive command and control screen, Michelis plotted the placements of his fledgling new base. The road from the town of David was but a narrow ravine, flanked by fifty foot cliffs on each side, perfect for boxing one's self in with natural barriers. Tiberium flourished in fields upon the plateaus of each flanking cliff. Pavement was laid throughout the flat box canyon ground where Michelis' forces stood. Power plants, barracks, refineries, factories, and point defense turrets were all erected as soon as the colonel gave the orders. Upon the easternmost flanking cliff, he ordered the construction of a radar array and patrols aimed to provide defensive fire from above, should the base be attacked. Across the open ground, double-thick concrete walls and retractable IFF-sensitive steel gates were placed to hinder any enemy advance.
In an hour's time, Michelis had his fortress.
Then, a report buzzed in. It was a conversation between a recon element of the 22nd and a nearby officer:
"Captain, enemy contact: armed patrol northward bound."
"Roger, recon. How many?"
"Two pair, light armoured: bikes and bugs and ten infantry - rockets plus change."
"Titan support, this is Recon Two, requesting Fire Mission, over."
A sergeant from the 43rd and another Titan commander responded, "Roger that, Recon Two: Paint em up."
Then a pair of Wolverine Suits contributed, "Wolverines Bravo six-niner and six-eight providing cover fire from the West, closing in fast."
"Roger, Wolverines and Titans. This is Recon Two, we are cleared to light up and engage."
"Roger, Titans out."
"Copy that, Wolverines out."
Michelis watched from his seat as the column of crimson-garbed NOD soldiers, rocket infantry and light armour began to fan out and face the tall behemoths that were his Titan walkers. From afar, their 120-milimeter canons flared, raining high explosives down upon the NOD armour. After a series of salvos, all the remained of the buggies and attack bikes were their charred, rolling rubber tyres. Of the infantry, they were caught in a vicious crossfire between Recon Two's ranged rifles and the rattling chain guns of the swiftly advancing Wolverine Suits.
The engagement lasted twenty seconds.
Twenty seconds to end what took years to create, be it metal or man.
Michelis shook his head and rid his thoughts of pity. There was a time and place for such things and this was a battleground, devoid of reason. Michelis had a job to do and he planned on returning his men and women home to their wives and husbands, dead or alive.
Along the northern edge of the sea cliffs that divided GDI from Vega's fortress island, Michelis sent armoured patrols to scour for enemy units and structures. Of the former, they found and engaged few. Of the latter, they found networks of active, yet undefended SAM sites.
All of these within a twenty-kilometer range were beset with demolitions and torn down.
The airspace within the GDI-controlled sector was now secure. Michelis began placing the order for an airfield and two pairs of patrolling Orca Fighter craft.
Also to the north was the concrete and steel bridge that connected the mainland to Vega's isle - the single, deadly land-bound avenue to drive the spear's tip into Vega's heart.
Preliminary reports from patrols indicated that the bridge was both whole and reparable. Engineers later confirmed this report. Right away, Michelis felt threatened by the bridge's presence, as General Vega's armour could swiftly cross it and counterattack in force, overwhelming GDI's defenses.
Michelis' northern line was exposed and he did not enjoy that fact.
"Major Goode," Colonel Michelis spoke into his headset.
"Sir, Goode here," replied the officer.
"Send a squad of Titans to our side of the bridge and have them fire upon it until it is destroyed. If NOD repairs it, rinse and repeat."
"Very good, sir. As ordered."
Within a few minutes, the towering Titans lumbered forth and with a distant series of cracks, felled the great bridge.
Michelis breathed a sigh of relief and ordered a standing guard of that most vulnerable of points.
The colonel sat back and pondered his position with a measure of respite: Airspace secured, immediate enemy ground threat from the north neutralized.
But what of the south?
Static bursts threw the Colonel from his pondering. "- eavy fire! I repeat, we are sustaining heavy fire from an unknown enemy location. Withdrawing to green zone."
An officer replied, "Withdraw, Whiskey five, artillery pin-pointed."
A Wolverine patrol was under a guided artillery barrage from another, southerly location. Michelis quickly reviewed his maps and recalled a smaller island several kilometers to the south; it too connected to the mainland via concrete bridge.
A trajectory designation report confirmed that the strike took place from that island's northern tip.
Again, Michelis felt the sting of vulnerability. Was there another NOD base in the area? Could it pose a significant threat to our operation?
If there was a base, then it would have to take priority. Several solutions flooded through the colonel's active mind. A pair of issues hindered ground operations: that entrenched artillery would pose a threat to any ground force attempting to cross over to the island and engage it. The second issue was the crossing itself. Michelis had no intelligence as to the bridge's status, or if it was even there anymore.
He would have to use aerial reconnaissance to gain a better image.
At that, the colonel sent a call to Jeffryhs, to inquire as to the status of his commissioned airfield.
First Quarter: Duce
It was no use. The airfield would not be completed for another extended period and Michelis could not afford delays.
The local NOD garrison commander at that southern isle, if he was an assertive one, could use the cover of that artillery to gather his forces for a counteroffensive. At that, Michelis sent forth an order to reinforce that southern line with armour and infantry, as many as could be produced and spared. In pairs, Titans and Wolverines stood; in squads, infantry lined the southbound road - all beyond the range of the NOD artillery.
Michelis needed a plan for the time being. He considered the Orca fighters once their production was complete, but nothing gnawed more painfully at the colonel's subconscious than his ignorant stance about the little island's occupiers.
He needed reconnaissance and he needed it yesterday.
It was then than Michelis considered his Jump-Jet specialists: long-range, one-man combat elements. These were a relatively new concept within GDI's combat structure. Not unlike the Wolverine suits that scampered across earthly terrain, Jump-Jetters gracefully floated through the air, encased within three inches of armour and rocket fuel. Before them was mounted a heavy 40 millimeter chain-fed cannon, known universally as the Vulcan. This was not unlike the Wolverine, which mounted a pair upon its hydraulic-reinforced forearms.
Through unknown territory, uncertain of Anti-air elements or offensive ground support, Michelis had to gamble.
The dilemma: wait for the Orcas and grant the enemy time to organize a counter-strike?
Or, send a pair of specialized infantry to uncertain death in order to gain even a fraction more information than he had before?
If the colonel waited, would he possibly risk losing his new Orcas once he sent them to assault the artillery?
Michelis keyed his communication unit to send a call to the barrack block.
A pair of peculiar soldiers emerged from the barrack block entrance. Upon their backs and all around their tall bodies was each a mechanical shell, a harness that was controlled by levers and panels upon armrests and foot pedals. Although their imposing machine guns preceded them, what followed was what trained the eyes of those about them. Wings, like tanned, sandblasted angels, spread to produce a four-meter wingspan.
They had received their orders and Michelis watched them gently lift off and gain altitude. In a single minute, their pair had reached a mind-numbing speed, streaking toward the diminutive southern isle. From his command vehicle, Colonel Michelis studied the helmet cams of the recon force hovering toward their target. With them, he established a direct line of communication and spoke to the lieutenant, the most senior of the pair.
"Lieutenant Savant, this is Home Zeero, do you copy?"
"Copy, Home Zeero. We are approaching the target zone right now. No problems so far."
"Roger that, lieutenant. Report all activity as you see it."
"I copy, Home. Approaching last known trajectory of artillery piece, over." Michelis waited, listening to the hum of the Jump-Jet engines.
Then, "Home Zeero, this is Juliet-Juliet One, confirming location of active NOD artillery, requesting permission to engage." Michelis could barely contain the shock of the artillery's remaining presence. Surely, the enemy commander would have ordered the displacement of that unit after its initial barrage!
"I say again: NOD artillery spotted, permission to engage?"
"Permission granted, Lieutenant," breathed Michelis, "send 'em to hell." From their helmet cams and their microphones, Colonel Michelis witnessed the power of the Vulcan as the Jumpers unleashed torrents of withering fire upon the blood-schemed chassis of the deployed artillery piece. Before long, the unfortunate vehicle caught fire, eventually exploding into a haze of abused metal and charred ground. The remaining unspent shells within aided in that luminous display.
"Target destroyed. Orders, sir?"
Michelis considered this and replied, "Reconnoitre as much of the island as possible. Return to base if you acquire heavy damage or injury. You've done good work so far, gentlemen. I want you back home alive."
"Roger that, sir. We'll do our best. Juliet-Juliet One out."
The fog of war was lifted, at least upon the southern island that threatened. Detailed reconnaissance reports from Lieutenant Savant indicated a small NOD base in the area, confirming Michelis' assumptions. The report revealed a war factory, barracks, and radar station - all fed by a modest power grid. Much to the colonel's surprise, Savant's report did not reveal a build-up of force that threatened his southern flank in any way.
All the same, Michelis decided not to remove his defensive wall of armour or infantry, but to move it forward. To the mainland foot of the bridge, to halt any advance were the units of the southern flank positioned, for the colonel had a plan.
From the onset of the operation, the same orders were given to Michelis and MacNeil alike: the most advantageous route to proceed was not by land or air, but by sea.
Enthused by the accuracy and revelation of Lieutenant Savant's reports, the colonel had ordered the preparation of doubled Orca fighters to provide air support for his next major strike.
Three amphibious Armoured Personnel Carriers rolled from the war factories, to be occupied by a relatively small force of veteran infantry units and a host of engineers. They were to spearhead a classic-style raid, as Michelis had recalled from viewing old academy films regarding the Second World War in the South Pacific. Island hopping, they called it: Lighting strikes against entrenched enemy island fortresses. From the sea, supported by a seemingly endless air force, these bloody battles mostly taught the allied forces one thing: to pick and choose wisely.
As Michelis studied the roster of his small commando force, he regarded some of the personal histories of each commando. Most had seen combat along other fronts. Some were veterans of the previous firestorm against the Brotherhood. Others were relatively untested, but saw promise in their fields of marksmanship and demolitions. These men would be the first to touch the southern isle's shore, raid its beach, mount its heights and secure its bridgehead.
Once the bridge is secure, hold until relieved, he had ordered.
Hold until relieved.
Unlike the daredevils at Pegasus Bridge, these commandos would not have to wait hours, but seconds as the waiting armoured units stormed across to provide fire support for the embattled raiders.
The engineers would then serve their valuable purpose: seizing and controlling all NOD structures before they could be sold or destroyed.
Michelis had always seen great value in mixing the blood of armies. Though GDI units were more than capable of contemporary combat, it was NOD that was especially quick and slippery in their conducts. While most Initiative commanders disapproved of the manner by which the Brotherhood orchestrated its units, they agreed upon the effectiveness of incorporating technologies to the GDI advantage.
If it worked for Alexander of Macedonia in his post-Persian campaigns, argued the colonel to his critics, then it will work against Kane.
The hour was go, Michelis had decided. The trio of APCs slid silently into the water, their charges armed and ready. When the units had reached the halfway point, Michelis ordered the Orcas away, to rain belligerent hell upon targets of opportunity, be they tanks, groups of infantry, turrets or their ilk.
With the commandos away and their angels in flight, all that Michelis could do was sit, wait, and watch.
Half: Par Examplo
'Flawless' would have been an understatement. The entire sub-operation was quick, decisive, and clean. The newly commissioned Orcas had gained their first taste of blood, raking the ground, burning enemy infantry and armour alike. Before the air support runs were completed, Michelis' commandos had landed and unloaded onto the beach, charged up the naked draw, and reached the proposed bridgehead.
At once, Wolverines and Titans of the southern guard stomped across the irreparable bridge, meeting the commandos. With their reunion, the raiders pushed along the island, suppressing and eliminating opposition as they saw fit.
Before long, the raiding engineers had entered their vaunted structures and the flags that were once smeared with the black and crimson scorpion's tail of the Brotherhood were lowered, soon replaced with the charging golden eagle of the Initiative.
The fires eventually died and the guns were silenced: the island was theirs.
Even now, the casualty count rested at zero. For that, Michelis sighed relief and removed his headset.
He stepped out of his command vehicle and felt a sudden moisture dash tepidly against his pepper-black hair, followed quickly by another, then, another.
The colonel glanced upward to see the charged, rolling sky boiling above him. A storm was brewing. It would first pass over the colonel and his camp before harassing Vega at his.
Silently, Michelis prayed that the storm against Vega would not relent until the NOD general was either placed before a court and tried before international law, or laying dead in a pool of his own filth that he called a pastime.
For now, the colonel and his fighters would have to ride the storm, as the Valkyries of old, to judge the dead among the living.
Final Stretch: Pitlord
This was Michelis' ambition for the conquest of Vega's island: Air superiority and the tactical application of pressure until either surrender or a decorated corpse was produced. The one obstacle that stood in the colonel's path was a series of networked surface-to-air missile sites, which hindered the intrusion of his Orcas and Jump-Jets. Few options remained than to threaten with the gavel and strike from the shadows with the scalpel.
Michelis had codenamed the next phase of his plan Pitlord. The allusion to the smouldering pit of Vega's compound was, at best, palpable. However, the true nature behind the name choice merely reflected scale and deception. The concept that the colonel had envisioned was but a reflection of yet another event of the Second World War, this time, however in the European Theatre of Operations. For the ultimate deception, the allies built false armies and called them by fabricated names, thus deluding the enemy upon France's northern shores prior to invasion. Such deception, Michelis prayed, would play in his favour in this year as it had done in the past. The false army, in this case, would be as real as the rain beating down upon them at that very moment.
Upon the northern line, across the bridge that served as Vega's sole ground-bound route to and from his island, Michelis had ordered all available Titan, Wolverine and even newly commissioned Tick Tank units to amass before it. From such a short distance that separated mainland from island, Vega's scouts could accurately detail the imposing force that was building a mere kilometer from his very gates. If this great muster performed its true task, then Vega's bloodshot eyes would not lift from the hammer when it could have been aware of the scalpel.
The scalpel, in this case, was the newly refitted Commando Group Two. Michelis had specifically ordered the assignment of his makeshift platoon to their old amphibious vehicles, coupled with additions. The additions included the assignment of reprogrammed Cyborg infantry as on-site security and squads specially trained in NOD weaponry and tactics, such as demolitions.
Vega's island, at its very perimeter, was dotted with the sites of interest and concern.
With these men at arms, Michelis intended to raid the island and rid her of the SAM sites that so blemished her.
The trip for Commando Two, codenamed Blackfly, was longer and far more dangerous than Michelis wished to admit. Stormy waters, craggy sea rocks and watchful patrols threatened to dull this scalpel before it even had the chance to be drawn. Still, the six APCs hit cobblestone and sand, charging up the draw onto the overbearing sea cliffs. There, the six split and became two groups of three—Blackfly One and Blackfly Two—following the fork eastward and westward-bound, to scour for their targets. Operating blind, each SAM would have to be visually identified, marked, then destroyed. As the commandos neared their first SAM site, Michelis held his breath. This is it, he thought to himself. We're slowly snipping away your web, you hellish spider. Michelis was fond of spiders; efficient and deadly creatures, deserving of respect—to call Vega a spider was unnecessarily insulting to the arachnids. Officer helmet camera feed and dashboard cams from Blackfly One caught the action live: Silent and large, imposing cyborgs stood vigil, their machine gun emplacements pointed defensively outward; stoic rocket-men, scanning for oncoming aircraft; demolition specialist planning their wares; medics—two of them—watching from the rear, wherever 'rear' was at the moment.
One-by-one, the SAM sites ringing the mid-level sea-cliff plateaus experienced this careful treatment. Almost all of them.
"Home Zeero, this is Blackfly One!" a burst of static broke his connection. Michelis' blood ran cold. Shells.
Michelis stood abruptly and responded, saying, "Go ahead, Blackfly One, this is Home Zeero."
The officer's voice continued, although strained, "Northern SAM sites are unreachable and we are sustaining heavy fire from unknown artillery positions—early readings indicate half a klick North by Northeast, on the higher rise. We have casualties and are pulling back."
"Copy that, Blackfly: gather dead and wounded and regroup with Blackfly Two for southern exfil. You've done wonderfully, Blackfly. Come come as safely as possible. Home Zeero out." Michelis then turned to his subaltern, saying, "Send a message to Blackfly Two, order them to wrap up and exfilrate—Vega's onto them now." The order was quickly passed. I hope this was enough, thought Michelis as he glanced over to his datapad containing the lists for his next raiding detail. He rang the barrack block once more.
With a large gap in Vega's SAM network, the initiative rested with Michelis and his Juliet-Juliets. He radioed them from their positions over the Pacific ocean, for he had sent them with the final report of Blackfly's success. Before the commandos had even regrouped, Lieutenant Savant and six more Jump Jets confirmed visual spotting of Vega's island. Michelis watched from Savant's helmet camera as the misty sea cliffs materialized and plumes of smoke denoted Blackfly's presence there. The camera shifted downward, catching in its full view, six amphibious APCs taking to the stormy waters like fowl. He could hear the winds whipping by through Savant's microphone.
As the Jump-Jetters neared the cliffs, Savant sent one final order to his men, "From this point, maintain radio silence until targets have been identified. Savant out."
Radio silence, a claustrophobic feeling, despite the open spaces. Lights from structures and smoke from refineries, factories and power plants now came into view. Power plants! Bingo! Michelis grinned triumphantly. Savent's laser designator panted the nearby plant, nestled into a tight grid nearest the sea cliffs: seven in total.
Savant's voice rang clear through the intercom, "Targets acquired. Open fire." Tracer and incendiary rounds melted into the red power plants, cables, control boxes, transformers and all. Before long, under the withering combined fire of seven Jump Jet Vulcan cannons, seven power plants burned. With them, the power supplying any remaining SAM sites.
"Send in the Orcas to neutralize those artillery positions," ordered Michelis. A pair of golden fighters screamed past his command vehicle, toward their targets. "Juliet-Juliet One, maintain fire on targets of opportunity and keep painting targets for the Orcas."
"Yes sir."
"Home Zeero out." Michelis terminated his conversation as another pair of Orcas screamed by toward the island. Now it was time to secure the bridge and push the armor north. He turned to the same subaltern, saying, "Initiate Phase: Wall of Blackfly mission parameters. Have dead and wounded loaded on a separate APC and sent home. Blackflies One and Two are to proceed to Op-Point Baker."
"Op-Point Baker: aye, sir," was the reply from the commando officer in charge of Blackfly. Six APCs remounted the island beach, exchanged wounded, then five APCs pressed north via the eastern fork. At five hundred meters, the APCs opened their bays and the commandos flooded out, firearms blazing, catching the NOD bridge detail by surprise. Thirteen riflemen down, six cyborgs knocked out and two buggies demolished under rocket fire: Vega's end of the bridge was secure and open for business. The same orders as before when the commandos struck the tiny southern isle: Hold until relieved.
Hold until relieved.
Plumes of fire and smoke rose from Vega's base. Tanks, infantry and buildings caught in a vicious crossfire, never knowing what hit them. Still, the threat remained and Michelis stood by his maps, his units painting the southern half of it gold. With one order, the colonel initiated the beginning of the supposed, and hoped for, end. "Send in the cavalry to relieve Blackfly."
"Bridge repaired, sir."
"This is Major Goode of the 43rd, all units form up in skirmish formation and tread carefully. Be advised, friendlies are marked on the other side." Titans lumbered, Wolverines shuffled, tanks rolled and the bridge bore them all without complaint.
Michelis' subaltern stood by the doorway. "New activity from Vega's base, sir: NOD armoured units and infantry mobilizing en-masse toward the bridge."
Oh, crap. Michelis looked at his subaltern, saying, "They're going to try and blow the bridge with our boys on it. Redirect all aircraft to that column until the 43rd gets across."
"Sir, Orcas are refueling and rearming as we speak. Jump Jets are running low on ammo and fuel."
"Then order them to empty their drums and land with the commandos and fight with whatever they can find. Also, patch me in to Blackfly."
"As ordered, sir."
"Blackfly, this is Home Zeero: A lot of hell is headed your way. You are advised to dig in and repel armoured counterattack at all costs. Hold until the 43rd reaches you."
"Yes sir," replied the stoic voice of the commando officer. "We'll give 'em hell, Colonel."
Michelis did not get a chance to reply, as his line was cut by shell bursts and machinegun clatter. On his display, he watched the IFF tags of the commandos engage the red blips on his radar.
A prompt filtered through the radio to Michelis' ears, then his heart.
Unit lost, EVA reported.
Unit lost.
Unit lost.
Unit lost.
Mission Accomplished.
Second Sun Over Panama
"As per usual, Colonel, you pull through with the highest efficiency." MacNiel clapped his friend on the back.
"Is that what Solomon is saying?" Michelis asked.
"That's what I say and you know my word is good," the younger, broader man laughed.
"Actually, what's good is that last minute support you sent in to my commandos. They definitely bought some time before my armour could roll over those crimson bastards."
"Hey, glad I could help, Jay. I like winning just as much as you do, so I don't mind lending a hand… but I do have a favour to ask."
Michelis narrowed his eyes and sighed, "Ah, here it comes."
"It's not much, I swear!" MacNeil raised his hands defensively.
"Out with it, Mac."
"I know our men are still clearing the pyramid, but I was wondering if I could jump in there and interrogate that hophead myself. Now, I know you two have a history, but—"
"It's fine, Mac. Take it. I'll radio ahead and tell the patrols to back off. Besides, I'm pulling my men off of this island ASAP. I hate it here." Michelis pulled his cap back on his head as both men stepped out of the command vehicle. Over the horizon, several heavy dropships gently glided into view. "Right on time."
"I hear you, Jay. It was great working with you again. Love to have you present during Vega's debrief."
"I'd like that, actually. See how well he holds up under Mutant interrogation."
"You heard about that, huh?" MacNeil grinned. "Forgotten word travels fast."
"The only words I care about are 'dust off'. See you back on the Philly, Mac."
"Take care, Jason." MacNeil then turned to his second-in-command, Lieutenant Chaundra and said, "Hand me my rifle… and get yours, too."
"Sir?" The man with Hindu ancestry cocked an eyebrow.
"What?" Mac pressed, "You don't think I'm going in there alone, do you?"
"Um."
That was all that Michelis caught of the conversation as he stepped into his Command and Control vehicle. The dropships were landing, men and armour were boarding. The remainder simply returned to the temporary base, having been assigned to short-term occupational duties of the region. Regardless, Michelis wanted his units out of the area and prepared for a coastal counterattack from local NOD garrisons who were no doubt aware of the loss of their district command. Reprisals would be immanent and the local populace had to be addressed. Michelis had work to do and what remained of the latino city of David was many hours away. That would be a good place to start the next phase of his mission, now that Vega was out of the way. MacNeil was more than willing and appropriately staffed to sweep the island.
If his was a God of war, Michelis would appeal for the island to be sunk and forgotten, like Sodom and Gomorrah before it. For now, it sat well with him to remove himself and his men from it, forgetting it all the same. As his vehicle mounted the ramps of the Dropship NC-0012GU, Michelis held a firm grip on his datapad. Upon it, scrolling by, were the names of those brave men and women who fell in Operation PITLORD, sub-operation to MacNeil's Operation CANAL. As the ship sped away, he read, reread, then forwarded this list to the Philadelphia and made his way toward the bridge, hoping to speak with the pilot.
A violent shudder nearly took the colonel off his feet, but the aircraft remained stable. However, the emergency klaxons barked their tune and Michelis ran toward the bridge, dropping his datapad.
Behind the five dropships, inland-bound, a second sun rose over Vega's island. Nukes! Fuck! Michelis desperately clawed at the radar display controls, widening the range. Five beacons, five dropships ferrying him and his men to David. Then, quickly pacing away from the epicenter of the kilometer-wide killzone, was a sixth independent marker, called Kodiak. Michelis breathed a sigh of relief. Mac, you lucky bastard… you made it.
Michelis' subaltern joined him in the bridge. "Base is reporting a one-megaton blast originating from Vega's island. No casualties to report, as all units have reported in." Michelis breathed another sigh. I guess I'm lucky too.
The war was closer to being over than before, though none knew just how close the end really was. Both suns, however, slowly set over Panama.
Pvt. G. Canfield, 22nd Rgmt.
Pvt. J. Cronque, 22nd Rgmt.
Pvt. E. Wills, 43rd Ar. Bgd.
Pvt. F. Oskins, 22nd Rgmt.
Cpl. C. LaBelle, 22nd Rgmt.
Cpl. I. Wabasons, 22nd Rgmt.
Sgt. B. Hartgrove, 43rd Ar. Bgd.
Sgt. R.B. Esuega, 43nd Ar. Bgd.
Sgt. Maj. D. Keeash, 22nd Rgmt.
Lt. T. Dawson, 22nd Rgmt.
Lt. R. Nystrom, 43rd Ar. Bgd.
Lt. J. Major, 43rd Ar. Bgd.
Cpt. S. Mason, 22nd Rgmt.