Chapter 4:

Ranma Shrugged himself out of his sweat-soaked silk and draped it casually over his shoulder as he approached the old man that had interrupted. With a keen eye he noticed the scuff marks on his wrists, the visible bruises and the dirty appearance of one kept away from civilization for an extended period of time. The old man was a little taller than Ranma and let out a sigh before bringing himself up to his full height as he seemed to repeat a similar visual scan of Ranma. Ranma noticed that the old man held no supplies, no weapons, no tools just his ragged clothes and a piercing, aged gaze which Ranma met with an even look.

Ranma bowed respectfully, a mere inclination of the head but he bowed his eyes as well, a true bow of respect and not one gives an enemy. He figured he may as well put his best foot forward in meeting his first person in this mixed up Ki-encrusted world.

"Y'look like hell ol' man. Get the rest of your people together and follow me. I have enough supplies for the lot of ya but it's all pretty basic." Well, He tried. With that, Ranma turned and motioned to the people he could sense hidden in the darkness of the trees and began to trek back to his cabin. After the few weeks he had spent there he had built up a reserve of food, mostly dried or smoked meats and some local berries and fruit he had managed to find. His years in the wild helped with the foraging but being in a seemingly different world he was cautious with what he put in his gullet. Thinking over exactly how much he had and how to split it up he idly clamped his regular Ragnaid to his belt and rolled the "Ranma Special" canister across his palms.

Behind Ranma The Elder stood slack jawed as the boy delivered his 'offer', signalled his hidden group and turned his back on four anti-armor cannons to idly stroll away. The youth's clothes were fine silk and from that alone The Elder was confused. What was a seemingly royal youth doing so far in the Kloden Wildwood alone? With Ragnaid? Enough food to feed his entire group? Something didn't add up but at the moment he was not one to turn down an offer. Beyond the mysterious circumstances surrounding this boy he was extremely fit and the sleekly muscled form that stroke confidently ahead of him had its chest encased in bindings but the visible flesh was covered in scars. Scars of combat: a blade here, a scratch there, evidence of close combat leveling in intensity rarely seen in an age of firearms. This was a Warrior there was no mistaking and the Elder signaled the group forward and they eagerly followed after parking the tanks near the edge of the clearing.

After about an hour of meeting, bowing, scrapping and general thankfulness the group of dark-haired folk were all gathered in a circle around a ring of four lanterns on Ranma's floor. It had taken a good half an hour to gather up all of the weapon parts that had been scattered throughout the room and Ranma received more than his share of apprehensive looks at all of the firepower. With a distinct lack of furniture there was only room at the small table for four people and thus it was decided to sit the whole group on the floor. The meal being handed out was a combination of an assortment of dried meats, a hearty, if bland, stew and a small amount of vegetables and wild berries. This was also almost the sum total of food that Ranma had stashed away in the cabin at present which meant he'd need to go get more supplies in the morning. First and foremost was the fact that his water was running out. These 'Darcsens', as the group identified themselves as, seemed to be nothing more than people with deep indigo to black hair and a slightly darker complexion compared to the rest of the people in this world. The eldest in the group expressed his extreme displeasure at Ranma's ignorance but Ranma explained it away with a story of being raised in the wilds and the grave out front being his parents', The story seemed to work though it had garnered him a little too much sympathy from the group. As awkward as not knowing the race he apparently belonged to was infinitely better than spewing out the fact that you seemed to be either in an alternate universe or in some medication-induced hallucination. At this point he wasn't sure which one would have been worse.

The Darkscens themselves were nice enough and seemed to simply inhale the food before them, much to Ranma's approval. They ranged from the Eldest who looked to be in his sixties to the two children: a boy and girl who were fourteen and ten respectively. Ranma had also noticed the uncomfortably long stares he was receiving from the females in the group. So much so that he decided to don an extra loose shirt after toweling off his exertions.

After dinner had been finished and some stories exchanged, the Elder had taken Ranma outside to question him about the 'mobile gun emplacement' he had sitting next to his house. The open-back had initially stumped the man until Ranma had explained the lack of materials. Ranma was proud of the fact that he had single-handedly repaired the armored unit and explained the operation of the turret system he had MacGuyver-ed together. When the Elder asked about the ammunition Ranma retrieved the shells from the house and showed an awed audience his recent works with Ki. Trying with all his might to keep his ego in check Ranma attempted to explain what he did to these shells. His immaculately perfect usage of language helped him in this regard immensely.

"Well…I just…shot some Ki at it…Okay well that's not exactly it…Okay so Ki is the energy that all living things create right? Well I just adjusted my Ki to more or less match the denser signature coming from the crystal-thingy..."

"Ragnite." Coughed one of the older Darcsens.

"…Right. And then it was just a matter of firing it into the…ragna-whatever in small amounts so I didn't make it explode like the first time..." Completely bewildered faces met his explanation while others mouthed 'first time?'. Never one for awkwardness Ranma simply shrugged and suggested that everyone find a piece of floor and bed down for the night while he himself kept watch for the Imperial patrol they had informed him of. That was another topic that Ranma had not wanted to hear about: the presence of some all-powerful Empire that wanted to take over another area for little reason other than some resources. The ideal had been around for a while but the method of suddenly invading did make sense when your opposition was just on the other border the tactic of 'pillage and burn' did not sit well with Ranma. This was exactly the kind of situation that he had wanted to avoid and it looked like he had no way out of this except pray that they didn't find his cabin. If they did Ranma would have to make a choice and judging by what these ex-POWs were telling him he wasn't going to like it one bit.

"So have you seen any Valkyrur in this area young man?" The Elder sighed as he eased himself against the hull of one of the tanks fanned out around the cabin. The tanks themselves had been covered in an assortment of foliage and, for being 24 tonne terrors, were fairly at one with nature in the darkness.

Ranma glanced down with a questioning look and made a non-committal grunt. He had no interest in proving his ignorance once more.

"Ah. I guess not…the glow that those women make is unmistakable and their power virtually unmatched by man or machine. Those lances of theirs fire pure bolts of eldritch fury. No armor can withstand those weapons" The Elder seemed to lose himself in a memory as he continued in a whisper, "and no weapon can breach their shields…"

Ranma had heard the term used at dinner and thought it was superstition or a local term for all the dead soldiers in the area. The only thing close to this Lance and Shield outfitted maiden was a Valkyrie of Norse mythology and they were said to escort the souls of those fallen in battle. The idea that this land "housed a Valkyrur" was initially passed off as some local term for a battleground but this sounded like something a little more tangible. "Are these Valkyrur really something to be feared? I knew a lot of people who had unbeatable weapons but the person themselves weren't all that tough. I mean if you took away their weapons are they still dangerous?" scoffed Ranma as he reclined deeper in onto the tank's camo-covering.

"Aye lad. That and more. The Valkyrur are those that first cleansed this land of those who thought to bring the power of the Gods to earth and in doing so almost destroyed it. History teaches us all the follies our race once brought upon the land and if we once wielded the power of Gods what does that say of those that defeated us? Pray we don't meet the one that's supposed to be in these woods. A Valkyrur is never happy to see a Darcsen…"

Ranma cast a skeptical eye at the Old man and returned to stargazing. "I only know one thing ol' Man. Don't take history too literally sometimes after all, history is written by the victors."

At that the Elder glanced up to see the hardened look behind the young man's gaze and nodded wearily before trudging to another tank and settling in. "Then let us write the tale of our victory tomorrow my friend. That or the world may never know we even existed."

As the two were preparing themselves for the coming battle the hoped would never come Jeriik and his squad, minus the guard that had so horribly failed, had stepped up the plan and hit the abandoned depot that night. What they found only managed to increase their load out by a couple of heavier caliber rifles but they did manage to salvage a medium tank. While not equal to the amount of armor lost to the Darcsens, the 38 tonne machine sported the same main and secondary turrets as the lighter models it had much thicker armor and two tertiary anti-personal turrets: one aside the secondary turret on the front of the machine and one at the rear. These 9mm tank machine guns were murder to infantry and the secondary turret sported the larger 76.2mm anti-armor cannon. This gave the crew of five ample firepower to engage both of the missing tanks with lethal effectiveness simultaneously and Jeriik was glad for the firepower. With the group running on little sleep Jeriik made camp in the middle of the depot. His troop had six hours to sleep and gear up. At sunrise they marched on the Valkyrur.

A/N
Here is chapter 4! this would have been out a little sooner but this wonderful time-sink of a creation (Deus Ex) drained my energy like so many pure heart crystals...Thats right I went there.
That being said thank you all for the awesome feedback! I feel honored to have interested some people to the extent that they go and check out Valkyria Chronicles! May it be the Anime, Manga or Game Tangential Learning is good for us all! This is a kinda lead-up chapter to the actual combat next time around. till then I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and Ill see you in approximately a week!

-Arkninja