Act 3

Outside of the medical tents, the leaders of the Rejuvenation Society company had forced all the aid workers to kneel, keeping them well-covered with guns as they tied them up. It was being broadcast live by a simple hand-held recording camera and a primitive antenna rig.

"Alliance, know that we are strong and the age in which the Bulgarians could oppressed us with the encouragement of the Gestapo and complete impunity is long gone!"

"We will no longer tolerate being starved into submission. We will fight for our livelihoods, our towns and mines, the blood of our ancestors and their hallowed souls. The independence and sovereignty of all Japanese-occupied territory and sufficient German lands for food self-sufficiency on the surface of Drachenfeldt is an absolute requirement, or else we must take extreme measures to insure our independence!"

Behind the group, a single Dilgar in surgical scrubs very quietly circled through the town. Her omnitool was still broadcasting. The Rejuvenation Society paramilitaries were no professional troops, by any measure.

There was only one guard on the rear of the motor pool of Technicals that the Rejuvenation Society paramilitaries had arrived in, and he was more interested in listening to his commander's speech than doing his duty. Rather than risk alerting them, Nah'dur crept up with one of her scalpels. That was over a moment later, for though usually too delicate for such a use, it was perfect for severing everything important that was exposed in the human neck. Dilgar at least had a line of cartilage covering the really important parts…

Nah'dur looked down at the body and spreading blood with a perfect sense of clinical detachment. She hadn't actually intentionally killed anyone before, it was a surprisingly unproblematic experience. Or perhaps not surprisingly at all. Ahead of her, there was one ore-hauling truck with the right orientation, broadside to the plaza of the town, which was a small ore-hauling truck-big by the standards of road trucks-and fitted with a massive twin anti-aircraft pulse cannon.

That will do. She clambered up the side and up-checked the gun with the practice of an automaton. Fei'nur had been utterly determined to make sure she and her sisters were never unready. It was only when she kicked the mount traverse and swung it around to bear on the main body of the Rejuvenation Society troops that they realised precisely what had happened.

"Just for future reference, Dilgar Surgeon-Commanders don't swear the Hippocratic Oath," Nah'dur said with a tight grin, purely for her own benefit. The gun had opened up before she had finished the sentence.

The shock and confusion of the Rejuvenation Society troops was completed when a volley of pulse rifle fire slammed into their flank, a scratch response team assembled from Fei'nur's headquarters platoon and led by her personally in frantic response to Nah'dur's open comms line. She had to rely on the universal translator, her voice cracking out over the speakers of her armour; "Surrender or die!"

Leaning into the harness of her gun, Nah'dur stitched her away across the Rejuvenation Society positions, driving them back whenever they threatened an attack which might imperil the hostages, hugging the ground over which her pulse bolts flew. The gun was powerful enough to simply blow straight through a lot of cover, and they'd already decimated the main body.

Sweeping forward, Marines took up positions, leapfrogging forward through the town, clearing pockets of resistance and taking up positions around the central common. Paramilitaries toppled like tenpins in the heavy fire, not well trained enough to take effective cover.

It was over-operationally, if not in fact. Some of the Japanese proved quite unwilling to surrender, but for the most part they did. Their discipline and organisation had collapsed quickly under the shock of the abrupt attack and the surprise of the quick reinforcements. They were armed miners, not professional soldiers. Fei'nur's Marines had quickly earned their salt in the attack.

Nah'dur checked her fire to avoid hitting any of them. She looked around, blinking widely, like it was only now dawning on her what she'd just done.

"Secure the area!" The Colonel waited long enough to ensure her people had the situation under control, before she'd step closer to the technical Nah'dur had captured, her expression softening. "Come down from there, Nah." She murmured, once close enough to let her speak directly without anyone else hearing.

Nah'dur jerked at hearing only her personal name, with her eyes widening, clambered down from the side of the truck to face Fei'nur. "Colo… Fei?" She asked, softly.

Fishing into her combat rig, Fei'nur brought up a small flask. "Drink, one swig, no more." Her voice was still quietly kind, as she stepped closer, and clapped a hand on Nah'dur's shoulder. "The first time's always the hardest. You did wonderfully, Nah. First combat badge and with a pin for you, I'd say."

The moment she drank, Nah'dur knew it was Ish'la'fran. Her eyes and mouth shook from the hearty swig. Holding the flask until her hands steadied, she handed it back to Fei'nur.

"Thank you, Fei," she answered now, looking up with wide eyes. "I crept up close to the vehicle guard and took him with a scalpel. That was the hard part."

"Your mother always had some in her desk, just in case. She'd be proud of you. You cannot ask others to take life if you aren't willing to do it yourself. Spilling blood is our calling as soldiers, and you did what you had to, to save the lives of those hostages." The arm around her pulled the young doctor into a quick hug. "Try and stay close tonight, like when you were younger. It should help you sleep, Nah."

"I will, Fei. Thank you." She squeezed back in the hug, and then drew back. "I should check up on my patient. She was in surgery when they burst in, I told them to leave - they did, but it was still very crude."

"Of course, Surgeon-Commander." Fei'nur gave her a last smile as her mask of command slipped back onto her face, muttering as she turned away, "I think I am starting to hate this planet..."


Perhaps the only positive thing about the aftermath of the fight at Norovno was that when Zhen'var tried communicating with the Rejuvenation Society, they answered over the comm channels with alacrity. The Japanese man who appeared on the screen even bowed deeply. "Captain Zhen'var, I am Takahashi Akinari, of the coordinating committee of the Rejuvenation Society, and I wish to extend my personal apology for the incident at Norovno. Our leadership did not sanction Shigeru's actions, his heart was wild and could not be controlled."

"It was gekokujō, then?" Zhen'var was not well pleased after the report, but she would drill down to deatils, and accept the apology, if she was satisfied.

Mr. Takahashi inclined his head. "You understand our people. Yes, it was so. Again, I am very sorry." He once more bowed. "We will talk with the Bulgarians, aboard the Huáscar. We will not make terms first. But we must have food."

"Your apology is accepted, sir. I have provided food to Yatsukawa, Kenyako, Renbatsu, Narakonai, Shiragawa and Kenkanai. We are working as quickly as we can to clear the backlog of starvation, Mister Takahashi. We are beaming down rations as quickly as we can, and if we have your word the aid workers will be safe, they will proceed under escort into your claimed territories. I know it is slower than we both wish, but we are making our best possible effort to provide food."

He nodded stiffly. "You have my word. We will protect any who come to distribute food, or medicines."

"Then you have mine that I shall consider myself bound by obligation to keep the peace, and protect and succour non-combatants and those who do not actively use their arms." She was somewhat stepping into dangerous ground, but her habit of going far beyond her orders had not changed.

"You honour us, Captain. We will await further communication" The transmission blinked off.


Having used the computer to locate her operations officer, Captain Zhen'var paused at the door to the wardroom, knocking gently on the frame. "Permission for the Captain to enter?" It was, after all, the wardroom of the officers - and in the old navy traditions, Zhen'var considered it a privilege, not a right, to enter.

"Come in, Captain! Permission granted!" A youthful Dilgar Ensign with the incredible colouration of the Valongar had the honours of greeting her, after Elia had given her permission herself as the ranking officer in the wardroom. Ensign Aur'ma, the islander woman from the Earth Dilgar colony-whose adoptive mother had something of a history with the Varmas.

"Good afternoon, Ensign. Settling in well? Your first cruise after the academy back on Tira, is it not?" Zhen'var smiled as she went to fill a mug with tea from the replicator, along with a small plate of snacks.

"Oh, I'm very well settled, Captain. Yes, it is." She surged with pride. "I'm very thankful to be able to follow my elder sister to the same ship. Is Ka'var well?"

"She is, though too long in zero-gee has taken a toll, I fear. Her days charging into in harms way are done, hopefully; when the Wrath returns from this galaxy to Rohric, I do not believe mother will serve again. That will help. At any rate, Lieutenant Seldayiv rates your skill highly for one so fresh to the service. Keep up the good work, Ensign. I fear I must speak to Commander Saumarez."

"Of course, Captain," she turned back to her snack of satay.

Elia was smiling, nursing a cup of rooibos tisane. "So, what do we need to talk about, Captain?"

"Mha'dorn business, I think. The Bulgarians we took. I do not think they were just planning to broadcast incitement, do you?" She sipped at her always-present tea, lips pursed as she popped a morsel of Chicken 65 into her mouth.

"Hmm… Terrorism, genocide, probably a few other things, yes," Elia said blackly. "You want me to interrogate them, don't you?"

"No. I want to interrogate them. I just want you to stand by for it. I shall not turn you into an intelligence woman, unless you ever want to be. I think there is an exception for imminent terrorist attacks, the 'ticking bomb' clause, is that correct?"

"Correct. Earth Alliance law had something else, though of course Marsies would do things like fantasize about the suicide bombing they were about to commit to make Earth-born telepaths report it and then get in trouble when it wasn't real." She looked down into her cup, not wanting to dwell on the situation back home, but unable to ignore it, either. That she was performing her duties in such an exemplary fashion anyway was a testament to her discipline.

"If there's anything I can do for you, let me know? You are holding up better than I would, Commander." Look at me! After all, I turned myself into a Dilgar, pretty sure most people say that is the opposite of 'holding up'.

Elia cracked a massive grin. In this freaking multiverse, Zhen, you're one of the sanest people around. The willingness to speak to a mundane like that was unfathomable back home. But here with her Captain and friend she'd gotten comfortable enough for it. "I'll work with Daria. Her powers give an extra insight that would make us a good team for this."

Have I told you recently how cool it is you can do that, Elia? Zhen'var's face broke into a small grin. Ever since the first time her friend had done that projecting into her head, she'd found it fascinatingly awesome.

Oh, just a few times, Elia winked and laughed. "Thank you for taking my mind off everything," she added verbally, and leaned back. The impulse to communicate with a mundane through vocal chords was still strong after years of socialization under the law.

"What are friends for, Commander? Whenever is convenient for the two of you, then. You both will be under more strain than I."

"Understood. We'll make the call together. Now, before you eat all of it… What are you eating, and can I try some?"

"Snack food. Chicken 65. And no, I do not know where the name came from. As spicy as anything else from where I grew up, so be careful!" She offered her plate, comfortable and smiling amongst her officers.

Having finished that, she was heading towards the Laboratory section aboard - she had a meeting with her science officer, and a knotty problem she thought he could rather solve, as she pressed the annunciator button near the door - not wishing to interrupt anything extremely delicate by using the override.

A minute later the door opened, revealing the Quarian, who came to attention. "Captain. How may I be of assistance?" Fera'xero showed the customary Quarian deference to the concept of a Captain, distinct from the rank, but was clearly immensely proud of the Huáscar's labs from the few tours she had been given by him so far.

"I was wishing to speak with you, Commander, about whether you had any ideas about locating some of the masses of heavy weapons looted by the two groups on the surface that seem bound and determined to start a war with each other?" She glanced about with a look of approval - he did manage the labs well, and with how she'd unleashed her crews' initiative, she was expecting much from everyone… especially how Quarian and Dilgar views on engineering seemed to build off each other in an almost exponential way.

"Weapons storage is an interesting dispersion problem. Certain areas will not be used for it, because it would be detectable in different ways. It is possible to radically limit the surface area of the planet which is being employed - but five percent of the surface is still impossible to search, say, from orbit." he stepped over to a holotank and activated it, making the surface swell. "Let's look at the mines first, there's anecdotal evidence there's major stockpiles there from the intelligence reports."

He zoomed in further, until he resolved the architecture around a heading shaft. "Observe the size of the tailings, the inclination of the shaft, and the mine equipment around it. That's what I have to work with, as well as the location of say, Grunwald 9. I could develop a genetic algorithm which would reduce through the variables to select for mine-shafts with satellite images which indicate horizontal head approaches and with tailings and equipment large enough to indicate both linear length and physical diameter sufficient for the military heavy arms we are searching for. Then probe-drones could be sent to orbit the sites at night to look for gravitic anomalies in the tunnels."

"I will admit only mostly understanding that, Commander, but I trust your abilities. Coordinate with Operations to get the drones and your needed sensor time. Is there anything else you will need?"

"Reserved mainframe time, twice the usual allotment for Science. This algorithm is very intensive with the number of variables we are working, Captain."

"I will approve the request, the Chiefs should have some idea what runtime we can delay to give you the resources, Commander." Zhen'var was already thinking about ways she could have arranged it, before she forced herself to stop. "Let the watch-standers know what you need, you should have it."


Elia had gotten used to the idea that telepathy for military purposes was a side gig she would never quite escape. She was less sure about Lieutenant Seldayiv and the powers she had; they were something that Elia still grappled to put into her own frame of reference as much as she could.

The two women met in the little security office in front of the brig. Crewers were already joking after the steady succession of events lately that it was the more utilized part of the ship. Elia thought that if they managed to maintain such an enviable record it would be well worthwhile. "I know this is something of a 'bum job'," Elia offered to the Dorei woman.

"No problem. I'm happy to help, and it is important before my Goddess, you know," she explained. "Staying in tactical required considerable prayer for me, actually."

"I can imagine. It isn't a usual profession, direct weapons fire, for your practice, is it?"

"Certainly, but that makes it all the more important to have someone who is morally grounded in the role," Daria replied. "That, in the end, is why I stayed with my career. As long as the Arms of the Alliance work toward morality, toward the liberation and salvation of peoples, there is nothing wrong with our stand."

"I wish I had such certainty about anything except for my family and my friendship with Zhen'var," Elia replied.

"By family you mean Psi Corps, don't you?"

"Mother and Father and all that implies," Elia agreed readily. "And of course the Mha'dorn, the cousins I'm staying with," she added with, a smile on her lips.

Daria got herself some seemai strips from the replicator, thinking about that. "You know, there's a lot of propaganda in the Alliance these days about the Corps, but they all seemed reasonable when they were here, so I'm not sure of what to think about it."

Elia sighed. "It's all lies, and I feel like I'm constantly having to address it. The laws were passed by the mundanes, they ordered us to enforce them, they are the ones who produce the propaganda which demonizes us even at the same time we are required to send our best to enforce their laws, which burns them out and leads them to die by forty. They're turning against us. Straight up the genocide ladder."

"I'm sorry, Elia."

"I accept the apology in a way I wouldn't from a mundane," Elia replied. "The apology for even bringing up that slander. We are a nation, and the Earth Alliance can annihilate us at will." She rubbed her forehead and grimaced. "Speaking of dead at forty, I need to replicate Nah'dur's brain protectant."

"Understood. Another minute?"

"Yeah," Elia agreed, as she punched in her prescription code. "I've been thinking about it, and I will take the lead in talking with them. They may just not respond to an alien. To be blunt."

"You're probably right. I'll listen for trouble, then?"

"That would be the idea, yes." As Elia replied, the drug she had the prescription for was replicated in front of her and she used the single-shot applicator. Strangely enough, she'd barely ever felt safer than she did being Nah'dur's guinea pig for drugs to help telepaths. She just had the intense conviction that anything the woman made would be beneficial, or at least not hurt her.

"Nah'dur's something else for a Doctor, isn't she?"

"We telepaths believe pretty strongly that blood runs in families, I don't think it's a coincidence at all," Elia replied.

"Dur, you mean?" Daria looked sharp.

"Yes. She's a genius."

"Most people wouldn't want a relative of Jha'dur to operate on them, genius or not."

"Oh come on, Daria," Elia smiled wryly. "The kid's just a big ball of cheerfulness. Whatever relation to Jha'dur she has is hardly important. We both know that."

"You are right. The Goddess would never have it any other way. Let's do this, Commander."

Elia nodded tightly. "Yeah, let's." She keyed open the hatch and stepped forward, the Dorei woman following close behind. Inside was the group of Bulgarian nationalists they had seized from the trawler.

One of them glared up sharply at them as they entered. Elia had always fancied herself rather clearly Caucasian, from an old Norman French noble family, but her blood had tended toward some of southern Europe thanks to the marriages over the centuries, and she did have curly hair.

The man before her, dressed in tattered camo and with five days growth of a beard around his mustache, looking about third and wiry muscled, assumed something else. "Zhid?" He spat. "Wiping out your kind was the only good thing the Nazis ever did."

For a moment Elia considered letting the man continue his assumption, but she realised from the sense of him that he was already negatively inclined toward Daria and she didn't want him to clam up. "Unfortunately, no, I'm not Jewish. They have some of the tightest community in the Corps, so I'm rather envious. In fact, I think I'm one of about five Channel Islanders in the entire Corps. My name is Elia de Saumarez and the last time I recall, I am considered an Aryan under the Reich Blood Purity Laws."

"Your family might have the heritage, but a Gauleiter would never let his son marry you, anymore than a Bulgar!" he laughed bitterly. "What else was I supposed to assume, when they make you wear those black gloves like your own Alliance's version of the mark of the Jew?"

Daria shivered from the sheer intensity of the virulent hatred. She had been prepared for it, though. The Nazis milked the spectre of "the Jew" to keep all the surviving subject races of Earth united in fear and hate of the ultimate boogeyman, the mysterious, cunning, supernatural and demonic "Jew" that had been the subject of hundreds of years of sophisticated propaganda.

"Boyan, you moron, why would you think the gloves mean she's a Jew? Everyone knows Jews have big hook noses!" A bearded man in the back laughed at the first, and they all roared at their compatriot, who turned red as he glared at Elia. "Hey pretty lady," he added, "talk to me, Mladen, I'm not afraid of an Englishwoman."

"Norman French, more like," Elia answered, her face pale and her body stiff. It was the only way to get by the undressing she was receiving in Mladen's mind. "You gentlemen are in a lot of trouble. You were inciting massacre and violating the orders of the military governor by broadcasting propaganda illegally."

"I'm not worried," he laughed. "We'll drive you from the planet and have plenty of hostages to get us back with. The Bulgarian people will never stand to be slaves of a foreign power again. You don't have the strength to hold every world of the Reich, the Nemski will fight to the death before they let you marry their daughters to aliens and Jews. You don't have enough troops to hold them all. And if you give us our freedom, we'll send tough guys, Bulgarian freedom fighters, to help you crush the Nemski, take their god-cursed scalps! I'd say this is your last chance to negotiate, Alliancer. We're not afraid of your prisons, you need us."

As he had spoken, Daria focused on their minds, taking advantage of their passion to look through the weakened barriers, toward the information they sought to hide. She was overcome with visions of violence. A shaven-headed man in a beret, leading troops. Captured Nazi tanks firing into buildings. Particle cannon were whining, plasma mortars exploding in great flashes, and men in camo walking into battle as they crossed themselves and exchanged kisses on the cheeks. The green Lion flag was flying… Over the old Gauleiter's palace, and the city was burning. Church bells were ringing, and she can hear prayers on lips. Our Time is Come! It came from a million thoughts, a million minds.

She did not nod, she simply glyphed it with her own powers to Elia: A rising is coming on.

Understood. Elia smiled ever-so-politely to the men in front of her. "I will relay your words to the Captain, thank you."

They both beat their retreat from the intense mental confines of the close presence of this rough-hewn, racist men. "Goddess," Daria murmured. "It is coming, very soon, they expect it very soon, Elia."

"The 22nd of September in the local calendar would be the anniversary of the declaration of Bulgarian independence," Elia replied, referencing her omnitool.

"Sooner. It doesn't seem nationalist. There was praying," Daria answered insistently.

"Uhh… Well, it is an urgent solution." She steeled herself. "PO Jameison, please bring the man named Mladen to a separate room."

"Aye-aye Sir," the security lead answered, and took two of his sailors under her arms to do the move inside the brig. He returned a moment later, indicating he was finished.

Tensing herself, Elia went back to the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was sweaty and pale. "Captain, this is Commander Saumarez," she barked into her omnitool immediately. "It's happening, God, it's happening. Not Bulgarian National Independence Day. It's set for the Elevation of the Holy Cross - September 14th. Tomorrow, Captain, we've got to warn the garrison!"


Peacham answered the emergency call with a faintly tired voice, though there was no indication of irritation in it. "Captain Zhen'var, we appear to have an emergency. What is it?"

Zhen'var's voice was urgent, far flatter than normal. "Engage your Plan White immediately, brigadier. A wide-scale rising by the Bulgarian radicals is imminent - for the Elevation of the Holy Cross, tomorrow!" There was the background sounds of the Condition Yellow klaxons sounding as the ship shifted to a higher alert state.

"A rising by the IARO?" Peacham's bleary voice snapped into alertness. "The Elevation of the Holy Cross starts in just a few hours, technically. We have very little time. God… We'll have to call the outlying units of the brigade in as fast as we can to avoid having them cut off and give us enough strength to hold the capitol."

"It may trigger the attack once you do, Brigadier. Colonel Fei'nur has been alerted, but I have no further ground units available to assist yourself. I am preparing my wing for close-air-support duties, and my batteries for bombardment. The Navy is at your disposal in resisting this assault, but what little I have gleaned indicates the IARO is both well armed and confident." If the divine is kind, it will be enough.

"We will make all possible preparations, Captain. Thank you. The British Army will, as usual, hold."

To Zhen'var, and where she had grown up, it was a matter of poor taste to talk about the British Army and holding against risings, though she held her tongue, and gave a single sharp nod. "We stand ready to assist, Brigadier." Now we need to avoid a second rising at the same time.


What followed was the utmost testament to the cunning and brilliance of the rebel and the insurgent when staging a rising against an occupying power. Meticulous subterfuge was pitted against all the technology of the Alliance and its friends. Buses had their windows painted over with scenes of people inside and translucent paint for driving at night. Railway cars on the ore railway had been brought to the spaceport with tanks hidden under cardboard gondolas. Bombs were placed in the sewers.

When the hour came, cars piled full of armed fighters drove through the streets flying green Lion flags. Tanks began to form up and roll from the railway depots by the spaceport and industrial sektors. And power armour directly attacked the barracks of the brigade in the city.

The last one was what caused the dying. The IARO was a disciplined terrorist organisation which had invested real effort into training over the past weeks with the equipment, and knew some of it from past experience with looted examples. They were attacking an enemy unprepared for their assault, which had settled into the regular routine of a peaceful occupation.

The British troops had sensors and autonomous vehicles patrolling around their barracks', but the level of warning they provided in an urban area was insufficient against an abrupt, all-out storm assault by power armour. Rockets and close-range plasma cannon blew through local shields and collapsed walls, while homing missiles destroyed vehicles while they were still warming up. The night was filled with flashes of plasma, particle and disruptor fire and short bursts of explosions.

As the attacks by the power armour developed, men rushed forward with dump trucks to critical positions in the city, dumping their loads across the thoroughfares. Box trucks for delivering to businesses followed, swinging around behind them. Their boxes had been cut by welding torches and then repainted, so that when the hour came, a couple of one-minute cuts allowed the fighters showing up to man the positions to throw the entire structure off, revealing a heavy support particle repeater mounted to the bed and facing along the gravel piles, to which shovels quickly integrated the truck boxes for further protection. The batteries of fuel cell-electric vehicles were tapped and rigged to spools of razor wire used for sheep ranch fencing to produce electrified stop barriers.

The sound of honking horns and ringing church bells filled the city as IARO men used the 'net to coordinate crowds of supporters who were unwilling to mobilise as paramilitaries to get in their cars and drive into the streets of the city, honking their horns in unison to the sound of the national anthem.

All of this in fact hardly hurt the British. The Army of the Stellar Union was superb and even when poorly led, the men from Captain rank down to the sergeants and the privates themselves could quickly organise. They piled from their barracks back into defensive positions around their motor pools and began to bring them up, dragging the wounded back and establishing field stations if the main clinic or hospital on post was burning. Heavy energy fire smashed into groups of Bulgarian power armour: The men inside those suits were not SS, by any measure, they were coming on like they were invincible in the suits, and their initial wild rush had been successful, but their tactics consisted of just that, a wild rush to charge the enemy and overwhelm them, and their small unit tactics were essentially primitive.

From the moment the British troops had some kind of semblance of order, they opened up on the power armour formations, improvised sotnias led by officers whose experience was usually a college degree and an ability to read German and thus Wehrmacht field manuals. They flanked the sotnias and delivered precision fires, calling in drones from launch points that were not under direct fire. Leaders were identified and terminated with homing missiles as most of the Bulgarians misused their defensive masking systems from inexperience.

The attacks were failing, rapidly and decisively. The British Army, its usual self, was consolidating, methodically pushing back, and destroying its attackers. However, the IARO leadership had expected as much. The Power Armour attacks, while flashy and impressive, were just there to keep the British disorganised while they brought the Panzers up, driving in columns for the Gauleiter's palace. This was a coup d'etat, and their target was the Brigadier and the Bulgarian National Council. The abrupt shock of heavy armour charging down the streets followed by trucks loaded with fighters to reinforce the attacks quickly brought the situation to a crisis.

By that time, the Huáscar was at relaxed general quarters, just like they had discussed before the mission had begun. Zhen'var and her department heads were on the bridge, monitoring the fighting on the surface, when the request came in.

"Major Harraway on the emergency comms line, Captain," Lieutenant Tor'jar reported.

"Major Harroway, this is Huáscar Actual. Go ahead." Her voice was clipped as she could hear her comms section monitoring the situation on the ground - a worsening situation, by the shift in tone she could hear in the background.

"Captain, the Brigadier assesses that we need immediate reinforcements. Battalions of panzers are moving into the city centre and our outer patrols are being hard pressed by them. Considerable numbers of infantry fighters are with them. We need the full strength of your battalion, if possible."

"Stand by, Major. The Colonel will deploy what she is able." Zhen'var resisted the urge to growl - while she had expected this to happen, she had hoped it would not. "Get me Colonel Fei'nur. Her usual pessimism will have led her to plan for this, at least…"

"Colonel Fei'nur, on your channel, Captain."

"Colonel, this is the Captain. The British urgently need everything you can spare in the capital, the enemy is making a push with heavy armour for the centre of government and there are doubts our forces can hold."

There was a moment of dead air, before the older Dilgar woman's voice came back. "Understood. I will have the bulk of my forces moving shortly. I intend to liaise with Operations to provide me reconnaissance and keep up speed. If you have no objections, I should be about it, Captain."

"I do not, Colonel. Let your strike find the mark. Huáscar Actual, out."


There was a disciplined process to shift troops halfway around the planet. The personnel transporters would shift the troops with their light arms, and the cargo transporters would handle the heavy equipment inside of the prepared defensive positions, from whence it could be quickly re-crewed.

The troops were moved en masse, for they needed coordination and coherency to their formations to survive in the midst of heavy urban combat. Positions near combat, but outside of it, were chosen, where Fei'nur's battalion could pinch one of the flanks of the IARO armoured advance. And then, ready, with their guns pointed out, they flashed from the mining ranges into the midst of the capitol, the transporters cycling four platoons a minute.

It was a new evolution for Fei'nur, but one that she had forced herself through, again and again on the holodeck, until she felt she had a firm grasp upon it - though she had not been expecting to use it again so soon.

There was a burst of light, and there they were again, facing their enemies. Fortunately that was only metaphorical, though the transport did entail for providing covering fire the moment they arrived with all of their small arms, while the mortars and support weapons were set up and missile teams deployed, and this was done despite the lack of an obvious threat. It was part of doctrine, and no chances were being taken as the rest of the troops beamed in and they nervously awaited the impending arrival of their heavy equipment, the sixteen light tanks and ten artillery pieces which would make this affair somewhat more fair… For them.

Fei'nur watched through her HUD the icons that were her command as they spread out to take their positions, securing the transport zone for the heavy equipment to follow. She didn't give orders, not yet. The situation was, for now, still firmly in the book she'd tried to drill into her lieutenants.

They rushed forward and took up positions to cover the arrival of the vehicles as the rest of the troops continued to beam-in… Ten minutes to complete the entirety of the battalion re-position, after the first seven, the tanks began to arrive, and the artillery pieces as well. That was the same time when the warning went out.

"Panzers, coming in!"

One of her Captains was already on that heading, the Linzstrasse: "Hunter-Killer teams, take cover in defilade!"

Fei'nur gave soft orders - her subordinates, she allowed initiative, but she herself kept control of coordinating the different wings. "Welcome to the fray, everyone. Artillery, position yourself to recieve fire requests - we have our objective, Combat Command B, start moving forwards to support Second Company."

"Aye, Ma'am!" Security troopers in their field BDUs and heavy weapons dashed off to reinforce the Marines, and finally behind her, the artillery and tanks started to be crewed. Barely the moment that they were, though, explosions from mortar fire started to fall around them, and the chatter of heavy weapons cut across the front ahead.

"Armour to the flanks, A and C! Objective is the British brigade headquarters! Get our overhead defenses up, and observers, start calling fire!"

Their guns loaded anti-tank submunitions and waited for the order. The observers followed her directives, and started calling fire. The guns started firing twenty rounds a minute. Guided anti-tank submunitions were minimally impactful on a built-up urban area, but there would be collateral damage. It couldn't matter right now. The tanks revved their whining turbines and roared into action, while the sound of missiles from the forward teams indicated that they were already at close quarters.

The Bulgarian IARO had already committed its reserves in responding to the sudden appearance of a reinforced battalion on one flank. Within moments, Fei'nur's unit was in close quarters battle with the better part of two Panzer battalions, but in doing so they had already in a sense won. Their drones with anti-tank missiles were going up to reinforce them, and now they had to hang on. If they could break through to the brigade headquarters, they'd have done their job. If they merely held, they would still like as not do it by diverting powerful enemy forces from their primary objective.

Fei'nur was a Dilgar of the old school, if one that had learned many new tricks. She had an objective, and she was already shifting her companies about to take advantage of the terrain, moving up to nearly being under fire herself. At such range, even her light tanks could ambush the heavy Reich units with the quality of support they had, darting down narrow streets and wheeling sharply as the tactical net came alive. "Keep the chatter down, this is madness enough." Her voice cracked out to keep the frequencies clear for the information that could keep her people alive - insight, rather than just dots on a holo-display.

The strategy of using the light tanks was capable enough. The IARO had no such experience, had no experience at all, in fact. It took only minutes for the convergence to occur, and as it did, the artillery knocked out the heads and rear of Panzer columns, and then the light tanks spun on one tread around side streets and opened fire into the flank of tanks trapped in the column, knocking them out before withdrawing. Within the first ten minutes, twenty of a hundred and twenty IARO heavy Panzers coming for had been knocked out and she hadn't lost even one of her own tanks. The thunder of heavy and light weapons alike rolled through the canyon of the city streets in a continuous rumble, turrets whirring and sensors spotting fire accurately onto critical parts of their heavy enemies as the war-veteran Marine tankers used better handling and proper artillery support to the maximum advantage.

Bold hunter-killer teams charged into close range against tank columns trapped by burning Panzers. Bringing their anti-tank homing missiles to the ready, they targeted tracks and engine intakes. Now the Marines were taking losses, because the IARO was quite capable of swinging around crew-served support disruptors and particle cannon and letting loose with everything they had against infantry in close quarters, but they were overwhelmed by the tactical situation and lashing out at everything around them.

Just like the old days, except this time we can actually hurt them with our missiles. "The enemy is off balance. Third Company, you have a possible opening... White, this is Shovel, request local jamming of enemy tactical net starting in three minutes."

"Leather confirms, Shovel. White on point for ECM in three repeat three minutes."

"Copy, thank you." She switched channels. "Companies, snow starting in three, stand ready to pounce!" She knew the systems would adapt, but with the IARO hard-pressed, she was betting the short collapse of their tactical net would let her get her breakthrough.

"Confirm, confirm…" Call-outs ran back to 'Shovel', and Fei'nur's officers prepared themselves for an aggressive counterattack and lunge for the British Brigade headquarters. This was no small task as they brought up their scout vehicles and other light equipment and transports. Acting on the offensive against a much stronger foe, even a disorganised and inexperienced one, required the utmost in professionalism and ruthlessness.

She had confidence in her people as she watched the clock tick down in the corner of her HUD. "Stand by… three… two… one… mark!"

Her companies exploded into action, her tanks overtaking their positions and charging forward according to the assault plan they had worked up even as the transport was underway. Pushing forward, they manoeuvred around the burning ruins of the Panzers they had already knocked out and engaged others pinned in place in columns in the street. Reinforcement was nonexistent, and this time they kept going until they made a few tank aces knocking out the enemy in the dense urban quarters.

Neither side had enough time to properly fortify buildings, outside of the main British positions, but the worst fire came as some of the IARO troops rushed into the buildings to take up positions and direct counter-fire down on them. This was purely on local initiative from IARO officers smart and capable enough to take it in response to the rapidly worsening situation. Already Fei'nur's tanks broke through the initial forces they had engaged in two thrusts. Now they had to break through the main enemy barricades along the Sauckelstrasse. The tankers didn't leave anything to chance. They revved their engines to full power and plunged through the city, letting nothing stop them as the city was lit with the flashes of energy weapons and explosions on the horizon, the power still on to shopfronts and billboards contrasting with the active combat in front of them.

With her ad-hoc headquarters platoon, she was racing after her leading elements, trying to keep everything coordinated, and her infantry companies following after the tanks, trying to catch up to screen them from the same sort of assaults she had been directing against the insurgent's tanks. It was the sort of madness which she had always risen to the top of, bracing herself as she shifted information between her spearheads and tried to keep some cohesion between her captains.

As she did, her tanks stormed the barricades while laying down shrapnel rounds, tearing through the unprotected gun positions. Dismount platoons followed into the chaos as mortars mounted on vehicles provided close support. They cleared the barricades in short, close-quarters work with rifles and grenades. Beyond them, the enemy adapting to the comms snow, their reserve battalion of Panzers was preparing to move out when it was blindsided by Fei'nur's two converging columns.

The result was a short massacre, not, perhaps, as one-sided as the groups of tanks taken apart so expertly at first. But the IARO fighters didn't handle their vehicles well enough to use their advantages, and the better part of half the battalion fell back in the chaos - now having local superiority, Fei'nur's tankers turned on the other half and started to finish the job. The Union Jack was flying right ahead. They'd done it.

Around them, the city rustled, intact except for the spots of burning buildings, the positions where the IARO still held. It was a success but not a triumph. The cantonments of the Panteri, the troops of the BNC, were still filled with armaments, the clatter of guns still echoed behind them, and the better parts of a division were still swirling in fighting around them. If major IARO reinforcements arrived, they would still lose. Fei'nur figured she had an hour to get her troops into defensive positions around the government district; there were more Bulgarians coming and the night was far from over.


Sergeant Waters had been shifted with the group detailed to keep order in the city of St. Mark of Apraxin. A single company of regular marines with the support of four light tanks and two artillery pieces, they were certainly adequate for the original envisioned purpose. The eruption of fighting in the capitol had left everyone aware of what might be coming down the pike, though, and their position was not adequate for that.

Rather than wait for the situation to develop, Captain Hur'tir had ordered his troops swung out into defensive lines outside of the city. He knew it would be better to fortify the city itself, but the Dilgar officer was acutely aware of the new ROEs compared to the Dilgar service which forbade such intentional impacts on civilians. Anyway, the village rising around them would make the situation worse, so it had some logic. They had already set up HESCO bastions around the main approaches to the town, Hur'tir was no idiot, and used a couple of wheel-loaders from the village to cut trenches and prepare rudimentary berms. Now they manned them, and got their recon drones up.

Sergeant Waters' platoon laid out their positions carefully with forward flanking positions for the anti-tank missile teams for firing from defilade as any attacker was driven into the barriers. Unfortunately, it didn't take long until the trouble was detected, and unsurprisingly with the Huáscar overtasked it was the drones that found it. Sixty tanks, leading a brigade-strength formation, coming up the road and running fast.

A chill ran through every single one of them. That was far, far more firepower than they could directly face. "We've got support," Jess flatly interjected onto the unit comms before any panicked chatter could show up. "Just hang tough and we'll deal with it. They're heading down this road to get to the capitol, that's the only reason for such a force. And we're not going to let them."

Hur'tir blinked again at the sensor reports from his drones. His command post was close-in to the front and he could imagine the tanks, and see them clearly from the sensors, which even, in the midst of the night, revealed the flags gaudily waving from the sensor aerials of each 'panzer'. They weren't regulars, they weren't veterans, his people were. He flashed a report to Battlemaster Fei'nur, Shovel, who shot back that simple, chilling order a minute later: You are to hold until relieved. Lethal force is authorised. The order had certainly come in from Huáscar Actual, but Fei'nur would never abrogate such responsibility for herself. The woman was a legend for good reason.

The young Tiran Dilgar saw the tanks light up a moment later as the autonomous anti-air turrets began to thunder at his drones. Someone had noticed the warnings the Nazi sensors had given them. He called the drones down to low altitude and pulled them back to continue getting some data and keyed up his artillery section. "Lieutenant Barrow?"

"Sir?"

"You're tracking your positional data on the incoming column?"

"We are, Sir."

Hur'tir tried to remember the Captain's example on orders. "Lieutenant, I want you to buy me as much time as possible. You are fire free."

Barrow pretty much knew exactly what to do. He needed to get the enemy to deploy out of line as far from their position as possible. He ordered his guns to load guided AT cluster munitions and laid down fires on the lead of the column. The bomblets were designed to terminal home on the heat of the engine housings and penetrate them with jets of plasma. Most of them were shot down by the anti-air turrets on the tanks, but the spread of rapid-fire artillery shells was precisely staggered to overwhelm the lead, and the tanks were not in an artillery-defensive box but regular line of march, so the rear tanks in the formation couldn't add their defensive firepower to those in the lead.

A wall of fire erupted from the leading tank element as two, then four tanks exploded, one flinging its turret into the air in massive pyrotechnics easily visible from Waters' position. Still klicks away, the abrupt detonation of the lead of the column left the IARO force in confusion and disarray. Their natural impulse was to immediately shift into the attack and drive home the attack using the Panzers as aggressively as possible to overrun the enemy they now abruptly found themselves engaged with, their only warning the drones they had detected minutes before.

Hur'tir brought up his comms. "White, Hotshot. We are under heavy attack by a mechanised brigade. Air support urgently requested."

"Leather for Hotshot, White dispatching assistance. You have your instruction from Shovel," Elia replied.

"We hold," he answered. Ahead, the sharp artillery strike was having the desired effect because many of the vehicles transporting infantry were not fully off-road rated and were having difficulty bypassing the burning tanks and torn up ground. But now, the Panzers were bringing their guns into position and opening fire on the lines of bastions, an obvious target once they were in line of sight. They fired as they charged, and Hur'tir admired their élan, in part because it made his job easier: They were now opening the distance from their own infantry support.

This still wasn't going to be easy if the air support didn't get to them quickly. "Anti-Panzer hunter-killer teams, prepare for engagement with unsupported panzers!" As he finished giving the instructions, Lieutenant Barrow's guns spoke again.


Lar'shan surveyed the fighter hangar around him. To avoid problems with arming, he was prepping a half-deck strike. The final complement of the Huáscar had been 72 fighters and 40 bombers. They were arming half the force completely with small-diameter guided bombs, optimal for precise ground support. The other half, his half, sat armed and being spotted into the launching tubes, some of the fighters being shuttled up to the forward tubes by elevators where they were already being launched. The fighters could carry twelve each, the bombers forty-eight, including in the internal rotaries.

Around him, the pilots and crews completed boarding their craft. He keyed his line to Commander Imra as he pulled on his helmet and climbed into the cockpit of his own fighter. "Commander, we're three minutes from beginning the main launch cycle. I'm doing final pre-flight now."

"Confirmed, Major," Imra's calm tones answered. "PriFly has been directed to clear for the strike launch. Coordinate accordingly and launch when ready."

"Understood."

"Good luck, Major."

With that, Lar'shan quickly began his final pre-flight, attaching his life support connections, sealing his helmet, checking the arm status on his ejection seat, and brought up PriFly. "PriFly Actual, this is WC-50 Actual. Request commence primary bay launch."

"WC-50 Actual," Stasia's voice answered. "Is 50B1 up-checked?"

"Confirmed, PriFly Actual, 50B1 up-checked."

"Commencing launch by squadron now, WC-50 Actual."

The traditional salute from the catapult was snapped by a dozen hands as the lead wave of bombers roared down the tubes. Lar'shan completed his pre-flight and greenlighted the boards. A moment later, one of the handling trucks plucked his fighter out of its arming position and swung it toward a launching tube, locking it over the lead magnetic ring. Lar'shan saluted the handling crew, and with a rush of hard g's, they were off. It was the first deck strike in earnest from the Huáscar.


The Marines had been busy in the meantime, doing their jobs. Even just two guns had left them in a position to fight back. The artillery had destroyed twelve tanks coming in. Then the hunter-killer teams had gone to work. Their own tanks had waited until the last moment and then delivered precise fires from behind cover.

What had followed was a bloodbath. The IARO forces were completely unprepared in terms of training to face a real military. They had the finest Nazi equipment, but at the end of the day, their élan in pressing the attack was the only thing which made them dangerous. They fought their tanks like amateurs and their infantry tactics were simplistic.

Of course, when you were a company fighting a brigade, that didn't matter for nearly as much as it should have. Within ten minutes at close quarters, having pinned the IARO advance, the order to fall back rippled down the line. As professionals, they dealt with it calmly. It was part of the plan to make them hold as long as possible, there was no shame in it. The trick was to do it cleanly.

A second line of bastions provided a last-ditch cover, and there were several advantages to giving ground against a force of this size as the infantry caught up with their panzers. Jess ran along her positions, urging her troops back. "Move move move! Second line of defence, fall back now! Get that out and rolling!"

She piled into the last of the light scout vehicles as the fire from the panzers pounded into the barriers and knocked them around. Their artillery had fallen back first and laid down smoke for them, the tanks covering their retreat with their turrets facing aft. And then they were rolling, but they weren't the only ones who were rolling.

"WC-50 Actual to ground forces, We are Rolling Hot."

When Jess heard that, she looked behind from the scout vehicle and grinned. "Oh you are so screwed now you bastards."

Lar'shan brought his fighters and bombers in at high altitude. Speed and altitude were the best defence against a disorganised field force. Against a heavy, integrated defensive network, he would have led his fighters and bombers in right on the deck. Doing so against a mechanised field force would just unnecessarily expose himself to intense defensive fire.

The Panzers were dangerous to his aircraft. They had main guns which could track and engage aircraft at altitude, even shoot at satellites in orbit. But lacking in trained, disciplined coordination, they were a random threat to shielded fighters. And as they approached their targets, the fighters began to fire drones and jammers from their torpedo tubes, which couldn't take SDBs. The drones were probes with small pop-out winglets which began to orbit the battlefield, the jammers did the same with massive electromagnetic interference while the probes used lasers to range-find and deconflict the battlefield, tight-linking data back to Lar'shan's group.

"Confirm DEX," he snapped as the trackers on his laser targeting pod into active.

"DEX confirmed… We are good on targeting.." each squadron leader reported in turn as computers were crosslinked to the telemetry.

The next order was for the bombers only, as Lar'shan finalised his attack plan. "Bombers: Altitude hold at twenty thousand meters."

"We know the drill, just sit on your ass, pickle and leave," Vanessa Carter, 50B2 Lead, laughed over the comm. "Confirm altitude hold, twenty thousand meters."

Lar'shan watched the green-lights flash across his taclink. "Huáscar Actual, we have the enemy force targeted, IFF deconflict with Company A."

"All fighters, attack!" He switched his bomb switch and pickled, before leading the lead flight into a smooth dive off to port. Each of the three squadrons followed suit. As they dove out of cover he snapped the next order. "Full atmospheric thrust!"

The fighters burned hard into powered dives, sonic booms slamming down toward the ground, klicks and minutes away. The IARO finally picked them up and tank turrets hastily spun skyward to try and engage, but the diving profile toward the deck meant that the shots went wild toward space, and with their shields up and conformal a few hits from tank guns mattered little.

What did matter was that they had just painted their positions beautifully with thermal signature and fire tracking for the bombers, which now pickled and then turned back at altitude to escape the area at full power.

The hundreds of small bombs converging on the formation took a solid minute to fall on their final courses. As they did, they swept the anticipated tracks of the vehicles they were engaging and the brigade comprehensively. The tanks brought their autonomous turrets up and engaged, and in fact something like 30% of the bombs were engaged and shot down, but the sheer quantity meant there was plenty of overkill to deal with attrition.

The troops on the ground were treated to a lightshow like no other. The vast array of bombs detonated in salvoes and clusters from each aircraft and each squadron, coordinated to cover a particular grid and track a particular set of targets. The entirety of the attacking brigade and their former position disappeared into blossoming white flashes and intermingled columns of flame and smoke, flashed into existence in the dark and remaining visible through the light of the explosions to follow.

Interlocking shockwaves thundered in the air around them, automatic hearing protection kicking in as sod and flame were shorn into the sky, the shockwaves outright visible through the smoke and flame of past explosions. As each tranche of explosions faded, another from the bombers slammed home as five flights delivered twice as many bombs as all of the fighters put together.

"Mother of God," someone muttered in her platoon.

"That's flyboys for you, private," Jess snorted. "Sit around and jerk off all day until they get a clean target, then roll up and make it look easy and claim all the glory."

Just as she finished saying it, the tactical comm channel activated. "This is Bomber Two, making it look easy! Backetcha, Jarheads!" That it was a woman's voice made it even better, followed shortly by a few chords from Steppenwolf's Magic Carpet Ride before Lar'shan ordered his squadron commander to cut it out.

Jess rolled her eyes.

In front of them there were twenty-five hundred dead men and four hundred burning vehicles as the light faded away into the flickers of heavy black electrical smoke. The town of St. Mark of Apraxin certainly didn't sleep that night, but it was safe. They'd stared enough. She raised her voice and pitched it against the sound of the burning and occasional secondaries. "Platoon! Take - Positions!"


With the assault on the Gauleiter's palace and the Panzer column at St. Mark of Apraxin both defeated, the risk of an IARO takeover of Drachenfeldt had effectively been eliminated, and the situation on the bridge of the Huáscar had calmed considerably. The second half of the wing had just been detailed to attack another column advancing on the capitol, but by itself it offered a substantially reduced threat.

"Captain, we're getting a transmission from the mining sectors," Elia said, her voice cutting across the atmosphere of relief on the bridge, conveying subconscious tension. "It's on the emergency channels."

"What do I need to know?"

"It's from the Rejuvenation Society. They're declaring the independence of the 'State of the Mountains', all the Japanese populations and mining towns and mines. It's a call to arms and a declaration of independence, Captain."

Zhen'var sank a little deeper into her command chair. "Commander Fera'Xero, find me their arms caches. Now. We are out of time."