Chapter 12: Silence before Storm

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Two miles south of Seattle, Knights of Trope Staging area Fox, 1925 hours, A day -1, Lance Corporal Van Compton, 1st Vanguard Regiment, 2 Battalion, E Company, Second Platoon.

Night was growing heavy on the warriors of the Knights of Trope. The soldiers of the 1st Vanguard had not seen action all day taking the time to rest up. They knew it would be their last night of good sleep in a while, for tomorrow it would begin. At dawn they would cross the no mans land and assault Seattle.

Still not a single man had turned in yet, no one could sleep. The thought of what came with the dawn made many of them want the night to never end. Thus they were throwing a big old party.

The roar of bass guitar and fierce lyrics of a band filled the air as the Knights of Trope's got drunk, got inked, and in a few cases likely got laid.

Compton himself was on his second beer of the evening banging his head along to the music of the Distrubed cover band that was playing for them. He didn't see any of his friends from second platoon but for the moment he didn't care. He just wanted the fear, the anxiety, the stress, all of it gone, just for a while.

The night seemed to be moving along however like a blur as he suddenly found himself dancing with a pretty blonde private from another regiment. He didn't even no her name or how this had started but he didn't care. He didn't want it to stop, he didn't want it to end.

Because when it did the screaming would start again.

Two miles south of Seattle, Knights of Trope Staging area X-Ray, 1945 hours, A day -1, Major Dyonia Furywind, Farstriders Battalion.

Dyonia was no strange to the brief period of time before a battle. She had only been a girl when the Scourge attack had devastated Silvermoon. She remembered the fear and terror that had gripped the city that night as people did what ever they could to prepare for the coming day of battle.

In the end it hadn't been enough. The Scourge has sacked Silvermoon and she had lost her parents.

Now however she was a grown woman, who could defend herself and wouldn't hesitate to kill. Wich made it all the more annoying that her elder brothers had come to see her off as she prepared her gear.

Colonel Randwin Furywind and Major Raenar Furywind, her elder brothers and commanders of the 9th Light armored regiment. All three shared the same black hair but differences began from there. Randwin was well built from his years of a Paladin training while Raenar and Dyonia were slimmer. Raenar had the ice blue eyes of a Death Knight while Randwin and Dyonia had the fel green of Sin'dorei. Raenar skin was darker from the dark energies he commanded, Randwin was tanned from his many journeys, while Dyonia was pale having been sickly before the restoration of the Sunwell.

Now as she slid her poisoned daggers into their sheathes she wished the two would just leave her in peace.

"Remember street fighting isn't the same as an open battlefield," Randwin droned. "You've got to stay alert, the enemy can come at you from anywhere."

"If someone gets shot don't drop everything to save them," Raenar added. "You'll just make yourself a target."

"Watch of IED's," Randwin said. "They may suck at making them but that doesn't mean a few aren't total duds."

"Don't start a fight if you can avoid it."

"Will you both shut up already?" She snapped picking up her custom crossbow. "I can handle myself damn it."

She pushed past them heading for the waiting UH-144 Falcon that would carry her battalion most of the way to the city. The Farstriders were going in first to take out anti air defenses and secure civilian hostages held inside the city. Her Battalion of two hundred and fifty would be over stretched but Ranger had trained them to handle the most dangerous of missions and to face impossible odds.

Much to her annoyance her two brothers continued to follow her.

"Maybe so," Randwin said. "But you've never lead troops into battle."

"And you have?" Dyonia tossed over her shoulder.

"In fact we both have," Raenar replied darkly. "As you would do well to remember."

"This is a whole different kind of war to what you two are used to," Dyonia replied. "So go back to your bikes and wait for your turn."

Silence fell between at this.

Randwin bowed his head in respect.

"Ancestors guide and protect you sister," and with that he turned away.

Raenar sighed watching his elder brother walk away.

"You do know we only have your best interests at heart?" He said.

"And that's what gets on my nerves," Dyonia replied. "I'm not some little girl with scabbed knees crying for mother."

"Little sisters are always little girls with scabbed knees to older brothers," Raenar said. "Whatever happens in their Dyonia, never forget that we still care for you."

"I appreciate the thought," Dyonia replied with a roll of her eyes. "Ancestors protect you brother."

"You as well little sister," Raenar answered before walking away.

Still annoyed with her siblings she hardly noticed the short walk to the waiting Falcon's and ignored Private Wilson's offered hand to help her aboard. She took her seat and ordered them into the air.

The Falcon rose up silently joined by several others of a similar stealth design.

In mere minutes they were almost gliding over the various encampments of the Knights of Trope. Dyonia gazed down upon them wondering just how many of those below her would live to see another nightfall.

Battlestar Phoenix, Knights of Trope flagship, in geosynchronous orbit over Seattle Washington, 2002 hours military time, A day -1.

Ranger walked the nearly empty hanger deck of the Phoenix. A few maintenance personal were still on hand working on the ships air compliment. Most of the ships ground attack aircraft had been sent ground side already leaving only their orbit devoted aircraft present.

Unease filled from head to toe. In a matter of hours that battle would begin and here he was sitting aboard a massive warship with jack shit to do. Joe had already gone to the front lines and was probably getting his troops ready for the assault. Tal was less then two days out from Seattle now.

He sat himself down beside one of the Knights of Tropes few Sabre Fighters, purchased at an insane price from the military.

His eyes turned to the Valkyries that were sitting idly in there alcoves. Many had sections of plating removed to expose the complex workings beneath.

On a spur of the moment decision he climbed into the cockpit of one, settling back against its seat. He barely fit due to his height, and that was lowering the seat down as much as possible and ducking a little. He ran his fingers over the instrument panel silently lost in thought. It was a maze of complex read outs and indicators. Various controls were present that handled the Variable fighter in all of its modes.

The Knights of Trope engineers had worked hard to bring these old machines back up to fighting shape. They had dubbed the planes, VF-1 Valkyrie Super S's, though there was little about them that most modern pilots would call super at first glance. The engines had to be switched out for the most modern ones that could work on the older energy cores. Some had suggested tearing the old cores out and replacing them but the Knights of Trope didn't have any to spare. The Weapons had to be updated, the flight computers were dinosaurs, almost everything about these old planes had to be upgraded, replaced, or altered.

Still Ranger had a gut feeling they would come in handy, even if they weren't yet ready to go into battle. The Techs had rigged the Super S's with a handy little trick that might even the odds against more modern mechs. A boosters system dubbed the Ragnarok Drive. It took a while to charge but when it activated the Valkyries performance improved 350%. A critical edge that might swing a battle in their favor. The Ragnarok Drive however was never built for the Valkyrie's older core and would cause pretty nasty damage to the cores in the long term.

Ranger prayed they wouldn't have to use the Ragnarok drives but somewhere in his gut he knew that they would.

No plan survived contact with the enemy.