Chapter 23: We Burn

The refugee crisis, which began as a civil war sparked throughout the African nation, had received some reprieve after the GATE situation was initially resolved. After the killing was completed, first of the Saderans cleansing what they thought was "their land", then the cleansing of the "barbarians" by the UN forces, they were finally brought back to the much larger, but same old POC site. With the increase in attention to the area and less people overall as hundreds were still being picked up piece by piece off the ground, the survivors were quickly flooded with food supplies and international support. MREs from the peacekeeping missions were handed out in lieu of foodstuffs in the beginning stages as frontline units were shipped in. The light brown of American MREs and the green of Russian IRPs littered the grounds as packaging was thrown aside as the innards were feasted on. As the international militaries took their posts, civilian shipping began their work with UNICEF and the World Food Program working without restrictions other than the airspace priority given to military aircraft. Packed meals were soon replaced with sacks of grain and fresh food as more aid landed within the zone.

Actual housing soon replaced the ripped up tents and shanties, and children could be seen running around with vibrate coloured sticks of vegetables as they played. The town of Rubkona was rebuilt and NGOs flooded the region, the townsfolk keeping to themselves as they mourned, pestered by the media and Western aid shipments. A steady peace fell over the area as re-constructing efforts took precedence to all in the zone.

However, outside the walls of Hesco and barbed wire, forced conscription began ripping families apart across the African nation, militia forces and government forces arming men and boys, with the total military forces of South Sudan increasing dramatically. Draft dodgers began flooding UN sites throughout the country or fleeing across borders, as broken homes and would-be draftees flocked to the fences, the once empty land now brimming with humanity. The civil war that plagued the nation fizzled out silently, with factions nationalising themselves and uniting the country once again since its birth.

At first, it was the odd foreign correspondent or reporter disappearing on their way from Juba airport to the exclusion zone and overt stalking done by the South Sudanese National Security Services to foreign nationals in the country. Then came the threats against foreign investors from UN nations over nationalisation of companies. But these threats came and went and due dates passed, yet no actions were taken.

And with anything in the modern era, things tend to leave the minds of the first world nations as they move onto the next bundle of woes. With public interest in the region waning quickly and the remaining interest only being the GATE itself and the land beyond, aid and funding began to dry up. Lack of money halted all flight aid and militaries adamantly refused to use their own dollars, rubles, RMBs, or other currencies to transport food for foreign nationals while they had their own airlift needs. With food aid and transport funding removed, food supply dropped back to pre-incident levels, yet the amount of mouths to feed only increased.

With the need for further forces to hold the exclusion zone and possibly an expeditionary force to be sent through the GATE, UN peacekeeping forces landed in Mombasa, Kenya with orders to reach Rubkona. The 2,400 kilometre trip which cut through the length of a friendly nation then a hostile one had started well, with Kenyan wellwishers cheering on international forces upon landfall, but violence sparked after they had entered the nation they planned to work in. The dubbed "Invasion of the Youngest Nation of the World" pinned a spotlight on the region again as UN peacekeepers were ambushed on their way to the exclusion zone. The conflict was clearly one sided from the start, government forces had tried to wage a brush war as the UN forces purely punched towards their objective, bypassing most of the nation.

A majority of media outlets immediately grasped onto the reports, printing stories of bloodthirsty peacekeepers exterminating South Sudanese government forces and harassing the populace, with wild false allegations thrown about. They strung stories of an oppressed African nation, pushed about by the international community, with oil fields sucked up by foreign companies, stolen from their rightful owners. Condemnations were thrown in the UN general assembly in New York, naming all peacekeeping nations as invaders and any who support their actions as murderers or accomplices. Calling the exclusion zone an illegal occupation, the South Sudanese representative walked out of the building mid-argument and began boycotting the UN assembly. Small protests began sprouting up against the UN actions in major first world countries as the UN incursion was seen as an action taken not in line with the UN mandate, calls for the troops to be pulled out echoed in the streets.

From there, it didn't take long before force was used within South Sudan. Within a month of the African nation walking away from the international assembly, the first rocket strikes blasted into the exclusion zone. Checkpoints and vehicles were targeted in the initial attacks, aimed at the peacekeepers and logistic targets, but soon the ordinances fell further past the walls. The increased size of the exclusion zone meant that refugees could choose where they settled within the safe area, shanties and UNHCR tents scattering throughout the landscape, with large groups clustering near military facilities. However, that perceived sense of security turned deadly once the attacks began as rockets meant for the lives of soldiers landed on top civilian heads. What was a bi-weekly occurrence became a weekly occurrence then to a strike every couple days, refugees learning that once the speakers shrieked their warnings, they had to sprint for their lives to the indirect fire shelters the Americans had propped up sporadically along the walls. Drone footage showed SPLA and local forces working together and coordinating their strikes every two days.

As UN military leaders began planning to eliminate these scheduled offending targets, they were quickly barred from taking any actions outside of the combat exclusion zone and the singular supply route. Politicians were quick to limit the amount of potential collateral damage caused by UN forces, meaning soldiers hugged the walls that protected them from the shrapnel, fire, and explosive forces without the possibility of returning fire. But soon the South Sudanese expanded on their operations, going for the much needed supplies that kept the POC sites propped up.

It was the lone truck that escaped from the piling traffic volume that disappeared, only to appear on the side of the road, burning. The driver's body would be either burning alongside the truck, shot to swiss cheese or completely missing. After the first couple toasted trucks, armed escorts would be assigned to the individual trucks, UN officials attempting to ensure the steady supply of foodstuff and materiel reached the zone. Government forces only ramped up their operations at that point, increasing the level of hostility to overwhelm the escorts. Soon lists of killed or missing peacekeepers began reaching the public as countries shipped filled coffins home. And as these lists grew, the supplies reaching the starving mouths dwindled.

Unrest began building in the ranks of the refugees, growing further as the men draft-dodging from government forces began fights for resources and territory for their own families. Food supplies that did reach the zone were wrested from others after leaving UN worker's hands. Factions and tribes fractured with the refugees themselves and peacekeepers could only watch on from the walls, the soldiers only meant for outside forces and not internal site matters. The UN police forces were wholly unprepared and undermanned for the increase of humanity, requests for more officers soon escalated as riots and factional skirmishes broke out. Pleads brought in more officers from Bangladesh and Senegal, with smaller contingents from Nepal, India, and Rwanda filling in the large gaps of needed personnel. Escalations began as officers attempted to keep the peace, but gangs began using the confiscated foodstuff as bartering tools, carving out their own borders within the lines of rudimentary buildings. Limitations on the police prevented any raids upon these "Ghalas" or warehouses, allowing the criminals free reign over the populace. The turf wars, however, quickly escalated from skirmishes to full on battles as riot gear clad foreign officers barged into the fray, shanks and shivs against nightsticks and shields. Molotovs were soon dashed against buildings and vehicles, a new war starting from within the walls.

The military arm of the peacekeeping missions were once again ordered only to standby, the men and women watching the violence from their posts.

Yet as the violence increased within the walls, it seemed that the South Sudanese forces would not be outdone by the refugees. With UN forces pinned to their convoys and the Exclusion zone, the NGOs were left to their own devices in a hostile, anti-foreigner nation. Soon local militias would enter the lists of extremist groups as hostage videos began to appear on the internet. The obligatory violence and gore was soon graced electronic screens as machetes and hammers were put to work upon flesh and bones.

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Road to Italica, 40 Kilometres North of Alnus Hill, Falmart

Late Morning

Count Formal took a deep breath of the crisp air blowing from little shutters on the wagon's black table as the iron wagon he was in growled away as it zipped down the road, a pit in his stomach weighing him down in his seat. He shuffled through multiple paintings the UN military officers had given him, each one sheened from the sunlight that came through the wagon's windows and flexed oddly as he handled them. He would have marvelled at the waste of technologies to produce such a hardy and glamorous painting, if he hadn't noticed his mansion. His great great grandfather had had it constructed under their ancestors' paintings of ancient eras, the home created as a walled off complex, yet easily identified by its yellow tiled roofing that covered its walls and buildings. Each corner was curved up to point at the sky, with red pillars holding said roof up. He was able to pick it out as the drawing had colouring that matched his own memory, yet the piece of work had a realistic look to it. Upon closer inspection, he could even make out the individual guards that held their vigil at the gateway.

Flipping to the next painting, this one showed a direct birds-eye view of the gate, as if a bird flew over the structure and looked down. Broken bodies littered the exterior and interior of the walls, splotches of brown highlighting where the corpses laid.

His magistrate guard, torn apart, destroyed uniforms and red caps scattered and strewn about. What looked like civilian militia men coloured the black uniforms, the beige and browns dotting the ground. The further past the walls he looked, the more corpses he saw.

The painting after that one was worse. Bodies of the elderly, women, and children could be seen, most if not all looked like they were fleeing away from the gate.

His own estate was revealed on the last painting in the manila envelope, partially obscured by smoke from burning buildings nearby. A thin column of men held the southern gate closed, the walls so packed that women and children sat trembling besides the labouring men. Colt could only see a mass of humanity, laying, sitting, dying, locked in within the yellow walls, trapped within a ring of packed humanity. Looking closely, Colt Formal's face paled as he finally identified the invaders.

{Imperials!}

He turned back to his nephew and advisors squished in the back seat, their armour pushed up against each other and clinking at each bump in the road. They all grimaced back at him, each gripping their own copies of the paintings.

The wagon finally came to a jarring stop, dust billowing up as the driver exited the vehicle, the creak of the door bringing the attention of the ancient era men to their surroundings. Their somewhat familiar surroundings.

" Uncle, I think we are near home!" his nephew started excitedly, his head darting here and there as he glanced over the clearing and trees, "I think I've had a party here before."

Their driver opened the doors for the men by this point, the cacophony of sounds hit them at once, the growling of work beasts and the shouting of orders. The otherworlders had loaded him and his men on their iron wagons and drove them to a clearing where they now gathered. Large iron wagons sat on the side, his men, in armour jumping from their backs. More of the wagons were coming in as the emptied ones left, billowing dust and black smoke rising from the beasts.

Looking around, he saw tables were set up, laden with confiscated weapons, crossbows, Ji halberds, swords, and daggers that he had previously bought, all handed out one by one to the queued men. Men and demi-humans were once again entrusted with killing tools before other otherworlder soldiers led them into formation, the strangers waving and pointing his own soldiers to their spot. Other otherworlders had white aprons walking quickly around as well, these men and women carried steaming trays of stew, handing food out in thin white paper bowls, the Italicans sitting and eating.

A group of smartly uniformed men approached their iron wagon, Colt recognizing his caterer and translator Yanagida Akira walking alongside the men. They stopped right in front of the Count before the leader stepped forward and brought up the Formal family's ornate sword in his right hand.

The officer began speaking, with Yanagida translating alongside.

" As you saw in the pictures, your city is currently under attack. My commander has released you and your men on parole. You may do as you wish. Unfortunately, we cannot yet assist you in Italica's defence."

The officer motioned Colt to take the blade, which he did. The familiar sheath slid easily in his hands, the Count hooking the sword back to his hip. He gave thanks, collecting his right fist in his downwards facing left palm before marching off to the front of his men, his advisor and nephew following closely behind as they grasped their own blades from the lead officer's entourage.

Count Colt Formal reached the front of the formation, the men noticing him put their food down and got to their feet. Soon, all the Italican men, human and demi-human, were standing.

" MEN, WE HAVE BEEN AWAY FROM HOME FOR MUCH TOO LONG! OUR HOME IS NOW UNDER ATTACK BY THE IMPERIALS! WE HAVE PAID TRIBUTE AND GAVE SERVICE TO THEM AND HOW HAVE THEY RETURNED OUR EFFORTS. THEY TREAT US LIKE DIRT, THEY TAKE OUR CROPS FOR WAR, AND NOW THEY INVADE YOUR HOMES!"

The last line instantly pulled the attention of his soldiers immediately.

" THE OTHERWORLDERS HAVE SHOWN ME OUR HOME, AND IT CURRENTLY BURNS UNDER THE IMPERIAL EAGLE!"

He raised the pictures over his head, a useless gesture, but one to imply evidence.

" OUR WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE UNDER ATTACK, WILL YOU STAND IDLE?!"

By this time, the Italican soldiers had drained their bowls and were leaning into the message. A roar of "NO" answered the Count as he threw the photos into the air and drew his Jian, riding the emotions of his men. More swords were drawn and were thrust into the air alongside Ji's as the men began chanting "Italica".

"FORWARD!"

A dark skin otherworlder soldier led his horse over, Colt believed the man was part of the Indian contingent of the UN army, and had passed him the reins with a salute. He grasped them, mimicking the man by raising a flat hand to his brow before mounting his horse.

His men already began their march home, officers and sergeants shouting orders to reorganise the over-eager troops, pushing men with halberds and shields to the front and pulling crossbow men to the rear.

The military arm of the UN can only watch on as their prisoners go to war.

A duo of horse and riders rode up alongside Colt, and he turned to look at them. His overeager nephew, vibrating in his saddle, slowed to his right and his advisor just behind him.

They looked on as the men marched on.

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Under the Southern Gate, Italica, Falmart

Around Noon

The two legionary sentries at the gate leaned up against their scutums, chatting with each other about their satisfying night. Faint sounds in the background constantly kept a smirk on their faces as they heard the other sentries in the gatehouse enjoying fruits of their labour. The groans of men and whimpers of women bounced off the stone walls as they discussed their new found lifestyle.

" What the fuck are you two doing?!"

A quick rap against both their shields from a centurion's baton recoiled the soldiers, causing them to straighten up immediately as their centurion strolled in between them.

Their centurion was an old veteran, one of the many reassigned from the First Legion, and was a hard ass when it came to his young legionaries. He glared at the sentries, tapping his sandal into the dirt.

" Where the fuck is the rest of the sentries? You all have a job to do! We still haven't taken the city completely yet!"

Silence echoed out as the legionaries stewed in their cold sweat, the silence allowing the victims' whimpers to be heard.

" YOU FUCKERS! HAVE YOU GONE MAD!? FUCKING WOMEN WHEN WE ARE FIGHTING A WAR!? I WILL BEAT YOU ONCE I'M DONE WITH THE REST OF YOU!"

With that he drew his Gladius, stepping toward the gatehouse.

A spatter of warm fluid awoke the two sentries from their nervous trance, the centurion stumbling back into view, hands clutching at his throat. Two bolts protruded from his neck, both sticking out both sides of his neck. Another two then pierced his chest, the man slipping backwards as he lost his strength. Then the gales began.

One sentry instantly took a bolt into his temple, dropping him immediately, more striking him before he hit the ground. The other was able to turn towards the forest, only to see an army marching towards him. He fell to the ground as his chest burst with more crossbow bolts.

The men within the gatehouse had rushed to dress as they heard the shouting outside, recognizing their centurion's voice. They stood about waiting for the veteran to march in and scream at them, and they still stood about, in shock, as heavily armoured men dashed in and cut them to pieces.

The women only panicked when more men aggressively entered the room. The victims, in their world of pain and hopelessness, threw themselves at the bloodied weapons, their fellow Italicans having to fight them off and restrain them with their bodies.

The Count's men pushed on, meeting only limited resistances from drunken rapists and thieves they put down as they made their way to the fighting.

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Pina was at wits end. There were no more tactical manoeuvres, no hidden reserves, no tricks or aces left to play. The enemy had breached the gate and were knocking on the door. The gate was lost around midday the day before and the faux imperials spent the night pillaging and looting before resting while besieging the walled estate. Now it was midday and she now stood on the second floor of the estate, watching the sea of shining helmets bobbing outside the walls. The helmets once had a place in her heart as the symbol of the backbone of the Saderan Empire, dirtied by the actions of the brigands.

Grey and the rest of her knights had already left her side, trying to hold the thick wooden doors with the rest of the able-bodied and ambulatory. Some of the civilian women and children were also trying to help, shoved up against the wood doors.

Laughter slipped through the cracks as the legionaries saw the state of the people they were pushing against. Pilums were thrust through what spaces they could fit, catching women and children and causing the points to be withdrawn bloodied. The remaining standing militiamen, bloody, bruised, and broken began fighting back. They returned pilum jabs with Ji's, most of the counters blocked by scutums.

The laughter soon turned to groans and screams, however. Shouting could be heard in the distance, as helmets in the distance turned about. Pina squinted out, staring out to where the commotion came from. The helmets in the distances began falling, a small ripple against the body.

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Scorpio Africanus was furious. It had only taken his army three days to push this far, breaching the walls without siege equipment and taking almost the entirety of the city, only to be halted at the Lord's home. Now, his men were unable to get in through simple wooden doors, and capture the commander of the remaining defence. They were able to kill a knight at a gate, his men showed him the head, but he did see a grey haired knight shouting orders. That man should be the guard captain or whoever the Count of Italica would have left behind to protect this place. The bandit centurion had tried to rush his elite cohorts to take the estate before the defenders could pull back to those secondary walls, but the opposing commander had placed small rearguards and fencing to slow any advances or flanking manoeuvres. By the time he reached the wooden doors, the last men had just entered and the doors sealed shut.

Ladders quickly failed as the men climbing them were easily picked off by Jis and crossbows without a chance to defend themselves. Now he was stuck throwing men at doors to try to open them. He sighed as he glanced once more from the two story building he was watching his men from as they heaved at the doors.

" FIRE!"

Scorpio swivelled his head to the pained yelling and the shouted commands at the undefended rear of his formation. A volley of bolts flew, burying themselves into wood, metal, and flesh. A couple legionaries falling here and there. His centurions attempted to hold discipline among the men, but a night of revelry rotted away at the rookie bandits. The stupid and drunk imperials charged down the street at the threat, rushing the forest of halberds protecting the crossbows, only for the Ji's to dodge the shields and catch a limb, or find their mark against a shield and yank it from the legionary's hand. The next volley of bolts finished them off.

A shout of advance sounded out from behind the lines of lamellar armour, the men marching forward. The distance closed rapidly, the legionaries still waiting on centurions to issue orders. Scipio gripped heavily on the window sill, leaning out before shouting his own commands, " TESTUDINEM FORMATE!"

The men that heard him shifted quickly, raising shields and closing the gaps between them. Centurions also started passing the order through, closing up the street completely.

Legionaries stood firm as the tips of the Jis reached them, bobbing as the marching men balanced their polearms while moving. A command of slash sounded out from the Italicans, Jis raised and slashed down into the head-protecting shield roof. Only a portion of halberds were able to sink into the scutums, all of them wielded by demihumans, the rest sliding and bouncing away. The next command of pull ripped shields away from the brigands, knocking holes open as the shields shoved men out of the way. The crossbowmen instantly took advantage of the opportunity, loosing bolts into the gaps and dropping legionaries. This was repeated quickly as the next slash caught unprotected shoulders or heads and pulled legionaries into their shield wall, once again allowing the crossbowmen to add to the cooling bodies laying in the street.

Scipio could only issue an order in hopes of saving his men.

" CHARGE!"

Scipio watched intensely as his men broke formation and dashed forward, gladiui drawn and thirsty for blood. A command of withdrawal was heard of the shouts of warcries, Jis pulled into the air as the men stepped back, a lackluster volley of bolts slowed the wave by a couple steps, buying more time for the crossbowmen to follow the footsteps of the halberdiers. The legionaries crashed into a line of heavy swordsmen that held behind the polearms and ranged weapons, an all out melee clashed out, gladiui on jians. The Italicans put up a good standing, but the legionaries were more adept at fighting and killing. Even the demihumans, with their stronger builds and faster reflexes, were overwhelmed as skilled Imperial jabbed their way through the Italican wall.

Colt Formal gauged the tide of battle changing, his halberdiers and crossbowmen unable to assist the swordsmen thick in the fight. And he threw his hand onto the table.

The Count drew his own sword, riding forward up to his now rear line units, he gave his command, " draw swords, men, join the fight!"

With that he pushed his mount onwards, rushing into the fray. Two of his mounted elite guards joined him, finding a gap in the Italican line, pushed through and crashed into the legionaries. The rest of the lighter armoured units pushed in behind him, slashing and hacking as they followed their liege. A slight push in the line did occur, but soon more legionaries joined the fight as cohorts were redirected from the other sides of the estate to join the melee.

Formal was able to slash down multiple legionaries in his charge, but was quickly pushed back as imperials filled in the gap, bearing down on the halberdiers and crossbowmen. Legionaries surrounded him and after a couple jabs, his mount panicked and reared back before running through the formation of imperials. He fell from the horse, his bodyguards dismounting and joining him. Shields pushed the Italicans back into their swordsmen, closing the gap and shoving bodies back.

Colt could not hear anything over the din of battle, the clashing of swords and the screams of the wounded and dying. His bodyguards put up a valiant front, but without any space to work, they began to fall, their longer jians useless compared to the gladii stabs. His halberdiers and crossbowmen suffered moderate casualties as their daos repeated the doomed fate of the Magistrate Guard.

The Count pulled his blade through the neck of a legionary, a shove from behind forced him to swivel to confront the threat, only for the corpse of one of his elite guards to smack up against him. Past the guard was an advancing wall of scutums, the faux imperials reforming their line and closing the bulge he had created. The Italicans were pushed back to their initial advance line and then some, losing men at every inch they lost. Formal pushed back, using the dead man's body weight in an attempt to overwhelm the legionary in front of him, but the shield wall could not be stopped. The glimpses of his home he could see earlier now covered up by the Imperial marked shields.

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Lesnar Formal slammed the hilt of his sword into a legionaries helmet, knocking the man down. An Italican crossbowman followed in and stabbed his dao into the nape of the man. The legionary line has been thinned with his uncle's assault to the south of the estate, allowing Lesnar to push his smaller contingent through the north gate and hopefully relieve the defenders. Colt's advisor Zilong Zhao was at the front of his vanguard, pushing through the legionaries to get to the walled estate.

Killing the legionaries took time and men, but soon they reached the sealed northern door.

Lesnar gave a quick knock on the door, " This is Lesnar Formal, we have come back to relieve you!"

The voice that answered back was shrill and cracked halfway through, " if that really is you, what did you get me for my eleventh birthday behind my father's back?"

The memory and recognition of the voice brought a smile to the man's face, " Myui, I got you a steed that you named ' Countess'. We hid her in the stables behind the warhorses."

A gasp could be heard through the gap in the door before frantic orders were given to open the doors. After the shuffling of bodies, the doors unjammed with a thud as men threw their shoulders against it, creaking open as the people on both sides watched in anticipation.

Lesnar watched as Myui squeezed through the still opening gap to run to him. The girl rammed into him with a hug, her sword's hilt jabbing into his gut before sliding away, squeezing as hard as she could as she broke down in sobs.

The man could only stand there frozen in shock as he looked down at his younger cousin.

Myui had lost her left arm at the elbow.

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Glee filled Scipio's heart as he watched his legion work. The reinforcements were repulsed and his legionaries at the wooden doors were able to shove their shields in between the doors, keeping them open. Soon they would breach, and Italica would be his. It would take longer than he hoped to have his legion campaign again, but at least he would have a city all to himself. Conscripts would fill auxiliary positions and trade would bring him money and power, and with time, he would be able to bring war to Sadera. An odd noise pulled his attention away from the fighting.

An odd thumping began building up in the distance with a fervour, each thump almost overlaying the next. Yet it had an odd pattern, like there were multiple sources each vying to be heard. And it was otherworldly.

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Squadrons of UH-1Y Venoms, Mi-24 Hinds, AH-1Z Vipers, and Mi-8 Humps flew in formation, passing the treeline towards Italica. Below them, columns of vehicles broke from tree cover as they chased after the helicopters, kicking up a dust trail as they made for the walls.

" What did the Psy Op wizkids cook up for us this time?"

The marine crew chief pointed at the speakers they had jury rigged to the underside of the UH-1Y Venom.

The door gunner responded with a shrug, " no idea, but I saw them working on the Russkey helo's as well. The Russians were laughing from the look of it."

The co-pilot spoke up next, " thirty seconds to the wall, the track is about to start boys!"

The radio linked to all the speakers from the dedicated Psy Op Venom began its transmission starting a reverberating beat, one that caused the Russian troops to chuckle from their birds.

" Really? Red Alert Three?!"

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The battle slowed as the thumping built up to a near deafening drone, Italicans and bandits stopped the killing to stare at the sky of which the sound came from. A musical beat also joined the clashing noises as each one grasped at the antiquated ears of their audience. A string instrument followed the beat bringing the music together forming the Soviet March. And as the voices brought lyrics to the melody, a fat wasp burst out from the cover of buildings and came to hover above Count Colt Formal's head. Its wings beat down heavily on the men below, whipping loose debris into the air. It was screaming its music from its abdomen, echoing off the street and funnelling into the skulls below, as men could be seen moving about within the beast. Another flight of three even fatter wasps flew overhead, stopping over the estate itself. Another swarm, this time of thinner wasps, buzzed over. These either had a large bulbous head or two small bulbous growths on their heads, moving in twos as they flew over. Soon the sky was filled with these wasps, as raptured men stared at the beasts in terror.

The music stopped abruptly, jolting the soldiers below. A deafening silence ensued as the wings beat out any noise that could be made, steel hounds appearing unnoticed in the streets, surrounding all forces.

Then the wasps spoke as one, " all imperial forces, lay down your arms, any further violence will be met with lethal force."

The message repeated itself, while the men below stood frozen. The second repeat woke up Scipio, who issued out two commands, the legionaries acting on instinct. A wave of pilums rose up, the Venom instantly banking, the starboard M240 barking immediately back. The javelins fell behind Italican lines and on rooftops harmlessly. The machine gunfire brought death upon the legion, the 7.62mm NATO rounds joined by the multitude of calibers and armament mounted on the hovering squadrons. Marine riflemen joined the door gunners from their elevated positions, raining small arms fire at any who escaped the machineguns.

VDV fastroped down from the Mi-8s hovering over the estate, pushing to the wood doors and putting an end to the pushing fight with their kalashnikovs. Combat lifesavers ran about, providing aid to the wounded within the compound.

20mm and 12.7mm Russian joined the killing, their gunners concentrating to ensure no friendlies were hit with the larger weapons.

In despair, the legionaries turned to attempt to break through Colt's lines, only to see the Canadian LAVs and Indian BMPs staring them down. That's when they broke in turn, mass surrenders began.

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Tokyo, Japan

"NO MORE MILITARIZATION! NO MORE SHINZO! NO MORE MILITARIZATION! NO MORE SHINZO!"

The muffled chants could barely be heard through the thick windows and curtains of the National Diet Building, setting a depressing atmosphere within the meeting room. The seated Japanese Cabinet moped in thought as the Prime Minister Shinzo Motoi leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

A knock at the door awoke the room as the Defense Minister Kano Taro let himself in. He slipped into his chair with a grunt before side-eyeing Shinzo.

" Sorry, the meeting with the Americans took longer than expected."

The Prime Minister let out a sigh, " it's quite alright, did anything come out of it?"

Kano crossed his arms and turned fully to Shinzo, " they want more military contributions from participating nations. And they are willing to pay for it. The Russians are doing the same and the Chinese are willing to make treaty concessions, even territory concessions."

Shinzo began chuckling before the middle aged man's almost giggle turned to full blown laughter. His Cabinet just stared at him in confusion as he shook with mirth.

A lull allowed the room to hear his reasoning, " even other countries want me to resign!"

Kano shook his head at his comment, letting out a sigh himself, " So what's the plan, bossman."

He peered up with an eyebrow raised at his political friend.

The Prime Minister merely shrugged, " I have the majority government, get ready to start reactivating older equipment, and I'll start writing up my resignation letter."