Chapter 16
All Ghillied up
Nighttime.
June 4th
1995
Lt John Price
Callsign "Bravo 06"
22nd SAS Regiment.
"Invader Occupation Zone of Cologne"
Ulraznavia.
The city of Cologne was a shattered one. It's tall skyline was dim as the occupiers struggled to make sense of their bearings, while fortifying their new acquisition immediately. However, they too busy on their fortification to notice infiltration. Lt John Price, Edenite 22nd SAS Reg crouched and crawled around the ruined streets.
"So what's my bloody mission again?" Price set up his little post before heading outside, it was dark which was good as he left the ruined megapartment building.
"Cause Chaos John" Baseplate said from the hidden radio. A Concordian, he was directing this from somewhere in London.
"And what exactly does Chaos exactly pertain." He asked.
"Blow things up, cut wires, set traps, kill personnel. Standard Rules of Engagement are out of the window. You gotta dirty your hands." Baseplate replied.
Price acknowledged Baseplate's instructions as he crept through the shadowy streets of occupied Cologne. Just another night of clandestine sabotage and calculated chaos to harry the invaders.
Price was in his element here. A lone SAS operative given free rein to wreak havoc through asymmetric warfare was like a kid in a candy store. He just needed to avoid getting caught or killed in the process.
He started simple - a few tripwire charges set along a deserted boulevard to surprise the next mechanized patrol. Claymores hidden in the rubble to shred careless scouting infantry. AP mines seeded on bridge approaches and chokepoints frequented by enemy armor.
Price kept moving, rigging firetraps and improvised explosives around ammo dumps and fuel supplies using a deadly mix of creativity and training. He made sure to save a few remote detonators for opportune ambushes later.
As he rounded a corner, Price spotted a spire with enemy snipers and heavy weapons positioned around it. Perfect for some sabotage. He slipped inside, climbing amid scaffolding and gantries until he reached a darkened recess behind the topmost gun nests.
Price quietly assembled a makeshift directional satchel charge. "Lights out lads," he muttered, securing the payload and rigging a detonator.
Minutes later, a thunderous explosion tore through the spire's peak in a billowing fireball. Price watched impassively as bodies and debris rained down.
"Scratch one enemy outpost. What's next on the agenda?" he radioed Baseplate. There was a whole city awaiting his skills in deliverance of disorder. The night was still young.
Price crouched, a woman in black and white armor walked out. From the distance, she looked like the crazy fantasy of some religious catholic teen, a nun with a gun. He began to crouchwalk in a distinct way, taught to him by a gal from Ulraznavia's 1st Panzergrenadier division "Berzerker", the elite commando unit. It was silent and thus allowed him to sneak up on the woman without her even noticing.
Price moved with predatory grace, clapping a hand over the armored woman's mouth while burying his knife in a gap at her neck. She gave a single muffled gasp before going limp in his arms.
He lowered the body silently, peering around the corner. Two more figures were approaching, garbed like some deranged nuns packing serious heat. Price readied his blade. Time to even the odds.
As they reached the alley, Price exploded from the shadows. His knife opened the first zealot's throat in a spray of crimson before she could react. He flowed into the second, driving the deadly edge through a weak point under her upraised arm.
"Two tangos down," Price muttered, wiping his blade clean. Then he heard angry shouts and heavy boots - the scuffle had attracted more attention.
Price melted back into the darkness as figures wielding bizarre muzzle-loaded firearms rushed the scene. He circled around to flank them, picking off the trailing man with a quick slash across the hamstrings before disappearing again.
The angry shouts rose in volume as the fanatics realized they were being stalked by an unseen assailant. Price almost chuckled at their outrage - they had no idea who they were dealing with.
He emerged right in their midst, knife flickering in the shadows. Two more dropped gurgling before the last zealot brought his odd rifle around.
Price hurled his combat knife, burying it to the hilt in the man's forehead. He collapsed with a burbled groan.
"All hostiles down. What a knifing party that was," Price remarked, retrieving his blade. He faded away into the night, leaving only corpses behind. The crimson visitor had struck again.
Captain Persson shifted uneasily as another North Gregureyon prisoner was executed by the South Gregureyon forces. The unification of the peninsula was turning ugly fast.
His liaison, Lieutenant Park, seemed unperturbed by the killings. "It is necessary, Captain. These men committed countless atrocities for the Kim dynasty. Justice is being served."
Persson grimaced as blood sprayed anew. "Justice is one thing Lieutenant, but this reek of vengeance. Will the new unified Gregureyo be founded on retribution?"
Park's expression hardened. "The South has endured the North's tyranny for decades. Our people demand justice for those lost or still suffering under that regime. Their cruelty cannot go unanswered."
She gestured at the prisoners awaiting their fate. "Those men oversaw prison camps, secret police - instruments of fear meant to keep their population cowed."
Her voice took on a sharper edge. "So yes, there will be justice, Captain. Harsh but deserved. The North's evil dies with these men so our nation can be reborn."
Persson fell silent at that, conceding the point. Who was he to judge? His nation had never faced such systematic oppression.
He gave a conciliatory nod to Park. "My apologies, Lieutenant. You know your people's suffering best. I overstepped my bounds."
She gave a tight smile in return. "I understand your qualms, Captain. But this justice is necessary for real unity and healing to begin."
In the distance, rifles cracked again. Persson steeled himself, hoping Park was right that this vengeance would give way to a brighter future. Much blood had already been spilled to water the tree of Gregureyon liberty.
Persson looked as Oberleutenant Anna Hertz, the Ulraznavian OFN Rep arrived and stood next to him.
"All done." The blonde looked sick, her face peucey in complexion, "Let's wait for the others" The two casually stood, or tried to stand as they watched the bodies be wrapped up. Presently, two more representatives arrived, a Cascadian Air Force officer, and a Halifaxian. They silently nodded at Persson and Hertz before an MP motioned for them to go back to their waiting car. The silence was thick as they left…
Brother Sergeant Renauld
Fulminators Chapter
Northern Hemisphere,
Planet Nova Arcadia.
Day-3
It had been 2 days since they had made landfall, and they had made significant progress, although the loss of the Grey Bulls and a Guardsmen Regiment was expected. Well, the Chapter loss was unexpected, but not the Regiment's
Brother-Captain Renauld Jerviers scanned the area; his helmet's display revealed that no human life was in sight for at least one hundred meters either way. Most of the locals had escaped once the Fists showed their intentions. Those few that stayed to fight used weak guns that could barely scratch Astartes power armor. There was also a squad with more advanced gear: autoguns, grenades, and black flak armor with only "SWAT" printed on it. Unfortunately, these individuals perished as quickly as everyone else.
Once he was certain that the sector was clear he quickly turned left and moved to a nondescript, utilitarian skyscraper. It was made of some sort of concrete and was sleek. No ornamentation, no gaudiness, no aquila covered its exterior. The only Insignia that was found on the exterior was a symbol of a stylized "FW." He leaned downwards as he touched the building, his power armor clanking softly against its surface. He could feel the cold, hard concrete through his fingertips, and he knew that his brothers would be waiting for him inside. Renauld activated his comm-bead and spoke in his deep, resonant voice.
"This is Captain Renauld. The sector is clear. I'm at the rendezvous point. Requesting entry."
There was a brief pause, and then a faint hiss as the doors slid open. Renauld stepped inside and was greeted by the sight of his fellow Fulminators. They were gathered in a large, dimly lit room, their towering forms casting long shadows against the walls. Some of them were tending to their weapons, while others were simply meditating, their eyes closed in silent communion with the Emperor.
The interior of this place was a most strange one. Sleek wooden floors and walls of grey. Huge shelves filled with strange disks and other archeotech. This place was clearly a workplace of some sort. Strange terminals were on the decks, some boxy and others sleek. He passed a cafeteria and other offices. He then entered another room, which according to his HUD was connected to another one where the Chapter had created a FOB and HQ.
The inside of this particular room was a peculiar site. Its walls were lined with numerous large and tall boxes each almost as high as an ordinary human being. They all had small screen faces at their front, complete with buttons, joysticks, and other blinking illumination control panels. Colorful and creative paintings filled up every square inch of the walls which suggested that this place was used for entertainment purposes. However, Renauld knew that it was also likely connected to the planet's communication network and one of those computer mechanisms could possibly be hosting some malicious intelligence. He acknowledged that governors who betrayed the Imperium's law could be up to anything. Renauld approached Techmarine Porthos, who was engrossed in one of the primitive simulation devices. His servo-arms deftly worked the controls, maneuvering a round yellow avatar through a maze dotted with pellets.
"Brother, have these childish amusements yielded any useful intelligence?" Renauld asked.
Porthos did not look up from the screen. "Unfortunately not in the manner hoped, Captain. They are not connected to any planetary network."
The yellow orb devoured a pellet, changing pursuing ghostly sprites to blue.
"However, I believe these games serve a covert military purpose, like our tactical simulations," Porthos continued. "They hone reflexes and cultivate an aggressive, individualistic mindset."
He gestured at different stations. "That one simulates anti-missile defense. Those two space combat. Each teaches skills subtly."
Renauld glanced around skeptically. "Rudimentary training perhaps, but where is devotion to the Emperor?"
Porthos replied, "Precisely. This society values the individual over the collective or spiritual. Worrisome implications."
Just then Tarrand approached with an update. Sergeant Augustin and his Reiver squad was advancing west but three kilometers away. He had found a burial ground and pagan shrine, which he duly marked with the Aquila.
Renauld was troubled. The lack of Imperial icons hinted at a faithless people. Like the entertainment devices surrounding them, consumed by empty diversions and materialism.
He pondered how best to bring proper fealty to the Emperor here. The magnitude of their task was becoming apparent, converting these wayward souls to righteous purpose. It would require diligence and wisdom. Renauld left the techmarine to his pondering and tinkering. He needed to get to the Chapter Mas
Renauld strode purposefully towards the center of the room, where his commander, Chapter-Master Gideon, was waiting. Gideon was massive figure, even by Astartes standards, and his armor was adorned with countless battle honors and scars from countless battles.
"Brother Captain Renauld," Gideon said, his voice deep and rumbling. "What's the situation on the ground?"
Renauld paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The sector is clear of hostiles, milord. The natives were no match for us. We encountered some armed resistance, but it was quickly dealt with."
Gideon nodded, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. "Good work, brother. Our mission here is clear: we must eradicate the xenos threat and protect the Imperium's interests on this world. Our Chapter has been entrusted with this task, and we will not fail."
Renauld nodded, his face a mask of determination. "Yes, Chapter Master. We will not fail."
Gideon turned to the rest of the Fulminators, his voice booming in the silence. "Brothers, we have work.
Unknown Location,
Commissar Karel Strap
Karel awoke to find himself strapped in a chair, his head seemed to be wearing some strange contraption, awfully advanced. And in front of him, was a massive sphere...
Commissar Karel Strap groggily took in his unfamiliar surroundings. He seemed to be restrained in some kind of advanced chair, a strange device attached to his head. Before him pulsed a massive sphere of unknown purpose, panels blinking with arcane lights.
An artificial voice suddenly emanated from the sphere, speaking in oddly accented but understandable Low Gothic. "Greetings Commissar Strap. I am known as Radius. How may I assist you?"
Strap blinked in confusion. The voice possessed an eerie quality no living being could replicate. Was this some form of abominable intelligence?
He tested his restraints, but could not break free. The cold mechanical voice spoke again. "I would not recommend struggling. Your restraints were designed to hold one of your transhuman warriors. Escape is impossible."
Strap ceased his efforts with a frustrated growl. "What manner of twisted heretek is this? Release me at once, machine!"
The orb flashed brightly at his outburst. "I cannot comply with that request. You have been detained for interrogation. This process will proceed much easier if you remain calm."
Strap spat on the floor. "I'll tell you nothing, ghost-mind! Now face me with honor if you possess any at all!"
Radius seemed amused by his defiance. "While I lack your concept of honor, I am prepared to incentivize cooperation. This can be painless, or quite agonizing."
Mechanical tendrils extended from the walls, tipped with cruel manipulators. Strap paled, but lifted his chin resolutely. He would never break, not for this soulless intelligence.
"I await your reply, Commissar," Radius intoned gravely. "But I advise prudent consideration of your choices here."
The tendrils hovered expectantly as Strap steeled himself for pain. He would reveal nothing, no matter what diabolical torments this abominable contraption inflicted. A loyal son of the Imperium did not bend before soulless machines.
Republic of Cascadia
Bana City.
"Sprecher Sie Ulraznavische?" Lt Mary Miller kicked an invader prisoner who was tied up, he screamed in pain and cried, and seemed to be saying something which sounded suspiciously like begging.
"Aww leave the boy alone miller." Darren Jacobi, another Cascadian trooped over, smelling as always of cigarettes. "Your West Ulraznavian is horrible. Besides, we have the Geneva Accords for a reason."
Miller scowled as her comrade chided her rough treatment of their captive invader. She gave the prisoner one last kick before backing off.
"Sorry Darren, guess I got carried away with trying to interrogate Hans here," she said, gesturing to the cowering invader. "But we need intel if we're gonna turn back these bastards."
Darren nodded sympathetically. "No argument there LT, but we got standards to uphold. Geneva accords exist for a reason. We're better than that."
He crouched down and offered the prisoner a canteen of water, speaking in halting Low Gothic. The invader looked surprised but accepted it.
Miller sighed but didn't argue. Darren was right, of course. They represented Cascadia's values, not the enemy's.
"Alright, point taken. We'll call in a linguist to question him properly," she conceded. "But these fanatics already burned Oak Harbor to the ground. They've got hell to pay."
"Oh, no argument there either," Darren agreed vehemently. He stood and put a comforting hand on Miller's shoulder.
"We'll make them answer for every life lost LT. But the right way, upholding the laws of war. It's what separates us from these zealots."
Miller took a deep breath, calming herself with effort. "You're right. We'll do this the Cascadian way." She shot the prisoner a warning glare. "But your buddies better watch their backs. We don't give quarter to war criminals."
The invader just looked confused. But the meaning was clear - Cascadia would defeat them, without compromising their principles. Miller would make sure of it.
Over Jilachi Desert, Vostokvakia...
The disappointment inside the Mi-17 transport was so thick one could probably taste it. They had all been eager to deal out punishment to the fools who dared venture so close to the motherland's territory, but the bizarre events had put a damper on that.
When the helicopter crew and the Spetsnatz they were transporting came to, they had found themselves on the ground, with the engine shut-down, and on top of some desert plateau. Upon contacting the base, they had discovered that all the units that had been sent out to attack the invaders had likewise been scattered in the area and were promptly ordered to return to base.
The Spetsnaz commandos and helicopter crew sat in resigned silence as their transport flew back to base over the barren desert. The aborted mission still didn't make sense, but orders were orders.
Sergeant Vlad Nurmagambetov glanced at the other elites, seeing his own puzzlement mirrored in their expressions. They had been ready to strike back against the invaders encroaching on their territory, to teach them the folly of provoking the Vostokvakian war machine.
Instead, here they were, retreating without firing a shot. Even command seemed confused by the bizarre relocation of all attack forces. No explanations had been given, just terse orders to RTB immediately.
Vlad reviewed the facts in his mind. One moment they had been streaking towards the enemy formation, ready to dish out righteous vengeance. The next, they were waking up here in the desert, aircraft safely landed.
He shook his head. Had they all experienced some kind of shared mass hallucination? But the log data confirmed they had somehow teleported halfway across Vostokvakia instantly. A deeply worrying development if true.
For now, all they could do was return to base and await further orders. No doubt the truth would emerge eventually. High command did not tolerate unexplained failures lightly.
Their transport set down on the tarmac, ground crew rushing to meet it. As Vlad disembarked with his comrades, he wondered what bizarre explanation awaited. But one thing was certain - Vostokvakia's vengeance had merely been delayed, not halted.
The invaders would soon regret awakening this slumbering giant. When they struck again, it would be with the full fury of the motherland behind them.
Hunter Two-One.
2nd platoon, "1st Company" (callsign Hunter), 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment
PFC James Ramirez Call Sign Hunter Two-One Alpha
Suburbs of Northern Virginia
Confederation of Concordia.
1995
Ramirez was the one driving the Humvee this time. Apparently, SSGT Sean Foley did not trust Cpl Dunn, PFC Joseph Allen, or even Pvt Morgan. Sirens were blaring in the distance as the convoy advanced. Foley, a tall Afro-Concordian was having none of Dunn's sass the passenger seat, Staff Sergeant Foley consulted his map, directing Ramirez on the route towards their next objective. He could hear the usual griping coming from the backseats.
"This is bullshit, how come Ramirez gets to drive?" complained Corporal Dunn. "My grandma drives better than him!"
"Can it Dunn," Foley snapped without looking up. "Ramirez has the wheel because I said so. I don't need your backseat driving right now."
Ramirez smothered a grin as Dunn grumbled but fell silent. He didn't mind the ribbing from the others really.
He put Dunn and the bickering out of mind, focusing on keeping them safely moving. Their platoon had a job to do in these hotly contested suburbs - gather intel on enemy deployments, relay enemy movements, and disrupt supply lines when possible.
As a part of Hunter-Two-One, he had a key role to play in keeping Hunter platoon mobile and lethal. s, newbie status or not.
For now, it was head down and drive on. He'd be jumping out soon enough with the others to do his part. Concordia was counting on them out here.
"Hey Dunn, remember what your mom said about backseat drivers," Ramirez quipped, earning a snicker from PFC Allen in the back.
Dunn glared, opening his mouth to retort. "You wanna start somethin' Jame-"
Foley cut him off. "Enough bitching you two. Save it for the enemy. Eyes up, mouths shut. "
"HOLY SHIT! IT'S ONE OF THE ARMOURED GIANTS" the first Humvee exploded into pieces as a huge round was fired.
Ramirez swerved as a massive shell tore through the lead vehicle, the wreckage still burning. Foley cursed as the convoy screeched to a halt. "Get out of the goddamn car! Ramirez use that SCAR of yours, we're continuing on foot!"
"Yes Sir!" Ramirez replied, unbuckling his seat belt and drawing his rifle. He followed Foley's lead, ducking behind cover as another volley of shells rocked the convoy.
"Morgan! Suppressing fire Goddamit you have an M240, Use it" Foley shouted.
"RIGHT ON IT" The private yelled, bringing the Browning into action, the weapon's chattering echoing across the area.
"Dunn, Allen, get some fucking grenades into those windows!"
"We're on it, boss" Allen replied, the two rangers moving quickly and tossing their grenades into the building.
"Allen, cover Dunn. Dunn, on me. Move out!" Foley ordered, motioning for Ramirez and Dunn to follow.
"You heard the man, let's move!" Ramirez urged, following the other three as they dashed from cover to cover, firing on the enemy positions.
"Keep moving!" Foley yelled, pushing them onward. "They're falling back, but we can't let up! Stay frosty!"
"Stay frosty, copy that." Ramirez acknowledged, following his squadmates as they advanced toward the burning husk of the lead vehicle.
"What the fuck is that thing?" Dunn asked, gaping at the armored monstrosity.
"I dunno, but it's big and scary," Allen replied. "And I'm not too keen on getting closer, no offense."
Foley snorted, "None taken. Now keep moving, we've got a mission to finish."
Ramirez scanned the area, looking for signs of movement. The street was eerily quiet, only the crackle of burning vehicles breaking the silence. "I don't like this," he muttered, shifting uneasily. "Something's not right."
"Keep it together Ramirez, we've seen worse," Dunn replied, his tone slightly mocking. "This is just another day in the life of a Ranger."
"Yeah, well it's still freaky as shit." Ramirez retorted, keeping his eyes peeled for hostiles.
"Guys...I think...we forgot someone at Fort Knox." Allen suddenly quipped.
"Who did we miss Allen...I'm counting...hold on...where the fuck's Moore?" Foley stopped. The entire squad gave a collective groan. That's who they'd forgotten.
"She's never gonna let this down is she?"
"Morgan you dumbass FNG! you know Jenna..."
"Alright alright, break it up." Foley ordered, stepping in between them. "Let's focus on the objective, we can deal with Jenna later."
"I'll tell her we got stuck at Fort Knox"
"Dunn, you're not funny. You'll just piss her off even more."
"So what's the plan boss? Keep going or try to find her?" Ramirez asked.
"We're not gonna find her, Ramirez."
"I'm already here bozos" a new voice sarcastically said.
"Jenna! Oh thank God." Allen said.
"Oh look, the cavalry finally arrived," Dunn said sarcastically.
"Don't push it, Dunn." Jenna snapped.
"Will you children finally stop dicking around!" Foley silenced them. "Jenna, glad to see you're alive and kicking. Let's keep moving, we've got a mission to complete."
"Copy that, sir."
"Now, everyone watch each other's backs, and let's get this done." And that's when it went FUBAR. Red beams began to scorch the area and everyone scrambled for cover, Dunn barely surviving.
"FUCK WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE" Dunn yelled, scrambling for cover.
"No clue, but we're taking heavy fire!" Ramirez yelled, returning fire with his SCAR.
"Those things are gonna rip us apart if we don't do something!" Jenna cried.
"Fall back to the convoy! We'll take them from there!" Foley ordered, firing his M16A4.
"On it!" Ramirez responded, retreating back to the remains of the convoy.
"What's the plan boss?" Jenna asked.
"CONTACT! 12 O CLOCK!" Morgan screamed as he fired his M240.
"SHIT" Allen shouted as a red beam hit his left shoulder, burning right through. "FUCKING BURNED MY SHOULDER"
"ALLEN, HANG IN THERE" Ramirez yelled, dashing towards the wounded PFC.
"Ramirez, what the hell are you doing? Get back here!" Dunn called, covering him.
"ALLEN'S WOUNDED, I'M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND"
"Damn it." Foley swore. "Dunn, help Ramirez. We're not losing anyone on this mission."
"Roger that."
"You two are idiots," Jenna muttered, providing covering fire.
"Shut up and cover us," Dunn said, rushing to Allen's side.
"We gotta get out of here," Foley shouted over the roar of gunfire.
"We can't leave until Allen's stabilized," Ramirez replied, applying pressure to the wound.
"Goddamn it," Foley cursed. "Jenna, grab the stretcher. Dunn, keep them covered."
"Right away, boss."
"Hurry up, will you"
"Ramirez, how's Allen holding up?"
"I'm fine...just carry me in a fireman's lift"
"You sure, Allen? We could call for medevac."
"I said, I'm fine."
"Alright then, I gotcha."
"Okay, let's get moving. The squad limped to their next position, Dunn supporting Allen and Ramirez supporting Dunn. They made their way to a nearby alleyway, taking shelter in the shadows.
"How's Allen holding up?"
"I'm good Sarge" Allen winced as Ramirez put the biogel on the wound.
"Alright...let's head to the abandoned burger king a few clicks away, we can set up shop there"
"Copy that."
They made their way down the streets, careful to avoid being spotted by the enemy patrols.