Chapter 2: Under siege

Plattsburgh

April 15th, 2017

The day so far had been long for not just him, but everyone. The first time he fired his weapon in anger was chaotic and was quite scary being shot at, even by muskets. At first small groups of men would move in between the houses and into the front lawn of the CVPH where they'd take potshots though they learned very quickly that shooting out in the open was not the brightest idea, leaving at least a couple dozen of these cosplayers were scattered across the defense perimeter, either dead or wounded laying helplessly.

The defense had been manned only by fifty or so uniformed men and women with the CVPH's staff assisting in other ways. Most important being to care for the patients trapped inside while barricading the doors with anything laying around. This was harder said then done due to the size of the CVPH, stretched manpower, limited ammo, and the many entrances that could be breached.

But Major Felkins had ordered all patients to be packed like sardines into the upper floors of the main facility while the troops and their law enforcement allies guarded the entrances with the help of security cameras. It also helped that two HUMVEEs armed with a M240 each which would help stop any frontal attack dead but also act as a obstacle.

A handful of police officers were positioned on the roof to act as sentries to alert them of any incoming attack, the rest making sure their makeshift fortress was clear of any infiltrators. The National Guardsmen themselves primarily steeled themselves as they were really the only thing keeping the patients and staff out of active harm. But the enemy for the most part just set up around the CVPH as both sides simply waited for the other to react.

Now by noon, the defenders could only sit and wait as air strikes went off in the east side of town. Never in his life could he imagine watching bombs drop on a US city, let alone one he lived in. Just a day prior he was busy taking notes in creative writing class at Plattsburgh SUNY and making sure his dear grandfather was doing ok.

"Shit's fucked man." He says out loud as switched his glance to Anthony whom with his rifle in arm's length pulled out a familiar yellow with dark brown letters.

"Not even the second coming of Jesus could keep you away from your Milk duds huh?"

"Don' say de o'vious." He replied, already chewing on a few of them.

The grenadier swallowed and dug into the box for more. "I thought the inspiring writer Micheal Johnson would have come up with better? You must be a imposter."

He couldn't help but let out a few sporadic chuckles, after all humor was the best medicine in times of peril. A laugh soundtrack went off from the tv mounted on the where which was airing an episode from some sitcom. The bright lights and the general hospital smell on top of the bizarre situation outside made Johnson think a handful of times that he was in some dream or alternate reality. Plus there was nothing really to do other then to lounge about in the reception area waiting for an attack.

In his little corner he thought of watch that sitcom but the ones his grandpa watched made him bored, so bored in fact that often times he'd put on one to get him to go to sleep when he was a kid. He thought about striking up a conversation but he didn't really have anything to say that hadn't been so he just sat there bored out of his mind.

His eyes had just begun to get heavy until Collin jolted him awake with his voice.

"Get up, we're switching rotations." His words sliced through the air like a knife and his body sprang up without thought.

The young man picked up his rifle and along with his squad walked towards the elevator where they'd make their way to the roof. Once they got to the roof and relief a group of police officers, they immediately began scanning the area for moment amongst the nearby buildings and foliage.

Gunfire from the north filled the air with ambient noise as smoke from previous airstrikes within the city rose. It was darkly soothing truth be told, at least it wasn't the humming of the florescent light bulbs inside that was being to drive him insane.

For sometime nothing happened, or at least they hoped nothing was going on outside their eyesight. The radio and new outlets were their only way to gain information about the situation and even then it was hard to paint a clear picture.

But from what they could gather, the enemy had been repelled near the Sandbar bridge and on route 87 near Ingraham with the southern push halting in Parc for reasons he didn't really know or care to understand. The status of Grand isle and the other lake islands was unclear but he hoped for the best. But the level of uncertainty was quite daunting.

With that subject came the obvious question.

'Is Gramps ok?' He though to himself while eyeing the urban landscape.

At seventy-one years old, Frank C. Johnson was a sweet old man that despite his advance age was still eager to take strolls and dance if the opportunity arose. He no matter the occasion was smiling a grin that was contagious beyond belief.

Almost...

As a young boy Johnson would ask his grandpa about the old silver pictures he had of a young man in green only to be told that it wasn't important or changed the subject. In as only in high school that his opened up.

Turns out he served in the Vietnam war and took part in the Tet offensive but more specifically in Hue city. He never told about what he experienced or what it was like, how could he?

Johnson was originally going to join active duty but his grandfather was having none of it. Never in his life had he'd seen him so horrified in his life, he feared the old veteran would have a heart attack when he first proposed it. In the end he joined the National Guard and while apprehensive approved.

Grandpa was old, and had no chance if some crazies broke in, and one of the chief reasons he selected SUNY Plattsburgh. But he could only hope that he was alright.

Suddenly he heard a faint noise, it sounded like stampede but with horns blaring. Everyone looked to the leader of the squad Staff Sergeant Thompson who already had his walkie talkie out.

"This is Bravo 1-1, we have hostiles coming our way. I repeat, we have hostiles coming our way, over." He said and the group waited patiently for the inevitable.

"This is Bravo-6, understood, break, hold fire until otherwise, out." Thompson put away his communication electronic and turned a glance at his eight subordinates.

"Hold your positions and don't shoot unless ordered to." Thompson much like Collins and Zhao had the most time in the armed forces, and much like the them served oversees in the Middle east.

Johnson never knew what unit was apart, only that after that he decided serving stateside was good enough and became a carpenter. So to see him look concerned made him un-fucking-easy. It sounded like a lot of them were coming their way.

the air was filled with clattering of metal and boots on pavement road and a song played on trumpets and horns, he imagined a massive parade ripe for CAS for sure.

Then from the north to their right came a horde of men in formation waving purple banners. From the roof, he could tell they wore red garments under armor that covered the torso while their heads were covered by metal helmets that had a vague resemblance to trapper hats.

"Holy shit that's a lot." Cursed one of his squad mates Wake, whom was the team leader of his fireteam.

The column continued until perpendicular to the CVPH, where it halted and turned to face the hospital. These men stood perfectly still like toy soldiers while holding muskets. Past the line of soldiers came a mam on horseback. The two sides hesitated as both waited to see what the other would do, tension between the hospital defenders and this weird army built up, there was no telling how long this'd last.

Then pass the line of soldiers came a mam on horseback. Instead of the more Roman style armor, he wore a single piece breast plate with thin armor covering the limb and groin areas. He through his scope aimed at the man on horseback and even with orders to hold fire, his finger was frozen stiff. How could he kill a man?

To take another human being's life.

would that make him a murderer?

But before he could go balls deep into his moral dilemma, he not so carefully got off the horse and stumbled to the edge of the pond in the CVPH lawn.

"Milites agri! Vinum...et porcos but, et, et res!" He bumbled much to Johnson amusement.

"Dare vel accipere capitibus dabimus tibi!"

He reached for a sword sheath on his bet, but that wasn't going to happen.

"Open fire on that bastard!" Major Felkin could be heard near yelling through the walkie-talkie.

Johnson jolted as a storm of gunfire erupted, sending the horse running away and the man dead before he hit the floor. The tightly packed reenactors didn't fall dramatically or twirl like ballerinas before dying, they dropped sickeningly like heavy sacks of potatoes or rag dolls. A few seconds after the shooting started the enemy line went into a panicked frenzy. They either froze, ran, or hastily shot through the iron fence at the CVHP's direction.

He flinched as something wizzed by his head and ducked before dozens of rounds smacked against his cover. Without pepping out his head he raised his gun and fired three times, he sure as hell wasn't going to risk it. Once he was sure he wasn't their target slowly raised his head to see what was left of them scurrying away between the houses.

"Cease fire!" Order's Thompson and soon the battlefield becomes silent except say for a firefight in the distance outskirts of Plattsburgh. On the road behind the fence were dozens upon dozens upon dozens of bodies that formed small piles where they once stood. The road disappeared under the sheer amount of dead, but that wasn't the worse part.

It was moans and crying of the wounded, trapped underneath their fallen comrades unable to get up. They sobbed in what he presumed to be in Latin. It was unbearable, excruciating to the highest degree. No one uttered a single word, not even a pep.

He was sure someone was thinking of putting the poor bastards out of their misery but ammo was worth more then gold hundredfold. Without ammunition they were deadmen without a shadow of doubt. The scene and the idea that these people were actually dead put a pit in his stomach.

'Who the fuck are they?' He thought to himself, thankful that it wasn't summer but even then they soon begin decomposing, not fun to think about. The private looked to his companions who's experience varied between shock to apathy.

Then a distance sound pierced the air, gaining the attention of everyone. It vibrated within his bones and the hair on his neck rose up while goosebumps crawled up his skin. It was shrill and continuous noise that was carried by the wind. He turned his head to the south where the sound originated.

He had been tasked with securing ground south of the river that split the urban landscape in two, but the requirement of quick results expected of the expedition by the senate and the bottleneck that was the Gate made getting supplies and reinforcements excruciatingly difficult. He hadn't received all of his supplies when mushrooms came floating down out of a flock of iron birds that flew overhead with a droning noise.

Quickly sensing trouble dispatched his Orc auxiliaries and equites legionis along with four infantry cohorts to buy time for the rest of the legion to prepare a counterattack. But the crisp sound of rapid fire and explosions from the paved strip of land started to worried him. He understood the danger these barbarians could pose but nonetheless, he held firm faith in his men that they'd be able to stop this foolishly laughable assault.

On his horse he was riding to the scene when he intercepted a man near a field similar to the ones used to play harpastum. He was wide-eyed and the hands were close to his side shaking uncontrollably.

"State your unit and why I shouldn't have you executed for desertion." He placed a hand where his sword was, he had no time for weakness at this stage of the battle.

"S-second cohort of 12th Legion sir!" He had the mannerism of a slave about to be wiped, which he found utterly pathetic.

'Disgusting.' Maio though, barley keeping himself from cringing, 'He reeks of cowardice!'

"I've been despatched by Centurion Anton to inform General Maio that the attack was a failure and we've suffered heavy losses."

His fears had been realized, the green beasts weren't enough to dislodge them from the area. The young viscount hated calling for backup but even he knew the risk. At least if things went wrong then the various bridges over the river would spread and hold back the barbarian army until they could be kicked off the field.

"I am disappointed that you wouldn't recognize let alone give proper respect to your general. Nonetheless, I have a mission for you. Find the generals of the 28th and 19th, tell them I need their support in my counterattack. Now go before I change my mind!"

Without another word the soldier ran off, leaving Maio to inspect his men. His horse went at a good pass as but much as his mind hated it, a part of him wanted it to be slower. The sound of Ignishastas going off was fierce and unworldly, nothing like the drilling he had previously watched in preparation.

Then down the road came a wagon fulled by two horses galloping towards the rear. It zoomed past him but he just got a good enough glimpse to see the back filled to the brim with laid out casualties. Maio held a firm expression not for anyone else for the meantime he was alone but for himself, to reinforce his ego that he was not afraid of some barbarian tricks.

He continued further until he was about a third of a league away from the enemy's Aerial landing site near a graveyard where a distant man on horseback was in his way, waiting at a split of the road who at closer inspection was Centurion Anton himself.

"Centurion!" He shouted, "What the hell's going on?" His subordinate was quick on giving his salute and wasted no time.

"General, the enemy has incredible firepower despite his numerical inferiority. The Orcs were completely massacred and the equites legionis is no longer an effective fighting force. Theres so many dead and wounded we can count them all. If nothing is done then we'll surely be destroyed."

Maio scowled, angered by the stream of bad news given to him. His first battle was supposed to be glorious but instead it was cursed.

"Could you at the very least give me something other then cowardly whining? You are a Saderan man fighting in the emperor's army! Your defeatist mindset is rubbing off on the men. I met a runner from your unit that looked as if he wetted himself."

Centurien Anton frowned with confusion, as if Maio grew a third eye on his forehead.

"I sent no runner sir. The horses of the equites legionis are all dead and the only horses left is mine and the ones retrieving the wounded."

As much as he tried to fight it , his face went red in both embarrassment and fury. A mere coward had fooled a noble like him. He thanked the Gods that daughter of a concubine wasn't hear or he'd hear the end of it.

"Damn it all! Please tell me you don't plan on running." Grumbled the blonde as looked down and rubbed his forehead.

The centurion thankfully shook his head. "No sir, we managed to hold a defense at an iron wagonway build on a low mound of gravel though it is shaky and the men are close to running low on ammunition."

The situation was rather unfavorable but far from lost, he had enough time to turn things around. He still had time to make a good impression, to prove to those bastards that he was destined for more then just a measly viscount.

"Then why are you here then?"

"I was about to find you when I saw you were coming down the road." He answered, which only further reinforced his belief that this man was unfit to call himself a Saderan.

"Never mind that, get back to the battle now least you be charged with insubordination."

Anton saluted and rode back in the direction of the action while Maio all full speed galloped to retrieve the rest of his legion who at this time was sure to be adequately equipped. He'd also rally additional troops to save the day. Going with this thought, his worried melted as snow in spring.

Several minutes later...

The legionnaire flinched as there was a loud crack in the air, let someone had slammed a whip with all their might. This was a dramatic contrast to the long marching he had spent all day doing and claiming the occasional trinket he found laying around. The explosions were scary, but the Ignishasta fire was petrifying. what was left of the cohort were in a wooded area with a perimeter of about two thirds of a league while a century armed with a terrible weapon called a multi-hasta behind a wagonway mound.

It was a light artillery mounted on a small cart with twenty-four barrels, each filled with the same amount of solin powder as Ignishastae but with six lead balls each. With a single touch hole, all barrels would fire and cut down a formation with ease. He was grateful for it to be on his side though even that wouldn't save him from the hailstorm he was receiving.

The enemy seemed to have a continuous and infinite volley that had inhuman endurance, an eternal storm that destroyed everything in its path. He was sure the only reason he was alive was because he had been laying down behind a rather thick tree. The sound of weapons going off and the screams of the casualties was deafening. He glanced over to a legionnaires in a fetal position crying while cover his eyes.

What started off as an interception of skirmishes quickly devalued to an unfair contest of will. The Orcs did their job and tanked their volleys, but they eventually were wiped clean. Equites legionis charged head on only to be either riddled with holes or trampled on by panicked horses. The imbalance of firepower forced the Saderans to attempt to fend off the counterattack though this clearly wasn't going to plan.

The legionnaire had only seen quick glimpses of them before their retreat away from the paved area. They wore green tunics with match helmet and torso armor, carried ignishastae that ripped men to shreds and ferocity only matched by the infamous Demi-Rabbits.

"Oh Gods! What did we do to deserve this?!" Cried out a voice in fear. "We're all going die!"

the voice wailed on for nearly a whole minute before suddenly cutting out, his death being more then likely. Another voice rose above the drowning sea of sound.

"Warriors of the Empire! Our allies are coming soon. Don't give them-" He too was cut off but the sound of labored gasps and bloodied coughs soon followed. If he wasn't getting up then he surely as hell wouldn't now. It wasn't possible for a man to survive such onslaught.

Then for barley a second, a harsh whistle cut through the air before a loud explosion made his insides jiggle from the shockwave. His ears rang so bad that he could hear his thoughts. Through the ringing he heard shouts and screams. He rose his head to see legionaries running away for their lives.

Though dissy, unbalanced, and currently hard of hearing, pushed his body up in slow janky motion untl he was somewhat upright. What started off as slow walking turned to a brisk pace to jogging to a flimsy attempt to sprint by the time he reached a large lawn with a forested area. Like a drunken sailor he nearly lost his balance several times but he pushed and pushed and pushed.

He was so close to reletive safety when he suddenly dropped liked a thrown bag of fruit and with all his inertia face plant into the dirt. He laid there for a few seconds as his brain attempted to figure out why he was on the ground, and it was before the pain came.

The initial pain was obviously his nose which he might of broken, he spluttered and wheezed and snorted much more then one should so he got his answer even before seeing his blood drip onto the grass. Then it was in his leg, far different from the pain in his face.

It was like someone had pressed a thin hot piece of metal against his skin and penetrated through his flesh. Looking back to his leg showed him warm crimson blood dripping down to his ankle like small tributaries of a river going in a general direction.

He summoned all his willpower not to cry out in pain, it was unholy and tears blurred his vision. His body unconsciously flinched as the familiar cracking sound came back. He noticed the ringing wasn't as bad as before but still present. It was only then did he, still in a daze, remember that he was in the middle of a battle, of rather a rout.

The legionnaire saw a band of men behind him, perhaps as many as five or so, sprinting as fast as humanly possible away from their previous positions. They ran past wounded and dead sprawled out across the ground that formed a incoherent pattern of death. Then a explosion several paces behind them went off.

Dust and smoke was kicked up into a miniature cloud as in a blink of an eye, one was blown to bits, another being thrown forward by the concussion, and the rest falling down with only one managing to get back on his feet.

The pained wailing of the other two somehow managed to drown out everything else as he, with all his strength crawled on all fours to the tree line where one of his comrades ran out of cover to drag him to safety. But once they were under the canopy, he couldn't thank him as a lead round pierced the side of his savior.

"Healer! I have two wounded here!" Shouted a third man who crotched next to them despite the rounds flying past. "One's hit in the leg and-."

"Everyone's wounded damn it!" Replied a voice, "Take them away if you so wish."

Calasta's anxiety rose as he could hear the rapid ignishasta reports from across the river. The battle had been going on for some time when he had received an urgent request from Maio for reinforcements to which he happily accepted. Thankfully, the young general had quickly readied his men the second he saw those mushroom warriors floating down from the sky.

With a portion of his legion stay put in the western outskirts, the rest marched south to squash the surprise attack. He decided to trail slightly behind the marching column and allow his subordinates deal with any resistance. Though these people had strange architecture and weird contraptions of metal, he was glad their forests were green. He took a good breath of the fresh air as his force marched down the dual road way away from the crowd city center.

He had been shaken by the explosions that went off but his legion got away with limited casualties and for the immediate time being seemed to simmer down. Though their weapons and craftsmanship were impressive was simply too small and scattered in comparison to the Saderan Imperial army. But his seemingly rising mood began falter as relatively close and intense ingishasta reports were heard.

'The vanguard must've encountered enemy troops.' He thought as he went and scratched his left wrist with his other hand as a discreet way of relieving stress.

The young noble listened in on the action, the drumming creaking of weapons and pops from explosions. Although he was eager to make proud his dear aunt and uncle, this throat tightened and a heavy weight was placed on his chest. He couldn't explain it but something wasn't right.

Then an older man, with long sideburns came quickly riding up to him from down the road way. His face was grimy with solin and sweat with his green eyes sticking out like a sore thumb.

"My general, I have news. Ours scouts reported men in iron carriages guarding the river crossings.

"They must be either a reconnaissance party who'll be sure to alert their comrades if we don't move fast enough." He stated, turning to the bugler.

"The men are to march double time, we must reinforce our allies as soon as possible!" The bugler needed no more words as he blew the signal to speed up the march.

The speed of the column slowly picked up speed as other buglers repeated the tone down the line. Calasta thought for a moment before he decided he wanted to see the action, from a relatively safe distance of course, and sped up his horse.

Wheeeesh! KABOW!

Suddenly a powerful went off, giving birth to a bright light for barely a second that for a moment blinded him, knocking him out cold.

White house, Washington D.C

Fours hours into this strange headache had seen a lot of progress concerning Plattsburgh and the surrounding area. Built up air power had rained as much hell as it could without leveling the city, turning bunched up men into crispy pieces of gore. The National Guard was mobilized and had all but surrounded the occupied city. Sure they kept pumping out their hordes of men and creatures and dragons but these were easily dealt with, just like every single attack thrown at them.

The paradrop was a resounding success with the entire Parc CDP and the portion of Plattsburgh on the southern bank of the Saranac which of course is not mentioning the destruction of two rather large formations in the engagement. One was destroyed by the 504th Infantry Regiment in Parc while the other suffered ruthless attacks by Reaper drones from Hancock base when it attempted to hit the paratrooper's left flank.

The media for its part was clawing for any information possible about the attack and the people demanding answers, but those answers weren't very pretty.

To say things were bad was an understatement. UAV and footage captured by civilians on the ground showed monsters that resembled Tolkien like creatures devouring people as they ran away, mangled bodies littering the streets, armed men breaking into homes, and other vile things he hadn't want to even think about.

To make things even worse was video evidence of civilians being rounded up in Cumberland Head and being shoved onto carts that would disappear into a large greco style structure which was theorized to be the source of this problem. Once the American public had fully grasped the situation, all hell would break loose.

Even with all that, Dirrel's expression didn't change when an explosion when off on the tablet screen, wiping out an entire group of men. He had seen so many of these that he was effectively desensitized to it. It seemed that they had no knowledge of airpower or just could care less about the lives of their men considered the air force was having a field day with so many targets.

But there was one question that was one his mind: where the hell did they come from?