A/N
It's been a while since my last update, so let's make up for lost time. Happy New Year, dear readers!
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"All warfare is based on deception." - Redacted Source
.::.
There's power in names.
The Dominion knows this well. It's why they give the best names to their favorite toys, so that when their enemies feel the sting of defeat- they would remember what delivered the killing blow.
In the long dead Norse sagas, the dragon Nidhogg was the serpent that gnawed at the roots of the world tree Yggdrasil. It was a symbol of destruction, a name synonymous with hate and malice. In a military perspective, the name evoked a vision of devastation. So, it was only fitting that the Dominion gave such a name to the second largest airship in their fleet.
The Nidhogg was, like the Jormungandr, a vessel that could carry a fleet of 150 jet-bombers and fighters. But instead of carrying aircraft, its decks bristled with artillery guns and ATGM launchers, emphasizing its role as an offensive vessel rather than just another carrier. The war against the Brotherhood of Steel taught the Dominion much. Borrowing the designs of their enemy's kinetic shielding afforded the development programs a number of options to explore, one of them was outfitting the ship with its own shields. Its core was capable of handling the sheer power prerequisites needed to keep the barriers up, especially when under fire.
If the Brotherhood had made a better effort to know more about the Dominion, as the Enclave undoubtedly have, there would still be a Texan Chapter left to stand up against the superpower.
When the Enclave Hornets broke through the fortress' defenses at Bloody Ridge, The Nidhogg was already on its way from Elysion. A maiden voyage, heading for a baptism of fire. All superweapons had to have one, and Nidhogg was no different. Were it not for the Blackwatch operatives on the ground, the enemy would have overwhelmed the defenders and taken the fortress. The proverbial rock against the waves, a certain Solomon Moore, held his ground with the 56th Armored Company at his back.
Old World America was no stranger to the concept of using weapons that fell under the category of overkill. When the situation called for a sledgehammer to be used on a bug, people were quick to give the okay for that order. Several hundred years of warfare later saw to that type of order becoming commonplace. When the black shape in the sky finally reached its full size, looming over the battlefield like an angel of death, the Nidhogg opened up and bathed the Enclave swarms with Dominion fire. Rockets and guided missiles rained down upon whole clusters of troops while the more precise gun batteries like the 105's mounted on the Nidhogg's prow sniped the Enclave's vehicles from a mile away. The earth quaked beneath the Dominion bombardment, the sky screeched with the thrum of dozens of jet-fighters.
Both Dominion and Enclave aircraft, duking it out in the airspaces, were zipping along the path of the massive airship. Some of the Huntsman jets collided with the kinetic shielding before their pilots realized it was there, much to the amusement of their Warhound counterparts.
After the airship made its presence known, it parked its massive rear close to the fortress to provide air support. The siege had been broken, and the paths were made safe again for relief to come for the beleaguered defenders. The wounded were flown out of the base, to be replaced by four fresh companies of Dominion rooks. Although the situation could be counted as a small victory, it didn't look that way for the guys on rotation.
When the new guys got off the Condors, the first sight that greeted them from inside the walls was the absolute carnage left when two superpowers in the wasteland went head-to-head. Men and boys ground and cut to pieces by shrapnel, shells or high-caliber bullets. The medics and the engineers couldn't move them out of sight fast enough. The new guys saw it, smelled it, and never forgot for the rest of their days.
It was a sobering moment, a wake-up call for some, a drug hit for others.
There were veterans among the survivors of the siege, war veterans from the Dominion-Brotherhood War. Men and women turned hard and cruel by the long years fighting the cult- the 56th Armored Company. They were at Bloody Ridge, not because they were the best, but because they were stubborn. They were used to fighting ten-foot-tall battlemechs that could snipe a tank from a mile away back when the Dominion only had the M2 Black Bears to spearhead every engagement. Now, facing an enemy on par with their capabilities, it boiled down to determination and luck. So far the 56th was the luckiest company in the Second Front.
Lieutenant Solomon Moore, and a couple other aesir from Blackwatch, hung around a parked M2 tank. They shared a case of cool beer with some of the tankers from the company, a luxury in times of war and a welcome one after what they've just been through. The aesir officer became somewhat of a hero to his peers within a short span of a day. Solomon was old blood, a fading generation that knew a thing or two about war, real war. And as it so happened, the Dominion got an operative with unique set of skills coupled with a bloodlust that made him incompatible with civilian life.
It suited the lieutenant just fine. He was where he was meant to be.
"Lieutenant Moore!" The fortress CO, Captain Vinnie D'Angelo, approached the tank. "I hope you've got a good damn reason for hauling contraband on my deck!"
Solomon threw the shorter man a nonchalant look, downed a whole can, then stood at attention. Cpt. D'Angelo, a mean-faced cigar-chomping brickhouse of a soldier, closed in on the aesir with a deadly glower that meant business. The aesir soldiers were instrumental in turning the tide, but the captain would abide no fools. Up until then, Solomon and his men were reckless and played loose with the rules. A bad example for the men on Bloody Ridge, and Vinnie could only take so much nonsense. It made for a funny picture, somewhat. The captain chewing out the bigger and more powerful transhuman operatives. Vinnie knew he may as well be talking to the wind. His authority over Blackwatch only went so far, Vinnie knew it and so did Solomon.
He couldn't punish the aesir, but he could certainly punish the tankers.
Solomon smiled as the unhappy soldiers were ordered to do 200 pushups, then a hundred more or until their arms gave out. To their credit, the tankers were tough. They pulled their weight just fine, sweating out the beer in the blistering Texan sun.
The aesir spotted a Condor gunship landing within the walls of the fortress and decided it was time to skip out of Bloody Ridge. Solomon was eager for another fight and the waiting was kind of killing him. He felt Vinnie's eyes on him all the way up the ramp, but he didn't care. If he was lucky, that would be the last he'd see of the captain and his hardass personality.
"What's the job?" The aesir commander put another cigarette between his lips as the guy on the gunship jumped out to meet him. These days, he treated each mission like a chore since they mostly felt like that. Hunt down this raider warlord, kill this wasteland critter freak, or make this potential dissident disappear. But every now and then there would be a job that he felt right at home with.
"Outpost Keen's been hit!" The guy holding the intel had to shout above the whine of the Condor's engines. Once they quieted down a bit, he relaxed. "Zeds set up some kind of long-range artillery, been hammering their defenses since this morning."
"Got anything on their total strength?"
He transferred the data onto Solomon's hard-suit computer, "Negative, lieutenant. Zeds been knocking out our eyes-in-the-sky. Safe to assume they've prepped on air defense, pretty much a no-fly zone over there."
But one thing must be clear, Solomon wasn't the kind of man who loved killing- he loved winning. After looking at the data, the aesir decided on his next course of action. "That air defense won't be up for long. Get me in touch with Elysion, I think I've got an idea."
Back in Elysion, the Intercessors plotted together with their new allies.
They couldn't believe their luck. By nature, members of the Brotherhood tended to flock to technologies like magpies with all things shiny. Billie Lynch and her motley band of murderous zealots were no different, and the Enclave had so much to share. Together, they shaped up the ragtag bunch of rebels into something that vaguely resembled a professional crew. Mr. E held up his end of the bargain by smuggling in several shipments of weapons, ammunition and equipment to outfit the Intercessors for the work ahead.
He gave them Enclave guns, Enclave body-armor and tools. He even started setting them up with Enclave cybernetic enhancements.
Billie went through with the operation first, rather willingly too. Some of her friends weren't happy about it, seeing the change as a betrayal of their Brotherhood roots. Billie didn't care. Anything that could give them an edge against the Dominion, anything at all, was fair play. A couple of Enclave scientists, also smuggled into Dominion lands under false identities, prepped up the machines right out of the trucks. The set up was inside the basement of one of the Intercessors' many safehouses, this one in an old warehouse in the Gypsy Mile.
The Intercessors loved hiding out in the Mile. As much as the judges liked to think themselves as a vigilant bunch, they had their blind-spots. The Mile was dirty, no matter how hard the city management tried to keep it as sparkling clean as Elysion or Carlon. Dirty places attracted dirty people, dirty people kept clean people away. Although, there was always a chance for a surprise. A crackdown, a weekend raid, just a friendly reminder from the judges that they still existed.
Billie climbed into the tube dressed in a tanktop and some sweatpants, then got comfy as the lid was closed over her. Tiny mechanical arms, like the inside of an auto-doc, started buzzing and working their way up and down her body. Mostly, they got to work on her face and eyes. Mr. E assured her it would be painless, but uncomfortable? All invasive procedures had to be.
His assurances were spot-on, at least. Billie was clear on the consequences if the machine did anything well beyond her consent.
"How are we doing in there?" She heard the Enclave spymaster's voice through the thick glass. His words reverberated throughout the hollow tube, "Hope we're not gettin' antsy in there?"
"Fuck off, E." Billie growled, glancing down at the little hands gliding over her stomach. "How much longer is this supposed to be?"
One of the eggheads spoke up, "Be still, Ms. Lynch. The enhancement procedure is building up nanorobotic reservoirs within your bones, and it cannot be rushed. Please, be patient."
Billie did as she was told. The augmentation she and Mr. E chose was something the Enclave scientists called a Chameleon Sleeve. E liked to explain things, and usually what he had to say required more than a little attention. When Old America fought China way back in the Great War, they found that the Chinese had a gift for espionage and infiltration, turned it into an art. America was quick to learn from its enemy, and since the Enclave fancied itself as the rightful successor to America, some of the things it inherited were the type of technologies that paved the way for the Sleeve.
When Billie got out of the tube, she noted an unfamiliar weight in her limbs. It felt like someone filled her up with sand, or tied something heavy around her arms and legs. The feeling was gone the moment the implant in her neck activated.
"Alright." The same doctor who talked to her earlier held up a wrist-wrap device with a datapad the size of his palm strapped to it. "This is an interface to help you get used to the Sleeve. Our operatives usually go without them, but for your case think of them as training-wheels. I advise you to learn it all by heart should the time come when you'd feel you'll no longer need it."
Billie put the datapad on and opened up the HUD, "So how's it work, doc?"
"The Sleeve can replicate a chosen face and fit it over yours with a bio-silicate film constructed from your own cells. It can also form one of your own design, all within the span of a minute. They can alter your voice to fit the subject too, even your height and weight. And should you encounter and problems on the job, the nanobots can construct impromptu self-defense measures as well."
"Like what?"
The doctor held her by the wrist and raised her arm, tapping at the datapad. "Razor nails, best used only in close-quarters. Cough, and you unleash an unseen burst of nanobots that could kill with a breath. Harden your skin against small-arms fire, or maybe your joints and bones when taking a fall. Really, the possibilities are limited to your imagination."
"Whoa, and you had this kind of tech all along?" Billie marveled at the long nine-inch nosferatu nails growing out of her fingers. She imagined what she could do with all that power, and the amount of Dominion blood she could shed with the Chameleon Sleeve.
"That among others." Mr. E boasted, turning to the others. "Who's next?"
More of the Intercessors were augmented in that shadowy basement, a little army of shadows themselves ready to wreak havoc in the heart of the Dominion. When they were finished, Billie gathered them up for a little talk. Mr. E had a plan, one that went right up the Intercessors' alley. The mission would involve recovering more stuff for the Enclave, giving the sleeved rebels an opportunity to use their newfound abilities on the field.
"There will be another shipment later today." He explained, "Six truckloads. They will be discovered by a Dominion inspection team outside of Riverside, and they will move to bag it up for further analysis. All of you sleeved ones will intercept that team and steal their identities."
Mr. E had a stack of folders filled with dossiers on the inspection team, "Know them, inside out. Then, assume their mission. Further instructions pending the acquisition of the packages."
"Do you want us to kill them?" Billie inquired.
"Of course." The spymaster nodded, "And ensure their remains never see the light of day."
"Any details on the package contents?"
"Now why spoil the surprise?" Mr. E chuckled, "Worry about that bit of revelation later, focus on bringing it home first. Trust me, it's worth the wait."
Quickly, the Intercessors stowed their gear onboard their convoy of civilian vehicles. Mr. E got inside the lead car with Billie, and they drove out of the warehouse. The convoy separated into groups of three's, taking different highways that would eventually converge on a single location so as not to draw any attention to them. Along the way, they spotted a commotion in front of one of their safehouses. The peacekeepers, led by a judge from Psy Ops, arrested a group of suspected Intercessor sympathizers.
They lined them up, then forced them to kneel in a nearby alley. After a brief mental screening by the judge, one was executed on the spot and the others were taken away for processing. It was a scene of brutal realism, cold and methodical as the Dominion was wont to be. One wrong step, a deviation from the law in any way, had consequences. The Intercessors couldn't afford slipping up, not when things were just going their way.
"Those guys sure work fast." Mr. E observed, trying not to look the judge in the eye as if it would keep him safe from the psyker's power. "Hey, ease up on the pedals will you? Don't wanna attract any unwanted attention."
"You scared, E?" Billie teased.
"Damn right I am." The spymaster fidgeted a little in his seat. "I'm good at my job, really good at my job. But throw me in front of a genuine mindreader? Have all my secrets splayed open like the pages of a book? Fuck that."
"I dunno, some people have a thing for that stuff. Might discover something about yourself."
"Shut up and drive, Lynch."
Half an hour later, the convoy met up at the aforementioned location. Like Mr. E said, six trucks were parked in the shade of a large grove of olive trees outside the city. The Dominion inspection team hadn't arrived yet, so there was time for the sleeved operatives to prepare for contact. Billie opened the back of her car and opened a case containing some of the Enclave weapons E had provided the Intercessors. Five submachineguns, bull-pup configured with built-in suppressors. E called them Anklebiters, small and foldable, easy to conceal with their polymer constitutions instead of steel.
They were weapons for resistance fighters, or spies.
"Remember, try not to shoot up anything." Billie cautioned her men, "This works only if there's little evidence of our interception."
"Copy, Lynch." The rebels acknowledged.
Mr. E stayed in the car and lowered his seat back, choosing to remain out of sight until after contact. Another half hour later, the inspection team rolled in. Thankfully, it was a small one with a single military escort vehicle just like the intel said. Having been briefed on the many code phrases or jargon to make their infiltration work, Billie felt confident in their success. The inspection team rolled up on the grove expecting to have a quick job and a drive back to base when they realized that something was amiss. But that feeling of dread wasn't enough for the military personnel escorting them, not enough to keep them alive when they sprung the trap.
The humvee doors opened, out marched a suspicious trio of Dominion rooks. The OIC walked up to Billie, who stood behind one of the parked cars. The Intercessors were crouched behind the other vehicles, out of sight but ready to jump out.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" The officer, a mean-faced woman with a bad smoker's voice, barked at her.
Billie raised her submachinegun and let out a tiny burst with a brief squeeze of the trigger. The Anklebiter sneezed thrice, turning the woman's face into a burst pumpkin of red. She fell back like a broken statue. All at once, the Intercessors started firing. Controlled bursts, methodical and swift, as they closed in on the inspection team like a tightening noose. The humvee didn't have a big gun on the roof like most military vehicles, so there wasn't anything much the rooks could do against the ambush.
Acting out of instinct, the driver of the team's van started backing up. Billie stopped him by emptying her clip through the windshield. She swore under her breath as the van lost control and rear-ended a tree. The survivors got out of the van and scattered.
"Hey, go on and kill them will ya?" Billie called out to her men while she reloaded. They finished off the rest and secured the site.
Mr. E was waiting for them back at the trucks. The Intercessors worked quickly to gather the bodies and laid them out on the dirt. The spymaster waited a bit more for the sleeved operatives to begin assuming their identities. The inspection team was made up of mostly civilian workers, the real value was in the rooks they killed. Billie assumed the identity of the OIC, a certain Sgt. Edith Stone, and let the nanomachines shape her body and face to match the woman's features. They even worked to match her voice, which wasn't all too hard.
"Who the hell am I?" Billie drawled, mocking the dead soldier. "Why, I'm you Sgt. Stone!"
"Ready for the big reveal?" Mr. E invited, gesturing for the infiltrators to follow him to the trucks.
He opened the heavy industrial container in the back, which contained several sleek and shiny canisters, each a foot and a half long. There were fifty canisters inside, each meticulously crated and shipped with a number of cautionary symbols stamped into the lids. When Billie saw them, she assumed that the shipment they recovered were biological weapons.
And she was right.
"A little something we've cooked up in the mountains of Appalachia. Refined and highly effective, especially in high populated areas." Mr. E sounded very proud as he explained their purpose, "What you're looking at is the definition of revenge, Ms. Lynch. The Scorch Virus. Three hundred canisters worth of it, enough to bring a city to its knees."
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