Operation Black Dawn
Mission 14 - Clusterfuck
September 29(?) - 1995/December 1096
Fifteen minutes after Mojo 1 and Yellow 4's retreat
"Kane doesn't value human life. Unlike any normal being with an unfucked moral compass, he throws men into a grinder expecting them to win. And unfortunately, he's viewed as a hero by the rest of the world."
- General William Westmoreland [UNGDI], 1969
Brigadier-General Jean Fitzgerald [Allied Nations] - Chernobog, ? - Dated September 29, 1995.
"What the hell just happened?" I asked, coming out of the breakroom with a cup of coffee that I really needed after sending people out to strike the bastards trying to shoot at a pilot. When I came back, the communications room was a total shitshow with officers scattering papers everywhere, a shitton of yelling, hell, I swore I heard a guy shout "Don't pull off a Westmoreland!" from the rows and rows of computers with officers yelling.
Walking over to the guy who initially got into contact with the Warrant Officer - all the while avoiding flying papers, screaming radiomen, and getting my coffee thrown - I tapped his shoulder while sipping out of my coffee.
"What's going on?" I ask, drinking out of the mug as the communications officer took a long drawn sigh, took off his headset, and pointed towards the radar screen on his computer.
'MOJO 2 - SHOT DOWN' was displayed on the radar mapping of a city.
'TRANSPORT UNIT - GROUNDED' was also displayed, just far away from Mojo 2.
'MOJO 1 - RETREATING' and 'YELLOW 4 - RETREATING' were the last things displayed on the radar as the signatures on the radar moved. Now, at that moment, I was trying not to gag on my coffee, but I pulled through anyway. So instead I had to ask the most important question of all. "Okay, what the fuck happened here?" I asked, looking at the screen closer.
"Mojo 2 got hit by debris and was shot down, but reports corroborated say he 'chuted out immediately. Transport Unit landed after takeoff to ensure that they didn't get hit." He said, before letting despair take him and doing his daily ritual of 'palm, meet face'. "Sir, I don't know how this happened, but..." He let go of his face and let out another drawn out sigh before pulling his cap down on his face. "Jesus Christ, this op was supposed to be simple..."
I had to sympathize with him. After all, no man can expect an operation to go this level of shit. With one part of the air support shot down, the transport unit being forced to land, and the only two other CAS available retreating...? Yeah, he should have brought more aircraft... Or maybe not, considering that debris was what got Mojo 2 downed.
Regardless, I don't see the future - Unlike that bald bastard in charge of Nod - so I look at him with a face of sympathy. Or, I try to. But he got it either way and just solemnly nodded.
"Get another reinforcement unit," I ordered, sipping my coffee again. "This time I want it to be transport units and infantry too," I added. "I want two weapons squads on deployment, one mortar team, two SIDAMs, and four M113 APCs." Giving the exact list of units was amusing, as I got to see the man's face react surprised at how much I was going to throw, but immediately went back to a stern face and nodding at my sort-of-insane unit composition.
"Yes sir."
And as luck would have it, when the comms officer turned to talk to the next guy, who also turned to talk to the next guy, and the falling of dominoes after that - the chaos ceased and people were giving clear orders and corroboration now.
I love it when GDI functions properly.
But...
My coffee?
"Merde. I'm never microwaving it again."
Medical Officer Jan 'Hino' Kowalski [Allied Nations - Deustches Reich] - Chernobog,? - Dated September 29, 1995.
"CONTACT! 200 METERS, TO THE RIGHT OF US!"
"TARGET ACQUIRED!"
"FIRE!"
I pressed the trigger on the M16A2 I was issued as I held the weapon on a stable surface - that being a car. The burst of fire from M3 Eliminators and M16A2s supplemented the utter bullshit I saw from our HVT's friends. If someone told me that we would be fighting wars with magic on our side, I would have thought the bastard to be referring to Obelisks of Light - and even then those were derived from PRISM weapons back in the Second World War.
But to see a medical officer being healed after a shot to the stomach by some person with a staff that brought upon the power of God apparently to heal the arrow wound?
My initial reaction was to stare at the healer in stunned silence. Not even firing a weapon. And then the shouting - from me, of course; the others were busy fighting - began as used all my might on my vocal cords.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHI-" I said before I narrowly avoided getting hit in the head with an arrow thanks to the wonders of PASGT*. The pilot's helmet was thin as hell - as seen from the arrow hole on it - but the Minigunner's PASGT armor - be it Noddie Gray or GDI Desert - was objectively more protective.
As demonstrated by the fact that I only suffered a mild headache from that near-miss.
The operator, however?
Well she was stunned by my shouting. Then came the deflection of an arrow with WAY more force than normal arrows.
"I..."
"WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT DOES THAT TO A MOTHERFUCKER?!" I turn my head to ask, swearing as much as I could to get the adrenaline from nearly dying out of my system. "MAGIC?!"
I get my answer while pulling the trigger to unleash another round of ammo into the guys charging at us. And while I was doing that, the Commando across the lines was casually standing on top of the car barricades, shooting a handheld anti-materiel rifle* one-handed. On the left hand too. While chowing on a biscuit he obtained from a pack he brought earlier.
Minigunners and Commandos are a different breed, I swear to God.
"YOU'VE NEVER SEEN ARTS BEFORE?" The apparent medical officer of the HVT's allies - one dressed in attire that befitted a medic - asked, with the one carrying the healing staff repeating the same question too.
"I've only seen Arts and Crafts! And I'm terrible at those!" I shouted, retaliating while speaking as I blindly fired while now in cover after nearly dying because I stuck my head out. "What the hell are Arts in this context?!" I ask, still looking at them while firing with my gun sticking out of a car window.
And as an arrow nearly missed my gun and instead flew off to wherever, I was thankful that I would continue this conversation while in cover and not while turning my head away from the swarm of people tossing arrows at me.
"Uhh..."
"I'm very certain I ain't high, nor have I consumed any human flesh!" I stopped retaliating when my gun jammed and had to clear it out while arrows barraged me and my friends. Yes, 'shitstorm' does not begin to describe what I'm currently feeling as of now. "So please carefully explain it to me in LAYMAN'S TERMS!" I finished, opening up the receiver to clear out the jam.
"Arts is..." The medic turned to one with the staff. "Arts is the manipulation of Originium in order to use abilities like healing." She finished as I fished the jammed casing out of the bolt by jamming the cleaning rod through the barrel as fast as I could. "The abilities of Arts are not just limited to healing, however." She added, clinging onto her head as she crouched down to avoid getting shot in the face.
"So you're telling me that there's more layers to magic bullshit?" I ask, turning my head to open fire upon one of the 'snipers' with a crossbow who tried to open fire at someone else - I don't know if it was the Commando or something else. "Jesus Christ, Command better know this..." I mumbled.
"Has your organization never used Arts before?!"
"Hell no! We don't use medical fucking magic!" I shouted, placing the rifle down on the ground as I opened my bag to retrieve my medical kit. An idiotic decision in battle, but I'm pretty sure the Commando can kill 'em all even without the rest of us in the Transport Unit. But still, the sheer shock of finding out that, 'Yes, magical medics exist.' Was too much for me. "We just use this shit!" I shouted as I pulled out the medical kit.
"Is that a medikit...?"
"Yes!" I shouted, picking my rifle back up and returning fire. Arrows pinged on the side of the car as I kept on firing at them. "We don't have any of that magical bullshit!"
The two medics stared dumbfoundedly. Hell, I see it in their eyes. They're just as confused as I am.
"How in the hell are you-" One of them shouted, but I didn't have time to answer her question, however...
Because as soon as she was about to actually ask the question I heard a dying scream from one of the GDI soldiers. Turning my head to the direction of the sound, also known as to my behind, I saw a GDI Minigunner get an arrow lodged in his throat. He laid back down, clearly in pain, at the arrow on his throat. Normally, this would be treated by other Medics, but...
"Shit!" I shouted, rushing over to them. When I got to the poor guy, he was clutching his throat and bleeding out of it. While it was guaranteed that he would survive that, getting a man back up would raise the firepower of the firing line. One less gun just makes defending the firing line a lot more painful in the long run. And thus, just so I wouldn't have to deal with fewer people in the squad...
"Hold still!" I shouted to the Minigunner, who pulled out the arrow lodged in his throat. He was bleeding out of it, and my first response? Take a bandage and wrap it around his throat. Then I took a stimulant syringe and jammed it into his neck, then pulled out a torch and began cauterizing the bleeding throat, sealing it tight
"Thanks, Doc." He gave out, his throat burned, and currently suffering regeneration-via-cancerous-tumor. Yep, that was going to give them something to be scared about. Though he sounded completely normal even after getting an arrow and a burn to the throat. I gave him a thumbs-up and he went back to firing, blood still stained on his uniform, but with no blood leaking out of his throat any more. Another job well done as a medical officer. While being a Corporal.
The stimulant syringes they issued to medics were used to speed up the healing and regeneration of flesh. What it would essentially do was create a tumor that only had a few minutes to live, and regenerate the flesh using that. While most GDI and Nod soldiers were able to survive getting shot in the neck or in the head, the stimulants made regeneration a lot easier. And the cauterization would accelerate the healing as it meant that no flesh would bleed out.
While this was a traditional procedure for most in GDI, it wasn't always the standard procedure for some.
And the list of 'some' also included the friendlies of the HVT, apparently.
"W-WHAT THE FUCK?!" The Medic shouted. "HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE?! AND SPEAKING!"
I sigh and guessed that it was my time to explain.
Or at least, I would have if an arrow didn't lodge itself on the side of my throat.
And it hurt. A lot.
"Motherfu-" I shouted, crouching to get the torch to cauterize the wound.
"What the hell-" The medic shouted, before the one with the staff waved it around... and suddenly I felt the hole plug in.
"You're fixed!" She shouted, "Now can you explain how the hell he managed to survive a throat wound?"
I positioned myself so I could fire blindly against the remaining people charging.
"Stimulant packs!" I turned my head to the two medics, before firing off another burst. "They stimulate regeneration with a non-cancerous tumor!" Another burst blindly, and I was out of ammunition. "They die as soon as the wound's plugged in, so you don't need to worry about uncontrollable regeneration!" I added, loading a magazine in and pulling the charging handle.
"H-how does that work?!"
"Don't ask me! I studied for seven years, but I'm not a biologist! I'm a harm-acist!" I finished up with another blind fire burst.
Such was a day in the life of a GDI Minigunner.
Even with another arrow to my throat.
"FU-"
Colonel F. Klepacki [Organization of American States - United States] - Chernobog, ? - Dated September 29, 1995.
"That was left-handed." I deadpanned to the head honcho of the operation - one Instructor Dobermann - as she questioned the use of the fifty-caliber rifle. In all honesty, who would have expected that none of the HVT's allies bar the 'Doctor' and that one gal who introduced herself as Jessica would have guns?
Not me. Nor the rest of the command staff. But the HVT forgot to inform us. Were it not for the fact that we were stranded, I would have given him the stare. Also known as the patented Commando Stare. But, enough of that. I had an objective to fulfill. And a shitton of these... 'Reunion' bastards to kill. They didn't sound like no military organization to me, but hey, you gotta name things sometimes.
"How are you able to fire that left-handed... without any Arts control?" Dobermann asked me, eyes on the same level as DSGT. Ornan on another day of finding a recruit with a Cards Against Humanity desk.
And as soon as the ammunition clicked empty, I ignored her question in favor of tossing the .50 BMG magazine on the ground and loading it with another one.
Aiming through the scope of the rifle, I took a moment to adjust my eyes. More Reunion approached our position. At that point, I was burning through ammunition faster than a hot knife through butter. I was down to two more magazines, and if I run out, I might as well switch to the shotgun.
And as soon as a Sniper attempted to show his face, I blasted his face off with the rifle.
"Keep 'em coming," I said, throwing down my cigarette and stomping it with my foot.
Though, much to my annoyance, I had seen that we were just getting attacked and attacked over again.
I would've stayed up top, but... alas, I had to deal with the bullshit known as 'getting swarmed by arrows' a lot. Hopping off by jumping backward, I took to hiding behind a car and finally looked at Dobermann for explanations. And apparently, some really strong ones too, as she eyed me with the eyes of both the DSGT and a Dog staring me down.
"What kind of gun is that, anyway?" Jessica, leaning behind Dobermann, asked. "It's too big to be a traditional gun, and yet it's not a cannon. What the hell is that thing?"
I smirked. Looks like someone finally gets to see the might of the Initiative's work.
And at that suggestion, I pulled the charging handle of the rifle to give her a good look at the ammunition inside it. With my head turned to her, she looked wide-eyed as a .50 Cal ejected from the charging handle.
"Fifty-Caliber sniper rifle," I answered. "Standard issue for Commando units."
"Commando? Is that some form of Specialist?" She asked, pulling the slide on her gun as she reloaded in a presumed attempt to go on the same level as I.
"Yes," I answered honestly. "Commandos are the cream of the crop in our organization."
"What would an organization such as the 'United Nations' even do with people like you around?" Dobermann asked, taking cover as arrows bombarded the barricade line again.
"Ever heard of the Tan Berets?"
"No. What are they?"
"They're the people of my organization," I commented, peeking out of the car barricade and shooting at one guy with a sword using the rifle. "I'd love to tell you more but I'm legally bonded by honor and contract."
Dobermann and Jessica looked at me with disappointment, probably expecting me to brag more and more so she could commence Immanent Critique. That was Hegelian, by the way.
But she didn't get any answers, so...
Back to fighting.
As I stayed near the car barricade, taking shot after shot, I thought that things would be a stagnant status quo until this shitty-ass weather stopped.
Boy was I wrong.
"Adnachiel! Respond!" I heard amidst the chaos, catching my ears.
"Fuck's sake..." I murmured.
"W-what?! Are you serious?!" I heard yet again. This time, from Dobermann.
"The hell happened?" I asked, stopping the whole shot-after-shot routine to look at them. Dobermann looked pissed. And disappointed, angry, and 'oh this is gonna suck' at the same time. I don't know how she did that. But hey, you sometimes have to deal with the bullshit that gets in your way.
I expected it to be a normal problem, or that the storm was getting worse.
No. It was far worse.
"I lost contact with our other teams."
"...What?" I spoke up, looking at her as if she had said my Dog died.
"I can't get into contact with Adnachiel's team..." I never knew who he was, but still, if we had other people around who didn't make it out... that only meant the worst.
"Drones!" I heard too, amidst everything else. Darting my eyes to the origin, I could only see something that would be best described by an angry bout of swearing and a shitload of yelling.
A fucking fleet of drones approaching our position.
Now, for the operation, we only brought one Rocketeer just to fill in the slots of a squadron.
And only now was he useful.
As a rocket zoomed with the contrail heading towards one of the drones, I couldn't help but tell myself some pessimistic things.
"This is only going to get worse..." I spoke.
I was unaware that God hated me even more.
"We lost contact with Ace, Guard, and Scout!" Jessica shouted, amidst the chaos.
"Damnit!" Dobermann shouted out, frustrated. "We have a problem here! All units, barricade the line! Things are only going to get worse!" She added.
Internally, after seeing all this bullshit, I sighed.
Could God stop taking my suggestions so literally?
Sometimes, I wonder if he says 'no'.
Flight Lieutenant Mojo 2 [Allied Nations - Republic of Britain] - Chernobog, ? - Dated September 29, 1995.
"Die, die, die, die!"
When I was a kid, I used to stomp on things on the ground out of frustration, usually saying some form of 'Die' towards the thing in question. But then, I got help. And I managed to get a slow recovery, and ended up with a silver tongue of a comedian instead of the blinding rage of... well, rage. I thought that was it. That would be enough for my life.
Sometimes, I still had fits of anger and bursts, but overall, I made a complete recovery. And I was able to reconcile with life, to avoid devolving into a raging caveman once again.
Then I joined the Republican Air Force, with the hope of achieving stress relief by flight. And banter with squadrons. I had it all! Humor, camaraderie, and avoiding anger.
So, why was this relevant?
In my rage after ejecting and nearly getting shot by arrows and arrows...
...I had enough.
And beneath me were three white-dressed fuckers. All of them, on the ground. Thanks to a wonderful thing called a .38 Special revolver. The Model 10.
When they tried to approach me, clearly with the goal of just fucking killing me, I decided to stand my ground. By trying to murder them. As soon as they pulled out their swords and slowly marched, I had the revolver in my hands.
They never expected it. I tried shooting them in the face, but all that did was stagger them. Their bullshit mask is enough to stagger .38 SPC. Then again, that's to be expected.
So, what alternative did I pick?
I just took to running up to them, pressing the gun up to their stomach, and firing. Two of them went down easily, even with .38 Special being as shit of a round as it is. Somehow this gun is just powerful enough to kill these fuckers.
Of course, when the last person tried to attack me, I simply kicked him in the balls.
Then I resorted to bashing their stupid face in. With the gun. Hell, I'm pretty sure I stabbed him with it as I stuck the barrel to his eye and brain.
"DIE!" I had finally finished, with me replacing the gun bashing for a boot stomp directly to his face instead. I delivered it with as much force as I could at the present, shattering his mask and revealing a brutally beat-up face frozen in fear upon the sight of a boot on their face.
I...
I had enough.
As I lay there, my gun nearly dropping as I collapsed in exhaustion, slumped up against the wrecked ruins of my Harrier.
I wondered what did I do to deserve this.
And how much more would be thrown at me?
If only I knew how worse it could get.
As if in a queue, I looked up to get a better look at who would be trying to kill me.
And my eyes widened as I looked up to find someone trying to kill me and not my paranoia.
Right there; right in front of my eyes was a woman with an M4 rifle and what looked like a C4 Detonator. Much to my horror, she was accompanied by a group of people who were most certainly with the fuckers who tried to kill me earlier.
I stared them down, grabbing my gun and raising it at the woman.
"Stand back!" I shouted.
I held the revolver as high as I could, trying to give off the impression of fearless.
But of course, that's not always the case.
And due to being frozen in place, I had some bad reaction timing. That just happens to you, unfortunately.
After all, just ask me anything after this.
I would be shit at answering.
Ringleader W - Chernobog, Ursus Empire - Dated ?, 1096
W was intrigued. When she heard that the Rhodes Island group had reinforcements on their side, she thought they would mean the other teams she had dealt with. Chumps, in her opinion. At least, what she thinks is her opinion. So she decided to sit out the assault against their reinforcements, expecting them to be overwhelmed easily.
She was wrong. For the first time since the fall of Babel, she was very wrong.
When she heard the somewhat familiar noises of aircraft - the concept of which was alien to most Reunion members - she thought 'Oh, extraction.'
It was only when she saw the large aircraft in the sky fire down at her compatriots - her senses stung at the mention of that word - was she proven the loser of the day for 'I Spy'.
When the Reunion waves were devastated, and sniper nests annihilated in the blink of an eye by a single aircraft high in the sky; She stood there, watching. Intrigued. It was her first time seeing a force that could rightfully think of Reunion as ants to slaughter.
Underneath that explosive mask came one of curiousity now. Who is it that RI picked up that was able to brutally stomp Reunion to the brink of running out of manpower? Had Talulah been here rather than her, that she-dragon would have gone into a furious rage in a vain effort to stop these new players.
Well, thank the heavens she wasn't there.
But when the Catastrophe came, the big aircraft had been forced to retreat. It disappointed her, as she was more than curious and willing to learn about these new people.
But when one of their aircraft burned and crashed into the ground with a clear-as-day parachute trailing after it, she only had two natural feelings.
That of extreme curiosity.
And the desire to blow something up to compensate for her disappointment at the retreat of the 'big bird' as she had taken to calling it.
With a bunch of Grunts who followed her, she set off to find the crash site.
Of course, when she finally arrived at the scene of the crash with smoke pluming from it, she came across a very interesting and amusing sight. That sight being the sight of what looked like a pilot - helmet and suit gave it away - with three grunts dead. He was clutching a gun. Her first impression was that he was one who was impressive with Arts. Especially since her rifle was practically unusable.
Her presumptions were mostly correct as he raised his gun at her. But he appeared to be shaking. Perhaps from inefficient control of Arts?
Whatever the case, it interested her more.
And that interest only grow upon the utterance of his threats.
"Stand back!"
Of course, knowing W, she took this as an interesting proposal. Maybe he didn't deserve to die off. Most people Reunion would surround were cowards. Some would go on and surrender, some would just off themselves, but for a person like him to stand up and defend himself?
Well, she had a perfectly good reason to be interested in him. Of course, she did want to know who RI's new 'friends' - or probably acquaintances - were. While she could attempt capturing him, she could find other paper trails to search for people like him. It was much more fun to uncover the big mystery surrounding things rather than only seeing the tip.
Don't take that any other way.
So, W laughed. Laughing at him? No. Just laughing at the circumstances. Her humor was one of bitterness and anger at SOME people for ruining her old Job. But hey, at least she had a new objective. Find the paper trails leading to this man's organization. But maybe someday. As today, she wanted to let him go. Of course, while he wouldn't die at her hands, she was hoping he survived the trip back.
If not? She'd just simply go on to find more paper trails.
Nothing stays hidden forever.
"I'll tell you what," She interrupted her own laughter to tell him something very important. "I'll give you until the count of three to get out of here." She finished. Pulling out an explosive charge while doing it. Hey, she finally found a way to relieve her stress. Blowing shit up was something she specialized at, and had an excellent opinion on the job.
The man could tell that she was serious. Thankfully. And he took the hint.
The man bolted to his left, just as she had prepared to throw the explosive charges at him. Perhaps he'd like to see a fireworks display?
Ah who was she kidding.
"One..." She finally counted down properly for the first time. Not skipping ahead to laugh at the people's surprised faces. That pilot's helmet wouldn't even display anything facial, so better to go after the ones who could show fear.
"Two..." She began to position her arm at a throwing angle, hopefully enough to miss the man but also enough to look like she was supposed to hit him properly.
"Three!" She shouted, tossing the charge at the man. She missed - obviously - but it was near enough that he could feel the shockwave from the blast get to him. So as soon as the charge landed and he had enough distance, W pressed the detonator.
The charge exploded, but the man didn't just stumble down and fuck up his routine.
No, he stumbled down, got back up while falling, and continued running.
To say that W's smile increased would be an understatement. Maybe, just maybe, she could finally take a break from the Looney Bin that was this hellhole of an organization.
If only she got that opportunity sooner.
"Why'd you let him go? He was one of the oppressors. Non-infected." One of the grunts commented.
"Yeah! You're gonna let him go to terrorize the oppressed like us?!" Okay, the phrasing on that one made it sound like he was going to do a Reunion: terrorize and burn.
Important life lesson: When things don't go your way, commit terrorism.
Of course, W glared at the people who suggested those. While the rest of her grunts refused to comment.
"He deserved it more than other people like him," She crossed her arms, walking over to the wreck. "He was willing to die here fighting. Most people would off themselves or surrender." She commented while inspecting the wreckage via dusting it off.
The words 'ALLIED NATIONS AIR FORCE' surprised her. And garnered her raising an eyebrow.
Perhaps there truly was another big player out there. Just waiting for the right time.
The right time to what?
Destroy this fucking crazy asylum of a militia.
"What do we do about this?" One grunt asked, asking about the wreck.
"Simple, asshole," W commented. "Tell the She-Dragon that we've got a bigger rabbit hole on our way."
Of course, knowing the She-Dragon, she'd result in trying to kill the people of this 'ALLIED NATIONS'.
But, internally she hoped that they'd make it out. Just to fuck with the She-Bitch.
And to watch o'er RI.
But mostly the first one. She really hated that bitch.
Author's Notes:
So, here we go. The Allied Nations - or, GDI - finally meet the wonderful people that comprise of Reunion's ringleaders. That, and GDI get a little bit of culture shock. Though it's minor compared to how RI would take it. Especially with the reinforcements approaching. Well, here's where I tone down the amount of focus I put onto this fic and move on to An Unwinnable War. But just know that GDI will not go quietly before reinforcements arrive. After all, the reinforcements were multiple units, four APCs, a mortar team, and two AA/Anti-Ground guns.
Reunion is not going to have a fun time. But at least W gets to sit back and watch the chaos. Purely to see She-Bitch have an aneurysm.
Have a great day, and see y'all next chapter.