Chapter-2.
Taking Stock
Gorky Street, Moskvingrad,
Moskvingrad Oblast, Vostokvakian S.F.S.R.
In an ordinary evening in Moskvingrad, everything seemed normal. It was October and the weather was still pleasant. The lights along the Moskva Riverfront illuminated the area. People were out and about, visiting shops and enjoying meals. The decorations for Constitution Day were still up, with flags and banners adorning the streets. Although a foreigner might find the nightlife modest compared to other countries, it didn't matter to 13-year-old Polina. Moscow was her city, her home.
Suddenly, air raid sirens blared throughout the city. A bright light filled the sky, followed by a thunderous sound and an explosion in the Kitay-gorod District. Polina didn't know if it was a nuclear attack or not. She had learned about them in school and practiced drills, but never imagined experiencing one herself. After all, wasn't the new President Narmonov doing everything in his power to show the world that Vostokvakia and the West could get along happily?
Her father, Grisha, urgently grabbed her arm and pulled her along as they ran. In the chaos, Polina dropped the shopping bag filled with groceries and a small gift for her mother.
Ahead, they saw the entrance to the Metro. The large golden arch with the "M" symbol usually brought comfort to Polina. It was the usual mode of transportation for her and everyone else, especially since their family's car was at repair. But now, it appeared like the gaping mouth of a monstrous creature, devouring everyone rushing inside. People were pushing, shoving, screaming, and swearing.
A pair of Millitsya officers dressed in black were outside, struggling to control the crowd. As Anatoly pulled her past them, she could hear their conversation. The first officer spoke on his radio, saying, "Yes! Several people are heading this way! Close the gates!"
The second officer asked, "Who? Who is coming?"
An elderly woman, completely hysterical, screamed as she passed by, "Capitalist fascists!"
Ignoring her, the first officer replied, "Does it matter?" Next to him was a metal control box with an emergency gate switch. Polina shuddered as she read the large, yellow Cyrillic letters on the box lid, indicating that it should only be used in select circumstances. The first officer struggled to open the box, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys. Meanwhile, the second officer tried to push back the growing crowd.
Polina didn't wait to see how things would end. She and her father quickly made their way down the escalator. Moments later, they heard gunfire from behind, but they didn't know who was shooting or who they were shooting at. All Polina could think about was her mother and where she might be - at home or seeking refuge in one of the nearby Metro stations.
Leningrad.
Vostokvakian R.F.S.R
June 2nd 1995.
The mail clerk grumbled as he sorted the mail into the automatic conveyor belts. Most of the letters were probably from the Naval Bases in the North, the submariners. He gave another grunt. The man had once been a tank rider, part of Marshal Andreyev's 12th Shock Army. Now that was a good job. Ah those were the good old days. When something needed to be done, it was DONE. 45 years had passed and now what happened to the Vostokvakian fighting spirit? He and his comrades, all young boys and girls at the time had known no comfort but the exhaust of the tanks they rode on. Now they pampered the Armed Forces too much, its members from the lowest rank and upwards lived like Czarist Princes. Technology had made them soft. And the Liberalization and Democratization of Union had turned the motherland into an unrecognizable place for him.
Of course, it wasn't all bad. He had luxuries he couldn't imagine. The clerk sighed. And then he heard the sirens. He remembered them from the 2nd Great War. Grunting he shuffled to the window. Outside, the neon signs and billboards glowed while gunfire and explosions sounded far away in the outskirts. He looked down the street. First, a pair of mighty T-80U's trundled past, followed by trucks filled with young faces. Conscripts from Trakyeva.
"Yakov, look at the TV" the voice of Eviyeny, a younger Mail employee called out.
Yakov shuffled over to the small TV sitting on the mailroom counter. The state news channel was showing scenes of chaotic fighting on the outskirts of Moskvya. Armored soldiers in bizarre uniforms were battling Vostokvakian troops and tanks.
"What in Stalin's name is going on out there?" Yakov muttered.
Eviyeny shook his head, eyes glued to the screen. "The news anchor said something about invaders from space landing around the country. Like some alien attack!"
Yakov scowled as a T-80 exploded after being hit by a searing red beam of light from one of the invader's weapons. He had crewed tanks just like that in his youth.
"In my day, we would have crushed these fascists without breaking a sweat," he grumbled. "But today's army has gotten soft and complacent."
He watched as a squad of fresh-faced conscript soldiers moved warily through the streets; guns raised. Mere boys and girls who had probably never seen real combat before today.
Suddenly a battered T-72 lumbered around a corner, followed by a truck of hard-eyed naval infantry troops. Yakov recognized the anchor and shark insignia on their uniforms - an elite unit.
"Now those are some proper soldiers," Yakov remarked approvingly. "Maybe they can show these bastards some real Vostokvakian steel."
The battle for Moskvya raged on the TV as Yakov watched, emotions swirling. Once again, war had come to the Motherland.
Eupen, Federal Union of Benelux.
1st Armored Division.
Edenite Army of the Rhine. (EAOR)
Part of Organization of Free Nations NORTHAG (OFN NORTHAG).
June 2nd, 1995
"Mount up! Mount up!"
Those were the first words that greeted Lt Andre Sholto of the 1st Armored Division Of His Majesties' Royal Army. Jumping into action, he took a quick swig of tea from his thermos before jumping into action. Outside, black-bereted tank crewmen and their officers were going into either their Challenger I, Chieftain Mk 10, or Conqueror Universal Tank (UT). Sholto wasted no time arriving at the motor pool and entering his Challenger MBT, his crew nodded at his arrival before the tank was switched on and began to trundle in a straight line, joining the rest of the 3rd platoon of the 2nd Royal Tank Regiment, 7th Armored Brigade of the 1st Armored Div.
Within 15 minutes, they had arrived at the Benelux-Ulraznavian border. The roads, Sholto noticed were starkly empty as they crossed over the border soon travelling on the famed Ulraznavian Autobahn. The city of Aachen loomed in the distance. Now he was really confused. Ulraznavia, the third superpower in Euronia was Neutral. Keying in his radio, he contacted his superior, Capt Starkey.
"Captain, what on earth are we doing in Ulraznavia?"
"Orders from NORTHAG, apparently there's an alien attack of some sort. The Ulraznavian army moved into the People's Republic of Maszowia, which is Eastern Bloc territory from the Oder-Neisse Line to coordinate some form of "Defense" to stem the tide."
Sholto peered out of his cupola, yes there were indeed Ulraznavian border troops opening up barricades to let them through.
"Bloody Hell"
The column halted in the city center. Sholto watched Starkey, and a few other officers disappear into a building that had sandbags and barbed wire. Now waiting, tankers disappeared to use restrooms, cafes, and restaurants to eat up before the 24-hour drive to the Maszowian border.
Sholto's loader, Sgt Eric Loid poked his head through his hatch.
"So, LT what do you think this is all about?"
"I don't know Eric, but I don't think this is some snap maneuvers and exercise."
"Probably a false alarm?"
The towering spires of Aachen's cathedral rose majestically above the city, a reminder of centuries past. Sholto gazed up at them wistfully as the men milled about.
"Make the most of it lads, God knows what we'll find ahead."
Loid emerged from a bakery clutching several warm pastries. "Here sir, smells better than ration packs!"
Sholto accepted one gratefully. "Any rumors floating about what's waiting in Maszowia?"
Loid shook his head. "Locals seem oblivious. But the Ulraznavians manning the barricades looked proper rattled."
They ate in thoughtful silence, watching Aachen's peaceful routine continue undisturbed. For how long, who could say?
A familiar voice crackled over the radio. "All call signs, mount up. Briefing just ended, we're pushing on to the frontier ASAP."
The men scrambled back to their stations with renewed urgency. Engines rumbled to life as the column formed up.
Sholto fixed his sights ahead, nerves returning in force. "Right lads, you know the drill. Guns tight and eyes sharp - God alone knows what we'll find in the East."
They rolled from Aachen into lands grown isolated behind the Iron Curtain, leaving behind the illusion of normalcy. All fell quiet but for the grinding crunch of treads, fifty steel hearts pounding as one toward an unknown enemy.
Night cloaked the advancing column as it rumbled east through darkened farmland. Only the pale wash of moonlight betrayed rolling hills stretching to either side under a canopy of stars.
Sholto's thermal scope swept ceaselessly, finding no heat signatures beyond herds of cattle startled from pasture. "All's quiet so far. But keep those hatches buttoned up - first light could change things rapidly."
Dawn crept over the horizon in faint grey washes. The terrain grew more broken and barren the deeper they ventured from the Ulraznavia-Maszowia frontier. The long drive had been fraught with uncertainty. Thankfully the highways remained clear through silent allied territory, though refugees grew thicker as they neared the frontier.
Now in contested lands, confusion reigned. Sholto scanned roadsides cluttered with civilian transports, military vehicles of every description mingling in the chaos.
"Platoon, stay sharp - friendlies may not see us till it's too late out here." His gunner swept arcs ahead and flanks, wary of possible ambush.
A jammed T-64 blocked the road, crew arguing furiously with panicked Maszowians. Sholto hit the inter-squad. "First Troop, dismount and direct traffic. Keep it moving lads, double time!"
They pushed slowly onward, cordoning civilian traffic to verges when able. Bursts of distant gunfire echoed amid rising dawn mists - the enemy pressed ever closer to this impromptu rally point.
At last Lubin came into view, a hive of frenetic activity beneath harried overcast skies. Tanks ringed defensive positions as engineering crews threw up berms and wire with desperate speed.
A Concordian officer waved their lead elements forward. "Park up and stand to, we'll have tasking soon as high command sorts this shitshow!"
Sholto scanned the boiling masses, OFN and Pact troops alike. "All call signs stand fast. Keep it tight and tell the men to shelter down - this could kick off at any moment."
Sholto peered through the early light of dawn. It was a Tuesday, June 2nd, 1995. And it seemed the third world war, had begun.
NORAD, beneath Cheyenne Mountain,
Near Colorado Springs, State Of Colorado.
June 2nd, 1995.
General Donald Stephens muttered an exclamation under his breath as yet another flashing light appeared on the giant computer map in NORAD's command center. This time, it was located somewhere east of the Bay Area, adding to the growing list of flashing lights across the globe. The situation was becoming overwhelming.
"Sir!" Lieutenant Wilson spoke up, trying to provide some reassurance, "Based on our analysis, it doesn't seem to be a nuclear attack. We haven't detected any signs of EMPs, seismic activity, radiation, or any missile launches. New York, D.C., Chicago, Houston, Denver, Seattle, Philly... they all appear to be unaffected."
"Sir!" another Lieutenant chimed in from a nearby workstation, "According to the latest report, these objects seem to be metallic cylinders used for transportation and deployment of unknown contents."
"What?" Stephens snapped, frustration evident in his voice, "And who is responsible for this? Is this some kind of alien invasion?"
"We don't have all the answers yet, but it's becoming clear that it's not the Stovies," Captain Thomas replied, his attention still fixed on the computer monitor.
Stephens walked over to Thomson's station and leaned in, demanding, "Captain, contact El Toro immediately. Instruct them to dispatch a helicopter to investigate these objects and determine their origin."
"Sir, El Toro Air Station already has a Black Hawk en route to downtown L.A.," Thomson informed, relaying the information he received through his headphones, "We should have visual confirmation soon."
"Um, sir?" Lieutenant Wilson interjected, holding a telephone handset to his ear while his eyes remained fixed on the telefax machine on his desk, which was busily printing out a document. He continued, "NASA just sent this photo. Challenger captured it 10 minutes ago just as the first anomaly was showing up on radar."
General Stephens stared in stunned silence as the photo developed before his eyes. Floating above the planet was an immense armada the likes of which had never been witnessed.
Colossal, medieval cathedral-like structures of steel and adamantium formed the core - hulking warships over a mile in length. He counted at least five towering battleships, their towering spires and ornamentation shimmering in the sunlight.
Around them swirled a halo of supporting craft - lean battlecruisers wreathed in vapor trails, stout cruisers bristling with guns, lean light cruisers darting like predatory fish. Squadrons of smaller escort craft swarmed in defensive screens, reminiscent of knights arrayed around lords.
Dozens more ships hung past the battleline - carrying who knew what armaments or soldiers. Even at this scale they dwarfed the Challenger shuttle orbiting nearby.
"Sir, El Toro reports visual on the L.A. site. Sending feed now." Thomson's voice seemed distant, as though in a dream.
The display shifted to show a helicopter's-eye view of downtown L.A...and mayhem. Armored giants rampaged amongst the skyscrapers, laying waste with weaponry that shredded tanks and melted buildings. Their numbers were bolstered by soldiers in baroque power armor, wielding an arsenal from another age.
All doubt vanished. This was hostility beyond any precedent.
"Sweet Jesus," General Stephens breathed, eyes wide. A lifetime battling earthly foes had left him unprepared for this.
CAPCOM's voice crackled over the radio. "Challenger reports multiple smaller heat signatures descending from the mothership. Too fast for atmospheric capsules, sir. Impact locations correspond with sensor alerts across the globe."
A tense silence gripped the command center. Technicians watched with bathed breath as events spun beyond their control.
"General!" An analyst cried. "Infrared pickets detecting rapid troop deployments from impact sites. Hundreds strong and advancing systematically."
"Divert all spy satellite assets to affected zones. I want constant real-time updates." Stephens snapped into action, decades of authority outweighing disbelief.
"Sir, contact with Black Hawk six is lost. Last transmission reported... enemy contact."
Cold horror gripped Wilson's heart. This was no experiment; a peerless force had set foot on their world with hostile intent.
And from Downey to Denver to Dhaka, humanity's isolated defenses were only now realizing they faced an attack without precedent or safe quarter. In the mountains of Colorado, all they could do was watch and wait for first light to bring the true scope of their new war into view.
Bad Orb
Ulraznavian Federation.
HAUPTMANN ANNA MEYER
Ulraznavian Western Group Army
June 2nd, 1995.
Day-1 of WW3
The quite West Ulraznavian village of Bad Orb was silent. Everyone had been evacuated and besides 9. Panzerdivision, there was the Concordian Forces from 1-11 ACR, and even they had been reduced to a company size. "Any news from OFN CENTAG in Frankfurt" she asked the Concordian Tank Commander. It was day 2 of the war.
The Concordian tank commander shook his head grimly. "Last we heard, Frankfurt is still contested, as is all of Ulraznavia west of the Ruhr. Enemy has them surrounded."
She swore loudly. All her unit had left were her company of Leopard 2A4 tanks, a Leopard I platoon, an SA-11 Buk M3 (produced under license from Vostokvakia) group, 3 squads of Panzergrenadiers and a Luchs Spähtrupp. The Concordians only had a company size of Abrams, Bradley's and Infantry, as well as Sabre Lead, an A-10 Warthog unit. They were facing unknown enemy forces.
"The only message CENTAG sent says that a Landwehr force is en-route, in a few hours" the Concordian Infantry Lt, an Afro Concordian woman reported.
"We won't be here in fucking few hours" Meyer screamed.
A distant boom echoed across slate hills, shaking the hollow calm from minutes before. "Panzerkanonenfeuer, zwei Uhr!", crackled a transmission from the Speihtrupp outriders.
Meyer snatched up binoculars, hastily calibrating the rangefinder. Two kilometers out, she discerned monstrous silhouettes stalking amongst orchards - weapon-arms aglow and primed. Not human design, nor any known make.
"Alle Panzer, Feuerbereitschaft! Feuer auf eigenes Ermessen bei Kampfkontakt." She keyed open shared frequency. "Sabre Lead, we have enemy inbound. Danger close air support requested, over."
"Bad Orb, Sabre Lead copies. ETA five mikes, be advi-" Static drowned the pilot's response. Meyer slammed a fist onto the turret in frustration.
Bradleys disembarked infantry to cover treelines, M1s dispersing in open order. Yet how long could this ragtag defense hold against an unfamiliar foe?
The first Panzer barked gunfire, armor-piercing grenades streaking away into dense fog. A rattling volley replied, sending their hull scrabbling for cover that did not exist on open fields.
Then the first armored vehicles appeared a tracked war machine, its hull a hulking mass of armored plating and rugged, industrial design. Its overall shape is utilitarian, with sharp angles and a boxy silhouette that gave it a no-nonsense, functional appearance.
At the front of the tank, a prominent glacis plate slopes downward, offering additional protection against enemy fire. A large, turret-mounted cannon is a central feature, showcasing the tank's primary armament, a stubby cannon, On either side of the tank, sponson-mounted weapons coild be found. The tank was roughly the size of a usual Main Battle Tank.
It had not seemed to have noticed the fact that it was trundling towards danger, unaware of the Leopard 2A4 that was roughly to Meyer's right. She watched in grm fascination as the tank bumped against the 120mm gun, as if finally noticing it stopped.
Feldwebel Horst Heisenberg fired at the unknown tank at point-blank range. The mighty roar of Heisenberg's 120mm cannon tearing the still morning air, lancing a solid APFSDS dart directly into the intruder's turret at point-blank range.
Armor shrieked as hyper-velocity alloy shredded through layered composites, the turret ring splintering outward in a maelstrom of molten shards. Secondary explosions cascaded within the void as ammunition stores were ignited.
When the smoke cleared, little remained of the alien tank besides its smoldering hulk - testament to Ulraznavian engineering's potency even against the unknown.
Before Meyer's company could savor the small victory, answering bark cracked like thunder through the groves. Two more of the same tank design emerged, cannons blazing havoc amongst the orchard trees.
"Panzergrenadier Rotte, grenades into the orchard! Feldwebel, target the rightmost!" Meyer snapped commands through the adrenaline. Heisenberg snapped into action, tracking the lumbering target through his sights.
The lead shot punched through the invader's treads, detonating internal fuel lines in a spectacular fireball. But the third had now closed to within three hundred meters, weapon thundering.
Meyer winced as shots whizzed passed her. The tank rumbled closer and closer. She looked around her, but it still had not noticed the 8 other tanks.
The tank was extremely close now, it's cannon blazing. Then a shell pierced through what was probably its engine compartment. It stopped, the engine blazing now.
Meyer looked through her right. Sgt Edda Krauss's Leopard, 224 had fired the shot, 120mm smoking.
"Is that all?" The sergeant's voice asked playfully
Meyer allowed herself a tight grimace of satisfaction as the disabled enemy vehicle belched flames, its corrugated armor collapsing in on itself.
"Good kill, 224. But keep your guard up - we've still eyes out and more contacts inbound."
She scanned the treeline cautiously, wary that more of the strange tanks or unknown forces were lurking unseen. So far only light resistance had been encountered, yet this initial probe could swiftly escalate if let stand.
A crackle broke the tense silence. "Bad Orb, this is Sabre Lead! We're bingo fuel, egressing to hit the tankers. Friendlies ETA 45 mikes, hold what you can 'til then. Godspeed."
The Warthog pair roared overhead moments later, banks of missiles and swathes of 30mm strafing the burning hulks before vanishing westward. Meyer sighed - air dominance was forfeit for now.
"Feldwebel, pick your shots and don't let them close within three hundred. 224, reposition hundred meters left, overwatch the woodline. Grenadiers, sweep the orchard, I want eyes on!"
She pulled her binoculars tight, scanning the treeline with eagle-eyed focus. Somewhere out there, hidden amongst the trees, more of these aliens lurked waiting to be flushed into the open.
A single crack shattered the expectant hush. "Target destroyed, Hauptmann! All quiet for now."
Meyer lowered her glasses slowly. A brief reprieve, but for how long? Reinforcements must arrive before the next wave crashed upon their dwindling defenses. For now, they could only hold, and pray aid arrived before their luck ran out.
A few Clicks away,
Unbeknownst to the small defending force of Bad Orb, a Battlegroup from the Imperial Guard's 5th Cadian Armoured Regiment was trundling towards them, like its fellows not knowing what was out of the fog. Guardsmen rode Desant on the backs of Leman Russ Tanks, while others were carried by Chimera APCs. And others were walking.
In his Command tank. Colonel Major Roald Garix tried to contact the three Russ tanks he'd sent ahead as scouts. This dammed fog was annoying
"You don't think they were ambushed by, well the rebels, sir?" his driver asked from his station.
"Possible...is that smoke."
Colonel Garix peered intently into the murk, trying to discern source of the billowing smoke plumes. A worrying development, given the absence of contact from his advance Russ lances.
A shape loomed indistinctly ahead - one of the scout vehicles, its armored carapace rent open and lifeless. Not a good sign.
"Driver, halt. Gunner scan for movement." His big laser rangefinder swept the mist, detecting - something. Hard angles and a boxy profile, hiding amidst the trees.
"Contact, one o'clock! Range 500." The gunner barked. "Firing!"
Their big battle cannon coughed fire, sending a shell hammering into the brush. But the answering shot was almost instant - a round blowing clean through an unlucky Chimera. Men screamed as its fuel tanks ignited.
Garix slammed a fist down in frustration. "Return fire, but hold position! We're not alone out here." He opened company command frequency. "All units be aware, we have contacts in the mist. Treat all unknowns as hostile."
Further exchanges lit the gloom, silhouetting alien armor bearing down upon their location at speed. The las-beams they spat shredded armor like flimsiplast.
Garix clenched his jaw. Losing scout assets and support vehicles before making proper contact was ill portent. Who were these strangers who fought so fiercely for ground they could not possibly know the import of?
Matters required sorting post-haste. "Vox command, request immediate reinforcements and armor support. We have stumbled upon a hornets' nest..."
Bad Orb.
Meyer saw the small battlegroup, this time with APCs and more tanks and even infantry arrive out of the fog.
"Tank Three-One-Eight here, One of the APCs in range. Permission to fire?"
"Granted"
Through her gunner's sights, Meyer watched 3/1/8's sabot round streak true - the wide-bore HEAT warhead punched clean through the alien APC's armor. A gut-wrenching fireball consumed it wholly, scattering dismembered body parts across the clearing.
"Target destroyed. Multiple enemy armor and infantry advancing northeast, range 1,000." Meyer adjusted her laser rangefinder grimly. So many unknowns faced them still.
"All tanks, track and target main battle tanks only. Let the Panzergrenadiers handle infantry at this range." Her commands were met with acknowledgments as gunner servos whirred into action, fat barrels canting and elevating.
The first volley was coordinated and devastating - sabot shells ripped through thinner plating, crippling two of the alien battle tanks amidst satisfying secondary detonations. Panzergrenadier small arms and anti-tank missiles engaged grunt infantry moving into the open.
A sluggish reload later and Meyer prompted curt barked orders. "Target that damaged tank, prevent repairs. Two-two-four, cease-fire - save your ammo. Three-one-eight, target the remaining tank."
Tungsten darts screamed death once more. Another engine was punctured by 3/1/8's precise fire, wreathing the alien vehicle in flames. But return shots were incoming - the last lumbering tank sent a crackling lance of energy through the intervening fog, reducing one of the Panzergrenadiers' Marder transport vehicles to molten slag.
Through fog and gunsmoke the clash raged hidden, death meting out its merciless exchange upon either side with brutal impartiality. Meyer wiped the sweat from her eyes, knowing this confrontation would shape their survival - or demise.
5th Cadian.
Garix watched as 3 of his Chimera APCs and the Guardsmen in them disappeared into flames. Then two of his Russ Tanks. A few of the Guardsmen, caught in the open were victims of enemy infantry.
He analyzed the situation. Whatever settlement these natives were defending was probably important.
"All tanks, move back to safe range. Vox Caster get me to Frequency Zeta-Rho 12, time to bring in the Arty"
"Rog" the Vox caster pushed a few buttons and turned a few knobs before handing him the headset, which Garix grasped tightly, swallowing frustration at the disastrous opening engagement. Whoever these defenders were, they knew their terrain and possessed capable armor support.
"12th Heavy Artillery Regiment, lend me your guns - we've encountered stiff resistance from unknown forces and our command components are threatened. Scan grid coordinates Theta-5 through 7, provide smoke and high explosives to cover our withdrawal. Focus on denying the ridgelines and treeline."
"Understood Colonel, smoke and shelling inbound within t-minus 5 minutes. Pull your forces back beyond minimum safe distances immediately and take cover." The gunner's voice crackled with affirmation.
Garix acknowledged quickly. "All units pull back past the last rise, go to ground, and brace for ordnance!"
He watched ruelessly as the ruined hulks of once mighty Leman Russ and burning transport vehicles receded into the mist, casualties of rash assumptions on an unfamiliar battlefield.
Within minutes the valley echoed with hellish thunder as long-barreled artillery pieces began pounding the contested terrain relentlessly. Vast plumes of smoke billowed up to shroud their disengagement as shells cratered the heights and woods the enemy held.
Garix spoke into the mike once more. "Well done 12th. now let us withdraw and regroup beyond their sight. These natives have spirit - we'll need every asset at our disposal to overcome them."
Bad Orb.
Meyer coughed, her cheek had a scar now. Unfortunately, she now only had 5 tanks, most of the Infantry had been shredded, and the Concordians on their side reported only two servicable Abrams, damn it, that arty barrage had come from nowhere.
Her radio crackled, the Concordians were contacting.
"This is...Lt Greene, uh, Captain Wilkes is dead...damn, the arty got her, as well as most of our Bradley's and Abrams. Infantry, well most of the guys are dead. Over."
Fuck, their situation was getting worse. This... Greene sounded young and fresh.
"Any word on orders."
"Current orders still stand, Bad Orb mustn't fall."
Meyer sighed before wincing in pain. Marai, her gunner came over, before getting a First Aid kit.
"You look like shit, Captain."
Meyer looked at her and the two other girls who made up the crew.
"How badly fucked am I Marai?"
"You have a pretty nice scar now, good enough to get you a nice husband."
Meyer chuckled. "Damn. Can you still shoot?"
"My throat's hoarse thanks to saying On the Way! all the time."
"At least you aren't me, Stuck with you three in a spacious metal frame when I could be drinking beer and eating soul food while worrying about test scores at university and having sex with my boyfriend" Meyer mumbled
"you have a boyfriend, Captain?"
"Yeah, I do, and a little girl."
"What!" Marai's eyes widened.
Marai finished dressing Meyer's wound with care. "So you've a daughter as well as a man, captain. And here you are leading us in battle at such a young age."
Meyer smiled ruefully. "Just turned twenty-one last month. Joining up seemed the thing to do, with uni so far away. Never expected actual war though!"
She sighed, gazing at the wreckage-strewn fields. So much death already, on all sides. "What of your lives outside the tanks? All this," she gestured weakly, "seems so far removed from normality."
Mara shook her head. "My parents run a bakery in Munich. Wanted to travel before settling down like they did. As for Julia..." She nodded to the loader grinning amidst the carnage. "Home is a farm outside Dusseldorf. Wanted adventure!"
"And you Sabine?" Their gunner glanced up grimly from checking ammunition stores. "My brother went missing in the Ulraznavian Civil War. thought the army might help me find answers."
"We're none of us where we expected two days ago." Meyer sighed. "All that's left is to make it through this battle, and pray home remains standing when we return to it. Now let's plan our defense. My gut's telling me the enemy's gonna push hard."
Major Charles Leslie
4th Lancers, C squadron
United Kingdom of Eden Army
Edenite Army on the Rhine.
North Ulraznavian Plain
Town of Hümmelsfuld
June 2nd, 1995
Major Charles Leslie watched from the cupola of his Chieftain Mk-10. behind him, the rest of the C squadron formed up just outside the outskirts of the town. Its civilian populace had long evacuated, yet it was still uneasy to find the neon billboards still on. Captain Amanda Walker gave him a thumbs up from her tank.
They'd been supposed to join the rest of the EAOR in Maszowia when the radio reported that the aliens had landed a few clicks south of this town.
"When do you think we'll rejoin the rest of the EAOR?" his driver, Tetford asked, sipping a cuppa from his position.
"No idea, we were supposed to be in Maszowia today, but well we've been sidetracked."
Leslie swept his binoculars across the empty streets below, taking another bite of iron ration. "No movement spotted yet Ted, keep your eyes sharp as well lad."
He toggled the commander's radio. "Ghost Lead to squadron, all call signs check in and report readiness state, over."
Acknowledgements crackled back one by one. "Ghost Two standing by, 105mm and coax primed..." "Ghost Three loading APDS, over." And so on down the line.
A commotion broke out in Ted's hatch. "Sarge, locals say they saw weird metal boxes fall from the sky south of town square just before evacuating. Said they looked like no aircraft they'd seen!"
Leslie hmm'd thoughtfully. "Metal boxes eh? We'll have a rummage once we've given the area a sweep. But watch yourselves - unknown craft often means unknown weapons afoot."
He surveyed Hümmelsfuld once more. All seemed peaceful, yet an eerie stillness had fallen. "Right then chaps, Ghost Lead to all call signs. Saddle up and let's do a mobile reconnaissance in arrow formation down the main drag. I want eyes in every niche, over."
Acknowledged, the squadron rumbled into motion. Their venerable Chieftains clattered through the ghost town, senses alert for any sign of the anomalous events described. What mysteries would they uncover in these abandoned streets?
He opened up the radio channel to the infantry. "Captain Watson, anything on your end?"
"We've tsken positions in the houses, reckon we'll watch for anything and these...Metal boxes Major."
"Solid copy Ernie. Can you see 2nd Troop?"
"Yessir, the're holding a key entry junction like you said."
Leslie sighed, they were going to do this in a classic Chieftain tactic, wait silently till the enemy blundered in and let the 120mm rifled gun do the "Sniping".The Edenite fought the Second Great War in fast light tanks, outgunned by their opponents. Now, the Chieftain tank had the thickest armor and biggest gun of any tank in OFN.
Leslie settled into his command cupola, still scanning the deserted streets below. An eerie quiet had fallen as C-Squadron took up overwatch positions around the town perimeter.
The Chieftains sat motionless, camouflage blending them into the landscape. Only the occasional chink of moving hatches or crackle of radios indicated occupation within the steel beasts.
They waited...and waited. Hours passed with no contacts developing, the shadows lengthening as dusk approached. Leslie stifled a yawn, eyes straining for any anomaly in the twilight.
Finally a hiss crackled over the comms. "Ghost Four, possible sighting south approach - multiple thermal signatures moving our way, size and formation consistent with armored vehicles."
Leslie clicked transmit. "Ghost Lead copies all. Hold fire and observe - I want corroboration of hostiles before we engage. All crews tighten hatches and stand to."
A tense beat...more static. "Lead, they've emerged into the square - armor. Shaped strangely, like industrial robots. Cannons tracking our location!"
No more hesitation. "All callsigns, engagement authorization - engage targets at will!"
120mm rifled death spoke, demolishing an alien tank in one shot. The battle was joined at last in the ghostly ruins of Hümmelsfuld. Would C-Squadron emerge victorious?
An hour before contact.
"They're jamming our comms!" Those words were a death sentence to any soldier in any Cold War army. And currently, a soldier in Sargent Joe Leeman's squad had uttered them.
"What! Since when?" Stowing his L1A1 SLR he walked over. Their position watched one of the town entrances.
"Minutes sir,"
That was Jones. Leeman swore under his breath.
"Are you sure the damn rain isn't doing anything to the radio?"
"Positive sir" Jones was trying to fiddle with the radio set strapped to his back. "I got nothing on the field telephone."
Leeman swore again before turning to the squad.
"Turner! You're the fastest. Run back to the Major and tell them comms are jammed. Take your L1A1 SLR with you, and come straight back if you can."
Turner nodded sharply, hoisting his battle-scarred SLR and taking off at a loping run towards HQ located two clicks north. Leeman desperately hoped he would make it in time.
Comms sabotage was a worrying development. Whoever these unknown aggressors were, they were clearly sophisticated - and that meant danger. He turned back to his men grimly.
"Right lads, looks like we're on our own for now. Jones, rig the field telephone to max range amplification, see if you can raise someone, anyone. The rest of you - check weapons, ammo, grenades. I want battle readiness in 5 mikes. Then we hold this perimeter at all costs, understand?"
Acknowledged. Leeman paced as his infantry section prepared, thoughts swirling. What did these strange aliens look like, fight like? How would standard battle doctrine hold up against an unseen technological terror?
He eyed the gloomy streets tensely. Somewhere out there in the dark, hidden eyes watched. Waiting. He steeled his nerves - whatever nightmares emerged from the shadows, Leeman and his boys would stand against them. Blood and steel would answer blood and steel this evening in Hümmelsfuld, for king and country.
Now all they could do was bide, brace, and pray for reinforcements before the enemy struck.
A few minutes passed in tense silence as the squad watched the rain slicked streets. Thunder rumbled overhead and Leeman was sure that the enemy could probably see them. nd then, he heard it. The clatter of tank tracks. Leeman froze, gesturing violently for silence. They had heard it too - the unmistakable clank and grind of armored tracks crushing gravel, approaching from the south entrance.
He dropped into a fire position behind some rubble, signalling his men to cover the street in a loose skirmish line. Peering intently down his SLR sights, Leeman strained night-adjusted eyes to pierce the gloom.
Moments later, the first shadowy shapes coalesced from the mist - looming, industrial silhouettes gliding purposefully forward. The one they could see, and was trundling towards them resembled an M113 APC, although he could see a turret of some sort and canisters, a flamethrower tank then. There were strange gothic icons and fleur de lis stamped on the front. These were the aliens? He watched the menacing vehicle rumble closer, realizing it was a full convoy.
"Duck" he hissed to the squad as they saw the tank move over a car and crush it with ease. The squad followed. Leemen felt the light darken as the tanks and APCs began to pass overhead. From the shadows, he could see that some infantry were also present, riding on the back. Quickly, he whipped out some C4 and slapped it onto the underside of a tank that was passing.
Leeman held his breath as the alien tank passed directly overhead, listening to its rumbling treads mere feet above him in the drainage culvert. Through the downpour he noted Gothic iconography and twin fuel canisters atop its turret - clearly some kind of flame weapon variant.
"Now!" He hissed as it fully passed, slamming down the plunger. The C4 charge detonated with a dull crump that quickly swelled into a roar as its fuel tanks were ignited. The Immolator reared up on collapsing tracks amidst a gout of fire, its turret and flamethrower arrangement sloughing off to crash down before them.
Leeman waved his men up. "Go! Throw grenades inside, finish it off!" Mills and Wilson hurled thermite charges through rent hatches, eliciting screams from within before an almighty blast consumed the wreckage entirely.
"Sarge! Hostile infantry! Nuns of some sort, I'm counting lots of flamethrowers."
"Oh for god's sake." Leeman now noticed that he'd slapped the charge onto what seemed like the second last tank in what looked like a massive convoy. One armored Vehicle was in front of the position, the rest were behind the position now.
"Mills! Open up with that fucking GPMG!"
The ratcheting clatter of Mills' GPMG opening up echoed down the culvert, joined moments later by rifle cracks as Leeman's men engaged the staggered enemy. Tracers zipped back and forth amongst the pounding rain as both sides found their marks.
Leeman peered up - flames licked the ruined Immolator, illuminating an astonishing scene. Marching in lockstep down the boulevard came hundreds of grim-faced women clad in ornate power armor, wielding weapons that spat gouts of liquid fire. A priestess rang a sonorous bell from the burning wreck, spurring the assault.
"What the everloving fuck..." Leeman breathed involuntarily. But there was no more time for awe - foes were closing fast under protection of the advancing flame tanks.
"Mills, suppressing fire! Rest of you, withdraw in bounds down culvert, We're getting out of here! Get to the houses! Move!"
Grenades primed and left behind slowed the enemy rush, flames guttering and dying in the downpour. Yet still more vehicles loomed behind the fury.
"Go go go!" He waved the last man past, risking a glance back at the melee. Flame spewed down the boulevard from the burning Immolator, silhouetting a nightmarish vision - armoured nuns wielding fuel-spitting weapons, driving their foes before the cleansing flames.
He turned and bolted after his men into the darkness, bullets pinging off stonework behind. Emerging at the bottom, Leeman scanned the houses looming above for ingress points.
"Wilson, Mills - cover the entrance! Rest of you, inside, find firing positions! Watch for flamethrowers, molotovs, anything that can torch us!"
The squad scrambled inside, weapons at the ready. Behind, flames and gunshots drew nearer as enemy infantry pressed the attack. Leeman cracked off covering fire with his SLR before following the last man inside.
"Barricade the door, now!" Furniture and debris were piled in haste against the lone entrance. Through cracks they watched transfixed as sinister alien shapes closed in, backlit by an eerie orange glow.
A bell tolled without, somehow audible above the storm. Leeman steeled himself. No turning back now - they were trapped in a godforsaken house with unknown terrors at the door. Surviving the night had just turned into a fight for bare existence.
Sister Angela Sabriya, 3rd Company, 2nd Squad
Adepta Sororitas Order of the Valorous Heart.
Imperial Date -3778029.M42
"C'mon! Let's get these rebels!" Latia rumbled as their squad began to run.
"For Throne's sake! slow down!" Sister Superior Angela shouted, Agatha, Maria, Angela, Celestia and the green, young Sister Mayleena were having a hard time trying to rein in the trigger-happy, foul-mouthed Latia.
"Seems they went into those houses over there." Maria pointed at a cluster of dwellings roughly 1 click away. The dark-haired beauty was the squad's calmest member.
They had been riding descent style on the back of a Rhino when the immolator second last in their column had exploded due to rebels. Latia cackled with glee as she revved up her heavy bolter. "Heh, they'll be mincemeat once I blast those walls apart!"
"Belay that!" snapped Sister Superior Celestia. "We take them alive if possible. The Inquisition will want to interrogate any xenos collaborators."
Agatha sniffed derisively. "No love lost if a few heretics meet the Emperor's justice in the process, hmm?"
Maria shot her a reproachful look. "We serve Him on His holy errand, not for bloodlust. Now form up, check your magazines. Mayleena, stay close to me."
The green recruit nodded shakily, clasping her flamer tight. Sister Angela shouldered her bolter calmly, little Ayla peering from behind her pauldron.
Just then, sizzling promethium arced over from the Immolator, silhouetting alien silhouettes moving inside the house through rents in the outer wall. Latia cackled and opened up with her heavy bolter, shells pulverizing stone and spraying shrapnel within.
"For the Emperor! Forward!" howled Sister Superior Celestia, igniting her power sword. The squad broke into a charging run, weapons primed and bayonets lowered. Through the raging flames they glimpsed amorphous shadows retreating further into the dwelling's depths, spitting stubgun fire back in their wake.
The building was now fully engulfed, yet the enemy was still inside - and escape routes had to be cut off. Time to flush the rats from the burning woodwork at close quarters. Sister Angela hefted her bolter with cool determination. The hunt was well and truly joined.
Sgt Leeman
"Fuck, Sarge! A squad's trying to break through the door!" Those were the last words Corporal Chris Willis said before his head disappeared in a shower of gore.
"Jones! Is that bloody telephone working now!"
"I'm trying sir! Might be a minute."
Mills grunted. "We'll be corpses in a minute Jonesy!"
Leeman cursed and dropped the magazine from his smoking L1A1, slamming a fresh one home with practiced efficiency. Through cracks in the barricaded doorway he caught glimpses of armored forms advancing through the flames outside, burnished glowing swords aglow.
"Kitchen, now! Bar the back door, windows, anything they can break through!" he bellowed over the din. Mills and Wilson provided coverfire as the squad cleared out of the entry foyer.
Scrambling into the adjoining galley, Leeman's men heaved the oven, fridge-freezer, cabinets - anything substantial to block egress points just as the front door exploded inward on a storm of rockets.
"Here they come sarge!" cried Jones, fine-tuning the field phone desperately even as bootsteps charged the hallway. Leeman braced with Mills and Wilson, SLRs aimed down the narrowing corridor.
The first robed hostile emerged gunning her flamethrower, only to choke as Wilson's shot took her through the fuel tanks. But more pushed through, meeting a withering hail of rifle and Bren fire. One hefted a brutal-looking chainsaw sword, carving clean through cabinets -
"Got 'em! Major Leslie on the line!" yelled Jones victoriously. His triumph was cut short as a shell blew his torso apart in a scarlet mist, phone tumbling from limp fingers.
"Fall back, out the window, GO!" Leeman roared, hurling frag grenades to buy them time. His men slid out just as the kitchen erupted, landing hard in an alley amidst the encroaching inferno. Behind, an inhuman battlecry heralded the enemy giving chase. They had to move, and fast!
Sister Angela
"Agatha! Are you alright?"
"M fine" Agatha groaned "Thank the emperor the cannisters were more well armored. I would have been toast if it wasn't"
The squad gave a collective sigh of relief as Latia marched into what looked like the kitchen area.
"Fething hell the rebels got away!"
"Not quite," Maria said from where she was crouched over the remains of a rebel soldier. He was quite young, with sandy-colored hair. Angela's shot must have killed him instantly as he still had a triumphant expression on his face. His legs were nearly separated from his torso. His gear consisted of fatigues camouflaged with black, brown, and bright green shapes on a khaki or tan background. Same as the other soldier who'd been shot through the head from his position at the window. Celestia inspected the communications device (Not unlike a vox pack) strapped on his back, with a receiver of some sort still in the rebel's hand.
Celestia put the receiver to her ear, it was crackling, and a voice could be heard on the other end in an unknown language, not Gothic, whoever it was probably thought the other was alive still.
"Angela, could you get me my long-range auger? it's in my pack. Let's hunt some rebel officers shall we."
"What about the rest of our convoy? they're waiting for us outside."
"Sister Mayleena make yourself useful and run out to Cannoness Victoria, explain the situation." grabbing the auger, she placed it close to the receiver. Mayleena meanwhile rushed out.
The screen was empty for a moment. Then a dot appeared. 2 Clicks south.
"Found you" Celestia triumphantly hissed.
Mayleena meanwhile ran outside to the waiting line of motor vehicles. Arriving at the Castigator Tank where the grizzled cannoness Victory was looking at a tac display on the cupola.
"Cannoness! I have a message from Sister Superior Celestia."
The cannoness turned her head to stare at the younger girl. "Celestia? What has that foxy bitch found now?"
"She thinks she may have traced enemy comms to their command."
"Let me guess." The cannoness said dryly, "She wants to go in alone?"
Mayleena blushed, "Yes."
Victoria's grizzled face broke into a grin, and she turned to her crew. "You hear that ladies? it seems the fox smells blood."
Mayleena's face turned even more crimson as laughter erupted.
"Alright kid, tell Celly I allow her to do her own thing. If it gets us an easy win who am I to stop her?"
Mayleena blushed furiously as the battle-sisters howled with laughter inside the Castigator. She couldn't wait to get away from their innuendos.
Striding purposefully back inside the burning house, she found Celestia peering intently at the auger display. "C-Cannoness Victoria gave h-her approval Sister C-Celestia."
Celestia barely glanced up, too focused on the pulsing blip. "Good, I'll trace this signal and purge their command structure personally. Agatha, you're in charge while I'm gone. Angela, Latia - you're with me. Gather your gear, wheels up in five."
The squad scrambled to comply while Mayleena floundered awkwardly. "W-What should I do Sister?"
Celestia smiled benignly. "Why don't you help with little Ayla?" Without waiting for a response, she turned and marched out, laser-focused on the hunt.
Latia snorted. "You might as well sit this one out greenie, Celestia's in full fox mode now. Best not get in her way!"
Agatha cuffed the back of her head. "Don't frighten the little choir girl. She'll learn Celly's ways in time." To Mayleena: "Just stay safe and listen to me, okay?"
Relieved, Mayleena nodded gratefully at Agatha. At least one Sister seemed patient with her uncertainties. As shouts rose outside preparing for pursuit, she sighed inwardly. What strange company she'd found herself keeping...
Sargent Leeman
"Fuck!" Leeman spat, Mills, Wilson, Carter, Hunley, and Eskil were the only ones left. Worse, the field telephone had been strapped to Jones back and nobody had bothered trying to gather it in the chaos, meaning it was probably in alien hands. Corporal Chris Taylor was dead too and as for Turner, he hoped their runner had gotten to Major Leslie and C Squadron's Chieftains, Leeman shuddered at the memory of his headless body. They were currently holed up in one of the many traditional Ulraznavian Bierhalle, Beer halls.
"Anybody got a map? We can head to the center of the town."
Hunley dug a crumpled town plan from his pack, spreading it across an empty table. Leeman snatched his cigarettes and lit one agitatedly, surveying their position.
"Right, we're here, near the south gate. The main square is a click north, that's where Leslie's tanks will rally if they get Turner's message. The problem is, bloody aliens are between us and there."
He jabbed at an area marked 'Kirchenviertel' - the church district. "No way round but through. We circle north and hit them from behind."
Leslie adjusted his communicator, straining to hear over the rumbling diesels. Static answered his calls to command - the aliens seemed adept at jamming signals already.
Leeman barked a harsh laugh, taking a long drag. "I'd settle for The Doctor at this point lad! He could just swoop in, wave his sonic about and send these metal bint nuns packing in their Dalek-looking tanks."
"Oi don't diss the Daleks!" protested Wilson. "At least they don't burn you alive, just zap you dead quick."
Hunley shook his head wearily. "Always with the telly references you lot. We haven't a Sonic or a TARDIS, just these." He patted his SLR meaningfully.
Leeman studied the map intently, puffing smoke. "We skirt north and hit the Church district from the side roads like The Sarge said. Hopefully, surprise some toasters...I mean toasters...bollocks those flamethrower girls."
The men smirked despite themselves. Only their NCO could make Alien contact half humorous. As they began to move out stealthily under cover of rain and growing dusk, Carter offered up:
"Y'know, I reckon if Spock was here he'd know just what these aliens want from our little planet. Probably mining dilithium crystals or summat..."
A few chuckles arose, helping steel frazzled nerves as they infiltrated deeper into hostile territory under the shadow of an enemy they barely glimpsed. Pop culture references were all that kept dread at bay... for now.
Major Charles Leslie
4th Lancers, C squadron
United Kingdom of Eden Army
Edenite Army on the Rhine.
North Ulraznavian Plain
Town of Hümmelsfuld
June 2nd, 1995
"Driver, advance us to the south perimeter. I want eyes on that landing site."
Tetford grunted acknowledgment, steering their heavy Chieftain through Hümmelsfuld's deserted streets. Leslie kept his binoculars panning, vigilant for any signs of the incursion force.
"Captain Walker, did you copy that last transmission before we lost comms?" Her hulking Mk 10 pulled alongside.
"Only that a mechanized column was pushing north from the drop zone, ETA 30 minutes. Strength unknown."
Leslie frowned. "Not much time then. Have your lads lay smokescreens along this rise, buy us some obscuration at least."
As the smoke launchers belched great billowing clouds, Leslie climbed higher for better visibility. A faint rumble stirred the earth, growing rapidly in intensity.
"Contacts, twelve o'clock! Multiple armored, Infantry outriding..." His eyes widened at the sheer mass of vehicles pouring over the horizon. Some like tanks, but many far larger and more esoteric.
"Call it in Captain, enemy mechanized advance incoming from the south! All troops stand to and lay fire!"
Leslie's Tank swung the 120mm into aim. The enemy-leading elements spotted them at last, bellowing unknown war cries as cannons started barking.
"On the way!" His own shell stabbed out to answer the challenge. May God help them all in the coming storm.
"Shit, they all look like bloody nuns!"
"Then lets send them back to bloody hell!" Leslie patted his FV4201 Chieftain cupola.
"On the way!" his gunner Leon bellowed before pressing the trigger. The 12omm rifled gun gave a roar as a shell streaked out, damaging a vehicle that looked part church altar, part choir organ. The coaxial machine gun sent a barrage of red tracer that lit up the infantry-whatever they were, he saw one of them go down, resembling more of a block of cheese with smoking holes. The enemy seemed to withdraw for a little while, good. Then his radio crackled.
"C Squadron, this 3rd troop, the enemy is withdrawing probably to occupied positions, should we give chase?" that was the voice of one of the Scimtar AFV recon troop commanders.
Leslie pondered the situation carefully. These aliens had superior numbers and yet were pulling back - an obvious tactical ploy to lure his armored squadron into an ambush.
He clicked transmit. "Negative 3rd Troop, stand fast. They're trying to sucker us onto their terms, God knows what kind of concealed firepower they've got lined up. Maintain overwatch positions and stay sharp."
Walker's voice crackled through next. "Sir, from what little we saw those frontline vehicles were unlike any terrestrial design. Almost organic in appearance. And the infantry...did you see how they moved in lockstep Sir? Unnerving."
Leslie watched tensely as swirling smoke now obscured the retreating aliens from view. "Acknowledged Captain, likely extra-terrestrial in origin from the looks. Strange they've got medieval religious iconography daubed about too."
His trigger finger itched to give chase but discipline held firm. The enemy was stalling for something, and he wouldn't fall for such an obvious ruse. Instead, C Squadron maintained vigil from the ridge, barrels rotating imperceptibly as hidden eyes surely surveyed them in turn from the gathering gloom.
"All callsigns stand ready. Keep thermal scopes peeled for surprises..." Leslie muttered grimly. Night was falling fast, and with it a looming clash none could have foreseen only hours before.
"Right well, Jamie, from 4th recon troop, he's leading some of his fox armoured recon cars for a scout mission to try and contact some of our infantry elements east of here."
"What! Call him back! Right fucking now!" Leslie ground his teeth in frustration, Lt James Burke was often known as the "Problem child" of C squadron. A city boy, he'd joined the unit sometime in January 1995, that was months before when the world seemed fine.
"He sent a pre recorded message in advance."
"Dammit, send it to me! let's see what Burke has to say"
Leslie listened intently as Burke's pre-recorded message crackled through:
"C Squadron HQ, this is 4th Recon Troop actual. My Fox Callsign Bravo Two-Zero is going wheels up for a route recce to locate any friendly infantry last reported northeast of the town square. Taking three other Foxes, we'll stay off-road and maintain blackout protocol. ETA return before last light is 1800 hrs. Over."
Leslie sighed in exasperation. While Burke's intrepid scouting had its uses, his lone-wolf attitude would get him killed one day. Still, with comms jammed he couldn't directly countermand the order.
"Driver, get me Captain Ryder on 3rd Troop." Ryder's Scimitars would be best suited for pursuit if things turned sour. Quick as a flash the connection was made.
"Ryder, Burke has gone haring off with four Foxes for an independent recce. Monitor closely but do not engage unless fired upon. And for God's sake get him back here before nightfall, over."
With that done, all Leslie could do was wait and watch uneasily from the ridge. With an unknown enemy lurking out there, one maverick officer could compromise the entire squadron if things went tits up. He prayed Burke's scouting paid off without cost.
Kirchenviertel
They'd somehow made it. Leeman himself could not believe that they'd survived this long. Entering the church, they set to work quickly. "Mills, check our rear. Carter, Hunley - windows over there. Wilson, watch the entrance with me."
As the men complied, Leeman paused before a stained glass mural depicting angels with stern gazes. "Someone up there's lookin' out for us it seems. Let's hope our Guardian Angels can hold out the metal bints a while longer."
A humorless chuckle ran through the ranks. Leeman tugged out his binoculars, scanning the orange-tinted dusk for signs of the aliens' inevitable push.
"Sarge." Mills' hushed voice came suddenly over the radio. "Fox Armoured cars incoming, from the southwest. Four of 'em."
Leeman breathed deep in relief. "About bloody time some cavalry showed up. Hail them on the signal mirror, let's hope they're on our side..."
He watched tensely as a glint flashed between the vehicles. A moment later they began angling their approach, heading straight for the church at speed. With a roar of turbines they braked, hatches popping.
"Do not step any further, you fucks! Hands where I can see 'em!" Mills hefted his bren. Better safe than sorry. The insignia was Edenite,, but what if the aliens had captured it?
"Easy guys, lets not be hasty!" the young officer at the head raised his hands.
"You, kid." Mills noted, "If you're from Eden, tell me, who's the king of Eden right now?"
The dark haired boy smiled "Edward IX" he said cheerily "Took the throne last December in 1994, youngest Monarch, 19 years old, now can we please start going, Major Leslie will kill me if I'm not back."
"Who won the Premier League in 1989?"
"Liverpool F.C. were champions in '89, with Arsenal finishing runners up!" replied the young officer eagerly.
Mills looked satisfied, lowering his weapon. "Alright, but I got more questions. What was the name of the lead actress in that raunchy film from '93 that got banned?"
The officer blushed. "Er, I believe you mean 'Lust Unleashed' starring Jessica Valentine?"
"Good lad! Now, name Eden's sweetheart - the actress who always plays posh roles?" queried Mills.
"Oh that's Lady Emma Hamilton without a doubt."
Leeman nodded approvingly. "Seems he's passed the test Mills. Lieutenant...?"
"James Burke, 4th Recon Troop sir!" Burke snapped a crisp salute. "Thought you gents could do with an evac."
"You thought right Lieutenant. Lead on, let's get to your rides before the metal nun patrol shows up."
As the thankful squad fell in behind Burke, Leeman allowed himself the barest sigh of relief. A moment longer and who knew what alien monstrosities would've found them...
Town square.
"Charlie we need to widthdraw."
Captain Daniel Richards looked around at their defenses, "My best guess is we get out of here, and move forward to Maszowia, they're probably worried sick! The town has no civvies, and the Ulraznavian could probably deal with this,
Leslie nodded grimly, gesturing at the smoke still shrouding the southern approaches. "Alright Dan, I agree it's time to fall back. No sense throwing lives away defending empty streets."
He toggled the squadron frequency. "C Squadron, disengage and pull back in bounds north. We'll rendezvous on the Maszowia road and escort any civilians back behind the Rhine. Let's hope our allies can hold the line till we're clear."
As the armored vehicles grumbled into motion, Leslie craned his eyes southwards one last time. Strange lights flickered eerily through the obscuring haze, hints of metallic songs whispering on the edge of hearing.
"Godspeed to those Ulraznavian lads. With luck, they'll blood the enemy enough for us all to slip the noose..."
Captain Walker pulled alongside. "Sir, Fox callsigns are overdue checking in. Burke and his lads never made it back."
Leslie's face set like stone. "Leave markers for any search parties. We push on for now - those are hardy Edenite boys, if anyone can slip the aliens it's them."
With that they rolled through the gathering night, leaving Hümmelsfuld to whatever nightmares now prowled its silent streets unhindered. The great contest was only beginning.
"Wait!"
Almost as if it was divine intervention, 4 Fox armored cars nearly crashed in. A rather triumphant Jimmy Burke waving his arms like a dervish or something.
"You nearly forgot us! Look, we found some of our guys!" 4 Edenite soldiers waved from the rear compartments.
"Sargent Joe Leeman, with me are Privates Mills, Hunley, Eskil and PFC Carter. We retreating?"
"No" Leslie sighed, "We're going forwards, to rejoin the rear of the EAOR in Maszowia."
"Forwards! Pardon my Francovian sir, but are we fucking mad?" A Bren carrying solder, Mills, was it, shouted hotly.
"Fraid so, the Ulraznavians will deal with it, hopefully. Our job is we retreat to Schongrau, before turning forward to Autobahn 63, it'll be a 24 hour drive to the border."
Leeman sighed tiredly but nodded. "Understood Major, your orders are sound. Best we quit this blighted place before those metal bi-"
He caught himself with a grimace. "Before those xenos close their trap, leastways. Fordwards it is then."
Mills looked far from convinced but kept his piece, checking his trusty Bren was secured. Hunley stretched kinks from the cramped fox and Carter pulled a dog-eared map from his pack, tracing their projected route in the flickering flames.
Leslie turned to the waiting Fox crews. "Lieutenant Burke, we'll be following your path north. Once on the Maszowia road, C Squadron will take point while you screen our flanks. Let's be on our way before those aliens sniff us out again, shall we?"
A chorus of ayes met his order as engines rasped into life once more. With flanks secured by mobile scouting cars, the battered platoon fell in behind Leslie's Chieftain, turning as one towards the beckoning headlamps of friendly armor awaiting their arrival.
The retreat from Hümmelsfuld was successfully joined. Now only the night-shrouded road ahead stood between them and extraction from this strangest of battles.
Sister Angela.
"Stupid thing...oh no."
"What is it, Sister Superior?"
"The blip, it's farther now. They're gone!"
Latia cried with rage before firing her heavy bolter...everywhere while cursing colorfully.
Celestia tugged on her hair in frustration, coming very close to joining Latia in a tantrum.
"For feth's sake Latia, shooting randomly won't change anything! Now there's xenos alerted to our position as well."
She glared balefully at the auger as if it had personally wronged her. Angela laid a calming hand on her pauldron.
"Peace sister. The heretics have fled but at least were no harm done following their trail. And think - we've learned their armaments now. Tanks suggest a more organized force."
Latia huffed, kicking a smouldering beam petulantly. "So the fox lost the scent, big deal. I say next colonial world we purge the lot, leave no rebels standing!"
Celestia sighed, knowing Latia craved action after their botched mission. Her gaze swept the burnt-out buildings assessingly.
"Come, while the enemy flees we'll find what intel remains. Angela, you take point; Latia, watch our six." With that she strode off, ever focused on the hunt once more. Some things never changed, no matter the setback.
EAS
THE UNITED REPUBLICAN STATES OF CONCORDIA IS UNDER ATTACK.
This is an Emergency Action Notification from the Office of the President of the United Republican States of Concordia.
At approximately 0800 hours this morning, multiple unidentified aerial vehicles were detected entering Concordian airspace over the northern frontier. These craft ignored all communication attempts and proceeded directly towards several population centers.
At 0830, the cities of New Detroit, Cleveland and Toledo came under massive aerial bombardment. Sensors indicate advanced directed energy weapons were used to devastating effect against both military and civilian targets. Civilian casualties are feared to be in the tens of thousands.
National air defenses engaged but were overwhelmed by the technical superiority and numbers of the attacking force. Several NORAD early warning installations in the region were struck and neutralized.
Ground radar now places the enemy armada hovering directly over the cities, with additional waves of aircraft continuing to pour across the border. Satellite reconnaissance shows massive columns of mechanized vehicles also advancing over land.
By order of the President and Defense Council, Condition Red has been declared across the nation. All civilians are ordered to seek bomb shelter immediately. Local authorities will provide additional safety directives.
All active duty and reserve military personnel are to mobilize and await deployment orders. International allies - the URS of Concordia requests any and all aid you can provide during this hour of grave crisis.
May God protect our homeland. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Stay tuned for further updates as the situation develops.
Alright, the second reworked chapter done, I'm now gonna delete the resst of the entire story so I can make one thats actually better. And so you guys can review and if anyone else who's new will review. Also, Heres some details about the technology, Most of it is based on the Aesthetic of Blade Runner and the Aliens series. This means that it is semi-modern, in this earth, we have mobile phones, as well as computers that come in two models. The civillian version is the typical 21st century PC, sleek and thin. The boxier types are used in the armed forces and work sectors. The Aesthetic and technology of the V.S.S.R is based on the Video Game Atomic Heart, and is exported to all Eastern bloc states. In the 90s, the V.S.S.R is now one of the most successful examples of a Socialist Democracy.