Chapter-9.
Aces in Exile.
1km above the Sea Of Satsuma.
Mike was back in the cockpit and seated (having apologized for how long he took to the effect of blaming something that disagreed with him, though Lenny's suggestions were kind of hard not to think about), John decided to make the call.
"Calling Tokyo Air Traffic Control," he spoke, nervously, "calling Tokyo Air Traffic Control, this is UNA-7734. Over."
"This is Tokyo," replied the radio, in Edenite except with a heavy Satsumese accent, "reading you loud and clear. Go ahead, UNA-7734. Over."
"What's the situation on the ground," asked Lovell, "can you give me a sitrep of what the heck's going on? Over."
"Negative," replied the controller over at Tokyo, ". UNA-7734 be advised: the Satsumese Imperial Armed Forces, and the ISSDF have just issued a nationwide alert. All non-military aircraft are being instructed to land. There is an emergency in effect." Lovell turned to look at Wilson, who looked right back at him; they both had concerned expressions on their faces. Ground control continued: "Alert is addressed to all aircraft in Satsumese airspace; similar alert may be in effect in Concordia, especially Anchorage. You had better check in with your destination. Over."
"Roger that. Over and out." John placed the radio back before looking at the stunned faces of his crew. Mike, the oldest after the captain was the first to break the silence.
"Jack…you think the Stovies've started WW3?"
Lovell frowned as Tokyo Control described an unprecedented nationwide alert in Satsuma. His crew exchanged worried looks - was this finally the war they'd dreaded for so long?
"Let's not jump to conclusions," he cautioned, though privately Lovell shared their concern. Whatever was happening, it seemed to extend beyond Satsuma's shores.
"I don't think it's the Vostokvakians," he said. "Their leadership knows a war would be suicidal. Lately though, nothing seemed certain anymore.
Lovell reached for the radio again. "Tokyo Control, can you advise the reason for the alert status? Also, request routing to the nearest suitable divert airfield. Over."
The controller responded promptly. "Alert issued in response to unidentified aircraft violating sovereign airspace. Several were shot down. We cannot confirm the origin at this time. As for diversion, standby."
Lovell waited tensely as Tokyo conferred with higher authorities. Mike voiced the question on all their minds: "Think it could be those UFOs people keep seeing?"
Before anyone could reply, the radio crackled back to life. "UNA-7734, you are cleared direct to Misawa Air Base. Further instructions pending. Exercise extreme caution, unknown aircraft remain at large. Over."
Lovell acknowledged tersely. "Roger Tokyo, proceeding direct Misawa." He entered the new course but kept one hand near the transponder. Whatever they were flying into, he wanted answers fast. And options, if it came to that.
Things just got a lot more complicated upstairs. Now they needed somewhere to set down and figure this out, before it was too late.
Karla watched impassively as her lascannons annihilated two more rebel aircraft with contemptuous ease. Primitive, sluggish things - they barely qualified as targets. The second plane was going the opposite way this time. It had turbofans instead of propellers, was bigger, and had no clue she was chasing it until she was right on top of it.
The rebel air forces were disorganized, weak, and uncoordinated. It seemed like they had focused all their resources on the fleet and starfighter force that the Navy had defeated before the landing operation. She wasn't complaining though. Her squadron couldn't reach the fleet for additional support, but as long as the resistance remained light, they would manage. She looked up at the night sky, wondering if those things they encountered earlier were responsible for cutting off their communications outside the planet's atmosphere.
She had been following a third large aircraft for a few minutes. The long-range auspex had identified it, and now the details were becoming clear. It looked similar to the second aircraft, with a red bird symbol on its tailfin. However, it was larger, had four wing-mounted pods, and a smooth structure on the front half that resembled a Sky-Whale. As someone from the Navy, she always felt a bit sad about destroying unique aircraft from other worlds. Her targeting computer began to line up a solution...
Robert "Robbie" Stenz relaxed into his seat. The flight had been uneventful so far, not that he minded. Currently he had his headphones settled into his years. The 12-year-old was traveling alone for the first time. His dad worked for one of Concordia's biggest Megacorporation's. His mom worked in its Vostokvakian branch.
"More orange juice?" offered the stewardess.
Robbie replied: "I'm fine. But thank you!" The stewardess nodded.
There was a ding! as the "fasten seatbelt" signs came on throughout the cabin. "This is your Captain speaking..." began the intercom, Robbie didn't wait to hear the rest of it as she put his headphones back on. Whatever he was saying, though, must have been important, because the stewardess immediately stopped what she was doing, and began to walk briskly towards the front of the plane.
BBOOOOOMMMM!
It was the loudest noise he had ever heard - so loud and sudden that he heard it even over the music playing in his headphones. It was followed by a ROAR, like thunder. The entire cabin shook.
Robbie froze as a deafening boom shook the aircraft, the cabin decompressing violently around him. Howling wind and frigid air blasted through as oxygen masks dropped from overhead.
Heart hammering, he fumbled to don his mask with trembling hands. Debris flew wildly around him - magazines, cups, even dislodged luggage battering passengers. Cries and screams rose over the din.
Despite his shock, Robbie forced himself to stay calm like his dad taught him. Find the problem, focus on solutions. The plane was wounded but still flying - there was hope.
Blocking out the chaos around him, he peered out the window searching for damage. A jagged gash had been torn down the fuselage, explaining the decompression. But no fire or smoke that he could see.
The pilots would be fighting to control the aircraft. Somehow, they had to get down safely before things got worse. Robbie sent a desperate prayer upwards as the plane continued its precarious descent.
Stay brave, he told himself. Dad always said these birds could glide a long way without power. There was still a chance, as long as he kept faith.
Over the panicked passengers, he suddenly heard the captain's strained voice over the PA, telling them to brace. They were going to try an emergency landing.
Robbie clenched his seat arms tightly, mask sealed against the howling wind. This was it - time to hold on and pray. Focus on seeing his family again. With luck, the worst was over now.
Please let us make it, he thought as the ground rushed up. Just hold together a little longer...
"New signals! Ten o' clock!"
Karla cursed as her lascannon shot went wide, the rebel transport juking away damaged but intact. Soren's warning had distracted her at the worst moment. Even with slight variations, even at these far distances, the tiniest change in angle could cause the shot to miss its target by a significant amount. The lascannon's beam materialized instantly, appearing between her and the enemy aircraft she was following closely. Instead of hitting the middle of the fuselage, the lasbeam barely touched the back, causing some damage to the tail. However, it was difficult to assess the extent of the damage from such a distance. The rebel aircraft seemed to react immediately, swiftly maneuvering into a dive in an attempt to escape her pursuit.
"New contacts, ten o'clock high, closing fast!" Soren reported urgently. Karla checked her auspex - three new blips, holding tight formation. Finally, some organized resistance.
"Breaking off attack run," she told Soren through gritted teeth. Mira quickly glanced at the lascannon, knowing it needed a brief pause before firing again. Curiosity piqued, she investigated the source of the disruption. As expected, the auspex detected three fresh signals rapidly approaching. It appeared that the rebels had managed to coordinate themselves to some extent. Determined to avoid any surprises, Mira swiftly launched an assault on the prominent rebel aircraft ahead and maneuvered to confront the incoming threats. She was determined not to be caught off guard from behind. The lascannon needed a moment to recharge, and she wanted a firing solution on the new threats first. Being caught from behind would be fatal.
"Three aircraft, wedge formation," Soren read, "range: 50 klicks and closing. Speed: just over 2k kph."
"K boyu!" Zhalkova cried, "we've made contact!"
Indeed, it seemed that the target they were tracking had noticed them and swiftly changed direction.
"Target locked," stated Vronska, "I repeat, target locked."
"Fire," Zhalkova urged, seated in the leading jet. It was time to see what this enemy was capable of...
To her right, Zhalkova witnessed a brilliant flash as Vronska's MiG launched a single Vympel R-73 missile towards the target. Even in the darkness, the sight of the missile snaking through the sky, leaving behind a fiery trail, was unmistakable.
"20 km to target..." Vronska reported, "10 km to target..."
Not all of the MiGs stationed at Vyazma were equipped with the latest radar systems yet, but Zhalkova's was. That's why she was the flight leader, with Vronska and Bobrova as her wingmen. On her radar, she could track their target and observe Vronska's missile slowly closing in (although "slowly" was relative, considering it was still traveling at a speed well over Mach 2). For a moment, it seemed like the missile had hit the target. However, the radar quickly showed that the target was still active and evading; it had managed to dodge the missile at the last moment and change its course. Not bad, Zhalkova had to admit.
"Alright, let's all fire together!" she ordered.
This time, Bobrova fired first, followed by Zhalkova a few seconds later, and then Vronska completing the salvo. As soon as the last missile was launched, Zhalkova began to turn away from the target, with Bobrova and Vronska following suit. They would execute a turn and then return to unleash another salvo, depending on how their opponent would fare this time.
Karla gritted her teeth as multiple missile launches showed on her auspex. The rebel craft were fast and their pilots skilled, coordinating their attack for maximum effect. But she still had a few tricks left.
"Evasive maneuvers!" She barked to Soren, before gunning the throttle straight towards the incoming missiles. She could tell from their flight pattern these projectiles had limited agility - she could use that.
The deadly dance in the skies was not over yet.
"How'd you like that, heretics?" she gloated over the open vox, riding the adrenaline rush. Before Skiff could warn her to stay focused, the rebel craft were already swooping around for another attack run.
"You just had to ask, didn't you Lieutenant?" Soren said pointedly as multiple missile launches appeared on auspex again.
"Nothing we can't handle, Soren," Karla snapped back, though she silently kicked herself for letting ego distract her. She quickly plotted an evasion trajectory using the Valkyrie's superior thrust vectoring.
"Let's give them a little surprise this time," she told Soren with a fierce grin. "Standby countermeasures on my mark..."
The rebel missiles closed in, seeking vengeance for their destroyed counterpart. But Karla was ready, her eyes flickering between the threats and her ship's status readouts. Right as the warheads entered terminal tracking, she executed her move.
"Now! "She commanded Soren. The Valkyrie's chaff and flare launchers burst to life, spewing clouds of metallic debris and brilliant flares. At the same time, Karla fired all maneuvering jets, sending her ship into a spiraling lateral tumble.
The missiles lost lock, swirling erratically before detonating well wide of her wildly maneuvering craft. Karla had bought them a precious few second of breathing room. Hopefully enough to turn the tables on these rebel scum...
The Valkyrie wasn't the fastest flyer in the Imperium's arsenal (its top speed within atmosphere was just over a thousand kph), but it was incredibly maneuverable - a crucial trait for its role in deploying and supporting troops on the ground. Karla skillfully dodged the first missile, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. As the projectile flew past, her three attackers closed in on her.
"Soren, three missiles incoming!" Karla warned. Her auspex detected three flares launched by the rebel fighters, spaced a few seconds apart. She knew this would be challenging; even if she evaded one missile, the others would have time to adjust their course. However, Karla had encountered similar situations before and had a plan. She turned the Valk around to face the oncoming warheads. Soren, familiar with Karla's boldness, kept his doubts to himself.
Based on the behavior of the first missile, it seemed the rebels were using a model that was extremely fast but lacked maneuverability. Karla accelerated towards the attack, closely monitoring the auspex.
With just a second left until impact, she sharply maneuvered the joystick to the right. The hoverjets on the Valkyrie's wingtips activated, allowing her to bank to the right and successfully dodge the first missile.
The second missile closely followed the path of the first, as Karla had rapidly closed the distance between them by flying towards it. However, the third missile, positioned further behind, began to adjust its course and headed straight for her.
At that moment, the lascannon was fully charged. She aimed directly at it and fired, then pulled back. The third missile was completely destroyed. Fragments of shrapnel and twisted metal hit the front and lower hull armor of the Valk. Some struck with the speed and impact of bullets, making a ting sound. As long as they didn't hit the more vulnerable areas like the cockpit canopy and engine intakes, it was okay. The Valk's 75mm plasteel armor plating was just as strong as the armor on many of the Guard's ground vehicles.
"Come at me," Karla smirked, "I can handle it."
"You had to jinx it again, didn't you?" Soren commented, "They're preparing for another attack."
"Let them try."
On 3 June 1995, Major Mark Dwyer was an F-15 pilot assigned to the 32nd Tactical Fighter Squadron at Soesterberg Airbase, a USAFE base in Batavia. Dwyer, a native of Albany, NY and graduate of Penn State University, was also the operations officer for the 32nd. In addition to their jobs in the cockpit, most fighter pilots also hold less glamorous, but essential ground duties. Dwyer's experiences on the first day were similar to those of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, sailors, and airmen across Euronia. Major Dwyer became one of the first US pilots to score an air-to-air kill over Central Euronia against the invaders, although we now call them Battlefleet Scolaris, of the Imperium of Man, from a future, thrown back into the 20th century somehow. It would be the first of many kills for Dwyer in the war.
The klaxons blared as pilots rushed out of their huts with their gear tucked under their arm. Among them, Major Mark Dwyer ran up to his readied F-15. The Concordian was not sure what they were up against just yet. strapping into the familiar confines of the cockpit with practiced efficiency. His squadron was scrambling hard, responding to an unprecedented alert across all OFN air bases.
"Tower, this is Eagle One-One ready for taxi," Dwyer radioed briskly, starting his preflight checks as the engines spooled up. The rumble swiftly rose to a deafening scream, shaking the very bones.
"Eagle One-One, you are cleared for takeoff," came the terse reply. Mark acknowledged curtly and nudged the throttle, feeling the powerful afterburners kick in with a stomach-lurching surge. His F-15 leapt down the runway and into the sky.
As he gained altitude, Mark swiftly dialed in the secure channel. "Command, this is Eagle One-One. Situation report, over?"
He noted the tension underlying Ground Control's usually crisp tone. "Multiple unknown aircraft confirmed over Netherlands and Belgium. No IFF, operating well above commercial corridors. Engaged Federal F-16s ten minutes ago, two jets lost. Your orders are intercept and identify, weapons free if hostile."
Mark's gut twisted. Open conflict against an unknown opponent, without so much as a clue to their identity or capabilities. But he had a job to do.
"Wilco, Command. Taking up patrol orbit now. Eagle flight is airborne and moving to station, out."
Mark throttled down, circling to rendezvous with his squad. Against whatever lay ahead, they would face it together - eyes open, watching each other's backs. His F-15 was a superb machine, but facing the unknown, numbers gave at least some comfort.
Scanning the skies intently, Mark let his training take over. Stay frosty out here until they knew what they were up against.
"Eagle Flight, this is Amsterdam. I'll be your AWACS for this interception." A crisp, lightly Batavian accented voice came over the radio. "Situation is as follows: Unidentified aircraft sighted over Utrecht, Antwerp, Brussels, and Luxembourg city. You're to identify and shoot down these hostiles, over."
"Roger that AWACS." Dwyer responded. "Changing course now. Eagle Flight, new course heading: 14 kilometres (8.7 mi) east-northeast of Utrecht."
As Eagle Flight changed course, Major Dwyer squeezed the sidestick controller, eyes peeled through the canopy. The unknown aircraft were operating well out of normal air corridors, showing unusual maneuverability and speed. Whoever they were, they clearly weren't friendly.
"Eagle Flight, Amsterdam. Bogeys detected, bearing 045 for 50 miles. Two contacts, closing fast. Intercept course approved, weapons free if hostile," the AWACS controller updated tersely.
"Copy Amsterdam, we're on it," Dwyer confirmed. He nudged the throttle forward, feeling the massive engines surge in response. Within moments the flight of F-15s had streaked to within visual range.
Peering ahead, Mark's breath caught. Two angular shapes swept towards them with balletic grace, moving unlike any conventional aircraft. Their outlines spoke of advanced technology far beyond anything in the OFN inventory.
"Christ, look at those things!" Captain Davis exclaimed over the radio. "They don't match any known type."
Before Dwyer could reply, one of the bogeys broke formation abruptly, corkscrewing straight at them with uncanny speed and agility. A searing beam lanced forth, vaporizing Lieutenant Reed's wingman in a flash of violent light.
"Break right, break right!" Dwyer barked instinctively into his mic. His flight scattered just as the second attacker unleashed its weapon. The beam grazed Davis' wingtip, shearing it clean off.
"Davis is hit, bailing out!" came the mayday call amid static and screams. Rage and urgency flooded Dwyer's veins in a cold rush. Whoever these things were, they were lethal and had struck first blood against OFN pilots.
"Fox Three, Fox Three!" he snarled, locking onto the killer of Reed as it flashed past. His Sidewinder sped unerringly for its target, detonating in a satisfying fireball.
But the second attacker had already looped back, homing in with murderous accuracy. Dwyer rolled frantically, jinking to avoid the lance of energy. His fighter shuddered as the beam singed past.
"We have unknown hostiles with advanced weapons!" Dwyer shouted into the radio. "All callsigns engage but stay clear of those beams! Let's even the odds."
The brutal opening skirmish had only just begun. Dwyer knew more about the nature of the threat, but its full capabilities remained a terrifying mystery. It was kill or be killed now in the skies over Central Euronia. And he intended to do some killing of his own.
"Roger, Eagle Lead. All fighters this net, vectors for intercept. Good hunting and Godspeed," rang the calm affirmation from Amsterdam AWACS. Dwyer took a shuddering breath to steady himself, then gunned his afterburner once more into the maelstrom.
Zooming through the skies faster than a formula 1 race car, Dwyer soon caught up with one of those fighters. All around him, missiles were flying followed by laser's, it looked like fucking Star Wars out here.
As Dwyer streaked towards his target, thoughts raced through his mind. Who were these pilots? Their alien origins were clear, but what world had bred such lethal flying aces?
The question would have to wait. Right now it was kill or be killed, and Dwyer had a job to do. Stay cool, trust your training, bring everything you've got to bear. His wingman Captain Ward stuck tight to his six, ready to pounce the instant an opportunity arose.
"Fox Two, Fox Two!" Ward suddenly called out, launching a Sidewinder that streaked ahead, locking on to the distracted alien craft tailing Dwyer. The missile flew true, erupting in a fireball that engulfed the strange fighter's rear section.
For a split second Dwyer caught a glimpse through the expanding fireball - an angular cockpit, suited figure visible within. Then it was gone, tumbling out of the sky in a twisting smoke trail.
"Splash one bandit!" Dwyer yelled in exhilaration. "Good shot Ward!" The elation was brief, as his radar warning receiver screeched a new threat. Flipping his Eagle onto its side, he spotted tracers lancing past from another closing attacker.
"Break right!" Dwyer snapped, hauling back hard on the stick and kicking rudders. His F-15 responded instantly, barrel rolling away from the deadly beam weapon. As the G-forces pressed him into his seat, Dwyer got a target lock and squeezed the trigger.
A Sidewinder spit from its rail, homing in on the attacker. But it was already deploying countermeasures, detonating the missile with chaff and flares. Dwyer swore, jinking desperately to avoid return fire.
Dwyer slammed the throttle forward, pushing his F-15 to the limit as he closed in on another unknown craft. It was like nothing he'd ever seen - angular and menacing, with bizarre protrusions and hard edges unlike any aircraft design principles on Earth.
Whoever these invaders were, their technology was at minimum a generation ahead. But Dwyer had one advantage - he knew how to dogfight.
"Eagle Two, pull in tight for the merge," he ordered Captain Scott, "I'm going guns this time. Let's see how tough their birds are without those death rays."
The enemy ship jinked frantically as it realized it had an F-15 on its tail. Dwyer grunted in satisfaction, pushing his own fighter through a savage yo-yo as it kicked and snapped away from his guns. He was inside its turn radius now.
"Fox Two, fox two!" He barked, letting a Sidewinder fly. The heat-seeker snarled unerringly towards the hot engine plume - only for the invader to somehow shed it with a blinding flare. Dwyer cursed and shoved the stick forward in suprise, narrowly avoiding a collision.
"These things are no slouches!" Eagle Two warned as another beam weapon crackled past. Dwyer rolled his fighter sideways violently, feeling the G's crushing him. When he came about the enemy ship was directly ahead.
He grinned savagely and switched to guns. A three-round burst spewed from his nose-cannon, one of the bullets punching clean through the cockpit shell. The enemy craft coughed flame and spiraled out of control, tumbling from the sky.
"Scratch one!" Dwyer roared in triumph. But already another bogey had latched onto his wingman. He hauled back viciously on the stick. "Break right, Scott, break right!"
Somewhere over Nova Arcadia?
Flight Commander Derek Tanix, Star of Terra first class. Ace of the Mighty Imperial Navy's Aeronautica Imperialis cursed as another missile missed his nimble Lightning Strike Fighter. The rebels had finally got their game together, and quite a few of his pilots were regretting it now as seen by their vox transmissions.
He wove his Lightning nimbly through the rebel flak, narrowly avoiding a missile blast. His aviator's eye took in every detail of the strange aircraft swarming all around - clearly primitive by the Imperium's standards, yet its abilities could not be underestimated.
Through the optronic targeting array of his Lightning class fighter, Flight Commander Derek Tanix analyzed the strangest aircraft he had ever encountered.
The machine was massive as far as strike fighters went, over 65 feet long with a tremendous wing area of over 800 square feet. Twin banks of afterburning turbofans provided stupendous power but burned prodigious amounts of primitive chemical fuel.
It boasted an angular, composite-sheathed design with internal weapon hardpoints, unusual for a craft of its evident age. Flight surfaces, landing gear and cockpit layout all suggested its creators were skilled aerial engineers, if lacking the Ministorum's blessings of advanced technology.
Weapons-wise it carried missiles similar to those that had proven so troublesome for his wing, mounted on underwing pylons. However, its main armament appeared to be a rotary cannon in the snarling nose - a crude solution, but no less deadly at close ranges. Electro-optical tracking and targeting sensors bristled under the canopy.
All in all, a formidable attack platform even by Imperial standards. Its pilots showed tremendous skill to coax such performance from the bulky, fuel-thirsty machine.
Tanix toggled his communicator. "All wings, approach targets with extreme caution. Their aircraft may lack grace, but these rebels fly with spirit!"
A strangled cry broke across the line. "Leader, help! Missile, missile!" With a flash, Ensign Varr's Lightning spun away in flaming ruin.
"Varr is lost! Extract and re-engage," Tanix snapped. "Rein, Form up on my wing for a kill shot!"
His observations were interrupted by panicked vox-chatter. "Void Devil Six is hit! Ejection...argh, chaff didn't work!" A dull crump sounded as the Lightning exploded.
"Two more on my tail, can't shake 'em!" came another voice.
Tanix snarled a curse. "Squadron, break and engage! Show these mongrels the wrath of Terra." He pulled back hard on his flightstick, spinning his craft to face the trailing rebel pair. His advanced targeting cogitator lit up as it analyzed the rebels' electronic scans and flight vectors.
A single lascannon burst tore through the lead fighter's engines. As it tumbled, Tanix turned his guns on the frenzied wingman. "Steady, lad. A true warrior keeps faith in the Emperor even in death's maw." A short laser bolt pierced the cockpit.
Break left, break left!" came a panicked transmission.
"Can't shake him, he's on my six!"
Tanix cursed as more maydays crackled over the vox. Whoever these rebels were, they were no ignorant rabble. Despite inferior technology, their pilots flew with a wolfpack discipline honed to a deadly edge.
"Rein, cover me! Fox-fours away!" Came the strangled cry of Ensign Fel, before dissolving into static-laced screams.
"Fel is down, I cannot see his chute!" Rein reported tensely. "Another on my tail, attempting evasive manuevers!" The transmission devolved into harsh breathing and the whine of strained engines.
"Leader...help...so many..." A new panicked voice joined the fray before disappearing into white noise.
Tanix checked his instruments calmly amid the chaos. His targeting computer was finding another firing solution, his gunsight beeping as it zeroed in on one enemy aerocraft.
A beep told him the firing solution was ready. Giving a short prayer to the Emperor, Tanix pressed the trigger, lasbeams lancing out and spearing the targeted fighter and turning it into slag and debris.
He toggled his comm beacon. "All wings, break off and ascend for the cloud layer. We will live to fight another day."
Reluctant acknowledgments filtered through the static as the battered squadron limped skyward, pursued by vengeful rebel craft. But the clouds would shield their extraction until the reinforcements arrived.
This day's lesson had been a harsh one. These outworlders were more than primitive rabble - they were worthy foes, and the reprisal would be accordingly. But for now, survival was what mattered most. The Aeronautica would return, in numbers to darken the skies, and complete what had begun here.
Lt Valrik Kinzel. 108th Cadian Regiment "Crimson Guard"
Currently in an unknown area of Nova Arcadia.
The squad was hiding in the forest now. After hiding a full day, Captain Sera and Commissar Kendra were in good spirits. So was Lt Leonhardt, the crazy Valk pilot who had flown them and crash landed here. Even now Kinzel could see him, head bandaged, but a crazy grin on his clean shaven face and shining hazel eyes.
The rest of the squad was faring…better than expected.
Sergeant's Jonas and Cato, the two NCOs were smoking Lho sticks casually, PFC Jax had started a game of Vostroyan Roulette Strip Poker with a few of the others, namely Karlin, currently, Trooper Karlin was losing all her winnings. Miya was reading her copy of the Guardsmen's uplifting primer, while the rest played their game.
Sighing, Kinzel stood up and decided to walk over to Kendra and Sera, the two women were looking at the area from a raised ledge, turns out the place Leonhardt had landed them was a high ground one.
The two women did not notice him, hunched over maps, and magnoculars, so he stared at the area down. To sum it up, the area they had landed in was characterized by open, grassy expanses and rolling forested hills. There were few, if any, human settlements to be seen in the surrounding area. But that wasn't the thing of attention no, it was that massive complex right in the middle of it.
Kinzel had been sort of an apprentice engineer before joining the guard, so he was looking at something that was a sprawling structure that covered hundreds of acres. Four jamming sites of some sort south of the main installation protected the weapon (assuming it was a weapon). The main site supported what seemed like various command and control facilities and was surrounded by rail-mounted weaponry (Cannons on trains, a primitive thing) for short-range defense.
The weapon (again he was guessing if this was the thing that had shot them down) itself stood atop a square foundation with six projections—four primary and two secondary—which extended several hundred meters from the central base. Each projection supported a variable-hydraulic regulator tower that was several hundred meters tall. The thing's four external power generators were situated at the cardinal points of the structure and fed into the weapon via immense power conduits. The entire structure was surrounded by three large solar panel arrays that served as a reserve power source.
The crown jewel of this place, a one-kilometer-high culminating tower rose from the central base of the weapon; the imposing superstructure's broad, rectangular shape gave it a blade-like appearance. Exhaust vents (located on either side of the tower) discharged super-heated fumes generated by firing the laser and prevented overheating. An optical amplifier and radome were situated atop a slender aperture that extended from the top of the tower.
All in all, very strange, and very unreasonable, from the eye of an engineer that was.
"Lt!" it seemed the two had noticed him now.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"You were an engineer's apprentice were you not? Back on Cadia?" Sera asked, before taking a drag from a cigar she had conjured seemingly out of nowhere.
"Yes Ma'am! I was an apprentice, before I joined the guard."
"Explain to us, what are we looking at?" Commissar Kendra now asked.
Now he was a bit bashful. "Well...uhhhh...you see..."
"Is something wrong, Kinzel."
"Not at all commissar!" he squeaked. "See, this thing could either be a thing that shoots asteroids, or it really is the thing that shot us down."
Kinzel took a deep breath to steady his nerves under the Commissar's steely gaze.
"As I was saying...this installation appears to be some kind of immense laser weapon. See those tall towers? Those are variable hydraulic regulators, modulating the laser's power output. And the big tower in the middle houses the main oscillator and amplifying lenses."
He scratched his head. "Though what kind of backwater world has the capability to build something so massive and advanced? The amount of promethium those generator stacks must consume borders on heretical. And mobile rail-mounted defense guns? Who uses trains for artillery support these days?"
Kendra arched an eyebrow impatiently as the Lt rambled on. But Sera simply chuckled. "Easy there trooper, save the technical jargon for the boffins back home. In simpler terms - you're saying this thing shot us down from orbit?"
"Oh! Yes, certainly possible ma'am." Kinzel stammered, snapping back to attention. "With the right kind of mega-joule output and precise targeting, a laser of this scale could vape Valkyries like ours out of the sky no problem. All depends if they've got the fire control systems to pull it off."
He paused, fiddling with his lasgun nervously. "Though...who in the Emperor's name needs a bloody huge planet-killing laser? And what are they aiming to glassify? Seems like overkill if you ask me..."
Kendra snorted. "Overkill is an understatement. Whoever built this death machine is clearly touched in the head. But I suspect we'll find out soon enough." She fixed Kinzel with a steely gaze. "You. Continue your recon. I want sensor readings, defenses, garrison numbers - everything you can glean about this infernal contraption. And try not to blow yourself up, trooper!"
"Y-yes ma'am!" Kinzel squeaked, snapping off a hasty salute before scurrying off into the undergrowth. Maybe he'd let the las-fire bring him back a souvenir... what could possibly go wrong?
And that's when they saw them, Valkyries, and Marauder bombers streaking in to take on the installation. The squad gave a cheer, unfortunately, a dull whine started being heard, slowly increasing in pitch till it reached a shrill crescendo and scream. The train-mounted guns opened up, the ones Kinzel had dismissed...they fired fucking lasers!
While small, they were capable of 360 degrees traverse. All. while the main tower's whine increased. Kinzel lay transfixed in horror as the battle unfolded before him. With a rising whine, the weapons array at the base of the immense tower swiveled smoothly on its mount, bringing its aperture to bear.
Without warning, an icy blue lance leapt forth, slicing upwards through the encroaching Valkyries. Armored plates vaporized instantly where the beam touched, shearing through ceramite and ferrosteel with contemptuous ease. One craft simply ceased to exist in a flash of superheated vapor.
At the same moment, the train-mounted defense lasers opened fire, tracking smoothly through full-circle rotations. Emerald bolts lashed out, punching through Valkyrie armor like it wasn't there. Screams echoed over the open vox as ships flared and died under the unrelenting barrage.
The squad gazed on in stunned silence, prayers for the crew's souls on their lips. Even the towering weapons of the Imperial Guard were rendered helpless before this alien death-dealer.
As the last Valkyrie tumbled flaming to its doom, the tower smoothly swung its deadly gaze towards the following Mauler formations. Squads of bombs spilled from bay after bay, only to evaporate under precise lancing shots. Not one scored a hit on the enemy installations below.
All too swiftly, the attack was broken - ruins and wreckage all that remained where proud Guard craft had flown. A shiver ran down Kinzel's spine at the display of butchery. What nightmares had spawned such a weapon of mass destruction?
Commissar Kendra's voice cut the silence like a bolt pistol click. "Assessment, trooper. How do we destroy that abomination?" Her eyes burned with righteous fury. The squad's morale hung by a thread - but she would see it restored in fire and blood.
Kinzel licked dry lips, mind racing. "The...the tower itself is well-armored, ma'am. But the power conduits from the generator arrays could be a weak point. And damage to the optics at the top might blind it, at least temporarily..." He trailed off, the task seeming insurmountable. But for Cadia, they had to try.
Kendra smiled coldly. "A plan is a start, trooper. Now we put flesh to its bones. Crimson Guard - with me! For the Emperor and Cadia!"
A ragged cheer went up as the veterans readied themselves for the fight of their lives. By the Throne, they would make those alien scum pay in blood for every drop spilled this day.
Tauberg. Ulraznavia. Republic of Ulraznavia.
Excalibur.
June 3rd, 1995.
A standout war photographer, Claus Bauer.
The young man had been involved in photographing the construction of the Excalibur anti-asteroid laser system from 1989, to 1995. Now armed with his Zeiß Icarex SL 706, 35mm single lens reflex camera. He was back.
"Back again Bauer? Jesus, I thought we'd seen the last of you in 94." the tower's commander drawled. They'd just seen the tower take out a few unidentified, but clearly hostile aircraft.
"Ahh Herr Oberst! You know me to well! Then and again, I'm the only photographer you guys would allow. Be glad they did not send the writer Max Hastings just yet."
"You young buck!" the commander, a colonel grumbled.
"I thought this was an anti-asteroid system." Bauer retorted dryly.
Oberst Eryk Bayerlain gave another grunt before grumbling to himself, although Bauer caught snippets of 'back in my day', or 'the generation of today...' he chuckled before he snapped another picture. The Zeiß product worked marvelously, like any Zeiß-Ikon camera.
"Why do you keep returning again?" Bayerlain asked exasperatedly.
Bauer grinned roguishly as he checked his film cartridge. "What can I say Herr Oberst, I live for a good explosion! Your big laser certainly delivers the goods."
Bayerlain rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, I'm sure the sensationalist rags pay well for your cherry-picked shots of glorious destruction." He stroked his thick mustache thoughtfully. "Though today's event was...odd, to say the least. Never expected this glorified asteroid deterrent to see combat."
Bauer lowered his camera, suddenly serious. "No, I don't imagine anyone did. But these are strange times. People will want to understand what happened here." He gazed thoughtfully at the smoking wrecks in the distance. "My images may help with that, in time."
The colonel hmphed grudgingly. "Just make sure you capture the heroic efforts of my men operating this beast. Can't have the papers thinking we sit around drinking gluhwein all day."
Bauer raised his camera again with a chuckle. "Fear not Herr Oberst, your courageous band of laser technicians will be immortalized!" He began rapidly firing off shots.
"And none of that arty nonsense either," Bayerlain grumbled. "I want portraits, clear as day, so the whole Federation knows who keeps them safe from asteroids AND unidentified flying menaces!"
"Your wish is my command!" Bauer called cheerfully as he continued clicking away. Some things, it seemed, never changed whether facing asteroids or aliens. The show must go on.
Central Lublin.
Command Center of the Newly christened UNGDI MAZWFOR.
June 3rd, 1995.
"Status update."
"We've stabilized our lines to one end, but the ones where the grey power armoured hostiles are being pushed back and back!" A communications officer reported before returning to her terminal.
Sinclair groaned and pushed some hair out of his eyes, things weren't looking good.
While sporadic early fighting had occurred on Lublin's riverfront, he'd hoped the lines would have held a bit more. They'd spent two days shoring it up before the surprise push forwards had occurred. Grey armored eight-foot-tall soldiers armed with guns that fired literal rockets and chainsaw swords had burst through the forward lines as the civilians were being evacuated, supported by armor and regular infantry, their lines never stood a chance.
Now, the grey armored soldiers were carving a good chunk of Lublin for themselves, but at least they'd stopped the regular forces for now. Sinclair looked over at the rapidly changing map on the table as officers shaded the occupied parts red.
And then the word came in that the UNGDI was coming into the play, and the fact had already turned the mood sour. United Nations Global Defense Initiative. Established during 1950s and revealed publicly during the 1960s. The UNGDI was a unified defense initiative, a replacement for the failed "UN Peacekeepers". Recent communiques told him he was now under also going to have to contend with a UN command arriving from Geneva.
Calling over a few of his officers, he placed upon them, the details of his new plan.
"Alright here's what we'll do. We plug the holes in our defense lines and hold them till every civvy's out of the goddamn city. I want all remnants of any unit, to be combined into what the UN's calling "UNGDI units, start handing out patches. NO more offense, am I understood."
The officers nodded, before heading out to give the respective orders.
Captain Shepard spoke up. "What about the derelict craft we spotted earlier? My tech squad was prepping to board her."
Sinclair scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "Any word from them, Major?"
Shepard shook her head. "Gone dark since deploying to the crash site. But their mission parameters haven't changed - if they can scavenge anything useful from that alien wreck, it could turn the tide."
"I concur. Give them the green light, but pull them out at the first whiff of trouble. Last thing we need is more KIAs." Sinclair turned back to the frazzled comms officer. "Keep hailing friendly units to fall back under UNGDI command. And get Geneva on the horn - tell 'em we need heavy support and evac ASAP, or this city's a lost cause."
"Sir!" She saluted and went back to her frantic relaying.
Sinclair leaned arms on the folded map, studying their shrinking perimeter with a frown. "Alright people, you heard the CO. Defend and evac is our new MO. No unnecessary risks - I want everyone out in one piece if humanly possible, comprende?"
A chorus of "Yes sirs!" replied. With luck and courage, they might just manage that unlikely feat against these mysterious invaders. But the clock was ticking...
MTF Nu-7, Hammer Down Squad.
Somewhere in Lublin.
The squad of 5 infantrymen quickly double-timed it through the ruined streets. Carrying only their basic gear, and their assault rifles, M16A2s and M82 bullpups. The squad NCO, the one leading them looked at a bulky GPS before looking back at the other 3.
"C'mon guys, it's just a street away."
"Jesus...you said that an hour ago, it's the goddamn afternoon." Private Rodriguez huffed as he leaned against a crumbling wall.
"Captain Shepard told us we gotta find this wreck." The NCO said.
"I know, I know. This city's a damn maze," Rodriguez replied testily. "But according to the nav data, the crash site should be right...here."
He gestured as they rounded a corner onto a rubble-strewn boulevard. A hulking shadow loomed ahead through the dust - the unmistakable torn hull plates of a downed aircraft, jagged and dark against the gray sky.
"Holy shit, Sarge, you actually found it!" Rodriguez gasped.
"Quiet down, idiot," hissed Private Chang. "We don't know what's waiting for us in there."
The NCO nodded approval. "Chang's right. I want optics and weapons up, people. Our info said Shepard's squad already breached the hull over there. Let's rendezvous and get our mission brief."
He led them in a crouching trot towards the gnarled rent in the craft's side. After a careful check of the area with his rifle-mounted scope, he waved them forward.
The ship resembled a helicopter in some sense, it had a forward fuselage section with two separate cockpits for a pilot and probably a gunner. Plus what looked like a troop compartment. Two engines resembling VTOLs were mounted on the wings. Motioning to Chang, who brought up a crowbar. Wrenching it, the two pried the door, with a little effort as screeched open.
Smoke wafted out, causing some coughing, mainly from Rodriguez. Posting two soldiers outside as sentries, the NCO, Chang and Rodriguez went inside, turning flashlights on as they did. Two wires fizzled and crackled in the darkness. Through the lights on their flashlights, they found bodies of alien troops, different from the others. They resembled the regular humanoid ones though their geae was more advanced. Some of their guns attached to their backpacks for example, via a tube. The officers had a beret. A close inspection of their faces once one's helmet was removed received an exclamation of surprise as a normal human face was looking back at them through lifeless eyes.
"Jesus Mary," Rodriguez breathed, leaning in for a closer look. "They're...just like us."
The NCO nodded grimly. "Masked the same, anyway. But their weapons..." He indicated the tubes threading complex firearms to each soldier's back-mounted packs.
"Advanced as hell." Chang finished the thought. "Good news is these don't match anything fighting out there. Could be allies, not enemies."
"I don't think so." The NCO said, looking up at a dull plaque with latin written on it in what was presumably their native tongue. Engraved on it were the words: Haereticum combure! Mutant occide! Expurgate immundos! Ave Imperator! Ave Imperium hominis!
"Check this out." The NCO beckoned over. "Seems like we got some of their language on this plaque."
"Unreal…" Rodriguez breathed in disbelief. "Seems to be some kind of… Latin?"
"Chang! Get that scanner up, we've got to have some kind of translation matrix."
"On it." The private responded, already scanning the plaque. Meanwhile, a fourth squad member came out of the cockpit area.
"Pilots are KIA, instant death. However, the gauges on the stations are written in a different language, might wanna send Chang in afterwards."
"Alright."
The 5th soldier tentively poked his head in. "Guys, my heartbeat scanner's acting up. Someone's alive in here!"
"Rodriguez! Get your scanner on and check the area!" the NCO swiftly ordered. The private gave a grumble but complied, switching on the device and moving it around. Sure enough, among all the flatlines, there was a live heartbeat.
After a bit of searching, and floundering around, Rodriguez finally moved a corpse to find an unconscious older man. A deep gash was on his forehead. Grey hair and a salt and pepper goatee were the defining features on his face that Rodriguez could currently see. He was wearing what looked like clerical robes, a cuirass and epaulettes in gold. The centerpiece was a large I which also had a skull in it.
"I found a live one right here! Possible HVEI! Sarge! You better call command for an exfil right now! Wilkes! get over here with your medical kit and inject him with sedatives, can't have him waking up all of a sudden."
Wilkes rushed over to apply stabilizing meds as the sergeant keyed his radio. "Hammer 6, this is Hammer Lead, we've got a situation at the crash site."
"Go ahead Lead, we read you five-by-five."
"Encountered unknown hostiles onboard, all KIA. But we also have a live HVEI down, unknown affiliation or capabilities. Requesting medevac and containment protocols, over."
There was a momentary crackle of static. "Hammer Down, we got a Delta Force Team inserting through Low altitude on Blackhawks currently heading to the front, but we can reroute them. Do not light smoke, keep your E-set on, we'll send them your location."
"Copy that control, we'll stay dark and wait for extraction. ETA on D-boys?" replied the sergeant.
"Greenlighting asset diversion now, ETA 10 minutes tops. Keep that area locked down. Control out."
The sergeant turned back to his men. "You heard 'em boys, we got a hot extract inbound. I want triple perimeter watch till they touch down, you see anything peeking around those ruins you light it up, comprende?"
"Sir yes sir!" They checked weapons and fanned out, taking position behind slabs of rubble.
Wilkes finished patching the mysterious captive's wound, injecting a last sedative dose. "Pulse is strong, breathing normal. Whatever this joker is, he's tough as nails."
Rodriguez shook his head in disbelief. "Alien troops, unknown language...who the hell ARE these people?"
Chang spoke up from where he was scanning the plaque. "Got something Sarge - the translation matrix reads 'Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant! Purge the unclean! Hail the Emperor! Hail the Imperium of Man!'"
The sergeant whistled softly. "Well I'll be damned...sounds like we just stumbled ass-first into a whole other can of worms, boys. Chang, keep that Matrix safe, command will want that for interrogation of our prisoners from this "Imperium of Man.", you did Scan the other language on the gauges, right?" the NCO asked.
"Right Sarge, ran the scanner over the instrument panels too." Chang pulled a data drive from his PASGT vest and handed it to the NCO.
"Got both translations - structural analysis shows the unknown language uses familiar syntax and grammar, just different characters. Should help crack their technology once we get this data to Intel."
The sergeant tucked the drive away carefully. "Solid work Chang, you may have just saved us months of guesswork. Control will want to debrief you ASAP."
He checked his watch - five minutes until extract. "Rodriguez, status on perimeter?"
The private swiveled his scope left and right. "All clear Sarge, nothing out there but rubble and dust. Think the city's finally gone quiet."
No sooner had he spoken than a flicker of movement caught his eye down the boulevard. "Wait, hold up - I got movement, two o'clock low!"
All rifles snapped up and took aim as a lone figure emerged from the fog, hands raised weakly. A pale young man in tattered civilian clothes staggered towards them, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.
"Please...help..." he rasped in heavily-accented Edenite before collapsing.
Chang swore colorfully. "That's all we needed, a civilian to babysit too!"
The sergeant scowled. "Dammit. Rodriguez, go check him! Wilkes, be ready to work fast if he's hurt bad."
Rodriguez did a quick triage assessment. "Sarge, he's in bad shape - multiple GSWs, losing blood fast. Wilkes isn't going to stabilize him here!"
A grim look passed between the soldiers. Extract was coming, but would it get there in time? This day just kept piling the Impossible higher...
Empire Class Battleship Von Ryan's Revenge.
Lord Inquisitor Anton Jessup's command ship.
Orbit above Planet christened Nova Arcadia.
24 Hours since arrival to system and Compliance operations beginning.
The bridge was deathly silent now. Nobody spoke a word, the bridge crew was being overseen by their superior, the Lord Inquisitor himself. Sitting on his command throne like a true servant of the emperor. Incense wafted around the area like a shroud covering a saint. He was the Lord Inquisitor, overseer of Battlefleet Scolaris, ensuring it did its duty and no signs of rebellion or revolt were brewing. The Inquisitor was staring at a terminal attached to his thrones armrest. These were reports of the planetary situation on the ground. According to the reports from his agents planetside, the world did not seem to have a single planetary governor. Rather, it appeared that it was ruled by a collective cabal of rich individuals controlling their respective territories from mainse's, which were currently being identified. So far, they'd identified one white, and one red complex.
Uncivilized barbarians. Jessup thought with a scoff. Ruling and cavorting their planet's resources in favour for development of their personal gains rather than having a portion of the populace join the Imperial Guard! And they seem to have different religion to…heretics the lot of them!
A tentative cough broke Jessup from his mental tirade. Looking up, he saw one of the bridge crew looking tentively at him. His blue uniform was emblazoned with the Inquisitorial rosette.
"Well? What is it? Why have you left your post?"
Jessup's gruff snap seemed to make the boy's head go even downwards before he stammered: "Milord…Urgent comminique from Tempestor Tarasenko. His Tempestus Scions reported to have seen an Inquisitorial Valkyrie shot down by rebel AA fire. Him and his stormtroopers raced to the crash site to retrieve whoever was onboard but arrived too late, 4 rotorcraft were seen leaving the site. Upon inspection, the Pilots and a retinue of Stormtroopers was KIA, but upon reading the manifest, they realized that…the Inquisitor on the Valkyrie was missing."
"F-forgive me My Lord," stammered the rating, trembling slightly under Jessup's wrathful stare. "The missing Inquisitor w-was listed as... Inquisitor Octavius Dreyfus of the Ordo Hereticus."
A heavy silence fell upon the bridge at that revelation. Dreyfus was a colossus even amongst his peers, renowned for ruthlessly hunting down heresy wherever it festered. His disappearance could shake the foundations of the Imperium's grip on this system.
Jessup scowled darkly. "Contact Tempestor Tarasenko at once. I want his Scions sweeping that crash site till they find some clue to Dreyfus's whereabouts or fate. Leave no stone unturned."
The comm officer nodded fearfully and set to work patching through on the scrambler frequency. After a terse exchange, Jessup nodded in grim satisfaction.
"It appears we are not the only ones with interest in this planet's fate, gentlemen." He rose from his throne in a swirl of black silk, sunlight glinting off ornate seals of office. He walked down the steps methodically, he walked on the bridge slowly, passing terrified crewmembers in their pits and at their stations. He stopped at the edge, and stared at the viewports, arms behind his back. He stared at the massive, verdant ball that was Nova Arcadia. He did this for several moments, before seemingly making up his mind.
He turned back, and swiftly now, marched back to his throne. With almost ladylike gracem he sat himself down, pressing several buttons on his throne's armrest as he did.
"Execution force Alpha-Seven. I am broadcasting Code Victor, Victor Delta 8. Prep gear and head planetside. Coordinates will be given, that is all."
Deep within the bowels of the ship, in a relatively detached area, inside a strangely comfortable living quarters, four Latex clad women were lounging about.
Vindicare Unit 'Triple Six', a woman with heterochromia and short black hair in a messy bob moodily cleaned her rifle, she wasn't one for small talk.
On a bunk, looking at a mirror, the Culexus Unit, known by her fellow assassins as 'Sifuri', emptionlessly redid her braided hair, her skin was a rich chocolaty brown, while the weapons beside her belied the deadly threat she was.
In the armory, Eversor unit Stria Rabios gleefully and psychotically giggled as she assembled her bolter. Her hair was messier, white in color. Her eyes, green in color, were red rimmed, dark circles around her eyes. Her irises were slits, rabid like a dog's as she gleefully laughed at some dark joke.
Only Vidhya Dhari, the Callidus assassin seemed the calm one, sitting serenely cross leged in meditation, a calm smile-an unnatural expression for one of her skillset, and her eyes closed. Her red hair was done in a long top-knottish braid, secured by a steel ring. Her skin tone was an exotic olive. Her eyes, though closed, were a bewitching red beneath her eyelids.
Presently, Stria, jumped out of the armory, savagely grinning like a maniac. She bounded up to the vindicare and started jumping around as she talked.
"Heyyyy Trip, Watcha doin? Stria bounded around Triple Six, chattering excitedly. "Whatcha workin' on Trips?! Polishing that big ol' gun of yours again? Don'tcha know a real assassin uses her bare hands!"
She cackled maniacally at her own joke. Triple Six's eyes flicked up briefly, unamused. "My 'big gun' gets more kills than you on your best day, rabbit."
Stria's grin stretched even wider at the insult. "Aww don't be like that sugar tits! You ain't lived till you been up close and Personal with a target," she cooed, miming a garrote around her own neck with glee.
Vidhya cracked an eye open again as if to interject but said nothing. Sifuri didn't stir from her position on the bunk. "Two minutes," she droned dispassionately.
Sure enough, exactly 120 seconds later Stria miscalculated a lunge at the Vindicare and landed face-first on the floor. Triple Six sighed heavily and went back to cleaning without a word. Vidhya closed her eyes once more with a small secret smile, serenity restored. Another successful meditation complete.
Triple Six's eyes narrowed dangerously. "One more word shit-for-brains and your head's gonna be the first I pop."
Vidhya chuckled softly. "Now now children, play nice."
Sifuri rolled her eyes without looking up. "Stria if you keep yapping I'll stuff a grenade in your mouth myself."
Undeterred, Stria giggled maniacally. "Aww you know you love me Sifi! Wanna kiss and blow some shit up?"
Before Sifuri could reply, Triple Six snapped. "THAT'S IT YOU DEMENTED FREAK!"
She leapt at Stria, tackling her to the floor. The pair began wrestling violently amid a chaotic mess of shrieks and curses. Vidhya just smiled serenely as all around erupted into mayhem once more
Back in position, Stria started to pick herself up like an eager puppy, pausing briefly to spit out a loose tooth. "Aww come ooon, don't be like that Trippy! Aw brighten up, things could be worse - at least we ain't gotta babysit that Inquisitor bloke anymore!"
Almost immediately the PA only accessible through a came online, with Lord Inquisitor's sickly and oily tenor droning through. "Execution force Alpha-Seven. I am broadcasting Code Victor, Victor Delta 8. Prep gear and head planetside. Coordinates will be given, that is all."
On the ground, tumbled in a heap, Stria gave a desponded and childish groan "Oh feth..." she pouted as she untangled herself from Triple Six's grip. "Aww do we gotta go work already? I was just startin to have fun!"
Sifuri polished her rune-carven hellpistol calmly. "Duty calls, try not to get us all killed this time maniac."
"No promises!" Stria cackled, dashing off to suit up.
Triple Six grimaced as she broke down her rifle. "Victor-Victor-Delta, huh? Someone must've really pissed the Lord Inquisitor off this time."
Vidhya rose smoothly from her meditative pose. "Doubtless an opportunity for answers awaits below. Though I suspect reaching them may require... flexibility."
"Just means more fun for me!" Stria's muffled voice carried from the armory.
Sifuri met Vidhya's knowing look and sighed. "Hope this planet's got good booze, feeling I'll need it after this job."
Minutes later the squad emerged kitted for war. Stria laughed maniacally as she strapped on grenades, already twitching for the kill. Sifuri just tugged her hellpistol's leather grip and sighed again wearily. It was going to be a long day...