Ch-11

Ride of the valkyrie's

50m below the Atlantic Ocean.

June 3rd. 1995

Deep below the dark swirling depths of the Atlantic a sleek object dashed pass. And if the human ear had been sensitive enough, they would have heard the "Ping!" of the Sonar. If the caterpillar drive was not activated, that is.

Inside, clad in the simple black fatigues of the submariner and striped undershirt so notable with the Vostokvakian armed forces, Captain Second Rank Viktor Aleksievich Tupolev smoked a cigarette in the main control compartment of the Project 705 Lira class submarine, commonly known in the West by its OFN reporting name Alfa class. K-563, also known as the V.K Konovalov (or just VK to its crew.) Not a sound was heard in the sub from either Tupolev or the rest of the 10-man crew, who were silently seated at their terminals and workstations. For the past hour, the VK had sailed from Murmansk, around the Ulraznavian Baltisch states and was now in the North Atlantic waiting for its next orders. Not that Tupolev minded, he could play the waiting game extremely well. Especially with such a well-equipped submarine.

As the Alfa class sped along, it was clear it was very different to the base model. The VK was a new model, known as the Lira-B. It was much more automated, hence with its reduced crew from 18 to just 10 sailors. A suite of new systems was developed for these submarines, including:

Akkord (Accord) combat information and control system, which received and processed hydroacoustic, television, radar, and navigation data from other systems, determining the location, speed, and predicted trajectory of other ships, submarines, and torpedoes. Information was displayed on control terminals, along with recommendations for operating a single submarine, both for attack and torpedo evasion, or commanding a group of submarines.

Sargan weapon control system controlling attack, torpedo homing, and use of countermeasures, both by human command and automatically if required.

Okean (Ocean) automated hydroacoustic (sonar) system that provided target data to other systems and eliminated the need for crew members working with detection equipment.

Sozh navigation system and Boksit (Bauxite) course control system, which integrated course, depth, trim, and speed control, for manual, automated, and programmed maneuvering.

Ritm (Rhythm) system controlling operation of all machinery aboard, eliminating the need for any personnel servicing reactor and other machinery, which was the main factor in reducing crew complement.

Alfa radiation monitoring system.

TV-1 television optical system for outside observation.

All the systems of the submarine were fully automated and all operations requiring human decision were performed from the control room.

The K-563 was part of Vostokvakia's Northern Fleet. Usually, Alfa's were kept in their pens, until needed for a high-speed chase against the navies of the Confederation of Concordia and its allies on Euronia like the United Kingdom of Eden, Francovia, the Benelux, etc. Tupolev himself had snuck very close to Portsmouth, the Edenite Royal Navy's storied port and a big matter of pride for the island nation and had even broken a Guinness World Record in 89 when at only 19, he had done the fastest dash from Murmansk in Western Euronia to Boston, all the way over in another continent in North Liberia in Concordia's historical port. All in all, not bad for a "youngster". And the democratic reforms of President Narmonov had given him more tactical freedom. He was a native of the Vostokvakian CSSFR, from Murmansk, so most of his crew were Murmanskers as well, with a few Far Easterners in the mix as well.

Tupolev suddenly became aware of the fact that a pair of eyes were boring into him from behind. "Natalia Petrovna, if there is something you want to say, please say it to my damn face. Or are you going to be a scared little Chekist and spy on my every move."

The woman behind him scowled. The rest of the crew, 5 men and 5-woman bit down their laughter. It was no secret, no matter what the captain or the zampolit (Political Officer) said, the crew knew it, they were in love.

"I bet you want to know what our orders are?" she asked him in a rather clipped tone.

Tupolev yawned before turning to face the brunette. "Let me guess, Leytenant. The West has declared war on the Socialist Coalition, and we have to fight the navies of the decadent Organization of Free nations, am I right?" he smirked.

Natalia Petrovna Prokofieva gave another scowl. A lithe, svelte and athletic girl whose dark brown hair was currently in a ponytail, she fought hard to restrain the blush that was coming on her face. "Careful Viktor Aleksievich," she warned. "Don't make me question your record, you are under suspicion by the GRU and MGB after all."

"For what?" Tupolev lit another cigarette, taking a long deep drag before continuing. "Is it because I was an exchange student for 10 months at the Ulraznavian U-Boot-Schule" inVilniushe pronounced the West Ulraznavian words perfectly "Under Captain Marko Ramius."

Prokofieva blushed. Tupolev took a long drag on his cigarette as he swiveled his chair to face the political officer. Her stern expression made it clear she wasn't pleased with his flippant attitude.

"Don't start with the veiled threats again Natalya," he said breezily. "You and I both know my 'suspicions' are crap dreamed up by pencil-pushers."

Her eyes narrowed. "Watch yourself captain. I can make life very difficult if you insist on being difficult."

Tupolev blew smoke towards the ceiling. "Ooh, I'm shaking. What's next, you'll revoke my membership in the 'Young Pioneers'?" He clutched his heart dramatically.

Prokofieva's scowl deepened at his sarcastic tone. "Keep pushing me Viktor. This isn't a game."

"Isn't it?" Tupolev shot back. "Chasing phantoms while the world goes mad above us?" He gestured broadly. "What's the damn point anymore?"

"The point is doing our duty, like always," she replied coldly.

Tupolev groaned and stubbed out his cigarette. "You zampoliti are all the same, Jesus alright what are our orders?"

Prokofieva sighed before turning back and heading into her cabin. Tupolev watched her go before staring at the rest of the crew, some of whom had gleeful expressions. "What the fuck are you idiots staring at? Get back to work!" with a shout, the crew quickly got back to their tasks, looking innocent.

Prokofieva returned, a data slate in her hands. She handed the sleek thing to Tupolev, who read through it. As he read through it, his thoughts became more and more surprised.

"We're at war?" he asked, "With whom?"

Prokofieva merely took her dataslate back, "Not with the West, Viktor Aleksievich."

Tupolev gave a sigh of relief and took another long drag from his cigarette. At least that meant Murmansk and most of his family and friends were not harmed and wiped out in a rain of thermonuclear death. He gave a silent smile before turning back to Prokofieva. "Then who's attacking us, the Federalist Ulraznavians?"

"I'm afraid all the info here was sent to this data slate hours ago is on a need-to-know basis." Prokofieva crossed her arms across her chest. "I don't have that much of a clearance level yet. But the attacks in Moskvingrad, Moskvya…they are not isolated incidents. Attacks are occurring all over the 7 continents. Western Euronia, our only remaining Satellite state in Eastern Euronia, the continents of Afrika, Erusea, South Liberia, hell even the Capitalist Concordians. They are showing no mercy."

"And who exactly are They?" Tupolev was confused. If not with the west, then who the hell was attacking.

"Use that fancy TV-1 system and look at the sky." Prokofieva ordered him. Tupolev bristled at being ordered around his own ship as Prokofieva dodged his question about their mysterious new enemy. Typical political officer caginess. With a sigh, he turned on the TV-1 optical system as ordered, its cameras panning across the dark ocean surface overhead.

At first, he saw nothing unusual in the night sky. Then the cameras tilted up further, towards the stars. And Tupolev froze, cigarette tumbling from his fingers in shock.

"Bozhe moy ..." he breathed. Where there should have been empty space, an enormous fleet now occupied the heavens. Kilometer long ships of impossible geometry and design hovered ominously above the planet, highlighted by frequent energy discharges that lanced down into the atmosphere.

As Tupolev watched, stunned, more smaller craft began streaking down towards the surface. Towards the cities and military bases now coming under coordinated assault around the world.

"Natalia..." he said slowly, still processing what he was seeing. "Please tell me you know what the hell those things are."

But the political officer looked just as shaken. "I've never seen anything like them," she answered quietly. "But command says they appeared in orbit a day ago. Our deep space arrays detected some kind of massive energy surge right before."

She met Tupolev's gaze. "Whoever they are, they don't seem interested in talking. These attacks are just the beginning."

Tupolev clenched his jaw, mind racing. An invasion, from beyond their world. And his crew, and the VK, were now very much on the front lines.

Prokofieva read his face before speaking again. "At 2 AM, the VVS's 314th Fighter Squadron stationed at Vyazma intercepted an alien craft near their AO. 3 MiG-29s were sent. Two of the MiGs were shot down however one of the planes was able to shoot down the UFO. It's pilot, a Junior Lieutenant Anastasiya "Anya" Zhalkova ejected over the sea and is currently confirmed as alive. Ground radar also confirmed that the UFO was shot down as well. Our new mission, and these orders come from the STAVKA, are to sail to the location of this craft, and if its pilot is alive, capture it for interrogation as well as a bit of its craft for research.

"And our own pilot." Tupolev lit yet another cigarette. "She's probably freezing, and in these temperatures…, isn't it the highest priority of Mother Vostokvakia to get its fighting sons and daughters back to fight.

"Like I said, Comrade Captain" She dropped the use of his name altogether "These orders come from the STAVKA, the highest military authority in the Coalition. Comrade Zhalkova will be fine."

Tupolev's jaw tightened as Prokofieva relayed the orders from STAVKA command - intercept and capture one of the downed invaders for interrogation. He didn't like leaving a pilot, let alone a young woman, adrift alone in frigid Arctic waters after being shot down.

"Comrade Captain, the security of the Motherland must come first," Prokofieva added firmly, seeing his hesitation. "Zhalkova fulfilled her duty already by securing this opportunity. We cannot squander it."

Tupolev took a long drag on his cigarette to mask his frustration. He understood the logic, cold as it was. And refusal could be seen as insubordination, or worse, weakness. Still, it sat ill with him.

"I want it noted in the log that I oppose leaving one of our own behind without attempting rescue," he said tersely. "But very well, we have our mission. Helmsman, set course for the downed contact, full speed."

"Aye Captain, coming about," came the swift reply. The Alfa submarine surged forward, her advanced hydrojet propulsion rapidly eating up the miles.

Inwardly though, Tupolev was already calculating how he could carry out their true orders while still recovering Zhalkova. Creative interpretation of directives was a captain's prerogative after all. And he refused to fail a pilot who had already sacrificed so much.

1st Captain Lazarus

Silver Angels Chapter

Newly named city of Taranax

Newly discovered planet of Nova Arcadia.

Nova Arcadia system.

The moment the drop pod smashed into the ground and opened, thinking became a secondary objective. 1st Captain Lazarus of the 1st company stormed out, their filters filling with cries of faith and oaths to the emperor. They had gone in bolters and swords blazing. It wasn't until later, once they had met up with Brother Captain Clotho, that they finally stopped and took some time to get a bearing on their surroundings.

By then, any sign of the native rebels had been removed. Most of them lay dead, and the marines now began to study their surroundings, and it unnerved them. For one thing the skyline was extremely different. As they looked, far away the city looked like it was made up of tall blocks made up of glass and steel. Where they stood, the hab-blocks looked tall, grey, utilitarian and utterly soulless. All these blocks were built in straight lines, were massive, and looked way to advanced, tech heresy. That was not the only thing though. It did not look like an Imperial City. There were no hives like a hive city, no cathedral's, no manefactoriums, absolutely nothing Imperial.

And their vehicles, their cars. They were so flimsy. In the Imperium, Lazarus noted, the vehicles were built to last. Here, the were built with flimsy archaic materials such as from thin steel and feeble plastic. A single bolter round would destroy one of them easily (provided it didn't simply penetrate one side, pass right through, and come out the other end!). Several had different names like BMW, MERCEDES-BENZ, TRABANT, PORSCHE, FORD, whatever they meant.

The only meaningful resistance (if one could call it that at all due to its utter disorganization and lack of any tactical ability) had come from various and severely under-equipped groups of what looked to be local law enforcement as well as a local militia. Their weapons were laughably inadequate and their resistance hopeless and disorganized, more desperate than efficient, but as easily as these groups had been put down, that only raised another important question: where were the rebels' real military forces? Surely, they understood the Imperium was coming to crush them. Did they not have even simple lasguns at their disposal? And if this wasn't the area they were targeting, then what place was this? And who built buildings like this?

He inspected the weapon of one of the militia members. It was a primitive slug thrower. Sleek and black, made of some wood and steel, it looked unnaturally puny and weak. With a look of disgust, he threw the crude implement away.

"Maybe we should see if the natives can answer that for us." Brother Caliban, a Primaris Intercessor interjected, cocking his head towards the corpses. Lazarus nodded before stomping towards them. Looming above them, he inspected them with extreme impunity. All of them were young, both males and females and of various ranks (If they had any that is) He inspected one, a young girl of probably adolescent age.

Her face held a frozen fearful expression, her eyes were closed and her hair, done in two braids was bloodstained. Lazarus grunted, that one was not going to have any good info. He searched the others, neither seemed to fit his expectation. At last, he came to the final corpse. It was a young man, coarse black hair could be seen underneath his peaked cap, which resembled a comissar's albeit smaller. On his eyes were spectacles although they were cracked but Lazarus did not care for that, he was staring at the boy's shoulder boards. Compared to the others, his had bits of silver on them, an officer perhaps? Only one way to find out.

Standing up, Lazarus stomped the boy's head, which was crushed almost instantly. Raising his foot, he found the boys cranial matter on the pavement. Gathering it up, he took his helmet off and looked around. The place looked much different when not being seen through his helmets HUD. Taking a deep breath, now he had to do the hard part. He quickly ingested the brain matter. His omophagia began to check through the memories of this Hauptmann Dieter Werner. Age-24. Trientier Central Ulraznavian Bundespolizei Precinct, Central Police District. Trientier? Lazarus thought confused for a moment.

Images and memories began to form themselves in Lazarus's mind. Images of the city when it was crowded and busy, what must have been a normal day, through the eyes of this boy, this... wait a minute, Trientier... why in the name of the Emperor was this one name appearing all the time. Lazarus looked up and around him. As he digested the boy's mind, he was beginning to gain some understanding of the language. Street signs and storefronts around him began to make sense. KARL GUSTAFF SHOP... a store named after a local historical figure named Karl Gustaff, whoever that was (Lazarus strangely found himself thinking of black-and-white photographs of a young man with a clean shaven face - elements of Dieter's memories, no doubt). Haushaltsgeräte... household appliances. Geschenkartikel... gift items. Modeschmuck... fashion jewelry. Kaffeeshop... coffee shop. Bierhalle... beer hall. Terrasse... Terrace. Altstadt... old city. Garten... garden. Trientier... a name... the name of this city.

"Trientier..." he muttered, finally understanding it all.

"What the hell are you whispering about?" Caliban was in front of him looking perplexed.

"This place, city." Lazarus gestured at the hab-blocks and shops. "It's called Trientier."

"Then…where exactly are the rebels?" Caliban now had a concerned tone.

"I don't…know." Lazarus groaned putting a hand on his forehead. "Never liked this process, now those memories are screwing with me."

"1st Captain. Battle Brother." A voice boomed behind from behind them. Turning their heads, they saw Bladeguard Veteran Kritios Androupolos, the commander of the company join them. "I trust we got to the right LZ." He asked.

"No Milord." Lazarus replied. "We are at a place called Trientier."

"Feth!" Kritios cursed. Being one of the youngest chapters of Dark Angel's genes stock meant a lot of pressure. "Are you telling me we messed up our first big Op." he asked Lazarus and Caliban.

Lazarus shared a tense look with Caliban as the chapter master voiced his frustration. Their target drop zone was clearly not where they had landed.

"It appears so, Commander," Lazarus finally replied. "This city is called Trientier, according to the memories I extracted. There are no signs of rebel forces that I can discern."

He gestured to the surrounding buildings and streets. "This seems to be a civilian population center, though the architecture and technology are...unfamiliar."

Kritios spat another oath. "Inaccurate intelligence and astropathic divination yet again! We will need to thoroughly purge the Librarius when we return." His tone turned thoughtful. "And if this is not the rebel stronghold, where in the Emperor's name are we?"

Caliban cleared his throat. "The natives' appearance and language are strange as well, Commander. I do not believe we are where the divination claimed at all."

That gave Kritios pause. He surveyed the area with a critical eye, no doubt seeing the differences for himself now. "You may be right, brother. This planet...it does not seem to match the target description."

"Shall we attempt to determine our position, Commander?" Lazarus asked. "Further reconnaissance may reveal useful information."

Kritios considered a moment, then nodded.

"Agreed. But stay vigilant - we do not know what resistance remains. For now, we gather intelligence and ensure no enemy escapes to warn others."

Lazarus and Caliban saluted in acknowledgment. This op was salvageable yet. They would unravel this mystery, then exact righteous punishment on any who stood against the Imperium.

Jongha-go.

29 miles from DMZ

People's Democratic Republic of Gregureyo

June 3rd 1995.

Sanggŭp-pyŏngsa Ri Ji-mi kept on running through the snowy ground. In her hands, was her Type-88 assault rifle. Behind her 3 other soldiers were running. Their destination was the DMZ, where they could escape the south. The sounds of the large caliber bangs that came from those massive, armoured beings. Hermit Kingdom indeed, she thought bitterly. They'd lost contact with Pyongyang hours ago. If only they let us have some good weapons for once. She thought. The Fatherly leader was presumed dead, along with the rest of the party.

Behind her, an armoured giant suddenly appeared, Ri watched as 3 of the soldiers with her were reduced to red mist. She ran even quicker, the DMZ was so close now. "Goddamn it all, those tech hoarders of the Leader." She vented before she gasped for air as she sprinted through the snow, the sounds of her pursuing enemy drawing closer. The massive, armored figures had appeared without warning, impervious to their weapons, and were now remorselessly hunting down her scattered unit.

Glancing back, she choked down a scream as another of her comrades was vaporized by searing blasts from the giants, turned to red mist in an instant. Only tenuous discipline kept her from panicking completely.

The DMZ and possible escape lay just ahead. But with no way to fight back, she was helpless before these juggernauts. If only they had been allowed modern weapons, instead of being denied as potential threats to the leadership. Their antique arms were worse than useless now.

Her lungs burned as she forced her legs faster. The stories were true - the regime had doomed them all with their paranoid secrecy and hoarding. And now these monsters were reaping the consequences.

With a final desperate burst, Ji-mi hurled herself into the snow-covered underbrush at the very edge of the DMZ, heedless of mines or sentries from the South. Anything was better than dying like that. She had to survive, to try and warn anyone she could reach.

Crawling into the concealing branches, she peered back just as another salvo vaporized the final soldier. The giants stalked off, seeking new prey. Ji-mi stifled terrified sobs, willing her pounding heart silent. She would live, if only to avenge her fallen comrades for the regime's fatal hubris.

III Corps HQ

Colonel General Hong-Koo stared at the map in disbelief. Scratching his chin, he stared at the tactical map display of the few the GPA had.

"So, the Nahmen are attacking?" he asked the bloodied scout. Like all GPA personnel, minus the elite units, his equipment was frightfully simple.

"No sir. It's not the south. One of the patrols claimed they were being attacked as if spirits, or demons more like, had descended from the heavens above."

Across the room, the younger girl, wearing the garb of a captain snorted. "Angels? Spirits? What Bourgeoise nonsense is this."

Hong-Koo winced. Captain Mai had recently transferred from the 105th Guards Seoul Ryu Kyong-Su Armored Division, the North Gregureyo regime's poster unit, the elites. She was one of those people who had a cheery tone regardless of the situation. Across the room, Colonel Choi facepalmed, "Is she being serious now." He whispered to the general discreetly.

Hong-Koo suppressed a wince as Captain Mai loudly dismissed the scout's report of mysterious armored attackers descending from the sky. Her skepticism was painfully ill-timed, and the barely concealed eye roll from Colonel Choi confirmed he felt the same.

"Perhaps spirits was a fanciful description," Hong-Koo said diplomatically before the overzealous captain could disparage the terrified scout further. "But we must take these reports seriously. An unknown enemy has staged a coordinated attack, and their technology exceeds anything we or the South possess."

The scout took a shaky breath, then spoke haltingly. "They...they were giants, armored and carrying massive guns. Energy weapons, like in films. Our bullets just bounced off them." He shuddered at the memory. "And they showed no mercy, sir."

Choi cocked his head towards the scout. The enemy described sounded more like aliens or extraterrestrials from those foreign movies every elite was allowed to watch.

Hong-Koo squeezed the boy's shoulder in wordless support before turning grimly to the others. "There you have it. We face an enemy more powerful than we ever imagined. So we must be adaptable and cautious in response."

He speared Captain Mai with a stern look. "There is no shame in learning from new information, however strange it may seem at first. Dismiss nothing out of hand in these uncertain times. Are we clear, Captain?"

Chastened, Mai nodded, finally taking the situation seriously. Hong-Koo hoped there was still time to salvage an effective defense. Though against an enemy from the very heavens, what hope could there be?

Somewhere in the Sea Of Satsuma.

Senior Lieutenant Anastasiya "Anya" Zhalkova broke the water with a gasp. Her ejection seat had worked and now she was floating thanks to her life vest, which was also working. Inflating the life raft, she then lay down on it before turning on her E-set. With that done, a rescue chopper or navy boat would come hopefully. With nothing else to do, she simply lay there, looking at the stars.

And what of their adversary, Zhalkova was certain that her missiles had brought it down. Anya lay back in her life raft, gazing up at the night sky as she floated adrift in the frigid sea. Her thoughts drifted to her squadron back at the base again, no doubt wondering about her fate after the chaotic dogfight.

She shivered, the cold seawater soaking through her flight suit. Hypothermia would claim her soon without rescue. Keying her emergency beacon had been reflex, but would anyone even receive it? For now, all she could do was wait and endure.

Time passed agonizingly slowly, marked only by lapping waves. Anya began to fear she'd perish alone out here, forgotten. Then suddenly a light flickered on the horizon, faint but steady. A ship! Heart pounding, she quickly grabbed her paddles and labored towards the distant glow. Each stroke was torment in the frigid water, but that light gave her focus.

She had survived the crash and the sea thus far. She would be damned if she gave up now when salvation was so close. Face set with grim determination, Anya pushed through the pain and steadily closed the distance, one agonizing paddle stroke at a time. Just a little longer...she had to make it.

Southern Francovia.

Lt Ryan Parker.

US 5th Battalion, Bravo Company.

Now that the firebase was taken, Parker took some time to take stock of the current situation. Climbing up the stairs to the top of the lighthouse, he grabbed his binoculars to take a good look at the battlefield. To the south, explosions and gunfire raged as Sabatier and Sawyer's forces mopped up the last of the Alien forces in the area, the skies were filled with cobra's, Apache's, F-16s dueling with their alien counterparts. He then turned to look further south, where the enemy headquarters probably was. No activity was occurring there, but he could see smoke coming from a complex.

The ground was littered with smoking wrecks, both Mirages and F-16s, as well as alien fighter aircraft, that dotted the once pristine fields.

His radio began to crackle, he put his binoculars down just as he heard Sawyer's gravelly voice.

"Good work lieutenant. That infantry won't bother us anymore. I'm going to give you access to some additional fire support, including the AA you saved. Use the artillery at your discretion. Captain Bannon! Give me a SITREP! Have you accomplished your objective?

"Not yet, sir. Enemy strength greater than expected. I could use some back-up, over."

"Negative. Stay in place and keep E.T. pinned. I'm sending Parker to retake the village instead. You hear that, Parker? Clear out the village and report back. Eagle Six out."

There was a click, signifying the connection was cut. He sighed. Parker rubbed his eyes wearily as Sawyer's orders crackled over the radio. His men had fought hard taking the firebase and could use some rest and resupply before advancing further.

Parker sighed in frustration. Sawyer was always too eager to keep the momentum going, no matter the cost to his troops. But contradiction wasn't an option either.

He grabbed the field radio. "All units, this is Bravo Six. Dustoff is inbound for evac, then we refit and push out. I know you're tired, but Captain Bannon has contacted him. We just need to hold the village long enough for him to finish his job."

Parker sighed in frustration as Sawyer's orders came through. After the intensity of securing the firebase, the lieutenant was eager to press onward. But he had to acknowledge the larger strategic picture that Sawyer saw.

Triggering his radio, Parker replied, "Bravo Six copies all, Eagle Six. My men could use a breather after the last push. I'll stand by for resupply and medevac until we're ready to push for the village."

He lowered the handset and turned to survey his troops. Third platoon was in the process of passing out ammo and bandages under Staff Sergeant Taylor's direction while MedEvac choppers swooped in to retrieve the wounded. The rest slumped exhausted against whatever cover was available, chugging canteens of water.

After a moment, Parker's radio crackled again. "Bravo Six, this is Eagle Six. Update on resupply - choppers will be there within ten mikes. No further orders until you report ready to advance. Use the time to plan your approach. Eagle Six out."

Parker nodded to himself. Sawyer was right to let them rest up before pressing the attack. As eager as Parker was to chase the enemy, casualties would only increase if they went in worn down.

He approached Taylor. "Sergeant, once the resupply birds are away again have the men top off and hydrate. I want to go over potential routes into the village with you and the other NCOs."

Taylor saluted. "Right away sir. We'll be ready to brief you in ten."

With that, Parker began climbing down to confer with his noncoms. Sawyer had experience they lacked - best to make the most of this breathing room while they could. The enemy wouldn't wait forever.

Taylor cleared his throat hesitantly. "Sir, if I may...are you sure redirecting us to support Captain Bannon is the wisest call?"

Parker raised an eyebrow questioningly. Taylor elaborated. "No disrespect to the captain, but it sounds like Charlie Company really botched it already. Sending our boys in straight after them risks getting caught up in the same fire. We'd be better off hitting the village from a new angle while they draw fire."

Sergeant First Class Rodriguez nodded agreement. "Taylor's right, lieutenant. With respect, Captain Bannon's people screwed the pooch on this one. We go in behind them, we'll just be mopping up or getting mopped."

Parker considered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. As much as he disliked undermining another officer, their points made tactical sense. "Alright. Sawyer said use the time to plan - so plan we will. What's an alternative approach that plays to our strengths?"

The NCOs huddled over the terrain map, pointing out features and debating options. After a few minutes, Taylor tapped a spot northwest of the village.

"If we flank around this ridgeline sir, we can hit them from the side while they're focused forward. Folks in Third Platoon are crack shots - they can lay down cover fire while First and Second sweep in behind."

Rodriguez nodded. "And if we get engineers to blow some holes in that stone wall there, we got options to outflank or push through."

Taylor nodded in understanding. "Capt'n ain't looking too hot out there. Colonel's right to pull him back before his boys get chopped to pieces."

"So it's on us now," said Staff Sergeant Klein gruffly. "

Parker studied the map thoughtfully. "This ridge here looks like our best approach. Give us some cover from the south edge of town while we flank around. Taylor, I want your 1st Squad on point. Move fast and light through this draw until you hit the treeline, then switch to dispersed skirmish line. Make for the treeline on the northeast side of the village."

He pointed out the intended rally point. "Klein, back them up with 2nd Squad in column. Stay bent low in the treeline for overwatch until Taylor's in position. 3rd will fall in behind, ready to support either squad as needed."

Parker looked up, meeting each NCO's eyes. "We push in sharp, hit them from an unexpected angle before they regroup. I don't wanna give them time to set up an ambush for us in the streets. Any questions?"

Taylor and Klein shook their heads. "Sound tactic, sir," Taylor affirmed.

"Alright then gentlemen," Parker said, rolling up the map. "Let's prep the men. Choppers'll be inbound soon and I want us moving as soon as the dust clears. Stay frosty out there - expect enemy contact at any time once we cross that tree line."

With luck, they could retake the village yet without fumbling the ball like Charlie Company. And maybe earn some respect in the process.

With any luck, they could slide into the village, shore up Bannon's position, then retreat back here under cover of darkness for some honest rest.

Countess General Cassandra Rodion.

Imperial Field HQ.

42 Miles away from frontline.

They'd managed to repair their comms. The general had her eyes in the battlefield and the situation seemed worse than the last time she'd checked. Her forces were being pushed back. The enemy's ingenious push north had taken Firebase Vulkan. The last comm from the commander there had been panicked.

She drummed her fingers calmly on the table. The few survivors had trudged east, to the village and were reporting that they had repulsed an enemy assault, and they had pushed them back. The first good news since this crazy rebel counter-offensive had begun. The current forces stationed in the village were the 11th Taran, 124th New Cadian, and 212th Airborne Tank regiment, or what remained of it, including most of it's 501st Heavy Tank Battalion.

"Situation report?" she asked tersly.

"The village holds, our forces repulsed an assault from the south by a company sized armoured formation." One of her aides (her usual one was wounded, and lay in the medicae room.) "Casualties on our side were light, 10 dead, 30 wounded."

"Good, and the rebels?"

The girl paused before looking down at her reports, "Estimates from the 124th give at least 35- percent of the rebel company annihilated, give or take."

"Good, good. Anything else?"

The aide looked back at her files before shaking her head.

"Nothing else, Ma'am."

Rodion relaxed. "Very good Lieutenant, you may leave."

The girl saluted her sharply before turning and heading out of the room. Rodion sighed, this counter offensive business was slowly turning into a nightmare. Her forces had hoped compliance was swift but the rebel forces were well trained, for their standards. The surprising push north showed that they weren't short on skill and grit either.

She looked at the map, her forces had been withdrawing slowly. They'd landed near the coast and frankly they had no seaborne vehicles waiting for them. They could try and break out and try and reach Lord Commander Augustin Vespasian's headquarters in a large city a few days march from here, but that was a last ditch scenario assuming she failed here.

There was a beep, signifying an urgent call. Looking at who it was, she was surprised to find it was Lord Admiral Vallin!

However, when she opened the connection, she was surprised to see Lord Inquisitor Anton Jessup in the call too.

"My lords," she greeted them crisply. "Operations are proceeding, though the enemy's northern thrust took us unawares. We've fallen back to secure defensible positions."

Jessup's lip curled impatiently. "It is the second day, Countess. You mean to say the rabble has mounted a credible counter-offensive already?"

Rodion ignored his tone. "They have proved more organized and well-led than anticipated. Our scouts underestimated enemy strength near the firebase - they engaged a full battalion, not a company as first believed. This counter-offensive began at 0630 Hours, and has been continuing since."

She gestured at the hololithic map over the table. Tiny icons marked known enemy units in blue. "The 12th Cadian took heavy losses in the retreat from Firebase Vulkan. My forces here comprise the remnants of the 11th and 124th regiments, with armor support from the 212th. We number approximately 750 effective at last count."

Jessup sniffed disdainfully. "Barely more than a regiment left to hold the village. Pray, Countess, explain how you intend to halt the enemy's advance with such meager forces."

Rodion kept her temper in check. "Our scouts now place the attacking company at two understrength battalions, estimating 300 men. We've halted their assault for now. But I concur further reinforcement would stabilize our position, especially with additional armor."

She turned to Vallin. "What support can Scolaris provide, Lord Admiral? Orbital bombardment of identified enemy formations would hamper their operations considerably."

Vallin considered with his customary composure. "We've been conducting sensor sweeps and aerial reconnaissance as ordered, Countess. Targeting data on enemy troop concentrations can be provided within the hour for a coordinated strike. You said this offensive of the rebels began at 0630 Hours, were there any signs?" Vallin asked

"Yes, the silence?"

Jessup gave a confused look, "I beg your pardon?"

"Comm silence Milord. We cannot understand their language, our techpriests have affirmed it is a pre-Imperial language, predates even the dark age of technology, it is an Ancient Terran dialect, but at approximately 0500 hours, all chatter ceased. At 0630 hours, we were woken by a huge artillery barrage, not up to the size of ours, but still extremely effective before a combined arms push came from the south, and the west. Then, my scouts told me that a small force consisting of two combined arms companies pushed north, my most heavily defended area and were heading to Firebase Vulkan."

"What! Through your most heavily defended area?" Jessup indignantly shouted,

"Yes, this push began with the main assault."

"Well, then it certainly was not your most "Heavily defended area."

"My men were caught off guard!" she was shouting now. "Most of them barely knew the enemy was moving so deep into our lines until they were on top of them!"

"Peace, Countess," Vallin rumbled calmly. "Assigning blame serves no purpose here."

Rodion scowled but mastered herself with effort. Jessup's smug look only stoked her ire further, but she focused on Vallin instead. "You're right, my lord. My sentries clearly failed to detect the enemy flanking maneuver in time. A flaw that must be corrected going forward."

Vallin nodded. "Indeed. Have you analyzed how the rebels achieved such penetration unnoticed?"

Rodion sighed. "Only theories at this point. They employed comms silence before their barrage to mask preparations. And moving under cover of darkness along this ridge..." She traced the northern route on the map.

"Perhaps they planned a feint to draw our focus south, allowing their swift companies to slip around unopposed in the dark. Though how they navigated so precisely without augurs or auspex is puzzling."

She frowned. "My Tech-Priests suggest the terrain itself somehow masked their electronic signatures short of visual contact. Some xeno sorcery at work, in their view."

Jessup sniffed. "Witchery, no doubt, to aid their heresy. The Emperor's light does not reach this world fully, it seems."

Vallin's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the Inquisitor. "Or...simply disciplined soldiering, utilizing initiative and stealth. Do we have prisoners to interrogate yet?"

"A handful were taken. But they die under questioning quickly, spouting nonsense. Useless savages." Rodion shrugged. "Regardless, we must be vigilant against further trickery. Your reconnaissance and fire supports would aid that effort greatly, Lord Admiral."

Vallin inclined his head. "Scolaris stands ready to assist, Countess. Coordinate target data through the auspex nexus and we shall deliver timely response." His tone brooked no argument, steering analysis towards pragmatism over speculation. For now, the hows mattered less than countering what was understood. Understanding more could come later, through open and thoughtful regard - not accusation.

Inquisitorial Cruiser Severian Rex.

Attached to Battlefleet Scolaris.

M42.

The petite blonde-haired, glowing vibrant blue-eyed, catsuit-wearing young woman sucked on the lollipop while kicking her feet, one hand twirling her long blonde hair. The rec rooms' other current denizens didn't look at her, doing their thing in relative silence, a silence she was going to break.

"I'm bored." She brightly announced. The rest of the denizens gave a collective groan of despair.

"For throne's sake Elyza, don't you have better things to do?" A hooded, cowled figure sitting on an armchair sighed exasperatedly.

"Inquisitor Enoch said he wanted the ship in one piece!"

"The Inquisitor took his Stormtroopers in a Valkyrie to search some ship found in orbit." The girl named Elyza dryly retorted. "That gives us time-"

"To relax!" the cowled figure cried, "And your schemes end up with us getting the cruiser wrecked, sucked into a warpstorm, or worse!"

"Remember that time she awoke a Necron Tomb on Desoto IV?" A woman with her hair in a bob, wearing the garb of a sanctioned Psyker quipped from her perch.

"Or that time she warp-jumped us smack in the middle of Hivefleet Gilgamesh?" a masked man rasped from where he was sharpening his sword.

"Tell me about it, this shit's coming from a rejected Eversor Assassin, who never completely underwent the training because it was discovered she was a latent psyker. Instead of being destroyed, Enoch rescued her for his retinue and kept her as his personal assassin."

"At least I'm an assassin." Elyza hotly said. "Enoch only has you in his retinue because you're a good mathematician, I don't even know why he keeps Hoodie guy in the retinue."

"Take that back!" the cowled one sprang out of the armchair.

"We don't even know what you do!" Elyza retorted, "At least I think I don't know what hoodie guy does. Do you know guys?"

"Oi! I'm the pilot! The hood's for the burns!"

"No, Lt Krix is the pilot, and he's with Enoch out there." Matilda, the sanctioned Psyker revealed.

Elyza popped the lollipop from her mouth with an audible 'pop'. "Well it's not my fault you all lack imagination. We're stuck here on this boring ship while the Inquisitor has all the fun planetside."

"Fun is subjective where an Inquisitor is concerned," muttered the Psyker from her perch. "I'll take boring any day."

"Quiet, Matilda," said the hooded figure wearily. "You know how she gets when she's like this. Best not encourage her."

Elyza stuck out her lip in a pout. "Aww come on Hoodie, live a little! We must have some supplies lying around to rig some harmless chaos." Her eyes scanned the rec room pleadingly.

The Gas-mask wearer spoke up, voice rasping through his filter. "We could...test fire the torpedo payload in sector four-B. Minimal casualties."

"See? Gasbag gets it!" Elyza grinned. Matilda and Hoodie both shook their heads vehemently.

"How about...a friendly wargame in the cargo holds?" Hoodie offered diplomatically. "Non-lethal settings. Get the energy out safely."

Elyza pondered this with a mocking dramatic air. At last she shrugged. "Well, I suppose target practice beats dying of boredom. You're on, Hoodie!"

She flipped another lollipop into her mouth and swaggered for the door, Hoodie and Gasbag falling in behind with sighs of resignation. Matilda waved them off, returning to her book with relief. At least for now, the Severian Rex was likely to remain intact... Elyza skipped and hopped out of the quarters as she did, the crew giving her a wide berth due to her reputation of unexpected accidents occuring. She sighed, maybe she would meet the man of her dreams here on this world. A roguishly handsome, well-built young man who'd give her the world and have a nice house, and lots of beautiful children. Elyza sighed dreamily as she made her way through the corridors. A girl could hope, couldn't she? Being part of an Inquisitorial retinue meant adventures aplenty, but romance was rather lacking.

All the men she met were stuffy scholars or intense zealots utterly devoted to the Emperor. Not exactly husband material in her opinion. A girl wanted a little passion, a little danger, someone who could sweep her off her feet with a roguish smirk and spirit her away across the stars.

She paused by a viewport, gazing out at the blue-green orb below. Who knew, maybe down there she'd find her smoldering space cowboy among the natives. Tall, dark and handsome with wanderlust in his soul. He'd see past her questionable profession and recognize the tender heart beneath.

They'd share stolen moments between missions, passion burning hot as their duties pulled them apart time and again. But their bond would prove unbreakable. In quieter years, when the fighting was done, they'd settle in a cozy little homestead far from the Imperium's reach.

She'd bear him many sons and daughters to carry on their bloodline, raising them with love and laughter. Maybe he'd teach the little ones to ride, to hunt, to survive off the land as he did. And every night he'd hold her close under the stars, whispering of adventures yet to come.

Elyza sighed again, snapped from her reverie by distant klaxons. Duty called, as always. But maybe, just maybe, down in the swirling mists of that planet below lay the beginning of her dreams made real. Stranger things had happened, after all. A girl could hope...

Remains of enemy firebase.

Parker.

"Good work lieutenant. That infantry won't bother us anymore. I'm giving you access to some additional fire support, some of our arty, and the AA you recaptured. Use it at your discretion."

Parker looked up at his RTO, who gave a grin and a thumbs-up before turning away. A few meters away, OFN crewmen were mounting the recaptured Batavian-produced copies of the Flakpanzer Gephard. The sound of artillery fire was still prominent as their forces engaged the enemies. Bravo Company and the accompanying OFN battalion were resting, some of them using the enemy VTOLs as impromptu resting areas. It felt strange that the mysterious 'invaders' from yesterday were not aliens, but humans with an advanced empire that loves skulls and the gothic aesthetic. The corpses of the pilots as well as the rest of the enemy personnel were already in body bags, there were no prisoners as these guys preferred fighting to the death, a frightening prospect if this was going to be a long war.

Parker was soon jostled out of his thoughts (literally) by his RTO, who was motioning for Parker to get the receiver. Soon enough, Col Sawyer's gravelly voice was heard, and it seemed the unlucky guy on the other end was Bannon.

"Captain Bannon! Give me a SITREP! Have you accomplished your objective?" Sawyer was shouting out the question, and it seemed that Bannon must have done something really stupid again to earn his ire.

"Not yet sir. Enemy strength greater than expected. I could use some backup. Over."

"Negative. Stay in place and keep ET pinned. I'm sending Parker to retake the village instead. You hear that Parker? Clear out the village and report back. Eagle Six out."

No sooner had Sawyer gone off air, that Commandant Sabatier's voice came, thick with emotion. "Show no mercy, Lieutenant! Those rodents showed none to my people!"

"But watch out for infantry hiding in those townhouses, Parker!" Sawyer cautioned.

"Foxtrot Six here. The bastards are fighting hard! But we'll crush them, by god!My men say you are doing good, lieutenant. Don't lose their trust now."

And with that final eulogy, the radiowaves went silent. Parker sighed as he placed the receiver back in its place, nodding to the RTO. Parker studied the map thoughtfully, weighing the orders and situation. Securing the village was crucial yet rushing in half-cocked risked needless losses.

He keyed his radio. "Bravo Six to squad leaders. Rally on me, we're pushing out in five." Turning to his RTO, he said, "Inform command we're advancing on the village within the hour. I want air support and artillery on call if we hit resistance."

Soon the squad NCOs had gathered. "Alright men, here's the plan. Third Squad will take point down the main road, overwatching from the treeline. Second will follow in bounds behind building cover. First Squad hooks left - check those side streets for stray dogs before rejoining on the northeast ridge.

"I don't want any heroes running off alone. Stay within visual contact and call out contacts. Our job is to clear the place, not get pinned down in crossfire, got it? Watch each other's backs in there."

He checked each man's readiness with a confident nod. "We haul ass but keep discipline. No prisoners unless they've got flags to wave - lethal force is authorized. I want regular radio checks and coordinate target designations with our air support. Questions?"

Receiving none, he shouldered his rifle. "Then mount up, folks. Time to finish the job." With that, the formation began moving out in practiced order toward their next objective.

Charlie Company, US Army.

US 5th Battalion.

Captain Mark Bannon was pissed. Not only was he not in his beloved M1A1 (it was still at port) but Col Sawyer was giving HIS job to Parker and his Bravo Company! And for what, because the 2nd Lieutenant was a West Point graduate! Sure, he'd failed to take the village, but why was Sawyer giving Parker the job? The guy was a 2nd lieutenant from the Infantry! Sure he too was wearing the same m81 Woodland BDUs and ALICE webbing and PASGT gear, as well as being armed with an M16A2, but still, he'd have destroyed those freaks who liked like humans if he'd been given a few damn minutes! Bannon punched the dirt in frustration as he paced restlessly. All around, the remnants of Charlie Company went about treating wounds and checking equipment with weary resignation. All while Bravo pushed onward without them.

It wasn't right, damn it. This was supposed to be his op, his chance to lead the charge. But Sawyer had called him back, then passed the torch without so much as a 'by your leave.' Like Charlie's sacrifice meant nothing.

Davis watched him pace, her face set in a scowl. "Easy, sir. Wearing a hole won't change a thing."

Bannon rounded on her. "Don't you get it, Top? We were this close. If Sawyer had given us tanks like I asked—"

Davis lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke through her nostrils like a bull. "Should be us out there finishing the job, sir. Not some buttoned-down West Point boy and his pretty formations."

Bannon grunted in agreement. He liked Davis - she was a no-nonsense grunt, not some back-office REMF like Parker no doubt was. "He's probably got them double-timing it in tight columns, easy targets for an ambush."

Bannon scowled as Parker's orders came crackling over the radio. Sawyer was handing the village assault off to Bravo Company like it was nothing. As if Charlie's failed attack hadn't cost them over half their strength already!

"Third time's the charm, I guess," muttered Sergeant Davis darkly. She alone seemed to share Bannon's frustration at being sidelined.

Bannon took a furious drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke through clenched teeth. Around him, the remnants of Charlie Company worked to patch wounds and scavenge what kit they could from the carnage left by the enemy assault.

"Damn Sawyer," he muttered. "Always kissing up to West Point boys. Like some Pogue Academy grad knows better than us grunts in the shit."

Staff Sergeant Marks shook his head wearily. "Sir, you saw how hard they hit us. Another push and we'd have gotten overrun. Col's just trying to regroup."

"Bullshit!" Bannon snapped. "We had them on the ropes, a little more pounding and they'd have broken. Now they're getting a free pass to set up while we lick our wounds."

He stabbed out the cigarette spitefully. "Parker and his cherry boys better bag some kills, or the Old Man's gonna have some explaining to do. I want the first crack at taking the village back, you hear?"

Marks sighed inwardly. The Captain was always a hothead but losing face to Parker had lit a fuse in him. "Yessir, I'll pass it up the chain. But right now, orders are to hold and rearm."

Bannon brought up the company radio frequency with a jab. "Bravo Six, this is Charlie Six. Over."

There was a crackle of static, and then Parker's voice came on. "Go ahead, Charlie Six."

Bannon bit back a retort. "Just wanted to say good luck to you and the boys. And keep an eye out for ambushes - those tangos fight dirty. Over."

"Copy all, Charlie Six. We'll stay frosty. Parker out."

The line clicked off before Bannon could respond. He threw the handset down in frustration, then took a breath to calm himself—no use taking it out on his men. Bannon scowled but subsided, prowling the perimeter in a fury while his men worked. Marks shook his head - there'd be no living with the captain now, not until he had blood to wash away the stain on his pride. But that village was Parker's job now, for better or worse. All they could do was brace for the next round.