CHAPTER XII

Dulles International Airport.

Terminal 1.

United Republican states of Concordia.

The main terminal had transformed into a chaotic scene. A multitude of individuals swarmed the information desk, desperately seeking any information about the whereabouts of their loved ones. Tears streamed down the faces of many, while others raised their voices in frustration. The overwhelmed staff appeared helpless, unable to calm the rising tide of anger and grief that engulfed them. Eventually, security had to be summoned to escort an elderly woman away. She screamed and cried uncontrollably, refusing to leave the information desk.

In due course, anguish and sorrow morphed into fury and animosity. A group of people emerged, standing together and chanting slogans against communism. They openly called for death and vengeance upon the Sandinistas, the Iraqis, the Vostokvakians, and anyone else they believed to be responsible for this catastrophe.

It was only a couple of hours later that the airline staff finally announced over the P.A.: seven different jets had disappeared from the radar. Most likely lost for good. However, the flight carrying Robert had thankfully crash-landed in Hokkaido.

Captain Mathew "Marty" Stenz, USN had been sitting there on a banister for the past hour or so. He was silently watching the entire scene ahead. Strangely, he didn't feel much fear. Robbie was a smart kid, if he was alive (which Marty was certainly hoping was true) then he would know how to get to the US Consulate in Sapporo. Besides, from there, he'd also be able to contact him, or his mom. Speaking of mom, was Emily alright? Sure, she worked in her father's Megacorp, but that was in it's Vostokvakian branch in Leningrad. Hopefully she flew out, got to Laamilasko, to Helsinki maybe? She was a US citizen after all. He had to make a few calls. Becuase if they were at war, and that seemed pretty certain, that meant he'd be mobilized.

Marty stood up, making up his mind. He began walking to the nearest phone booth, pushing past frustrated and mourning people, some of whom shouted, and gave him dirty looks as he pushed his way through. Marty squeezed into the cramped phone booth, slamming the door shut out the chaotic terminal behind him. His hands shook slightly as he fed coins into the slot and dialed Emily's number with impatient jabs of his finger.

The line rang...and rang. No answer. His heart sank further with each unanswered ring.

"Come on, pick up baby..." he muttered under his breath. But there was only silence on the other end. three times before connecting. "Hello?"

"Em, it's me," Marty said, exhaling in relief at the sound of her voice. "Thank God you picked up. Are you ok? Where are you?"

"Marty? Oh thank heavens," Emily replied, her own relief evident. "I'm in Helsinki at the embassy now. They evacuated all Concordians as soon as the attacks started. What about you, where are you calling from?"

"Dulles airport. Trying to find out if Robbie's flight made it to Japan," he explained briefly. "Any news on your end?"

Emily took a breath. "Not much clear information yet I'm afraid. We're hearing rumors of full scale wars breaking out across Eurasia. The stock markets are in chaos."

She paused. "The consulate is putting together transport back to the States ASAP. I'm trying to get on the first flight out. Any word on your deployment?"

Marty nodded grimly. "Just a matter of time I expect. Keep me posted on your transit, okay? I'll let you know about Robbie as soon as..."

His words cut off as an air raid siren began wailing in the distance. Marty shared a worried look with others in the terminal through the glass.

"Em, I gotta go. You stay safe, you hear me? I'll be in touch."

Without waiting for a response, he hung up. His next call was to the State Department number he'd been given for family emergencies abroad. After a few transfers, he found himself speaking to a harassed-sounding consular officer.

"This is Captain Matthew Stenz, USS George Washington. I need information on my son Robert Stenz, he was on Orion Airlines Flight 209 to Washi-"

"Sir I'm afraid we have no information on individual passengers at this time," the officer cut in curtly. Distant shouting could be heard in the background. "All our resources are focused on evacuating US citizens from these...anomalous regions. I suggest trying your son's phone."

Marty gripped the handset tighter, keeping a lid on his mounting frustration. Yelling wouldn't help here. "I understand you're overloaded. But Robert is my son, damnit - please just check if he's made contact with the consulate."

A brief pause, papers shuffling. "Sorry Captain, we have no contact yet with the Consulate in Sapporo, it's become a warzone after all. But the situation is still developing. I'd try his phone and stay by a landline in case he calls. That's the best I can offer for now."

The line went dead. Marty stared at the handset numbly, feeling more lost and alone than ever before. All he could do now was wait, and pray, and push back out into chaos. By now, the murmurs and shouts had strangely reduced, though the air-raid siren was still loudly blaring. It was then, that Stenz spotted the newcomers, the crowd was parting to make way for them, and Stenz could see that there were 5.

First, came a Major from the Washington National Guard, wearing a patrol cap, and M81 BDUs in Woodland camo and hefting a white and red megaphone. Following him were 4 soldiers in full combat kit, and as Stenz could see, M16A2 assault rifles. The crowd had already given the 5 men a wide berth, so it was easy enough for the Major to walk towards the center of the room, and stand up on one of the plastic benches. He switched the megaphone on and put the receiver to his lips before addressing the assembled crowd.

"Attention!" the major began, his voice amplified to a boom by the megaphone. "The URSC is at war."

There were murmurs coming from the crowd as the words sank in. By now, most people probably knew there was some kind of violence that had broken out, but to finally hear it right from the authorities still must have been sobering.

The officer continued. "By now, you must have seen the news on your TV and heard the rumors, seen the President's address to the nation.. The US was attacked by an enemy force of unknowns. These aren't the Reds, or the Dao; however, they are still extremely dangerous and kill indiscriminately. You may have heard by now of other attacks going on around the world; these attackers are of the same kind. WW3 has begun. By executive order of President James Marshall, all citizens are now instructed to return to their homes immediately and remain there; a curfew will remain in effect until this crisis is over. All able-bodied men and women are commanded to report to their Army Reserve or National Guard officer immediately for further instructions."

Marty heard the words he expected, but dreaded nonetheless. War had come at last, as inevitable as the tides.

He scanned the sea of troubled faces around him one last time, committing them to memory - these terrified souls awaiting news of loved ones, their lives thrown into upheaval. Their fates were now bound with his own.

With a final nod to the major, Marty pushed through the crowd toward the exit. Outside, sirens still cried as dusk fell over the capital. Pulling out his buzzing cell, he saw the orders he knew were coming.

USS Kentucky. Deploy at once. Intercept unknown vessels approaching coastal waters. Engage and destroy if hostile.

His boat, his crew - they would be his family now. Duty called, and he had sworn an oath to answer.

Marty looked to the west where the sun sank crimson behind the blur of vehicles fleeing the city. Night was falling, but dawn would come, as it always did even in the darkest of hours. And when it did, the Kentucky would be waiting with him at the helm.

He scrolled to Emily's contact, thumb hovering over the call button a moment before replacing the phone. No time for farewells now. His boat needed her captain.

With a final deep breath of freedom, Captain Matthew Stenz turned toward the waiting shuttle and strode forward to face what awaited on the emerging horizon - be it victory or fate. The die was cast.

London.

United Kingdom of Eden.

London was burning.

Never before, since the time of the Romulans, had a foreign army marched on Edenite soil. Much less one from the stars.

London was a warzone.

From Westminster to Soho, rubble and dust were all that remained, plus corpses. The London District's Household Division had already gotten all 5 of its Guards units in shambles. The situation was bad enough that remnants of different units were behind enemy lines, or holding holdouts desperately and even getting wiped out to the last man. Corporal Winters peered out from the rubble at the sounds of ongoing battle in the distance. What was left of his platoon had taken cover in the ruins of an office block after being cut off from the main force.

"Davis, what's your ammo count?" he asked the machine gunner quietly.

She checked her belt. "Less than a hundred rounds, sir. What's left of the lads ain't in much better shape."

Winters swore under his breath. They were doomed if they stayed put, but out in the open they'd be sitting ducks.

As if to accentuate the point, an enemy aircraft roared low overhead - one of those VTOL gunships that had whittled their numbers down relentlessly. A volley of rockets erupted among a pocket of houses a few blocks over, followed by screams abruptly cut short.

"Oi sir, looks like Big Ben took a knock," remarked Donnelly grimly from his overlook. The iconic tower was now skewed at an odd angle, many of its bricks scattered below.

London lay in ruins all around them. Yet in the distance, closer now, came the reports of small arms and heavier weapons - their comrades still fighting on despite the grim odds. As long as some yet held the line, hope remained…

XXX

The sounds of battle raged in the distance as Scott and his squad took cover behind the rubble of a smashed building. All that remained was a partial wall and bits of crumbling mortar.

"Mate, we have to get out of here," Scott panted to Liam, reloading his L66A3. "They've got us bloody surrounded."

Liam peered over their meager cover, scowling. "Fuck that, I'm not done fighting yet. Just need to find a way to hit them back."

An explosion shook the ground, and Scott exchanged a grim look with Nadia. They were alone - no air support, no backup, just eight soldiers against an army.

"There," Nadia said suddenly, pointing down the shattered street. A battered Scorpion IFV was stranded, crew bailing out as smoke poured from its engine bay.

A plan started to form in Scott's mind. "Alright lads, on me! We'll provide cover fire and draw their attention while Liam hotwires that beast. Maybe it's still got a round or two left in the cannon."

He took a breath, steeling himself. "Go when I say. And try not to die - wouldn't want to leave the King short a few good men!"

With that Scott popped up firing, the others joining in a few seconds behind. Bullets zipped past as they sprinted for the tank, willing their feet faster through the hail of enemy lasers. This was likely a suicide move - but anything beat sitting here waiting to be overrun.

The three of them somehow reached the IFV, linking up with it's crew who had baled out.

"The fuck are you three doing here?" a man wearing the stripes of a sergeant asked in disbelief in a surprised Devon accent.

"Improvising!" Scott shouted out. Nadia and Liam offered sheepish waves.

"Improvising?" the NCO shouted back. "How the hell are you gonna do that? We're pinned down by fucking lasers!"

"Well, it seemed a good idea back then."

A laser whizzed past, hitting the wall, and creating a singing hole. Everyone gave a collective wince.

"is the engine intact?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, but who's bloody crazy enough to hotwire it while we're being fired at by fucking Star Wars laser beams!

"That'd be me, mate," Liam grinned maniacally. Clearly, he was touched in the head to volunteer for such a suicide run.

The sergeant looked them all over with newfound respect. "Bloody mad lot, the lot of you. I like it! Right, Davis, Taylor - lay down all the cover fire you can. You! Lad, and you, girlie, wheel round the back and drag any spare ammo drums you find over here. Go!"

As the others opened up firing, Liam slid into the hatch and got to work on the hotwiring. Sweat poured as lasers scorched inches away.

"Got it!" The engine roared to life amidst cheers. Liam gunned the throttle just as the turret whined, barrel swinging their way - a blind shot fired true, scattering their attackers.

"That's our cue gents!" yelled the sergeant. He and his men pelted for the open rear, clambering inside amidst return fire pinging off armor.

Scott and Nadia were last aboard, slamming the rear shut. Liam took off with a lurch, the wounded Scorpion finding renewed vigor under desperate circumstances.

They roared down the shattered streets, ramming through rubble and swerving blows. For now they'd escaped the clanging jaws of death - but London was lost, and their long retreat had only just begun.

Nearby…

Captain James Adler, Moebian 981st, wasn't expecting the enemy city to look like this.

Firstly, the layout was totally off. It wasn't a hive city, as was briefed on the ship. The architecture seemed strange, old old-fashioned, like some districts in certain cities on the planet Pretoria. There seemed to be a massive clock tower (burning and in smoke now) and what looked like cathedrals. Not the usual ones to the God-Emperor, but similar, nonetheless. They could see the fleet in orbit, already launching various orbital strikes on probable rebel targets across the planet but couldn't contact them due to an equipment malfunction.

Presently, the group of Guardsmen headed into a large, white-colored building. The exterior, he noted was very minimal, and the building looked drab, this led to commissar Crain declaring that the rebels were camouflaging it, and it very likely held something that could change the course of this operation. So, the lasmen spent the next half an hour searching the upper floors before Wesley found a secret passage in the basement. Commissar Crain had been ecstatic and Adler found himself leading his men down grey, utilitarian tunnels. Because there were so many of them, Crain had split the group, and now Ionis found himself, unluckily attached to the commissar, as he and the few lasmen went deeper and deeper downwards. The lights flickered, and the vents spluttered.

Presently, the group arrived (surprisingly as the rest of the split-up guardsmen arrived from other entrances) in front of a massive set of sliding doors made of metal. Two soldiers, rebels by the look of it, lay dead, gaping holes where bolter rounds (courtesy of Commissar Crain) had brought about their demise. They were surprisingly professional looking, for rebels, Ionis noted. Their uniform consisted of a gray-green battledress uniform top with red collar tabs (not camouflaged like most rebel forces they'd encountered), black trousers and laced-up combat boots, gloves, brown and grey-green webbing, a darkish green helmet, that had netting on one of them as well as goggles. Body armor seemed to be worn by one of them as well. The main weapon these to unlucky rebs had was a large autogun with a wooden stock that looked good for bashing, the soldier with the netting on his helmet even had an underslung grenade launcher on his.

"Well, what have we here?" Adler remarked to himself. The doors were gargantuan, automatic, and sliding, but didn't seem electronically controlled. Ionis could see no control terminal, console, or panel of any kind so that ruled out that the doors were automatic, manual maybe? Or perhaps they were controlled from the inside.

"Seems like a defense mechanism." Pvt Storch said. Commissar Crain was conversing angrily with the tech adept attached to their section. To James's surprise, she had remarkably very few cybernetic augmentations, like her cybernetic hands and the servo arms attached to her back. She had a heart-shaped face, with a rebreather and dark short hair underneath her red hood, very uncommon for a member of the Cult Mechanicum. It seemed the commissar and the adept were arguing over opening the door.

"I'm telling you, I can't open it! The door's internally controlled. Can't your thick-headed skull understand that?" the adept's voice had a Vostroyan accent, not surprising as that planet was an industrial forge world and had significant ties with the Mechanicus. "There's no outer control panel or any such access port from where I could possibly try to open the door."

"Well what about power tools?" the commissar asked back, almost shouting. Spittle was flying from his mouth, settling like raindrops everywhere. The adept in response banged her one of her metal hands on the door.

"This thing was built to survive nuclear bombs, Commissar. Even with power tools, it could take me months, a year at best! And I've already scanned the vents and the ducts. We won't be getting through them either, they're all too tight."

Adler was glad he, like all members of Moebian regiments, was wearing a rebreather. The commissar could not see his exasperated expression beneath. With nothing else to do, he made a subtle gesture to the rest of the assembled lasmen. Time to sit down and watch yet another show of "Beetroot Crain" making himself look like a dunce, all while watching his face turn slowly, into its famous shade.

"Why's old beetroot still here, wasn't he gonna be transferred and be some other regiment's problem?" Specialist Erin asked tiredly, hefting her hotshot lasgun, her eyes obscured like all of theirs, beneath rebreather lenses.

"Dunno." Was all Adler could say as he slapped a fresh power pack in his lasgun. Crain was working himself into an even greater frenzy, spittle flying as he raged at the adept.

"Open this BLASTED DOOR at ONCE, cog-head, or it will be YOUR hide paying the price for failure! The Emperor demands results, not excuses!"

The tech priest retorted something unflattering regarding certain anatomical possibilities beneath her hood but remained otherwise composed.

Adler sighed wearily. Same tune as always with the commissar - threats and bellowing to mask his own incompetence. Another regrettable posting with Beetroot Crain dragging the regiment down.

A subtle pulse from his auspex interrupted troubled musings. "Contact, two o'clock."

He raised a gloved fist, silencing further argument. Everyone snapped to readiness as approaching footfalls echoed down the corridor.

A large group of Sisters of Battle from the Order of the Argent Shroud, white armored with red fabric marched in, a scarred and grizzled Sister Superior at its head. Everyone, even the arguing pair turned to look at the newcomers. The Sister Superior stopped her flock, before marching up to the unlucky commissar and adept.

"Who is the officer among you?" That wasn't a question, it was a demand. The woman's tone made that much clear.

"Sister Superior," Crain said coughing. "I am most deli-"

"I said, Officer." The superior said. "You sir, are a member of the Imperial Commissariat. Not. And I am repeating this once. Not an officer in his Most Holy Majesty, the God Emperor of Mankind's most brilliant Astra Millitarum."

"That'll be me," Adler said gruffly. Three heads turned to look at him, and he continued. "Captain James Adler, of the Moebian 981st."

"Finally." There was something that looked like relief in the Sister-Superior's eyes. "May I ask what is the problem?"

Adler stepped forward calmly to address the Sister Superior. "These doors will not open, ma'am. Our tech-adept believes they are controlled internally, with no exterior access. Commissar Crain felt..." he paused diplomatically, "that further escalation was warranted. But we seem at an impasse without means to breach the barrier."

The Sister eyed the enormous metal slabs appraisingly. "Leave this to us, Captain. Sisters, form up."

With crisp efficiency, a dozen battle nuns deployed, leveling bolters at the seam between doors. "Fire." Twin lances of holy fire erupted, superheating the metal plate. Steam hissed as it peeled back, edges glowing orange.

"Your efforts are appreciated," Adler told the tech-priest. "The "Daughters of the Emperor" clearly possess alternative means to surmount obstacles."

She snorted, seeming more amused than insulted by the comparison. Crain blustered but subsided into petulant muttering at the display of superior arms.

The firing continued for a good few minutes, brass casings falling to the ground with clinks. A few guardsmen joined in, those armed especially with hotshot lasguns. The doors became singed and blackened due to repeated attempts before finally, the doors creaked. Everyone collectively ceased fire when the Sister Superior raised her arms. Everyone watched apprehensively, as ever so slowly, the doors slid open with shrill whines and creaks, and dull sirens could be heard from inside…

Inside Edenite Central Command.

Beneath (formerly) Ministry of Defense Building, Whitehall.

London.

The soldiers rushed to their stations, and their positions before the opening doors. All over Central Command, personnel rushed to their positions, their orders were clear. Under no circumstances were the aliens to even set foot inside Central Command.

Inside his spartan office. Field Marshal Douglas Braithwaite watched from the single monitor on his desk as the doors opened maddeningly slowly, he opened the drawer on his desk and loaded his Browning Hi-Power, his sidearm. With a satisfying click, the mag slid into place. Brathwaite sighed before he strode out.

"Is His Majesty out?"

"King Richard, the Queen Consort, and their children have escaped London, and are heading to Northern Command in Etareth, they'll head to Avalon-One in Oceania for the duration of this crisis." Lt Fredrick Beaumont, his ADC reported, before asking his question: "Why are you opening the doors, sir? Central Command was sealed, it is impenetrable."

"Just a show of force Freddie," Braithwaite replied, watching the gray-green-clad troops rush out to their positions, "Show 'em we mean business before closing the door again, for the remainder of the time this thing runs."

"And if they break through?"

Braithwaite turned his impressive stormy-grey eyes towards the younger man, "Then I'll probably go down in history as the only Field Marshal who let Central command get captured, Fred." The two of them watched as the defenders readied themselves, many carrying the Mk.6 Carbine, a copy of the tried and trusted Concordian M5A2 Folsom Carbine. "Well then, once more unto the breach!"

The doors slid open finally, revealing white armored and grey armored soldiers. They seemed to be human. And they had looks of pure surprise on their faces. The defenders opened fire.

Braithwaite ran back to the control room. "Freddie! " he bellowed. "Coordinate the defense! Hold them off for a while before I close the doors!"

The corridor erupted into hellish pandemonium as laser fire ripped both ways. The intruders recovered quickly from their shock, unleashing disciplined volleys from their laser guns and assault rifles that punched through the Edenite defense barricades with chilling ease.

But Braithwaite's soldiers fought with desperate courage, pouring fire from Mk.6s and Gallant machine guns down the narrow passage. Casings spewed as overheated barrels were swapped out in the mad melee.

A bolter round caught Private Cole square in the chest, sending him careening into others. Sergeant Rawlings hefted the fallen man's Mk.6 and hosed the entry with suppressing fire, allowing his squad to drag Cole to safety. Slowly, step by agonizing step, the invaders were forced back toward daylight once more. Wounded comrades were dragged clear as fresh troops surged inward.

"Nearly there, boys, hang on!" Beaumont roared encouragement over the intercom.

With a final surge they shoved the last foes from the ruined entrance just as hydraulic motors wheezed into motion once more. The great slabs grated shut with an echoing boom, sealing the tunnel from view.

Silence fell but for gasps of exertion Braithwaite stormed up, taking in the casualties with a surveying eye. "Well done, lads. We've bought some time - now let's make it count. Tend the wounded, reload, prepare defenses. For King and country!"

"What's the status of the rest of our armed forces?" Braithwaite asked Beaumont.

"Most of our army's in Euronia with most of the RAF's Offensive Arm, while a good chunk of our Navy's been wiped out at Le Havre due to freak storms in the Edenite Channel," Beaumont answered. "That leaves aside from 30,000 troops sealed with us here in Central Command, there's less than 5,000 soldiers for the defense of the entire country!"

"Bloody Hell." Braithwaite sighed. 5000 soldiers? That was suicide. Most major population centers had been hit hard, some becoming ghost towns. Civilian casualties had occurred at a rate that was just massive. And there was no other radio contact between Central command here underground, and the other various commands elsewhere. What's worse, was that thy couldn't contact or do anything of any sort that would attract alien attention. The survivors of that skirmish would head to the surface. And more forces would try and breakthrough. But, it seemed a siege was better than attempting an escape, after all, they had supplies that would last them years if necessary. If one were to look at the statistics. Braithwaite pored over the casualty reports grimly. In under 48 hours since first contact:

London defenses accounted for over 80% of losses, with nearly 20,000 troops dead or missing in the ruined city alone.

Air attacks on key RAF bases had grounded nearly 300 combat aircraft. Satellite imagery showed runways bombed beyond repair.

Naval losses even harder to gauge with orbital strikes disrupting communications. Over half the Home Fleet reported sunk attempting to retreat up the channel.

Estimated civilian death toll exceeding 2 million in major city attacks. Refugee columns fleeing inland were easy prey for enemy air and armor.

Frontline army units in Euronia cut off with satellite and radio jamming blinding their movements. Last signals from Lublin placed enemy forces advancing rapidly across Maszowia unopposed.

Leadership in disarray with Parliament, the Royal Family, and key ministers already evacuated. Command and control severed between surviving strongpoints across the isles.

It was a demographic catastrophe nearly unparalleled in their history. In under two days of unopposed assault, Eden risked losing a third of its population and the military ability to resist was becoming futile.

But Central Command still stood defiant, 30,000 souls sealed within its armored bunkers. With rationing, purification and recycling, estimates showed supplies lasting 5-7 years if the enemy did not breach their sanctuary.

Until relief could be mustered, it was their duty to hold out and coordinate any survivors able to join an underground resistance. Even a hopeless battle might buy precious time elsewhere.

Braithwaite straightened, steeling his resolve. "Signal all commands - Eden fights on from within. We shall be the spark that lights their fire once more."

Somewhere...

Somewhere in the vast expanse of the dark ocean, Lieutenant Karla Braun found herself bobbing up and down, nursing a head wound and being cautious not to let any blood seep into the water. The treacherous depths of this planet's seas were rumored to be inhabited by carnivorous creatures of unimaginable size and ferocity. Some even speculated that these monstrous beings were Tyranid bio-forms that had arrived in the galaxy long before the main hive fleet. Unfortunately, the briefings they received before they arrived in the Nova Arcadia system had neglected to mention anything about the native fauna. It seemed that the higher-ups considered it a secondary concern.

The enemy fighters they encountered were swift but lacked agility and proper armor. The lascannon effortlessly obliterated their crafts, reducing them to nothing more than wet pages from the Imperial Navy Airman's Uplifting Primer. However, their missiles packed a painful punch, even against the Valk's sturdy armor plating. The last missile, fired by a fortunate adversary, had caused significant damage, leaving her with two disabled engines and critical structural issues. Lieutenant Soren, her comrade, had tragically perished in the explosion that had engulfed the rear cockpit. There was no way for her to reach him or offer any assistance, as the rear cockpit was inaccessible from her position in the forward one.

And now, here she was. Realistically, she didn't hold much hope for a swift rescue. Her life was likely deemed expendable, valued less than the resources and manpower required to send a search-and-rescue team to her last known location. She could only rely on the beacon attached to her life-jacket to transmit her distress signal. She wondered if there was any way to disable the incessant blinking light that accompanied it. After all, if she already had a signal transponder, was the light truly necessary? Unless, of course, it was included in the instructions for a specific reason. Unless, of course, it was included in the instructions for the STC it came from. Those Cogboy types never tampered with anything... In the grand scheme of this planetary war, or even the conflict spanning the entire galaxy, what was one life to the higher-ups?

Nevertheless, she was still alive, at least for now. Judging by the horizon, the sun would rise soon...

Pushkinskaya Station.

Moskvingrad, Moskvingrad Oblast,

Vostokvakian SFSR, UVR

The was extremely crowded. Polina was surrounded by people on all sides, with no room to move or even sit down. The heat and the smell of so many bodies pressed together made the situation even more unbearable. Nearby, a mother was trying to calm her screaming baby while an old woman muttered prayers.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound and the trains came to a stop. It felt like an explosion had occurred above ground, causing the light fixtures to shake and dust to fall from the ceiling.

Beside her, Polina's father Grisha tried to reassure her, holding her hand and promising that it would be over soon. He speculated that if enemy troops were invading, it meant there would be no nuclear bombing since it wouldn't make sense for the Concordians to bomb their own soldiers. Despite her uncertainty, Polina managed a weak smile in response.

Outside.

The Guardsman marched up the stairs, grumbling a little about trigger-happy rookies shooting up every little thing. He was a veteran of the 122nd Cadian regiment, and he was pissed. He looked back down where the mass of grunts milled about, like lemmings.

'Frakking rookies. Damn idiots are so trigger happy, they shot up the lift.' The veteran darkly thought. They'd landed here yesterday. They'd been fighting nonstop for 24 hours. The place where the veteran was looked like a hab-block, extremely tall. Perfect place for a sniper, he was hoping to reach the rooftop, but during the fighting, the rookies among their platoon had fired aimlessly everywhere, striking the lift.

"The hell's the matter with you lot!?" the vet bellowed down at the men and women advancing up the stirs, "Can't you assholes move any quicker? The quicker we take this city, the quicker compliance occurs!" "Calm your tits, Sarge!" called one brassy young trooper as the platoon climbed. "We're haulin' ass, but these stairs go on forever. Not like Cadia where everything's nice and flat, yeah?"

"Watch your mouth, Jenkins!" the veteran snarled back. "This ain't no pleasure stroll. The rebels could be holed up anywhere waiting to ventilate dumbshits who don't keep their eyes peeled. And maybe if you rookies hadn't shot up the lifts, we wouldn't have to climb 50 frakking flights of stairs!" So, pick up the damn pace!"

"Oh, give it a rest, old man," Jenkins snarked back. "Not like you were in perfect shape last night, fallin' off the bar and tryin' to fight the dancing girls. At least we hit what we aim for, not our own drunk arses!"

The squad stifled chuckles at the sarge's reddening face. He swung a glower at the smirking trooper.

"Last warning, Jenkins. One more lippy comment and you'll be on latrine duty 'til we plant our flag on the Spire. Now move it before I decide to save the rebels the trouble!"

They crested the last steps, emerging onto a vestibule that led to a massive set of armored doors. The Cadians formed up warily, lasguns at the ready.

A scanning augur swept the area, revealing no contacts beyond the barrier. "Clear."

The sergeant toggled his commbead. "Command, this is Sarge actual. We've reached the roof access, requesting permission to breach."

Static answered for long moments before the CO replied. "Negate actual, you are not cleared for roof access. The immediate sector remains hot, possible sniper cover fire reported. Hold position and sweep adjacent sectors, over."

The sergeant muttered a curse. No sniping to flush the rebels out, and being pinned down here was an invitation for ambush. "Copy Command, sweeping adjacent. Actual out."

He eyed his green troops grimly. "Alright listen up, new plan. We're not sittin' ducks, so we push sideways. Jenkins, take half the squad left. O'Brian, right. I'll take point. Watch yourselves out there!"

With that they stacked up and melted into the hallways once more, on the hunt. They crossed the threshold into an empty hall stretching away in both directions. Filters built into their rebreathers clicked as the air was analyzed for toxins. All clear.

"Alright, split just like the sarge said. Stay alert and cover your sectors. First contact radios in their twenties and we converge, got it?"

The two fire teams peeled off smoothly, advancing in practiced order down the branching corridors. Lasgun scanners swept ahead, probing for life signs.

This upper level was eerily abandoned, doors ajar to vacant living units. Where had all the inhabitants fled? Had they joined the rebel forces, or simply evacuated?

Rounding a bend, Jenkins spied motion at the end of the hall. "Contact, sarge! Twelve o'clock, possibly hostile!"

They raised their weapons, training laser sights on the dim silhouette moving beyond the next intersection...

Somewhere…

The pain hit Robbie like a truck. He gasped loudly, lungs gulping up oxygen. Dimly, he realized that he was still in his seat, belt buckled securely. He became aware of two lights flashing above his eyes, turning, he found two crewmembers staring at him, a stewardess and what looked like one of the pilots.

"He's awake!"

"Missy! Get a towel, and some water too!"

"Wh…what happened?" Robbie croaked. His voice sounded hoarse, and his throat hurt, the pilot quickly kneeled beside his seat.

"We crashed…you remember right?" Robbie nodded, he remembered it all, the sound was seared into his brain. The boom as the plane had gone downwards had been easily, the most terrifying moment in his life. The pilot continued, once he was certain that Robbie was listening. "We were able to set her down in Hokkaido, in Satsuma. Sapporo's been informed, emergency services have been dispatched, but they've got their hands full. Some sort of Worldwide crisis. The news'll have a field day! 747 shot down. Early casualty in crisis!"

Robbie groaned, causing the pilot to rise concernedly "Are you alright buddy? You hurt?"

"M-my chest hurts," Robbie winced, shifting gingerly. "And my arm - think it's broken."

Despite the pain, relief flooded him that he had survived the crash landing. But fear followed fast - he was alone in a foreign country, just a kid amidst some global emergency. Where was he to go?

She glanced at the pilot who nodded grimly. "Imperial Self-Defense Force has their hands full keeping order it seems. The whole world's gone mad overnight!"

Robbie's breathing eased slightly as he regained composure. Being scared wouldn't help - he had to be brave until help arrived.

Robbie winced and shifted in his seat, taking slow stock of his battered body. Now that he saw everything, nothing felt broken, just badly bruised. "I'm okay, I think. Scared more than anything."

His voice trembled slightly as the shock began wearing off, replaced by the reality of their dire situation. Alone in an unknown country during some global emergency. Where was home?

As if reading his thoughts, the pilot smiled reassuringly. "Hey now, don't you worry none. We'll get you looked after real good until help arrives."

Missy returned with water and a damp towel, gently dabbing Robbie's face. "Here sweetie, have a drink. You were very brave during the crash, I'm proud of you."

Her kindly manner soothed his frayed nerves a little. "Th-thanks Miss. What about everyone else, are they okay?"

As he sipped slowly, the pilot checked in with the other crew. Most had only minor injuries considering the chaos, but a few passengers were in worse shape.

In the distance, rising plumes of black smoke could be seen staining the pale dawn sky. What disaster had befallen the world while he slept on the plane? All Robbie could do now was endure, as help, at last, approached across the fields.

ROTA, IBERIA.

Lt Commander Bob Toland, US navy arrived to a relatively warm place. Dismounting the transport jet, he and a few passengers were directed by sailors to their destination. Toland was pointed towards an already primed helicopter that would take him to his destination, the CCNS Nimitz aircraft carrier. Toland saw that it was a Sea King ASW helicopter. The crew chief, also the sonar operator was fiddling with her equipment. He silently took his seat. Within minutes, the helicopter was flying to its destination. His first trip to Iberia had lasted only 20 minutes. And as always, the atmosphere was filled by those floating cathedrals.

His wife wasn't too happy that he was heading into a combat zone. After all he was just a CIA analyst. But one absolutely DID not disobey Rear Admiral Patrick King. And that was how he was now here, on a flight deck.

"You Toland?" A voice broke him out of his reverie. He saw a rather frazzled-looking officer standing above him, and man was the guy stressed.

"Yup, that's me, unless the time zones changed." Toland stood up. The officer took a drink from his canteen.

"You want the good news or the bad news." The man asked through gulps.

"Bad news."

The officer screwed his canteen shut. "Few berths for us intel types, you'll have a hot bunk."

Toland suppressed a groan as the harried officer informed him he'd be hot-bunking - sharing a bed in shifts with another crewmate. Not exactly the private quarters he'd been envisioning on the state-of-the-art supercarrier.

"No problem, I've roughed it plenty before," he replied, forcing optimism into his tone. A little white lie - his CIA analyst gig was a far cry from the cramped racks of a warship.

The officer gave him a wry look that said he wasn't fooled. "Uh huh. Well, just park your gear in the communal berthing area for now. We're packed to the gills as is."

He checked his clipboard distractedly. "Oh, almost forgot - the good news. You get to meet Admiral King himself. He wanted to personally brief the new intel team."

Toland perked up at that. A chance to rub shoulders with the legendary commander of Second Fleet? That took some of the sting off his lackluster accommodations.

"Lead the way then," he told the officer. "And go easy on the coffee, you look jittery enough already."

That got a laugh from the man. "Yeah, tell me about it. This alien invasion's got us all on edge..."

He headed below decks, Toland following. The CIC was humming with activity, but Toland only had eyes for the distinguished older man studying a display at its center - Admiral King himself. Time to see what role he'd play in defeating these invaders.

Calumet, Colorado.

URSC

The town of Calumet was a mining town. Before it had mined coal. Now it mined for Coaxium, the hyperfuel that was so much a part of the world's technologies. Unlike the rest of the world, it was currently untouched by war and even did not know the war had begun.

Matt Eckhart and Arturo Mondragon, two best friends arrived at high school at their usual routine. Matt's older brother Jed had given them a lift.

"You ready for history Aardvark?" Matt asked his best friend.

"Yup amigo. Bet Robert is just as tired" Jed grunted as they trudged to the enterence. They'd been learning about the Khanate, a state that had ruled over Eastern Euronia and Even parts of Erusea.

Mr Teasdale their teacher was currently telling them about their tactics. "Now the great hunt would always begin when the army became a semi-circle and they would begin pushing inwards and everything would become trapped, Man, Beast, and even bugs.

A few students grinned, not focusing much on the lesson. Outside, the whirl of jet engines was heard, but not thought much of. After all Calumet was in the way of several trans-continental air routes. Airliner flights to the countries in Euronia flew on the famous Euronia-North Liberia Lane.

As Mister Teasdale continued his lecture, he noticed men descending from the sky. They looked like paratroopers of some sort though instead of parachutes, they had some strange jetpacks that glowed blue from the rockets, slowing them down. A wave of red smoke denoted the LZ, and an officer of some sort was already talking into a boxy comm set strapped onto the back of a female trooper.

"So, as I was saying…." Mr Teasdale continued before noticing the paratroopers. "Hold now…Hold on." He walked to the window as the rest of the class followed and watched.

"Looks kinda cool...," a student murmured.

Though "I'd say they are way of course" Mr Mason mused as he watched the number grow. Some were opening boxes and handing out firearms of a strange type, bullpups and smaller ones. "Excuse me class" Mr Teasdale walked out of the classroom, with the rest of the class watching out the window.

Mr Teasdale walked out of the school, and up to the strangely dressed paratroopers. Some of them were talking in a strange language while others were talking in some strange version of Edenite. All of them also had either a two-headed eagle or a winged skull on their weapons "What's going on here my friends?" the teacher asked while walking unthreateningly towards them. Two paratroopers were quickly opening a canister and one of them quickly whipped out a machine gun. Someone shouted an order and the trooper fired at the unarmed man, who gave a cry before falling spread eagle-eyed. The trooper then emptied the gun into the windows where the class was watching horrified. While most of the class ran off, one unlucky student was caught by the bullets and now lay slumped by the window.

Meanwhile, an RPG team rushed behind the school. One of them aimed at its wooden doors and fired it at the wooden doors, which shattered and allowed a squad to enter and start indiscriminately firing. Arturo and Matt were running down the corridor. In front of them, a massive senior was running as well. Outside a soldier fired his strange firearm, which was shooting out lasers like a Star Wars blaster. The hostile also did not notice until too late, the senior tackling him. There was a smash before the unlucky soldier began to howl and claw at his face. Jed and Arturo watched as the senior grabbed the man's bullpup blaster or whatever it was and began firing, nailing 3 unlucky troops before running off to the parking lot. It was bedlam there as the hostiles were firing without care. Jed watched as one of them, a girl was rammed by multiple cars at once.

"Look, Matt! It's your brother!" Arturo shouted over the din. Sure, enough there was Jed in his blue Silverado truck.

"Get in!" he ordered as red beams flew around them. Both boys quickly jumped in. Jed revved the engine before speeding off. Behind them, another RPG team prepared to fire. The rocket however missed the truck, hitting a school bus instead. Danny and another student, Darryl quickly ran up screaming as they also were pulled in.

Downtown Calumet was an absolute warzone with smoke rising from various storefronts as the Silverado sped across the street. They watched as a soldier who had just casually tucked in an M911 in his belt screamed at them, in response Matt gave him the bird, which confused the bewildered soldier before they sped off.

At the school, Colonel Johanna van Meer, Elysian 13th "Helldivers" Drop Troops casually walked smoking an ihlo stick. Behind her more men and women from her unit dropped with their grav-chutes. With them, was also the 73rd Harakoni Warhawks. Currently, she was inspecting the myriad of vehicles. Complete surprise had been achieved, and the rebels had been caught completely off guard. A large howl caught her attention. Walking over to investigate, she found two droptroopers crouched around a comrade who was covering his face.

"What in the Emperor's name happened here?" she asked and took another drag on her lho stick as she surveyed the wounded trooper writhing in pain, his face obscured by blood-soaked hands. His squadmates looked up nervously.

"Apologies ma'am, but one of the rebel civilians attacked him barehanded," one explained hesitantly. "Some large juveniles came out of their schola and just tackled Gunther here right as we landed."

She arched an eyebrow. Audacious indeed for an unarmed rebel to directly attack an armed Imperial guardsman. She'd have to watch out for more brazen acts as they pacified this settlement.

"At ease, you're not at fault," she assured them. "Did you put down the attacker?"

"Yes ma'am, Shotok bagged him with his hellgun as he tried to flee."

She nodded approvingly. "Very good. Get this man to the medicae, we'll continue securing the city."

As the wounded trooper was escorted off, she surveyed the column of Chimeras and Sentinels rolling up the street, troopers fanning out to raid buildings. A productive landing by all accounts.

Her comm-bead crackled to life. "Colonel, this is Vox Officer Dalca. Several civilian vehicles just broke through our cordon heading north, multiple hostiles aboard."

Van Meer almost smiled. Bold, but foolish. "They won't get far. Order the Sentinel teams to run them down."

"At once ma'am!" Dalca replied. Let the hunt begin.

Van Meer took a final drag on her lho before crushing the stub under her boot heel. Time to stamp out this spark of defiance before it could spread.

Meanwhile, a Harakoni Warhawks Mark II Accatran Pattern Missile Launcher Team was arguing among themselves.

"How the frak does someone miss from that range, seriously Antinous."

Before the other could say a retort, another voice joined in. "Hey guys look it's the 73rd Harakoni Warchicks." An Elysian jeered, "Caw CAW! I can't hit a fucking truck at point blank range while standing behind it." He began making a caricature of a bird, miming it, flapping his hands around while Antinous blushed crimson.

"What the frak do you want Kevyn." his loader asked.

"Nothing Theodora, except you too missed that blue vehicle and hit the yellow big one instead." the Elysian drawled.

Theodora bristled as the cocky Elysian trooper mocked their missed shot.

"Hey, blow it out your ass Kevyn," she shot back. "That truck was speeding and weaving, not an easy mark."

She jabbed a finger at him. "Meanwhile, I don't see you lot securing jack. Too busy strutting around while we do the real work."

Kevyn rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, you Winged Hussars just play with your little krak missiles while we take all the risks down in the dirt."

He leaned in with a smirk. "But hey, next time you miss, just call us. We'll happily show you how it's done."

Antinous shoved him back roughly before Theodora could retort. "That's enough," he growled. "Don't you have civilians to intimidate or something?"

Kevyn laughed derisively even as he stumbled back. "Whatever man. Good luck hitting anything that doesn't sit still." He sauntered off, still chuckling.

Theodora shook her head angrily. "Asshole. C'mon, let's find some better firing positions, show them we're not useless."

Antinous hefted the launcher grimly. "Too right. We'll bag the next vehicle that tries to run the blockade, just watch."

As they stalked off, Theodora silently vowed to herself that the next missile would find its mark. No way was she letting those arrogant Helldivers show them up again.

In a house that was bigger than others in the town, probably belonging to the mayor or someone. Johanna van Meer and the CO of the 73rd Harkoni were communicating with Lord Admiral Vallin.

"Lord Admiral, with all due respect, we aren't suited for occupation, we have no heavy equipment due to being airborne, can't you possibly spare a Guard regiment, and why is the Inquisition muddling with our Ops." Van Meer asked as she stood at attention, resisting the urge to fidget as Lord Admiral Vallin's imposing image glared down from the vid-screen. She had to tread carefully here, despite her misgivings.

"I understand your concerns, Colonel, but resources are stretched thin currently," Vallin rumbled in that characteristically gravelly voice. "Securing this settlement and its mines must be priority."

She chose her next words diplomatically. "Respectfully sir, my regiments are elite shock troops, not peacekeepers. We lack the equipment and manpower to enforce compliance long term."

Vallin's eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod. "Unfortunately, you must make do for now. But I will see about freeing up some Guard regiments to relieve you soon."

That was something at least. Van Meer dutifully kept any hint of relief off her face.

"Of course Admiral, we shall carry out our duty however required." She paused, then added cautiously, "And what of the Inquisitor? His methods seem...aggressive, for securing willing Imperial citizens."

A fleeting look of distaste crossed Vallin's smooth visage before he smoothed it over. "The Inquisition's business is not ours to question. But I will...discuss matters with him."

It was the best she could hope for. Van Meer thumped a fist against her chest plate. "Understood sir. We will pacify this settlement quickly and efficiently."

Vallin gave a grim smile. "See that you do, Colonel. For the Imperium. Vallin out."

The screen went blank. Van Meer mentally braced herself. This occupation would be a long, grueling test of her command. But they would endure, as the Imperium demanded.

The invasion had gone well. The Imperium had full control of the city, and they also received word that the invasions of several other settlements were successful. However, Key leadership managed to escape before the taking of the regional capital. Rebel Army groups also were holding their own at their numerous border forts, and the invasion of the Callista Airfield (They did not know its actual name) had failed, when rebel air forces managed to hold off the bombers.

For Major Zarkan, the success was good enough. A Harakoni Veteran he'd led his detachment and helped seize and keep control of the city throughout the day. His loyalty to the Imperium was absolute. Being a good soldier, He rose the ranks quickly in his detachment. Now a major, he had the chance to take part in the most ambitious move he'd ever known.

Zarkan walked the streets, as the Guardsmen made their way around the city, mopping up what was left. Imperial Guardsmen had rounded up most of the town, and sorted through who they should send to the POW camps, and who could stay. They had tried to assure the citizens that once total control was seized, daily life would resume as normal, just under a new set of rules. Of course, the language barrier made that difficult.

The truth was different, and he knew it. Anyone who spoke out against the Imperium or occupation was sent to a POW camp. And there, continuing misbehavior resulted in execution. Even today, they had executed random youngsters to show that they meant business. Terror was their weapon now. According to the commander, terror was necessary to show that insurrection was not an option for them, and that if they wanted to live, they needed to accept the Imperium's reign and be brought back into the fold.

Zarkan wasn't too happy with the way that the citizens were treated, but he followed orders. Right now, they needed to prepare for any rebel counterstrike, and they needed to set up the POW camps outside of the city. His mind needed to be on task. Before, small teams had arrested any residents living outside the city limits and burned their homes.

A young man ran up alongside him. In full combat uniform, he remembered how young he was when he first joined his regiment. He saluted him, and asked for permission to speak. He granted it.

"Sir", the man started, "the situation is stable now. We have rounded up most of the young men, and girls. older women and children are being held until further orders, Ma'am."

"Very good", Zarkan replied. "I want every house searched. Any knowledge or tool that can be used against us, I want it destroyed. Identify the prisoners and citizens, so we can keep track on who is who and make sure they stay in the town. "

"Yes sir", the soldier said, saluted, and proceeded to carry out his orders. He watched as he scurried away. This was the beginning of a new future. Unfortunate that it has to come at the price of the invasion, but this was war...

War hasn't been known for being too kind on its combatants.

As Jed and the others drove down the smoking street Arturo spotted his dad running behind the truck.

"Arturo!" the man cried as he ran. Behind him a rocket exploded into a storefront, raining down shards of glass.

"Papà! Papá!" Arturo screamed as his dad was surrounded by a large group of paratroopers. The truck accelerated away.

Inside the truck, Matt and Jed weren't faring much better.

"Left, turn left let's head to Mr Morris's store." Jed followed his brother and turned heading towards a section of the city that was bit untouched. Mr Morris was a friend of their dad, as well as Robert's father. They were beginning to enter the street when Jed spotted the roadblock. An IFV along with a few paras was blocking the road.

Jed banged on the glass behind the seat. "You guys hang on; we're going off road." He swerved the car as red lasers pockmarked the pavement. He heard the whirring sound of helicopter blades and watched as a helicopter labled Concordian Army went in releasing rockets. The para's who had been so focused on the truck suddenly found themselves skewered by the rockets.

Jed floored the accelerator as explosions erupted behind them, the Army chopper's rockets tearing apart the enemy roadblock.

"Holy shit!" Danny yelled from the truck bed. "They just got wasted!"

Jed grimly focused on the road ahead as they sped on, buildings blurring past. "Ain't over yet, keep your heads down back there!"

Moments later, they tore into the parking lot of Morris' Store, a Mom n' Pop grocery shop. Jed didn't even kill the engine before shouting "Go go go!" gesturing wildly at the others.

They scrambled out and into the store, where Morris was stocking up He looked up in surprise as the bedraggled group burst in.

"Damn, you kids okay? It's pure hell out there!" Morris said, even as he tossed them bags to fill. "Did you hear what kind of language they were saying?"

"Sounded like some weird version of Edenite."

As they hurriedly stuffed their bags, Jed explained between breaths what they'd seen, the deaths at the school, Arturo's dad captured.

Morris gripped his shoulder. "You'll get him back son, don't you worry. Grab all you can, then you're gone."

"What about you dad?" Robert asked.

"I gotta stay. I'll come and get you later"

Jed hustled the others through grabbing provisions, tossing cans and bags their way while keeping an eye on the store windows. Morris had hit the lights, but it was only a matter of time before the invaders came searching.

"Alright, that's plenty - now git!" Morris said urgently, shooing them towards the back. "Head up into the hills and find somewhere to lay low til this blows over."

Jed clapped his shoulder. "You sure you'll be okay, Morris? Come with us!"

But the older man shook his head. "My place is here. Don't you worry none, I can spin them a tale about you hooligans robbing me blind." He smiled crookedly. "Just stay safe and stick together, hear me?"

Jed nodded, throat tightening. "We will. And we'll be back for you and my dad - I promise."

Morris gently pushed him towards the others as shouts sounded outside, the harsh alien language and engines drawing closer. "I know you will. Now go, hurry!"

With a final farewell, Jed hustled the rest out the back way. As they hit the tree line and plunged into the woods, he glanced back once to see Morris standing resolutely in his store doorway.

Then the trees obscured him from view. They were on their own now.

"C'mon, this way," Jed beckoned, orienting towards the mountain slopes. He could mourn later. Right now, they had to survive. Had to fight back somehow.

Arturo and Matt flanked him as they hiked, the rest of the group following closely. Jed's mind turned over furiously, making plans.