Kremlin Senate

The man sitting at his desk in the office casually lit another Belomorkanal cigarette as the world around him shook with the song of artillery fire. Without even missing a beat, the man read through the files. He didn't seem to realize that they were under attack. To a new observer, it may just have seemed like that. A coping mechanism, something to keep him sane. The truth was that the man was a dedicated workaholic. If a nuclear IBCM would have been heading towards the city, not even that would have made him budge.

Sitting on a desk next to the man's, attending to his needs. Kirill Petrovitch definitely was not one you called soft. At 39, he was one of the youngest Politburo members, which was a rare achievement.

"All those people... dying," muttered the man indifferently, "all those... years we have had to prepare... all those resources we have dedicated... all that mighty technology...and we could not stop this day from coming. What a mess." The man gathered up the files and flicked them on the table to align them equally

"With respect, Comrade Secretary... you couldn't have predicted this." Petrovitch stood up and walked towards the window, "Not even our greatest supercomputers could have suspected this. The Concordians, yes. But this is a new enemy the likes of which we have never seen before. An enemy from the Stars. The latest news is that even OFN is getting hit hard by them. Los Angeles, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong... all great citadels of the capitalists, all burning right at this very moment too. Even the neutral Ulraznavians are not spared, Comrade. "

"They will fight back," said the man, "and so must we." He blew a smoke cloud, watching it lazily drift across the room before returning his attention to another set of papers.

"Comrade-Secretary, I promise you, we are mobilizing all available guard units throughout the Moskva Region," insisted Kirill, "we will not allow the capital to fall." He was trying his best to be reassuring, but truth be told, he had no real idea what was going on, only bits and pieces of info filtering to him from all the various command units throughout the city. The attack had come so suddenly, and of a type that no one could have foreseen.

Though Kirill was also somewhat relieved when, almost as if timed perfectly with his words, there was a thundering roar as something flew past the building, and the windows rattled. It was a jet of some kind - maybe a MiG or a Sukhoi, Kirill wasn't an aviation specialist so he couldn't tell the difference. That was the sort of thing his younger sister Dominika liked. The General Secretary wasn't relieved, staring back at the window with annoyance.

The door opened. Kirill turned to look. A black-coated officer entered the room, followed by two similarly dressed guards; their insignia denoted them as members of the KGB's Ninth Directorate. First, she faced the leader and saluted. Then, she looked to Kirill. "Comrade Petrovitch, outside please," she commanded, simply but firmly.

Kirill was reluctant to leave the Premier's side, so he at least first made sure that the two guards who had accompanied the officer took their positions before he left. He also took a glance at the Cheget device as he stepped out, knowing full well what was inside that little and otherwise unassuming leather briefcase that sat on the desk.

Hostiles are converging on the area," Polinoff stated her carbine at the ready, anticipating the presence of enemy soldiers nearby. "I have received orders from the highest authority to evacuate the General Secretary from the Capital. A monorail bullet train will arrive in 10 minutes, and all important individuals must board the train as soon as it arrives on the platform."

"Why me?" Kirill questioned, pointing out, "He's right here...you could have informed him."

"Because I have a feeling that he won't take this news lightly," Polinoff responded. "If it were a missile heading towards Moskvingrad, yes, there wouldn't be much we could do. But with enemy troops on the ground, it's a different situation. Stalin never fled, even when fascists were at our doorstep. Our esteemed workaholic Comrade-Secretary would view it as a blow to his reputation if we were to do so. That's why I need your assistance in persuading him, as he trusts you.

"I am merely an assistant," Petrovitch muttered, "where are Comrades, Gromyko, Tikhonov, Gorbachev? They all have more authority than I do! Can we not reach any of them on the phone?"

"I'm sorry, but that is not a viable option at this time," Polinoff replied, "all Politburo members who were not with the president are currently on their way to secure locations. It is recommended to minimize contact."

"What?!" Kirill exclaimed, "You evacuated every one else before us?"

"It was a necessary decision," Polinoff shrugged. She walked back towards the ward's door.

"Enough. Are you on board or not, Comrade? Because if we don't act now..." she trailed off, giving Petrovitch a significant look.

Petrovitch stared at her in disbelief. It seemed absurd, yet there was a hint of truth in her words.

"Moreover..." the Major started. "We have also evacuated most of the cultural treasures and Lenin's body." She walked back towards the leader's quarters' door. "Enough. Are you ready to proceed, Comrade Petrovitch? Because if we delay any longer... they will."

A few kilometers east of Sapporo.

Cost of Hokkaido, Empire of Satsuma.

"Thank god we found them." Colonel Mai Ishimura released a content sigh of relief that she had been holding back from the moment they'd taken off from Sapporo, which was already close to what had already been classified, as a Warzone. First Officer Nisei Takeda and Lt Mina Takei looked up from their stations; they had been checking over the helicopter's systems, while she had gone out into the cabin to check up on their arrival ETA to the crash site of United Airlines flight 7734 when she saw that they had arrived and she had gotten her first good look at the site proper. With them, Chinooks, Huey, and Stallion helicopters filled with rescue teams, paramedics, and all the supplies needed to ferry the passengers out. Mai continued: "It's... it's a miracle. No, it's not possible. There's just no way they could have landed as they did, not with the amount of damage the plane took."

"Their pilot is probably very good?" Lt Takei weaky attempted as an explanation attempt.

"Not with that kind of damage." Nisei shot down her attempt instantly, causing the other to promptly shut their mouth.

"We'll discuss the nature of their survival later." The colonel brought the focus back to the task at hand. Already, Chinooks, Huey's and Concordian Super Stallions were rapidly descending down to the crash site, allowing medical teams and rescue services to dismount and rush up to help the passengers. Ishimura herself stepped off of her Chinook, the rotor wash making the grass dance in chaotic whirls, while the deafening roar of the chopper drowned out all other sounds. A man in the uniform of an airliner pilot stepped forward to meet her, tie flapping crazily around.

"Are you the Captain of this flight?" Ishimura shouted over the noise. The man nodded briefly.

"That's right. Captain James Lovell."

"Thank god we found you when we did. I assume the passengers are in the plane?"

"That's right," Lovell replied. We've been waiting for rescue for a long time, thought you'd never come."

"How are the passengers?" asked the colonel.

Lovell nodded in disbelief. "Unfortunately, we have experienced a fatality. One of the passengers in the coach has suffered severe head trauma from the impact. However, the kid sitting beside him miraculously escaped unharmed, for the most part. Additionally, we have several other individuals with injuries, primarily concussions and broken bones. The cabin crew tends to everyone's needs. Nevertheless, given the crazy experience we just endured..."

"Thank you, Captain," Nishimura expressed her gratitude before turning to her two subordinates. "Lieutenant Takei, please radio back to base and inform them that the airframe is not salvageable, but we have located all 320 passengers. Request additional transports and medics to be sent here. Also, instruct them to clear out Hangar 12 and prepare bedding for the passengers until further notice." The Lieutenant saluted and made his way back to the helicopter. Nishimura then addressed Lovell, "Captain, please accompany me. I will need a detailed explanation of the events that transpired, particularly regarding the attack and your recovery afterward. The condition of your tail is concerning; remarkably, you were able to make a successful landing."

Fulda Gap.

Republic of Ulraznavia.

Another blocky invader APC and the troops it was carrying were fried as the extra fuel canisters mounted onto the back ignited the engine and blasted it to kingdom come. Behind it, and the remains of its cohorts, their killers silently moved off to find more unlucky prey.

It was unfair, one could say, that an 8x8 amphibious reconnaissance armored fighting vehicle (Spähpanzer) as big as a Luchs A1 was so silent. Packs of these vehicles were already screening the progress of invader units like silent ghosts, giving intelligence and hit-and-run attacks on the double eagle-painted soldiers. They were often supported by groups of Jagdpanzer-70s, Spähpanzer Ru 251s, Jaguar 2s, KJPZ TIII Jäger's, and Kannonjagpanzer 105s.

While only day 2 of armed conflict, these attacks were causing the invaders much-needed distress.

"Steady on the gun greenie." Captain Bernie Hölm encouraged the inexperienced gunner of his crew.

"Yes sir, won't happen again." Corporal Martin Meuller apologized quietly.

"It's alright son, I understand." Hölm patted the sandy-haired boy on the shoulder lightly.

"What do you think those 'Vaders' are doing?" Horst Kölsch, the loader interjected from his position at the loader's station.

"I don't know, seems like a construction site." Hölm shuffled to the scope to direct it a few degrees to his right.

Personnel in the Bundesheer had taken to calling the alien invaders 'Vaders' after Darth Vader, from the Star Wars Trilogy. It was much easier to call them that. And right now, their tank destroyer seemed to have stumbled onto a treasure load of intel.

From where they were looking, it seemed as if the Vader's were hurriedly building an ad-hoc construction sight. The crew could see those red robed "cybermen" and the horrifying looking cyborg laborer's buzz around rapidly like bees in a hive. They seemed to be tinkering rapidly, hefting materials to a thin pole that shot upwards to the great beyond like a space elevator. And something was descending from said pole.

"Heads up Cap'n, I spotted a few combustible materials scattered around the area haphazardly." 423, a tank destroyer hidden like the rest of the so called "hunter groups." Reported on the encrypted circuit.

Hölm felt his features twist into a rictus grin. "Affirmative 432. Hunter group 11, this is Hölm. Let's cause some trouble, shall we?"

The vehicles in the group began to load their main weapons and pick targets. Of which, there wasn't much of a variety. Most took aim at the large fuel tanks scattered around the area of the construction site. While some took aim at the pole itself. Quickly, the crews loaded high-explosive shells into their guns.

"Fire a single volley." Hölm ordered over the circuit. "Then we dash back as if hell was on our heels and call in an airstrike."

"Shoot and scoot, sounds like a good plan." One of the commanders on a Jagdpanzer 70 remarked.

"Heh." Hölm smirked. "I figured as much. Now pick your target's and wait for my command."

"Rog."

All went silent as guns were loaded and stabilized. Hölm checked his airwaves to confirm that his promised air assets had taken off. Once receiving the affirmative, he checked his wrist-chrono. They were on heading on schedule, meaning that there was an AWACs craft directing them. Good for them, because those birds had been savagely targeted yesterday, everywhere. Those crews and the air force were taking a big risk sending them up to direct the air package, because those radio waves would be intercepted by the enemy too, and that would vector a squadron of those batwing-like interceptors the Vader's seemed to love throwing.

"Targets picked and waiting sir." The voice from the radio ordered. Turning to key his throat-mic, he replied to the unteroffizier in command of that particular Ru-251.

"Alright then, on my mark, fire 1 volley before dropping smoke. 3, 2, 1, Mark!"

Almost instantly, the clearing was filled with the sound of a group of tank destroyers firing in unison. Hölm saw one of the cyborg's half-mechanical head and octopus like metal tentacles snap towards the general direction before an explosion from the nearby tanks consumed the red-robed individual and could not be seen through the blaze. All over the site, similarly, dressed cyborgs scrambled a little too late to take cover as the site rapidly transformed into a bonfire.

One of those huge stumpy crimson robots began to stomp forward, its shoulder mounted weapon beginning to glow ominously. Before it could take another step however, a TOW missile fired by a Jaguar 2 smashed into its bulbous crimson head, sending it flailing backwards onto the grass in a messy pile of circuitry. It continued to shudder, spark and move around before it's power source finally shut down.

Through the scopes, Hölm spotted the pole defenseless, still pulling down whatever it was bringing from space. A swift second shot saw a HE shell snap the pole in half like a twig, the top fluttering down, pulling it's rope down with it. Whatever it was bringing, would now descend through the atmosphere unsupervised and fast. And Hölm was betting on them being clear of ground-zero when that happened.

"That's it! All units begin to withdraw, lay down smokes, I'm gonna fire some identification smoke to let our flyboys know what to blow the hell up!"

The hunter-group followed the command almost instantly. Within seconds, thick white smoke began to creep forward, masking the withdrawal of the vehicles. Hölm launched the red targeting smoke, "painting" the target area before he to sped off in reverse. "Henri, step on it!" Hölm barked at Henri Deboi, the driver. "We gotta get out fast! Or else we'll be caught in our own airstrike!"

"You don't have to tell me twice." The driver winced as he put the tank destroyer into gear and began to reverse the tank destroyer quickly. And not a minute to soon. A pair of Dornier Alpha Jets soon screamed overhead, dropping their ordinance and hightailing it back to base as quickly as they had come. The construction sight exploded as pieces of debris were soon flung into the air. Hölm and the hunter group didn't stop till they were a good few meters away. Just as the explosion died down, the crew witnessed something huge, and flaming slam into the ground on the construction site. A set of bigger explosions and booms soon began to erupt. Many had to put on earplugs so that their auditory organs weren't damaged by the sound.

"What the fuck was that?" Henri asked, shock written plainly over his features.

"I'm guessing it was part of a building of some kind." Horst attempted to answer. "I'm guessing they were constructing their structures piece by piece, by sending it down from their ships onto the surface one by one and piece by piece. A similar concept was devised by the US in the 70s. But the Ami's deemed it to expensive."

"Speak normally, so the rest of us mere brutes can understand Kölsch." Henri grumbled. "You don't have to tall the rest of us you're the only noncom here with a college education."

Horst sighed but didn't show his derision, instead pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose "In simple terms…" Horst hesitated, searching for the most basic way to describe the advanced construction concept. "Okay...think of it like building a big Lego set. The spaceships were sending down the pieces one by one on that pole. We blew up the pole, so all the remaining pieces fell from the sky at once and smashed together. Kaboom!"

He paused, waiting for Henri's reaction. The driver just nodded slowly; forehead creased in thought.

"Got it, I guess. Thanks a lot prof." Henri scratched his head. "My brain still feels like scrambled eggs though."

Horst laughed at that. "My pleasure meathead." He replied, elbowing Henri playfully in the ribs, to which the Alsatian scowled.

"And we gotta thank greenie too." Bernie piped up from his seat, "Because he fired both shots with pinpoint accuracy causing the cybies a lot of pain in the butt today." The captain praised, causing the sandy haired boy to turn red.

"It was nothing." Martin shyly mumbled, not facing them and staring down into the gunner's sight.

"Aw he's blushing!" Henri crowed before he got whacked by Horst, the bespectacled loader looking murderous. "Ow! What the hell dude?"

"Stop picking on the greenie, dude." Horst glowered before returning to slamming a shell back into the rack. Henri sniffed haughtily, grumbling something about nerds under his breath that Horst chose to ignore. He wasn't worth a punch anyway.

"Alright, settle down kids." Bernie smirked down at them. Let's head home back to friendly lines and some much needed chow."

Vostokvakian Forward Command Headquarters

"Are you sure no damage has been done to the plant?" Major-General Gennady D. Voroshilov, commander of the 233rd Motor-Rifle Division asked the major before him.

"Nothing that will affect the facility's operation, comrade general." The major's voice held complete conviction. "And the one of the enemy's squads will soon be dealt with. They are using one of the on-site worker apartments for shelter and have repulsed five attempts to storm it so far, but are running low on ammunition. This next attack should overrun them."

"Yes, Yes Nikola. "See that it does." Voroshilov issued a stern look at his subordinate. The general then gave a small grin, "Command probably be glad to also know that the disrupters work as advertised." Voroshilov turned his attention to the tactical display map that dominated the room. Currently, it appeared the enemy was using the forest for cover. Voroshilov examined the area, outside of the forest was a small T-72 Tankovey Company. The company had been sitting there at the entrance, waiting for the enemy to move. The enemy had already begun fighting over various cities and a heavy force had been sent in his direction. His forces of the 233rd had fortified this village. Voroshilov began to think up a quick plan. He would defeat these invaders using the "Scientific method" he was taught at the Frunze Academy.

"Contact Major Tereshkova, tell her to prep her TOS-1 "Buratino" MLRS." He ordered a signaler, "Tell her to fire Thermobaric munitions, we will flush the rats out." A terse "Da General" was the man's only answer as he contacted the battery. Voroshilov then turned his attention back to the map. He watched in tense silence and checked his smartwatch. In two minutes the rockets began to fall as the forest was saturated.

"Target saturated comrade." An aide announced from her screen.

"Excellent" Voroshilov now decided to activate phase 2 of his plan. "Order the tank company to advance. Use caution." The signaler nodded, already tapping away.

T-72 Tankovey Company. Frontlines

Through his electrobinoculars, the company commander in his T-72BK watched the thick black smoke drift upwards. The Buratino's had absolutely shredded the area.

"Ural, come in Ural" the encrypted radio crackled to life. Headquarters was contacting him.

Captain Yuri Belov lowered his electrobinoculars as headquarters contacted him, the encrypted channel crackling.

"Ural here, send traffic," he responded.

"Ural, you are cleared to advance into the bombardment zone," came the reply. "We expect all hostiles neutralized but be alert for stragglers."

Belov did another scan of the smoldering forest, signs of life faint but present on his thermals. Nothing substantial though.

"Acknowledged command."

He switched channels to address his company. "All Ural units, we're gonna choose someone to go out and scout the area." His words sent a chorus of name-calling. Finally, the unlucky person was chosen. Nonna Vasiliev was the gunner of tank 213. Belov watched as she got out grumpily armed with her AKS-74u carbine and began to march forward toward the smoke. Once having reached a suitable distance away, Vasiliev stood in front of the smoke waiting.

"There's literally nothing" Vasiliev looked extra grumpy when suddenly there was a short whine followed by the clatter of tank tracks. The entire company, plus Nonna watched as a absolute beat up tank mournfully clattered out. It was one of those cramped small MBTs these invaders used that resembled one from the 1st Great War, only smaller and ill-proportionate. Its main gun was missing and one of the sponson mounted guns had flowered up.

The tank was sparking and sizzling before it finally stopped. Everyone readied their weapons. The hatch opened and 3 utterly dazed crew members got themselves out. Their helmets as always had a winged skull. Vasiliev kept her carbine trained on the dazed tank crew as they slowly emerged from the battered machine, hands raised in surrender. She almost felt pity for the poor bastards - they looked utterly shellshocked, covered in soot and wild-eyed.

Belov's voice crackled over her headset. "Hold position Vasiliev, we're sending a squad to take them into custody."

She acknowledged and kept her weapon ready, but not aimed directly at them. The Invaders loked pitifully grateful at not having rifles pointed their way.

Before long, an infantry section arrived and quickly disarmed and restrained the prisoners, leading them towards the rear. With the area confirmed secure, Belov ordered the tanks forward into the smoldering woods.

As Vasiliev climbed back aboard her T-72, she overheard chatter on the radio. "...interrogation team wants them intact with minimal damage. These are the first live captures from an enemy armored unit..."

She tuned it out, focusing on her role as 2nd Lt. Markova maneuvered them between the blasted tree trunks. The General's trap had worked perfectly - they'd bagged valuable intelligence assets. Maybe the eggheads could make sense of their babble about holy wars and witchcraft.

For now, she kept her eyes peeled for more survivors. Markov was counting on her spotting threats before he drove into them. "Another notch for the Motherland," she thought with satisfaction as they rumbled deeper into the ruined forest.

Over Jilachi Desert, Vostokvakia...

The disappointment inside the Mi-17 transport was so thick one could probably taste it. They had all been eager to deal out punishment to the fools who dared venture so close to the motherland's territory, but the bizarre events had put a damper on that.

When the helicopter crew and the Spetsnatz they were transporting came to, they had found themselves on the ground, with the engine shut down, and on top of some desert plateau. Upon contacting the base, they discovered that all the units that had been sent out to attack the invaders had likewise been scattered in the area and were promptly ordered to return to base.

The Spetsnaz commandos and helicopter crew sat in resigned silence as their transport flew back to base over the barren desert. The aborted mission still didn't make sense, but orders were orders.

Sergeant Vadim Nurmagomedov glanced at the other elites, seeing his own puzzlement mirrored in their expressions. They had been ready to strike back against the invaders encroaching on their territory, to teach them the folly of provoking the Vostokvakian war machine.

Instead, here they were, retreating without firing a shot. Even command seemed confused by the bizarre relocation of all attack forces. No explanations had been given, just terse orders to RTB immediately.

He reviewed the facts in his mind. One moment they had been streaking towards the enemy formation, ready to dish out righteous vengeance. The next, they were waking up here in the desert, aircraft safely landed.

He shook his head. Had they all experienced some kind of shared mass hallucination? But the log data confirmed they had somehow teleported halfway across Vostokvakia instantly. A deeply worrying development if true.

For now, all they could do was return to base and await further orders. No doubt the truth would emerge eventually. The high command did not tolerate unexplained failures lightly.

Their transport set down on the tarmac, the ground crew rushing to meet it. As Vlad disembarked with his comrades, he wondered what bizarre explanation awaited. But one thing was certain - Vostokvakia's vengeance had merely been delayed, not halted.

The invaders would soon regret awakening this slumbering giant. When they struck again, it would be with the full fury of the motherland behind them.

USS Enterprise (CVAN-65)

Sea of Satsuma.

Pacific Ocean.

Firma.

June 3rd, 1995.

The canteen was quiet at this hour. Most of the ship's compliment were either on duty or finding recreation elsewhere. Leaving the place mostly deserted. Perfect for a certain aviator to chow in peace. Lt Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick seemed to think so too as he strode to a dispenser while whistling a jaunty rendition of a Nirvana track. Tapping his order into the keypad, he leaned onto one leg as the machine whirred, dropping a can of Coca Cola into the pick-up port. Mitchell leaned down and slid open the hatch to grab the cool can before heading off to pick up dinner. Since dinner time had ended by the time he'd come in, Maverick had resigned himself to a cold meal of mashed potatoes and steak. Not exactly gourmet if one were to ask him. He'd actually had better meals at Miramar, San Diego where the Navy's "TOPGUN" program was located. Now that had been a roughhouse consisting of rivalries between him and Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, his RIO Goose's near death, and his brief fling with a certain blonde civilian contractor. In al honesty that had been good, but she just wasn't his type. He settled himself down on a table to eat his rather miserable and lackluster meal Smiling, he picked up his fork and knife to cut the dry hunk of beef that wasn't even medium rare, courtesy of the taxpayer dollars and the lovely old US DoD.

Presently, the double doors to the canteen flung open and a certain mustachioed WSO bounded in. If there was one thing Lieutenant Junior Grade Nick "Goose" Bradshaw oozed other than utter laid-back confidence in his singing skills and his intercept abilities, it was positivity. Seriously, Maverick could literally visualize the positivity oozing out of his best-friend like a never-ending golden leakage. Spotting him, he bounded over to where Maverick was sitting, but not before grabbing his own tray and drink from the dispensers and walking over.

"Hey Mav. A little late for dinner don't you think?"

"Not my fault Stinger was making us do extra patrols." Maverick replied, wincing as he bit into the beef.

"Yeah…damn they really did cut on the quality huh?" Goose poked his meal gingerly.

"Goose, you aren't the most picky eater on the ship."

Goose laughed at that, smirking a little. "Well, ain't that true."

Maverick grunted noncommittedly. "Rumor has it we're heading to Satsuma immediately, linking up with the rest of the 7th fleet. Something big's happened apparently, they're saying the Big-E's gonna link up and head for Yokosuka or Tokyo,"

Goose's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Satsuma, huh? Wonder what's got the brass all riled up over there?"

He took a bite of his potato, making a face. "Man, you ain't kidding about the quality going down. Remember that little hole in the wall we found in Miramar? What was it called, Nic's Pizza or something?"

"Nick's Pizzaria," Maverick replied with a nostalgic smile. "Best slice this side of Brooklyn. I wonder if he ships..."

"YO! Maverick and Goose! Our two TOPGUN Graduates!" a strong pair of hands soon smacked his back as the grinning face of Lt Rachel "Snakeye" Kerner came into view. Behind the flirty brunette, the rest of VF-1 "Wolfpack" squadron trooped in, joined by Commander Slegger "Slugger" Law.

"Well well, well. If it isn't the two naughty boys of the squad." Slegger drawled. "What on earth are you doing up this late huh?"

"Nothing sir, no trouble at all sir." Goose quipped instantly, causing the older man to smirk.

"Bradshaw, we all know you and Mitchell here are the two biggest troublemakers on this gosh-darn boat. Hell that's why Stinger sweats from his bald head instead of having hairfall! And don't even get me started on the admiral's daughter. That was one heck of a stupid stunt you pulled after you went ballistic with Penny Benjamin."

"Because he likes skinny chicks with long hair." Goose coughed out. "Especially brunettes." Maverick scowled at him in annoyance. "What Mav, it's true."

Slegger chuckled low and slow. "Bradshaw, you never cease to amuse me. Now, if only you were…

The klaxon blared suddenly as the PA system came online: "Attention! Attention! All pilots report to the ready room for briefing. I repeat, all pilots report to the ready room for briefing. This is not a drill. All personnel to alert status 2."

The pilots jumped up immediately, some looking confused. Late-night briefings were rare, but they weren't uncommon. The pilots rushed out of the canteen, joined by other pilots from the Enterprise's other squadrons. The men and woman ran quickly down the siren-blaring corridors of the ship, urgently pushing past other sailors who were heading up to alert status. Down in the hanger, the carrier's F-14D Super Tomcat's were prepared as well as the F-18s to be brought up to alert readiness. The same was currently being done to the planes up on the flight deck too. The Super Tom's, in the usual style of pilots on Firma, were painted in flamboyant liveries.

Maverick and Goose ran into the ready room with the rest of their squadron and sat themselves down on the chairs.

The air was thick with tension. Maverick could feel it. Pilots whispered among themselves. The CAG was nowhere to be seen yet. Allowing the whispered patters of rumormongering to fly free.

Another door slammed open with a bang, and then Commander Air Group (CAG) Tom "Stinger" Jardian walked in in his trademark USS Enterprise baseball cap and a cigar in his mouth, taking his place in front of the white board. "Alright settle down all of you!" he bellowed in his Italian Concordian twang. "I know you all are confused, and you want answers, Well." He slammed his hands down on the podium before picking up the remote controlling a projector and flicking it. "You'll get your answers right now." The projector whined as it slowly descended down, an airman meanwhile readied a cassette tape.

"By now, you all must have seen the strange news reports back home both yesterday and today." Jardian took out the Havana from his mouth. "Talking about weird power armored giants with even bigger guns and grunts that have laser guns."

The entire squadron nodded. Many thought it was just a movie. The scenes of Santa Monica or Los Angeles or the sight of the Vostokvakian capital Moskvingrad burning seemed a bit too surreal to be true. The same similar sights had been seen today too; a marathon must have been running.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, that was no movie, or a joke, or even fake news. The stuff you've been seeing on the TV. It's real, all of it."

For a minute, the briefing room went fully pin drop silent as the pilots took in Stinger's announcement. Was the CAG making a joke. It couldn't have been real, right? It simply seemed impossible - yet Stinger wasn't the type who would joke about such a serious matter.

Surprisingly, it was Goose who spoke up. Albeit without his usual cheer. "Sir, are you telling us that we're under attack by aliens?"

Stinger nodded grimly. "That's right Bradshaw." He replied. "We've been under attack by a whole fleet of these things up in orbit since yesterday. Now, OPNAV's given us the green light. As of now we're in a state of war. And the Big E and Task Force 74 are to link up with the rest of the fleet and give some much-needed air support to our forces on the ground as well as try to maintain air superiority and corridors."

Stinger flicked the remote to show a map of the Kangawa Prefecture. "Now, our main area of focus is the so-called Yokosuka-Tokyo Air Corridor." He pointed at the labelled areas with a pointer.

The room sat in stunned silence as the gravity of the situation sank in. An alien invasion - it seemed too surreal.

Maverick leaned over to Goose. "Well, this is a hell of a wake up call."

Goose just nodded mutely, face pale.

Stinger continued briefing. "Our squadrons will conduct combat air patrols along this corridor to escort evac transports and provide close air support. Marines have already secured Yokosuka naval base as a staging area."

"Anyone supporting us in the air?" It was Slegger who'd asked the question this time.

"VFA-161 with their Hornets." Stinger replied. "It is absolutely imperative that these guys do not reach Tokyo. The Satsumese Imperial Government is counting on the US and the ISA and Imperial Royal Guard as well as any IMDF forces to push them back at least off the mainland. That's all. You fliers are heading up in 10 minutes, I expect you guys suited up and in your cockpits in 5. And give'em hell!"

The assembled pilots jumped up and saluted, shouting affirmations to Stinger's order. Then, the pilots began to disperse and walked over at a steady pace to the Ready Area. Maverick shook hands with Iceman, and the other pilots of VF-1 like Snakeye. They suited up in silence. Straps and harnesses jangling being the only sound in the room other than the breathing. Maverick and Goose, likewise being his RIO both loaded their M10 10mm pistols before placing them into their holsters.

Maverick then grabbed his HGU-55 flight helmet custom painted in his signature blue with red stripes and MAVERICK printed on the front. Holding it under his arm, e also grabbed the MBU-14/P oxygen mask and then turned to see Goose having done the same before they followed the rest of VF-1 to the elevator up to the flight deck.

The flight deck was its usual brand of organized chaos. The deck crew in their various color-coded uniforms buzzing around, pushing the F-14Ds and F/A 18s into position or doing checks on the weapons. Maverick and Goose marched over to their red and blue livery Super Tom and climbed up the ladders. The rest of the squadron was doing the same, in their various viberant and flamboyant liveried aircraft. The Hornets of VFA-161 were colored in the same monotone color of "normal" USN aircraft, having not the culture of the Tomcat flyers."Man, the Hornet pilots must've been abused children." Goose said from behind Maverick. "Who the hell wants to be normal? The entire reason Firma has aces is because you're meant to be seen in war."

Maverick chuckled before looking at his cockpit. "You gotta admit, the F-14D certainly is an upgrade over the old C models we flew when we first started out."

"That's why they call em Super Tomcats Mav." Goose stated in a know-it-all tone. "They are meant to be better. Now I'm wondering what the hell we're gonna do for five minutes. It's bad enough I'm getting anxiety because this is our first time truly going into combat. And it ain't MiG's and Flankers we were trained to fight against. It's UFOs from mars."

Maverick's grin turned rueful. "Can't argue with that Gooseman. This is really something different."

He patted the side of the cockpit affectionately. "Still, she's a beauty and I trust her with my life. And you watching my six? We'll be just fine."

Goose nodded, blowing out a breath. "Damn right. Still, can't say I'm not nervous! First time and against freakin' aliens." He paused. "What do you think they even look like?"

"Who knows," shrugged Maverick. "Probably like Predator on steroids, with ray guns."

A laugh escaped Goose's anxiety. "Please, I don't need that image in my head right now!"

Brother Sergeant Renauld

Fulminators Chapter

Northern Hemisphere,

Planet Nova Arcadia.

Day-2

It had been a day since they had made landfall, and they had made significant progress,

Brother-Captain Renauld Jerviers scanned the area; his helmet's display revealed that no human life was in sight for at least one hundred meters either way. Most of the locals had escaped once the Fists showed their intentions. Those few that stayed to fight used weak guns which could barely scratch Astartes power armor. There was also a squad with more advanced gear: autoguns, grenades, black flak armor with only "SWAT" printed on it. Unfortunately, these individuals perished as quickly as everyone else.

Once he was certain that the sector was clear he quickly turned left and moved to a nondescript, utilitarian skyscraper. It was made of some sort of concrete and was sleek. No ornamentation, no gaudiness, no aquila covered it's exterior. The only Insignia that was found on the exterior was a symbol of a stylized "FW." He leaned downwards as he touched the building, his power armor clanking softly against its surface. He could feel the cold, hard concrete through his fingertips, and he knew that his brothers would be waiting for him inside. Renauld activated his comm-bead, and spoke in his deep, resonant voice.

"This is Captain Renauld. The sector is clear. I'm at the rendezvous point. Requesting entry."

There was a brief pause, and then a faint hiss as the doors slid open. Renauld stepped inside and was greeted by the sight of his fellow Fulminators. They were gathered in a large, dimly lit room, their towering forms casting long shadows against the walls. Some of them were tending to their weapons, while others were simply meditating, their eyes closed in silent communion with the Emperor.

The interior of this place was a most strange one. Sleek wooden floors and walls of grey. Huge shelves filled with strange disks and other archeotech. This place was clearly a workplace of some sort. Strange terminals were on the decks, some boxy and others sleek. He passed a cafeteria, and other offices. He then entered another room, which according to his HUD was connected to another one where the Chapter had created a FOB and HQ.

The inside of this particular room was a peculiar site. Its walls were lined with numerous large and tall boxes each almost as high as an ordinary human being. They all had small screen faces at their front, complete with buttons, joysticks, and other blinking illumination control panels. Colorful and creative paintings filled up every square inch of the walls which suggested that this place was used for entertainment purposes. However, Renauld knew that it was also likely connected to the planet's communication network and one of those computer mechanisms could possibly be hosting some malicious intelligence. He acknowledged that governors who betrayed the Imperium's law could be up to anything. Renauld approached Techmarine Porthos, who was engrossed in one of the primitive simulation devices. His servo-arms deftly worked the controls, maneuvering a round yellow avatar through a maze dotted with pellets.

"Brother, have these childish amusements yielded any useful intelligence?" Renauld asked.

Porthos did not look up from the screen. "Unfortunately not in the manner hoped, Captain. They are not connected to any planetary network."

The yellow orb devoured a pellet, changing pursuing ghostly sprites to blue.

"However, I believe these games serve a covert military purpose, like our tactical simulations," Porthos continued. "They hone reflexes and cultivate an aggressive, individualistic mindset."

He gestured at different stations. "That one simulates anti-missile defense. Those two space combat. Each teaches skills subtly."

Renauld glanced around skeptically. "Rudimentary training perhaps, but where is devotion to the Emperor?"

Porthos replied, "Precisely. This society values the individual over the collective or spiritual. Worrisome implications."

Just then Tarrand approached with an update. Sergeant Augustin and his Reiver squad was advancing west but three kilometers away. He had found a burial ground and pagan shrine, which he duly marked with the Aquila.

Renauld was troubled. The lack of Imperial icons hinted at a faithless people. Like the entertainment devices surrounding them, consumed by empty diversions and materialism. However, the mere thought of it deeply bothered him - a temple that had been stripped of the Aquila. It was indeed true that certain peoples and worlds within the Imperium opted to venerate alternative forms of The Emperor, and these practices were tolerated to varying extents by the Ecclesiarchy and the different chapters (some more reluctantly than others).

Nevertheless, there was an inherent wrongness and impropriety about this world and its profound lack of faith, its obsession with materialism. Whether it was evident in the numerous machine-driven entertainments that now surrounded him or in the report from Leon's squad, who had landed several dozen kilometers to the east in a repugnant sprawling castle complex known as "Diz-Nee-Land," where the locals seemed to be idolizing a repulsive abhuman rodent.

Renauld stood at the entrance, gazing out at the distant skyscrapers and mountains of this peculiar world. None of the information they had gathered beforehand matched anything on this planet. However, what was becoming increasingly evident was that this world existed beyond the Emperor's dominion. Therefore, it would need to be brought into compliance and cleansed of its lack of faith and false idols once it had been pacified.

He closed his eyes, lost in contemplation, while his helmet sensors remained vigilant and active, ready to alert him of any approaching threats. He had been informed that somewhere on this world, there resided an immensely powerful psyker, unlike any their Librarian had encountered before. Perhaps it was this entity that had severed this world from the rest of the Imperium and, consequently, from the Emperor's benevolence. If that were the case... then it fell upon them to locate this being and eradicate it once and for all, in the name of the Emperor.

He pondered how best to bring proper fealty to the Emperor here. The magnitude of their task was becoming apparent, converting these wayward souls to righteous purpose. It would require diligence and wisdom. Renauld left the techmarine to his pondering and tinkering. He needed to get to the Chapter Master

Renauld strode purposefully toward the center of the room, where his commander, Chapter-Master Gideon, was waiting. Gideon was a massive figure, even by Astartes standards, and his armor was adorned with countless battle honors and scars from countless battles.

"Brother Captain Renauld," Gideon said, his voice deep and rumbling. "What's the situation on the ground?"

Renauld paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The sector is clear of hostiles, milord. The natives were no match for us. We encountered some armed resistance, but it was quickly dealt with."

Gideon nodded, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. "Good work, brother. Our mission here is clear: we must eradicate the xenos threat and protect the Imperium's interests on this world. Our Chapter has been entrusted with this task, and we will not fail."

Renauld nodded, his face a mask of determination. "Yes, Chapter Master. We will not fail."

Gideon turned to the rest of the Fulminators, his voice booming in the silence. "Brothers, we have work to do.

Some more information on the setting and the Planet.

The Planet Firma is the 3rd planet of its Solar System, and twice as large as out earth. This means that while the continents have a few resemblences to our earth continents, it is still more water than land. And the depths hold unique landforms that are not found on our earth.