Chapter 18
Countess General Cassandra Rodion.
General HQ of Combat Group Rodion.
Cassandra Rodion stared at the ruins of her once proud HQ.
Where once, there had been a shining citadel of Imperial Greatness, thanks to continuous rebel arty and air attacks, there was now a cesspit of broken masonry and shattered machinery.
The last of her staff were now busily saving whatever data they could, stuffing it into map cases, document folders and dossiers. One man had ripped off a large map and had folded it messily before stuffing the thing into his pockets before heading out to the exfil sight.
Presently, she became aware of a whining rumble of engines grumbling through the walls. With her last remaining Cam screen monitor, she saw it was any Guard commander's worst nightmare. An Inquisition Valkyrie. She gulped; she was going to be executed for her failure here alright.
Even through the greyscale, she could clearly see the Stormtroopers and Kasrkins hefting hot shot lasguns and Plasma guns and that their flak armor was imprinted with the Inquisitorial Rosette.
A dark crimson fatigue wearing officer with the usual gear of black flak armor and helmet arrived. Behind him, two Kasrkins, and two Scions in the same gear, but with no visible markings of rank followed behind.
Cassandra Rodion had long since accepted her fate. It was only natural. The price of failure was death and dishonor, in the eyes of the Holy God Emperor. So, she was surprised when the Inquisition stormtrooper saluted, a gesture the woman returned, albeit confusedly. The man then addressed her.
"Countess General Cassandra Rodion?"
"Yes, that is me." Rodion responded, her voice gaining a fearful rasp.
"Ma'am we have orders to exfil you and your remaining staff to a new GHQ in a newly captured city not far from here. It would be best if we moved with all haste. We will leave behind a skeleton force of some Kasrkins, Scions to join your men. I trust your officers will fight to the end?"
Rodion was surprised, but this time didn't show it. She answered the man's question though, best use her remaining advantages to her favor. It was bad form not to answer back anyway to an agent of the Holy Inquisition.
"Yes, my remaining Junior officers and men have been informed of their duty. They will fight to the last man."
The other officer nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He grabbed her arm, leading her towards the exit, an action that had he been in the Guard, would have ended in an execution or worse.
"Very well then. It's best we make our departure. For you and your staff's continued safety and security."
Rodion allowed the man to lead her out, where a Valkyrie awaited, her remaining staff was already inside the compartment, Rodion joined them and the stormtroopers followed her inside.
The leader of the stormtroopers headed into the cockpit. "Let's go! We have the VIPs!"
The pilot nodded, pulling the stick back. The gunship lifted off and banked away, leaving the skeletal defense force behind. Through the viewports Rodion watched plumes of smoke billow from the ruins as artillery and air strikes pounded the site.
Soon only rubble remained of the HQ.
"Damn, those rebs are good." The Stormtrooper officer admitted.
Rodion remained silent. Looking at the smoking ruins which were slowly being swarmed by enemy troops like locusts, she came to a frightening realization.
It was going to be a very different war.
Mambovian Expeditionary Force Headquarters,
Luanda, People's Republic Of Lubanji.
"Newest update from our intelligence network," stated Lt. Antonio as he entered the conference room and placed a stack of documents on the table, "thus far, we have confirmed two landings - one in Cape Town and the other in the Johannesburg region. The number of enemy combatants is unknown, but they seem to be similar to those reported in other areas - a combination of heavily armored elite infantry equipped with advanced personal body armor and lighter infantrymen, also well-equipped with laser-based weapons. Based on our observations, they appear to be Human rather than alien, although we have yet to capture and examine one. Moskvingrad is currently working on that. They have both vehicles and air support. The civilian casualties are estimated to be in the hundreds, possibly even thousands by now. The breakdown of civil order in Joburg has led to riots among the black population in Soweto and neighboring districts. Our informants have also noticed increased activity at the SAAF bases in Waterkloof, Swartkop, and Ysterplaat."
Colonel Sergio Carballar, from the 4th Army Corps of the Mambovian Revolutionary Army, furrowed his brow as he took a strong puff from his cigar, surveying the array of maps and papers spread out before him. Smoking wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, but the bitter taste helped him stay focused and alert. Despite the cool breeze coming in from the sea, the evening was hot and humid. The barracks were well-ventilated and air-conditioned, yet the air still felt heavy with the scent of tobacco and tension. The rest of Colonel Bella's staff began to gather in the room one by one, as they had been alerted to the situation. It had been just over an hour since they received the news of Colonel Ramos's column being decimated by an unknown force in Ughania, which was located on the other side of the continent.
"And General Andalu means to... attack at this time?" asked Col. Carballar, at long last breaking his silence.
Yes, señor," responded Antonio, "the last time I checked in, approximately thirty minutes ago, he was speaking with the President on the phone. He mentioned his intention to coordinate a strategy and initiate a coordinated offensive by the following week, utilizing available forces in the south and aiming to recruit and equip an additional 10,000 conscripts within the next month."
"And what about SWAPO?" inquired the colonel, "where do they fit into this plan?"
"There is no information yet, but he expressed his desire to contact General Nujongo and propose launching multiple, simultaneous, and devastating deep strikes across the Anamub, starting tomorrow and continuing over the next week. The objective seems to be to weaken the enemy in preparation for our offensive."
"This is insane," Carballar muttered, "it will take another six to eight months for us to reach that level of readiness again. Recruiting 10,000 conscripts in a month? It hasn't even been a year since the last crisis. Does he expect me to conjure up fresh troops and equipment out of thin air, as if by magic?"
"Apparently, that is the interpretation he has drawn from the current situation," Antonio added disapprovingly. "It seems he has already decided to proceed regardless of our opinions. He has been issuing orders to all outposts along the border to start mobilizing. Officially, it is being framed as a response to global landings, but we are well aware of the true target."
"Madre de Dios," Carballar swore. He reached for the telephone beside him. "I will contact General Ndalu and the President. I cannot allow them to pursue this course of action at this moment. We need more information about these... aliens. There is a possibility that this is just the beginning, and there may be more invasion forces preparing to attack us as well."
The lieutenant merely nodded at his superior's assessment. "Very well sir. I'll go forward some other files to the other officers. God Help us all if we're attacked" and promptly walked out the door. Leaving Carballar alone to massage his temples as he realized what a mess this all had become. "God damn." He muttered. "God damn it all, everything's going to hell.
June 3rd, 1995.
Dover, United Kingdom of Eden
"The invaders are halfway across Eden now, sir. According to our best estimates, they'll be overtop London in just two weeks. I know we have tens of thousands of Eirendalian refugees in the nation, but we need to seriously start to consider evacuation, sir."
Blair let out a long, loud sigh before speaking. "I guess we can't delay the issue any longer, can we?" He asked. "Very well. I'll speak to my ministers about it." He sighed. "I never like running from a fight, but I guess I don't have a real choice here."
"Yes, sir. On the Francovian front, the OFN divisions and Francovian infantry have dealt massive casualties against the Invaders. However, they think that they'll be at the coast within two days. They simply can't stand up to the enemy armour."
"And our own forces?"
"Our armour and infantry divisions of the Edenite Army of the Rhine have linked up with the Ulraznavian panzer divisions. That would be 5000 Ulraznavian and 1000 Edenite tanks on the front, sir."
"Good." Blair nodded. "How about the Libbies? What are they up to?"
"Well, they're mainly focused on their own defence at the moment. Their armies recruiting levels have been shooting through the roof, sir. "
"Right." Blair sighed once more. "Anything else?"
"No sir."
"Well, alright then. Oh, and Jenny?"
"Sir?"
"Send the Ulraznavians my regards."
"Yes, sir." With a quick salute, she about faced and left the office.
Beneath the Ocean.
The vessel was some kind of submersible craft, the inside of which reminded her of the inside of an Imperial Naval warship, only without a single holographic auspex interface anywhere to be seen. Various pipes and switches and blinking lights and little monitor screens covered the walls of what was clearly the main control room. The crew, too, in their uniforms and their haircuts, looked almost like they could have belonged to the Imperial Navy, though she noted many of them wore blue-and-white striped shirts under their dark coats. And all of them looked at her with the same look of curiosity and surprise on their faces as she was brought aboard.
Lt. Karla Kovacs was dragged, her hands in steel handcuffs, down a narrow hallway, away from the command center, and then shoved through one of the doors into a tiny room. It must have been the quarters of one of the superior officers aboard this vessel - simple and stark, but functional. Indeed, maybe a little too plain: the absence of any holy trinkets anywhere throughout the room, or indeed the entire ship, indicated that these men did not honor the Emperor. Karla did, however, note the presence of a certain red pentagram, as well as a crossed golden hammer and sickle shape adorning many of the surfaces, in lieu of the sacred Aquila. These were the same sigils as those she had seen on those rebel aircraft she had battled just hours earlier.
Karla sat huddled in the sparse quarters, shivering in her soaked flight suit. Her initial relief at not being mistreated had faded, replaced by uncertainty and unease. These captors were human but spoke a strange tongue and bore unknown sigils. Nothing made sense.
They compelled her to undress at gunpoint, removing each layer of her soaked flight-suit and vest until she stood exposed. After thoroughly searching her for any hidden items, they confiscated all her clothing, likely for further inspection. Trembling in the corner, she was not only chilled by the sea water but also by the dread of the soldiers' next actions. She recalled the terrifying tales of what could befall female soldiers captured by the enemy, particularly the Druchii, yet even treacherous Human foes were capable of unspeakable acts. Whispering a prayer to the Emperor, she sought comfort and strength to confront the unknown ahead.
To her delight, the outcome was different; the man she assumed to be the Captain walked into the room carrying a fresh bundle of dry clothes. Speaking in a language she couldn't comprehend, he seemed to indicate that the clothes were for her. Despite knowing he wouldn't understand, she expressed her gratitude in Low Gothic. The new attire matched what the other men were wearing, complete with the distinctive long-sleeved white-and-blue striped shirt, a heavy black wool longcoat, and a fur hat. Even better, the clothing was tailored for females and fit her perfectly, she gave a sigh of relief - many worlds in the Imperium didn't allow women to serve in their Planetary Defense Forces.
After she had finished dressing, she turned her gaze towards her captors, hoping to observe them more closely. The Captain, was a young man with blonde hair in some sort of military cut and ice blue striking eyes, stood before her. The captain seemed to be the same age as all of them, in his 20s. His short blonde hair and features looked like they were carved out of granite gave him a seriously commanding aura. He had been lazily smoking what looked like an iho stick for the entire "Interrogation"
The commissar was something else altogether. A tall, athletic pretty brunette, her fatigues and striped undershirt made her look even more threatening. Karla gulped.
The captain and the commissar took their seats at a table in the room, and the latter of them motioned with his hand and said something in his foreign tongue. Karla understood from the gesture what he wanted. She glanced back at the two soldiers, still keeping their guns pointed at her, and obliged.
The captain began. He pulled out of the pocket of his black fatigues a piece of paper, and spread it out across the table. It was a map, although Karla could not recognize the shape of the continents nor any of the names written upon it (the strange alphabet they used probably did not help matters).
"Tverdyy," the Captain said, indicating the map.
"Tverdyy," repeated Karla, confused. So, that was what the natives called their world? She had to be sure. "Uh, Nova Arcadia?" she questioned.
The two officers looked puzzled and responded; though as usual she could not understand anything they were saying, she thought she could hear what sounded like "nyet" among others.
The Captain persisted, gesturing and tapping on a section of the map in the corner, likely trying to show their current location on the planet. Karla rubbed her eyes and blinked. It bore no resemblance to the hastily drawn maps of Nova Arcadia they had received before their surprise deployment.
Karla realized with a start the map spread before her depicted unfamiliar lands. This was Nova Arcadia, a full map. Shocked, she could only stare dumbly as the captain indicated their location.
The captain turned and shouted an order, and someone outside the room responded. Within minutes, another woman had joined them, making the already cramped room even more crowded. Karla wondered who the hell was he for a moment, and then she realized, of course, he was the other pilot!
Karla scrutinized her in the cramped space. Out of her flight gear, she seemed ordinary. She a exchanged bemused glance, the other pilot scowled.
The pilot and the two other officers engaged in a brief conversation. The pilot acknowledged their words and brought a chair over to the table. The commissar handed her a sheet of paper along with a small writing tool. The pilot proceeded to sketch something on the paper while maintaining her conversation with the other officers. Karla leaned in slightly to get a clearer view and noticed that she was attempting to draw a Valkyrie. Admittedly, he was missing several important details, which slightly annoyed her. However, considering she had likely never seen one before tonight, it was understandable.
After completing her task, the pilot presented the drawing to the captain and the commissar, who examined it closely while engaging in conversation. Undoubtedly, the pilot made her utmost effort to vividly describe the intricacies of their aerial battle. The commissar nodded in approval and proceeded to issue a command to the pilot. Without hesitation, the pilot complied and smoothly passed the paper and pen across the table to Karla. Maintaining direct eye contact with her, the commissar spoke in her native tongue, gestured towards the drawing, and then directed her gaze towards her.
Karla nodded in return, and then took the pen in her handcuffed hands. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of what to do next, and knowing that all eyes in the room were on her. And then she put pen to paper and began drawing. She knew just what she was going to do.
She carefully sketched the other pilot's fighter's sleek frame, the sleek, arrowlike nose, the swept-back delta wings, the twin tailfins... she also decided to add in the little pentagram symbol on the tail. With a faint smirk. The commissar shouted furiously at the provocation. But the humor was lost on her alone.
The commissar stood up, and began to jabber rapid fire at the three, before storming out in a huff, the captain followed quickly attempting to calm her. The other pilot glowered at her for a short bit before going out as well. Karla grinned in satisfaction. If they were this easy to rile up, then she was going to be very comfortable indeed. She gave a high laugh before settling into her new cell. She was expecting worse, considering that she was (allegedly) on a lost dark age of technology planet where the traitorous governor was believed to be consorting with the Ruinous Powers, she supposed she could have ended up far, far worse off in enemy custody.
June 5th, 1995 GMT
Lieutenant [REDACTED], US Navy, Callsign Mother Goose
F/A-18 Hornet Fighter Aircraft
Mission: Classified
The F-18 moved quickly and loudly towards its target. The pilot moving his finger across the joystick lightly, knowing what his mission was. At the moment, knowledge of the operation was limited to twenty different people, but it would soon be known globally. As for the poor bastards the cargo was being delivered against, they should never know.
The pilot's finger hovered over the red button on the joystick. He flipped the cover off, and pressed the button. He then broke off immediately and turned around. He knew what he had done, and he didn't regret it in the slightest.
5th June, 1995 1108 GMT, 0208 Local
The Skies Above Highway M1,
Flight 291,
Tu-26M 'Kirov'
Vostokvakian Air Force,
"Choryt," Major Alaxander Frolov muttered to himself, "That's a lot of tanks."
As the bomber flew above the formation below, he called in to the General in charge of the entire operation to call in the locations of the hostiles. The General not only acknowledged this, but gave the senior officer the orders to take out the formation with the aircraft's nearly forty-eight thousand pound payload. The pilot gave enthusiasm to this and went to perform a go around to properly line up for the bombing run.
As he prepared to empty his aircraft's bomb bay, he knew that this strike would save many lives, as it would show the alien aggressors the might of the Coalition of Unionist Vostokvakian Sovereign republics as well as prevent the armies from having to clash. He gave the order to drop the bombs. As the plane flew past he could see that the enemy was shrewd enough to see the aircraft as a threat and a detachment of interceptors was coming his way to deal with some of his bombers already.
Below, the explosions began engulfing the entire enemy formation.
However, not all of the hostiles that were moving below approaching were out of the action- and most certainly not the aerial enemies. There was at least a squadron of bat shaped fighters airborne, and they were going toe-to-toe to with the SU-24's and YAK-40s that were now dominating the airspace for a few minutes Red Laser beams flew around mixed with missiles and cannon fire of the Vostokvakian fighters, which were almost at an equal footing to their extraterrestrial counterparts
As the planes came back to strafe them, one of the enemy fighters made an attempt to protect the ground troops by firing into the engine of one of the jets as it flew by, as an act of desperation. Out of either luck, or good aim, the laser ended up in the prop of the SU-24's engine. There was an explosion as an entire section of the plane disappeared clean off, but that didn't mean it was over for the pilot inside- the aircraft's canopy flew off and a seat rocketed away from the fuselage, even as the plane pummeled towards the earth below.
"We've got a fighter down, I repeat, Lavarov's going down!"