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The building collapsed like a house of cards when the thermobaric warhead struck the interior walls. Dust and debris filled the air as the structure gave way, crumbling in on itself.
"Hell yeah!" Mitchell shouted, watching with satisfaction as the once fortified building crumbled into dust. He pressed his PTT. "Longcaster, this is Basilisk 0-1. Enemy fortifications are no factor, I say again, the building is leveled. Basilisk 0-1 out."
"Roger that, 0-1. Stay safe down there. Longcaster out." came the reply.
He squeezed his PTT again, his voice calm but commanding. "Alright, ladies. We're moving up. Target building is down. Stay sharp."
The two platoons worth of Marines began to regroup, weapons at the ready as they prepared to push forward through the debris-filled streets. The destruction of the building had opened up their path, but Mitchell knew this was just the beginning. Urban combat always had a way of springing more surprises.
The Marines moved cautiously through the debris-laden streets, their eyes constantly scanning for movement. The destruction from the recent fighting was everywhere—collapsed buildings, abandoned vehicles, and smoldering wreckage lined their path. The streets were eerily quiet, but Mitchell knew better than to let his guard down. Urban combat was notorious for its hidden dangers.
"Eyes open, Henry," Mitchell muttered to his Marksman, who nodded, his rifle at the ready.
As they moved deeper into the city, the crackle of distant gunfire began to echo through the narrow alleyways. Mitchell held up a fist, signaling the squad to halt.
"Contact up ahead," he whispered into his PTT. "Stay frosty."
They crept closer, taking cover behind a row of burnt-out vehicles. In the distance, they could see a group of Erusian Guardsmen entrenched in makeshift positions. They were pinned down by sporadic fire from a nearby building where a group of US Soldiers had taken up a defensive position.
"Henry, you got eyes on?" Mitchell asked.
"Yeah, I see 'em," Henry replied, peering through his scope. "They're about six hostiles, dug in tight. Looks like they're trying to push back against the Erusians."
"Alright, we'll give them a hand. Set up the 240, and get ready to lay down some suppressive fire."
The Marines quickly moved into position, setting up their M240 machine gun. As soon as Henry gave the signal, the machine gunner opened fire, the heavy rounds tearing through the air, forcing the US soldiers to duck behind cover.
"Suppressing fire!" Mitchell yelled over the radio, coordinating with the Erusian soldiers.
The Erusian Guardsmen and GIGN moved up to the building under the cover of the Marines and tossed Frags through the windows.
The enemy tried to return fire, but the combined firepower of the Marines and the Erusians was too much. And the Fragmentation Grenades gave them the rest.
"Move up!" Mitchell ordered, and the squad advanced, checking the bodies and securing the area.
As they continued through the maze of alleys and ruined buildings, the Marines and now with then Erusians encountered pockets of resistance here and there—small skirmishes with isolated groups of US forces. Each time, they moved methodically, using their training and coordination to overwhelm the enemy positions.
Finally, after what felt like hours of fighting, they reached the eastern sector of the city where Volkov's VDV forces were stationed. The Yuktobanian soldiers, hardened and battle-tested, were already entrenched, clearing buildings and securing key positions.
Mitchell spotted Commander Volkov near a BTR-80, directing his men with his usual calm authority. The commander turned as the Marines approached, giving Mitchell a curt nod of acknowledgment.
"Kapitan Mitchell," Volkov greeted, his thick Yuktobanian accent as sharp as ever. "Good to see your Marines are still in one piece."
"Likewise, Commander," Mitchell replied, giving a quick nod. "We've been clearing out pockets of resistance, but it's slow going."
"Da, the Americans fight hard in these streets," Volkov said, his gaze sweeping over the ruined city. "But they are learning that this is no place for them. My VDVs are holding the northern sector. We will push them out soon enough."
"So… What's the plan?" Mitchell asked, the distant rumble of explosions and the roar of jet engines still echoing overhead.
Volkov glanced at him, his expression calm despite the chaos. "We push westward, together. The resistance grows stronger the closer we get to the city center. But once we link up with Magic Spear, it should be… how do you say it? A walk in the park," Volkov explained, a rare chuckle escaping his lips.
Mitchell smirked at the comment. "Sounds like a plan," he replied, his grip tightening on his rifle as he prepared for the next phase of the battle.
"Alright ladies, you heard the man. Move it!" Mitchell barked, setting his nearly fifty men in motion. The Erusian Guardsmen and GIGN operatives moved alongside them, forming a solid front as they advanced through the streets. Together, the entire assault force of grunts made their way deeper into the city.
Every time the US resistance surfaced, they were met with swift and brutal force. Grenades were tossed into windows, the dull thuds of RPG-7 rounds obliterating entrenched positions. A squad of US soldiers attempted to set up a machine-gun nest at a street corner, but before they could even lay down suppressing fire, an Erusian Guardsman launched a rocket that tore the emplacement apart.
"Clear!" a Marine shouted as they swept another building, forcing the remaining enemies to surrender or flee. The pace of the combined force was relentless, moving with lethal precision. Each squad covered the others as they advanced from one block to the next, systematically tearing apart any defenses the US forces had hastily constructed.
"Westward, keep pushing!" Volkov's voice echoed through the comms, a reminder of their goal. Mitchell's team pressed forward, navigating narrow streets and alleyways, occasionally met by sniper fire that was quickly silenced with hand grenades or return fire from Mitchell's men.
As they neared the city center, the resistance stiffened. A group of US soldiers dug into an apartment complex opened fire with heavy machine guns, pinning down several Marines.
"RPG, take out that nest!" Mitchell ordered.
A Marine sprinted forward, ducking behind debris before firing an RPG straight into the building. The explosion lit up the street, and moments later, the machine-gun fire ceased.
With the immediate threat neutralized, the assault force regrouped and pressed on. As they cleared yet another block, Volkov's voice crackled through the radio. "Mitchell, we're nearing Magic Spear's position. Prepare to link up."
"Roger that," Mitchell replied. "All units, prepare to rendezvous with Magic Spear. Keep your eyes peeled and your rifles up!"
As they pushed forward, they could see the Yuktobanian VDVs and Osean Marines from Magic Spear moving in from the opposite side, taking out the last remnants of US resistance. The two forces finally met, their combined strength a formidable sight.
"Looks like we're right on schedule," Mitchell muttered, catching Volkov's eye.
"Indeed," Volkov nodded, satisfied. "Now we finish this."
On the U.S. side, confusion spread as panic continued to dominate the battlefield.
Pilots were in full panic over a single, strange-looking plane that was systematically wiping out the entire garrison stationed at Rondel. The aircraft had an unmistakably futuristic design, with forward-swept wings reminiscent of the old Russian experimental SU-47. The comms were a chaotic mess, filled with frantic chatter.
"What the hell is that thing?!"
"It's got three scratches on the vertical stabilizers—what the hell does that even mean?"
"Kill markings…look at the kill markings below the cockpit. This guy's not an Ace... he's a monster!"
Every transmission was laced with fear and disbelief as the pilots realized that this single aircraft was tearing through their forces without mercy.
On the ground the Situation wasn't any better, US Soldiers found themselves facing weapons they had never seen before, such as the M1A4 tanks. And then there were the perplexing combinations of weapons like the XM-25 and BMPTs, making the situation even more disorienting.
The XM-25, in the Real World was part of a project that began during the Cold War, when the United States was searching for a replacement for the aging M16 battle rifle. In collaboration with the German company Heckler & Koch, the goal was to create the ultimate all-rounder weapon system. Thus, the XM-8 was born. However, the XM-8 project ultimately failed because the U.S. military's priorities shifted mid-development, moving from the concept of an all-in-one solution to a focus on modularity. The M4A1 became the favored choice, as its rail systems allowed for more customizable accessories to be mounted.
Despite the XM-8's failure, the other parallel project—the XM-25 grenade launcher—continued, though it met a similar fate. While it showed promise with its advanced programmable airburst grenades, it became clear that the fire control system was prone to jams and malfunctions, leading to the eventual cancellation of the weapon.
What made this all the more confusing for U.S. forces now was that the Oseans were using these very systems, like the XM-25, with deadly precision. The sight of what appeared to be long-abandoned projects fielded in combat left the American troops disoriented. It was clear that the Oseans not only had access to this experimental tech, but had refined it into reliable, purpose-driven weaponry, adding to the chaos and unpredictability of the battlefield.
Then there was the growing concern about the reports reaching Overlord. More and more intel indicated that Russian military units were actively engaging U.S. forces. Field commanders were sending in reports of confirmed sightings: T-14 Armata tanks, BTRs, and BMPTs wreaking havoc on U.S. armored units. Even more unsettling was the presence of soldiers dressed in Russian EMR camouflage, communicating in Russian.
"Overlord, this is Echo-2. We've got eyes on what looks like Russian T-14s moving in tandem with Osean forces—I say again, Russians are on the ground, over!" came one of the frantic radio calls from the U.S. defenders.
The operator at Overlord Command was quick to relay the critical message up the chain of command. "Sadera Command, Sadera Command, this is Overlord-Rondel. We have multiple reports of troops in contact with Russian units, how copy, over?"
There was a pause on the other end, no doubt processing the gravity of the report before the voice of Sadera Command crackled back. "Overlord, this is Sadera Control. Please say again. Russian troops? Confirm your last transmission, over."
"Roger, saying, Sadera Control, confirming troops with Russian equipment, and speaking in Russian. How copy, over?"
The line fell silent for a beat, as the confusion and disbelief hung heavy. Back at Sadera, Lieutenant General Matthews was immediately brought into the conversation, as the implications of Russian forces entering the battlefield were far-reaching. From the U.S. perspective, they had no idea these "Russians" were actually Yuktobanians, an ally of the Oseans in this strange new world. To the U.S. forces on the ground, however, it didn't matter who they were—what mattered was that their worst fear had seemingly come true: Russia was intervening in the fight, and they were on the wrong side.
The confusion of Russian-speaking forces created even more chaos, with the Americans still reeling from the overwhelming power and strategy of the coalition.
Matthews immediately reached out to his counterpart at the Alnus Gate, dialing a secure line they had established not long ago. He held the phone to his ear, pacing back and forth as it rang on the other end.
After a few tense seconds, Lieutenant General Hazama answered in his usual calm, measured tone. "Lieutenant General, fancy hearing from you."
Matthews didn't waste any time with pleasantries. His voice exploded through the receiver, "Why the hell did you let Russian forces through the Gate?!" His frustration was palpable, practically seething through every word.
There was a brief pause on the other end. When Hazama spoke, his voice was cautious but firm. "Matthews… what the hell are you talking about?"
Matthews was having none of it. "Oh, don't give me that bullshit! My men are actively engaged with Russian forces alongside the Oseans! I've got T-14s, BTRs, and troops speaking Russian out there right now!" he shouted, the veins in his neck bulging.
Hazama's silence lingered for a moment longer, and when he spoke again, his voice was noticeably more serious. "Matthews, I have no idea what you're referring to. I can assure you no Russian units have crossed the Gate on my watch. Are you certain it's not a misunderstanding?"
Matthews gritted his teeth. "A misunderstanding?! My men are being torn apart by advanced Russian armor, and you're telling me this is a misunderstanding? I have solid intel from multiple units reporting these forces!"
"Matthews. Now listen here," Hazama began, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Japan and the Russian Federation are no allies, whatsoever. But the United States and Japan are. So would you mind telling me why your forces tried to assassinate my Third Recon team inside Rondel?!"
One hour earlier
-Retaliation-
-Operation Midnight Thunder-
Falmart Calendar, 1291
Rondel
Special Agent Klark Hudson, OIA
Hudson had seen and done many things during his time as an agent of the Osean Intelligence Agency. Some of them were commendable, others were things that could likely get him executed by the IUN if they ever came to light. But whatever the mission, Hudson always followed the orders of his superiors. He was a soldier in a different kind of war—one fought in shadows and whispers.
But this… this operation dwarfed everything he had ever done. Here he was, deep inside a foreign city, in a foreign World, about to rescue a military unit serving under a nation which could be considered either an ally or a potential enemy. It all depended on how the situation unraveled. The irony of the mission wasn't lost on him: he was about to save soldiers from being killed by their own supposed allies. It was a tangled mess, a "big brain fuck," as one of his agents had colorfully described it earlier.
And Hudson couldn't disagree as he would have probaly said the same.
Hudson signaled for his team to freeze in place, his hand raised in a clenched fist as the sound of voices echoed from the intersection up ahead. Without a word, the four OIA operatives melted into the shadows, pressing themselves against the walls, ready to strike if necessary.
"Misfit 2-0, Misfit Actual, how copy, over?" came the first voice, the soldier stepping into view, his radio crackling as he adjusted the PTT on his shoulder.
"Misfit Actual here, 2-0. Got you loud and clear. Send traffic, over," the reply came from the radio, loud enough to carry down the corridor. The second soldier, standing beside his comrade, scanned the dimly lit hallway, oblivious to the OIA agents lurking just beyond the reach of the light.
"Charlie squad has caught the Japanese intruders. Misfit 2-4 and 2-5 are moving in to support, but they're requesting more backup."
"Roger, Actual. We're Oscar Mike," the soldier acknowledged, lowering his radio.
Hudson's eyes narrowed as he signaled his team, motioning for them to prepare to move. Their window to act was closing fast—they had to move now if they wanted to follow the US soldiers to the Third Recon Team.
"Move up. We follow them," Hudson whispered, his voice barely audible but firm.
His team nodded silently, rifles held tight, ready for action if the situation escalated. They moved with practiced precision, creeping through the dimly lit hallways, their footsteps barely making a sound as they trailed behind the two US soldiers.
The OIA operatives kept just the right distance—close enough to keep the enemy in sight, but far enough to avoid detection. Every corner they passed, every step they took, they remained in the shadows, following the two unaware soldiers as they led them deeper into the academy.
Hudson kept his eyes forward, focused. They couldn't afford any mistakes now. The mission hung in the balance, and he knew they had to act fast before the situation escalated even further.
The soldiers rounded two more corners and stopped in front of a heavy door. Hudson, cautiously poking his head around the corner, observed as one of the US soldiers knocked. After a brief pause, the door creaked open, revealing another US soldier inside. What really caught Hudson off guard wasn't the soldier but the scene inside the room.
There, kneeling on the ground, were the Japanese soldiers from the Third Recon team. They had been stripped of their gear, their heads covered by duffle bags. Hudson's eyes widened as he also spotted Rory among them. He couldn't fathom why the Apostle of War hadn't unleashed her fury on these men. Then again, Hudson had to remind himself that it was Rory, and he had no Idea what to think of her.
As the door snapped shut again, Hudson silently signaled to his team. He moved forward, his body language deliberate and cautious as he approached the door.
"Snake cam," he whispered, his voice low but commanding.
Pete swiftly moved up, pulling out the flexible rod and sliding it beneath the door. He peered into the small camera feed, his face tightening.
"This room is crawling with 'em," Pete muttered, barely loud enough for the others to hear. "I count at least seven… no, wait—nine."
Hudson's expression remained cold as he processed the information, already calculating their next move. They had to act fast, but smart.
"We got a breaching charge?" Hudson asked, his gaze shifting to Dan. The latter shook his head, much to Hudson's annoyance.
"Of course not," Hudson muttered under his breath. He quickly assessed the situation, then looked at his team with a sharp nod. "Alright, we do this the old-fashioned way. I'm gonna kick it in. You guys toss flashbangs inside, and then we smoke them. Any objections?"
The team remained silent, their grips tightening on their weapons. Hudson took that as a no.
"Solid. Get ready." He stepped up to the door, flexing his foot to prepare for the kick. His heart pounded, but his mind was clear. It was now or never.
"Three… two…" Hudson counted down, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he lunged forward, all his weight behind the kick. His boot smashed into the door near the lock, ripping it from the frame with a loud crack. The door swung open, and every pair of eyes and every weapon inside turned toward them.
Without missing a beat, Dan, Pete, and Josh hurled their flashbangs into the room. Hudson turned away, eyes shut tight as the deafening bangs echoed through the hallway. Three bright flashes followed, leaving the US soldiers inside momentarily blinded and disoriented.
Dan was the first to move, stepping into the room and firing three rounds in rapid succession, each bullet finding its mark in the chest or head of an enemy. Pete followed, taking out two more soldiers with clean, precise shots. Josh came in last, sweeping the room and putting down the remaining four targets with deadly accuracy.
Within seconds, the room was silent, the US soldiers lying motionless, their weapons scattered around them.
The OIA agents moved quickly, pulling the duffle bags from the heads of the kneeling Japanese soldiers. As Kuribayashi's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, she blinked in confusion. Before her stood a man, clad in all-black combat gear, a pair of intense blue eyes staring back at her. She wasn't entirely sure who this man was, but the low-visibility Osean flag on his plate carrier gave her a pretty good idea.
The man stepped forward, tugging down the balaclava that had been covering his face. The sight made Kuribayashi's eyes widen in surprise.
"You?!" she gasped, nearly squealing as she fell backward, inadvertently throwing her comrades off balance and sending them stumbling down as well.
"Yeah, trust me, I wasn't thrilled about this either," Hudson shot back, his words dripping with sarcasm.
"Pack your shit, we're leaving. Right now," he ordered, his tone firm, no room for argument.
"Hudson? What are you doing here?" Itami asked, still trying to steady himself after the shock of seeing the OIA agent.
"Saving your ass., apparently" Hudson replied, his tone dry and laced with sarcasm. He scanned the room briefly before turning back to Itami. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Itami sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I should thank you for that."
"You can thank me by getting your team moving. This place is about to get a lot hotter, and I don't plan on sticking around for the fireworks." Hudson gestured toward the door, signaling for everyone to get ready to leave.
"Wait, what do you mean 'hotter'?" Kuribayashi asked, eyeing Hudson with suspicion.
Hudson Groaned in annoyance. "If I have to explain every minute detail, we might as well hand ourselves over to these United States pricks right now." His voice was sharp, filled with impatience as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.
Kuribayashi narrowed her eyes but bit back her retort. Itami, sensing the tension, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright. We get it. Let's get moving then."
Rory giggled softly, standing to her full height and brushing herself off. "You always know how to make an entrance, Hudson."
Hudson rolled his eyes but didn't reply. Instead, he gestured for his team to move out. "We stick to the shadows, avoid any more firefights if we can. I don't want to draw attention to us—especially not now."
Itami nodded. "Lead the way then."
As they left the room, Pete carefully booby-trapped the door with a tripwire grenade, while Josh picked up one of the radios from the fallen US soldiers. The usual military jargon filled the frequency—status reports, orders, and confirmations—but then the tone of the chatter shifted dramatically as the assault outside intensified.
"All units, we're taking heavy fire! Enemy aircraft inbound"
"It has Three scratches..."
Josh raised an eyebrow and glanced at Hudson, who was listening in with a growing smirk. "Three scratches on the tail fins," Hudson muttered under his breath. "Guess Trigger's finally here. This just got interesting."
Itami, overhearing, asked, "Three scratches? Who's that?"
Hudson's smirk widened. "The guy that's about to make the US Air Force regret ever crossing that Gate."
The panic in the radio comms continued, more frantic voices calling out the same report: the mysterious plane was wreaking havoc, and no one seemed to be able to stop it. The chaos outside only added to their advantage.
"Let's move," Hudson ordered. "It's about to get really messy out there."
With that, they quietly made their way through the corridors, knowing full well that while they had freed the Third Recon, the real storm was just beginning.
Once outside the Academy, the team took in the full view of the chaos unraveling before them. Explosions shook the streets, jet engines roared overhead, and the staccato of machine-gun fire echoed from every direction.
"We're moving east. There's a helo waiting for us," Hudson instructed, immediately heading toward an alleyway.
The JSDF soldiers fell in line behind him. Rory and Kuribayashi were having an animated conversation, their casual demeanor belying the battlefield around them. Lelei and Tuka stuck close to Itami, while the other three OIA agents spread out through the formation, alert and ready. Despite the Coalition's assault working in their favor, the situation was still far from stable, and any misstep could turn the tide.
As they moved, Hudson's sharp gaze caught something—or rather, someone—he didn't expect to see so soon.
"Hands up!" came a commanding shout from behind a corner.
Hudson instinctively raised his hands but immediately recognized the voice. "Mitchell! It's me, Hudson!"
Mitchell's eyes widened in brief surprise as he lowered his rifle. The two men walked up to each other, and Hudson extended his hand.
"How's it going?" Hudson asked, his tone casual despite the battlefield around them.
Mitchell clasped his hand and shook it firmly. "Eh, we're pulling through. What's the situation up there?" Mitchell asked, gesturing in the direction Hudson had just come from.
"The northeast's a total nightmare," Hudson said, grimacing. "These pricks have fortified themselves in a few buildings, and all their guns are pointed at you. The best move you've got is to swing around from the south and hit them from behind. It's gonna be a hell of a fight, though."
Mitchell nodded, taking in the information. "Sounds like we're going to need a little more finesse. Thanks for the heads-up. We'll make sure to keep that flank clear when we move."
Mitchell then glanced over at the JSDF team behind Hudson, recognizing Itami and the others. "Looks like you've got an interesting crew with you," Mitchell remarked with a smirk.
Hudson chuckled. "Yeah, that's a—very long story..."
Mitchell gave a quick nod. "Well, stay sharp. It's a warzone out here, and anything can happen."
Hudson grinned. "Trust me, we're used to things going sideways."
With that, the teams exchanged nods of respect before splitting off. Mitchell and his Marines prepared to go south and execute the flank. The chaos of war swirled around them, but for now, there was a moment of clarity, a brief plan formed in the midst of the madness.
Hudson led his group through the narrow alleyways, keeping their movements swift and quiet. The sounds of gunfire, distant explosions, and the occasional roar of jet engines overhead were a constant reminder of the chaos that engulfed the city. The team moved with purpose, sticking to the shadows and avoiding open streets where the US forces were most heavily fortified.
"Stay close, keep your eyes peeled," Hudson muttered to the others as they neared a cross-section of alleys that led toward the LZ where the Helicopter was waiting. His instincts were on high alert. This was enemy territory, and any wrong move could get them all killed.
Kuribayashi, always eager for a fight, seemed to radiate energy as she moved up beside him, her Type 64 rifle at the ready. Rory trailed behind, her halberd over her shoulder, her eyes scanning their surroundings. Itami, Lelei, and Tuka brought up the rear, staying close to the OIA agents who were keeping an eye on their flanks.
"How much further?" Itami asked quietly, his voice low.
Hudson glanced at the map on his wrist display. "We're almost there. About two blocks to the LZ. Once were there we—"
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the alley. A sniper shot.
"Sniper!" Hudson shouted, diving for cover behind a set of crates. The others reacted immediately, hitting the ground or pressing themselves against the walls for cover.
"Everyone stay down!" Hudson barked. "Sniper's got a bead on us."
Rory grinned, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of battle. "Let me take care of him," she said, hefting her weapon.
"No!" Hudson snapped. "We need to be smart about this. We're too exposed here. Pete, Josh—can you pinpoint the shooter?"
Josh peeked around the corner with a handheld thermal scope. "Second-floor window, three o'clock, about fifty meters up. He's got a clear shot of this whole alley."
Hudson swore under his breath. They couldn't move forward without taking out the sniper. "Alright," he said, thinking fast. "Longcaster, this is Intruder 1-1, how copy, over?"
"Solid, Intruder 1-1. Send traffic," Longcaster replied, his tone professional.
"We need you to send a plane and level a building over here," Hudson called out, the frustration in his voice evident.
There was a brief pause before Longcaster responded, his voice cautious. "Uhh… No can do, Intruder 1-1. ROE states—"
"I don't give a damn about the ROE!" Hudson snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "We've got a sniper pinning us down, and if you don't send something to take out that building, we're dead meat down here!"
Longcaster hesitated. "I understand, but I've got strict orders on this. I can't authorize air support inside civilian zones without confirmation of—"
Hudson clenched his teeth in frustration, glancing at the team pinned down behind him. "Longcaster, either you get me that airstrike, or I'll make sure you're the one explaining why we're all in body bags. Your call, over."
There was silence on the other end of the line, the tension hanging in the air. Finally, Longcaster's voice came back through, a resigned sigh audible.
"Roger, Intruder 1-1. I'll send a fast mover to your coordinates. You'd better hope the brass doesn't find out. ETA one minute."
Hudson grinned as he turned to the rest of the team. "Alright, everyone hold tight. We've got a bird inbound."
The sound of jet engines soon roared in the distance, and moments later, a Coalition fighter jet screamed overhead, dropping its payload directly on the sniper's nest. The building erupted in a cloud of dust and debris, silencing the threat for good.
"Longcaster, this is Intruder 1-1. Building is leveled. I make sure to lay a good word for you at the agency, Appreciate the assist."
"Roger, Intruder 1-1. Stay safe down there. Longcaster out."
Hudson motioned for the team to move, and they did so quickly and efficiently, their boots barely making a sound as they navigated through the narrow alleyways of Rondel. The smoke from the airstrike still lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the chaos they'd just escaped. The streets were eerily silent now, the distant echoes of gunfire and explosions fading as they moved further from the heart of the conflict.
They weaved through debris-strewn streets, ducking under fallen beams and stepping over the rubble of collapsed buildings. The group stuck close to the walls, moving in short, controlled bursts, keeping their eyes sharp for any sign of movement. But as Hudson had predicted, the path was clear—no more enemy contact.
The only sound was the distant rumble of warplanes overhead and the faint hum of the city still burning. Every now and then, Hudson would raise his hand, signaling a halt to check the area before waving the team forward again. They passed through several intersections, cautiously navigating the maze of streets and alleys that seemed to stretch on endlessly.
As they neared the extraction point, the low thrum of helicopter blades began to fill the air. The team picked up the pace, their eyes scanning the sky for their ride out.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a small clearing on the eastern edge of the city. The helicopter was waiting for them, its rotors kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Hudson gave a final look around, ensuring the area was clear before signaling the team to board.
One by one, they climbed into the helicopter, the noise of the rotors drowning out any last words. Hudson was the last to board, casting a glance over the city before stepping inside. The helicopter lifted off, banking sharply as it climbed into the sky, leaving the chaos of Rondel behind them.
Hudson walked up to the pilot and tapped his shoulder. "Alnus Hill," he said simply. The pilot gave a quick nod and raised a thumb in acknowledgment.
The rest of the helicopter ride passed uneventfully. Inside the cabin, the three OIA agents kept their sharp, focused gazes trained on the Japanese Third Recon team and the contingent of Falmart inhabitants, who looked back at them with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
Hudson leaned back in his seat, observing the group quietly. What caught his attention, though, was Kuribayashi. Every now and then, she'd glance over at the agents, her expression far from cautious. Instead, there were stars in her eyes, her admiration unmistakable whenever she looked their way. Hudson couldn't help but smirk to himself, noting her awe despite the tense situation they had just escaped.
Josh leaned in close to Hudson, nudging him with his shoulder. "She our fan?" he asked over their comms, keeping his voice low to avoid the Japanese sergeant overhearing them.
Hudson shot him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable behind the balaclava. "You wish," he muttered, smirking beneath the mask. "Fucking pervert." Despite the serious tone, there was a hint of amusement in his words.
Josh playfully punched Hudson's shoulder, breaking into loud laughter. It didn't take long for Hudson to join in, and soon the entire OIA team was laughing like a pack of hyenas, their voices echoing through the helicopter. The members of the Japanese Third Recon looked at each other, furrowing their brows in confusion at the sudden outburst. Rory tilted her head, seemingly entertained, while Kuribayashi squinted suspiciously at the rowdy group, clearly unsure what to make of them.
Itami, glancing over, simply sighed. "We always attract the weird ones," he muttered under his breath.
"Oh, you have no idea!" Pete called out, overhearing Itami's mutter. He was still caught up in the contagious laughter, his voice barely holding together through the fit. The OIA team continued laughing as if they'd just heard the best joke in the world, completely oblivious to the baffled looks they were getting from Third Recon. Even Hudson, who usually kept his cool, was wiping a tear from under his goggles.
Itami shook his head, leaning back into his seat, "I don't even want to know…" he muttered, while Kuribayashi still glanced over, clearly intrigued but too confused to say anything.
Dan's tone became more serious as he gathered the group's attention. "Alright, listen up," he said loud enough for the JSDF members to perk up, curious about what was coming next. Then, without warning, he switched to his radio, keeping the punchline private between his team. Whatever he said must've been gold because seconds later, the OIA agents burst into laughter again, almost doubling over.
What was unexpected, though, was Rory. Out of nowhere, she joined in with the laughter, almost as if she had somehow heard the joke. The sight of her laughing with them only made the moment even funnier for the OIA team.
The helicopter touched down softly on the tarmac inside Alnus Base, the rotors slowly winding down. As the door opened, the soldiers and base personnel around the landing zone glanced curiously at the Osean transport craft. Their expressions showed a mix of confusion and intrigue, but thankfully, none of them acted on it—just lingering stares as Hudson and his team disembarked along with the Third Recon and their companions.
Hudson exchanged a quick look with his team, making sure everyone was ready, before stepping off the helicopter. There was no need to attract any more attention than necessary. Then he turned to Itami, "You're going to go to your General and tell him what happened there."
Itami gave a brief nod, his expression focused, and without a word, he turned and hurried off toward Lieutenant General Hazama's office. The rest of the group followed closely behind, the atmosphere tense as they navigated through the bustling base. Soldiers moved around them, some stopping briefly to observe the strange mix of OIA agents, Japanese military, and Falmart inhabitants walking together, but no one spoke up.
Back at Rondel, the combined forces of Mitchell, Volkov, and Magic Spear had finally regrouped. Together with their infantry units—Marines, Yuktobanian VDVs, and Erusian Guardsmen—they pushed steadily through the city, clearing building after building with methodical precision. The T-14s and Osean M1A4s handled the armored threats on the streets, while the Puma IFVs and Yuktobanian BMPT Terminators took care of ambushes from the upper floors, laying down firepower to clear any obstacles in their path.
It was a well-coordinated advance. The camaraderie between the mixed forces had strengthened with each cleared objective, and morale was high as they neared the center of Rondel. But soon, they reached a large intersection, one that forced a difficult decision. The roads ahead diverged—one path too narrow for their armor, while the wider route, perfect for the tanks, would require them to split off from the infantry.
Mitchell, standing at the crossroads, turned to Volkov, who was already scanning the area. "This is where we part ways for now," Mitchell said, nodding toward the infantry. "You go ahead and take your boys with Harris, and we'll head down the side streets with the Rusis. If we hit armor, we've got the Gustafs and RPG-7s."
Volkov gave a short nod. "Da. We'll handle the heavy stuff," he replied with a slight grin. "Stay sharp, my friend."
The armored units rumbled down the wider street, their turrets scanning for threats as they disappeared around the corner, while the infantry—carrying the familiar weight of their anti-tank weapons—moved silently down the narrow alleys, ready for anything. They knew the next stage of their fight would require finesse and quick reflexes.
To Mitchell's complete astonishment, the side streets were eerily quiet—completely void of life. The chaos of the battle seemed to vanish as soon as they entered this part of the city. No civilians, no US defenders, not even a single sign that the fierce fighting had ever reached these streets. The buildings stood pristine, their windows unbroken, and the carriages parked along the sidewalks looked untouched, as if they had just been placed there moments before.
Mitchell slowed his pace, holding up a fist to signal his men to halt. His instincts screamed that something was wrong. "This doesn't feel right," he muttered under his breath, scanning the area with sharp eyes. The rest of his unit spread out, cautiously checking the alleys and doorways.
Sabrina stepped up beside him, rifle ready. "Where the hell is everyone? This place should be a warzone."
Mitchell gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't know. Keep your eyes peeled. This could be a trap."
The eerie silence weighed heavily on the group as they moved cautiously down the street, expecting something to spring out at any moment.
"Bloody hell… I'd rather be back in Usea fighting against some radicals than this bollocks, mate," Henry muttered, his frustration clear as he scanned the eerily quiet streets. Elmar nodded in agreement, glancing around uneasily. The only sound echoing around them was the steady thud of their boots on the sandy street, and the distant roar of the air battle overhead. Down here, though, it was like walking through a ghost town.
Elmar glanced around, gripping his M249 tightly, but nodded in agreement. "Feels like we're walkin' into a damn ambush."
Nantz kept his rifle aimed up toward the windows, his finger hovering near the trigger. "If one of those windows even twitches, I'm putting lead into it," he muttered, eyes darting from one building to the next. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and every step felt like it might trigger something.
Beside him, Shepherd moved with calculated focus, her gaze sweeping the streets and rooftops for any sign of movement. She knew too well what would happen if things went south. The enemy would target her, Elmar, and the other guys carrying RPGs first. They were the heavy hitters, and she was already bracing herself for that first crack of a sniper round.
Mitchell was in the lead, his eyes scanning every shadow and every alleyway. "Stay tight," he called over his shoulder. "We get hit, we hit 'em back twice as hard."
The eerie quiet was unnerving, and the group was tense, ready to spring into action at any moment, but for now, there was nothing—just the ominous silence hanging over them like a storm waiting to break.
As they stepped into the market area, the wide-open space contrasted sharply with the narrow streets they'd just passed through. Stalls and carriages were scattered around, as if the place had been abandoned in a hurry. The market area, usually bustling with life, now sat in eerie silence.
"Hm…" Mitchell muttered, scanning the deserted scene with a raised brow. "I thought we'd be fighting for our lives by now," he added, his tone unimpressed but cautious.
Henry, still on edge, glanced around. "This whole place feels wrong, mate. Too quiet for my liking."
As soon as the words left Henry's mouth, a sharp crack echoed across the market square. Elmar screamed and collapsed to the ground.
"HIT THE DECK!" Mitchell bellowed as a hail of bullets rained down on them.
"Man down! MAN DOWN!" Henry shouted, grabbing Elmar by the vest and dragging him behind a wooden stall. Bullets punched through the flimsy cover, sending splinters flying in all directions.
"Shit! Shit!" Elmar panicked, frantically searching his body for the wound. "Where is it?!" His hand found the wet, sticky warmth on his shoulder. He ripped off his plate carrier, eyes widening in horror as blood began to soak through his combat shirt.
"Corpsman!" Henry yelled, ducking low as rounds peppered the area around them. The market stalls provided almost no cover, with bullets tearing through the thin wood and canvas. Erusian and Osean soldiers crouched behind the makeshift barriers, trying to return fire, but it was clear they were pinned down.
Just when the situation seemed utterly lost, a deafening crash shook the market square. The sound of a building collapsing reverberated across the battlefield, sending dust and debris into the air. The sudden chaos momentarily drew the enemy's fire away, giving the Coalition forces a chance to regroup.
Mitchell cautiously poked his head over the flimsy cover that had provided more concealment than actual protection. His eyes locked on the spot where the building had stood moments before—now reduced to a pile of rubble. He exhaled in relief and keyed his radio.
"Longcaster, this is Basilisk 0-1. Great timing. Thanks for the assist."
There was a brief pause on the other end, a tone of confusion coloring Longcaster's reply. "Uh… you're welcome, Basilisk, but… what do you mean?"
Mitchell furrowed his brow, glancing back at the rubble. "Didn't you just level that building in the center of Rondel?"
"Negative, Basilisk. We don't have any aircraft in that area," Longcaster's voice replied, adding to the mounting confusion.
Henry, his gloves still stained with Elmar's blood, stepped up beside Mitchell. Jenna and a couple of Erusian medics were already tending to the wounded soldier, so Henry had joined Mitchell at the front.
"Enemy planes?" Mitchell asked, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the situation. Maybe it was friendly fire, an enemy bombing run gone wrong?
Longcaster's response was more unsettling. "Radar shows nothing over your location. I don't know what to tell you, Basilisk."
Mitchell gave Henry a puzzled look, but Henry wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the rubble of the collapsed building. A mix of shock and disbelief crossed his face before he finally spoke, his voice low but filled with surprise.
"That's… a bloody kid!"
Mitchell's stomach dropped as he followed Henry's gaze. There, amidst the debris, was the figure of a child standing among the wreckage.
Henry sprinted at full speed toward the child, shouting as loud as he could, "Hey, lad! Get away from there!" But the child didn't budge, standing still in the midst of the rubble. Mitchell's mind raced, struggling to make sense of the bizarre situation.
Where did the child come from? Why was he just standing there? Then it hit him—Rory. The demi-goddess. Somehow, this was connected to her, but Mitchell couldn't figure out why or how. Panic began to surge through him as the realization sunk in.
"Lad, this is a warzone! You need to move!" Henry screamed again, now only a few meters away from the boy. But the child remained unmoving.
Mitchell's heart pounded as the pieces fell into place. Full of panic, he shouted, "Dawson, stop!"
Henry skidded to a halt, turning back to face Mitchell. "We need to get the lad out of here!" he shouted, his voice laced with concern.
"You need to get your ass back here NOW!" Mitchell barked, the urgency in his tone unmistakable.
"But…" Henry started, turning around to face the child again. His words caught in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelief. The boy was no longer standing idly—he was gripping the handle of an impossibly large, two bladed battle axe, its handle embedded in the ground. A chilling smirk spread across the boy's face, one far too threatening for his youthful appearance.
Mitchell's stomach dropped. This wasn't just a child.
"That's an Apostle..."
A/N:
Oh shit! OH SHIT! IT'S HAPPENING KEEP YOUR SHIT TOGETHER ITS HAPPENING!!! A FIGHT A APOSTLE!!!
If there is any confusion. After the Part with the OIA freeing the Japs, the Timeline jumps back to normal how it was.
So... Guys... I want to officially thank everyone here who stayed with me here. I also want to thank every single sole who took their valuable time of their day to read this massive blob of words and Ace Combat lore. A special thanks goes to everyone who reviewed, both the positive and negative critisism. I really appreciate all of you guys and your opinions are important for me to grow as a writer. Please guys, keep up the good work. Stay safe and see y'all in the next chapter.
Reviews:
OGeNoXO—What do you mean? We already have a super weapon on here. His name's Trigger lmao. Realtalk though... yes. Yes there will be.
Guest—Sorry to hear that bruv. Yeah the app can sometimes get a little buggy and shit
Shashenka—I'm so glad you liked it.
Guest-Monarch—Monarch?! The Crown?!?
Blazblade—Holy shit bro... a lot of words... lets dive into it.
I'm honest here. I got these three chapters pretty much pre written, but with your review I had to change some stuff. I hope you liked that explenation part.
Yeah well... I see where you're going with this. And it makes sense. But honestly, I needed someone to play the Villain of this Arc, and who else would fit better than the US.
Having Japan the Villain would have ended in Japan taking the L and completely losing without any Coalition forces lost. With the US it made more sense since the US guys could make Osea and the others bleed more.
Yes. Japan in Gate was getting closer and closer to being their WW1/WW2 selves. But with someone as Osea and the other two to hold them in check, this wouldn't happen, that's why I made them more on the Neutral spectrum if you get what I mean.
So. Regarding the dipshit politics of the US in this fic and the Villianification of Japan, the story can go two ways from here on out. But I need y'all to vote cuz I don't know what to do.
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Vote:
1—Either, Japan's Prime Minister gets assasinated and is replaced by a guy who's 100 percent pro US, which will have the JSDF intervening directly in the Fight between the US and the Coalition
2—Or, the Apostle will betray the US forces under the command of Zorzal which will have the United States and Coalition to reluctantly join forces and destroy Zorzal with all his follower.