South Afrika

February 12th, 1964

OFN Task Force

The jungles of South Africa were once again stained with the blood of colonizers and the locals. In the distance, machine gun fire sang through the foliage as infantry units belonging to the Reichskomissariats of Afrika fought the Organization of Free Nations for each foot of land that they seized from the Reich's puppets' bloody hands.

A formation of UH-1 Hueys flew overhead, moving to land in a nearby opening and deploy their infantry squads. These helicopters, going by the yellow shield with a black, diagonal stripe going from left to right and a horse on the top right, belonged to the 1st Cavalry Division of the US Army. An airmobile unit deployed as a capable QRF against the enemy's ground troops.

Below them, a convoy of M113 armored transports of the 1st Infantry Division rolled forward, their gunners manning Browning Fifty-caliber machine guns while the infantry mounted inside and on the vehicles prepared to move in. The shrubs ahead were thick and the roads, only recently cleared of the bodies of Afrika-Schild soldiers.

Watching the rolling vehicles from a dugout nearby, members of the US's 101st Airborne Division moved slightly to combat numbness of the legs, their M16 Service Rifles held close to their bodies, M60s placed on the lips of their foxholes and grenade launchers prepared. A young man with pale white skin, a five o'clock shadow and black hair gripped his own M16 by the triangular polymer handguard, checking his wristwatch.

"When the hell are we getting orders to move in?" He mumbled to himself as he watched 1st Cav descend, the door-mounted M60 MGs opening up on the treeline of whatever clearing their LZ was set to. He looked back and barked, "Bier, Mann, on me!" only to see the two men run forward and jump into his foxhole, making it slightly crowded.

"You rang, Boss?" Mann asked, his M14 rattling on his back. The spindly man was the team sharpshooter, one of the calmest men the young Lieutenant before them had worked with, surprisingly enough. He was a bit of a hardass and thought himself a comedian, but by God if the Lieutenant couldn't rely on him to hit his shots.

Bier, meanwhile, was one giant chunk of meat that lugged around the squad M60 like it was nothing. The general purpose machine gun in his arms looked about the size of a rifle in a normal man's hands, but despite this strength difference, he was the friendliest son of a bitch this side of the Atlantic and even back. He peered over the cover, then ducked as an 8mm Mauser round zipped right over his head, stating, "Looks like the AS don't much like us."

"No, but 1st Cav has them on the ropes…" He replied, then pulled the charging handle of his M16A1 to see if he still had a round in there. He let it go, then hit the side button with his open palm as he said, "I want the Platoon advancing into the Jungle so we can pincer them. Have Wayne radio command and the 1st's boys so they don't fill us full of holes."

"You got it," Mann called out. He poked out, took a potshot at the treeline that the Germans and their Colonial Forces replied to with their own, then he jumped over his cover and ran toward the foxhole where their radio operator was. Bier shifted his gun over cover, checked his ammo belts, then looked at the Lieutenant.

"You good, Tibbets?" He inquired, watching the man fiddle with one of his magazines, then quickly check the Ithaca 12 gauge shotgun on his back. It was a stockless variant with a longer ammo tube and barrel and wooden furniture. The Lieutenant nodded, determination in his eyes, then he showed Bier to wait.

Mann ran back to them, dived into the foxhole face first, then groaned and said, "Command gave word to the 1st and we've got incoming Phantoms to help suppress the fuckers," before straightening out and standing up, "Orders are we wait for the Nape and then we move in," then he took a knee again as another Kraut Sniper's round zipped right over his helmet. He swore, "Fucker!"

"I think he likes you," Lieutenant John Charlie Tibbets quipped almost humorlessly, shouldering his rifle and listening for the drone of their F4s. The McDonnell-Douglas F4 Phantom IIs were beautiful jets, with swept-back wings whose tips rose up at a gentle angle, their tail raised above the two turbofan engines. Quite capable of reaching Mach speeds.

Scanning the semi-cloudy sky of South Africa, Tibbets caught sight of the pair of fighter-bombers coming in. Carrying napalm canisters on their fuselage, the two craft dived down low and dropped the heat-death of an entire strip of forest ahead. The four canisters, two from each craft, landed square in the jungle thicket ahead, spraying four straight lines of sticky fire.

The distant screams of the German troops were soon muffled by the roaring fires, with Tibbets ordering, "Platoon, advance! Wayne, on me! I'm gonna need radio contact with command…" as they climbed out of the hole. Twenty men of the 101st moved down-hill, toward the burning jungle as the scent of burnt flesh soon hit.

One of the men heaved and retched, throwing up his lunch, while a couple of others simply held rags up to their mouths. Tibbets did, too, though he seemed far less bothered by the stinging scent of the flesh they'd burnt with that strike. He, Wayne, Bier and Mann waited for the fire to die down before they moved past the burnt shrubs.

The path that was cleared by the defoliating power of burning-hot Napalm was a surreal, awful sight. Charred corpses lay amidst the trees, some still with their Afrika-Schild pins visible, fused to their charred bodies. Some had curled up in foetal positions as they died, what little remained of their faces morphed into grimaces.

Tibbets sighed as they walked past the corpses. Some were smaller than others, but he and his boys tried not to think about it, ignoring them, marking them down as just another part of the Nazis' War Machine in Afrika to kill. In the middle of the clearing made by the napalm, they met 1st Cav's 1st Platoon and their Lieutenant. Tibbets inquired mirthlessly, "Haverson… Don't suppose you guys could tell us what's next? Command left us a little in the blind back there."

"Tibbets? Sure," The man replied, smoking a cigarette regardless of the irony. He cradled his M16A1 under his right arm as he pulled out a map of the local area, opened it, then pointed at a crossroads town that led North, South and East and said, "Command wants our troops to seize Harrismith control another crossroads and deny the Schild a resupply hub, but before we hit it we're gonna be fighting through Van Reenen and Swinburne. Krauts and their Schilders have positions set up there."

"You'd think the Germans would be busy with their own Civil War instead of actively fucking with us down here. Who's winning if they've got troops to spare?" Mann asked as he stared at the map, each area of it marked with Front Lines, troop positions, rumored German movements across the Boer areas and so on.

"It's still undecided. Best we can tell?" The 1st Cav El-Tee replied as he folded the map, "Some of these troops are probably Waffen SS. Can't tell if they're Heydrich's boys, or… Fucking Burgundians," the man spat. A visible chill ran through the spines of every soldier, Airborne or Cav, that was close by, walking through the place.

"Right," John nodded, pulling down his helmet and making sure it was strapped tight to his noggin. He raised his hand and motioned for the platoon to move forward, before stating, "Guess we'll be walking with you guys for now," to Haverson. The 1st Cav. man nodded, then ordered his own troops forward with a chop of his hand.

By the time they made it to the road opposite the jungle section they'd just turned into new farmland, the 101st and 1st Cav. had linked up with the convoy of M113s from the First Infantry, walking on the sides of the road parallel to them as infantry escort. It was strange. To look upon the lands of South Africa, one of the most bountiful places on the Dark Continent, only to see death and destruction all around.

"Hey! Hey! Airborne!" A male soldier called to Tibbets. The Lieutenant looked up at him, the man sat atop the M113 waving him forward. John walked over to the side of the vic, which had the words 'Hell's Bells' etched on the side in red letters. The Soldier, a Sergeant in the Army, leaned forward and asked, "El-Tee! You hear anything about those new reinforcements that're s'pposta be joinin' us before we heed Van Reenen?"

His accent sounded weird, to the point Tibbets couldn't pin it down. Eh, didn't matter none.

"Only reinforcements that could potentially join us all the way out here are Boer Loyalists to South Africa!" Tibbets replied, "And I've seen a few of'em around!"

"A buddy of mine from the CIA said they ain't nothin' like that, though!" The Sergeant shot back.

Tibbets shrugged, "Hey, if they can end this shit sooner and beat the Krauts back to fucking Germany, I'd accept the help of the Fairy fucking Godmother at this point!" which garnered the laughter of every man in the platoon on top of the 'Hell's Bells'. He shook his head, smiling a little, then moved to rejoin his own platoon.

… Van Reenen was unsurprisingly a shithole. The Krauts and their Colonial Militia had abandoned this place running. The tracks of their IFVs and Half-tracks were still fresh on the dirt road leading into the town, meaning only the somewhat larger Swinburne was gonna be a problem before they hit the crossroads at Harrismith.

Van Reenen had a Church, a pub, about a dozen wooden shacks and that was about it. The damn place looked like a Wild West town from the old movies back in the day. Thankfully, the Bar was open and it was theirs now. A perfect staging area for all units that were converging on this AO. Big Red One, 101st and the 1st Cav.

Tibbets himself checked his wristwatch. It was about twelve past eight in the morning in Cali, which matched up with the clock tower in the town, it being about six in the evening. The Sun was beginning to set, too, rather quickly, though, this being Africa, shit was weird here, he thought to himself, sitting down on a bench in front of the bar.

He watched Deuce-and-a-halves and military trucks and gear rolling forward. M60 tanks, the US's own 'Clark' Battle Tanks, rolled forward, clad in a mix of tans, browns and greens for camouflage in this mixed hellhole of desert and jungle. These tanks, too, carried troops on their backs. Infantry that dismounted, combat engineers and, Hell, even 1st Division Marines.

He felt a hand tap him on the shoulder, then paused as he looked up. A familiar, beautiful blonde was standing, leaned against the handrail separating the place's porch from the dirt road, her blue eyes locked onto him. She smiled, her 'claw-mark' black facepaint stripes not detracting from her beauty whatsoever as she spoke, "Howzit, mang?"

"Aletta," He cracked a small smile, "Got here ahead of us?"

"Me and my unit liberated this little hole in the ground about two hours ago," The girl quipped, sitting herself down beside him and offering him an open bottle of beer. She pointed out several bullet holes in the walls and even a collapsed wall that'd been hit by what John could only assume was an old Panzerschreck round. The rest of the girls greeted the yanks with shakes of the hand and smiles.

Boer, Africans and British-descended girls cheered the yanks on, raising high captured Kraut weapons ranging from modern Sturmgewehrs to anti-tank launchers and weapons supplied by the Yanks, like Garands, M14s, M1 Carbines and M3 Grease Guns. The boys cheered back, welcoming Cape Town's personal Women's Regiment.

"Seems like you all had one hell of a fight here," Tibbets spoke, looking at several German bodies covered by tarps, plus some of the girls, too. A few American engineers went on to help the Regiment's medical teams dispose of the corpses, tossing the Germans into one pile while setting the women of the unit down aside gently to ship them out to their families.

The girl sipped from her own beer, then told him, "Could'a been a whole lot worse… Krauts left the sick and young on their rearguard. We took a bunch of them prisoner and locked them in the Church," and she pointed to the red-painted building with the belltower, it in itself bearing a bunch of bullet holes, then she continued, "Bossies, some of'em, kept firing at us."

"They didn't even leave one SS officer to make sure they didn't surrender?" The man spoke sarcastically, "Wow, so much for the 'mighty' Schutzstaffel, eh?" while looking at the beer and taking a sniff. It smelled about as piss-like as it looked, honestly, so it was probably some genuine local brew made by a random local. It was even lukewarm.

She giggled, then nodded, "Yea."

He shook his head, "To think these fuckers won twenty years ago," before he looked at the beer, a local brand, then took a sip. He clicked his tongue and said, "It tastes like piss," in a surprisingly jovial tone before both he and Aletta burst into laughter. They both kept drinking it, however, regardless of how pissy it tasted.

It was probably the best lukewarm piss bottle they'd tasted at this point, specifically because it was a beer they were drinking in the middle of a fucking warzone, having a calm chat about the world around them and how fucked it was. And, honestly, neither would want to be anywhere else at this point.

Night fell upon the town without an ordered advance. Instead, artillery from the 105th had been brought in to support the team, while the tanks and other vehicles were set up underneath camouflage nets and tarps to make sure the enemy couldn't find them. There had been a planned advance, but something slowed it.

Tibbets, now on watch, stared at the north side of the road leading out of Van Reenen. The distant thumps of artillery being exchanged farther out to the East echoed all the way to them, while the artillery troops around them prepared to start firing and provide cover for their advance tomorrow. If it was even coming.

The officer in charge of the formation of troops, a Major from Big Red One, walked up to the Lieutenant and asked, "Hope today wasn't eventful, Lieutenant Tibbets," to which the young man swiveled about, clicked his boots together and snapped a salute, a small cloud of dust lifting around his feet. The man saluted back and said, "At ease. Speak freely, son."

"Sir…" The man nodded, settling down. He breathed a sigh, then said, "Why didn't we advance today? The Women's Regiment had the Kraut bastards on the run. We could've punched through Swinburne and been at that Crossroads by now…" while he leaned against the wall of a house that had been perforated by bullets.

The major took a puff from his cigarette, the faint orange smoke at the tip illuminating his face, then said, "The CIA got involved… With permission from the President," which caused the Lieutenant's eyes to visibly widen. The Major nodded and said, "General Westmoreland just got word yesterday. We're apparently sat here for a reason:Reinforcements."

"... Some infantryman mentioned them, sir," Tibbets replied, "He was on one of the M113s."

He got a nod from the officer, who sighed and said, "So the rumors are already spreading… Roswell's looking mighty funny at this point," only to watch Tibbets take two steps back. The man snorted and said, "Don't worry, son. They haven't been around since then. It's a fairly recent development, maybe a couple of years old."

"Sir… Why are you telling me this?" Tibbets blinked.

"Because the information was on a Need-To-Know Basis…" A male voice spoke, approaching them from the town. The Lieutenant swiveled about while the Major slowly turned his head, both of them noticing a man with aviator sunglasses hanging from his collar, his blue eyes locked on them. Sharp of wit and calm, the man clad in an irregular uniform and carrying a short-barreled CAR-15 'Commando' approached. The man smirked and said, "Lieutenant Tibbets."

"... You're that spook from back home, Fischer. The one who talked to my mom," The young man replied, uneasy, "What the hell are you doing all the way out here?" while he was examining the man from head to toe. The scarf around his neck, the short Carbine AR-15 with green tape to disrupt its profile and all else.

Fischer nodded, "That I am. Sorry about the scare back then, but we've got matters that are a tad more important than the past," before he turned back as another pair of boots approached. A figure clad in a sleek, black uniform with a massive black pistol holstered to her thigh approached. She snapped a salute.

She was a beauty. Black hair, tied in a bun on the back of her head. Almond-shaped eyes with brown irises and features very reminiscent of a friend from home. Fischer spoke, "This is First Lieutenant Jeon Mee-Yon. She's part of our new Allies' forward units on the ground. An Attache if you will, who will be observing our movement and cooperation with other units."

Tibbets noticed the strange symbol on her chest, a circle surrounding a black-and-white Pyramid with an eye in the middle, then said, "No offense, Fischer, but I'd like a bit more intel with my fucking intel about these people before I trust one of'em in our ranks. She looks like a Jap," with a hint of hostility behind his words.

The woman replied, "Caution is a good tool, Lieutenant John C. Tibbets, 101st Airborne, Bravo Company, 3rd Platoon leader," and she watched him take a step back, tensing. She smiled a little and told him, "I'm Korean, by the way, not Japanese. Born and raised in Seoul… A Free Seoul," while staring him in the eye.

"... Alright," He replied, sighing deeply, "So, who're your people?"

"You'll see tomorrow," She smirked, "Not that I can't tell you, but I do quite enjoy people's reactions when they first see our troops," before watching Tibbets furrow his brows. Oh, this was gonna be an enjoyable little show, wasn't it, everyone thought as they turned back to their posts, Fischer and the strange pyramid woman going to get a drink while the Major went back to his command center(Which was in the town's relatively tiny Town Hall).

And then, come morning as the Troops awoke to prepare and the gunfire around and across from then intensified, the first sight of something wrong was when the boys awoke. Tibbets looked up at the sky as three black triangles, distant as they were and nearly obscured by the clouds, were flying high above their position.

"What the fuck…?" The man asked as he pulled out his binoculars. He looked through them, barely able to distinguish the strange triangular shapes as some sort of new planes. Black, with sharp tails and sleek, aerodynamic delta-wing frames, they almost looked like some kind of new Nazi weapon… But that was aimed toward the Nazis.

He saw their bomb bays open, indistinct munitions extending on rotating racks before dropping. Rocket motors ignited, much to Tibbets's surprise as he called out, "WHAT THE FUCK!?" before watching the racks revolve, revealing yet more of the same munition types. Three times did all three planes fire, expending approximately six missiles each, and Tibbets could see them turning away.

"Boss?" Mann spoke as he stared through the scope of his rifle at the missiles. The strange weapons dived down and moved past the canopies and mountain ranges ahead. The distant thumps of eighteen detonations filled their ears. Mann lowered his rifle, said, "I think we found our new friends…" as the groups cheered.

Behind them, engines droned, all of them swiveling about and grabbing their guns on instinct before they saw them. Bulky aircraft with heavy armor descended, maybe half-a-dozen of them, touching down in a clearing. They were painted OD Green like the Army's, Marines' and other's uniforms, but were powered by incredibly strange jet-engines.

"VTOLs…?" Murmured Tibbets, watching the aircrafts' engines shift. He looked at Fischer and his 'Allied' compatriot and said, "I thought fucking VTOLs were a pipe dream! And what the hell just dumped a bunch of missiles to the North of us?!" only to see Jeon's eerily familiar smirk appear again. The strange transport craft in the clearing disgorged approximately a hundred men and women clad in dark-green uniforms, armed to the teeth with scoped rifles and armored up like it was nobody's business.

Not only that, but they dropped supplies and even five armored vehicles that resembled local Scorpions, what with their massive turrets and four-track propulsion systems. The hundred-strong unit advanced in fast-march toward the unit ahead, weapons at the ready and causing everyone to tense, with Aletta murmuring, "Hayibo… Tibbets, you seeing this…?"

"I am…" The man replied, tense, as the five platoons and their armored fighting vehicles formed up. The Dropships behind them lifted off, engines roaring, before they arced up into the heavens and boosted away, breaking Mach with sonic booms. The leading man of the formation approached the Major of the 1st Cav and extended his hand. The two men shook.

Haverson joined Tibbets, stating, "Looks like God just fucking slapped us in the face and gave us the Answer to All Our Problems…"

The Major let the officer of the strange group of humans step forward. His rifle hanged off his back as if by magic, magnetic forces seemingly holding it in place. He put his hands behind his back and started, "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Organization of Free Nations… My name is Major Victor 'Godfather' Kelly, of the UNSC Marine Corps. We are the United Nations Space Command and we've come with one order and one order alone down to your world:Bring an end to the New Order swiftly and decisively. With this goal in mind… We're here to help you at the behest of President Nixon."

As a moment passed and the soldiers around them murmured, Tibbets stepped forward and asked, "With all due respect sir… What the fuck is going on right now…?" as he stared the man down, "How did you all even get here!? Who are you?!" as if all his trust was being tested. Aletta put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I think that's a thing best answered while we prepare to assault through Swinburn," He replied, "I want the Officers and NCOs on me for a briefing. Major Welles, on you and Captain Dolinde," and he showed the Major of the 1st Cav to lead. He and the Captain of the Women's Regiment saluted, then led the way.

Tibbets looked at Aletta and his team, then licked his lips, telling them, "Fucking wait here," as he walked with the other Lieutenants, Captains, Majors and the likes to join in on the briefing. Whatever the hell was going on, Tibbets intended to gain the full picture, whether it was from this briefing, or from Fischer and his Korean pal.

… However, what he was about to hear, he was not prepared for.