GATE: Charge of the Eagles

by AWorldWithNoBoundaries

In 2026, after emerging from a short but particularly bloody WW3, Poland's economy, like all European countries, is booming. Cultural, economic, military, and technological advancements led to an increase in military size. Everything was great, until shit hit the fan. A strange gate-like portal has opened in Warsaw, as well as in Japan. What will emerge from this new world?

2. Chapter 2: I came, I saw, I conquered

September 12th, 2026
FOB Tasmania
NATO Occupied Territory, Sadera

Digging.

Lots, and lots of digging.

Currently, that's what some troops were doing. The bright sun shone down on them, as they did their job like clockwork. Some HESCO barriers were too small to fill using an excavator, so from the massive pile of dirt, rocks, and various decaying plants, they took shovelfuls and discarded them into the "gabions", in effect making a durable temporary enclosure. Trenches were to be dug as well, so the men and women of Company "V" were digging a defensive trench along the perimeter of the wall, leaving increments for wood liners later on. Yarek was helping them dig as well, a dark green bandana wrapped around his forehead, and a loosely fitting tank top. He stopped for a moment to catch a breath and was suddenly alerted by commotion further down the line.

The source of the commotion was a startled Corporal, who scrambled out of the trench, stumbling and falling onto the ground, the loose dirt further aiding in tripping him. "FUCK! FUCK! JESUS-" He yelled, crawling backwards, taking deep breaths as he sat there. Yarek looked at him, then back at the foot of the trench. "What's the matter, Majewski?" He asked, approaching the end of the trench. "SNAKE, ITS A FUCKING SNAKE!" Yarek looked down, and saw a snake with a mottled gray exterior, crawling along the edge of the trench, hissing at the troops as it went. He sighed and looked around with an amused expression on his face. "These ones aren't poisonous. Did you not read the info packs?" He told the few startled onlookers, his hands raised in a "really?" reaction. Majewski wiped his forehead, and got up, brushing himself off. "With all due respect boss, are you sure they're not poisonous?"

He rolled his eyes, and leaned down, grabbing the snake by the neck and end of the tail, and threw it as far as he could downhill. He picked the shovel back up and went back to digging. "There you go." He stuck the shovel into the dirt, pushing the blade deeper into the dirt with the assistance of his foot. Shaking off the excitement of the situation, the others went back to digging as well. "Saint Patrick himself!" Majewski quipped and followed suit, shovel in, shovel out. Yarek paused for a second, leaning onto the shovel. It was peaceful, really. A few days before, a few Saderans scouts tried sneaking up to the hill, but were quickly put down by a sniper. Due to this, engineers were ordered to put up triple concertina wires along the perimeter to make the Saderans think twice, and to give the defenders time to prepare in case of a bigger assault.

And so, for the next hour, they kept digging. Aside from the Poles, others pitched in too, a few officers coming along to help. Some Americans, Ukrainians, Frenchmen, Germans and Canadians all helped out, working together in unison, aiming to finish their task at hand in time for the Seabees to come along. To make ground and air operations easy, the Occupation Zone was split into seven sectors, with an ADIZ stretching a mile outside of the area. Soldiers came and went, took up an operation from their respective "Green Board", and went about their day. For those in Company V, their fourth operation would come earlier than they might think. Within earshot, he heard a sharp, raspy voice calling out his name. "As I live and breathe, if it ain't the Mad Bastard himself! Been wondering where you've been!" The voice belonged to Yarek's new Company Sergeant, Slobodan "Animal Mother" Skorpuka, and an old friend from his days in Afghanistan and JW GROM. His face lit up, and he put the shovel back in the dirt, hopping out of the trench to meet him.

"Skorupka! You son of a bitch!" He wiped sweat off his forehead, and gave Slobodan dap, his face wearing a goofy grin. "What, GHQ got you training too many recruits?" Slobodan roared with laughter, the scar on his lip making him look like he was grinning ear to ear. "Bah, you and I both know that's boring. When I heard we were going in, I immediately volunteered for active duty. You know how I love being in the field." Yarek nodded, his smile faltering a bit. "Yeah, I get where you're coming from with that. I do hope you'll tone it down here. The UN is a thorn in everyone's backside, and they want to get a reason to put anyone on trial." Skorupka spat on the ground his face contorting into a scowl. "The bastards. It's a wonder no one put them on trial for the Krolewiec Incident. They were all complicit and were all let off scot-free." Yarek sighed, silently agreeing with what his CS was saying. In an attempt to change the subject, he turned to his company and checked on their progress. The trenches were complete, and now all that remained was to leave the rest to the US Navy's Construction Battalions.

"Listen up, Company V! Get washed, dressed, and be ready in your barracks by 0130 hours. That is all. FALL OUT!" The company scrambled out of the trench, depositing their tools at a tent nearby. They all filed out, heading off towards the Polish sector of the base. Meanwhile, Yarek was observing the procession, his hands behind his back. The ambience was broken by Skorupka, whose mood perked up, even though the previous mention of the Krolewiec Incident made him cross. "Oh, I forgot to mention, I've brought something for you." Yarek looked at Skorupka with a raised eyebrow, his interest piqued. "That being?" He asked, the curiosity in his voice undeniable. "I'll show you." They walked together, passing row after row of living quarters, before arriving at a closed-up tent.

Skorupka entered first, holding the tent flap open for Yarek. "When I saw that you were running around Warsaw with a shotgun on the news, I made sure to get my hands on one. Behold, a Mossberg 500, like the one you used." He squatted down, and flipped the latches on a crate. Inside, was a folding-stock shotgun. It was almost brand new, with a rearward ring sight. "It's got a few scratches and bumps here and there, but it works like a charm. It's seen some combat, too." Yarek lifted the shotgun out of the crate, examining it with a curious eye. "It's the A1 model. Faster cycling, slightly shorter barrel so you can carry it in conjunction with your GROT. Also, as an added bonus..."

He trailed off and lifted the foam padding up. Beneath the top layer were 60 metallic cylinders, nearly stacked like a parade. "These bad boys are FRAG-12s. They're loaded into an empty shotgun shell and operate almost on the same basis as a normal one would. However, the moment they leave the barrel, they will pulverize soft targets, immobilize unarmored or lightly armored vehicles, and even penetrate walls at a certain range." He lifted one like it was a pieróg, and handed it to Yarek. After examining the round up close, Yarek put it back in the case, with the shotgun following suit. "Thanks for the shotgun, Skorupka. I figure you'll be using Berta like you've always have?" Skorupka grinned, and nodded, lifting the lid on another box. "I'm sure you're very well acquainted with the old girl right here." Inside the crate was an M240C, with an M145/C79 sight and a folded bipod.

"Standard M240C, but I've gotten permission to modify the bipod to tilt left or right, so I can use it as a makeshift foregrip." He flipped the MG around and showed Yarek the stock. "After we took Moscow, I didn't find much enjoyment in having the stock digging into my hip when not in use. So, I butchered an inert M240L and took the collapsible stock off of it. I like to call it 'M240-O, my own modified variant." Yarek whistled, his hands on his hips and a surprised expression on his face. "I see you're ready to go all out on the Saderans, aren't you? I hope you're ready, since I've heard a rumor that we'll be mobilizing for a big operation soon. No, not 'human wave' big like the moskals do. So, keep an eye out, will you?" They bumped fists again, and Yarek walked out at a brisk pace towards the barracks, aiming to take a quick shower before so called 'surprise operations' that were commonplace here.

10 minutes later

About 10 minutes after, Yarek was quickly slipping into his field jacket and pants, when his radio crackled to life. "Attention, commanding officers of Companies V, C, G and E, report to the OPROOM in 10 minutes with your troops. Have them ready in full combat gear." It went silent again, as if waiting for a response. Yarek picked the radio up and spoke, while at the same time slipping into his boots. "This is CO-V, Understood." Eventually, he finished dressing, and put on his vest, belt, and GROT on his back. He then exited the tent and went off towards the barracks to gather his men. Skorupka was already there, and so was his XO, Lieutenant Gwiezda. Most of the Company was good to go, but the rest were in varying degrees of readiness, rapidly putting their field jackets and vests on.

"Is this everyone? Good. Alright, I know this is very sudden, but as some of you may have heard, we are to report to the oproom for a pre-mission briefing. Be ready for anything. That will be all." With the formalities out of the way, he went over to his company sergeant and his XO. "Listen up, you two. Especially you, Gwiezda. There will be a time where I'll get bumped off by an enemy, and I want you two to be ready to step up in that situation. No matter what happens, I want them to be the most effective combat unit, even if I'm gone. Understood?" The XO and the CS grew silent and nodded. "Yes sir!" They both responded in unison, understanding that even a technologically inferior enemy can cause casualties.

Within minutes, the company was ready to move. Skorupka was checking the company's equipment, his "drill instructor" voice echoing through the barracks. "ALRIGHT EVERYONE, GET YOUR SHIT SQUARED AWAY! CHECK YOUR MAGS, BAGS, AND RIFLES, AND BE READY TO MOVE!" He bellowed, his own M240-O hanging by a strap on his chest. Once everything was ready, they set off. The oproom, or as it is lovingly referred to as by NATO troops, "Broadway Theatre" due to the spacious area inside. Multiple tables, standing by themselves or grouped together to roll out maps and various other papers, were strewn all across most of the space. At the end of the room stood a projector, and plastic chairs on either side.

The wall had a large aluminum tube with a cord sticking out the side, which when pulled, released a projector screen. They entered single file, each man and woman taking care to not bump into the tables that were pushed so close together. Then, they took their seats, and the briefing began. A man wearing the rank insignia of a Colonel stood near the screen with a laser pointer in his hand, his eyes scanning the rows of troops like a hawk, his head nodding once everyone was seated. "Alright everyone, listen up. GHQ has planned this operation for weeks, and they want you to carry it out. In particular, Companies V, G, and E will be carrying out this mission. Company C will be standing by as QRF if anything goes south. Moving on, here is your objective."

The white screen with the words "PLAN ODPRAWY POLSKICH WOJSK LĄDOWYCH "TOBOGGAN" flicked off and switched to a different one. "This is the 'Gambit Axis'. Our northernmost ADIZ was deliberately curtailed around this area in order to avoid our transport helicopters from being hit by wyverns and, to some extent, dragons. This area is sparsely populated, but it has some key areas. These are:" The screen once again went blank, and then to three images of fairly sizeable villages. "These are the three objectives. The topmost one is Bermel Village, which has a minor Saderan legionnaire presence there." The projector zoomed in, showing them a Saderan encampment, and a few burning campfires. "The center image is of Szhurik Village. It is situated in between the two shown, and while it has a sizeable enemy presence, the buildings are quite spaced out, which will make it easy to take the village for the unit responsible."

Then, he zoomed in on a large village with a long, somewhat straight road with buildings on each side, with a smaller arterial snaking away from the main one, with smaller buildings reminiscent of peasant housing from the 11th century. "This is the thorn in the side of this operation. This is Ledica Village, the largest of the three, and as such, has an entire battalion worth of Sadera's elite 'Prothero Legion' stationed there. However, there is quite a substantial number of civilians holed up in houses and pigpens, so their rescue is imperative." The screen switched off, and the Colonel turned to the crowd. "Some of you may have noticed the foreigners sitting amongst you. Please welcome Cuirassier Detachment of 40 Commando, British Royal Marines." The troops turned, their eyebrows raised, some confused as to why they were here.

"They will be assisting whoever is taking Ledica Village with civilian rescue and to generally supplement defense. Now, with pleasantries out of the way, let's begin." The projector turned back on, and he switched to Bermel Village's aerial view. "The job to take Bermel Village falls on... Company G." The troops in said company cheered, happy to be getting such an easy objective. "Moving on, the takeover of Szhurik Village falls on... Company E. This will be an easy one for you." Then, he paused, and switched to Ledica Village's photo, and after a long pause, he spoke again. "The job to take Ledica Village, falls on Company V and the detachment of Royal Marines." Yarek pursed his lips, as this briefing had been, well, brief, and a plan hadn't been outlined.

As if reading his mind, the Colonel turned to face the troops, the projector screen rolling up, and the laser safely in his pocket. "Some of you may be confused as to why there is no nitty-gritty planning for the operation. Well, to put it simply, this operation was thrown together quickly as a 'show of force'. It also doubles as a genuine military operation, and as such, company commanders will have to devise their own plans for taking their objectives." He paused for a second, his eyes again scanning the crowd. "Now, off you go. Good luck." The troops began filing out of the room, but the colonel had other plans. He motioned for the company commanders to come over, and in his hands were three red envelopes. "GHQ has a special request for the operation. A few days ago, from moles planted inside the villages, that the officers who were involved in planning and carrying out the invasion of our nation. As such, orders pertaining these men are inside."

The officers pulled the envelopes open and pulled out the papers. In bold text, there was an official order from the Chief of General Staff, and the order itself made some of the officers frown, except Yarek, who was intently reading the lines. It read:

"General Headquarters (GHQ)
Date: 09/12/2026
To: All Commanding Officers

Subject: Authorization for Summary Execution of Saderan Officers and Political Personnel

Effective immediately, by order of the High Command and under the authority vested in the General Headquarters, all commanding officers are hereby ordered and authorized to undertake summary execution procedures for any captured officers and political officials of the Saderan military forces.

This directive is issued under the assumption that all necessary steps have been taken to determine the captured individuals' roles within the enemy hierarchy and their continued involvement in actions deemed detrimental to the integrity and stability of our forces and occupied territories. Any individuals identified as Saderan military or political officers are considered to be significant threats and are not to be accorded the usual privileges of prisoners of war.

It is imperative that this order be executed with immediate effect and that all measures are taken to ensure its swift and unambiguous application. This directive stands as a matter of utmost importance and should be acted upon without hesitation.

By authority of GHQ,
Generał Jozef Krzyżanowski"

After reading the letter, Yarek looked around at those gathered. The COs of Companies E and G were appalled, holding the letter with shaky hands. They quickly composed themselves, and put the letter away in their pockets, for later use. "Off you go, and don't forget, it is highly important that this mission is accomplished swiftly. Good luck." The COs saluted the Colonel, and after he saluted back, they headed out, to prepare their companies for battle. As Yarek was walking out, he heard a lilting voice from behind him. Unmistakably British, it belonged to the commander of the detachment that would be joining them on this operation. "Sir, my name is Leftenant Amelia Carey. My detachment of marines will be accompanying you on this operation."

He turned and looked for the source of the voice. It was a woman, and as mentioned before, a Lieutenant. Staying true to their motto of "By Sea, By Land", most of her unit was already loading up into Stryker Armored Personnel Carriers. However, she was not loading up with the rest of them for a reason. "I saw earlier that your officer was handing you red envelopes, and some of you were as white as a pellet of white phosphorous." Yarek sighed and motioned for her to follow him. He took the envelope out, and removed the letter again, letting Carey read it. Her face whitened. "Are they taking the piss? This is real? No pell-mell bureaucratic bullshit from the UN?" She muttered, handing Yarek the letter, a confused frown on her face.

"It is very much real, Lieutenant. However, these men were involved in planning and carrying out the invasion to some degree. There is also evidence of crimes against humanity perpetrated by the Empire, so some officers will not be given the privileges of a POW." Carey blinked a few times, wondering if Yarek was off his rocker. Her expression soon became neutral, and much more professional, and she nodded, finally accepting the new orders. "Very well, sir. See you at Ledica." She snapped him a salute and headed off towards the waiting Strykers.

Yarek, meanwhile, was heading towards the weapons tent. He was heading there for one thing, and one thing only. The shotgun that Skorupka got him. After hastily opening the box, he took the shotgun out and the sling that came with it, put in 9 rounds, and dumped the rest in a storage pouch. Then, since he's not a prick, he closed the lid and ran off back towards the waiting Rosomaks. In total, the convoy numbered 25 APCs, counting the command Rosomak where Yarek was at, a map unfolded in front of him as the gates closed, and the convoy moved out, kicking up a mighty cloud of dust.

"Alright. Here's the village... the road junction up ahead and..." He trails off as they go over a bump, then back to explaining. "Since we've got 25 vehicles, we should break half of them off, take the junction heading East. The tree line halfway to Ledica should provide cover from them. Meanwhile the second half will take the south, southwest, and west flanks. Infantry dismounts, gunners keep the Saderans back, and platoons split squads off to sweep the houses." He folded the map, got up, and crouch walked to the Rosomak's commander. "Let me see that radio, Lieutenant." The commander gave him the receiver, and he took it, holding the microphone up to his mouth.

"Company, listen up. This goes out to every one of you. We will be advancing into the village dismounted, and possibly into numerous ambushes. That is why I want every squad, every section, every platoon to fan out and watch each other's flanks. I do not want this operation to be the first in the Special Region where we got troops killed. The ROE is simple. Anyone not surrendering and wearing a Saderan uniform or getup, is to be killed. Any Saderan taking up arms against us or attacking us, is to be killed. Any Saderan surrenders, let them. Ziptie their wrists and detain them until the operation is complete."

He paused for a second, before moving on. "We have with us 50 allied troops from Britain. They're to help us recover civilians and keep them safe until they can return. Under any circumstances, anyone harming a civilian or a non-combatant will be court martialed upon our return." Again, he paused, the radio channel open. "Twelve carriers will split off and take the East fork. You will be under command of Lieutenant Gwiezda, and you will assist the Brits with their objective. The other twelve, including the command carrier, will take the rest of the village. Good luck and keep your head on a swivel." He put the radio away, and sat back down, keeping his index finger above the trigger guard as the carrier rumbled along its path.

About an hour later, the convoy slowed down, allowing the 12 carriers to split off and head north. This time, however, Yarek grabbed his own radio, and switched to the company's secure channel. "Five-minute warning. Lock and load, everyone. Remember the briefing and the plan, and we will make it out faster than you can say 'Żubrówka'." He put the radio down, and felt the carrier shift left, then right, and then it gradually slowed down, before coming to a stop completely. "Alright, thirty seconds." He looked at his watch, the time ticking down, until finally it hit the right mark, and Yarek picked up his radio, and began barking orders into it as anticipated. "GO, GO, GO!" The doors on the Rosomaks opened, and the troops poured out. Right after coming out, he took a knee, sweeping the perimeter, and further down the line, other soldiers were doing the same.

Convinced that the coast was clear, Yarek waved Skorupka over, and pointed to a big, rustic looking building. "Mother, that must be the village chief's residence. I want you to take two sections and breach it. Any civilians in there, send 'em out. If any Saderans..." He drew his finger across his throat silently, a grin forming on his face. "...Ventilate the bastards before they can do anything against you." Skorupka nodded, grinning as well, and turned to a few soldiers standing behind him. "Waszyński, Smosarska, move your sections out. ON THE DOUBLE!" He bellowed, and they began moving. Yarek watched him go, and he got up, and turned to the rest of his unit. "For the rest of you, move after me." The remainder of the company spread into action, flicking safeties off, and fanning out to cover as much area as possible.

When they were further away from the Rosomaks, Yarek heard the sharp pak-pak-pak of a Bushmaster firing at some Saderans. He turned towards where the gunner was firing, and saw seven bodies crumple to the ground, or at least whatever was left of them. By the looks of one of the Saderans headgear, he was a political officer. Shaking off the distraction, the unit moved in, the echo of distant gunshots like music to their ears. As they moved up the road leading towards the center, they were alerted by a loud uproar as sixteen Saderans charged out, six of whom were archers. They were promptly picked off by the unit, not before letting loose some arrows, managing to snag their medic in the shoulder. This, understandably, made them pissed. "MARCHING FIRE! KEEP THE BASTARD SUPPRESSED!" Yarek bellowed, the unit firing round after round downrange, killing and wounding more Saderans that came around the corner. Despite this, however, they kept on coming.

"Kurwa mać!" Yarek muttered under his breath. Deliberating for a minute, he snapped his fingers in realization. Shouting above the roar of gunfire, he reached for his belt pouch, removing a bayonet. "Company! Fix bayonets! Half of you keep firing, wait for the others to finish!" The gunfire subsided a little bit, one half of the 63 troopers fixing bayonets, and the other covering them while they did so. Then the other half, and finally, they were ready to move on. "Advance, check the corner." He ordered, removing the empty magazine from his rifle, slipping in a fresh one. He swept the coast with his sight, satisfied that no enemy was in the area, he pulled his radio to his mouth, switching to the company's command radio channel.

"Gwiezda, please tell me you have good news." He released the button, waiting for a response. About 30 seconds later, he heard gunfire over the open channel, and then Gwiezda's voice. "We're sweeping the northern part of the town. We've already got 30 civilians, with more on the way." Yarek smiled, feeling pride that his lieutenant was finally putting his skill to good use. "Sir, one of the Brits got wounded. It's Carey, she took an arrow to the shoulder. I've patched her up as best as I could, so all there is now to wait and hope for the best." Yarek winced, shaking the brief "phantom pain" off from hearing that. Shoulder wounds screw with a soldier's performance, and an arrow to the shoulder? Really damn painful.

"Alright. Move any other wounded back towards the carriers. Keep doing what you're doing. Out." He put the receiver down, and shouldered his rifle, moving with his company, while periodically, six would separate and sweep the houses in their path. Suddenly, his radio buzzed, and Skorupka's rasp came through. "Mother to CO. House is clear, there is no one here. We ventilated 19 of them. We did ziptie two who surrendered, a political officer and a legate. What do we do with them? Over." Yarek thought about this, and after a moment of thought, he spoke up again. "Put any captured Saddies at the ground floor of the house. Out." Continuing their march, which was pretty uneventful, as there was a really small number of civilians, but even more Saderans, most of whom were killed, and some were sent off towards the chief's house.

The silence was near deafening for some. No gunfire for now, and no Saderans, but a few civilians were wandering about, heading south, holding whatever possessions they have in their hands. A few carts were coming in, so they let those pass, and moved on. Up ahead, he saw the faint outline of the rest of the unit, so he grabbed his radio, again, and started to speak into it. "CO to Gwiezda. You guys alright? I see some of you up ahead." He looked back towards the cluster of soldiers, and watched as one of them raised a radio to his mouth, to answer him. "We're all fine, sir. God damn Saddies deserted the town. We count 224 on our end, dead. I've got radio confirmations that the tally's at- What the hell is that?" He stopped mid-sentence and pointed his finger towards the sun. Yarek turned, and looked up, and his eyes widened. The sun was being blotted out by a hailstorm of arrows, which were mid-arc when he finally came to his senses.

"GET THE FUCK DOWN! GET TO COVER!" He bellowed to the troops around him and into the radio, dashing for cover under a ruined house. "FUCKERS ARE RAINING ARROWS ON US!" He curled up, tightening the straps on his helmet, before carefully cracking the door open. He heard the arrows impact the roof, like steel rain, while he looked for a good vantage point. When he looked out the window, he saw a treeline, from where the fire was most likely coming from. "CO to Gwiezda, you guys alright?" Gwiezda's response came in shaky breaths, no doubt panicking about the situation. "Sir, we've taken two wounded. Arrow to the neck for one, and calf wound for the other." Yarek released the radio, hammering his fist in anger on a damaged table, which promptly broke.

"Fuc- Alright, we need to call in air support. I'll get to one of the carriers, so keep your heads down and pick anyone off who tries to mess with us. Out." He put the radio down, and shouldering his rifle, he kicked the door back open and rushed out. He took a knee again, swept the coast, and switched to Skorupka's radio frequency. "CO to Mother, I'm gonna need you to lay down some cover fire for me, got it?" Skorupka answered almost immediately, no doubt happy that he was going to be able to do what he was intending to do. "Yes sir, moving into position." Further down the line of houses, he saw a door burst open, and Skorupka rushing out, who promptly set up his M240 on a ridgeline. "Alright, on my mark..." He waited for another minute and dashed out.

Running across an open field with no cover whatsoever, while an enemy who was hellbent on killing you was firing arrows at you at an awfully fast speed was grounds for death, yet despite that, he grinned as he ran, firing a few short, controlled bursts of fire here and there. Finally, he reached the lone Rosomak, jumping into the open commander's hatch, and promptly landed on the seat next to the gunner. "Give me that radio, Corporal. Tune in to TF-Wojtek's QRF frequency. Right now." The gunner scrambled for the radio and gave Yarek the receiver. Yarek cleared his throat and began relaying the situation. "This is Captain Jaroslaw Fabian of Company V. The Saderans jumped us just after we cleared the village. We need air support, NOW." He waited for a response, which came in the form of an Air Traffic Controller who sounded like he was just woken up.

"This is QRF-Wojtek. What seems to be the issue, sir?" Yarek paused for a second, trying to remember the exact position of the treeline and the distance to it. He looked out the cupola, barely dodging an arrow aimed in his general direction. "I've got... Approximately 200 hostiles holed up at the treeline West of the village. They keep raining arrows on us, and besides that, we've got civlians here. Have you got anything in the area, over?" The radio's speaker went silent for a second, before being filled by the sound of fingers tapping away at a keyboard. "I've got one Kocur orbiting the airspace nearby. Full air-to-ground loadout, will that be enough, sir?" Yarek nodded silently to himself, before responding. "Yes, that will be sufficient. What're they carrying?" Another minute of clack-clacking away on a keyboard, and the controller came back with a response. "Fully tanked with... Mark 77 Incendiary bombs, sir. He'll have the treeline torched in no time."

"Thank you. Make sure to notify him to connect to my frequency, out." He put the radio away and leaned down to unhook the smaller unit next to it. He put the boxy device onto his belt, and with a final look back, he hopped out of the tank, his rifle once again in his hands. The Saderans were letting up now, probably reloading, so he went prone in full view of the treeline, and waited with the radio in his hands. He waited, and waited, until finally, his prayers had been answered. A low, droning noise, which grew louder by the second. Eventually, the source of the noise, namely an F-14F Kocur, its distinctive wings folded all the way back.

He watched the Kocur circle around, and as if on cue, the radio next to him crackled to life. "This is Scorch 1-2, responding to request for CAS. What seems to be the situation, over?" Yarek scrambled for the radio, his voice calm and professional. "I've got a treeline right in front of me, with god knows how many hostiles hiding in it. I need you to level the entire thing, if possible, over." The pilot silently responded and turned the Kocur just enough to line it up with the treeline. He was closing in on the treeline in his first pass, and Yarek looked out at the treeline, observing any changed. "Scorch 1-2, danger close, danger close." First, the release mechanism was triggered, and then, all 8 Mk77s that the Kocur was carrying dropped away.

At first, nothing happened as they crashed through the trees. Then, as if a switch was flipped, the entire treeline went up in flames. Eight fireballs, spewing out into the sky, burning everything around it. Yarek whooped, and pulled the radio up by the handle, running back towards the area where his company was. While he ran, he made sure to thank the pilot for saving their asses, carefully keeping an eye on the treeline. "Scorch 1-2, thank you very much for the air support. I was about to charge them without thinking." The pilot's chuckle filled the comms as the Kocur turned towards the general direction of the base. "No problem. Always happy to torch a Saddie for the ground troops! Out."

Yarek reached his company at double time, and crouched beside Skorupka, who was smoking a cigar and cleaning the carry handle of his M240. "So, did you get any?" He asked him, reaching for his own cigar case. "Yeah, I got plenty. Too bad there are so called 'rules and regulations', 'r else I would've scalped the bastards." He answered without looking up, his focus directed at his M240. Yarek chuckled, checking over his own rifle. "This isn't over yet. There are still enemies at whatever's left of the treeline, and we need to capture whoever's left." He got up, and addressed his company. "Attention, Company V!" He looked out at the crowd of weary but courageous faces, his own face smudged by dirt and debris. "We are going to clear out the treeline, as there's no other alternative. I want you to get squared away, crack your knuckles, and prepare to move out. That's all."

He turned away, and the room sprang into action. The British Marines were also preparing, their lieutenant grabbing her Glock 17, popping in a fresh mag, and struggling to pull back the slide. Gwiezda walked over to her, gently grabbing the pistol from her hands, and pulled back the slide for her, putting the gun on safe. Yarek raised an eyebrow, suspecting that something may be brewing between the two, something aside from professionalism and battle. He shook that thought off and put his GROT onto a sling on his back. Instead of using the long rifle, he instead opted for the Mossberg, already fully loaded and on safe. He pulled it off, and unfolded the stock, the flat plastic buttplate resting comfortably against his shoulder. Satisfied, he again turned to his company and backed towards the door.

"Alright, listen up. Fourteen of you will stay at the village chief's house to guard the prisoners. The rest of you, saddle up. We're moving out now." He pumped the slide and took up position near the door. "Mother, watch the flanks. I want you to fan out, then when we are halfway to the treeline, start bending them in. We'll surround and take them prisoner." With a brief look outside, he pushed the door open and turned to his unit. "Alright, let's go!" They all poured out, single file, and began spreading out into a line. The flanks stretched until every soldier was at least four feet apart. They were closing in on the treeline, when Yarek picked up the radio, and turned his head towards Skorupka's general direction. "Alright, Mother, Gwiezda, start bending in the flanks. By section."

Further down the line, he heard Skorupka passing along the order. "Second Section! Curve in and envelop! Squad leaders acknowledge!" Fourth and Fifth squads answered, "Wilco, moving in!" Slowly, they started to surround the treeline, and then, they attacked. The intermixed sounds of gunfire, both from the company's GROT rifles, his own shotgun's booming staccato, and the sharp cracks of the British SA-80s, was enough to force the Saderans to raise a short stick with white cloth wrapped around it. A man wearing an ornate helmet slowly climbed out of the treeline, his hands raised and a white "flag" in his hand. "Cedimus, noli mittere!" He said, others slowly coming out. Some were paranoid, and were much more errant, with a political officer shouting at a British Sergeant, waving his arms all over the place. "Woah there, old boy, take it easy. Don't want to shoot you, so stay back!" He thrust his bayonet out, to keep the Saderan at bay. Understanding the universal language of a bayonet being thrust at him, the Saderan slowly backed away.

Meanwhile, further down the line, Yarek was busy assisting his men with ziptying the surrendering Saderans. "Separate the officers and the political officers from the rest of the men. On the double." He ordered as he walked between the rows of prisoners, his eyes darting here and there. Suddenly, something caught his eye. An enlisted man was talking to a political officer, and the political officer kept nodding eagerly, his eyebrows furrowed. The confusing thing, however, was that the ornate helmet barely fit the man, the purple feathers further adding to the deception. He walked up to the enlisted man and grabbed him by the neck. He pushed the man back, aiming his rifle at his head. Without looking up, he called Gwiezda over, who was busy helping a fellow Pole and a Brit tie down three officers. "Gwiezda, question this man." Gwiezda ran over, his eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Sir, he's not an officer, does he know something we don't?" Yarek looked at him, then back at the Saderan, pointing his finger between the enlisted and the officer. "The so called 'enlisted' asshole is actually the political officer. They switched uniforms." Gwiezda's confused expression cleared up, and he took position near the "enlisted" legate, and crouched down, preparing to question. "Loquere aut occidemus te. Quid tu et illi narras?" Gwiezda asked, his speech slightly broken. The officer spat on the ground, muttering an expletive under his breath. "Malo mori, quam tibi dicere." Gwiezda's eyebrow rose an inch, and he looked up at Yarek. "He says that he would rather die than tell us." Yarek scoffed, and with a nonchallant expression, shrugged, shouldering his rifle. "Fine by me. We are under orders to execute Saderans anyways." He shouldered his rifle, and deliberately shot the man through the arm, the wound being a through and through.

"Next one will be through whatever's left of your fucked up brain. So talk." Gwiezda translated this to the man, and seeking to avoid being shot, the man began spilling all the details. "A-armis. Infernales tales baculos quos barbari habent." The political officer was shaking by now, the near-death experience obviously getting to him. As Gwiezda listened, his eyes widened, and he got up, swearing under his breath. "Sir, they have guns. Not the automatic bows that they used, but actual firearms." Yarek and Skorupka did a double take, and Yarek turned to the zampolit. "Ask him where they are." Gwiezda turned back, and translated for the man, his voice way down low so as to not let the other Saderans know that they were talking about such a secret matter. "Sir, he says they're in a thatch-roofed house. Under the floorboards."

"Bring the prisoners over to the chief's house. I want ten of you to follow me. We're getting to the bottom of this." He paused for a second, scanned the treeline, and upon thinking for a bit, gave Gwiezda the rest of the zipties. "Double tie the officers. I don't want any loose ends to deal with. Move 'em out." And so, they descended the hill, the rows of already restrained Saderans following suit, being flanked by gun-toting troops. After making their way through the village, they came upon the chief's house, and the smaller house behind it. He watched his men go into the bigger house, and after they were all in, he silently motioned for the ten men with him to follow. They carefully approached the entrance, and Yarek raised his hand, moving it in a tight arc up and down, signaling for them to form a file. "You, and you, move to the other side of the door. Post up, then get ready to breach." Five of them moved to the right side, while he remained at the head of those on the left, his shotgun shouldered and aimed at the door. "On my command... breach, breach, breach." With a swift motion, he aimed the shotgun at the lock, and fired off a round, the sheer impact turning that general area of the handle into splinters which flung themselves into the house.

In seconds, he and a Corporal from the right stack went in, sweeping their respective sides of the room, making sure to stay close as to maintain overlapping fields of fire. "Clear. Move in." They repeated the same process with the other rooms, and since it was a one floor house, they got their job done pretty quickly. As he was exiting the kitchen, he was confronted by one of his own, his face contorted with a confused expression. "Sir, we've ransacked every single cabinet, every single chest, but we can't seem to find anything so far." Yarek frowned, looking around the deserted main room. He scanned the row of cabinets, the armchairs, and the fireplace. Then, his eyes swept the floor. He thought nothing of the simple wooden flooring, until his eyes, caught on something. A singular plank, sticking out like a sore thumb by appearance amongst the other dark wooden ones. It was lighter, looked newer, and the nails by which it was attached seemed suspiciously new.

"There." He pointed at the plank, and together, they moved in. Crouching down above it, he unfortunately didn't have his multitool, but he had the next best thing, that being the bayonet. "Steady...steady..." He muttered as he carefully inserted the tip of the blade under each nail, carefully popping each one out, at first slowly, then much quicker once the rest were out. From there on, the plank came out easily, but what was hidden underneath was confusing to him, including the men around him. "What the- is that an arms crate?" He muttered, as he swung his legs into the hole, and began lifting the crate out. "Damn, it's heavy!" With a grunt he pulled it out completely, and it landed on the ground with a resounding thud as he inspected it. After blowing away a thick layer of dust, he moved around it, looking for ways to open the lid. A minute later, he found a recessed latch, which upon being opened, released a sharp, almost pneumatic hiss from within the crate. "Let's get this thing opened, shall we?" Again, he crouched down, and he opened the lid, revealing bundles wrapped in oiled rags and string, along with boxes of what seemed to be ammunition in the corner.

He took one out, and unwrapped the string, the oiled rag falling away. As he looked it over, he drew in a sharp breath. The rifle had an eagle stamped on the side of the stock, and the words "FB RADOM 1938 K.W. P" below it. It was a Polish rifle, but way past it's time. He put it to the side and lifted out another one. This one was longer, heavier, and had a bipod attached to the front, jury-rigged with a nail to the bottom. He looked it over, and upon further inspection, knew that it was another Polish-made firearm, this one being a Wz. 28, FB's inspection stamps clearly engraved into the buttplate. He clambered out, wide eyed, and paced around the room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Snapping his fingers, he turned towards the door, but before he left, he turned around towards his team. "Keep the crate under watch. Do not let anyone in, civilian or otherwise." With that, he walked out, and made his way over to the chief's house.

He entered, and waved Skorupka and Gwiezda over. "The crate's been located, but there's more. All of the guns and ammunition in the crate? They're Polish." Skorupka frowned, and Gwiezda was pacing near them with his hands behind his back. "Either someone in GHQ is playing an elaborate prank, or we've got infiltrators, sir." Yarek nodded, reaching into his pocket for a round of ammunition that he got from the crate. "See this right here? That's 7.9257mm. Mauser ammunition, used widely by our armed forces up until 1951. Purely obsolescent now. The guns in the crate are museum pieces. I counted 12 wz. 1938s, 7 wz.1928s, and 40 wz.1929s. There are also an assortment of grenades, explosives and boxes of ammuniton, and strangely enough, an old grenade launcher and two mortars, though I'm not too sure what they are."

While Skorupka was inspecting the Mauser round, Gwiezda was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Sir, if I may ask, how do you know all this?" Yarek chuckled, casually shrugging as he leaned on the doorframe. "I've got the Central Military Library to blame for that. Anyways, start rounding up the zampolits and the high ranking officers in the building. Bring them back to the treeline." Gwiezda nodded, and Skorupka did too, giving him the round back. Yarek turned to the troops gathered on the ground floor, and raised his voice to be heard across the floor. "To the rest of you, keep the rest of the Saddies under a watchful eye. If any of them bolt for the door or go for any of you…" He drew his thumb across his throat, while putting his helmet on. "Shoot them."

After Yarek saw Gwiezda off, he and Skorupka set off down the road to the building with the crate. When they entered, they saw that the floor was torn up even more, revealing six more crates, with one being exceptionally large. However, what drew his attention was commotion in the kitchen. When he entered, he saw that six of his men were aiming their guns at a civilian holding a wz.1929. By the looks of it, he already had a clip of ammo loaded. How could he tell, you may ask? The telltale glint of light bouncing off of a stripper clip lying on the ground. Even though the civilian had a good stance, and was aiming properly, his arms were shaking, and he didn't look like the kind of person to shoot. Despite all that, he remembered what he'd learned throughout his years of service abroad. Expect the unexpected, so carefully, he walked closer, his arms stretched out so as to not pose any sort of hostility to the civilian.

"Take it easy, we're all on the same side here. Put down the gun and go home to your family." The civilian turned to him, his face contorting into a scowl. To Yarek's surprise, he began speaking in Polish. "Home? Family? You think I have a family or a home to return to? Those bastards up on the hill slaughtered my wife and kids because I was protecting THIS pile of metal and wood!" He motioned with his head towards the hole in the floor, sweat pouring down his forehead. Yarek nodded, his hands still lowered, his tone low and calm. "I understand what you're feeling. My family was killed by the enemy because they were protecting what they believed in, too. That doesn't mean that things have to end like this! There's still time for you to reconsider and rebuild."

The civilian's grip on the rifle tightened, his knuckles white as his breath came in ragged bursts. His eyes, hollow and bloodshot, burned with years of suppressed rage and despair. Yarek could see the trembling in the man's hands, not from weakness, but from the unbearable weight of loss. "You think you understand?" the man spat, his voice breaking. "You don't. You still have hope in your voice. I buried mine in a shallow grave with my children. You're standing there, trying to convince me with words, but words won't bring them back!"

Yarek took a cautious step closer, his movements deliberate, his hands open and unthreatening. He was no stranger to this kind of pain; the raw edge of the man's words cut deep, but they weren't unfamiliar. His voice softened, but there was an unyielding firmness beneath it. "You're right. I can't bring them back," Yarek admitted, his gaze steady. "But I can tell you this. If you let your anger consume you, you're giving the people who hurt you exactly what they want. They win twice. You're stronger than that." The man hesitated, his breathing uneven. The barrel of the rifle wavered slightly. He glanced back at the hole in the floor, then back at Yarek, his resolve faltering.

Yarek pressed on, sensing the opening. "You said they died protecting this. Whoever put you and them up to it, they must have had their reasons. Reasons important enough for them to fight for, for you to still fight for. Don't let their sacrifice turn into blind revenge. Honor them by surviving, by building something they'd be proud of." Tears welled in the man's eyes, his anguish crashing over him like a wave. The rifle lowered, just slightly, as his shoulders sagged under the weight of his grief. "What do I have left to fight for?" the man whispered hoarsely, his voice almost inaudible. Yarek stepped closer, his tone unwavering. "You fight to keep their memory alive. To make sure what happened to them doesn't happen to anyone else. You fight for the chance to find peace, not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday."

The man's fingers slowly uncurled from the rifle's grip. It slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground. His knees buckled, and he collapsed, head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Yarek knelt beside him, placing a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this," he said quietly. "One step at a time." For the first time, the man didn't resist. The storm inside him began to calm, just enough for Yarek to see the faintest glimmer of hope begin to surface. "For now, however, you can pick out the bastard that was in charge of the massacres and do what you must."

The man nodded, wiping tears off his face. "Thank you." He muttered as he shuffled out of the building under guard. Yarek turned to the rest of the men gathered, and handed one of them the rifle. "Take that crate to the main building. Keep it under guard. The rest of you, to the treeline." He turned on his heel and walked out, headed in the general direction of the previous Saderan position.

When he arrived there, he saw that 40 Saderan officers were kneeling, their hands ziptied. They all had dejected looks on their faces, save for 16 of them, 15 of whom were zampolits, and one of whom looked to be older and much more higher in ranking, definitely their commander. He turned to Skorupka, pulling out the red envelope, and handed it to him. "Read this for me, will you?" Without looking back at his CS, he heard him speedread through the letter, his expression becoming more and more serious. "They must be joking, sir." Yarek shook his head, grabbing the letter from him. "No, they're very much serious. Lets get this over with."

With Gwiezda in tow, he stood in front of the Saderans, and read the part of the letter pertaining the handling of senior officers and political officers. Gwiezda translated, and as he continued, some of the officers began to shake. One of them spat on the ground, muttering a phrase under his breath, his face drawing into a sneer. Gwiezda listened, and translated the words to Yarek. "He says 'You have no honor, otherworlder. You should fight like a true man.'" Yarek looked back at the man, who was trying to break free. Enraged, he walked over to the officer, and pushed him over.

"Honor? HONOR? YOU SPEAK OF HONOR? What do YOU of all people in the world know of honor? You've killed innocent men, women, CHILDREN! Do you feel remorse? Any measure of gravity of your actions? After all that you've perpetrated, you dare speak of honor?" He yelled, his rifle pointed at the man's head. He waited for Gwiezda to translate, and continued. "Your hubris and your remorseless attitude are your downfall, Saddie. You have reaped the wind, now you'll reap the whirlwind." With that, he backed away and waved his palm near his throat, signifying for the squad to get ready. "On my command." He bellowed, walking up and down the road of the Saderans, with the civilian from before in tow.

"Which one of them was it?" He asked, his rifle tipped up slightly. The man's eyes darted to and fro, up and down the line, until they landed on the helmeted head of a zampolit. He walked over, and kicked the man in the backside, silently telling Yarek that this man was the one responsible. "Very well." Yarek reached for his pistol holster, popped in a fresh mag, and handed the gun to the civilian. He grabbed the political officer, who squirmed in his grip. Yarek kneed him in the back, throwing him to the ground. "Whenever you're ready." The man sniffled, the pistol shaking in his hand.

"Channel the anger, remember what he's done. Do not let the anger consume you, but use it instead to send this asshole back to where he came from." The man raised the pistol to the zampolit's head, and flicked off the safety. With a shaky hand, he pulled the trigger, a round of .40S punching through the zampolit's forehead, sending him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The gunshot echoed through the field, some of the soon-to-be executed officers jumping at the sound. The civilian smiled grimly, and handed Yarek the pistol. He ejected the mag, pulled back the slide and ejected the chambered round.

"Once again, on my command…" He waited for a little while, and lowered his hand in a swift motion. "FIRE!" In an instant, the rifles of the 10 soldiers gathered fired all at once, sending round after round of 7.62 at the officers. Blood splattered, flying everywhere, a chunk of bone from the officer in the front file flying out from his back, embedding itself in the abdomen of another, who soon followed the same fate. The rounds did more than enough to reduce the front row and some of the rear into a collection of swiss cheese. And just as quickly as it began, it was over. 40 officers lay dead, a massive pile of minced asshole.

Yarek looked over, his eyebrows raised. "Alright, push whatever debris that's around you over the trenches. Let the vultures do the rest." He slung his rifle, and walked downhill with most of the squad, leaving a few to cover up the carnage. He looked inside the chief's house, looking from row to row of Saderans. As he was about to enter, his radio crackled to life, notifying him of a transmission from either the Brigade CO, or the Colonel himself. "This is CO of TF-Unitas. CO Kotwica, how copy, over?" Yarek spoke into the radio, his eyes darting up and down the road. "Loud and clear, sir. We've mopped up the town in no time." He waited for a response, and after an unusually long time, the officer on the other end finally spoke up.

"Listen, Fabian, I've got two orders for you. In a few minutes, a convoy of trucks will arrive at the town to pick up any POWs." Yarek waited, as he heard the shuffle of papers on the other end. "Second, the British Marines are to be sent back to base, and you will be receiving support from one of our other allies." Yarek frowned, despite being familiar with the constant changing of mission profiles. "Sir, if I may ask, who are they?" The general sighed, followed by another shuffle of papers. "They're a recon unit from the JSDF. 3rd Recon Team, most of whom don't have any combat experience outside the Gate."

Contemplating the new revelation, Yarek spoke again, his voice much quieter now. "Understood, sir. Will keep an eye out." He waited for a moment, and as a final parting word, the general spoke up again, his voice much more serious. "Their commanding officer is a bit of a… apathetic S.O.B. Doesn't really care about service, nor getting shit done. So, despite you two being from different armies, you've been given permission to point out and fix the mistakes he makes. Got that?" Yarek nodded, and spoke again, his voice now much more serious. "Understood, sir. We will be in touch with him over radio, yes?" The general grumbled, and spoke again. "That you will. Best of luck to you, out." Yarek put away the radio, and stood near the doorway, his head poking in.

"Listen up, everyone! Be prepared to move the Saddies captured outside. Keep a headcount, and keep them in check. Lets go, lets go!" He yelled above the sound of chatter, and everybody sprang into action. Saderans filed out of the building, their hands cuffed. However, all but one were cuffed. For some reason, a political officer with a broken arm wasn't with the ones executed, so Yarek pointed his finger in his direction. "Hey, shoot that guy. Yeah, the zampolit cocksucker with the busted wing." One of the men pulled him aside, just as a Rosomak was rolling towards them. Looking towards the gunner, he pointed at the zampolit. The gunner understood the task, and got into the seat, keeping the gun trained on the Saderan. "Hey Angel, this one's yours." He yelled to the gunner, and after everyone took a step back, the gun fired, the 30mm round disemboweling the Saderan at the waistline.

Then they continued. Stepping over, or rather, rolling over the Saderan's corpse, they headed towards the trucks that were pulling up. The Saderans started to pile in, pushed up by Yarek's soldiers. He observed them, how dejected the Saderans are when a kid with an even bigger stick shows up to kick the bully's ass. About 10 minutes later, the trucks turned around and left at speed, kicking up dust in their wake. Yarek watched them leave, his eyes tracking their movement, until they were nothing but specks of green, brown, and tan in the distance. The Brits did so too, with Gwiezda helping Lieutenant Carey get into a Stryker.

He walked back to his unit, getting up on top of a Rosomak, facing the gathered troops. "Good work today, everyone. We've cleared out a position faster than the projected timeframe of… 24 hours. As you've all seen, our British Marine detachment is headed back to base, as well as one of our medics. We won't be getting a replacement, however, we will soon be joined by a group of Japanese troops to supplant the troops that just left. So, get yourself settled in, we're spending the night here near the village."

He climbed down, and everybody got back to moving about, doing checks on their rifles, eating an MRE or drinking water, and some were sitting on the open rear of a Rosomak, playing cards. Despite the fact that they'd just casually swept through a village without taking any casualties, and that they'd executed 40 Saderans, it was peaceful. Like a home away from home, in a sense.

He crouched down, taking a seat against the wheels of a carrier, slipping out of his field jacket, his white tank top clinging to him like a wet rag. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the box of cigars and a cutter. After struggling with it for a few seconds, he lit it and leaned back, closing his eyes and taking whatever time he had to relax. Every once in a while, he'd open his eyes, the haze of cigar smoke and the setting sun creating an illusion of true tranquility amidst the chaos of combat.

About at the same time as the cigar was down to half it's length, he was alerted by a sharp knock on the side of the carrier. He looked up, spotting Skorupka leaning against the edge. "Captain, the Japanese are here." Yarek scrambled up, blowing smoke like a chimney. He turned the corner, and saw three soldiers coming towards him. The one leading them reached up his hand to salute, and Yarek scowled, shaking his head. "Don't. It's common courtesy to not salute an officer in country." The man lowered his hand, and nodded, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

"M-my name is Lieutenant Yoji Itami. I'm the commanding officer of the 3rd Recon Team. This here is Sergeant Major Kuwahara, my second in command, and my Close Combat Specialist, Sergeant First Class Kuribayashi." Yarek silently looked them up and down, and nodded. He extended his hand for Itami to shake, whom saw the gesture and wearily shook Yarek's hand. "Welcome to Company V, Lieutenant. You must have already met my second in command, Sergeant First Class Skorupka. He'll show you to the temporary parking for your vehicles once I show you around."

Itami, however, was zoned out, his eyes unfocused as if he was listening to the drone of a college lecture. Yarek snapped his fingers, his face back to his usual professional expression. "Hey, Itami! Eyes up front. Follow me." Itami nodded, and motioned for Kuwahara and Kuribayashi to follow him. As they walked over to the command carrier, Kuribayashi's narrowed eyes looked at Yarek, who was completely unaware of being watched, the latter pointing out landmarks to the two. He was a far cry from Itami, whose low work ethic prevented him from being promoted to Captain. She shook the thoughts off, and continued walking, making sure to look around for anything out of the ordinary.

"Alright, here we are. Latrines are over there, and you can place your sleeping bags anywhere near yours or our vehicles." He pointed his finger at a few Rosomaks parked in a triangle. "If you need anything, you know where to find me." He smiled, and patted Itami on the shoulder, walking away at a slow pace. Before he was out of earshot, however, he looked back at Itami, and chuckled. "Don't be so damn tense, Lieutenant. You're safe among allies. Ask some of the guys that have been in country for a while, and they'll tell you the same." He resumed walking, his hands in his pockets.

Itami stood frozen for a moment, watching the man disappear into the shadows cast by the nearby vehicles. His hand absentmindedly drifted to his shoulder where he'd been patted, as if trying to process the casual camaraderie. Safe among allies, huh? The thought rolled through his mind like a stone dropped into still water. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and turned back toward the parking area. The faint hum of generators and muffled conversations from the soldiers nearby filled the air, a symphony of routine and normalcy that felt oddly alien to him.

He scanned the area, his eyes catching on the faint glow of a cigarette in the distance. A small group of soldiers leaned against one of the vehicles, talking in low tones. Itami hesitated, then squared his shoulders and started toward them. If he was going to get his bearings in this place, he figured it wouldn't hurt to hear what "the guys who've been in-country" had to say. As he approached, the soldiers glanced his way. One of them, the Company Sergeant from before, raised a hand in greeting, while the other one was busy grinding a bayonet against a whetstone.

"Lieutenant Itami, right?" the man called out, his voice carrying an easy confidence. "Nice of you to drop by. Come on over; we don't bite." Itami offered a polite, nervous nod, closing the distance. The man extended a hand, and Itami shook it firmly. "If we haven't been introduced before, I'm Sergeant First Class Skorupka. This here's Lieutenant Gwiezda and the lady next to him is Corporal Lewandowski." He pointed his thumb at Gwiezda and Lewandowski, the latter whom was cleaning her WKW Wilk.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant. There's plenty food to go around." He grabbed an MRE from an open crate, handing it to Itami. He accepted it, and began opening it. He looked up every once in a while, alerted by the sound of a scraping rock. Lewandowski was using a flat, sharp stone to carve notches onto the barrel of her rifle, and once she saw that she caught Itami's eye, she smiled. "Um, how many did you... you know, kill with that rig?" He asked, nervously waiting for an answer. Without saying a single word, she raised eight fingers, and continued making the notches.

"You sure are a lively bunch." He heard the sound of Kuribayashi's voice from behind, the latter approaching them and sitting down next to Skorupka. He chuckled, putting the whetstone down to admire his work. "What can I say, we weren't always like this. Company V was full of reservists during the 3rd, most of whom aren't with us today. You've met the CO, right? Well, he used to be a platoon leader, and before that, a platoon sergeant. When the war ended, and the entire shitshow in Warsaw took place, he was put into command of the Company."

He paused, sheathing the bayonet back into his belt. "Thanks to him, we haven't taken a single KIA since the start of the campaign. He may look carefree and cheerful, but he's a real hardass." He paused, releasing a long sigh. "War changed most of us. The first casualty of war, is, and will always be innocence." He looked towards the carrier that Yarek was in, his lips drawn into a grim line. "Perhaps some lost more of that than others." Kuribayashi sat there, with a solemn look on her face. Suddenly, her head snapped up. "Ah, damn it! I forgot my radio pack. I took it off near one of your carriers. I'll be right back."

She got up, and started walking alongside every carrier, checking behind them. In the distance, she saw the faint glow of the tip of a cigar, and her radio next to the silhouette of a man. It was Yarek, tinkering with a part of said radio. He looked up, spotting Shino, and smiled, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Evening, Sergeant. I was fixing up your radio, it kept making a really unpleasant hissing noise and the battery level was very low. Should be done in a few minutes." He continued working on the antenna, while Kuribayashi sat down next to him. Aware that she was boring metaphorical holes into his head, he looked up at her, his eyes studying her.

"Hope I'm not wasting your time here, Sergeant. Just a few more minutes." Shino shook her head, her expression remaining neutral. "Take your time," Shino replied curtly, her eyes never leaving him. She crossed her arms and leaned back slightly, her posture rigid despite the casual words. Yarek chuckled under his breath, a low sound that barely escaped the ambient hum of the camp. She looked towards the horizon, then back at Yarek. Then, her eyes looked over to his shoulder, something catching her eye. A tattoo, the words "Siła i Honor! Tobie Ojczyzno!", displayed prominently in thick block lettering.

"What does that mean?" She pointed at it, waiting for a response. Yarek looked over, his eyes drifting down to his tattoo. He smiled faintly, tapping the ink with his fingers. "Siła i Honor! Tobie Ojczyzno!" he repeated, the Polish rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "It means 'Strength and Honor! For You, Fatherland!' It's the motto of my old unit, JW GROM." Kuribayashi tilted her head, intrigued. "GROM? As in, that GROM? Your country's special forces?"

He nodded, exhaling another plume of smoke. "Yeah. Jednostka Wojskowa GROM. It stands for 'Thunder.' Named after the Silent Unseen, our special operations during World War II." His tone carried a mix of pride and nostalgia. "I spent a few years with them before… well, before I ended up here." She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity deepening. "What made you leave?" Yarek's smile faltered for a split second, but he masked it with a casual shrug. "Change of pace. The work took its toll, and I figured I'd be more useful here, training others, passing on what I know. Besides, someone's got to keep you zieloni out of trouble."

Kuribayashi smirked at the word. "Zieloni? Greenhorns?" she asked, a teasing edge to her voice. "You're not pulling any punches, are you?" Yarek chuckled, the faint glow of his cigar flickering as he leaned back slightly. "Just calling it like I see it, Sergeant. You've got the fire, no doubt about that. But fire alone doesn't win wars. Takes control, discipline, and sometimes a bit of luck." Her smirk faded slightly as she studied him, the casual confidence in his voice underpinned by something deeper,something heavier. "Sounds like experience talking," she said, her tone softer now.

Yarek nodded, the flicker of a smile returning to his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Experience has a way of teaching you things you can't learn in a classroom or from a manual. Hard lessons, but ones you don't forget." He tapped the ash from his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the dark. "And the first lesson? Fire without control burns everything, your enemies, your allies, hell, even yourself." Kuribayashi leaned back slightly, her arms still crossed, but her expression softened. "You talk like someone who's been burned before."

Yarek's gaze flickered to her, the faint ember of his cigar reflecting in his eyes. "Haven't we all, Sergeant?" he replied quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. He looked away, exhaling smoke as if releasing a burden. "But yeah, I've been burned. More than I'd like to admit. You play with fire long enough, you either learn to control it, or you get consumed." Kuribayashi let the silence linger for a moment, her eyes studying him. The confidence he exuded wasn't arrogance like her own usual expression, it was tempered by something raw, something earned through scars both visible and hidden. "And you learned to control it?" she asked, her tone softer now.

Yarek chuckled lightly, though it lacked humor. "Control's a funny thing. You think you have it, but all it takes is one moment, one fuck-up, and everything comes crashing down." He tapped his cigar lightly, letting the ash fall to the ground. "I've seen what happens when people lose control. Good people. People who deserved better. People who had it all and lost it completely when shit started to hit the fan."

Her gaze didn't waver. "But you're still here. Still fighting."

He nodded, the faint smile returning, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. "Because someone has to. And because I've learned... it's not about never making mistakes. It's about learning from them. About doing better the next time. For yourself, and for the people depending on you." Kuribayashi leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she kept her gaze fixed on Yarek. "That's a good way to put it. But it sounds like a heavy load to carry." Her voice was steady, but there was an undertone of understanding—one that came from someone who knew what it was like to shoulder burdens she couldn't easily share.

Yarek tilted his head, studying her for a moment before speaking. "Heavy? Yeah, it is. But you get used to it. And you realize that the weight isn't all bad. It reminds you of what's at stake, what you're fighting for." He exhaled another plume of smoke, his eyes distant. "It keeps you grounded. Keeps you human." Kuribayashi nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "And here I thought all you hardasses just ignored it. Pushed it down and kept marching." He chuckled, a genuine sound this time. "Oh, plenty do. But that's when it eats you alive. You can't bury everything forever, Sergeant. Sooner or later, it catches up with you."

Her eyes flickered, a flash of something unspoken crossing her face. She straightened slightly, as if guarding herself. "Guess that's another lesson, huh? Keep the fire controlled, but don't let it go out." He nodded, chuckling softly as he put out his cigar on the empty MRE packet next to him. "That's the plan, Sergeant. That's the plan." With a few more motions, the radio was fixed, and Yarek handed it back to Shino. "There, it should be good as new." She nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I guess I'll see you around, Captain." He nodded, smiling as well, his eyes scanning the horizon thoughtfully. "You too, Sergeant. You too."

As she left, Yarek's focus switched towards the setting sun. He thought about those they'd killed, those that he'd fought alongside with and watched pass. How they'd enjoy one final deployment, alongside brothers in arms.

Little did Yarek know, hundreds of miles far from him and his unit, the Navy was performing an operation which would change the outcome of his future engagements for the worse…

North Falmart Sea
Aboard the ORP Dabrowski
1000 Hours

The crew of the ORP Dabrowski, one of the only Polish Navy vessels in Falmart, were roused from their sleep by an order that was sent to them by GHQ, written by none other than the President himself. As the captain's eyes scanned the lines of text, he called his OOD over. "OOD, sound General Quarters." The officer nodded, and moved over to the 1MC panel mounted on the wall. He pulled the speaker down, and brought it up to his lips. "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battlestations. Set material condition Zebra throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Maintain operational silence and proceed to your stations in an orderly manner."

Once the crew was at their battlestations, the CO grabbed the microphone off the control panel, broadcasting his voice throughout the ship. "Crew, listen closely. We've been ordered by GHQ and the President to perform a strike on a Saderan position in Sidon. Time is of the essence, so get to work. TAO, you will take it from here." In the ship's CIC, just behind the bridge, the TAO, a newly minted Lieutenant, was already in the process of connecting to the live feed of a drone hovering above the position, as well as the coordinates based off of the latitude and longitude.

"CIC, Bridge, coordinates set." The CO lifted the microphone again, and after a moment of deliberation, he spoke one word that sealed the fate of every Saderan that was on the target's location. "Fire." The TAO entered the coordinates, and on cue, the ABL housing four RGM-109 Tomahawks raised itself out of it's storage. It turned to port, and after the lids on two tubes opened, the launcher spat out two missiles. "Bulldogs away, Track 7001 and 7002." The TAO relayed this information to the captain, while monitoring the status of the missile flight path.

Legio, Saderan Vassal State of Sidon
General Stultus's Villa
1030 Hours
The moonlight shone down on the planning table of General Stultus. For weeks, he has been in charge of the Northern Legion, tasked with pushing out the otherworlders. Again and again, charge after charge, his soldiers came back beaten, tired, injured, and sometimes, they didn't come back at all. Those that did, however, spoke of "The Forest Devils". When asked further about these warriors, their faces went white, and they fell into a fit of terror. The casualties mounted, the enemies seemingly invincible and almighty. However, the Emperor had Stultus, his most capable General, and perhaps the most moderate one.

He studied the map in front of him, his bristling mustache shaking in disdain and anger for the generals in the Emperor's inner circle. How dare did these men, whom had no experience in battle, whom had been placed upon their lofty positions by nepotism, how dare did they order young men to dash themselves against rocks? He shook his head in disappointment. There wasn't much he could do. They were all-controlling, and any move to do anything to save more than a twelfth of his men would warrant a "visit" by the Oprichnina.

He looked out the window, then back at the table. Suddenly, he heard a faint droning noise off in the distance. He looked out the window, his eyes narrowing. The faint trails of something in flight was the source, and by the looks of it, those things were headed straight for his location. His eyes widened, and he scrambled for the exit, but alas, too late. In an instant, the first projectile slammed into the villa, doing a pretty good job of hollowing out the building, and the second one pulverized the barracks and the Oprichnina sleeping quarters next to it, kicking up massive clouds of falling debris all around whomever was unlucky enough to be in the same area as the explosions.

Back to the Dabrowski…

The TAO looked at the drone feed, and back at the flight path, and after a few more minutes, she saw a brilliant flash as the Tomahawks found their target. When the smoke cleared, she saw that most of the structures were leveled, leaving two big craters where the barracks and villa would've been. "CIC, Bridge, positive impact." The CO mentally cheered, as the bridge and CIC erupted in cheers. He pulled up the microphone, and connected to the entire ship's intercom. "Bravo Zulu, Dabrowski. Godspeed, and goodnight. Out."

He stared at the live feed from the drone on the control panel, his eyes betraying a hint of realization and… sadness? He wondered, why did the Saderans throw themselves at a much more superior enemy? Why not just surrender, survive to live another day? He shook his head, and silently went back to his duties. He had a ship to run, a crew to command, and a war to fight. The ground troops did too, and he realized, that no matter where they'd be, there'll always be a chance for the unexpected to happen…

To be continued…

A/N: WOOHOO! MONTHS OF DEALING WITH A DETERIORIATING MENTAL STATE, ELABORATE PROCRASTINATION, SURGERY AND WORK, BEHOLD, THE FRUIT OF MY PROCRASTINATION! (I forgot to note, I am deeply sorry for not uploading sooner. I was focused on things going on in my life, and I could not upload fast enough. Thank you for bearing with me, for every step of the way.)

Final Word Count: 13249, excluding headers.