• The local time in Ixnay is
The squad had begun towards a city eastwards from the burning oilfield, a murky black oil rain seemed to cover their movements, but under their ballistic goggles, combat uniforms, and ballistic helmets - it didn't seem too bad. Not when you're covered under layer after layer of body armor, no, that's one of the things all that uncomfortable gear was good at, keeping you uncomfortably warm in the cold, and keeping you protected from the semi-natural occurrences of the world. Down the road, Private Sanders argued with Sergeant William about euthanizing an oil covered dog he had spotted, the general consensus was to leave it alone. And so the squad continued, a little more tense, but no less bound together in terms of relationship.
A church on a hill overlooked the small sized city, packed together in high density, they were on the other side of the city which was leading up the hill, half a kilometer across was the church at the highest point of it all. It was a good view of the city though, if the weather wasn't so shitty, they could've enjoyed a nice view of the harbor town. But that was for another time and not a warzone.

A sniper's round slammed into Corporal Collin's rocket launcher, barely missing the space between his MAAWS recoilless rifle and the back of his plate-carrier (though either way he wouldn't have been harmed at all.

“Contact!” Corporal Collins was already on the move, diving into a door of a large estate that overlooked the city, he actually knocked the door down, the rest of the squad followed him in.

“Where’s he at?” Williams loaded a high explosive round into his grenade launcher.

“I think the bell tower.” Corporal Collins said, still shaking with excitement.

“Patria you wanna call in a fire mission or level it with a grenade launcher.”

“Uhhh, let’s boom it with the 203, I’m not a CO or JTAC qualified.” She nodded and the squad rushed up the stairs. The Yytuskian sniper fired again, going through the glass, Patria tripped and fell, as the round grazed her helmet. Her helmet flew off.

“You good?” Sanders lifted her up.

“Yes, thank you, just kill her.”

Williams launched a grenade several tens of meters, it hit right in front, but didn’t kill the enemy sniper. However, had her leg injured. Her spotter carried her out, Patria stocked her M16A3 then fired, putting a round in his neck.

“God damn, nice shot.” Sanders commented.

The spotter fell, holding his neck. Patria shot again, this one hit his arm, the ground below the spotter pooled, the red color didn’t last, changing because of the gray hail that enveloped everyone.

“You want me to finish the sniper too?” Collins asked. Patria and Williams looked in their scopes, the enemy sniper was sat against the wall, sobbing.

“We’ll shoot her later.” Williams said, Patria looked at him. “I’m not really worried an injured sniper poses a serious threat.”

“I guess....” She sighed, “Okay. Let’s pack it up.”
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Hamfield, Talion Union Western Military District;
July 19th, 2027, 0840;
22nd Motorised Infantry Division, Heeresgruppe I, Yytuskian Wehrmacht;
Unteroffizier Erik Werner, CO of Edward 1-9

It had been a month of hard, bloody fighting to get to where they were. After the devastation at Mahrkus Creek, and the loss of the 117th. The loss of Stalin. The Red Werkes 1910 he had given him was still sitting snuggly in his pistol holster, the three extra mags in their respective place. Erik had been promoted after the Battle of Mahrkus Creek, to Unteroffizier, thus was given command of a new squad within the 22nd - Edward 1-9. Casting a glance at his unit, Edward 1-9, he huffed to himself before smiling at the newest recruit, Nikolai ‘Ruffnut’ Germanovich. The kid had apparently been born in Essen-Rostov, on the border of both Yytuskia and Helvana, and was a rather rough looking teenager, with scars and marks pocketing his face. Nobody had asked him how he got them, but still, one could make rumors.

The Schutzenpanzer bounced again, causing Werner’s helmet to smack the ceiling of the APC, earning a round of laughter from the squad.

“Ja, ja, laugh it up assholes.” Erik stated calmly, “Just wait until we get into combat, then your asses will have to follow this one around.”

The push into Talion so far had only been met with opposition from scattered Talion forces, and Amerigo marines, in the area of Mahrkus Creek. However, after the Talion government tried to nuke the city into oblivion, the High Command decided to merge both I./HG and II./HG into a single Heeresgruppe, to push heavy along the Talion coastline, with the aim to prevent more Amerigo forces from enter the war. Already, the OKK had deployed II’/Seeflotte to run patrols over the coast, stopping Amerigan air units from enter, while the OKL kept their eyes on possible troop movements by Amerigo across the Alafell Tributary, from the East. Now, with the 22nd Motorised supporting the 6th Armored in its push into Hamfield, the OKH planned to circumnavigate the issues with the Siege of Mahrkus Creek, by having the 6th surround the city while infantry and helicopters of the 13th Air Support gave cover. There were complications, however.

Scavvers, Amerigo soldiers, and Talion fanatics hide around every corner of this place, while Yytuskian paratroopers and snipers adorned every roof. It would be a brutal combat before the city could be taken, and then it would be on to the next one.


Heeresgruppe Eins:
Kampfgeschwader 15:
Schlachtgeschwader 29:
Jagdgeschwader 3:

Yytuskian Forces:
Oberkommando der Heer:
Heer 1 (I./H): 256,170 Men
Heeresgruppe Nord (I./HG)
Heeresgruppe Sud (II./HG)

Angriffgeschwader 1 (I./AG): 2,000 Men (Casualties: 0)

Oberkommando der Luftwaffe:
Luftflotte 3: 71,565 Men
Schlachtgeschwader 10 (X/SG)
Jagdgeschwader 3 (III,/JG)
Kampfgeschwader 15 (XV,/KG)

Oberkommando der Kreigsmarine:
Seeflotte 2: 23,678 Men
Escal Isle Fleet (Losses: 0)
Hamfield, Talion Union Western Military District;
July 19th, 2027, 1840;
105th Airborne Special Forces
Staff Sergeant. Jack Concitor

The sun was beginning to fade in the city with no skyscrapers, shadows had begun long and drawn as the moon made it's way up the sky. Still blue, a trait of the summer, though it was beginning to turn black at the very edge of the sky.

Sergeant Xaysana stocked his M4, aligning his gun with a masked solder directly fifty meters to his front. The enemy soldier had appeared to be too distracted by a girl to the left of him. ‘Fatal mistake.’ Xaysana thought. Then he fired. The round went clean through the enemy fighter’s neck, collapsing him.

“Good.” Concitor commented, Xaysana double tapped the body. “We’re clear.”

“Wright, you’re up.” Concitor waved up the team marksman. Wright moved up to the door of a townhouse and tried at the handle - locked. “Xaysana.” Concitor said. Xaysana took a tomahawk out and whacked the door handle. The handle broke off and fell, making a clinging sound. Wright then kicked down the door, quickly snapping left, then right.

“Clear.” Wright whispered. Xaysana and Concitor moved in. A navy F-35B roared over. A building a mile north of them exploded, followed by yelling, and then brief gunfire. But eventually it all died down. “How’s our medic doing?” Wright asked as Xaysana set the injured man against the wall.

“Not well.” Xaysana returned to bandaging their medic. Wright exhaled, reloading his MK14. He had only just finished reloading when the other door on the townhouse opened. Wright snapped to it.

“Blue. Blue.” Sergeant Patria whispered, the rest of her squad had followed her in. The Sergeant was fairly attractive, and not just because most of the men around her hadn't seen many civilian girls in months. It was just naturally that way, an odd choice of employment for her, but family tradition was family tradition.

“Agh thank God.” Wright lowered his rifle, relaxing against the wall behind him. Concitor stood up to greet Patria.

“Staff Sergeant.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around Concitor.

“You look tired.” Exhaled, making the statement with a taint of iroy on it.

“Not just me.” She dropped her EAGLE-III bag on the floor and motioned at the rest of her squad. “I’ll let you take over, your team.”

“Alright,” He continued “I know you no one wants to, but are there any volunteers to keep watch?” The entire squad raised their hands slowly, it was heroic but his men still needed to sleep. “Who hasn’t slept in 36 hours?” he asked. Of the eleven soldiers, five raised their hands. “You guys can sleep, everyone else is on watch.”
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"You call this a fiery crash, I call a dynamic entry" lauged like a maniac Third Lieutenant Oswin Pentaghast, SAS probably most psychopatic who somehow still manages to serve into the unit. The suspiciously "requisitioned" biplane the two crushed was nothing more than a bunch of scrap metal that crashed into smouldering ruins that had seen better days.

It was a miracle that this crappy air vessel managed to carry all six of them, as if the hand of God had been extended to their assistance. Larence had been the(un)lucky one hanging from the sides; a terrible experience he wouldn't dare trying ever again probably in his life. SAS were hard men, experienced by the hardness of war and dedicated training; no female has joined into their ranks thus far but many have tried was as equally as admirable.

The only thing that ever bothered him was being under the command of his half psycho superior. Questioning command wasn't his forte but it would surely become after this bitter experience, or more like a sour taste of shit.

"Where the heck did that psycho gone to this time?" asked angrily Staff Sergeant Geoffrey Hornwood. He had teamed up with their superior before but the man was become erratic if the sergeant got anrgy.

A big explosion was heard on the distance. "UPF won't be happy for this.." but before one of the privates finish the psycho came followed by a blizzard... in the middle of August "It's raining fokin cocaine.." and that smile would forever be branded on his memory core.
10 Miles North of Hamfield Talion Union Western Military District
July 20th, 2027, 1600 Hours
127th Para. 3d LAV-CRV Brigade Combat Team
CWO. Mark Lexus

“Sleepy, Mark? This is basically a suicide mission, we need you back, c’mon.” Mark’s gunner ruffled his shoulder, trying not to hit any of the internal systems.

“Actually you just me woke up.” Mark shook his head, putting his helmet on. “Okay - We’re REDCON 1. Crew get switched on.”

“Copy that!” Jake Kaiser, the gunner grinned, switching his optics to thermal mode. He tapped the screen two times. “You know I love when you say that, ‘get switched on?’ Every time you say it we get into a whole lot of fun shit.” Jake said, testing the intercom.

“You enjoy this a little much, don’t you? Try not to terrify the recon troops in the back. Speaking of-” Mark switched his intercom on. “One minute to disembark, we’re about a mile out.”

The LAV convoy rolled quickly and aggressively towards the Yytuskian troop positions on a ridge overlooking a flat open field, attack aircraft approached from miles away. The LAV Convoy began firing.

25mm chaingun shells dipped over onto the ridge with Yytuskian soldiers on it, passing over their heads, some airburst rounds injured a few soldiers but for the most part the Yytuskians kept their head down. And then the Yytuskian paratroopers counterattacked with a bevy of rockets, the first one exploded right over Mark's vehicle, sending shrapnel across the front of the armor. There was shouting, some from Laila, and mostly cursing from Jake as the crew was knocked out of their positions by the pressure wave of the rocket. The lights in the vehicle lost power for half the second but the crew paid no mind.

“Stay frosty!” Mark shouted, “All units, line formation, line formation. ” Mark switched his radio over to command channel.

“I got him! I got light armor, anti armor teams, light tanks, everything!” Jake pulled the shot on the mounted chaingun, setting the rounds to airburst. Mark looked in his thermals, the soldiers who had previously fired a rocket at their convoy now were missing limbs.

“Fuckin a dude!"

Mark switched back to the vehicle channel and then opened the back door for the soldiers to dismount from. The first enemy tank appeared on Mark’s thermal optics, simultaneously all the LAV-CRVs began to focus all their fire on the hostile tank before someone had the good sense to fire a rocket, the tank erupted.

“All units, break contact, repeat, all units break contact.” Was the radio call on all channels, not ten minutes into the firefight. The soldiers, who were already dismounted, instead just decided to hop on top of the LAV-CRVs.

“What?” Jake asked, astonished. ‘Are you fucking kidding?” Mark just sighed.

“Jake, call for indirect.” Mark ordered, prompting Jake to do so, he began working at the radio for a connection to an artillery battery. “Requesting fire mission. Grid 2-5-5-6-1-0, thirty dismounts and two panzers in the open. Fire for effect.” Jake waited impatiently for a response, tapping against the radio semi-softly with his fist.

“Copy. Fire mission Grid 2-5-5-6-1-0. Thirty dismounts and two panzers in the open.” The missile artillery operator replied. “Shot over.”

“Shot out.” Jake repeated and then there was a ten second pause, the LAV-CRVs began to pull out. Mark’s taking the last spot of the four vehicles in the convoy.

“Splash over.” Came the call.

“Splash, out.” Jake repeated again, and then the area they had previously shot at, exploded in flames. Two A-10s passed overhead, even more fireballs erupted behind them. Jake opened the hatch turned out to get a peek at the explosion. The convoy began back towards the base, Jake went on a rant about the tactical uselessness of human bait for the Amerigan military. But for the most part things went quiet, they met with the Kistani soldiers on the way, passing them by and talking to them, of course there was some contraband traded between the soldiers - mostly porn and nothing that wasn't benign. But the night was quiet if busy, mostly dictating the troop movements of the 127th.

But the 105th had anything but a quiet night.
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8 Miles North of Hamfield, Talion Union Western Military District;
July 20th, 2027, 1609;
22nd Motorised Infantry Division, Heeresgruppe I, Yytuskian Wehrmacht;
Unteroffizier Erik Werner, CO of Edward 1-9

It was tight, cramped, stifling even, within the Schutzenpanzer IV’s rear compartment, Werner found. Add on to the fact that the 22nd were currently engaging Amerigan LAV with their 2.5 and 7.5cm PaKs and APks, then the stifling feeling was amped several fold. The light had not been given to disembark, not until the drivers felt that the enemy armour was significantly cowered, then the anti-tank infantry would do their work. Aimless military chatter filled his headset, blaring against the sharp cracks of automatic gunfire and explosions. One stood out above all.

~ “Attention all Infantry Channels assisting Goliath, this is Goliath Actual, disembark, repeat, disembark. We have them on the run, get out there and start mopping up, over.” ~

Grinning to himself as he cocked his MG, Erik swiftly ordered Edward 1-9 out of the back, and into the fray. All around the field, other units of the 22nd were doing the same as Erik.

“Call out targets!” Werner stated loudly, letting loose a volley of 7.92mm ammunition at a group of LAV tankers who were bailing. “Stay grouped up, and tear them apart!”

Slowly, Edward 1-9 adopted a marching fire formation, slowly pushing forward as the engaged multiple enemy light targets at the same time. Around, the 22nd’s armour was pushing up along with them, separating the infantry with armour to give them cover if need be, while they engaged the LAV-25s. One of Werner’s men dropped to one knee, firing her Panzerfaust 60/20 at the turret of a LAV, scoring a hit.

“Nice shot Sam!” he called out, hip firing his MG into a crowd of Amerigan infantry, tearing some of them apart. “Keep it up!”

~ “Attention, this is Edward Actual, come in Edward 1-9.” ~ Rang through Erik’s ears, causing him to reach up from his rig to respond.

“Copy Actual, what is it?”

~ “We need all assets to pull out of the AO ASAP. Radar shows multiple incomings, over. Get your boys out of there.” ~

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, turning to his squad, “Copy that Actual! 1-9! Fall back, fall back! Retreat! Incoming!! I’ll lay cover, go!”

They turned and ran, all of them, before a trio of Amerigan A-10s streaked overhead, decimating several of the Sch.Pz. to their left. The unit quickly jumped into a series of foxholes left by retreating Talion forces and ducked as the A-10s made another pass.

“Fuck me,” a Soldat commented, shielding his head from shrapnel, “we ought to be going about this another way! Like, diplomatically or some shit!”

“Well, you know command!” Samantha stated, “believing themselves to hold all the strategic cards, while we grunts get buttfucked!”

“You’d know a thing or two about buttfucking, wouldn’t you Sam?” came the Soldat’s immediate reply, earning a chorus of chuckles as Edwar 1-9 dug into the holes.

“Lock und load boys,” Erik grinned as he noticed the Amerigan forces were pulling back, placing his MG on its bipod and feeding another belt into the feed, “who knows, maybe those pricks will come back for a good wholloping! If they do, let's rip ‘em good!”

Kindreds Sea, 250 kilometres Southeast of Vonnen;
July 23rd, 2026, 0100 Hours;
1st Kriegsmarine, Seeflotte II, Escal Isle Fleet, Yytuskian Kriegsmarine;
Oberstgeneral des See Siegfried Normandie, aboard the Flagship KMS Ugarit Bay;

Well, it was official. Command were fucking idiots. Or, more specifically, the Upper Branch. Pulled away from the Talion Sea, Seeflotte II had been tasked with sailing north to stop supposed Amerigan military shipping from getting to the front. Although, in Seigfried Normandie’s opinion, he should’ve been sent to the fucking Omnium Sea with Seeflotte III to search there. No, instead, he was “gifted” - and he used that term loosely - a tanker ship, commandeered by several scientists from the military division of the GKIEp. Top Secret, they said.

“Bah,” he murmured to himself, “bunch of pretentious, tech wankers.”

Still, orders were orders, and his was to do a heightened combat patrol around the sea, with refuels and rearms to take place in Vahltunskh, before he received anything new. A month at sea. Oh boy.


Heeresgruppe Eins: Engaging Amerigan forces north of, and at, Hamfield.
Kampfgeschwader 15:
Schlachtgeschwader 29:
Jagdgeschwader 3:

Yytuskian Forces:
Oberkommando der Heer:
Heer 1 (I./H): 256,170 Men
Heeresgruppe Nord (I./HG)
Heeresgruppe Sud (II./HG)

Angriffgeschwader 1 (I./AG): 2,000 Men (Casualties: 0)

Oberkommando der Luftwaffe:
Luftflotte 3: 71,565 Men
Schlachtgeschwader 10 (X/SG)
Jagdgeschwader 3 (III,/JG)
Kampfgeschwader 15 (XV,/KG)

Oberkommando der Kreigsmarine:
Seeflotte 2: 23,678 Men
Escal Isle Fleet (Losses: 0)
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Talion Military forces have become more unified as of late, launching a series of guerilla warfare attacks on enemy personnel.

A representative of the 'Talion Royalist Army' has delivered a message of cooperation with Amerigan military forces in the country.
The apparent leader of the TRA has been identified as General Dezerkeich Freidlander, a decorated war hero in the Talion military.
9 Miles North of Hamfield, Talion Union Western Military District
July 20th, 2027
Man-at-Arms Franz Pera, 121st Mechanized Assault Corps

"Alright, everyone out." The remaining eight members of Pera's squad exited the APC's rear doors, stretching in the open after the cramped ride. Around them, other vehicles unloaded their own infantry compliments, which did more of the same before forming up and moving through the brush and occasional houses. As they did so, they passed weary Amerigan troops returning and exchanged brief greetings; the foreigners returning from another shift of ruthless urban warfare and the Kistani switching out for another day of stalemate or, if their enemies felt like skipping a few meals, another round of pitched firefights. Two of Franz' comrades had perished within the same run-down car shop during a five-hour back and forth between several dozen patriots of each nation. In the end, no real gains had been achieved for either side during that engagement, as the building had been mostly destroyed by the end of the fight anyways.

The airstrike just minutes before had bought time to move in to roughly the same areas that had been occupied by their allies earlier, and as the freshly blooded men wove into and through cover, sporadic gunfire once again picked up as each side twisted and maneuvered into areas of combat.For his own part, Franz didn't see a thing, nor was there any real action in the immediate vicinity as two of the unloaded APZs rolled down the road they walked beside, around the outskirts of a tiny little hamlet.

"Pera, cover me." One of the others quietly moved along the fence of a lone house, moving into the yard. Franz moved his assault rifle to aim at the general direction of the windows, keeping alert for any movement in front of him. He jumped briefly when the crack of a firearm sounded off down the street and a flurry of action filled the periphery of his view. Three feet behind him, a soldier crumpled under his own weight as if he were a puppet with its strings sliced in twain. Loud clattering sounded out from a weapon connecting with pavement. It was perhaps a moment in which Pera's life would be saved by the hand of God, for it was not loud enough to cover a shout in German. Franz' world seemed to shrink and slow as his mind grabbed onto the cry of Sergeant Riggs.


The entire squad moved to throw themselves to the dirt and cement as the rapid burst of a machine gun tore through the air. Two proved too slow to obey and paid dearly for their insufficiently prompt response, instead being aided by heavy rounds throwing them back and leaving gaping wounds in their torsos and arms. The forward APC let off a rapid shot that went wide into the trunk of a tree, spraying the area with shards of wood as it abruptly halted and began to reverse into a driveway. The second received several rounds as it moved behind the house entirely.

Pera rolled on his side into the gate of the yard, wincing as his pistol and sheathed spatha pressed into his legs. Crawling forward, he took a spot aside his companion - if he remembered correctly, a Goth named Johann Kras - and rammed the barrel of his rifle into a board of the fence. Signs of dry-rot were apparent as the wood fell out easily, creating a gap through which he could see down the open lawns and undeveloped plots of land to a well-hidden position from which steady bursts of gunfire emitted, creating lines of chips in the street and holes in the sides of the few abandoned cars behind which other men laid flat, letting off single aimed shots to avoid attracting the focus of several different fireteams. Para sighed, settling into a laying position and flicking his rifle into automatic mode. The others may have been pinned, but he and Kras could likely fire back as they pleased for some time.
2LT. Dylan Miller

“Okay, masks up. Let’s do this, don’t fuck this up, we have one shot at this and only one shot.” Dylan pulled his balaclava over his head and pulled the charging handle on his OBR-556. “Hang tight, the Growlers are gonna take a swing at the control tower with some rockets, then we’ll sweep in and clear house, hooah?”

“Hooah!” The squad shouted back in a chorus. Dylan took a gaze at the ship, up close, the enemy transport ship was terrifying.

“Why aren’t the gatling guns on the ship working?” Pvt. Colin Stoner shouted over the helicopter.

“The EA-18s turned their AN/ALQ-131 pods on! The CIWS is having a hard time tracking any targets! This includes us, but it doesn’t last forever, we have five minutes until the CIWS starts working again!” Dylan replied, shaking. At this point the transport was only one kilometer out, the swarm of MH-60Ls flew in a low altitude. Helicopters attempted to lift off but were swatted down immediately by fast air. “Thirty seconds!” Dylan shouted and waved his finger around, something he had seen in a movie.

“That’s not what that gesture means lieutenant!” WO. Mitchell Stryker yelled over the helicopter blades, smiling.

“Oh yeah? How about this one!” Dylan waved his middle finger in Mitchell’s face, with a shit-eating grin on.

“Feet dry!” The pavehawk pilot radioed as they passed over the warship. “Go go go!”

“No fear!” Mitchell shouted as he fast roped down, the deck crew immediately scrambled for firearms, a few surrendered, those who managed to get to a rifle were gunned down quickly by Mitchell.

“I’m next!” Sergeant Haymaker shoved Dylan out of the way and fastroped down, once on the ground Dylan took the rope and slid down the touchdown caught him by surprise and almost collapsed him, but he maintained his balance, and hid it well a bullet grazed his FAST Ballistic helmet, almost knocking it off.

Miller cursed and then c-clamped his gun turning it sideways, the enemy naval security team stumbled out the door of the burning hangar, some on fire. He pulled the trigger on his OBR-556 two or three times, the first and second shot missed but the third nailed one in the head. For a second Dylan wanted to let the feeling sink in, it was an excitement he hadn’t felt since his sixteenth birthday, on the other hand he just took someone’s life, mixed bag. But that was before SPC. Eliza Cheryll got hit in the leg on the rope, and fell onto the helicopter deck.

“I got her!” Haymaker shouted, laying Eliza against a cargo crate. The second lieutenant was dangerously distracted, too many things happening. The time seemed to slow down for a second. Dylan blinked, recalled his rank, observed what his team was doing.

Sergeant. Dave Haymaker was tending to Eliza Cheryll who had been hit in the leg. Warrant Officer. Mitchell Stryker was gunning down an entire squad. Specialist Eliza Cheryll got gunned in the leg on her way down. Private. Colin Stoner had moved with the larger second element of Alpha team.

The rest of alpha was clearing the left flank with the airborne troops. Then he snapped out of it, blinking. “Changing mags!” Mitchell shouted, Dylan took his place resting his OBR-556 on the cargo crate, Dylan focused through his M68 CCO, aligning his rifle with the neck of a soldier who was holding a smoke grenade, and was about to throw it. He shot her, the round went clean through her neck, splattering all over the soldier behind her. Dylan shot him too, this one went through his head. The final one tried to dive but Dylan put three rounds in his hip, he struggled to get up screaming.

“Cl-” Dylan stuttered trying to say ‘clear’ closed his eyes for a good quarter minute and took a breath. “Clear. Alpha team, report.”

“Clear left, marine recon is gonna move through the left side of the ship.” The agent he had placed with the airborne troops had reported, then he watched as the first paratrooper tossed a flashbang into the next room, and then a frag. The rest of that team sheltered on both sides of the door, waited for both to detonate, subsequently firing wildly into the room.

“Go go!” the CIO agent pressed, and then the team filed into the room disappearing.

“All units, Warlord Actual, Bravo has secured the C&C of the ship, continue sweep.” 1LT. Nate Fick radioed calmly.

“Haymaker, stay with Eliza.” Dylan ordered, “Hey, Stryker, on me let’s go.”

“Roger.” Mitchell acknowledged, Dylan gave in to a slight smile but briefly got his head back in order. “Pizza!” Mitchell shouted, opening up the door, there was what Mitchell would later describe to be a pile of ‘corpses and human stew’ piled in the room.

“Shit, that’s disgusting.” Dylan commented, then opened the next doorway, a lone engineer stood, attempting to fire his pistol, which jammed on him. Dylan wasted him, firing into his chest three times. “Bit overkill.”

“No bonus points, though.” Mitchell joked, shrugging. “Next one you might get a killstreak.” The room they had just cleared was a large cargo room, ammo, missile launchers, an unidentified device, which Dylan snapped a picture of, and then continued into the engine room. Unlike the cargo room, the left and right portion of the engine room were connected into one, so by the time they got there, Alpha team and the Airborne were pinned in an intense firefight. Shouting, gunfire, echoes of both, and the sound of the engine itself made it hard to hear anything.

Dylan's ears rung, he snapped his headset on and flanked left, the water in the engine room began to rise slowly. And then there was a Yytuskian spraying pellets towards the Amerigans with a shotgun. Dylan pumped a round into his head. Then another as his lifeless corpse ragdolled against the floor of the ship.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Mitchell shouted, the Marines slowly stopped spraying bullets towards the general direction of whatever was left of the enemy. SSG. Walsh appeared from the other side of the room, tapping the shoulder of Dylan several times.

“Wha- Stop, what’s up dude?” Dylan asked, confused.

“Cap wants to see you, he’s up in the command deck, I’ll take ya there.” Walsh lead the way, not avoiding the corpses that littered the halls. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie. Dylan had to gag a little bit.

“I’ve heard that sound before.” Walsh laughed as he made his way to the command center. “Right, there it is, I’m gonna go vomit, be back soon.” He gave Miller a pat on the back and then left.

“Welcome, fine job, I just got sent your guntape.” The captain nodded. Miller took his balaclava off, stuffing it neatly into his SPCS. “Just uhh, wanted to congratulate you, you guys look like you got hit the hardest.”

“Yes sir.” Dylan nodded and took off to find the rest of his squad. A good fifteen minutes passed before he found himself sat against the wall on the helicopter deck. The cameras were all shut down by Bravo earlier, so suddenly the masks were all gone. Walsh sat himself by Miller, and then lit a cigarette and offered Dylan one.

“Later.” He waved it away.

“Hang on, found something in the hull you’ll like.” Walsh took out a thumb-drive and handed it to Miler, who inspected it a moment before plugging it into his smartphone. Then he took his helmet and dropped it on the deck.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“80s music, porn, movies, things you like.” Walsh replied liting his cigarette. “Porn’s in German though.” Dylan spit his drink out, finding that more funny than it should have been. “Classy.” He commented.

Then Miller took his tactical headset off in exchange for his personal headphones. “The Man Who Sold The World’s a good one, Running Gun Blues.” Miller, having witnessed his first taste of gory combat, thought it appropriate to listen to running gun blues. Holding his headphones in between them to listen to it.

“How’d it go with that girl?” Walsh asked, trying to not talk over the song.

“Well, I have a long story.”
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30,000 ft, Coast Of Western Escal, Yytuskia
August 1st, 2027, 02:00 Hours
150th Special Light Airborne Group, 1st Battalion
Sergeant First Class. Jackson Matthews

“Just us?” Jackson asked, standing up.

“Correct. Our navy and gunships are occupying their air defenses and fighters will choke up here. It’s all up to Airlift Command now, and there’s us.” Martinez replied, pointing to a rough altitude map whilst shuffling his SPCS around, before dragging the charging handle on his M4 carbine.

“Hey, one plane and some operators is all you need.” Adam patted Jackson on the back, and then put his FAST-Ballistic helmet on.

“Go to red!” The loadmaster shouted, the lights in the C-17 dimmed and turned red. Any sitting Rangers were now standing up and facing out the exit.

“Okay! We’ll meet at MSR Dagger! Bravo will meet at MSR Cutthroat!” Captain Hugez shouted, and waved his right finger around. “Kill on three!” He hollered. “One. Two. Three!”

“Kill!” All twenty operators shouted back in a brief, yet fierce chorus.

“One. Two. Three!”

“Kill!” All twenty soldiers filed out in a punctual manner. “Go go!” Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Jackson hurled himself from the plane, and then seemed to resume as his plummet began. The fall was ultimately uneventful, but as soon as he passed the clouds the altitude sensors began to go off, Jackson reached straight for the cord and yanked. The parachute glide more graceful to say the least,

Jackson landed on his feet, repacked his chute, and readied his weapon immediately only to realize there was noone there, but him. The wind rumbled behind him, Jackson flipped direction and then pointed his weapon up. There was a brief, but tense moment of silence as the wind died down. Suddenly, Martinez, still parachuting, ended up landing almost directly on top of Jackson and knocking him down.

“What the fuck!” Jackson called out.

“Shhh… Chill out man, they’re gonna hear us.” Martinez said, repacking his parachute. Jackson got up, but stumbled back down at the sound and rumble of a large explosion a few miles south.

“Someone needs to tell the fucking Air Force to calm the fuck down.” Jackson remarked and got up, as Martinez helped him to his rifle.

“Hoo-ah.” Martinez examined outwards, seeing nothing but tracers going back and forth just barely above the treeline. As nearby landing forces and Yytuskian forces dragged out the battle, there appeared to be nothing further down but grass and trees.

“Dingo 2-1 come in.” The radio crackled to life.

Jackson held the radio up to his face and gripped down on the sound key. “Go ahead.”

“We need you to pull some magic out of your ass, get to the MSR pronto.” Martinez exchanged a brief look of annoyance at Jackson, before kicking off a jog towards their objective, both pulling the charging handles on their carbines. Jackson and Martinez skulked forwards into the woods, and unknowingly into enemy lines. Neither operator was aware where exatcly they were on the battlespace, so they simply reverted to their training and acted as if they were behind enemy lines the entire time, holding their rifles forward and close.

“Shit’s spooking me out.” Martinez whispered, to which Jackson nodded but said nothing.

What looked like a machine gun team paced across twenty meters in front of the two of them. Jackson and Martinez looked to eachother, silently confirming their mutual suspiscions. The unknown group was carrying Yytuskian weapons and set up on a ridge, their forward gunner setting down his machine gun and before opening fire near Jackson. Immediately green tracer bullets snapped past his head, sinking into the ground around him and the trees to his rear.

“This is bullshit!” Martinez yelled.

“Clear hot!” Jackson shouted. He lowered his stance to a crouch before letting five bursts of fire towards the Yytuskian machine gunner, before snapping to the soldier to his right and then firing again.

“Fuck, fuck.” Martinez cursed, double tapping the body of his ammo-bearer with his M4, and then putting a third 5.56 bullet into one of the Yytuskian corpses.

“Was that you Dingo 2-1?” Captain Hugez transmitted over the radio.

“A-ffirm.” Martinez clicked on his radio and replied, exhaling after, he tried to find a cigarette on his person, but when his normal pouch proved to be empty, Martinez let loose a flurry of a curses in his native tongue.

“Good one, continue to the MSR, out.” And then the radio clicked off again.

“Errand squad on the move.” Martinez complained, Jackson shrugged and lead the way.
10 Miles South of SLAG Team Alpha, Eastern Escal, Yytuskia
August 1st, 2027, 03:00 Hours
Light Airborne Recon Corpsman
HM3: Hospital Corpsman Third Class. Camilla Anderson

“What the fuck happened to you?” Camila asked carrying the dying special forces soldier over her back.

“I got caught on a tree… The k-krauts cut me down and started cutting me open. Than-” Her patient spoke.

“You don’t have to speak from here.” She whispered half panicked, “Jesus fucking christ.” Camila muttered. Camila wasn’t sure what it was, whether it was the shock from having killed her first enemy soldier, or what her patient had just described. Eventually Camila spotted an isolated hamlet, lit up, several fires in the distance miles away from it. Approaching the set of buildings she did a hasty job of an attempt to scout out enemy combatants but stopped abruptly to return to her patient.

“Doc.” The dying soldier begged.

“You’ll be okay, I promise.” She said and then entered into the cul-de-sac, and then set the wounded soldier against the western facing wall of a bungalow. Camilia caught her breath for a second. “Okay, okay.”

“Just below the chest.” He winced. Camila removed the carrier-lite, which was in poor condition anyways.

“What’s your name?” She attempted to distract him as she injected morphine in. “Hold on to this.” She removed the carbine sling and passed her M4 rifle to the soldier, and then took her helmet off. No need to remove the combat uniform, it was already cut up enough. At this point the wounded soldier’s abdomen was so red and cut, it was hard to distinguish between body parts you would normally be able to tell from several meters away.

“How bad is it?” The soldier moaned. Camila snapped out of whatever jetlag was left immediately and went straight to work.

“Are you numb yet at all?” She asked, he nodded a yes.

“George Dietrich.” Dietrich finally said his name and then moved for his dog tags but then stopped himself. Camila shone a flashlight whether to see if all the organs were intact, there were some vessels and
areas with heavy cutting, she poured sugar on those

Dietrich began to close his eyes. “You gotta stay awake, can’t go to sleep.” And then Camila shifted his head up a little towards her. And then a couple more needles into his shoulder. By now she had used up half her bag trying to keep his heart rate steady.

“What… did you do for a living... before this.” Dietrich attempted vague small talk.

“Amateur model, and then I went into medical school, became a paramedic, now I’m here.” Camila informed him, stitching his wounds closed as fast as possible.

“Behin-” He stopped, a small crowd of angry Yytuskians began throwing stones. Camila took her M45A1 out and pointed it towards the crowd, clicking the safety off.

“Back up!” She shouted. “Halten!” Camila tried her hand at German she learned through Kronatan movies. Most of the civilians who were only equipped with kitchen knives at the most, backed up. She clicked on her portable radio. “This is Bunny 1-6, I need support immediately.” Failing to notify anyone of her grid. But the crowd was growing tired of the facade and inched closer. Throwing a flashbang might have shock Dietrich and killed him so Camila backed against the wall with her pistol. She needed something to show she wasn’t bullshitting and so shot a Yytuskian military age teenager in his lower leg, the crowd scrambled away. Teenager writhing in pain but limping away with the help of his friends.

“Oh no.” She returned to Dietrich who just held one dog tag in hand. And then his arm failed him, as he let go.

“Is my squad okay?” He asked.

“They’re fine, you guys are tough bastards.” Camila remarked finally. And then Dietrich closed his eyes and let go.

“Blue.” Someone called out in the dark, the green light of night vision illuminated a pair of eyes. Camila lowered her weapon which was instinctively pointed at him.

“Unit?” Camila shuddered.

“150th SLAG, I’m Cameron, they call me camo though.” He stepped into the streetlight and his rifle still halfway up, pointed towards the end of the road. She handed him her bloody dog tag, her neck and lower also soaked in a pool of warm, liquidy, blood.“LARC?”

“Hooah.” She answered wiping her unintentionally red dyed hair with an extra white undershirt.

“Need an escort?” He asked.

“I need some time.” She answered.

“Rog.” He gave an informal salute and continued on his way. Camila sat there in the light for a good minute.
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