• The local time in Ixnay is
March 5, 2028; 17:03 Hours; Sunday
Mt. Reddington; New Arnoa; Arnoa
150th Special Light Airborne Group
SSgt. Liam Wilde

And that was the session, a group of Arnoan soldiers departed from them towards the sunset, getting in their various vehicles and driving off somewhere, probably to some sort of whorehouse. They had actually invited Liam and Ishmael, but reports were that sex workers in the region had STDs, and Liam wasn’t risking his career for some skank.

“Yo, are we off tomorrow?” Cpl. Ishmael asked, sighing, he and Wilde watched the sky as it began to fade from orange. The base that surrounded them was built with walls made of hescos, with a few semi-modular structures comprised of an ambiguous material, the floor was dirt and, for being on a hill, it was exposed to a great amount of sunlight usually. “Fuck I’m so tired.” Ishmael complained.

“Yup.” Wilde stretched for a couple of second, about to take his kevlar off before… Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something. Wilde gave Ishmael a friendly bump on his left shoulder, Ishmael turned his head left and visualized a bright column of smoke, several in actuality all mixed into a large bag. The column of smoke was visible from the mountain easily, as the mountain they were on overlooked cities and a flat plateau littered with houses, buildings, cars, and more, this was miles upon miles. And, aside from the column of smoke, it was actually really nice to look at. “Get in. Get in.” Wilde ordered.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ishmael opened the door to the RG-31 letting Wilde slide in first, two Arnoan soldiers called for the pair of special operators about fifty meters behind them, the pair of special forces soldiers looked back.

“Hey!” The first one called, and then behind them a third Arnoan soldier appeared, carrying his rifle in a casual fashion.

“What now?” Ishmael rolled his eyes and looked back, dropping his bag in the vehicle.

“Hang on, wait for us!” The Arnoan soldier spoke slowly and took his time with words, he was just as annoying off-duty as on-duty it had seemed. And then the Arnoan soldier raised his rifle, Ishmael unstrapped his M45A1 handgun and shot three times, sending the foreign trainee to hell, and the other two ducking. Wilde looked back, shouldered his M4 and squeezed a round into the second Arnoan, the third attempted to run away before he was finished with a gunshot wound in the neck.

“What the fuck is happening?” Wilde thought aloud as he wiggled his way into the driver position.

“I dunno, just stay on the lookout, I have no doubt those assholes were going to jump us.”

“Altis 0-1 to Stratis 0-6.” A callsign previously unknown had radioed, the ambient noise had clarified whoever was on the other end of the radio’s presence in a helicopter.

“Go ahead.” Ishmael scrambled for the vehicle radio.

“Make your way to Wagner Airfield ASAP, it’s a fucking mess, don’t trust any Arnoan soldiers, we’ve had at least five green on blue incidents. Echo 01 actual, out.” And with that the radio clicked off. Ishmael looked up from the radio and shrugged, staring at Wilde for answers.

“I don’t fucking know.” The sentence trailed from there and with a pang of eeriness in his stomach, Wilde began down the dirt road.

In getting out of the military camp he didn’t wait for anyone to clear him to actually leave, and Wilde instead rammed the front gates with the large MRAP. Breaking the front perimeter, not that any smart enemy would use it.

“I hated those MPs anyways, assholes.” The clearing out of the base was a forest lining on both sides down a dirt strip, the elevation was steeping downwards so the normally bulky vehicle didn’t have any issues with speed.

“Who is it, the Yytuskians?” Ishmael naively assumed.

“Nah, can’t be. No way Yytuskians dressed up as Arnoan soldiers and tried to shoot at us, this doesn’t look like it’s limited to us.” Liam theorized, unsure of himself, he looked between the road and Ishmael a few times.

“Okay, plenty of roadblocks down this road though, I really don’t feel like running into one.” Ishmael sighed and then continued searching his surroundings, spotting generally shady individuals but due to the speed of the vehicle he was in, they were already gone by the time he had seen them, so he kept his mouth shut and hoped that no one had seen them, “Ah… Nevermind then…” He muttered and looked forward only to find a checkpoint lining the horizon in front of them, Arnoan troops in a line formation behind various sandbag fortifications with barbed wire in front. “No fuckin way.” He whined.

“We’re gonna ram into them.”

“Gotta be kidding.”

“Hang on."


“Get down!” Liam barked.

Ishmael ducked his head as two 40mm grenades slammed into the frontal compartment of the vehicle, spiraling it out of control, Liam managed to keep the deteriorating vehicle from spiralling off the cliff and instead ran through the razor wire, rolling the truck two times before it stopped. Grabbing his M4A1 quite aggressively, he shoved the driver side door open, tossing two M18 smoke grenades outside, before realigning himself with the Earth, he looked below him. Ishmael was unconscious and in none too good shape. With that, Liam decided to secure their area, he hopped on top of the now flipped vehicle into a firing position and spread his legs evenly before shooting a young Arnoan grenadier. He squeezed another two rounds into his team leader, and finished the final Arnoan with two shots to the leg and one to the neck, he exhaled and the red flushed from his face.

He reached below, back into the vehicle grabbing his buddy and pulling him out, with 60 pounds of gear, carefully making sure Ishmael didn’t collide with anything. Liam laid Ishmael on the top of the vehicle and then reached for his portable two-way radio.

“Altis 0-1 this is Stratis 0-6, we have a man down requesting CASEVAC, position is marked with white smoke, Grid 0-1-3-1-4-6.” Liam rushed the words and gasped before catching his breath, and then dropped his head down as he listened for Ishmael’s breathing…
It was there, just barely though, he felt Ishmael’s warm breath on his ear and felt a pang of relief, just before looking up.

An OH-6M littlebird appeared with a marksman strapped onto a bench in a firing position, the marksman shouldered a MK11 Mod 0, as he scouted the area for enemies, before saying something to the pilot.

“Stratis 0-1, Altis actual, hang tight.” Was the radio call that came as the helicopter maneuvered closer to the ridge.
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March 5, 2028; 17:15 Hours; Sunday
IBS Valkyrie off of Lers-Plaisir; New Arnoa
19th Special Detachment Burgundian Naval Command Sodermark

“Sir I am picking up chatter from the Amerigoan forces, they are scrambling in response to some sort of explosion, it seems pretty bad.” The radioman on the IBS Valkyrie told his commander. A buzz filled the bridge.

“Right, inform Oberst Hammerschmidt that his troops around Arnoa will be met by landing craft in 45 minutes and that will be providing air cover for their withdrawal.” the commander paused to think about the larger threat assessment that he has discussed with his Amerigan and Zwallerkadian comrades on the phone that morning. “I want a secured bridgeline opened up immediately for the commanders of the Amerigan and Zwallerkadian forces in New Arnoa. I want to set up a garrison on Lers-Plaisir and I want to get their soldiers out of there!”
The radio operators set about their orders and started reaching out to the other countries attaches to connect the military command structure on the bridgeline.

March 5, 2028; 17:15 Hours; Sunday
Arnoa International Airport; Arnoa; New Arnoa
3rd Fremdenisch Fallschirmjaeger Battalion

Leitenant Bremmer’s troops were guarding the hanger in the Arnoa International Airport that had been sectioned off for the Amerigan, Burgundian and Zwallerkadian troops. After the offloading of the Amerigan and Zwallerkadian troops the day before things had gotten pretty quiet. Bremmer has in the bathroom shaving when he heard the distant booms. He refocused and drew the blade gently across his wet skin. The stubble pulled against the dulling blade and a cut opened. “That's gonna be a bleeder.” he sighed to himself. He repositioned the razor to start on the left side of his face when his sergeant, Ackerman, called him from the tarmac. “Incoming, sir!” the left side of his jaw still covered in shaving cream Bremmer grabbed his rifle and headed out.

Three civilian SUVs had burst through the airport’s fence about two runways over and were heading towards the hanger. “SITREP!” Bremmer called as he collapsed behind a concrete jersey barrier.

“Three tacticals inbound, 800 meters, approximate ETA 5 seconds, shooter on the roof, 8 gunmen down here.”

“Roger that, three tacticals, 2 seconds ETA, minimal staffing, light em up!”

“Open fire!” screamed Ackerman. The bang-bang of the 7.62s echoed through the open hanger. Then two piercing thuds as the .50 light armor rifle on the roof drove rounds into the engine blocks of two of the SUVs. They came screeching to a halt. The final vehicle plowed into a jersey barrier that was sheltering two soldiers. The soldiers were immediately crushed by the concrete. The SUV bounced and rolled backwards about 2 meters before coming to halt. All of its occupants dead.

“Covering fire!” Bremmer and Ackerman ran from the cover of their barrier towards the place where the soldiers had been hit. One of them was clearly dead but the other was a bloody mess. His legs had been caught under the barrier as it was pushed back and into the ground at 78kph, the stumps that were left were horrifying to look at. Furthermore, as he had been dragged the flesh of the right side of his body had been ground into the pavement. Seconds later the company medic was handing Bremmer tourniquets for the soldiers legs and working with Ackerman to quickly apply bandages to his right side.

The remaining soldiers, without flinching, advanced on the three vehicles. Forming an chevron at each car, teams of three fired 30 rounds each into each car. Then the designated grenadiers rolled water grenades under each car, to inert any explosives and called, “Fire in the hole!” The teams fell back to the barriers and waited until the thump, thump, thump of the grenades went off.

“Secure this building!” the remaining fire teams recreated a perimeter. Bremmer was on his throat mic reporting back. “Roger that sir, threat neutralized, will hold until further instructions, over.”
March 6, 2028; 12:05; Monday
Industrial District, Arnoa, New Arno
2nd Special Republican Guard

“Contact! CONTACT!”

A rocket spiraled over head.

"Fucking shit!" The men huddled closer to the ground as the projectile exploded mere meters away from his unit's position, removing a large chunk from the building behind him. The pungent odour of heat-infused mortar abounded.

The group, made up of Arnoan soldiers and a single Amerigan spec ops trainer were trapped in one of the industrial sector's many parking compounds.

"Shit!" cried one of his squad mates from across the parking lot, "the medic's down!"

The man began doing compressions on his wounded comrade, explaining to the commander the situation as he went along.

“He got hit by shrapnel from the rocket explosion. I don’t know how long he has to live.”

The wounded man, eyes wide open, breathed in and out rapidly with shallow breaths. Blood gushed from the shrapnel wound on his belly.

The commander, bulky with graying beard, calmly discarded his bullet-marked kevlar vest onto the ground and proceeded to tear up his own shirt, wrapping the wound with the rags. The medic laid there, unresponsive to the pain. His eyes were getting cloudy.

"Where the hell did that come from?!" Bellowed the platoon commander.

"One hundred meters, the apartment block North West of here!" replied another squad mate, eyeing one of the buildings overlooking the open-air parking compound they were trapped in.

Cracks of small arms fire beset the cars they were hiding behind, shattering glass and bursting tires. One man rocked slowly back and forth, mumbling unintelligently. Another of his squad mates stood to randomly spray his automatic weapon towards the buildings.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Screamed Harold, the foreign contractor, motioning to for the young recruit to get back into cover. When he did so, the Amerigan was on the youth like a cat to mouse, shaking him thoroughly.

"You never, fucking EVER move out of cover without a plan! Got that retard?!" The recruit broke into tears, sobbing inconsolably as more rounds slammed into the asphalt around them.

"Shit. Just my fucking luck to be stuck with you Arnoan bastards when shit hit the fan."

The experienced spec ops warrior took a breath before opening a comms channel to Amerigan HQ at Reddington.

"HQ this is Harold Bjerknes, callsign Whiskey 5-2, I'm here with some Arnoan grunts two clicks East of Reddington. We're under small arms fire including RPGs, copy."

HQ responded with interrupting bouts of static.

"Ahh... fuck. Bjerknes this is Reddington... the comms team is down... the only one left... there was a strike over here... most of our guys got out in trucks... of right now we're under assault by the Arnoan military."

"What?!" cried Harold, "That's impossible! I'm with the Republican Guard right now!"

"...not so... coordinated assaults around... capital. Did you say RPGs?"

Things were not adding up for the Amerigan arms contractor. Coordinated assaults, expensive weaponry, Arnoan military. He had been previously informed that if any political tensions in New Arno were to arise, it would be from disorganized anarchists in the East of the country. This was no anarchist force.

The Arnoan commander flinched slightly as another rocket erupted above their heads, the 40-odd man continued his work diligently, even smiling.

"You're different than the others." Said Bjerknes, noting his calm demeanor.

The commander's grin widened.

"This is nothing. Last time, we were fighting against proffessional soldiers. THAT was rough."

"Last time?"

A bullet ricocheted, striking one of the other Arnoan's in the leg. He cried out in anguish.

"Merde!" the officer turned to Harold to answer his query while unrolling a bandage, "20 years ago; this isn't Arno's first civil war. Last time, I was the revolutionary. I suppose this time, I'm the oppressor." He chuckled grimly.
March 16, 2028; 21:00
Eastern Arno
1st Special Republican Guard

The steady thump thump of the rotor blades filled the air as the great black helicopter glided over the picturesque countryside.

"ETA Five minutes!" Shouted the pilot back to the men situated in the back of the machine.

They responded with a thumbs up before returning to their conversation.

Marc, who leaned idly on the 50 caliber gun, let brackish smoke trail from his chapped lips, gazing idly over the green pasture lands outside.
"Its calm," he said with an almost hopeful tone, flicking a cigarette habitually between his fingers,
"The capital's at peace. Life's good," then, with anger, "too good."

His squad mates looked quizzically at the unkempt fellow, who paid them no heed. They had been discussing the army's successes in pacifying the violence in Arnoa, and the recent demise of many of the rebels' leaders. One man had suggested that Anarchist movement was collapsing in on itself before Marc had interrupted.

"What do you mean?" asked one of the soldiers, balancing a rifle between his legs.

The man on the machine gun shifted his eyes to his squad wearily. The cigarette halted its twirling.

"This isn't our war. New Arno is a victim, not a participant." he said, allowing the words to hang in the air like his cigarette smoke.

"It's true," responded another man, "the anarchists resorted to cheap methods to accomplish their goals; the people that got killed weren't collateral damage; they were targets!"

The cigarette resumed its twirling. Marc sighed before continuing.

"Ever wonder why this war started, two weeks ago? Well, it wasn't spontaneous, that's for sure. We weren't the targets in an 'anarchist attack'. Those 'terrorists' were well armed and well trained." His tone suddenly sharpened, "Where the fuck did they come from?!"

Having vented, the grunt turned back towards the outside.

"We weren't the targets. Those other bastards, the Amerigans, Zwallerkadians, and the Burgundians, THEY brought this war to us."

"How could you think that?" retorted a crew member, "The foreigners are our friends; they're here to help us so we can defend ourselves!"

"Under what premise?!" Marc shouted, suddenly seething, "They're fucking mercenaries! They don't care about us! We're just free lunch to them! Some big asshole in some other country saw an opportunity and now we have to clean up their shit!"

Thump Thump Thump. Silence.

Breathing heavily, the battered commando let his cigarette fall out of the helicopter, watching it scatter with the rotor's air current.

"This war needs to answer a question: Who are we? Who do we want to be? What is New Arno? All this war has proven is our own weakness, and our gullibility."

The pilot cut him off before he could say more.

"ETA one minute! Heads up, all we're going in hot!"

Marc sighed like that of a defeated man, looking back out again over the snowy clouds. He flicked the safety off of his weapon and aimed down the sights.
"Off again to kill my brothers."
Lezzanne, Eastern Arno

A serene atmosphere settled over the sleepy village of Lezzanne, nestled high in the mountains of the East. The warm light of hearth fires filled the windows, and restless guards strolled the perimeter, gazing casually up at the stars, totally unaware of the violence that was to happen upon the narrow streets.

"You bastard!" yelled a gruff-looking New-Arnoan, whose sturdy shoulders quaked along with his long beard, "You promised us more weapons! This is the second delivery you've missed!"

A large, sculpted, Latin man with cropped blonde hair stared down contemptuously at the dissident filth in front of him. He took a few small steps forward, shifting in his large body armor. He peaked his beret back, making his brow appear larger than it was before.

"Well, major," the soldier's words dripped like poison down the fangs of a snake, his words like the refined blade of a saber, "you do not seem to remember our agreement. The tenets that your party supported have not been fulfilled. We therefore do not see any reason to continue out part of the bargain."

The bearded man glared up at his counterpart, teeth grit. He pointed to himself.

"We rebel against the government." His finger shifted to the blonde soldier, "You give us weapons. It was that simple. My men are dying now because they don't have ammunition, let alone food! What are you going to fucking do about it?"

Pig, thought the tall, blonde man. This fat excuse for a human being had the audacity to rail against a superior being. The blonde man sneered. He hated having been assigned to this war. He hated having been assigned to this country. He hated having been assigned to the pig. But today, everything was over. Both him and his nation were drawing out of this god-forsaken country, and they would never have to return.

"I could give less of a shit about your revolution." He stated in curtailed English, "I could five fewer fucks about your war, your anarchist agenda can go fuck itself for all I care." he paused, for dramatic effect.

"My government does not care about you. You did not promise a rebellion. What you promised, when you signed the papers of mutual assistance, was dead Amerigans, and dead Burgundians. Lots of dead Amerigans and dead Burgundians. What do we have? Lots of dead Arnoans. We are done."

"But we've had setb-" the Arnoan tried to reply.

Something snapped in the contractor.

"Setback? All you've had are SETBACKS?! You fucking SWINE! You mean to tell me that you let every single contractor on this continent leave to fuck-all in the span of a fucking day?! All your best men wasted on the fucking disaster at Reddington?!" The armored hulk was rising to fever temper. The lights seemed to dim.
"How fucking dare you?! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?! You've wasted the time, resources, and care of my government on your goddamn revolution and you don't have a single dog tag to make up for it! We. Are. DONE."

The latinic fighter began to walk away, opening the door into the cold country night. He stopped suddenly with the sound of a cocked weapon.

"You... you're going to give us out weapons, or you're going to die." The Arnoan put his finger to the trigger of his revolver, it shook precariously.

A wicked grin spread across the contractors face. He had been told that he would have 'full operational jurisdiction' if things had went... awry. He silently touched a hidden pad on his forearm as his hands raised slowly in the air. Perhaps there would be a highlight to his station here.

Suddenly, crack of a sniper rifle echoed through the mountainside, accompanied by the tinkle of shattered glass and the agonized yelp of the pig.

Hmm. Nice shot.

"Directly to the liver." he said to the groaning man on the ground, picking up the fallen revolver, "It should take roughly 3 hours before you expire." he spun the cylindrical chamber of the weapon without thinking,

"in the meantime, I'm going to have some fun with your men."

The bearded revolutionary looked into the eyes of the blonde man and saw the very pit of hell.