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#1
April 10, 2028; 03:10 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
105th Airborne Division, 505th Regimental Combat Team
Private First Class. Walt Sanderson


It was dark and next to nothing was visible, the only way Walt was keeping track of his NCO, a Sergeant First Class Anders. Anders had a bit more of experience on his belt which made Walt feel safe, being a particularly large figure standing at 6’7. Which made him zero fun for playing basketball, but physically intimidating, but despite this, Anders seemed to be a bit of a Type-B personality and was academic enough to make college but he decided to stick with the Army. Sanderson was the only junior enlisted soldier in the squad, which had about ten soldiers in it, to have actually seen combat, which made him the right hand man of Anders. Though his combat experience also made the younger members of the squad, especially the peacetime enlisted, bug him constantly about his war experience in the Talion Union.

“Sanderson, up here, with me.” Anders ordered and then brought the squad to a halt in a column formation. The rifle squad of about ten men was perched on elevation, with a dirt path with a hill taking their right side, and a forest taking their left. It was decided that this path provided the most concealment and visibility at the same time. Walt stalked slowly up to Anders with his rifle in hand.

“What do you need?”

“See those dogs down there?” SFC. Anders pointed down to a trio of dogs chained up to Latinian cargo trucks, which were unattended by them for some reason.

“You want me to shoot them?”

“You know you’re the only one in the squad that can make the shot, I’m sorry.” Anders apologized.

“No need…” Walt shouldered his M4 carbine and screwed a tan Rotex suppressor onto the barrel then squared the first dog within his sight. The glowing red reticle was then aligned with the first mutt, he squeezed the trigger and the bullet went through the dog’s head, snapped to the second target, aligned, fired, and the third he hesitated thinking about his own dog, a German Shepherd by the name of Maxwell. “Fuck it.” Sanderson pulled the trigger a few times more than necessary, three rounds went through the final dog.

“...Good shooting.” Anders then patted Walt on the back a few times, “Squad, move. Walt if you need a moment.”

The rest of the squad moved on, Walt lowered his carbine and kneeled down for a moment, odd, his first kills of his second conflict were animals. He thought back to Patria and wondered what she would think when he came back and if he would even tell her… If she was even interested.
Sgt. Ruck patted Walt on the back and gestured for him to fall back into the line of the squad, he did so, jumping in at the tail end behind another PFC. Who looked inexperienced and white as could be, but maybe that was just the rain that had harassed the squad earlier, still.

“You’ve been in combat right?” He turned around, Walt read the name off of his plate-carrier. PFC. Ishmael Green.

“I play a lot of Call Of Duty if that’s what you’re asking.” Walt joked.

“No, I mean like seriously. I heard you did some badass shit over in Talion.” Ishmael insisted, Walt sighed at the soldier’s lack of humor. But he understood why.

“Depending on who you asked, but I wouldn’t say badass.” It sounded like someone had hyped up Walt’s reputation in Talion. Rumors spread quickly he supposed, and if it raised unit morale, fair enough, but he didn’t want to be hyped up to something he wasn’t, and stayed silent for the rest of the march to the city they were overlooking. The city was a little bit more of a border town per se, it had a population of about 10,000, so not so much a city as more of a larger town, that said, it still had a few high rise buildings that represented the commercial business that grew there.

“Stalker 2-1, Stalker-2 Actual, your objective is the enemy anti aircraft emplacement atop the hospital. We’ve got a few artillery batteries on standby but Leviathan Actual doesn’t want you to level any of the buildings, so they’re strictly for armored vehicles.” The long range two-way radio started up on Cpl. Marshall’s AN/PRC-119.

“Roger.” Marshall picked up the radio and replied to the command center.

“Christ, did they put anti aircraft guns on top of a hospital?” Ishmael commented, “Bastards.”

April 10, 2028; 03:52 Hours
10,000 Ft, 12 Miles within Latinian Airspace Borders
177th Fighter Squadron, F-35A Lightning II
Cpt. Harry Ackerman

"Reaper 1-1, you're cleared for weapons release." The airboss's voice had a distinct radio filter to it, but was no more hard to understand than standard English, it was barely audible over the hum of the P&W F135 Engine in the cockpit. Of course it was a thousand times louder outside of the plane than inside of it.

The glow of the touchscreen cockpit illuminated Acerkman's flight jacket, he brought up a video display of the targeting pod, built into his F-35, and targeted a submarine that was surfacing for air. An SH-60 deployed from an Amerigan missile-destroyer had forced it out of the water with the drop of a few depth charges.

Ackerman scrolled with a few presses on his interface to a Quickstrike-J bomb, fitted to a Mark-84 Snake-eye. The Quickstrike-J was an anti-ship weapon built on the already existing series of Mark-XX bombs the Air Force had developed and had tens of thousands left over from the stock of a cold-war era. It was a useful application for a tool that hadn't aged.

"Bombs away, pickle one." Harry armed the weapon, a beeping tone played in his Helmet Mounted Cueing System as the bomb bay opened to let out a 1000 pound munition.

A massive, wonderful explosion lit up the nightsky as a 1000 pound munition slammed into it's seaborne target.
 
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Ormata

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#2
April 10, 2028; 04:10 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
2nd Lesnyye Shturmoviki, 4th Operations Squad
Grenadier Agnes Wiener


Agnes had watched the Amerigoans take-out the dogs, near the Latinian cargo trucks. One of them had shot some, though he hesitated for a bit for the third, the shots floating through the air. Tucking a bit of too-long brown hair behind her ear, she shook her head at it all. The dogs were enemies; give them two seconds and they would be on the units like, well...dogs. Exactly like dogs.

She’d heard the Latinians were training kids. Agnes knew she would have to kill them. Lucky for her, she didn’t have any kids; heck, Oberkommando was rumored to have performed a vetting on the Ormati troops to be sent for combat. No one with a family was to engage the enemy, perhaps. At least, that was the rumor. Hans had a family, though as he had stated, “My kid doesn’t shoot at me. The two are different.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Christ, did they put anti aircraft guns on top of a hospital?” Ishmael commented, “Bastards.”

Agnes had been some short ways away from the man; perhaps three meters. AAA on hospitals wasn’t that absurd, for the Latins, she thought to herself. They had threatened to do more than enough against the coalition, kill them any way that was possible.

“Of course they did,” she replied, checking her Atchisson. She’d loaded it with slugs and Dragon’s Breath, intermixing the two. One Dragon’s Breath per every five slugs would drop a bastard. At least, that was the plan. It’d singe them well if it didn’t outright kill them. “They’re Latins. We knowns what the hell they plan on doing.”

“They plan on fucking killing us,” stated another Lesnyye Shturmoviki, his buzzcut hidden by the helmet and his gasmask already on his neck. The guy was in his late twenties, and he knew about the Latinians. They gassed like nobody’s business was what he had heard.

“You don’t say,” stated another, a Feldwebel, as she looked through her Dragunov in an effort to see the defenses of the border town better. They had checkpoints set-up, along with a quad-barrel AAA installation on-top of a small, square, brick house near the checkpoint. The searchlights weren’t on yet.
 
#3
April 10, 2028; 04:10 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
Internationale Kriminelle Söldnergruppe, the Gunrunners
Wulf Gollwitzer, aka "Wasp"


Wasp grimaced as he heard the bit about AAA at the hospital. While he wasn't as young as some of the other guys, at 56, he had some prior experience when it came to doing stupid things. Placing Triple-A on a hospital, school, church et cetera was just in bad taste all around. Still, the Catholics were all a bunch of nutjobs, from what he had seen over the years, so this was expected.

"Right then," he began in German, "Form up young'uns, let's get this shit sorted out. We're being paid to assist these good men and women against these unholy abominations that dare to spit in the ideals of Iaoth, Ancient One of Strife and War, so let's see what they want us to do."

Receiving murmurs of acknowledgement, Gollwitzer made his way over to the Amerigan Sergeant, while the mercs behind him grimaced at his choice of persons to talk to.

While many of the IKS were either of Yytuskian or Helvanic nationality, there were some who were of others, but it was primarily Yytuskian. The bitter rivalry/hatred between Yytuskian and Amerigan soldiers were legendary, with the latest case in point being the Talion Conflict. And while Gollwitzer might have joined in his group's distrust, dislike, and possible outright hatred of the Amerigan task force, Wasp had seen enough action to begrudgingly acknowledge the Amerigan soldier's sheer bullheadedness in combat.

Reaching the - apparently First Class - Sergeant, Gollwitzer saluted by thumping his left hand to his right breast, before raising it into the air. "Sir, allow me to introduce myself," he began, in accented English, "I am Wasp, the leader of the IKS Gunrunner Gruppe under this area. We're ready to assist you and your men in any capacity whatsoever. Just point us in the direction of what you need killing."
 

Ormata

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#4
April 10, 2028; 04:10 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
2nd Lesnyye Shturmoviki, 4th Operations Squad
Grenadier Agnes Wiener


The Feldwebel nodded, getting-up from her semi-crouched position. The Yytuskians had arrived, it seemed, and they’d be accompanying the little band of merry men to murder Latinians. Something like that. Agnes had heard the Yytuskians had come, somewhat, though in no official capacity. She had been mildly disappointed; Agnes had a Yytuskian boyfriend in the Army. Bastard wouldn’t be coming-over, apparently.

The Operations Squad, all twenty of them, moved over to the meeting, taking-up vague positions and preparing to, if necessary, defend. The Latinians could perform a counter-offensive, a first strike, and while Agnes doubted such a thing would happen, she also doubted their sanity. Caesar had proved himself to not be the most level-headed of a person, and on the whole he definitely had a cult about him. She didn’t doubt their willingness to die for him.

"Sir, allow me to introduce myself," he began, in accented English, "I am Wasp, the leader of the IKS Gunrunner Gruppe under this area. We're ready to assist you and your men in any capacity whatsoever. Just point us in the direction of what you need killing."

The Feldwebel lifted her hand in a vague salute to the Yytuskian, two fingers to the eyebrow. “Feldwebel Metzger, 2nd Lesnyye Shturmoviki, 4th Operations Squad. Welcome to Latinia.” One of her eyebrows partially raised; so these were the IKS bastards she had heard about. They were somewhat well-known in the intelligence briefings. On the whole, they were mercenaries. On the truth, they were somewhat more. Metzger had been impressed by the fact that they had the balls to fly such shit aircraft in modern wars.

The reaction to the mercenaries was a bit of the same, about the Operations Squad. Agnes looked at another Ormati, Bruno, who frowned at these gents. He’d been raised in Yytuskia, and his family were migrants from the region to Ormata. Some sort of job incentive program, he had said, though the details were always vague. The man scratched his square jaw, messing with the strap for only a moment as his adjusted the strap on his AKM over the shoulder.

They weren’t just surprised by the fact that the IKS were there; the fact that they were there working with Amerigoan troops was surprising as well. The Talion War had lead to significant tensions, to tell it softly, between the two nations. Enough Yytuskians had died that they were quite angry at the Amerigoan Army.

Bruno nodded to Agnes, asking in German, “Haben Sie einen Rauch?” He hadn’t had a cigarette in a week; his psychiatrist told him to lay off of them and that his nerves would go if he kept smoking. He was a bit jittery from it all.

Agnes made a face in return, speaking quickly and in a low voice to the other Grenadier. “Fuck nein, ich habe vor drei Monaten zu beenden. Holen Sie sich diese Scheiße weg von mir.”

Fick dich.”
 
#5
April 10, 2028; 04:14 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
105th Airborne Division; 505th Regimental Combat Team
Private First Class. Walt Sanderson


"Sir, allow me to introduce myself," he began, in accented English, "I am Wasp, the leader of the IKS Gunrunner Gruppe under this area. We're ready to assist you and your men in any capacity whatsoever. Just point us in the direction of what you need killing." The Yytuskian mercenary introduced himself to SFC. Anders. Anders sighed very softly, while he was sure he could bring himself to forgive the Yytuskians, he looked over at Walt, and wasn’t sure Sanderson could.

“Sanderson.” Anders began.

“I’ll be fine.” He said, fondling his M4 and looked over at the Yytuskian mercenaries, and then the Ormatan commandos.

The Feldwebel lifted her hand in a vague salute to the Yytuskian, two fingers to the eyebrow. “Feldwebel Metzger, 2nd Lesnyye Shturmoviki, 4th Operations Squad. Welcome to Latinia.” One of her eyebrows raised overseeing the Yytuskians. It had seemed the Ormatans were just as uneasy as the Amerigans were. Three hostile special operations forces, they would have to get along if they wanted to survive.

“Alright.” SFC. Anders sighed more audibly this time. “We’re gonna split up into three teams. Team one is the diversion, you’ll hit those cargo trucks were those dead dogs are now.” Anders let his rifle rest from his sling in a half crouch. “Team two will flank left among the forest.” SFC. Anders shifted his head left towards the vegetation that covered their flank. “Team three will provide cover fire on top of the hill overlooking the valley. But there’s only one condition… We can’t trust eachother, so we’ll be mixing eachother’s teams up, I’ll give you guys a minute.” Anders looked towards Walt and nodded, he wasn’t going to let the Yytuskians do anything to a Talion war veteran.

“Yes, first sergeant.” Walt lowered his AN/PVS-31 optic, which was on his kevlar helmet over his right eye.

“Get ready, we step off in two.” The Sergeant First Class rushed the other squads.
 

Ormata

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#6
April 10, 2028; 04:10 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
2nd Lesnyye Shturmoviki, 4th Operations Squad
Grenadier Agnes Wiener


Feldwebel Metzger listened politely to the Amerigoan. They were allies, yes, but she could remember that they had not, historically, been kind to Ormata. They were the kinds to sell aircraft to anyone; she’d heard rumors that the planes Latinia flew were formerly Amerigoan. That sort of thing was dangerous.

”But there’s only one condition… We can’t trust each other, so we’ll be mixing eacho ther’s teams up, I’ll give you guys a minute.” Anders looked towards Walt and nodded, he wasn’t going to let the Yytuskians do anything to a Talion war veteran.

“No. No, no, and no,” replied Metzger, much to the amusement of the rest of her squad. “I don’t know about you, but trying to fucking communicate with Yytuskian mercenaries isn’t my idea of how we live through this shithole. You two might not trust one-another. That’s your problems. You keep our six and we don’t have issues with you. Unit cohesion is not what we are going to fucking break-up now. The Latinians have it. We need to have it also.” She was moderately anger; who the fuck was this Amerigoan to tell her what to do with her squad? Yet, she took a breath.

In her mind, she went over each of the options. Hitting cargo trucks was important, but not her idea of glory. She didn’t come to shoot cargo trucks, and until she was ordered to kill cargo trucks, she was going to leave that to the rest. Sitting on a hill was a good way to get bombed. And so, two.

“In any case, my squad will flank left.”
 
#7
April 10, 2028; 04:16 Hours
Latinian Border, Kuhlfrocia, Levantia
105th Airborne Division; 505th Regimental Combat Team
Private First Class. Walt Sanderson


“No. No, no, and no,” replied Metzger, much to the amusement of the rest of her squad. “I don’t know about you, but trying to fucking communicate with Yytuskian mercenaries isn’t my idea of how we live through this shithole. You two might not trust one-another. That’s your problems. You keep our six and we don’t have issues with you. Unit cohesion is not what we are going to fucking break-up now. The Latinians have it. We need to have it also.”

“Fair enough,” SFC. Anders could do without the mixup anyways. “Alright, we’ll take the trucks.”

“Squad, up.” Sgt. Ruck ordered, and the entire squad reassembled into a staggered column formation. “We’re moving.” He looked back and nodded at each one of his soldiers to check if they were ready, there wasn’t a single negative response.

“Walt you wanna scout ahead?" SSgt. Kovic asked, “We’ll support from here.”

“Alright.” Walt replied, and readied his weapon by pulling on the charging handle. T

hen jumped down the slope and jogged, he didn’t slide in order to maintain the ability to shoot and stopped halfway down, slowing to a halt when he saw two Latinian sentries regrouping at the trucks, one lit a cigarette, lighting his position visibly for Walt. Sanderson flipped his night vision goggles up and shouldered his M4, holding his breath. “Ready to fire.”


“Go ahead and pop em.” Was the radio call.

Sanderson put two rounds in the Latinian’s arm, he must have hit a major artery because he saw the silhouette of the blood squirt off his arm, and the second soldier rushed to help his friend. Walt put four rounds into his side, the first two penetrated the SAPI plate underneath the Latinian’s vest, the third missed, and the final one went through his hip, and then during this display, he stopped and lowered his weapon when he heard one of them crying.

“Is it clear?” SSgt. Kovic asked.

“Affirmative.” Sanderson replied, the rest of the squad began to make their way down elevation.

“That was dead on man.” Ishmael half gave Walt a heart attack when he unexpectedly slapped him on his shoulder.

“Leave him alone, Green.” Ruck ordered, and then went back to his weapon.

“This is Stalker 2-1, trucks are secure, we’re about to light it up like Christmas.” SFC. Anders radioed to the other squads. “Boomer, C4.” Anders ordered the sapper, Boomer and Thatcher made a rush down the hill, silently as possible. Sanderson sweeped the right and the left flank with his ACOG.


“Okay, we’re in position, controlled det in one minute, it’s gonna be lit.”
 
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