CNS Righteous Fury, PAG-033
OP/RF, CMA
Matilda class Planetary Lander
Caprica, StarFile TyZ-3KR







In the tight cluster of the Coalition starships burning through the outer reaches of the system, the CNS Righteous Fury nestled its 12 kilometer mass between the flanking escorts of various destroyers and cruisers on the final leg of travel for the ‘liberation of Langara’; an event that had become so popularized in the Scatterran media following the deployment of nearly 4 divisions of the MIC, a fleet of two-hundred and ninety odd starships, and over six-hundred thousand vehicles of the Cavalry Detachment, that some servicemen of the Coalition force were given recording devices by family and associations to document the historical expedition.

“This is the Righteous Fury of the 39th Fleet to all Coalition ships; we are now in active operational territory on behalf of the Caprican government and the popular front of the Aschen Confederation – welcome to Langara.” Admiral Warren placed the wireless transmitter back onto the housing. Behind the Admiral, a Marine General rose from a tripod-seat and hefted the datapad in one hand.

“Welcome to Langara, words a’ the fuckin’ prophet.” General Adam Stafross handed the digi-book to the Admiral, as a hologram of the composition of the fleet whirred to life from a tank located at the back of the wall.

“We’ve got 7 million marines ready to kick down the doors and prop Roslin up on Langara – the home world of the Aschen Confederation. “ Admiral Raymon Vechov handed off the datapad to a Lieutenant, before scratching at the tip of his chin and turning to General Stafross.
“They’ll need to hit this quick, hit this hard and hit this once. Last we Regievko will need, hell, last thing all of us will need, is a bunch of these Sovraks turning cheek – we’ll need to be ready for anything and everything, Adam. I want you down in the troop bays briefing your commanders. You get their boots ready and I’ll put them on the ground.”








In the pilot room, a large hexagonal operations center, the flight members of Rezekov Squadron, 600th Hurricane Wing, assembled themselves in the stacked seating of the operations center for the briefing of the upcoming deployments. Rezekov was a primarily assault squadron, composed of 32 MSC-45 Hurricanes; broken down further, Rezekov operated a flight of heavily armed 45B Heavy Fighters, with the other flight of sixteen Hurricanes outfitted as the 45A Fighter-Bomber. As the Captain of Rezekov Squadron strode to the podium, the lights dimmed to allow a high-intensity hologram projector to display a broad sensor circle of the surrounding area.

“Alright ladies, listen up. Lock your boots and plug your asses, we’ve got less than twelve hours before we’re shot out the locks.” The Captain remarked, coldly addressing the starting checklist for the operations before turning his torso and hooking a thumb over his shoulder. The airscreen behind him shimmered as the Captain tapped at an icon.

“Rezekov and Yarob are first on the launch, once this lander puts down we’ll be wings-heavy with all sorts a’ nasty shit to bring down the hate on these Taurons.” He said, identifying a projection of a Hurricane fighter-bomber, equipped with a full contingent of missile pods and ordinance.

“2nd Flight, you’re running EW on the first line, I want PQS and KFV pods on both wings – you co-pilots, load up all your E-Racks with solution triggers and rangers; IFF may not be as pertinent as we’ll want it to be flying for the Capricans, keep your contacts visual and know your fucking target. You drop so much as a bolt on these Sovraks and they’ll be more pissed than a Rakistani in Dinsmark.”

As he spoke, an image of Langara winked across the air, allowing the Captain to manipulate the particles of light. Turning the planet until a small patch of green film covered a portion of the planet, the Captain magnified the image of the stretching mountain range that carved down through Rezekov’s Area of Operations.

“Right down the middle of our AO is the Zeus Mountains, a good two hundred kilos of buttfuck if you’re stupid enough to put yourself over those rocks. Those mountains will be double-A paradise, you get CAS calls from that area you wait for command approval. We’re here to help them win the war, not give them more reasons to fight. Don’t get killed – ready up, pilots. It’s time to make history.”

MAC Platform Alpha-3
Geosynchronous Orbit above Langara
Firing Control and Command

"Sir, we have incoming Coalition vessels, two nine three carom three seven four, CBDR." A Young Lieutenant spoke aloud while watching the DRADIS Readouts. "Orders?" He asked while the Commander shook his head. "Well i'll be frakked over like a roasted swine on a hot Tauron afternoon." He said as he watched the readout. The MAC Platform slowly actuated on it's AXIS to bear the main portion of the high-bore barrel towards the oncoming fleet.

"Coalition Vessels this is the Orbital Defense Platform Alpha-dash-three, send your recognition codes and commence your approach to the designated AO." The Caprican Captain said, while he nodded to his Lieutenant, which transmitted a set of codes to the two-hundred some odd ships on approach towards the blue-green sphere that was Langara. "Proceed at speed, be advised you may encounter some Anti-orbital fire coming from Tauron, due to treaties limiting our operational capacity we will not be able to return fire, use caution on approach." He said, before terminating the link, watching as the large landers and troop transports approached.

"UCON Transports are confirmed on approach, Caprican Command be ready for your allies, we're going to sock Tauron and we're going to sock them hard." He radioed to the planet below.

---

Anti-Orbital Base S-2
Sextilis, 18th, 11th Age (90 Days until Winter)

Weather Conditions:

Sunny, 75°F
Daytime

3 miles north of Highroad 178r
Zeus Foothills, Sagittaron-Tauron Border
1st Armored Spearhead

The chug and the hum of the four Myrmidon tanks echoed off the concrete walls of the large installation. It was a primary armored spearhead of four heavy tanks, three Armored-Personnel carriers and roughly one-hundred and fifty Sagittaron and Caprican Infantry. Of course this was on hold for the time being, with the Commanding Ground Officer pacing back and fourth on the highroad.

"Commander, I have reconnaissance teams deployed out into the mountains to scout for AA and AO artillery, we'll know where and how hard to hit, sir." A Recon Lieutenant said while he surveyed a map overlooking the two prefectures. "We can move the Infantry along 178r in troop transports and APCs, we can maintain a rigorous pace we can cross the bridges before the Taurons destroy them." The General added, before pointing the map. "I want Artillery positions here, and here on the map." He said, pointing to the town of Highreach, and the town of Protection.

"I want someone to seize the abandoned airbase on Mt. Zeus as well, so UCON Can position their relays on the top of the mountain, if we move quickly, the weather conditions will remain in our favor for the drive into Tauron." The Commander said, turning to one of the recon teams, a small team of four Capricans, each eqipped with standard reconnaissance equipment, satellite relay systems and their standard issue Disruptor rifles. Each man offered a salute before they chugged out on foot towards the mountains.

"This is going to be a hell of a fight... we're making history here... fighting on our own planet.. that's the first time that's happened since the unification wars almost five hundred years ago." Sergeant McCreary said as he trudged through the grass alongside the road, for a moment he withdrew a laminated paper map, checking it against a compass, he pointed eastward. "If we follow the road, any Tauron will be able to spot us, I want this clean and silent, I also want to reach the mountains by nightfall... hoo-ah men let's move out." He said, charging his disruptor and starting eastwards, step by step he trudged through grasses, as the tall jagged mountains loomed ahead of him and his men. Corporal Vance found his position right behind the sergeant, looking up to the sky for a moment as Coalition forces were on approach.

"When you think those Coalies are gonna get here?" The Corporal asked, bringing his gaze towards the sarge.

"Frak if I know, Corporal, the war'll be over by the time that damned apparatus gets here, they're always so damned slow to mobilize, frakn' primitives." He grumbled, slinging his rifle over his back and marching through the dense forest, checking his map on occasion. "We're on track is looks like, we'll make it to the foot of the mountain range by sundown.

Task Force 62



















Master Sergeant Jacob A. Osmos leaned into the seat of the Aruka, looking out of the open bay doors and out into the picaresque landscape of the Sagitarron foothills. The Coalition vehicle flew in a tight vee formation of three other M88 VTOLs, looming over the prepared battlefield in the early dawn hours as the sun began to climb over the mountains, bathing the approach to the Zeus range in the warm glow of a star.

“UCON’s dealt with all of this shit before, a long time ago to be exact. It started in 2570 with Keagan; setting up the ground work for the Scatterran Intervention of Foreign Races Bill, allowing the Prime Minister and the Military complete legal course to intervene in any foreign national event deemed valuable to the Coalition – “ A young Corporal seated two marines down from him laid his hands out over the mechanism of the MR-18H, scratching at the underside of his chin and leaning forward onto his elbows.

“So what does that mean? The government says ‘It’s time to pick up and clean bitches out!’? Ten years later in 2580 there were a trillion Oriyaks in the OE with nothing but clothes on their backs – the UC paid more attention foreigners than the Empire?” He inquired, having to shout over the roar of the engines to make his inquiry to the Master Sergeant.

Jacob crossed an arm over his shoulder and nestled into the dropseat of the Aruka’s transport bay; the rolling hills of Sagitarron were quickly beginning to burn away into the graceful slope of a mountain hill, allowing the Aruka to flex it’s altitude at the current distance from the Coalition FOB.

“The whole system went to shit in the 80’s with the Reds. In late ’88, at the height of it all is none other than Ludvik-fuckin’-Regievko.” The Captain remarked, a slight grimace forming on his face.
“Regievko manages to repurpose the Colonial Military, partly by pouring money into it, and declares the foreign international territories under Coalition authority; Cosmics send a fleet into the Local Region and we get the Terran Conflict.”

A Private raised a hand, waving it slightly before returning it to the foreguard of the MR-18G. Adjusting the chest plate of the armor, the Private leaned onto one knee while he turned his chin up to the Master Sergeant.
“Naval warfare in it’s definition comes to being at the Terran Conflict – the Marines deposited an occupation force of twenty five million on that dirtball. That planet was ours.”

Jacob nodded over to the marine; a sign of pride amongst the marines was the operation claiming and the subsequent occupation of Terra. The Terran Authority was staffed and administrated by an excellently trained group of forces during the Coalition period of maintaining the Terran infrastructure.

“The 90’s roll around, the Reds light up the Outer Empire, and the house of cards comes falling down on Regievko. Deposed, Regievko dropped the whole government and made off with the Military Apparatus right behind him. Rohnfeld came into office and things kind of improved; ten more years of insurgencies and separatism and we have the current disposition of Scatterran forces across this galaxy … The Soviet Republics are built up to fight a small Belkan force, there are numerous stirrings in the wasp nest of New Hadden; the Reds never go away, they just get worse. There’s now an Azrican Stellar Territories on the brink of the Local Region, one trillion Scatterrans convoyed in on military vehicles, something is definitely ready to go down there. And then that brings us here, Langara; with Regievko’s son, Josef, in office the Coalition Apparatus is deploying to conflict zones across the entire galaxy using SIFR bill whether they like it or not. Fortunately, the Aschen need the help the Coalition is offering.”

The Corporal shrugged his shoulders and looked up to the cockpit of the Aruka, where the crew master and co-pilot were monitoring a bank of computer displays hardwired into the flight systems of the VTOL.

“The Terran Conflict ended with a ceasefire, but not before the Coalition began to flood the Local Region with enough marines to make even a Taiyou assault suicide. Josef Regievko rings true to his father’s intentions, with a much heavier focus of the Coalition military abroad. We’re in a new age, marines.”


“Twenty seconds!”


The co-pilot shouted from his terminal interface, alerting the Master Sergeant who rocked himself onto his feet and prepared to brief the marines of their deployment into the Zeus Mountains. Peering out the open left bay door, Jacob reached a hand to cling to a guide rail as a flight of four F/V-82 Reapers zoomed across the horizon; the ultra-light, maneuverable VTOLs were the primary Air Cavalry interceptor. Turning his eyes below, the outline of two M90 Annihilator gunships following the contours of the mountains; Jacob held on to the guide rail and turned to survey the squad of marines.

“Alright marines, listen up. We’ll be running escort for an SRI team sweeping through the mountains pre-assault – we will be the first Coalition military unit in the AO, and we will be the most effective.” He said, taking a step toward the back ramp, which was down and showed the passing scenery of the Sagittaron landscape; slowly, the Aruka began to descend with the rest of the formation, and a large patch of open grassland began to rise up toward Jacob and the VTOL.

“We are weapons red on all targets, RoE is armed and identified or suspicious; we are to provide escort duties alongside an armored unit, designation Cutter at team strength. Say hello to your mobile unit. Get ready to load up.” Jacob said, stopping at the rear bay of the Aruka and pointing to the Leopard APC slung to the rear boom of the Coalition VTOL. As the formation descended to land at the DZ, Jacob and the marines identified a two pairs of Warrior and Pathfinder armored vehicles, forming a heavy armor team capable of bringing Coalition firepower to the point of a sword. As the Aruka’s hull slowly braced against the ground, the wench clamp holding the Leopard activated from its locked position, and lowered the IFV onto the soft Sagitarron flatland. As Jacob waved the marines out of the Aruka, the crew master disembarked the VTOL to inspect the Leopard.

“Let’s get moving, mount up!” Jacob yelled as he jumped out of the rear bay of the Aruka, his hand quickly reaching out for the grip of the APC and finding it as the Aruka began to slowly pulse its engines to maneuver away from the landing zone. Jacob’s neural HUD activated as he exited the Aruka, bringing the forward-command interface to the front of the optical display.

As a marine clambered on top of the hull of the Leopard, Jacob positioned himself at the door of the Leopard as the squad of 16 marines loaded onto the IFV. The marine on the main 40mm cannon of the Leopard activated the weapon and shouted his confirmation to the Master Sergeant, who designated the other friendly vehicles as they too activated their transport and combat vehicles. Two Saber M22TB Troop Carriers and one other Leopard GV-70 IFVs formed the infantry counterpart of the four main armor forces; a single Warrior FSV peeled away from the road leading off into the mountains, breaking across the floodplain before stopping at the far distance of the drop zone.

“Woo-hoo! Thank the lord for the Heavy Ordinance Suppliers! We have HM-Five's locked and cocked!" Corporal Edit Kore shouted into his communication bead, lifting open the bay hood of the Leopard and hefting the 14.7mm HAW onto a magnetic clamp. The average Leopard was capable of carrying the weapons of the squad riding it, along with a supplement of firepower such as heavy assault weapons or launchers.

"Check for any Sackers. Alpha-1, you're providing crew. Get behind the wheel." Jacob pointed into the bay of the Leopard, identifying a Corporal and three of his subsequent fireteam members. The Corporal nodded before sliding his way through the bay of the APC and toward the drivers compound; his other marines filled the other stations of the Leopard, weaponry and navigation, and assistant gunner, while a marine manned the tandem 12.7/40mm HAW, with an attached SM-10 Striker launcher mounted beside the firing house. As the marine modified the aiming of the turret module, the optical and IR scopes of the cannons activated.

"We're eyes open, Master Sergeant. Cutter in-sight." The Private relayed, disengaging the 40mm railcaster and aiming it toward the mountains as the onboard radio of the Claymore opened with a low growl. The Coalition armored group was deposited alongside a flanking force of Aschen forces nearly 30km east; the Marine-Armored Task Force was operating within communications range of many of the forces on the continent, using reconnaissance drones to identify a tactical roadway through a crested valley of the mountains. The route was a rough estimation, but skirted across a slanting river at a small crossroads town before climbing into the mountains.

"This is Wheelspinner to all Coalition forces; allied proximity confirmed. Marine-Armor is operating west of your position, Aschen personnel. Identify for support." The signal was broadcast by the platoon Lieutenant, operating from an open-top M22TB troop carrier; his squad and attached marksman team were positioned on the road with their vehicle. As the Leopard began to roll towards the street with the remaining vehicles, it was passed by the other Leopard IFV of Bravo platoon; the GV-70 was outfitted in the SA7AT format, sporting an 125mm anti-tank cannon along the firing turret. The pair of Leopard's climbed up the hill as Jacob reached out and pulled the door closed, watching the ground move by under the wheels of the Leopard.

Zeus Mountains AO
Sextillis, 18th, 90 Days until winter.

Weather Conditions:

Light Rain, 54° F
Late Evening

---

Recon Team 3
Somewhere in the Zeus Mountains
Logging Road 41-3N

"Gods damn this rain is making me soggy, you got your night-sight gear?" The Sergeant asked as he trudged through the dense woodland, the light pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the foliage echoing through the forest as the light began to die down. The Corporal nodded, and checked the equipment with the rest of his platoon. "It all checks out, we're going to get wet and the rain's not going to quit for another week, got that front trying to get over the mountains and it's just wringing itself out here in the foothills." He said, as the evening hours seemed to slowly tick by, while the men trudged through the muddy ground.

"I wonder if the Taurons are planning an incursion into Sagittaron." A young Specialist asked as he slung his disruptor rifle over his shoulder. "What are we up against? A bunch of poor dirt-eaters with a few rocks and pitchforks or we against a dedicated and well armed Tauron war machine?" The man continued, while the Sergeant turned to face him.

"Intel has them a loose militia with plasma rifles, they're using mostly civilian model weapons, though I wouldn't be suprised if they have some nasty stuff from the depositories in Hypatia." He said, holding up his hands and stopping the platoon. Silently he crept over an embankment near a logging road that ran alongside the Oracle river, which snaked through the mountains southwards into the Picon prefecture. "I've got vehicles inbound from the south, Coalite vehicles it looks like, boys how about we hitch a ride to Minos?" The Sergeant said, and as the vehicles snaked along their course through the logging road, the Sergeant grabbed his radio.

"Breaker Breaker, this is Sergeant Stacker, 3rd Recon team, I was wondering if you could give us a ride to Minos, over..." He said into his radio, as the lights approached he waved his hand, signalling to his men and the approaching UCON personnel en-route through the small road, that would eventually snake northwards through the mountains into Minos, Tauron.

The Caprican recon team were all covered in mud and grime when the light bathed them, each of them soaking wet as the rain pitter-pattered on their gear, all of them seemed cold and somewhat uncomfortable as the temperature slowly dropped with the setting of the sun.

"Check your gear make sure it's good to go, we're hitching a ride out of here and into Minos!" The Lead man said before he waited.

---

East Highroad 178r
Tauron-Sagittaron Border
1,037 Miles to Hypatia

The Armored Caprican spearhead continued to trundle through the road, as the evening turned into night, the lights of the vehicles illuminated the road ahead, and cars which came in either direction would have to slow and move around, but little did the advancing Caprican spearhead know what was in for them, the Platoon commander, a young Lieutenant was sitting on the hatch of one of the Myrmidon tanks as they moved through the roadway, rain pattering on the metal hull of the tanks and other vehicles as they drove through the road. "So far it's been clear, cold and wet, no Taurons in sight." He said, of course the man was probably speaking way too soon, shifting to grab his field glass, it was as if a bolt of lightning had seared through the night air, a singular violet beam of light came from the mountain tops, and impaled the man's head. There was a mist of blood and brains, and the body fell limply forward, alerting everyone else to the ambush.

The Tanks came to a rumbling stop before a solid green slug hurled towards one of the tanks. It impacted with a deafening bang, sending green debris in all direction and enveloping the tank in a massive green flash of light, there was silence before one of the Capricans shouted.

"Ambush!" And as he shouted that, blue streaks of plasma began to hurl towards them from one of the hilltops, the plasma left everything from steam to the thick smell of ozone as the blue bolts began to pepper the tanks, and mow down any unfortunate infantry as they tried to take cover behind their respective tanks.

"Lead one's taken a fuel rod! Frak!" A Sergeant barked before another green projectile sailed through the night, impacting the Myrmidon again, rocking the tank and sending chunks of plutonium and metal in all directions. The Capricans seemed unable to return fire as the group atop a hill to the right of the interstate were bent on keeping the Capricans pinned down.

"They have a rotary plasma nest! And fuel rods! We need support we're pinned down!" He barked before another fuel rod from a different portion of the hills sailed towards the second Myrmidon, impacting the rear portion of the tank and causing a vivid explosion, leaving little more than a husk of a tank to the rear of the spearhead. "Taurons everywhere!" A Specialist barked before he peered over the tank, with superheated bolts of plasma raining down at them faster than the drops of water the men had no choice. One brave specialist grabbed his disruptor, and began to fire back, sending streaks of green light up into the hills to no avail, the bolts simply were lost in the foliage of the trees, while the rotary plasma nest continued to keep the men pinned down.

"We need one of those Myrmidons to get a bead on that plasma nest!" A Sergeant barked, while one of the tanks began to move it's main cannon up into the hills, only to take an impact from the fuel rod headed towards it. A young comms officer was already on the radio.

"Krypter, Krypter, this is Armored Task Force 1, we're pinned down in a Tauron ambush, our vehicles are neutralized and we need immediate support, over." The Radio man hailed on all channels, before he was picked off by a beam of violet light.

"Frak we have a sniper up there too!" A Corporal screamed, before a beam of light picked off another unfortunate soul. Already the fight was beginning to heat up.

“What the fuck, why are we stopped?” Corporal Ramon Pattos asked, slowly jogging his way up the ling of parked Coalition vehicles arranged in a wedge on the street. Up ahead, a small hamlet guarded a tiny bridge across a dry riverbed. Lieutenant Carl Parker observed the small cluster of houses with a pair of high-powered binoculars. He lay prone on top of the SA7AT Leopard, hiding from the sunlight under the pointed barrel of the 125mm cannon.

“Distance, 400 meters odd. I got nothin’ on the thermals – that place is empty.” The Lieutenant replied, adjusting himself with his elbows and peeking over the hull of the Leopard to a duo of marine marksmen crouching beside the rear wheels of the IFV.

“Sergeant, take an element and scope the town; let’s get air support on the line and see if we can’t blow through this quick.” Lieutenant Parker commanded. The Sergeant held a salute before belly-crawling off the road, with an element of three other marine snipers, and began to swing to the left flank of the village.

“Get me a line to WARCOM, I want all eyes on that village! You glue your peepers to those structures like a Zhak to a goat, got me?” He said as he clambered down from the Claymore. The vehicle’s engines began to grumble to life as it lead two marine transports behind it; Ghost platoon returned to slowly encroaching on the hamlet, reaching 230 meters before dismounting once again as they received communications from the four-man sniper team positioned 160 meters on the left flank.

“We scanned it with the high-beams, Lieutenant, there’s nothin’ in there. Probably a few seasonal homes rented for two or three months out of the year – we’ve got burners on the optics, might be IEDs on the roads, stuck in cars, shit could be hidin’ anywhere in there.” The radio crackled in Parker’s headset as he jumped down from the troop bed of the M22TB. As the GV-70 Leopard containing Delta squad, commanded by Master Sergeant Osmos, pulled off the left hand shoulder of the street behind the Lieutenant, the rest of the platoon disembarked from their vehicles.

“Alright boys, let’s get ready to bring some firepower right down on their frightened little asses. Delta, you call in the coordinate link, get me a pin-point Cyclone strike; ultra-precision, high priority call.” The Lieutenant commanded, directing a team of marines carrying a deployable HMR-5 off to the right ditch of the road; as he shouted, the 80 men of the platoon took up a loose horseshoe defensive perimeter 30 meters from the vehicles, directed on the approach toward the hamlet.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. This is Ghost One Four, calling priority mission.” The voice of Master Sergeant Osmos boomed from the open bay of the Claymore, while Parker took a position beside the lead Claymore waiting to confirm the strike.

Far off to the left flank, 160 meters from the farthest structure in the town, the four marine snipers sat on the rolling hillside. Their locations at the moment were hidden by nanoreactive camouflage netting, standard kit for the Coalition marksmen. Three ECR-10 rifles were distributed across the team, with a Specialist manning one MR-20 anti-material rifle.

“There’s no one in there, just a whole lot of electronics. They left all the lights on.” Corporal Manny Como replied from behind the sight of his scope; the multi-zoom aperture scanned in a combination of thermal and laser systems. Constituting a cluster of ten buildings, four of which with accessible roofing, with flanking groups of six more structures making up the hamlet, the main objective was the bridgehead across the dry riverbed nestled some 200 meters north of the town. It was the Coalition approach into the sparsely populated, yet treacherous valley cutting through the heart of the Zeus Mountains.

“This is Killshot Three Six on-orbit at your support station – ordinance ready to bear; Hammerhead KB-nine hundreds for designation.” The slight amount of static caused by the high-altitude transmission caused a subtle crackle through the, but that didn’t stop any of the eighty marines of Ghost platoon to hoot and howl at the air strike procured from the gracious pilots of the Air Cavalry.

“Ready to designate, Killshot; you are open for danger close! Drop ordinance as soon as you get the shot, eyes up marines, lay out the red carpet!” Lieutenant Parker shouted, rolling onto his side as he grabbed for his own MR-18G, outfitted with a GP/EO-5 laser attachment on the foreguard of the weapon, and nestled the rifle into his shoulder. Nearly 80 low-intensity designator lasers identified the abandoned town on the far western flank of the advance. The Lieutenant waited atop the Claymore as the audio transmitter beeped on a low tone for a few seconds.

“Ghost One Four you have ordinance inbound; two shots out.” The radio squawked; and the Lieutenant faintly heard a distant whine of engines before the transmission cut, and the silence of awaiting a danger close airstrike fell over the platoon. In the distance, a low roar began to grow before high-velocity 68mm shells descended on the town in a burst, stitching a brief x with arcs of fire before the pair of 900kg Hammerhead bombs impacted the center of the town and detonated in a combined fury.



A plume of smoke and debris rose into the air as the blastwave rocked the surrounding landscape, deafening the nearby marines for a few moments before depositing a large field of miniscule debris across the 600 meter fallout zone.

“Hoooly shit! Talk about some affirmative fuckin’ action!” Corporal Pattos shouted from his position besides a small outcropping of rocks beside the road. He nestled the MR-18H into his shoulder, laying a palm over the heavy stock of the LAW before wiping away specks of dust and dirt that still fell from the air.

“Eat it up marines, we’ll be bringin’ a whole lot more a’ that down once we’re over the mountains! Load up and lock it tight, we’re – “ Parker stopped as he heard the distant clak clak clak of a heavy weapon, followed by a string of pops and rattles from a long-off firefight to the east. The piercing, baritone rumble threw the platoon into silence as they waited a brief moment, inspecting the far flung noises.

“The hell do you think that was? Aschen spearhead already break their nails?” A Private remarked, hunkered low on the left flank as he identified the four-man sniper team approaching from their hides. The element of marines traveled in bounding overwatch, scanning the desolated, bombed out hamlet near the bridge with their weaponry as a pair of marines hustled for the vehicles.

“Whatever it is, they’re gonna’ break a lot more than their nails – try any Tauron stupid enough to take a potshot at you stupid fuckers, load up!” The Lieutenant shouted, sliding into the bay of the Leopard from the open doors on the roof of the GV-70. As Alpha squad proceeded to board the IFV, Parker activated the digital command interface of the platoon; designating the pathway the vehicles were to travel, directly through the bombed out structures and across the river bridge. They would not stop until later that evening for a rendezvous with a team of Aschen scouts.




















As the evening came, and the weather had started a slow descent into unfavorable conditions, a group of eight Air Cavalry vehicles departed a Coalition FOB situated 20km to the rear of the Aschen spearhead. From the cockpit of the Annihilator gunship, the particles of water beaded into small spheres before streaking down the reactive plating of the gunship.

“Barbreaker Six is weapons hot for station. On escort for the QRF.” Lieutenant Kevin Mayer reported into the communication prompt as he adjusted the altitude of the Annihilators approach. In front of the two-man VTOL, four Aruka transports outfitted with various Cavalry vehicles on the rear lifts of the aircraft climbed above the horizon. Beside the M88s, a pair of M87 Cricket heavy transports rose to follow their smaller cousins; the Cricket VTOLs both lifted FSV-200 Warrior fighting vehicles to the battlezone.

“Ticker Eight Two to WARCOM Actual, outbound for Aschen CASEVAC. Requesting order priority for air cover – think we can get anything more than a pair of 90s for an escort?” The pilot asked as the group of aircraft passed over a forward mortar position of the Aschen vanguard force; up ahead the dull flashes of gunfire and explosions could be seen in the distance of the mountains. As the convoy of transports and gunships accelerated toward their landing zone, the pair of Annihilator gunships descended toward the ground in preparation for their initial sweep of the AO. Below him, Mayer eased the stick of the gunship back as the highway raced beneath him; instantly, his co-pilot and weapons operator, Technical Officer Lucas Landel identified a pair of IR signatures planted atop a ridgeline of the mountain.

“This is Barbreaker we’re eyes on. Multiple contacts to the east and west, on the ridgelines and set in the ravines; they’ve got some serious networks up here.” Landel reported as he engaged the nose-mounted tandem autocannon; as a holographic display of the underside view activated, Mayer oriented the gunship for a better angle as he pressed a series of commands into the weaponry prompt at his side.

“We’re loud loud loud. All Barbreakers, get rough.” Mayer ordered to the other M88, Barbreaker Six Three, which was orbiting north and flying in a loop over the mountain. As the Lieutenant felt the subtle rumble as the dual 30 and 12.7 millimeter fired a string of bright tracers and shrapnel rounds across a ridgeline that had poured fire onto the Caprican forces. On the highway, the column of Aschen tanks seemed stalled and ground down in the mud, meaning the dual gunships of Barbreaker above would need to sweep the immediate area and cleanse the entire valley.

“High-Velocity, Ground-Penetrating – loaded, go!” Lieutenant Mayer yelled as he initiated a brief interface with the onboard weapon computers, loading a specially designed 76mm shell into the fuselage-mounted cannon as Chief Landel aimed the hovering body of the Annihilator toward its target.

“Shot … out.” Landel confirmed, announcing a massive, flowering explosion as the high-explosive round impacted the ridgeline and swept it from the mountainside in a violent red fireball. Mayer pulled on the velocity throttle at his side, pushing the gunship faster through the air as Landel swept up any remaining signatures with a burst of the tandem autocannons.

“We’ve got movement all over the mountain side, but we’ll have to pull in close for the drop-off.” One of the Aruka pilots shouted over the communications as the flight descended to land at a floodplain along the highway; the four GV-12 troop carriers were dispatched first, loaded with a fully-armed squad of marines as the ambush crawled into obscurity. Along with the Saber M22s, four Claymore AFVs accompanied the lightly-skinned GV-12s. Onboard the two Cricket VTOLs was a platoon of 40 Orbital Drop Infantry Jumpers, making 80 in total; they remained onboard the aircraft as it disembarked the pair of Warrior fighting vehicles.

“This is Outlaw Two Nine with orders to chase those Sovrak fuckers into the hills; command says air umbrella will be coming over in a few hours – until then, kick some ass!”

As the Cricket VTOLs began to rise up into the air, the two Annihilators began scanning the hillside with optical sensors, trigger finger on the ready. In the lull, Mayer activated the two attachment-rigs containing five Hammerhead AG surface-to-ground missiles, designed to operate using a radar designator and multi-directional impact to deliver a 90kg bomb to a precise target. Parsing through the weapon list of the Annihilator, Mayer prepared the extensive ordinance of guided weaponry and projectiles on the pylons of the gunship; Mayer trained the dual 30mm gunpods to his HUD, he would have to adjust the body of the Annihilator directly to aim.

“Get your wounded onto the Arukas, we’ve got five minutes on station! Let’s do this quick!” A Marine Lieutenant shouted from the troop bed of a Saber, cupping his hands to his mouth to boost the gain of the communication headset.
“We need all serious injuries loaded first, put them on the stow-racks; stabilize any bleeding wounds and wrap ‘em up, surgeon gen’rals at the FOB are waiting on the pad. Let’s go!” The Lieutenant shouted, holding one hand in the rain as the marines prepared the medical evacuation of the Aschen wounded.