Chapter 27

Mambovian Expeditionary Force Headquarters,

Luanda, People's Republic Of Lubanji.

"Newest update from our intelligence network," stated Lt. Carrera as he entered the
conference room and placed a stack of documents on the table, "thus far, we have
confirmed two landings - one in Cape Town and the other in the Johannesburg region. The
number of enemy combatants is unknown, but they seem to be similar to those reported in
other areas - a combination of heavily armored elite infantry equipped with advanced
personal body armor and lighter infantrymen, also well-equipped with laser-based weapons.
Based on our observations, they appear to be Human rather than alien, although we have
yet to capture and examine one. Moskvingrad is currently working on that. They have both
vehicles and air support. The civilian casualties are estimated to be in the hundreds, possibly
even thousands by now. The breakdown of civil order in Joburg has led to riots among the
black population in Soweto and neighboring districts. Our informants have also noticed
increased activity at the SAAF bases in Waterkloof, Swartkop, and Ysterplaat."

Colonel Ernesto Bella, from the 6th Army Corps of the Mambovian Revolutionary Army,
furrowed his brow as he took a strong puff from his cigar, surveying the array of maps and
papers spread out before him. Smoking wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, but the
bitter taste helped him stay focused and alert. Despite the cool breeze coming in from the
sea, the evening was hot and humid. The barracks were well-ventilated and air-conditioned,
yet the air still felt heavy with the scent of tobacco and tension. The rest of Colonel Bella's
staff began to gather in the room one by one, as they had been alerted to the situation. It
had been just over an hour since they received the news of Colonel Ramos's column being
decimated by an unknown force in Ughania, which was located on the other side of the
continent.

Colonel Bella pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. General Ndalu was renowned
for his brashness and impulse to action, but this took things too far.

"Lieutenant, contact headquarters and patch me through to General Ndalu immediately."

Bella didn't mince words once the connection went live. "General, this is Colonel Bella. I
understand the desire to strike back, but launching an offensive in our current state is
madness. We've received reports of highly advanced aliens swarming across the planet.
Have their orbiting fleet not given you pause?"

General Ndalu's response was exactly as predicted - righteous indignation that outsiders
now dared question his strategy. But Bella pushed back firmly. "With respect, we are guests
in Lubanji. I cannot condone actions that endanger their people or our mission of defense.
Delay one week for further intelligence. Reconnoiter their forces' capabilities before
exposing ours."

A tense moment followed before Ndalu acquiesced with obvious reluctance. Bella released a
pent breath, hoping further damage was averted. But the aliens' presence changed
everything, and that put even volatile border disputes on hold.
"Lieutenant, get our agents investigating these… aliens.' I want to know weapons, tactics,
origins - anything that gives us an edge. And have the radars scan the skies. If more appear, I
want early warning."

Bella could only pray further insight allowed calm heads to prevail over heated passions. For
now, Gorongosa had larger threats to unite against.

Pavlovsk, Vostokvakian Coalition. Vostokvakian Federatice Coalitionist Republic. June 5 th

1995. Day 4 of WW3

Colonel Alexi Pavlovich Syroezhkin of the Vostokvakian Army appeared fatigued, evident to
any outsider that he had not slept well. He consumed copious amounts of coffee in an
attempt to stay alert for a little longer. The dim light bulb cast a gloomy atmosphere.

Pavel remembered a dark joke made by one of his subordinates, stating that they would only
be able to get a full night's rest once their headquarters were discovered and destroyed by
aliens.

On the table lay fresh photographs taken by the Tu-141 supersonic reconnaissance drone.
The images were highly relevant, as it had only been six hours since the enemy troops had
ceased significant movement on the ground.

A meticulous staff officer recorded all the changes in the situation with neat, calligraphic
handwriting (presumably, he had always excelled in penmanship). The Colonel, wincing from
a headache, read the handwritten text with great care. His attention was fixated on the
records detailing the movements of tankers under the command of a woman. Although her
name remained unknown to him, veterans of the conflict, , attested to her active
involvement in the battles for Lestrovye Pocket on June 2nd, the first day, where she led
enemy troops. Subsequently, she played a crucial role in the battles for Moskvya and now
her units persevered amidst the remnants of Kruschevgrad following the chaos caused by
2KW.

Syroezhkin immersed himself in an analytical report, which convincingly demonstrated that

the enemy possessed the capability to sustain themselves with their own supplies for an
extended period. This assessment did not even account for the potential resumption of
supply!

Now, he had to prepare for the inevitable engagement, a term he had coined in his mind, as
the radioactive wastelands that would remain afterwards would hold little significance to
anyone. He had come to the realization that he would soon have to surpass her in his
understanding of Military Science.

To achieve this, he needed to rebuild the Division, which had suffered significant damage
due to orbital strikes. The Colonel found himself lost in a sea of memories...
June 4th, 1995. The day when the world changed forever, as he narrowly escaped death
under the scorching heat of nuclear explosions. Lieutenant Colonel Syroezhkin had initially
believed that it would be an ordinary day, despite the worsening situation on the front and
the absence of any glimmer of hope. However, he now realizes that what he had perceived
as a light at the end of the tunnel was, in fact, the approaching lanterns of an oncoming
train.

The General of the 89th Motorized Rifle Division had saved the lives of many fighters by
swiftly ordering the Division to evacuate the military town. The neighboring 97th Separate
Tank Regiment, which had lost its Banner and suffered near-total annihilation in a nuclear
explosion that razed the city of Kamen-Rybolov along with its civilian population, served as a
stark reminder of what could have befallen them had they not received the order. With the
banner gone, the unit was disbanded.

Alexi Romanovich, the Major General, felt a deep sense of sorrow and yearning. Along with
the entire staff and commanding officers of the Division's Regiments (excluding Syroezhkin,
who was inspecting his Regiment), they had been unable to evacuate the doomed city in
their attempt to save the families of the Division officers.

Their efforts had tragically failed.

Now, each surviving officer who had their families with them appeared as if a significant part
of their soul had been torn away. This added another compelling reason, among the
countless others, for them to seek revenge against the aliens.

Alexi somberly speculated that the enemy likely harbored similar sentiments, albeit directed
towards them.

However, the worst was yet to come...

Despite surviving a nuclear explosion, they endured significant casualties due to radiation.
Syroezhkin will forever be haunted by the sight of soldiers and civilians succumbing to
radiation sickness and dying without proper treatment (the chemical protection company
was overwhelmed by the sheer number of radiation victims).

Lieutenant Colonel Alexi Pavlovich Syroezhkin himself was convinced that this was the end of
their lives, and they would all perish once their filters ran out. Their survival became a
painful agony leading to an inevitable death.

Perhaps he would have followed the example of Major Malkovich, the former chief joker of
the division. Unfortunately, his great sense of humor couldn't shield him from the
devastating psychological blow of losing his entire family (his pregnant wife and young son
died in a military town, and he had no doubt about the fate of his remaining family in the
capital of the Ukraina SSR). Consequently, his lifeless body with a bullet hole in the temple
was discovered one morning, and now the captain assumes command of the regiment, as no
higher-ranking officers were found alive.
Fortunately, there came a day that he would later remember as significantly warmer than
the others following the Nuclear Exchange of June 3rd. The remnants of the command from
the Far Eastern Military District managed to locate him and, along with a promotion to the
rank of Colonel, officially appointed him as the Commander of the 29th Division, which
needed to be rebuilt from the ground up.

Fortunately, there came a day when he felt significantly warmer than the other days
following the Nuclear Exchange of 1995. The remnants of the Far Eastern Military District
command managed to locate him and, along with his promotion to the rank of Colonel,
officially appointed him as the Commander of the 29th Division, which needed to be rebuilt
from scratch

The door swung open and Captain Rotmistrova entered the staff dugout. Syroezhkin
immediately realized that she would be discussing decontamination. Radioactive particles
proved to be more effective in disabling the division's armored vehicles than enemy attacks.

The tank regiment faced particular challenges, as they were unfortunate enough to endure
the next winterstorm period in the open air after the Nuclear Exchange. Half of their tanks
now emitted radiation, posing a greater threat to the crew than the enemy. If only he still
had tankers for this regiment...

Certainly, those reservists who possessed the coveted number 113 in the MOS code column
on their military identification cards were now invaluable (just like all reservists with a
different specialty from those who fought on the front lines). The Military Authorities
promised to send units from the Trans-Daikal Military District, but Alexi Pavlovich decided to
err on the side of caution and hoped for fewer issues with combat coordination by relying on
local reservists.

He rejoiced like a child at the sight of any reservist whose service ended on day 3, when they
participated in the battles for the two cities. Unfortunately, the war had already claimed a
significant portion of the reservists who fought in the Patanistan Conflict.

His thoughts about the division's problems were interrupted by Rotmistrova's hoarse voice.

"We are continuing with the decontamination of the vehicles, but we still need much more
time than we have."

Syroezhkin trusted him because he knew that his CO of the chemical protection company,
Rotmistrova, knew what she was talking about. She was a former liquidator in Chernobyl
was no stranger to working with radiation.

"Thank you, I trust that you have ensured the safety of the remaining armored vehicles,
correct?" Alexi expressed his concern.

"Yes, indeed we have taken the necessary precautions," came the reassuring response.
"Excellent, that alleviates some of my worries! Prepare yourselves to shield the required
number of tanks from radiation for the tank regiment."

"Pardon me?" the Captain was perplexed, unsure of where these additional tanks were
coming from.

"We have retrieved a number of older tanks from storage, such as T-55s or T-62s. They may
not be our prized T-72s, but they are still decent enough. At least we won't have to resort to
using T-34-85s and T-10s!"

"Well, those prisoners of war who escaped with the T-34-85s before the nuclear attacks
didn't seem to have any issues," Captain Rotmistrova chuckled.

"Alright, let's focus on acquiring newer main battle tanks. Our Mi-8 helicopter pilots have
managed to locate and land near the remnants of a Shock Tank Regiment near
Privtapolovosk. I believe we can make use of their T-80s. We have a group of reservists who
served in the Group of Coalition Forces in West and are familiar with operating them."

Syroyezhkin recalled the worn-out Tank Major with a pale face and bloodshot eyes, who had
once served as a military advisor to the Gregureyon People's Army, providing them with
state-of-the-art T-90s. Now, he was a weary officer, aware of his impending doom due to
radiation. The Colonel vividly remembered his final request.

The Major had offered to personally lead the attack on the T-55, fully aware of the slim
chances of survival. He justified his decision by stating that he wanted to save at least one
life, as his own was already condemned. Alexi was left speechless, struck by the Major's
unwavering determination.

Alexi finally allowed himself to unwind after a grueling day of work. His safety from above
was ensured by the AWACS Beriev A-50, which had taken off from Ukurey. The A-50s
diligently monitored any signs of alien aircraft, ready to alert others to defend against an
attack. The Command's attention was focused on the transfer of the 83rd Air Assault Brigade
to Euronia, which Syroezhkin found ironic considering they had only recently received
paratroopers in 1990 during the troop withdrawal from Recta. Now, they were being sent
back to Euronia, a place in chaos. This transfer marked a positive development, indicating
that the Trans-Siberian Railway had finally been restored for transportation across the entire
Socialist Coalition. The paratroopers had long desired to be transferred to Euronia, and now
their wish was granted. Syroezhkin's superiors wasted no time and took necessary measures
to strengthen the Cadre Divisions, which had less than half of their peacetime personnel.

The Black Death (or Naval Infantry) remained untouched, and the Command hoped to keep
them as an elite reserve in case of any difficulties in this global war. Alexi Pavlovich
Syroezhkin knew that even in the Pacific Conflict, one of the owners of the black beret
revived the battle cry "Polundra!", which was used during the Great Patriotic War. Now, the
Naval Infantrymen would charge into battle with these rallying cries. Everything seemed to
be progressing well... Although Syroezhkin had a lingering feeling of a major problem in
which that woman would undoubtedly be involved, he hoped it wouldn't happen today or
tomorrow. Exhausted from the recent events, Alexi Pavlovich Syroezhkin slept soundly, like a
lifeless body. Unfortunately, the end of the War was nowhere in sight...

33rd Vostroyan Firstborn

Captain Lisa Bolkonskaya
3rd Armoured Troop
Day 4 of Invasion

The land here was snowy, and cold. And these rebels used Cyrillic, an ancient version... no
matter. She stared through the periscope of her Rogal Dorn battle tank. There was just ice
and snow.

"Ladies, anything on the Auspex" she asked her crew. t the edge of her view, her optical
sensors across the snowy wastes, seeing no signs of movement. But her Auspex officer spoke
up.

"Captain, I'm detecting armored vehicles on approach. Signature doesn't match anything in
our databases."

"CONTACT, 12 O'CLOCK!" her gunner shouted. The crew jolted to alertness.

Emerging from the whiteout came a platoon of hulking vehicles, Moments later over the
snow-cloaked hills charged an oncoming wall of steel. Sleek boxy tanks, lower and longer
than any Imperial battle tank, thundered towards them at frightening speed. Bulky armor
sloped at sharp angles, giving the vehicles a distinctive wedge shape. A large-bore cannon
was fixed in an armored turret,

"By the throne, what in Terra's name are those?!" Exclaimed her gunner Vanessa.

Lisa studied them intently. "Targets are tracked, weaponry resembles a battle cannon... crew
compartment amidships. I believe these are the native armored fighting vehicles of this
world. And by the look of how they maneuver, well drilled indeed."

The lead vehicle suddenly slewed its turret, giving Lisa a clear view of its profile. Gasps
echoed over the internal vox.

"Is that...a 125mm smoothbore?" Lisa said in astonishment. Such advanced ordnance was
unheard of outside the Adeptus Mechanicus' most secretive laboratories.

"They're charging straight at us, ma'am!" cried Vanessa, bringing Lisa back to the moment.
Through the viewports, the alien engines roared ever closer.

Lisa steeled herself. "Then it seems a formal introduction is in order. Target main guns and
open comms - let us greet these 'locals' in High Gothic!"
Wikipedia the free encyclopedia

KSU-37-6

Crew: Three (commander, gunner, driver)

Weight: about 26,000 kg (57,300 lb)
Length: 7.78 m (25 ft 5 1/2 in) with gun facing forward
6.55 m (21 ft 5 1/2 in) hull only
Width: 3.25 m (10 ft 8 in)
Height: 3.88 m (12 ft 9 in) overall,
2.66 m (8 8 1/2 ft) with search radar stowed
Suspension: Hydropneumatic
Ground clearance: 17–57 cm
Fuel capacity: 760 l (200 US gal, 170 imp gal)

Armor:
Unknown, but probably not more than 15 mm (0.6")

Performance:
Speed: 65 km/h (40 mph) maximum on the road
Climbing ability: 0.7 m (2.3')
Maximum climb gradient: 30°
Trench crossing ability: 2.5 m (8.2')
Fording depth: 1.0 m (3.3')
Operational range: 500 km (310 mi)
Power/weight: 24 hp/t

Engine:
1× 2V-06-2S water-cooled multi-fuel diesel engine with 510 hp (380 kW)
1× auxiliary DGChM-1 single-shaft gas turbine engine with 70 hp at 6,000 rpm,
connected with a direct-current generator

Transmission:
Hydromechanical

Armament:
1× GSh-6-37 six-barreled 37mm (1.5 in) Gatling gun with 1.600 rounds,
plus 800 more in an optional, external auxiliary magazine

"There was nothing more terrifying to a Guardsmen of the Astra Millitarum than the ZSU-37-
6"
Pvt Zachary Ilvan, a former Imperial Guardsmen, and Veteran of the Third World War

The KSU-37-6 also known as Object 511 during its development phase and later also as
"KSU-37-6 / Лена", was a lightly armored Ulraznavian self-propelled, radar guided anti-
aircraft weapon system that was to replace the cannon-armed, Flakpanzer Gerhardt, and
ZSU-23-4 "Shilka" SPAAG. in Ulraznavian service. The development of a potential successor
started in 1970. At the request of the Ulraznavian Ministry of Defense, the KBP Instrument
Design Bureau in Gryanka, East Ulraznavia started work on a new mobile anti-aircraft system
as a replacement for the 23mm ZSU-23-4. The project was undertaken to improve on the
observed shortcomings of the SU-23-4 (short range and no early warning) and to counter
new ground attack aircraft in development, such as the Concordian A-10 Thunderbolt II,
which was designed to be highly resistant to 23 mm cannons.

KBP studies demonstrated that a cannon of at least 30 mm caliber was necessary to counter
these threats, and that a bigger caliber weapon would offer some more benefits. Firstly, to
destroy a given target, such a weapon would only require from a third to a half of the
number of shells that the ZSU-23-4's 23 mm cannon would need. Secondly, comparison tests
revealed that firing with an identical mass of 30 mm projectiles instead of 23 mm
ammunition at a MiG-17 (or similarly at OFN's Hawker Hunter or Fiat G.91...) flying at 300
m/s would result in a 1.5 times greater kill probability. An increase in the maximum
engagement altitude from 2,000 to 4,000 m and higher effectiveness when engaging lightly
armored ground targets were also cited as potential benefits Development and Testing

After initial testing and evaluation, a prototype system - designated Object 511 - was
constructed and underwent rigorous trials from 1972-1974. This system utilized the
powerful new GSh-6-37 six-barreled 37mm (1.5 in) Gatling gun with 1.600 rounds, which
featured an unprecedented rate of fire of 1,600 rpm from its unique 6-barrel configuration.
The high muzzle velocity of 900 m/s gave it excellent range and penetrating power.

Object 511 was mounted on a new lightweight tracked chassis able to keep pace with the
latest tank designs. A compact S1M rotating radar and automated targeting systems gave it
unprecedented early warning and fire control capabilities. Despite some teething issues
early on, the testing proved highly successful.

Combat Debut

Approximately 100 KSU-37-6 systems entered service with the Ulraznavian Army in 1976,
equipping dedicated anti-aircraft battalions. Their first taste of combat came in 1978 during
the Afghanistan Conflict in service with the Afghan Mujahideen , where they proved
devastating against Vostokvakian aircraft conducting close air support missions. Testimony
from Vostokvak aviators spoke of the "wall of flak" thrown up by the KSUs, tearing aircraft
apart before pilots knew what hit them.

Perhaps their most famous deployment came during WW3 and the Invasion of 1995, where
they fought desperately to blunt the aerial onslaught of the Imperial Battlefleet Scolaris. ZSU
gunners swiveled their turrets at lightning speeds, pumping shells skyward at rates that
dazzled onlookers. Many Imperial transports and fighter-bombers fell victim before pilots
could react, earning the KSU its grim nickname "Death from Above".

Beneath the ocean.

The vessel had stopped now. Liutenant Karla Kovacs, Imperial Navy silently heard groans
Karla sat huddled in the meager accommodations of her cell as she felt the movement of the
strange vessel change. It was pulling upward now, the subtle incline answering her question
of whether they had reached their destination.

Moments later, she heard the screech of docking clamps and muted voices through the wall.
Her guards appeared shortly after, unlocking the reinforced door. They jerked their heads in
a blunt command to follow as Karla stood unsteadily.

Emerging topside, she blinked in the harsh sunlight, catching her first glimpse of this
enigmatic world. Spread before her was a vast naval base clinging to the shore, hidden from
above by wispy cloud cover. Sleek gray vessels bustled between towering docking spires that
stretched a hundred meters tall. Crisscrossing monorails whisked workers between shipyards
and prefab hab buildings sprawling inward from the coast.

It was beyond anything Karla had witnessed in the Imperium - advanced yet seemingly
mundane. No hololithic interfaces or grav lifts, just orderly efficiency and ingrained routines.
She heard the tinny echoes of strange music drifting over it all from loudspeakers, not at all
like the sacred choirs of Terra.

Her captors' shuttle ferried them swiftly inland, giving uneasy glimpses of towering
habblocks and lush parks between. Eventually the nondescript bureaucracy of some central
headquarters loomed, oozing a subtle menace despite its otherwise drab appearance.

Inside, expressionless functionaries processed Karla's entry without word. She was led down
sterile corridors, feeling ever more like prey being drawn into the depths of some great
machine. Her guards deposited her before an interrogation room whose ominous veneer
seemed all too familiar.

Karla steeled herself to face whatever unknown inquisition awaited within. How had such an
uncanny world arisen, so outwardly normal yet utterly alien? She knew only that escape
seemed ever more impossible amidst such strangeness.

Field Headquarters of the United Nations Global Defense Initiative (UNGDI.)

Arlakhengorsk.
Republic of Kastovia.
Near Ulraznavian Border, Region of Esterland, Pärnu
June 5th, 1995.
Day-4 of WW3

Colonel James Solomon opened up his laptop to a secure connection to UN Headquarters in

Geneva, for a minute, there was nothing but static before the face of Brigadier General Mark
Jamison Sheppard, Cascadian army and UNGDI’s current leader came online.

“Are you picking this up? Good. I know you need more deep background, but we're up
against it. Extraterrestial forces have fortified this beachhead at X16-Y42. Intelligence is still
coming in so we can't tell you a lot, but we found a chink in their armor. Colonel J.C Carter
can sneak you and some backup forces on shore right here. You may get some artillery
support from his gunboats, but this is mostly grunt work. Your mission is simple: knock out
all fortifications, eliminate all hostile troops, and establish. Good luck.” Sheppard bluntly
briefed.

“That’s all you have got, we’ve got no idea what we’re facing at all?” Solomon asked in
disbelief. Atleast he trusted Carter, a good buddy from West Point.

Sheppard shook his head "I'm sorry James, but nothing solid. Only thing we know is that the
Ulraznavian Army has a few outposts there that are MIA."

Soloman rubbed his temples in frustration. This op was shaping up to be a cluster from the
get-go.

"General, no recon is asking for a bloodbath. We don't know numbers, weapons, nothing.
Half my boys could end up fish food just crossing the beach!"

Sheppard's stern gaze didn't flinch. "You know as well as I do we're fighting the clock here,
James. That foothold gets stronger by the hour. Waiting's not an option."

Solomon blew out a harried breath. "Alright, but I want full artillery and air support on
standby. And another platoon for extraction if it goes south."

Sheppard nodded curtly. "You'll have it. Now get those men moving, Colonel. Godspeed."
The screen blinked off.

Solomon stood a moment, turning options grimly in his head. Finally he activated the field
phones. "Captain Stephens, get Alpha and Bravo companies geared up hot. We're rolling in
20 for an assault at X16-Y42. And get me JC on the line - I've got some questions for that son
of a bitch before we swim into hell."

He had precious little to prep his men with. But if anything could be said of the GDI, it was
that they fought like demons regardless of the odds. Time to find out what infernal beast
held the beach - and drag its ass kicking and screaming off Solomon's coastline.

12 PM

"C'mon assholes! get in!" NCO's screamed as soldiers trooped into M113 APC's. Since the
UNGDI had been formed from the United Nations Peacekeeping forces, there were alot of
different uniforms, even from the Vostokvakian controlled eastern bloc. In fact the only thing
common on their uniforms was the blue UN patch and the Eagle of the UNGDI. Private Jacob
Harding found himself sandwiched between a tough looking Edenite SAS member, and a
marine of the Rectan Peoples Republic's 7th Lusatian Landing Division-he could see the
words Ignacy Andrzejewski wrtten on his BDU. The APC's engine rumbled to life, kicking up
clouds of sandy grit. Inside, Jacob felt every jostle acutely as the troop compartment filled
with nervous energy. Jacob felt the APC lurch into motion, engines roaring as they peeled
off down the dirt track. He braced himself against the vibrations, clutching his M-16
nervously.
Beside him, Ignacy chewed gum nonchalantly while cleaning under his nails with a knife. The
Edenite across from them watched the troop movement through the narrow slits, face grim.

Jacob checked his radio - battery full, freq dialed to command net. Next, he adjusted his
load-bearing vest, making sure each frag, and smoke grenade was secure. Finally, he popped
a plug of chewing tobacco, letting the spicy juice coat his tongue. It helped dull the clawing
nerves.

Through the overhead slits he saw the coastal hills flash by in a rising dust cloud. They'd be
hitting the beachhead within minutes. He tried listening in on the nearby radios, but it was
all coded chatter. No clues yet about the enemy they faced.

The Edenite slid open his visor to light a cigarette, the flicker casting sharp shadows on his
bearded face. Ignacy hacked and spat into his helmet. Jacob closed his eyes and tried to
calm his hammering heart. Just another exercise, he told himself. But somewhere up ahead,
unknown terrors were waiting in the tangled brush and dunes.

His stomach lurched as the APC braked hard, throwing them against slit walls. They'd arrived
at the Line of Departure. Time to roll out. Jacob fumbled for the latch, steeling himself for
whatever hell awaited beyond the swinging rear ramp. This was it - boots on the ground. The
first thing Jacob saw was that their destination was an Ulraznavian army outpost... Sentries
clad in standard stichtarn camo were smoking cigarettes, an officer, a feldwebel by the looks
of it was conversing with the CO, Captain Jax, the Ulraznavian NCO was gesturing forward
towards the town itself, from the brief snippets, it appeared that the Heer had held off the
extraterrestrials since June 2nd, on the first day...

"We've lost contact with the other outposts around Pärnu, it would be sehr gut if you could
reestablish contact with them for us. You are going inside the town yes? be on your guard,
the enemy is dangerous... June 2nd told us that much, if you count that as first contact." the
NCO took of his black Beret, revealing brown hair "If you are going to dislodge the beachead
then head a bit eastwards, my patrols reveal there are no enemies there yet..."

Jacob absorbed it all, processing the implications. So the Ulraznavians had engaged these
aliens firsthand, holding the line for three long days. But now other outposts had fallen silent
and the enemy held the town as well.

Captain Jax thanked the feldwebel, requesting any maps or intel on enemy movements. As
the NCOs conferred, Jacob grabbed Ignacy's arm. "Did you catch that? Sounds like we're
marching into our first alien contact zone."

Ignacy nodded solemnly. "Tak. And the aliens have already been fighting soldiers for days.
Wonder what they look like up close?"

The Edenite spat another stream of tobacco through the slit. "Whatever they are, I'm sure
they'll bleed the same color as us. Just keep your eyes open lads, and watch each other's
backs in there."
Jacob checked his rifle again compulsively as Jax wrapped up with the Ulraznavians. Time to
move out. He fell in with the line snaking down the hill toward Pärnu's darkened outskirts,
every sense on high alert. With enemies that could best veteran troops lurking in the gloom,
this first contact might be his last. All he could do was trust his training and pray luck was on
his side.

Up ahead in the murk, an eerie glow was visible through the buildings. The aliens were
there, waiting. Jacob steeled himself to find out if blood truly ran the same, no matter the
species.

Captain Desmond B. Weskell

29th Mordian Iron Guard
Occupied town.

Desmond looked through his magnoculars...the town was finally silent, after 3 days of
fighting since landing, his guys could finally relax. He lowered his magnocs and rubbed tired
eyes. Three solid days of back-to-back fighting had taken its toll on him and his men.

As he surveyed the bombed-out streets, an eerie calm had fallen over the occupied town. It
seems they'd finally beaten back the last local resistance. No movement caught his gaze, no
unfamiliar chatter on the Vox net.

Just silence and stillness stretching in all directions under a bruised twilight sky. It was
almost peaceful after the hellish sounds of combat. Desmond allowed himself a faint smile.
Perhaps now they could rest and lick their wounds.

He considered sending out patrols to shore up their perimeter for the night. But fatigue
weighed heavily on every man. A few hours' sleep might do them good before setting up
proper defenses at dawn.

Desmond touched his Vox bead. "Alright lads, looks like we've got the place to ourselves for
now. Set up a loose perimeter and get some kip. I want everybody back on their feet by
0600."

Grateful acknowledgments crackled through the device as his men dispersed to grab what
rest they could. Desmond settled back against a smoking rubble pile and let his breathing
slow. Just a short shuteye before the next watch...

T-55 Tank
Sgt Marcin Powłanski
UNGDI "Mixed" Tank platoon
Formerly Rectan People’s Army
Pärnu, Esterland.
Ulraznavia
The IR sight was showing nothing yet...Sgt Marcin Powłanski formerly of the Ludowe Wojsko
Rectani sleepily sighed. The "Mixed Tank platoon" was exactly what it sounded... there were
different tanks of different nationalities.

"Sarge, I'm bored. Where’s the action?" his driver, Patryk said from his station. In response,
Marcin's gunner kicked the Warsaw city boy in the nuts.

"Patryk, don't you dare jinx us." Wladislaw muttered darkly. Marcin sighed, tired but on alert
through force of habit. "Cut the chatter back there. We're on recon so keep your heads in
the game."

He scanned the infrared scope slowly, taking in the wrecks and rubble surrounding their hull.
No red shapes jumped out yet in the grainy image. Just more stillness.

A crackle in his headphones signaled the platoon leader. "Sarge, anything to report?" Marcin
shook his head even though they couldn't see. "Negative sir, all quiet so far."

He tuned back in to hear Patryk complaining of boredom again, earning another cuff from
Wladislaw. At least the big gunner kept him on his toes. Marcin allowed himself a ghost of a
smile.

Small comforts were what got you through the long watches, waiting for...well, whatever it
was they were up against. He'd take boredom over contact any day, despite Patryk's
complaining. Something told Marcin their enemy wouldn't give them time for that.

So, he scanned, ever vigilant, hoping the crosshairs stayed empty. But ready all the same
when the time came to return fire.

Pvt Minkin
Cadian XIth

Minkin sighed as he scanned the street below through his lasgun sights. Three days and
they'd seen nothing but locals. Now even they'd fucked off to die somewhere else.

A sound caught his ear - tracks grinding in the distance. He nudged Tobin, nodding at the
ruined square. Dark shapes were emerging from the fog, stopping to scan with fiery lenses.

Tanks. But whose? He thumbed on his microphone. "Sarge, we got unidentified armor at our
twelve."

Sergeant Strak's gruff reply crackled back. "Understood private, keep eyes on and stand by.
Lady Kolesov orders capture, not destruction."

As if he needed reminding. That icy Inquisitor would have them all flayed alive to sate her
curiosity. And that creepy commissar might just help.
But before Minkin could curse them further, detonations erupted without warning. Brilliant
plasma streams ripped into concrete pillars and windows with reptilian hisses. Holy shit,
someone was firing on the tanks!

He glanced behind - sure enough the commissar stood in the doorway, hellgun spewing
death at the mysterious armor. Stupid bastard never could leave well enough alone. Now
there was no choice but to fight.

Flicking the safety, Minkin sighted on an open hatch and squeezed off. May as well get it
over with.

With the T-55 Tank.

A streak of tracers above his tank pulled Marcin's attention left. Someone was firing from a
toppled spire at the city's edge. He snarled a curse - so much forrecon in stealth.

"Enemy infantry in the clock tower, twelve o'clock!" Wladislaw shouted from the gunner's
seat as return fire pinged off their turret. "Give 'em shell!"

Marcin whipped the turret around and got his first good look through the scope. Camo-clad
figures were visible atop crumbling walls, spraying las from black tubes. Not locals, unless
they'd sprouted las-rifles overnight.

He dialed in a HE round and slapped Wladislaw's shoulder. "Load it up! I'm giving them a
wakeup call."

The gun jerked back with a boom as high-explosive ripped from the barrel. Through the dust
Marcin watched it punch clean through several floors, detonating within. A satisfying
eruption of rubble answered before the choking cloud enveloped the view.

Inside, Minkin never heard the shell closing in over the staccato las-fire. One moment he was
sighting on a tank - the next an inferno swallowed his world, flinging him aside like a doll.

Pain shrieked through his body, but he was alive. Blindly he fumbled for his rifle, finding only
pulverized ferrocrete. The squad were ghosts, lost amidst the raging flames. And as the
commissar's cooling corpse struck his leg, Minkin knew he was alone.

Miles away

"Weapons hot people!" Captain Jax screamed as everyone heard the explosions. Jacob
brought his M16 up as the squad began to run. Ignacy was beside him, loading his karabinek
wzór 1988 (Carbine Model 1988) Tantal assault rifle. Jacob's boots pounded the worn
asphalt in perfect time with the others. Sweat trickled down his back despite the evening
chill as adrenaline flooded his system.

Up ahead a shell-pocked intersection loomed where scattered laser fire was crisscrossing in
the dusk. Beyond that, darkness and unknown threats waited in the ruins of Pärnu.
He gulped a lungful of acrid air, flexing his trigger finger anxiously. Only a hot extract awaited
- if they survived contact. So far no one had mentioned what exactly "The Enemy" entailed.

A sideways glance showed Ignacy calmly working the bolt on his Tantal, somehow unruffled.
His placid demeanor helped ground Jacob momentarily.

Then Captain Jax was waving them left into an alley, peeling off the main assault force. Their
job was flanking security - watch for any attempt to outmaneuver the attack from the
shadows.

Jacob snapped his head forward just as shouts and laser screeches erupted up ahead.
Through the smoke he glimpsed muzzle flashes blooming like poisonous flowers.

Time slowed. Then Jax bellowed "Go! Go! Go!" and they were sprinting towards the
maelstrom, charging to meet their fate in the urban darkness. Whatever came next, Jacob
would face it standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers.

It was finally make-or-break, contact with an unknown enemy. Yet as always, togetherness
gave courage over fear. Jacob steeled himself to look Death in the eye if needed, for the
other men at his side… and he slammed face first into a nun with a gun of all things.

Jacob reeled back, stunned, as the young woman whirled to face him with fluid grace. Her
wimple had fallen away to reveal a heart-shaped face still bearing traces of girlhood, but her
eyes blazed with a terrible fury.

Before he could react, she lunged with shocking speed. Jacob barely deflected a blow that
would've crushed his throat, pain exploding in his forearm from the impact.

She came at him again relentlessly, a flurry of finely honed strikes that drove Jacob back on
the defensive. Through the frenzy, he caught glimpses of ornate power armor and pistols
slung at her hips. Whoever - whatever - she was, this was no ordinary foe.

Summoning every scrap of training, Jacob twisted within her guard and delivered a piston-
like jab to her exposed ribs. It connected with a sickening crunch but she barely stumbled,
retaliating with a backhand that split his brow open.

Blood streamed into Jacob's eye as they disengaged momentarily, circling warily. This thing -
this woman - was going to kill him. He had to end it, now. With a roar, Jacob launched
himself into a tackle, intent on bearing her down through brute force. His last thought
before impact was of home, and hoping this strange battle would see him there once more…

Only, impact never came. there was a burst before the sound of a body hitting the ground.
Jacob tentively opened his eyes. Ignacy stood in front of him, his smoking Tantal in one hand,
and Jacob's M16 in the other.
"You alright Jakuv? That Sobaka looked like she was going to snap your little kurwa neck. So
we now know what the aliens look like" Ignacy's voice sounded closer to Jacob's age despite
his height.

Jacob's head was still ringing as he looked up at his friend towering over him. Ignacy looked
utterly calm for having just saved his life, which was somehow more unnerving than his
matter-of-fact tone.

"I-I'm okay, thanks man." Jacob hesitated before accepting the M16. His hands were shaking
but he tried to steady them. "No kidding, last thing I expected to find."

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Jacob's shocked mind began processing what
just happened. The armored woman - girl, really - had been no normal opponent. And
Ignacy had dropped her hard with a single shot.

Struggling to his feet, Jacob scanned the still ominously quiet streets around them. Who
knew how many more of those 'aliens' were lurking in the ruins. "We should find the others,
warn them what we're up against."

Ignacy simply nodded, already moving to cover their retreat. Jacob fell in behind, adrenaline
still flooding his veins. This day was shaping up to be like nothing he'd trained for. But at
least now they had a better idea of the hell that awaited.

Governor Vance Tanix

Tanix awoke with a start, jowls quivering as the echoes of distant weapons fire drifted
through broken windows. He knocked elbows and ample gut in a scramble to orient himself,
duvet tangling sweaty limbs.

Where in the name of Terra was he? Ah yes, the townhouse he'd commandeered as
governor of - wherever this dustbowl was called. He peered around blearily at ornate
furnishings gone gritty with neglect.

On the velveteen chaise opposite, the half-nude local girl huddled anxiously. Tanix flushed,
remembering their recent pleasures in a haze of amasec fumes. She really was comely, for a
savage, with doe eyes and soft curves in all the right places.

Her strange leg-wrappings lay discarded over a gilded chair, stiff fabric clinging in places. He
wrinkled his nose - these tribals lacked even the basics of civilized dress. Still, her bare legs
had served his purpose well enough in the throes of need-taking.

Now faint screams echoed beyond, stirring primal fears in Tanix's gut. He fumbled for his
holster belt and slug gun on trembling hands and knees. Best find some troopers to handle
this spot of bother, let them earn their salt while he rested safely here, with his new pet to
ease his urges whenever duty called.
UNGDI Alpha squad Pärnu, Esterland, Ulraznavia.
Night of June 5th, 1995.
Day-4 of WW3.

They had finally reestablished contact with another of the cut off Ulraznavian army outposts.
And the information this one had was interesting to say at least.

"On June 3rd, we captured a tiny gruppen of the "Aliens" the Hauptmann told them as he
led Jax, Jacob, Ignacy and the others deeper into the small internet café.

Inside a room, bound and gagged, were 8 human soldiers, most of them males and two
females. To say the squad was surprised was an understatement.

"Are you telling me that the aliens-aren't aliens at all. This makes it kinda easy don't you
think?" Jax asked the Ulraznavian army captain.

"As you can see, they are normal humans, unfortunately we had to tie these guys up
because they wouldn't surrender, knocked my best Oberwachtmeister's teeth out. one thing
to note is that these fine folks here have winged skulls everywhere, they use laser guns, here
take one have RnD look through. And they do not speak any language we know off."

"Well I'll be damned," Jax said, surveying the bound Guardsmen. "Guess our intel was way
off. Still doesn't explain what language these guys are speaking."

He turned to the Hauptmann. "Thanks for the assist. We'll take them back for questioning.
Any other hotspots we should check out?"

The captain pointed to a marked map. "This plaza has seen heavy fighting. And we tracked
the main group to a factory nearby - that will be their main position. Gott mit euch in there."

Jax nodded, already planning their next move. He turned to Jacob and Ignacy. "You heard
the man. Let's haul these prisoners back to the APC and pay that factory a visit. I want to
find out what the hell is really going on here."

They began untying the Guardsmen, who glared defiantly but didn't resist. Jacob picked up
the fallen laser rifle curiously. "Think R&D can figure out how it works?"

Ignacy shrugged. "One way to find out. I'm more interested in searching that factory.
Hopefully we'll get some answers there."

With their new "prisoners" in tow, Jax led them back into the streets. Whatever was
happening, at least now they had a solid lead on the enemy's position. Perhaps the real fight
was about to begin.

Imperial LZ
Beach
The view in the sky certainly was awe inspiring the massive battlefleet Scolaris in orbit, a
permanent fixture that could be seen from the ground. 30 percent of the fleet were
however attached for their original objective.

On the beach however, an impromptu LZ had finally been established, much to the chagrin
of two particular grunts. The LZ still needed a bit more prepping.

"Finally, we can push in land, don't you think sweetheart."

"Madeline hush! we don't want the comissar and preacher on our heads..." one of the
guardsmen said in a hushed tone, her eyes scanning the area to see if any one was listening.

The other girl laughed, "Or what Talia?"

Talia sighed, her eyes darting around nervously. "Just listen for once Maddie! You know what
they'd do if they found out."

Madeline laughed, brushing sand from her flak armor. "Lighten up Talia, no one's paying us
any mind. Besides, have you seen the sights in this place?"

She gestured to the looming spires in the distance, all jagged metal angles and glowing ads
that shifted freakily without cogitators. "Wish I brought my pict-caps. The Tech-Priests would
have an aneurism trying to make sense of it all."

Talia frowned, taking in the twisted architecture so alien from their homeland. "I dunno,
gives me the creeps if I'm honest. And you should see the vox they use, all tiny slates that fit
in your palm! How anyone gets work done without proper cogitators is beyond me."

Madeline opened her mouth to retort but then caught sight of their sergeant glaring in their
direction. With a muted squeak she snapped off a hasty salute.

Talia tried to fight a grin. At least here there was plenty of strangeness to distract them, if
only briefly, from the dangers lurking beyond those weird neon walls. Small favors and all
that.

Field Headquarters of the United Nations Global Defense Initiative (UNGDI.)

Arlakhengorsk.
Republic of Kastovia.
Near Ulraznavian Border, Region of Esterland, Pärnu
June 5th, 1995.
Day-4 of WW3.

"Dudes easy, easy!" Mads Nielsen protested as his guards marched him through the area to
another room. The Nörlandic Netrunner had thought he'd finally gotten the best of the
authorities, but he'd been captured in fucking Kastovia of all places, by the damned UN of all
people.
The guards opened up aa door and one of them led him to a chair, with a table, across which
was an Afro Concordian man in military dress.

Once he'd been seated, the guard nodded before leaving the room, leaving him alone with
the other man, who was now reading a dossier.

"Your name's Mads Nielsen?

"That's me." Mads said with fake cheer, although now he was on guard.

"You're a netrunner...wanted in your own country for, and I quote unquote, Stealing money
of the Kingdom of Nörland, transferring cash from the account of 30 different MPs to an
unmarked Helvetican one in Geneva, and so much more, all at the tender age, of 18. You are
wanted in more than 20 countries for various netrunning crimes.”

Mads shifted uneasily in his seat, flashing his most charming grin. "Well now, let's not judge
a netrunner by his exploits eh? Water under the bridge and all that."

The officer did not look amused at all. "Mr Nielsen, my name is Colonel James Solomon, of
the United Nations Global Defense Initiative, and under the new UN laws, you could be in
serious trouble for these Netrunning crimes."

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, what new laws?" Mads said in an alarmed tone, "What new
fucking laws on Netrunning."

"Mr Nielsen, I'm sure you've seen our new "friends in our orbit?" Solomon asked. Mads
nodded, everyone had seen the shit that had occurred, heck that was why he has escaped
Nörland when the police was busy...leaving his girlfriend behind...

"Whatever you ask me to do, I have a few conditions" Mads straightened himself. Don't
worry babe, I'm gonna get you out, he thought. "Firstly, I want safe passage, immunity and a
full entire world Visa for one Freyja Helvig. She's on a Royal Nörlandic police list."

Mads sat forward intently. "Here's the thing Colonel - my girl Freyja, she's way more talented
than me. Top notch netrunner, best hacker Nörland's ever seen probably. But she pissed off
the wrong people."

He laughed bitterly. "Me, I'm an amateur really, just running side jobs for cash. Freyja
though, she uncovered some dark shit in those corporate systems, stuff the MPs definitely
didn't want getting out."

Mads leaned in, meeting Solomon's gaze seriously. "My guess is they burned her harder
than anyone else once the shooting started. But if you grant me immunity AND her
extraction from wherever those bastards stashed her? Then you've got my skills, no
questions asked."
Solomon studied him curiously. "You really care about this woman, don't you?" At Mads'
silent nod, he sighed. "Alright, recover your Freyja and you've got a deal. But understand this
- the entire planet is under martial law now and we're up against unknown hostiles. You'll
follow my orders without question or the deals off, understood?"

Mads grinned, already running plans in his head. "Crystal clear Colonel! So where do we
start?" For Freyja's sake, he'd do whatever it took to get her out. And maybe having the UN
on his side for once wouldn't be so bad after all.

Hveldfjord prison.
Djernholm, Fjerda region.
Kingdom of Nörland
June 5th, 1995.

Freyja Helvig couldn''t believe her luck, "I'm going free!" The police sargent escorting her
was glaring daggers

"How does it feel Jorge, you just arrested me yesterday!" she chortled at the teen, who
looked murderous. his first big arrest, the young cop had made his parents so proud. He'd
caught Freyja, his childhood bully... who had signed her release? Jorge said nothing as he
marched Freyja down echoing halls, handcuffs chafing her wrists. She could see the tension
in his broad shoulders, fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides.

This was a stinging defeat for the young cop, having his biggest arrest yanked away after just
a day. And by her smug grin, Freyja knew it too. Always needling and tormenting him back in
school, glorying in his humiliation now.

At the front desk, the Sergeant's sneer tightened as he scanned the release order. "Minister
Svensson himself signed off on this. Must have friends in high places, scum."

Freyja merely smiled disarmingly. "What can I say, people appreciate my talents. Though I do
hope this unpleasantness won't damage our...working relationship, Officer Jorge."

He grunted noncommittally, unlocking her cuffs with more force than necessary. Freedom
beckoned - but this wasn't over between them, not by a long shot as far as Jorge was
concerned. One day she'd slip, and he'd be waiting to see her pay for good.

With a jaunty wave, Freyja skipped out into the sunlight, savoring her victory. Now, on to
unfinished business and those who truly deserved her vengeance. Let the games resume!

The Limosine had UN number plates, and was shiny sd hell, and then there was Minister
Svensson. A kindly looking fellow, he was talking with an Afro Concordian man

"I've done it James, I hope you know what your doing..." Svensson said to the man while
wiping his head with a handkerchief. James clapped Svensson on the shoulder reassuringly.
"Don't you worry Gunnar, we need all the help we can get right now. And this Freyja seems a
resource worth having on our side."
The minister blew out a stressed breath, mopping his balding pate. "Ja ja, I believe that. But
she is trouble, that one! Still, I trust your judgment James, you've never steered me wrong."

He grunted as the limo hit a pothole, jowls wobbling. "This war has turned the whole planet
on its head! First those metal demons fall from the sky, now I'm springing hackers from jail at
your request."

Svensson shook his head ruefully. "Hopefully once we've sent those invaders back to hell,
things can start getting normal again. In the meantime, try not to make me regret bending
the rules for your Freyja, ja?"

James chuckled. "No promises Gunnar, but I'll keep her on a short leash. For now, let's just
concentrate on the task at hand - uniting as many factions as we can to fight these invaders.
One battle at a time, my friend."

The minister sighed agreement as Nörland's lush countryside sped past. A long road yet lay
ahead, but together perhaps they could overcome any obstacle.

UNGDI Alpha squad Pärnu, Esterland, Ulraznavia. Night of June 5th, 1995. Day-4 of WW3

"Alright boys and girls, here is what we're gonna do." Jax informed them. "We're gonna be
splitting up into fireteams. Fireteam one with me, we're taking out the beachhead, seems
from our quadcopter drones we found out we're taking out their LZ. Fireteam two with Lt
Mitsu Tanaka, you guys are taking the city hall. You'll have two of the M113s" The Satsuman
officer gave her bullpup a pat.

Jax continued, "We have intel that enemy leadership is there. Fireteam 3 you guys are taking
the church, expect those warrior nuns we have seen. Thanks to our reestablishment of the
Ulraznavian army outposts, the Ulraz will be dealing with the airport. We have a very short
window people; this is our only shot. any questions?"

Jacob and Ignacy shared a look as Jax finished briefing them. City hall could mean a real
scrap.

Ignacy checked the charges on his Tantal again calmly. "Should be fun, yes?"

Jacob exhaled, trying to steady jittery nerves. "Fun. Right. Maybe we'll come out in one piece
this time."

Tanaka caught his eye and flashed a grin beneath her riot helmet. "Stop worrying so much
Private. You've got the big bad Rectan beast on your side, we'll be fine."

Ignacy snorted in amusement but didn't disagree. Their APC rumbled up and they climbed
aboard, joining the half dozen other troops assigned fireteam two.
As the vehicle lurched into motion Jacob couldn't help glancing at Ignacy sitting stoic and
ready beside him. At least with the big guy along, maybe crazy alien nuns would be the least
of his problems for once.

He patted his rifle and craned to watch Pärnu's strange neon-lit spires grow before them
through the viewport. Showtime - he just hoped their intel held true and leadership really
was where Jax said. Time to crash the party.

Fireteam-1. ETA beach. 1 minute.

Jax signalled his fireteam, M4 in hand. "C'mon, beach is just a few clicks away." Continue.
Fire team 1. Show not tell. Describe the LZ, the lights and the platforms. As they neared the
beach, faint flickers of light bloomed against the ink black sea. Strange bulky structures rose
amid the dunes, all harsh geometric shapes and cold hard angles.

Steel platforms were being welded to the sand even as Jax's team crept closer, lit only by the
eerie glow of cutting torches hissing in the dark. Figures moved amongst the scaffolds like
industrious insects, oblivious to watchful eyes beyond their glare.

Tall slabs erected at the waters edge pulsed with an alien radiance, illuminating endless
strings of hieroglyphs that hurt the eyes. As they drew near, Jax spied exhaust vents
protruding along monolithic walls, venting noxious fumes into the night air.

His gut tightened at the nonsensical design marrying brutal steel with wispy etches no
earthly hand could have wrought. A thrumming power unseen writhed beneath the sands,
sensed more than heard.

These were no friendly visitors come to this shore. Jax signalled his men and they fanned
out, keeping low as they surveyed the works of man and something else under stars gone
strange and cold.

Fireteam 2
Currently assaulting Pärnu City Hall
June 5th, 1995

They had caught the enemy with their pants down. The M113s had slammed through,
trundling forward as they spotted the City Hall. A normal building, it was now a fortress,
unfortunately the defenders were so surprsied that they didn't fire a single shot. The M113s
blasted straight through the main doors in a shower of twisted metal and falling brick.
Tanaka was first out the hatch, bellowing orders as her fireteam spilled onto the expansive
marble floors behind.

"Sweep and clear! Watch those corners, we don't know what tricks these freaks have up
their sleeves." Jacob and Ignacy stayed tight on her six, rifles up as they dashed past looming
pillars and reception desks thrown askew.
An eerie silence had fallen in the wake of their assault, not a shot fired in return yet. The
place felt empty, abandoned in a hurry. As they reached a broad balcony overlooking the
foyer, Jacob nearly emptied his clip in surprise.

"Contact, twelve o'clock!"

Figures milled far below amid piles of fallen rubble, already retreating through a ragged hole
smashed in the rear exit. But they moved with inhuman speed and left behind no traces of
their passing. Gone as quickly as they'd come.

"Shit, they're bugging out," Tanaka spat angrily. "Double time, don't let them slip the
noose!" With that they were in pursuit down twisting stairwells, give chase to answers in the
deepening gloom beyond. While 5 fireteam members ran after the figures, Jacob, Ignacy,
Tanaka, and 2 others ran up the stairs, going room to room. They finally came upon a town
house. Bursting through the doors, they found the living room dark, and empty, but solidly
trashed. Everyone turned on their assault rifle mounted flashlights, the TV, vases, everything
was trashed.

Reaching the bedroom door, Ignacy kicked the door down as the squad moved in, and what
a sight it was. A heavy jowled man, cowered behind an armchair in ornate robes. On the
bed, a terrified Ulraznavian girl with minor implantations on her (she had a pair of neon iris
contact lenses) was handcuffed.

"Holy" Ignacy mummured before running over to the bed, "Miss are you alright? geht es dir
gut?" he asked in west Ulraznavian before saying the same in East Ulraznavian and native
esterlandic dialect, "јеси ли добро? kas sul on kõik korras?"

Meanwhile the rest of the squad surrounded the old man...

Vance Tanix

Tanix squirmed in the bright lights, the savages gad found him! one of their soldiers had
found his pet, she was going to use that savage tongue of hers no doubt. He owered behind
the armchair as the soldiers entered the bedroom, blinded by their bright lights. One headed
straight for the bed where his pet was handcuffed, speaking words Tanix couldn't
comprehend.

The soldier's strange guttural language was indecipherable to him. Tanix caught the concern
in his tone but the meaning eluded him. His pet responded hesitantly in the same alien
tongue, her words making the soldiers murmur and exchange troubled glances.

The others circled Tanix, weapons trained unwaveringly on him. Their leader barked
something that needed no translation - the harsh tone and threatening gestures made his
intent clear enough. Submit or suffer the consequences.

Tanix threw up his hands in terrified submission. "I don't understand you!" he cried
desperately. "Someone who speaks Gothic, for Throne's sake! I'm not your enemy!"
The squad leader smashed his weapon across Tanix's face without warning. Pain exploded in
his mouth as he collapsed, whimpering. The message resonated clearly - cooperation or
further violence.

Tanix spat blood, wheezing through what felt like broken teeth. No common tongue existed
between them, no way to communicate or reason his way free. These savages would show
no mercy, regardless of what he said or did. The cold reality sank in - he was now their
prisoner.

Imperial LZ, Beach.

Madeline was thrown of the crate by the explosion, Talia landing beside her. She picked
herself up off the sand, ears still ringing from the explosion. She helped Talia to her feet as
warning klaxons began blaring across the landing zone.

"Ah hell, we're under attack!" Talia yelled over the din, rifle sweeping across the beach. Fear
and adrenaline had replaced her earlier boredom in a heartbeat.

Madeline fumbled for her lasgun, struggling to see through billowing smoke and gouts of
flame. "Can you spot them?" She glanced around wildly but caught no sign of their
assailants. Just chaos and pandemonium as troops and servitors raced in all directions.

"There, past the razorwire barricades!" Talia pointed toward the perimeter choked by drifts
of black sand. Sure enough, muzzle flashes marked shadowy figures slinking between the
dunes just beyond their fortifications.

Madeline's gut clenched. At least a dozen concealed hostiles were raking the beachhead
with well-aimed fire. She loosed a few wild shots in return but couldn't even gauge if she hit
anything.

Then Talia cried a warning next to her. "They've breached the barricade!" More explosions
rocked the makeshift harbor as hidden demo charges detonated further down the line.
Squads of attackers poured through breaches in their defenses, hitting Imperial lines from
multiple angles at once.

Madeline grabbed Talia's shoulder urgently. "C’mon Tal! Let’s get to cover! If they didn't rally
quickly, these unknown assailants threatened to overrun their vulnerable beachhead
completely.

Fireteam 3.
Currently assaulting St. Catherine's Church, Pärnu, Esterland, Ulraznavia
5th june 1995.

"Fuck" Sargent Kelsie MacMahon rumbled as the bullets, more like rockets struck the walls.
The 38 year old Edentite Royal Marine Sargent was pinned, like so many others of his team
behind minimal cover as those "Nuns with guns" defended the church with viscious fury.
Grabbing his SA80 Assault Rifle, he whipped out a grenade...

"Lads, take cover!" he warned the rest of his UNGDI squad, Jax had said that time was gonna
be short, they needed to take this church quickly. He looked up from the cover at the jesus
on the stained glass window. The catholic sargent was gonna have to blow a grenade in a
church

"Atleast I’m thankful Ma or Grandma ain't here to see this" he grunted to himself. Kelsie
whipped the grenade out and rolled it hard around the cover toward the church doors. "Frag
out!"

The team ducked down as it exploded in a roar of shrapnel. When they peeked out again,
the entrance was a mess of jagged timber and twisted metal dangling askew.

"Move up, let's press the advantage!" He led the charge through the rubble, sweeping his
fireteam inside with SA80 blazing. A hail of answering shots greeted them amid the pews
and pillars as crazed women rose from ambush, firing laser weapons that splintered wood
and flesh alike.

"Contact right, contact left, contact everywhere!" The squad split up attempting to outflank
their zealous foes. Kelsie saw two of his men go down already amid the chaos of the firefight
echoing off high vaulted ceilings.

"Less Jesus, more lead lads! Give it to them hard and pray we live to confess!" He tossed a
flashbang and surged ahead, putting rounds down each row as his team tried to encircle the
enemy in a crossfire. Somewhere in the smoke a woman's outraged shriek was cut abruptly
short.

Time to clear heaven's gates of these demons, by any means necessary. For king and
country, it would be done. Kelsie stormed up the stairs...to see a hostile standing before him.
She looked like any other nun in his church in Glasgow, if nuns had one bionic eye, gold and
black armor, and a glowing sword that is. This one looked old, but still capable. On a chain
instead of a cross, was a double headed eagle. The "Nun" raised the glowing sword and
shouted something in her language. And though the language barrier was there, the
message was heard, a duel. McMahon grunted before placing his assault rifle down...and
whipping out a Kukri. A ghurka had given it to him back in 91. Kelsie cracked a fierce grin,
hefting the Kukri gripped familiarly in calloused hands. "Aye lassie, let's dance then, shall
we? One on one like the good auld days!"

He swung it in a few limbering arcs as the nun watched impassively, glowing sword held
ready. With a bark of harsh laughter, Kelsie waved her on.

"C'mon ya daft bint, I've got hymns to be singin' yet! Let me educate ya proper on the
queen's martial arts." His taunt rang around the nave, daring her silent challenge.
When she rushed him with a banshee shriek, Kelsie was there to meet steel with steel in a
scintillating ring of parries. He gave as good as he got, matching her inhuman speed and
strength with a lifetime's experience brawling in Edinburgh back alleys.

Blade clashed on blade as they whirled amid the pews, Kelsie grunting with effort but eyes
alight with gleeful bloodlust. A nick here, a close call there, testing each other's measure.
And the whole time his smug insults never ceased goading her holy wrath until, at last, the
chance he awaited...

Sister Superior Amalia

Sister Superior Amalia watched as the scarred man ran up the stairs reeking of sweat and
gunpowder amid the sanctity of her sanctum. When he addressed her so crudely, a flare of
pious rage ignited in her breast.

This profane invader would not violate their holy place any further unanswered. Gripping
her power sword tightly, she issued a challenge in High Gothic that needed no translation -
her cold gaze and flaring blade spoke volumes.

He accepted with mocking laughter, brandishing a primitive knife in reply. Amalia's bionic
eye scanned it analytically, assessing range and balance variables, before narrowing on her
foe. Statistics were irrelevant - faith would guide her arm.

With a wordless battlecry she lunged forth, testing his mettle in a flurry of precise strikes.
This one was skilled, parrying her blessed steel with savage tenacity. But Amalia had fought
and led in a hundred holy wars, augmenting flesh with an experience this heathen could
never match.

Each defensive maneuver betrayed new weaknesses to her seeking blade, as she drove him
back relentlessly under the eye of their martyred God. It would end soon, and another soul
be delivered from darkness into the loving arms of the Golden Throne's everlasting light.
Praise the Emperor!

Praise be to Him who gives me strength to smite the unbelievers down.

Sgt Kelsie McMahon

Kelsie took a deep breath, this bitch was good, and good meant she had a weakness. He
grunted as the nun's glowing blade nicked his arm, the first blood drawn in their duel. But
she hadn't spent decades as he had brawling in pubs and back alleys, reading his opponent
with killer instinct honed from street to battlefield.

As she pressed her assault, driving him back with unyielding zeal, Kelsie watched for any tell,
any subtle cue that would reveal habit or fatigue. And there, in the minute stiffness of her
wrist on an overhead strike, was the opening he craved.
He swayed just out of reach, letting her momentum carry her weapon harmlessly past. In
the same motion Kelsie slammed his elbow up into her bionic eye with a hollow crunch of
components. As she recoiled with a furious shriek, one eye blinded, he struck like a viper.

The Kukri bit deep through armor into her exposed midsection. With a roar Kelsie yanked it
free in a shower of gore, leaving the nun to collapse to her knees, power sword falling from
lifeless fingers.

"Aye, ye fought well lass. But this is my house now." He grinned down at her, a beast still
hungry for the kill. "Anyone else wants a turn, line forms behind!"

His challenge echoed through the rafters, daring any to defy his domination of this blood-
stained altar. None rose to meet his savage triumph. For now, victory was his.

Adepta Sororitas Squad.

The remaining sisters of battle watched the show in surprise, mouths wide open.

"What" a sister began.

"The" another joined in, the other 10 Sororitas staring with mouths wide open

"Frak just happened?" the third one finished, was that rebel challenging them? the man had
a simple knife. Below on the lower floors, things weren't going well. The man shouted again
in his unknown tongue.

The rebel officer’s bellow of challenge echoed in the rafters, mocking the stunned flock of
Sororitas who had just witnessed their Sister Superior felled by his hand.

One finally found her voice in a disbelieving whisper. "By the Throne, what manner of
creature is this?"

Another shook off her daze with a hiss. "Savage beast! He shall not defile this holy place
further!"

As they raised bolters and swords once more, the third met the rebel officer’s cocky grin
with a glare of righteous fury. "Sisters! The Emperor's light still guides our hands this day.
Shall we allow this blasphemer to stand triumphant above our fallen?"

A rumble arose like the fury of battle itself; steel being bared as one. Kelsie hefted his bloody
Kukri, for the first-time feeling fatigue creeping in his aged limbs. But there was no retreat
left in his warrior's soul.

"Alright ya bible-bashing bints, who's next for an education?! I've still got a few lessons left
in me today, so form an orderly queue and I'll send you all to meet yer god!"
With a wordless yell the Sisters surged as one, holy promethium blazing against edged steel
under the scornful eyes of saints long dead.

Half an Hour later.

And well...it went as well as expected. The rest of the UNGDI squad found Kelsie cleaning his
kukri, bodies all around him, some groaning softly, still alive. blood covered him, yet the
Royal Marine only had a single cut...

"Holy..." A Concordian took his helmet off...

"What the..." the others were looking at the scene with shock on their faces. Kelsie surveyed
the carnage wearily, bodies strewn at angles unnatural amid spreading pools of scarlet. A
few girls still writhed in their death throes, prayers turning to pained gurgles.

"Christ on the cross..." someone whispered behind him.

He turned as the rest of the squad filed in, open-mouthed at the slaughter. Kelsie only
grunted, focused on scouring his Kukri free of gore in efficient, practiced motions.

A burly Concordian found his voice first. "Sarge, you alright? What in God's name happened
here?!"

Kelsie snorted. "Ask them, lad. Tried teaching these bints a thing or two about respect, but
they learned the hard way. Still, the chapel's ours."

He appraised the scene with a soldier's detachment, mentally ticking casualties. Too many,
but the mission was achieved. "Get on the blower, we need stretcher bears five minutes ago.
And someone fetch me a bleeding fag - I've earned it after this mess."

With that he shouldered past, leaving the others still gaping in silent disbelief at the old
warrior's handiwork. Another day, another battle won through cold steel and even colder
blood. Just another day at the office, as the Sarge would say.

Minutes later.

Soo Sin mi was a former South Gregureyon army Medic, When UNGDI had been formed,
she'd been chosen...and the scene in this church's 1st floor, well it resembled a
slaughterhouse, the defenders were all women, or girls, not even older than her...and some
were still alive, groaning and moaning and whimpering in their strange language... these
aliens were actually humans, unbelievable, and the sargeant was responsible for this mess
on the first floor, she counted 40 girls, insane.
"Strecher over here!" Soo shouted. She stared in sickened dismay at the carnage strewn
about the church's interior. So many girls cut down, pooling the floor a grisly mosaic as their
moans echoed off vaulted ceilings.

"Meds up, we've got casualties!" She bellowed, forcing steely calm into triage mode as
others came thundering up behind. "Living take priority, start patching fractures and
stemming hemorrhages. Stack the KIAs respectfully aside, move!"

Soo began rattling off orders, directing able men to search for survivors amidst the heaped
dead. Those still holding on received immediate stabilization, hooked to IV fluids or field
dressed as best her kit allowed. "Careful transport, we need them alive!"

Two girls in bad shape were flagged for priority evac onboard the waiting APCs once
stabilized. The others would ride seated upright, if need be, anything to spare them further
suffering.

It was a nightmare, girls no older than her little sister cut down where they fought. Soo
fought back tears of rage and sorrow, refusing to let herself feel until the last was loaded for
extraction. Only then did she pause, a last mournful look cast over scores still and silent in a
sea of their own pooling faith.

"Extraction complete, let's get them back and pray it's enough. Move out!"

"You alright there Sarge?" Kelsie looked to see Finn McCarthy, the big Eirndalian Machine
Gunner was from Dublin... A rugby player, the events of June 2nd saw him join the army.

"Just waitin for Jax to take the beach, PFC." McMahon rumbled, he had the flare gun in his
hand, dawn seemed close, "Finn, some of those girls, they looked like my Brianna..."

"Oh" The Machine gunner's expression was covered by his balaclava.

"Yeah, she was my daughter see... bunch of gang members killed her...where's that
Concordian piece of shite? hasn't he found the beachead?"

Finn grunted in somber understanding, placing a mammoth hand on Kelsie's shoulder.

"Ah jaysus, Sarge, I'm real sorry to hear it. No wonder ye went at them sisters like you did."
His tone was low and gentle despite the booming echo.

Kelsie stared into the smoldering ruins, brows knit and eyes drifting to places only he could
see. Brianna's laugh, her smile, the light gone from her young face forever. Rage and grief
warred within like raging tides.

Finn squeezed reassuringly. "We'll get the bastards what took her, have no doubt. An' Jax'll
be callin' that dustoff soon enough, mark me words."
As if on cue, distant pops of artillery greeted the new dawn. Kelsie nodded, squaring
weathered shoulders to face what horrors remained ahead. He lived now only for two things
- bringing down those who'd wronged him, and seeing his countrymen safely home.

"Aye lad, let's be havin' that cigar then while we wait." A last drag to steel himself, before
marching once more into hell.

Fireteam-1.
Currently trying to assault the beach LZ.
June 6th, 1995.
Hours till dawn-7

"Where the hell is Colonel J.C Carter and his gunboats?" Jax asked to no one in particular as
lasers whizzed around him.

"Captain, do we push forward?" A Satsuman member of the fireteam asked.

"You crazy Ayato?" Jax shouted back, M4 in hand. He peered desperately through the smoke
and tracers for any sign of support.

"Rifleman, see any gunboats out there?"

"Negative sir, it's a swarm of those dropships but no Navy in sight."

Ayato called over the din, "Captain, we're getting shredded here!"

Another cried out, "Orders, sir? Do we hold or fall back?"

Static greeted Jax's latest radio plea for air cover. He cursed Carter and whatever was
delaying the bombardment.

But retreat wasn't an option, not with hostiles incoming and no evac lined up. They'd come
too far.

"Hold the line, guys! Stand your ground till that sonofabitch Carter gets off his ass!"

Jax poured automatic fire at the descending aircraft, buying time at a cost. But for how much
longer could they stem the tide alone, without tanks or air support?

"Just a little while more, boys, girls and bots. Keep your heads down and believe!" Whether
in God or the Colonel, anything to give hope as hell rained from the skies.

"Uh oh," A Halifaxian mummured, "VTOL!"

"Lowrie, you have a fucking M74 Hornet MANPAD. Use that thing, now's your time to
shine!" Jax screamed himself hoarse. The soldier in question- Lowrie scrambled to unpack
and ready his Man-Portable Air Defense System (MANPAD) as the monstrous VTOL gunship
swept into view overhead, twin-linked cannons searching for targets in the chaos below.

"Coming about, brace for effect!" Jax bellowed the warning as massive shells raked their
battered defenses. Men were cut down all around, but some hardier souls still stood against
the onslaught.

"There, get a lock!" Lowrie sighted through his weapon, waiting for the craft to pass directly
in front of the dimming stars. For an instant its silhouette was clear, backlit for the killshot.

He squeezed the trigger...just as the VTOL banked violently to avoid ground fire. The missile
sailed harmlessly past its tail.

"Blast! Missed the bastard." Lowrie slammed another round into the tube, desperate for a
second chance before their enfilade position was erased.

Further down the beach, the LZ's landing lights already flickered to life through the smoke
and dust. Reinforcements would soon pour onto the sands unchecked, unless a miracle
materialized from the inky seas.

"Carter, you useless turd, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Valkyrie 212
Lt Priya Mexel, Imperial Navy
Impromptu LZ Alpha

Priya sighed in relief as the missile missed thankfully, "Emperor damn the officers, we need
reinforcement now!"

"Nothing we can do about that" her backseater, Alessandro voxed from his station behind
her. Priya growled in mounting frustration, jinking the heavy VTOL through another barrage
of wild ground fire. Her scanners showed the LZ lighting up below to guide the 23rd
Armored's tanks and trucks inland any moment.

But the enemy resistance remained unbroken, pinning the LZ's defenseless flanks until the
armor could deploy and maneuver to surround them. It was a delicate operational timing
and these rebels refused to simply roll over!

"Damn right we can do something, Alessandro. I didn't train at Schola Progenium to cower
from xenos rats."

She banked the gunship hard, bringing its storm of fire to bear directly on the heaviest
resistance entrenchments along the beach. Alessandro whooped with exhilarated approval
over the rippling fusillade of shells pulverizing enemy positions below.

"That's it ma'am, peel them back! Light the way for the 23rd!"
As more fireteams broke and scattered under the devastating strafing runs, Priya angled
south along the shoreline towards the welcoming lights of LZ Alpha. Her batteries recharged
and armor intact, the Valkyrie was ready to descend and add its own brutal firepower to the
coming dawn assault.

Back on ground

“Lowrie, I swear to god! If we fucking die! I am gonna make your afterlife MISERABLE!" Jax
shouted over the din. The Cascadian nodded before loading the M74 MANPAD again and
began to pray to all the gods he'd read in the Rick Riordan books. He was sweating bullets as
he recalibrated his targeting system, muttering a string of half-remembered prayers to every
deity from Norse to Hindu mythos that might grant him favor.

"Ah, fuck it - APOLLO, GOD OF ARCHERY, I SACRIFICE THIS REESE'S CUP FROM MY RATIONS
IN RETURN FOR A DIRECT HIT! PROVE YOUR DIVINE AIM IS TRUE!"

He tossed the candy bar skyward and locked onto the approaching Valkyrie, backlit once
more against the fading stars. This time, as the missile shrieked towards its prey, Lowrie
imagined Artemis herself guiding its unerring flight.

The VTOL blossomed into a bright fireball as detonation rocked the dawn, raining smoldering
wreckage onto the sands below amid jubilant whoops from the surviving squad.

"Bullseye, motherfucker! Told ya Rick Riordan hasn't let me down yet, sir!"

Jax could only gape in stunned wonder at the Cascadian’s near-mythic shot. For the first
time, a grin broke across his strained features.

"Good man. Now let's finish wiping these Imp assholes off our beach before their
reinforcements arrive!"

Imperial LZ

Talia and Madeline watched the Valkyrie slam downwards into the dunes... Talia bit back a
frightened gasp as the burning fuselage of Valkyrie no.212 slammed into the dunes beyond
the LZ perimeter with an earthshaking boom.

Beside her, Madeline whispered a prayer for the lost pilots' souls, making the sign of the
aquila over her pounding heart. They had witnessed the gunship strafe the enemy positions
threatening the landing zone's flanks with brutal efficiency.

But one lucky shot from the rebels crude weapons had ended its run so abruptly. Talia
strained her eyes across the smoke-shrouded shore, dreading the sight of further attacks
emerging from the volatile surf.
Thankfully the LZ's perimeter defenses remained unmolested for now. But without air cover,
the fragile toehold they clung to by the bloodstained sands seemed ever more precarious
with each passing moment.

Reinforcements could not arrive fast enough. Talia clutched her lasgun and longed for the
familiar rumble of Chimera tracks, bringing the 23rd Armored Division to annihilate these
xenos vermin for good.

The Emperor's light would prevail at dawn. It had to.

UNGDI Fireteam One

"C’mon we only have a few hours to do this!" Jax screamed as they charged forwards, Lowrie
took out his M16, the hostiles were stunned after the VTOL gunship had crashed. “Go, go,
go!” Jax bellowed, leading the fireteam in an all-out sprint along the shoreline.

With the VTOL destroyed, enemy defenses were reeling — this was their chance. Lowrie
provided covering fire with controlled 3-round bursts from his M16, suppressing any
emerging hard points.

“Contact left, 50 meters!” Doyle shouted, laser designating. Ayato let loose a volley from his
M72 that shredded the position.

Weaving between wreckage and shallow revetments, they closed on the landing zone’s
perimeter unscathed. Night vision lit towering stacks of crates and sandbag emplacements
ahead.

“Breacher, you’re up!” Jax slapped McIntyre forward. He hurried to the nearest obstacle and
primed C4 bricks.

“Fire in the hole!”

The destructive wave ripped through, collapsing a 20-foot gap. Without hesitation Jax
stormed through, rifle up. “Fan out, clear those tarp lookouts!"

Muffled shouting arose within the shattered compound as silhouettes scrambled in the glow
of scattered flares. Return fire pinged off armor amid the confusion.

Lowrie aimed carefully. “Tango down.” And another fell, as the fireteam fought their way
onto the enemy landing field under cover of darkness.

And then...there were explosions erupting around the remaining defenders. As the sun rose,
and the silhouettes of 4 ships appeared, Jax gave a cheer, "Holy Shit! Carter got through,
Nina, launch the flares." The former Vostokvakian Spetsnaz trooper whipped out a flare
pistol...

Out at Sea
Colonel John Cameron "J.C" Carter sighed in relief as the flares from the beach LZ, City Hall,
and Church rose in the air. The "Gunboats" he had were not his, rather they were 4
Ulraznavian Reichsmarine Sea Scorpion Frigates he'd "Commandeered" on behalf of the
UNGDI. And boy were the crews cheering. Pärnu was in UNGDI hands, and he sure hoped
that fleet in the sky wouldn't do anything about it.

The female captain of the Sea Scorpion he was on rushed over and hugged him. "You did it
you crazy man! Pärnu is ours again! Now you'll have a good time!" the woman said in her
east Ulraznavian accent before kissing him with a loud smack. Carter grinned, adrenaline still
surging as the female Captain's kiss lingered. "Could have gone sideways any damn minute,
but we pulled it off!"

He peered through the bridge windows proudly. Four Scorpions cutting through morning
waves, having heeded his wild dispatch summoning any craft willing to aid liberating Pärnu.
Against all odds, the improvised "gunboats" had arrived in the nick of time.

"Town's ours, ET forces routed from the beachhead. Good work all around, if I do say so
myself!" Carter raised a flask in salute to whoops from the Ulraznavian crew.

The Captain squeezed his arm with a dazzling smile. "Let the politicos sort out who owns
what from here. You and I, Colonel, we know the true meaning of victory!"

Her meaning was clear, and for once Carter was happy to accept an invitation. But first
things first - calling in Jax and the others to confirm Pärnu was secure, their bridgehead
saved, and this chapter of history closed in UNGDI's favor. One battle won, a hundred more
to go in humanity's fight.

Former Imperial LZ
Beach

Madeline watched the rebels raise a blue flag. It had a planet in a laurel wreath. Talia was
thankfully beside her. She looked up, Battlefleet Scolaris was still there, in orbit.

"Can you believe it, we're prisoners" Talia suddenly spoke up.

"I know" Madeline answered cheerfully, "But these guys are humans like us, I'm sure they're
not gonna...do unsavory shit to us."

"Maddie how can you be calm?" Talia asked as two soldiers began directing them to waiting
trucks. They followed.

"I don't know tal, but lets trust these guys, maybe the commissars were spewing bullshit
about how bad it is being a prisoner." They entered a tan truck, filled with a few other of
their comrades.
Madeline took Talia's hand reassuringly as they settled into the back of the truck among
other defeated guardsmen. Despite being prisoners now, she tried staying optimistic.

"It'll be alright, try communicating through gestures if needed. These rebels seem more
civilized than our commissars claimed." She whispered in low Gothic, hoping no translator
picked it up.

The male soldiers up front conversed casually in an unfamiliar tongue, paying the captives
little mind for now. It was clear their technology surpassed Imperial weapons, armor
minimal yet effective.

Still, Madeline refused seeing enemies where there were merely others displaced, like
themselves. The Imperium was far, these rebels humans all the same beneath uniforms. If
shown basic respect, perhaps understanding could be found where fear and hatred once
reigned.

Talia squeezed her hand back, offering a timid smile despite her own doubts. For now they
were alive, unharmed and together - small graces to be grateful for when the future seemed
so uncertain beyond the truck's armored walls. All they could do was face each challenge
with courage and hope in their hearts.

Unknown place
Unknown Time

Lilith felt the pain in her chest increase, her blood felt like it was on fire. Through
bloodstained eyes, she could she shapes.

"Fraaaaaaaakkkkk" she hissed.

"Lily?" a voice asked from her right "Your alive too? How do you feel"

"Like crap, like I’ve been stabbed with a highly curved knife with angled or smooth spines."

"Damn, me too" the voice hissed.

Lilith cracked open sticky lashes, vision swimming in pain and nausea. Dark shapes loomed
above offering neither comfort nor clarity.

"Ugh, Emperor preserve - where in the hells are we?"

A weak cough responded from her right. "Not sure...smells like a medicae ward. But
bigger..."

Before Lilith could speculate further, a groan carried down the compartment. "Please, no
more Yana jokes...I can't take her cackling in my state..."
Laughter arose amidst the injured, bringing both relief and fresh agony. At least spirits were
being lifted, even in uncertainty.

Lilith hissed through clenched teeth. "Someone please...what happened to the church? Did
we..defend it?"

A voice croaked faintly. "I saw the enemy banner raised...blue planet...wreathed in light.
But...we fought well."

Sister Yana then piped up, ever the jester. "Think they'll let us convert them all to the
Emperor's light, once our wounds have knit?"

Groans all around, but tinged with mirth. For now, while they drew breath, there was solace
to be taken in fellowship – and hope for a future, however unwritten.
Marcin sighed, tired but on alert through force of habit. "Cut the chatter back there. We're
on recon so keep your heads in the game."

He scanned the infrared scope slowly, taking in the wrecks and rubble surrounding their hull.
No red shapes jumped out yet in the grainy image. Just more stillness.

A crackle in his headphones signalled the platoon leader. "Sarge, anything to report?"
Marcin shook his head even though they couldn't see. "Negative sir, all quiet so far."

He tuned back in to hear Patryk complaining of boredom again, earning another cuff from
Wladislaw. At least the big gunner kept him on his toes. Marcin allowed himself a ghost of a
smile.

Small comforts were what got you through the long watches, waiting for...well, whatever it
was they were up against. He'd take boredom over contact any day, despite Patryk's
complaining. Something told Marcin their enemy wouldn't give them time for that.

So he scanned, ever vigilant, hoping the crosshairs stayed empty. But ready all the same
when the time came to return fire.The Black Death (or Naval Infantry) remained untouched,
and the Command hoped to keep them as an elite reserve in case of any difficulties in this
global war. Alexi Pavlovich Syroezhkin knew that even in the Pacific Conflict, one of the
owners of the black beret revived the battle cry "Polundra!", which was used during the
Great Patriotic War. Now, the Naval Infantrymen would charge into battle with these rallying
cries. Everything seemed to be progressing well... Although Syroezhkin had a lingering
feeling of a major problem in which that woman would undoubtedly be involved, he hoped
it wouldn't happen today or tomorrow. Exhausted from the recent events, Alexi Pavlovich
Syroezhkin slept soundly, like a lifeless body. Unfortunately, the end of the War was nowhere
in sight...
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