The Days After (Game Topic)

Rise in the West

Nathan Weston

15 January, 2216

Weston came into his conference room in Boise, around him, his highest ranking officers Attending the meeting were high ranking officers General Augustus Mendoza, Brigadier General Caroline Ashland, and General of the Army Creighton Hobbes of the Army and from the Air Force, General Horace Buchanan, Colonel Mark Anderson and General of the Air Force Daniel Terfune, and from the Office of Foreign and Strategic Affairs, the Director, J. Ronald Goring along with Assistant Director Robert Goldwater. Every year, the war summit was called to discuss military strategy and resources for the year between Nathan Weston and his highest officers. Never had the war summit been called during wartime with an actual nation and that variable alone created a very different atmosphere. On and off for one hundred years, the war summit had always been structured around national defense and combating tribals, never another country, and at that, a powerhouse of a country never even imagined. Even among these high ranking officers, before 2215, the NET only appeared a few times in the doctrine.

“This war summit on the 15th of January, twenty-two hundred and sixteen years is called on behalf of the welfare of our nation, that we may protect our sovereignty, our people and our land against all threats both foreign and domestic. God be with us,” started Weston,

“God be with us,” repeated the attendees,

“The first thing I want to discuss is how to break this stalemate in Bakken,”

“With all due respect sir,” said Ashland, “That’s something we’ve been trying to find out for the longest time with the resources we have available.”

“Quite frankly put sir,” said Mendoza, “The NET is a force we couldn’t possibly comprehend their strength. The ability to put out equipment and manpower is unmatched by any other nation. They’re completed devoted to this fight because they’re starved for oil.”

“As are we!” said Weston, “Domestic oil production is essential to our nation’s independence. We relied on the Alaskans for too long and we can’t lose our greatest asset giving us that.”

“The Air Force is also tasked to capacity right now,” stated General Terfune, “We’re keeping the NET Air Force down but we have reason to believe they’re researching more advanced aircraft.”

“Is this an imminent problem?” asked Weston,

“No, our Linebackers are state of the art and our pilots are elite, although hostile aircraft that are en masse up to date will increase losses. We could eventually lose superiority like we enjoy now.”

“This doesn’t answer any problems, does anyone have ideas on how to turn the tide? I’m open to extreme ideas, not much is off the table.”

The officers were quiet, but after ten seconds or so Mendoza spoke up, “I did have one plan,”

“By all means, let’s hear it General,”

Mendoza stood up and went over to a map of the region. He began drawing on it to show troop movements and resource allocation and proposed a radical idea.

“Forget the enclave,” said Mendoza,

All officers looked at each other. The enclave was their rallying cry, their people to save. People on the outside willingly volunteered to drop themselves in there if only to ease their pain a little. To forget it was…alien. Abandon your comrade for no reason?

“Care to explain yourself a little?” asked General Ashland,

“We forget the enclave for now, divert our resources from trying to break the ring, which we haven’t been able to do for months now, and strike from the weakly defended northern and southern flanks.”

“We can’t do that though without abandoning the fight, it’ll be let open, the NET will be able to push through farther,” said General of the Army Hobbes,

“But,” said Mendoza, using the pen as a pointer, “If it’s successful, any NET that try and push through the open line will become trapped and they won’t survive long. It’s common knowledge that the only reason why the soldiers in the enclave have survived this long is because of the terrain. If we take Bakken, we can allocate our forces there and hold the city, maybe even strike some of these oil derricks and target their production!”

“What if this plan backfires and we’re destroyed because of it?” asked Weston,

“The NET is after the same thing we are,” said Mendoza, “We’ll initiate a scorched earth policy and set fire to the oil derricks. They’ll burn for months on end and even if we face defeat, they wouldn’t have won. Their war would have been pointless because of the cost. Sources already tell us that popularity wise back home in the NET it’s hit and miss.”

“What General Mendoza proposes is not a bad plan, risky, but not bad,” said Director Goring, “I can transfer operatives from the frontiers over to the battlefields in North Dakota and strike at their supply lines. We’ve already caused a lot of problems for them in that respect.”

“He’s right,” said Assistant Director Goldwater, “This war would hardly be a conflict if half of the material the NET sends actually made it.”

“We'll discuss it further in a few,” asserted Weston, “Now, other issues at hand,"

"The Air Force needs more funding into the Linebacker program in light of General Terfune's earlier assertion," said Colonel Anderson,

"How much are we talking here?"

"At least $300 million..."

********

Global Update

All characters are encouraged to write something for themselves. I'll post where your character is at the moment and you can post from there. Keep in mind if a lot of people post, it may take a little for your character to renew themselves. Characters that are grouped will be connected to each other via breaks.

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Apocalypse

Standing by in the enclave.

Jagdgeschwader

Standing by in the enclave.

KGBoom

Resting in the medical wing of the enclave. Complications are starting to show.
(These characters are trapped in the enclave and are part of the same platoon)
********

Desert Sleepy

Twenty miles from the frontline in a small town called Sky. Here, Wooten plans to destroy Western supply lines through his use of illegal mercenaries.

DJDimitri

At his main camp in the eastern half of the Bakken Oil Fields.

Snowwolf

In Sky.
(These characters work in tandem to accomplish goals. They hire out the same mercenaries.)
********

Mboddz

Stationed in Bakken.

Cloakey

Stationed in Bakken, assigned to the NI4 group there.
(While not apart of the same squad, these two are both team leaders in the same strike group in Bakken)
********

Westhybrid

Working out of Frontline again. Released from prison.

Destroyer

In Frontline.

Ztron

In Frontline. Works with Clark from time to time.
(Darius Ico employs both Evan Garrett and Clark Termous to accomplish tasks for him. Evan Garrett is also a small time merchant)
********

Kiwi

Assigned to F16 Fighting Falcons after loss of WSO. Now stationed at Minot.

********

Meatshield

Sent home after injury. Irreparable damage to right arm will cause it to heal wrong. Honorably discharged. (A new character is allowed given the circumstances. Feel free to create a completely new character or commandeer an NPC)

********

Darius: Darius had an array of maps and files spread around his desk and thrown around his office. He was marking one large map of North America, pinpointing locations. He called Garrett into his office.

"We're ready for the counter." Darius said to Evan. "We can't hit NET, but we can hit their supplier." He added, while passing Garrett a photo of a man who would look familiar to both of them.

"Wooten. One of the major NET cargo suppliers, and he's waiting out somewhere in Sky. We hit his caravans, we hit his business, and eventually, we hit him." Darius said.

"Clark is already in on the job, and we've diverted twenty men from Reno and San Francisco chapters to help. We'll be heading for Sky in the morning."

Clark: After leaving Darius to further plan, Clark walks to the post office and picks up the package that's been waiting in his box. He slides the key in and opens it, slinging the green canvas bag over his back. He continue back to his apartment, laying the bag on the bed and unzipping it to examine the contents. One Mark 22 mod 0 Hush Puppy, one broken-down M14NM, a Starlight scope, and a kukri with a 17 inch long chemically darkened blade of forged BG-42 stainless steel. All had seen more than their share of bloodshed, and odds are they'll see plenty more. As Clark rebuilds the rifle, he remembers the letter he had sent to his daughter a few weeks ago.

Sarah,

I have that feeling again. Sorry to put you in this position, but I need you to do something for me. Remember my old cabin? Inside, under the rug there's a floor safe. You know the combination. Inside the safe there'll be some money and a duffle bag. Keep the money; I won't need it, just mail me the bag. P.O. box 17.

Stay safe Sarah. I love you.

Dad

Clark puts down the now assembled rifle, and begins to load the magazines with 7.62x51 mm M118 rounds. They're 175-grain jacketed boat tails, designed to penetrate body armor at extended range. As the rounds click into the magazine, he feels it again; a dull ache in the scars criss-crossing his body. It's a feeling all too familiar to Clark.

'Something's coming.' He thinks to himself, putting down the loaded magazines and taking out an old whetstone, beginning to sharpen his blade.

'And god help anyone that get's in it's way.'

CW: Hire mercenaries, send them to raid Ico's caravans.

Evan: "Can't wait" I say as I put the photo on the table. "Just give me a call when you need me" I walk into my office, put my head on the desk and fall asleep after several hours of fueling people with booze and merchandise.

Tyson: Walk to a more secluded area of any concrete building near the medical wing: an area where you wont get bumped into or be interrupted by any walking traffic.

In that building, discover a table, or any large, stable, pedestal, such as a dismembered pillar, crate, et cetera. And place any cloth-like object within the vicinity on top of it, though the cloth isn't completely necessary.

Bring any similar pedestal, or an actual chair near the object. Unload your M14 and 45., and place the two weapons on the object. Having limited tools, the most basic of gun cleaning routines may have to ensue. Unless any nearby troopers are willing to lend their tools, that is. Begin dismantling and cleaning the guns, starting with the M14, and ending with the 45. You don't want these weapons malfunctioning in the next engagement. Especially not with that, guy.

Destroyer

Clark walked down to the post office, a short while away from his room. Through the snow he moved on this cold morning, must've been at most ten degrees. He hated January, he hated winter. Coldness was not the like of him, but after a while one does get used to it. They don't like it, but they get used to it. He entered the post office, a short man around 5'5 at the front desk. His name was Moxi, an odd name, but a fitting one for the likes of him. He was definitely full of character. As Clark walked, he remembered the text in full, almost photographically, it had been the first time he'd spoken to his daughter in a long while.

Sarah,

I have that feeling again. Sorry to put you in this position, but I need you to do something for me. Remember my old cabin? Inside, under the rug there's a floor safe. You know the combination. Inside the safe there'll be some money and a duffle bag. Keep the money; I won't need it, just mail me the bag. P.O. box 17.

Stay safe Sarah. I love you.

Dad


"Hey Clark!"

"Moxi, my boy, how are you?" said Clark,

"Fantastic, fantastic, did you need something?"

"Yeah, I came to check and see if my package arrived, I saw the mail wagon this morning."

"I think there was something addressed to you..." Moxi went into the back of the shop, "So, how's work?"

"Besides getting thrown out of planes, my ass handed to me, and getting shot at, it's OK I guess."

"Ico sure does know how to pick a fight," said Moxi looking through the addresses on the boxes, "There's no shortage of them...here it is!"

Moxi walked up to the front with a large box, "That's it,"

"Thank you," Clark pulled out a switchblade and cut the tape, opening the box, "Yep, that's my bag."

"You have guns or something in there?" asked Moxi,

"Something like that, thank you!"

"Have a good one!"

Clark walked out with the duffel bag. Hopefully the contents of it were safe, but at this point, if things were broken, they were broken. He proceeded into his room and sat down at the table. He opened the duffel bag and took inventory.

"AN/PVS-2 Scope," A night vision scope. It was bulky, around the size of a thermos. In the UGW, they were issued to specialized units and occasionally soldiers assigned to night watches. The scope required moonlight to work properly, but was a cheap design. Other more streamlined versions existed, but they were very expensive on the markets. Far out of Clark's budgets.

"M14 rifle," A broken down rifle. He had needed a replacement ever since his other rifle was destroyed by the gunshot from the NET operative.

"Kukri," A curved machete. Clark preferred this weapon to a regular knife if only for the reason that it was more aesthetically pleasing to him.

"Mark 22," A modified pistol. Back in his day as a trooper, the Western government issued both 9mm and .45 pistols. M1911s for the .45, and Model 39s for 9mm. The modified Model 39, dubbed a Mark 22, was signature for OFSA at the time, now replaced by modified M1911s. This handgun was old, but still usable. It'd need service before it could be pressed into action.

Clark readied his things, loading rounds into magazines for the M14. In his mind, something was wrong, like something was going to happen. It happened from time to time, he assumed it was just from him being paranoid.

********

Westhybrid

Released from prison, Darius continued his work. There was no end to the shipping manifests, progress reports, economic production fronts and bear and bull markets. Things moved fast in UGW courts, especially when there was a war on. In only two weeks, he was being ordered to increase in security force by 1000% in response to the ‘No Weak Links’ policy or face contract termination, in addition to the fact his contract was changed to 15% of arms production because of the security leak. Initially, he was upset, but that was also the name of the game in this war. Things changed on a moment’s notice. In economics, it was called ‘thinking at the margin’.

All Western PMCs were now under government protection because of security issues but being a foreign marketer, he didn’t get government protection because it was illegal. He had to provide his own protection and by being given that freedom, he gained more power. He would use his mercenaries to strike at enemy marketers. The most prominent being Wooten, a fellow North Mexican who was a tycoon with the East.

Clark came into the office, called by Darius himself. Darius was going through with his offensive campaign. It was time to end the competition within Mexico, but deniability was essential. The North Mexican authorities could not know it was he who was going to take Wooten out, being bound still to the laws of their land.

“Clark,” said Darius, Clark nodded, “Have a seat,”

Clark sat down, “You called me, sir?”

“Yes,” Darius stood up and opened his liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey, “Shot?”

“No thanks,” said Clark,

“Suit yourself,” said Darius, “Times like these need a bit of relaxing,”

Clark adjusted himself in his seat, “Bottle never did anything for me besides cause problems,”

“Fantastic,” replied Darius, “Did I ask for you to judge me?”

Clark chagrined, “You asked me for something?”

“I…” Darius downed the shot, “I need you to lead a team,”

“What team?”

“My…sources tell me that Mr. Wooten is basing himself out of Sky, one of several towns behind the lines far east.”

“I’m familiar with it,”

“That’s good,” Darius screwed the lid onto the whiskey bottle and put it away, this time pulling out a cigarette, “I need you to go down there and run reconnaissance. Reconnoiter, find out his defenses, and from there I’ll formulate another plan based on your findings.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Low population, only horse trails lead to it, it’s relatively low key,” Darius took a drag, “A NET outpost is in the town with a few soldiers.”

“Sounds like you already know what to expect,” remarked Clark, putting his hand to his chin,

“Except I don’t,” said Darius, “I’m about 99.9% sure that Wooten is working out of this place, but all that is, is a fancy way to say ‘I don’t know’,” Darius sat down and broke the ash, “I don’t act without a plan. Go there, check the place out. I’ll devise a plan once you’ve returned.”

“Sounds good,” said Clark, pushing in his chair.

“Also, I’m sending Garrett with you. Take your horses. Only bring what guns you can conceal.”

Darius had a reputation for never acting on anything without a plan. It did him well ever since he adopted that strategy, before he did, not so much. Clark went outside and prepped his horse to move. Garrett arrived to meet him and readied his horse as well, a two man team would do well.

********

Apocalypse

Corsican walked alone by the medical wing, passing it and continuing. Right now he had down time to spare and instead of spending it with other troops playing cards, he decided to find a nice place with little traffic. It was hard in the cramped buildings, but he found one relatively empty with only a few troopers in it talking. He untied his bandana around his face and laid it out on a collapsed concrete pillar to use it as a table, then began to take apart his M14 and 1911 handgun and maintain them. If anything, it was out of habit to do this regularly.

Corsican preferred the time alone. It gave him time to analyze his life's direction, what he would do if he survived this ordeal somehow and contemplate future goals. He thought about the people he'd grown to know, but also his friends lost, especially Gunnar. Gunnar was his friend since childhood and in one second, was gone, carried away by a swift flying bullet.

He remembered that day, they were losing ground to a significantly larger enemy force then them. It was him, Grant, Gunnar and Desmond along with around fifteen other soldiers he didn't know by name. They fell back down a street using collapsed buildings for cover and faced a numerically superior enemy supported by two M48 tanks. The fire sounded over them as they kept running away, the M48s firing their cannons and killing two or three soldiers at a time, Gunnar was killed when they ran and he didn't know, only to find them sprinting down the road a moment later when he turned his head before he was killed by the co-axial machinegun of a tank-

"Hey Tyson," said a voice,

Corsican jumped and dropped his handgun on the pillar, "What?"

"Sorry, did I scare you?" it was Durant, not a bad surprise.

"Oh, hey," said Corsican, "How are you Courtney?"

"I'm fine," Durant held the strap of her rifle slung on her back, "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead,"

Durant knelt down, but then used a piece of rubble to sit on. She pulled it up to the pillar so she wouldn't be so far away. Corsican picked up the partly disassembled pistol and put in on the bandana. The pair were quiet, watching the weapons be disassembled until one broke the ice.

"You look like you have a cloud hanging over you, is there something wrong?" asked Durant,

"It's just the overcast," Corsican pointed upwards and laughed a little, "Nah, I'm a little out of it right now,"

"How come?" Corsican was reluctant to say anything, but Durant saw through it, "If something is weighing on you, you can lay it on me,"

"...Gunnar...came to mind,"

"He did?"

"Yeah...I feel responsible,"

Durant got his attention, "Hey, look at me,"

Corsican looked up, depression stained his expression.

"It's not your fault," ensured Durant, "It's not."

"I didn't tell him to move with us when we fell back. He saw us too late and got killed because of it,"

Corsican put her hand on his shoulder, "It's not your fault. Do you remember when Jenny died?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"A hand grenade was thrown into the room we were in and I saw it. We were in a two story building with a collapsed wall, and I called the grenade out. I jumped off down into the street, rolled my ankle pretty good too, but Jenny didn't do anything. She froze."

"How could you take that as your fault?" asked Corsican,

"The same way you think Gunnar dying was your fault. I could've done something, but I didn't. That grenade didn't go off for a few seconds, enough time for me to pick it up and throw it away. If I had done that, Jenny probably would've made it."

"I remember that now. You were devastated,"

"Who isn't when they lose their friend? The point is, it isn't our fault. Things happen in those split seconds, and what happens isn't necessarily our doing."

Corsican put all the parts of his handgun down, he couldn't focus on cleaning it, "I just...Gunnar was the guy I knew from childhood. We were friends, good friends," Corsican looked at her, "We were good friends, we went to war together, he was my brother in arms. Leaving without him just makes things feel...lonely."

Durant stood up and walked over to Corsican, "You're not the only one who feels lonely," she hugged him for a moment and then let go, "But we're not out of this yet. Right now, your brothers and sisters in arms need you. We'll need everyone if we want a chance of getting out of here."

********

"get me another drink", says liam in a somewhat slurred voice. He had been holed up at the local pub for at least 3 hours then trying to get his mind off the disturbing letter he read that came from his supposed brother. The bartender cleans off the area around him of empty bottles and gives him another bottle of whiskey. Thinking to herself she should have given him something less alcoholic but still pricey as she didn't want to be kept there all night by some drunk buffoon.
A man opens the door with a very distinctive mustache, suit, and bowler hat seemingly grinning at the drunk liam. The man comes over and takes a seat next to him, he orders a brandy, then looks as if he is about to say something then retracts. Ten minutes later, liam takes a swig of rum being particularly annoyed with the bartender as there is more whiskey but she won't serve it to him. The man again attempts to make conversation with liam but retracts.

Liam finally turns to confront the man ," I can tell you want to say something to me so just say it so i don't have to wait here any longer.". The man looks at liam as if he was reading his mind,"Ah, i require your...services -"
Liam laughs heartily at the comment unbeknownst that he cut the man off."I think you want them", he replies pointing his finger at some prostitutes in the corner of the bar. The man with a bewildered look on his face says,"No Mr. Krieger i require you to help me and my business". Liam's expression turns like a switch ,"Let's discuss this in a not so public area". "you read my mind", he answers.

They walk to a corner of the bar where not much people were. "So what's the job?", asks liam.

Morrison: "Rider 1 be advised, radar's showing bandits at angels 4 heading 6-8-0. Orders are to divert and intercept. Over."

"Roger that command. Change of orders confirmed. Rider 1 out."

After losing his plane and his WSO, Maj. Morrison was transferred to Minot Air Base to assume command of the newly formed TF-108 fighter squadron, nicknamed the "Death Riders" for the unique design on the the pilot's planes.

Morrison called out to his squadron: "Alright. Rider flight be advised, our orders have been changed. Divert to heading 6-8-0. Prepare for enemy contact."

The squadron turned to the heading almost simultaneously. After 10 or 15 minutes of flying, their radars began to pick up the enemy flight. There was one problem though, a heavy layer of clouds had moved into the area and visibility had been reduced greatly. They would have to use their radars almost exclusively to see where the enemy flight was. The two flights were heading right towards each other rapidly moving into gun range.

"They should be against us in a few seconds..."

Morrison flipped his master arm switch to the on position. The rest of the squadron did so as well. The Death Riders were ready for whatever was going to come though those clouds.

"Any second now.."

And then it happened. Six full bursts of Vulcan rounds penetrated the clouds heading towards Rider flight. One of the Falcons erupted into flames, barreling towards the earth. "Motherfuckers!" Rider 3 yelled out.

"Rider 4 is going down! Repeat, Rider 4 is going down! No chute!"

"Rider flight break formation and engage!" Morrison commanded, "Send these fuckers into the ground!" The flight of bandits broke through the clouds and shot over Rider flight. Morrison looked up and saw that they were F-15's and that the leader had a red nose painted onto his plane. Satan's Chariot.

Morrison broke and turned into Satan's course, unleashing a salvo of rounds of his Vulcan into his path. The UGW squadron broke formation too late, and paid for it with a loss of their own. Morrison's Burst had missed Satan and instead landed into the cockpit of the Eagle on his right wing. Covering the remainder of the canopy glass in blood. The plane began to drift down into the ground. Rider flights first kill of the day.

The dogfight had turned into a furball. The clouds had mostly moved away which left a clear blue sky and almost 100% visibility. A beautiful setting for what was taking place. "Rider 6 you've got one on your six! Rider 5 called out, "Break left and I'll cut him off!" "Roger that 5!" Rider 6 broke left and was able to shake his tail. Rider 5 aquired a lock onto the eagle and fired. "Fox 2!" The heatseeker shot towards the F-15 but was sent off course when it dumped flares. "Dammit! They're using flares!" "I got him 5!" said Rider 6 as a missile shot off the rail. The second heatseeker hit its mark snapping off the Eagles wing. "YEAH!" Rider 6 yelled over the radio "Bandit down repeat bandi- OH SHIT" A missile hit 6's plane setting off the ammunition. Fires erupted in the cockpit and the jet exploded just after the pilot ejected.

"Rider 2 form up on my wing" Morrison called out. We gotta take down the chario-" "MAJOR HE'S ON YOUR TAIL!" Rider 2 screamed. Morrison broke right, bleeding his speed while Satan followed. The major looked around his canopy for him but he couldn't see him at all. That's when the sound that all pilots feared started chiming Missile lock Missile lock Morrison hit his flares but they had malfunctioned. Counter-Measure Malfunction Counter-Measure Malfunction Morrison again turned right and looked to his left to see a missile heading for his canopy..

Morrison woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a dream, or more of a nightmare. He turned towards the crate the he was using as a nightstand and checked his watch. 2:00 AM. "What the fuck man." He stood up from his cot and put on his jumpsuit. He preferred wearing it because it was loose fitting and had good circulation. Walking out of his tent into the cool, silent night he lit a cigarette and began walking towards the recreation building. A few of the Riders were known to stay up until 3-4 in the morning. He could already hear them laughing as he walked in.

A few of the guys were playing poker, "Hey Major! Care to join us?"

"Sure."

Spoiler:

Kiwi

"Rider 1 be advised, radar's showing bandits at angels 4 heading 2-8-0. Orders are to divert and intercept. Over."

"Rider 1 copies all Minot. Rider 1 out."

After losing his plane and his WSO, Maj. Morrison was transferred to Minot Air Base to assume command of the newly formed 334th fighter squadron, nicknamed the "Death Riders" for their emblems depicting the grim reaper wearing an oxygen mask. In respect to this, some of the higher tier pilots painted their aircraft in unique designs depicting that.

Morrison called out to his squadron: "Alright. Rider flight be advised, our orders have been changed. Divert to heading 2-8-0. Prepare for enemy contact."

The squadron turned to the heading almost simultaneously. After 10 or 15 minutes of flying, their radars began to pick up the enemy flight. There was one problem though, a heavy layer of clouds had moved into the area and visibility had been reduced greatly. They would have to use their radars almost exclusively to see where the enemy flight was. The two flights were heading right towards each other rapidly moving into gun range.

"They should be against us in a few seconds..."

Morrison flipped his master arm switch to the on position. The rest of the squadron did so as well. The Death Riders were ready for whatever was going to come though those clouds.

"Any second now.."

And then it happened. Six full bursts of Vulcan rounds penetrated the clouds heading towards Rider flight. One of the Falcons erupted into flames, barreling towards the earth. "Son of a bitch!" Rider 3 yelled out.

"Rider 4 is going down! Repeat, Rider 4 is going down! No chute!"

"Rider flight break formation and engage!" Morrison commanded, "Send these fuckers into the ground!" The flight of bandits broke through the clouds and shot over Rider flight. Morrison looked up and saw that they were F-15's and that the leader had a red nose painted onto his plane. Satan's Chariot.

Morrison broke and turned into Satan's course, unleashing a salvo of rounds of his Vulcan into his path. The UGW squadron broke formation too late, and paid for it with a loss of their own. Morrison's Burst had missed Satan and instead landed into the cockpit of the Eagle on his right wing. Covering the remainder of the canopy glass in blood. The plane began to drift down into the ground. Rider flights first kill of the day.

The dogfight had turned into a furball. The clouds had mostly moved away which left a clear blue sky and almost 100% visibility. A beautiful setting for what was taking place. "Rider 6 you've got one on your six! Rider 5 called out, "Break left and I'll cut him off!" "Roger that 5!" Rider 6 broke left and was able to shake his tail. Rider 5 aquired a lock onto the eagle and fired. "Fox 2!" The heatseeker shot towards the F-15 but was sent off course when it dumped flares. "Dammit! They're using flares!" "I got him 5!" said Rider 6 as a missile shot off the rail. The second heatseeker hit its mark snapping off the Eagles wing. "YEAH!" Rider 6 yelled over the radio "Bandit down repeat bandi- OH SHIT" A missile hit 6's plane setting off the ammunition. Fires erupted in the cockpit and the jet exploded just after the pilot ejected.

"Rider 2 form up on my wing" Morrison called out. We gotta take down the chario-" "MAJOR HE'S ON YOUR TAIL!" Rider 2 screamed. Morrison broke right, bleeding his speed while Satan followed. The major looked around his canopy for him but he couldn't see him at all. That's when the sound that all pilots feared started chiming Missile lock Missile lock Morrison hit his flares but they had malfunctioned. Counter-Measure Malfunction Counter-Measure Malfunction Morrison again turned right and looked to his left to see a missile heading for his canopy..

Morrison woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a dream, or more of a nightmare. He turned towards the crate the he was using as a nightstand and checked his watch. 2:00 AM. "Damn," He stood up from his cot and put on his jumpsuit. He preferred wearing it because it was loose fitting and had good circulation. Walking out of his tent into the cool, silent night he lit a cigarette and began walking towards the recreation building. A few of the Riders were known to stay up until 3-4 in the morning. He could already hear them laughing as he walked in.

A few of the guys were playing poker, "Hey Major! Care to join us?"

"I'm a bit tired to lose money," said Morrison. Morrison was new on base as of only yesterday. Two weeks of familiarization training with the Falcon thrusted him into service with it. If anything, it was just a reminder that war speeds everything up, "Mind if I sit anyway?"

"Sure, no problem," said one of the pilots, he introduced himself and offered his hand "I'm Caron, Lieutenant Caron,"

"Good to meet you," Morrison looked to the other, "What about you?"

"Lieutenant Fournier," he offered his hand as well, "It's an honor to meet you, sir,"

"I have to say the pleasure is mine," Morrison said, always the gentleman, "So, I hate to ask but..."

"Yes?" asked Caron,

"Who'd I replace?"

"Major Dick," said Fournier with a straight face.

Morrison didn't buy it, "No, really, who'd I replace?"

"Not joking Major, you replaced Major Dick. Major Hardy Bartholomew Dick."

"Wow..."

********

Mboddz, Cloakey


In North Point, only a day after they had arrived back from duties in the enclave, again NI4 operatives were called. The mole had been dismissed as chance, but still investigated. Operations continued out of necessity and NI4 agents always had more work to do in a war.

The next thing on the list for Boddz was commanding his team in the guard for a local merchant. Wooten, a North Mexican merchant needed escort on a long trip from a frontier town in NET territory to Sky, a small town twenty miles from the frontlines. From starting point to destination, it was one hundred miles, about a three hour trip by vehicle. Descateaux would lead personally. In North Point, the night before the event, he briefed his teams, two teams of four.

The conference room was dark, a small lamp lighting a map of North Dakota on a table. Eleven men tried to look at the same time, and it was very crowded.

“At 700 we’ll arrive at Abel. A small line of jeeps will be prepped and waiting for us by the local outpost. From that outpost, we’ll drive south and meet the VIP on V, then proceed out of the city through X,” Descateaux pointed at various streets in Abel, “Once out of the city it’s like the rest of the place, flat. We’ll drive a hundred miles west into Sky where we’ll drop off the VIP and secure the town.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” asked George,

“Darius Ico is probably looking to take him out,” replied Reznor, leaning back on his foot.

“It's unlikely we meet resistance, but nothing can be taken out of consideration. He’s definitely a target though,” said Descateaux.

“Who’s on what?” asked Boddz,

“Your team will be point, lead vehicle. Sergeant Eckert will be with you,” Descateaux pointed to a woman with brunette hair done back into a tail. She was somewhat noticeable in North Point, being one of only twelve female operatives in Section 4.

“Lieutenant,” she tipped her patrol cap,

“The second team will be led by Crane,” Descateaux pointed to him, “Crane will take the rear vehicle. Sorine, Warner, and Ramsey will accompany him.”

“Yes sir,” said Crane,

"The vehicle with the VIP will be driven by his security from his firm. It's a three car convoy,"

"What could go wrong?" asked Reznor,

"Care to specify?"

"What are some of the biggest threats?"

"Well...any high ranking financial officer is a target by OFSA, and like you mentioned Darius Ico is probably looking for a way to take him out," explained Descateaux. Darius was suspect because they were both North Mexican and it was known they were fierce competitors. In Mexico, CEOs have a way of dying when things aren't going well for their competitors. The highest ones had small armies protecting them.

"So nothing out of the ordinary," sighed Reznor,

“Pretty much," Descateaux paused, "This is basic stuff people. Once we’re finished, we’ll report back here. He’ll be the Army’s problem after we get him to his destination. Ura?"

“Ura!” said the operatives.

The operatives dismissed, but Descateaux pulled Boddz aside, "Hey, got something for you."

"What is it?" asked Boddz, raising an eyebrow,

Descateaux put something in Boddz's hand, "You've got your bars."

Boddz opened his hand and saw it. Captain's bars.

"You're my second in command here Captain. Prove yourself."

"Yes, sir!" said Boddz, very enthusiastically.

********

*Bump*

Mboddz and Cloakey updated.

Spoiler:

Tyson Reassemble the guns upon completion of maintenance.

If Durant is still lingering around, thank her for the pep talk. And ask her if she, or anyone she knows needs assistance with anything: anything to bide your time while awaiting orders from Desmond. If the inquiring with Durant provides no leads for tasks, likewise question any miscellaneous troopers around the Enclave; especially the ones you already know.

If everything fails, do some yoga and get to stretching those ligaments. Furthermore, try and find or create some nourishment.

Boddz stared silently at the captain bars in his palm, even after Descateaux had left him to his own thoughts in the empty briefing room. Mike had always known why he was here and why he did what he did (or at least he liked to tell himself that). However, actually feeling the bars in his hand seemed to physically bring it home.

The sound of the rooms door creaking a little awoke Boddz from his fixation and caused him to quickly wheel around out of reaction. George and Reznor were both standing in the doorway, they had noticed Mike lagging behind and had doubled back to check on him.

"Hey man, getting comfortable or something? We've already gone over the mission plan multiple times today, so you might as well do yourself a favor and get some rest." Said Reznor as he took a step in to the room.

"Yeah, mans gotta point Boddz. Especially if Darius actually has the balls to attack Wooten." follwed up George.

Both men took a few more steps towards Boddz; openning their mouths to speak again, but suddenly froze in their tracks. They were now close enough to Mike to see what lay in the palm of his hand. George and Reznor both shot each other an "oh shit" look before regaining their composure.

George quickly grabbed one of the fold up chairs and dragged it up next to Boddz, before sitting down next to him, with Reznor following suit.

"So...Captain huh? Spoke Reznor with a straight face. All three men knew what this meant.

"Yeah, just when I thought it was getting tough enough they give me even more responsibility." Replied Boddz with a empty chuckle. "Its only gonna get crazier from here I suppose."

Mike suddenly felt a hand come down on his shoulder. It was George's.

"Boddz...you already know with out me saying, that whatever the fuck messes the foriegn nations, Tribals, Rampant CEO's, and other scum of this continent make, you'll never be facing them alone brother."

"You got that shit right" piped up Reznor.

Hunter:

Waking up from his chemical-induced sleep he looked around the medical wing and noticed the sparse amount of medical staff and large amount of patients. During his chemical induced sleep he had dreamed that he transformed into a cabbage called Gavin who spoke in an irritating manner with a lack of a manhood. Morphine was a powerful drug.

He sat up in his bed, his wounded limbs and back throbbing a little bit. He contemplated what to say to his superiors about the events surrounding his last assignment. He was a Senior NCO and he made 3 rookie mistakes in a matter of seconds. There was really no excuse, but the war is taking it's toll on the soldiers. They'd tell him to stop being stupid and throw him back into the fray as soon as possible.
He heard a doctor approaching, who picked up a clipboard and looked at it, then at Hunter.
"Ah, good to see you awake, y'know you're lucky to be alive, the surgeons tell me that bullet you took to the back only caused severe bruising, at the cost of some military equipment. Who knew a Carl Gustav could save lives as well as take them, eh?" The doctor's happy demeanor made Hunter want to punch him. "So, yeah, you'll need physiotherapy for the other wounds though, I'll go ahead and notify Staff Sergeant Desmond. He might want to speak with you before your debriefing."


Happy to see that chipper cunt's back, Hunter just lay there doing nothing. The best he might get is Armoury duty for a few months.

Destroyer, Ztron

The next night went and the sun began to rise. Clark and Garrett started their trip early in the morning, around 530. It would be a day long ride anyway, they’d have to go far around the battlefields. Clark was already at his horse, ready to go. He waited on Garrett to arrive but figured he’d probably have to wake him up. Garrett was one to sleep in.

Clark used this time to test his AN/PVS-2 Starlight scope, his night vision scope. Time spent as a quartermaster early in his career helped with installing such attachments, which required some special work before the rifle accepted them. The scope worked well. The landscape lit up in the moonlight and the few people he saw moving around were very visible. This would definitely be an advantage, also, the iron sights were still usable. Because the scope was so large, it mounted diagonally to the left, allowing normal use of the rifle, albeit it would still be bulkier.

Garrett came running up from his room at the motel, rifle in hand, he slung it over his back and hopped onto his horse, “Hey, thanks for waiting!”

“I thought you weren’t coming,”

“Just some things that needed to be done,” said Garrett, “Been a while since I’ve ridden a horse,”

“Definitely can get spoiled with all these autos around here,” said Clark, “But in my opinion, nothing beats a horse.”

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

“Not even a tank?”

“In what respect?” they started to ride out of the town,

“I don’t know, transportation?”

“No, of course not,”

“How so?”

“A tank can do what? 30-40mph at best? At about a mile and a half a gallon?”

“A tank can take rockets.”

“A horse isn’t combat transportation. You’re doing it wrong if you’re using it like that.”

They exited town and got to a gallop. Their coarse would take them forty miles southeast, then back up northwest to head into sky. Horses would get winded often if they pushed them hard, so they’d have to mind their speed. The trip was at least twelve hours if they played it safe. If they took risks, nine hours.

“So why do you think Darius sent us on this?” asked Garrett,

“Probably to get you out of his hair,”

“Very funny,”

“I try,”

“Seems Darius has taken a liking to you. You’re a real no nonsense kind of guy. The real deal.”

“I guess I’m not, I get that pretty often.”

“What do you think we’ll see in Sky?”

“I’m thinking at least a small guard of NET soldiers.”

“And that’s it?”

“I honestly think this entire trip is pretty pointless. In combat, you can’t always be 100% sure on everything. He should’ve just sent us after him already.”

“Is that why you wanted to bring rifles?”

“If we can get a shot at him, he’s planning on taking him out anyway. I’m just trying to save time and be able to plan our next move quicker.”

“Aren’t you just the overachiever…”

“That’s how you get up in the chain fast, Evan. Prove that you’re useful, that you’re worth your weight and then some.”

“I’ll take note of that.”

********

KGBoom

Vision was blurry, and everything around him. Things seemed to come in and out of focus and weird dreams had confused him. Things seemed numb, but numb was better than pain. He could get used to this.

Hunter sat up, stretching a bit. The morphine took the edge off but pain still spiked through from time to time. He didn't know what to say about his actions, but he probably wouldn't have to say much. Desmond wasn't one for debriefings and would probably just want a sentence or two if he wanted to talk at all. Desmond didn't like to talk, that would benefit him here.

A doctor approached, clad in a greatcoat that was a bit bloodstained. He waved his pen in front of Hunter's face to check consciousness, but it was only annoying. That was good. That was the point.

"Feeling alright?" asked Doctor Farnham,

"I feel like a freight train hit me," said Hunter, "But I'm fine,"

"Wounds are recovering well, although we couldn't remove the round in your back so that'll probably annoy you for the next forty or so years..."

"Great..." said Hunter sarcastically,

"You may need physical therapy down the line, we'll see how things go. I've already notified Desmond that you're up and running, so you may want to go find him," he marked some things on Hunter's medical report, "And...you're good. You can leave when you're comfortable."

"Alright then," Hunter stretched his neck, "Thanks Farnham,"

"Anytime," he said, "Just try not to get shot again."

Hunter laid back in bed again and slept for a few minutes before getting up. He was a bit shaky in some respects, walking was a bit difficult for instance, but he figured that may or may not get better in time. Not like anyone else getting out of here was completely fixed either when you made it out. It was a godsend that you survived.

Hunter walked up the stairs slowly and steadily not to lose his balance. One thing for sure was that he wouldn't be working in combat any time soon, but he definitely wasn't a cripple. Given a few weeks he'd be good again. He'd do a bit of self-physical therapy, see where that went. Desmond wasn't too far from the medical wing, he was talking to other soldiers that Hunter didn't really recognize.

"...I don't care what Lieutenant Baker says, Baker is a goddamn idiot," said Desmond,

"But Desmond," said the team leader of the group,

"No 'but Desmond', if you two are too much of cowards to go and save your own comrades, I'll go and do it myself! Now get to it Corporal!"

"Yes, sir!"

Desmond took notice of Hunter limping over to him, but yelled one last time to the soldiers, "Wait for me at the west side! I'll get a team!" he turned his attention to Hunter, "Good to see you're up, this has to be quick,"

"Farnham said you wanted to talk to me?"

"I do, but it'll have to wait. I've got to go fix Baker's folly," Desmond patted Hunter on the shoulder as he took off west. Hunter flinched at it, spiking his nerves, but he let it slide.

********

Luna: Luna sat writing a letter to people she had come across on her brothers desk. She sent letter after letter to Mercenary groups asking them to not accept her brothers ridiculous offers.

Dimitri: Taking a single letter he sent with his servant it was express sent to a Mercenary group. It was addressed to Liam Kreiger for a meeting. The letter stated that if a reply was made that transportation and a small some of money will be given for the trouble of seeing him asap.

Mboddz, Cloakey

The two teams travelled in a single S-70 down to Abel. Abel was one of many frontier towns that dotted the landscape, their purpose if only to own the land by proxy. The town was standard layout: Multiple wooden bunkhouses housing thirty or so people, basic businesses, and surrounded by farms, only right now those towns were on strict rationing to survive the winter. The government paid people good money to live out in the middle of nowhere, and it was the only reason most stayed, although some stayed for the pleasure of the individual life out in the plains. City life dominated the NET population for the most part, reminiscent of the population there in the old world.

The two teams sat across from each other in the helicopter. Descateaux sat in the middle with his team, which would take the second jeep in the convoy. He was head of this operation, a change of pace for him being the commander of North Point, but even he needed to get out every now and again.

Abel came into view, its farms stretched far. The S-70 used an open field to land and dropped off the three teams and they walked into town weapons holstered. A NET outpost based out of here had jeeps they’d be using to escort Wooten, who had his own personal transport. Wooten was staying at the local tavern & hotel and would join the convoy upon it arriving.

The jeeps were parked outside with a few troopers at ease around them. Descateaux informed them of their work and they scattered, allowing the NI4 operatives to commandeer the convoy. From there, they drove down to the tavern & hotel and Wooten's vehicle joined the convoy now headed for Sky. It would be around a three hour long trip in all.

********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

"Corsican, come with me,"

"Kind of in the middle of something here, Desmond," said Corsican, putting together his M14,

Desmond looked around and saw a trooper with a shotgun, an Ithaca 37 and took it from him, "Hey!" he exclaimed,

"Happy?"

Corsican sighed, "...I guess, whatever makes you happy."

"You should come too," Desmond said to Durant,

"What's going on?"

"Need to save some soldiers that Baker left behind. Now let's go!"

Desmond ran to the west with Corsican and Durant following. Along the way, he also picked up two other troopers to assist, one a machinegunner, and kept on down to the perimeter. Once there, they met up with the two soldiers he'd been yelling at before, now grouped with ten or so soldiers. The goal here was to save their comrades, who had been taken prisoner during patrol. Six soldiers were missing, of them, two were already known dead. The way Desmond figured it, it happening only about fifteen minutes prior, they couldn't have moved far. So now was the time to strike.

"Alright troopers!" started Desmond, "Let's get our boys back!"

The squad of fifteen moved northwest through buildings. They moved quickly, but cautiously, every second passed was time for the NET to move their comrades somewhere else, but soon enough, a NET strongpoint in the buffer zone showed this was probably where they were keeping prisoners. The strongpoint was an abandoned hospital with many windows on each floor and the fighting exploded, soon they found themselves engaged in a massive firefight with lead flying every which direction.

The layout: NET troopers in almost every window with their L1A1s and the occasional MAG 60.20., NET with high ground, UGW scattered across the street in the wrecks of houses.

Desmond leaned against the wall and fired sparingly. Already, this wasn't going to go anywhere unless they could break the fight up,

"AT!" Desmond yelled to a trooper with a LAW launcher twenty feet from him, "AT!"

The soldier heard Desmond yelling, "Yeah?!" he ducked his head to avoid fire,

"Fire that LAW into the second floor! Get their heads down!"

The AT soldier turned around and moved behind some low walls behind other Western troopers firing into the hospital. He slung his M14 over his back and pulled out one of his two LAW launchers, anxiously under fire waiting for the time to strike, he kept his knelt stance and when the opportunity presented itself, fired into the second floor. The launcher made a loud 'boom' and the rocket flew straight and true into the 2nd floor, knocking out a good section of concrete.

The Western soldiers used this time to move up, "Move on up!" called various soldiers, and the now fourteen strong team moved up to the hospital wall. Now the next goal was to get inside the hospital, still filled with NET soldiers, at least ten. The rounds flew and the soldiers kept their focus. This didn't phase the Western troops at all, they lived this every day, heading out into the buffer zone, sneaking through the city to ambush NET soldiers, and anything to cause their invaders trouble. Dauntless, they struck true, bringing down the ten NET soldiers in the room to only two of them out of the fight, one killed, one injured.

"Push forward troopers! Clear these hallways!" shouted Desmond,

"I've got your back Desmond," said Corsican, armed with the Ithaca,

"Take point on this hall, I'll cover your back," Desmond pointed to a hall on the right side of the main lobby. They'd search through the halls looking for their lost comrades, eliminating anyone in their way.

"Alright, watch my back," said Corsican, a little nervous to be pointman,

"Just go," Desmond aimed his M14 at the adjacent room,

Corsican entered the room quickly, shotgun raised and him alert. Everything seemed to be quiet, almost like nothing else was happening he was so focused, "This room is clear," he said.

"Let's get the next,"

They moved on to the next room, just adjacent. Same drill, Corsican point, Desmond on his rear, but still nothing. Room by room, the hallway was clear. Clear of anyone, even prisoners. Corsican turned to Desmond and suggested going elsewhere.

"We should check on the other troopers, the gunfire has stopped,"

"Let's go,"

Desmond and Corsican walked upstairs onto the second floor. The Western troopers were clearing the last of the rooms, but there were no NET survivors. Upstairs, the two soldiers that Desmond had yelled at before were busy untying the captured Western troops, held in a back room. As the soldiers untied their restraints, they expressed gratitude at their new freedom.

"Damn, we thought we were done for!" said one,

"Maybe you did, I knew they'd come for us!" said another,

"Granted, it's good to be back. Thanks John,"

"We were under orders by Baker to stay put. It was Desmond that organized this little raid," said John, pointing to Desmond. The captive soldier stretched and walked up to him.

"Thanks Desmond. Thanks for coming for us," the soldier shook Desmond's hand,

"Nobody gets left behind,"

Corsican tapped Desmond on the shoulder, "Sergeant, we should get moving back, these guys aren't going to let this go lightly,"

"Eastern troops will probably try to retake this strongpoint if they know it went down," said another trooper across the room,

"Alright then," Desmond stretched his neck a little, "Let's get out of here people."

In a few minutes, the squad was moving out of the hospital, bringing their casualties back with them to the enclave. This was day to day life in the enclave, almost like fighting a resistance movement. So long cut off from supply lines, so long cut off from reality, this turned into the reality. One day it was organizing saboteur operations around the city, next it was saving captured friends from the enemy, but every day was about bringing glory to yourself, your comrades and the country you were fighting for. Even after almost six months of being trapped in the city, troopers didn't lose sight of the big picture, that people would lay their lives down for men they didn't even know. This was still for their land, for their people, all of the merits they had learned as schoolchildren still held true to them. It was just a bit more literal now, and a bit more loud.

No man gets left behind, all who challenge will fall. For the glory of the West, they fought.

********

Desert Sleepy, Snowwolf

“Pull on into the convoy Krieger,” said Wooten, pointing to the convoy,

“Yes sir,” he pulled the 4x4 into the convoy and joined in behind the first vehicle.

Wooten was escorted by three of his guards, Liam Krieger, Elliot Marsin, and Frank Sigmund, part of the Rising East Mercenary group, a crime syndicate and personal defense corporation from the NET. Highly illegal, they were very underground, almost a private army for hire by anyone who had enough coin. Officially, they were his security guards, but documentation could say what it wanted to, they were obviously mercenaries. In the battlefields they acted as good alternatives to the military, and in country, they acted as wetwork teams to do the bidding of rich CEOs that needed questionable acts completed without people knowing.

Rising East had its share of run-ins with the NET military, usually in the form of firefights, but again, out here, things were different. Back in their prime though, the Rising East actually assisted the NET in many respects, filling black roles that the government wouldn’t condone, but needed to be done anyway. It was handy for smaller things that were below NI3, the section of National Intelligence responsible for in territory and in country matters.

Nonetheless, the past was the past, and this was the present. Long story short, Rising East still continued to impress even if it had to hide in the shadows.

Wooten looked over reports by his mercenaries, endgame reports, battlefield statistics, kill-death ratios and supply requests. It was always worth it though because having thugs that could do your bidding served anyone well.

“Krieger, I’m going to need you for something when we get to Sky, it’s a need to know basis,” said Wooten,

“I’m juggling work between you, two other clients and this new guy Durov. I’m taxed to capacity as it is,”

“I’ll speak to your superiors about losing the other two clients and getting someone else on it. Durov is a good man though, kind of a weird guy, but good for his country, I won’t bother that.”

“In that case, I’ll be open.”

“We’ll talk when we’re alone, I don’t trust these NI4 types,” Wooten looked back at the NI4 operatives and ahead of him as well. Wooten didn’t trust government as far as he could throw it, but necessary evils were still...necessary.

********

Mboddz, Cloakey

The convoy kept on, and fortunately for the operatives these jeeps were covered. In this environment, too often you had to drive a jeep with no covers, completely open in the cold. It was miserable, but you did what you had to.

Boddz scanned the horizon while Reznor drove. He constantly checked the convoy to see if everyone was still in formation, watch for anything suspicious, etcetera etcetera. The radio was turned off, for an unknown reason, and Boddz told George to turn it on. Once he did, radio calls from Bakken started to speak.

"We're diverting 40 soldiers to that flank on the west walls. Armor is on the way, we should be able to punch through," said one,

"Reinforcements are en route, once the first defenses go down, we'll roll it on in. The 334th is also going to provide air support."

Eckert was confused, "Are they talking about Bakken?"

"Hush..." said Boddz, listening in to the radio,

"We'll get more squads rolling in soon. The FOB at the hospital just fell about an hour ago,"

"Armor in on the way, courtesy of the 5th. Make it count."

Boddz was shocked. Nothing was told to them about this, actually trying to break through the enclave. For the longest time it was considered too risky, but now...

"George turn it to 302.3,"

"Yeah, sure," George turned it to their operation frequency and George handed the mic to Boddz,

"Colonel, are you hearing this on 410.5?"

"What?" asked Descateaux, "What's going on?"

"Our guys in Bakken are attempting to put a hole in the defenses of the enclave,"

"What?"

"I just heard it! They're saying the 334th is providing air support!"

"If that's not a painfully bad idea, I don't know what is. The 121st can't even get into that area without being blasted out of the sky!"

"Did you hear about this?"

"No!" said Descateaux, "I didn't hear about it. I'd think I would!"

The convoy continued on its path. They were a hundred miles away from the fighting anyway, but it didn't make sense. Unless it was field officers acting on their own accord, NI4 would've heard about something like this so that they could plan for it. There are many operatives in Bakken operating near those areas, their agents were in danger if they were in the dark, but air support wasn't a fluke. That needed to be carefully choreographed to have a chance of succeeding, and that wasn't field officers acting on their own.

Whatever it was, it sounded like things were about to get very bad, very quickly.

********

NET Lieutenant



"Mortars prepped?" asked the Lieutenant,

"On it!"

Troopers pulled mortars into position, while others pulled boxes of 82mm mortars out of supply crates. They were no more than 300 feet from the Western positions, and behind them, troopers escorted M60 tanks down the roads, soldier after soldier, continuously rounding the corner, almost like it never ended. The 334th was supposed to be here soon to drop napalm and iron bombs, hopefully sooner rather than later as they were going to need all the help they could.

On the outskirts of the city, artillery was lining up, ready to fire on the enclave and rain down 155mm high explosive ordinance. All part of the plan to brake the enclave and stop containing it, rather eliminate it. The plan was formulated in a matter of a day to prevent sabotage by the enemy, and so far it was working. The West was completely oblivious, from what they could see, that any sort of attack was going to happen.

A total of eight tanks down different avenues arrived. More and more infantry piled in from all directions of the city. After trial and error of almost three months, the NET had finally worked a map of what areas were mined, what areas were strong, where to go and where to strike the soft underbelly. This area wasn't mined at all, and at best, it wasn't easy to defend. Strikes from multiple areas could cause this area to fall, but that the NET knew this couldn't be known to the West. Now was the time to strike.

The Lieutenant spoke on his radio, "This is Alpha lead to all units, stay behind the tanks, but do not leave them. They're vital to the success of this. Reinforcements are en route, the time to strike is now!"

"1-1 copies all,"

"Affirmative!"

"Loud and clear Alpha lead,"

"We're going to show the West they've overstayed their welcome!"


********

Jagdgeschwader, Apocalypse

Inside the enclave, it was chaos. Reports were coming in that the NET were about to strike en masse on the western flank of the territory. Officers coordinated strikes from the radios, soldiers scrambled, even the injured arose to fight. The attacking force was massive it seemed for that area, and if they didn't take this attack seriously, they may lose the security of the enclave.

Desmond, Grant, Burdick and many other junior level officers coordinated from the field headquarters near the medical wing, but things were seemingly hectic. Patrols from the West side were falling fast to the advancing NET, and perimeter guards on that area were reporting a great force approaching. As they started to come in, the artillery started to land. Mortar fire came first, but then the 155 came.

"Kilo Black," said Grant, "Kilo Black, do you hear me?" a mortar shell landed a few dozen feet away from the tent, destroying the radio relay. Suddenly, and catastrophically, units were cut off from commanders, and only short wave communication was in effect.

"Goddamn it!" said Grant, grabbing his M14 off the wall, "We've got to do this old school now."

Corsican showed up, "What the hell is going on?!" he shielded his head from raining debris,

"Come with us! We need to find a short wave radio and organize the defense!" ordered Desmond,

"There is no defense!" yelled Corsican over the explosions, "We're losing people like its nothing!!"

Desmond ran out to the west side to Grant's chagrin, "What are you doing?"

"Need to find a radio!" said Desmond, "Come with me!"

Desmond, Grant and Corsican ran west, but ran into the M60 set up as a pillbox in the enclave. It faced the western perimeter, and this tank was the only thing that even qualified as a semi-working vehicle. The engine was long since shot, but the turret still traversed and the cannon was still operational. As they passed, a few soldiers scrambled into the tank's turret to operate it and the turret faced west. Hopefully the tank wouldn't take an artillery shell, that at least it wouldn't be the trooper's casket.

Continuing west and running through artillery fire, they came along the western perimeter, which saw only death by the NET's hand. Troopers defending the streets fell like nothing off the buildings after being eliminated, and buildings exploded from the HEAT rounds being fired by the MBTs. This was already the worst attack this group of soldiers had ever faced in the enclave and by all means, the trio didn't know if they were ready for it.

As soldiers fell back, they did as well. The roadblocks set up would only hold for a few minutes at best while the NET blasted them with cannons, maybe only seconds. The distress for the air force to help had gone out, but no reply had been made before the long range radio went down. They prayed that help would arrive, because if it didn't, they'd fight their hardest, but it was unknown whether that would be enough to win today.

********

Kiwi

"My flight, let's go low to the ground, fly below the radar. Five minutes to target," said Major Morrison, flying his F16 with his flight. They were armed with napalm to soften the defenses further on the enclave, part of the air support on this operation. Hopefully by flying under the radar, they'd be able to avoid Western air support for the most part, which flew daily sorties of the area. It was almost guaranteed that they'd come across hostile aircraft, but the 334th were the Death Riders. They'd handle whatever the West threw at them.

Or at least die trying.

Or be shot down trying.

Morrison led his flight, Revenant, down low to the ground, leading all sixteen jets. They flew in tight formation, which made a large blip on the radar, but formation was key to any successful operation. Revenant flight flipped their master arms on, and took it low, down to an altitude of only 1500 meters.

They were now four minutes from the target, and blips on the radar were showing incoming hostile aircraft. Some slow flying, some faster. Hopefully, they'd reach Bakken and drop their ordinance before anything were to run into each other.

"The first run has to be the last, make your bombs count. Don't drop unless you're sure you'll avoid friendly casualties. This isn't danger close stuff," warned Morrison,

********

Hunter: Hunter wandered about the Enclave, he needed to clear his head and consider everything that had happened. He won't be able to fire a gun for the next few weeks, maybe a month or two. He'd been hearing whispers all over the enclave of an incoming attack.

He had a niggling feeling that something bad was going down.

Destroyer, Ztron

The day came and the day went, but avoiding military patrols and running horses to the point of exhaustion had kept it interesting. A few close calls were averted, but it was otherwise a routine ride. It was now nearing around 1900, the sun was setting, and Sky was in sight, only a few minutes away.

The horses were very tired, and they welcomed the sight just as much, if not more so than their riders, but blending in would mean foregoing their rifles. Clark and Garrett hitched their horses onto a stunted tree and put their rifles against the tree. Walking into a camp fully armed wasn't a good idea anyway, it would attract too much attention.

Inside the small town, it was business. There weren't many people around walking around except for the stray NET soldier on break. On the porches, people played instruments, smoked, and relaxed on the calm winter evening.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" asked Garrett,

"Larger than normal NET presences, things out of the ordinary, things that shouldn't be, the usual,"

"That looks suspicious," Garrett pointed to a jeep parked next to a wooden office building. On the porch, a few NET soldiers relaxed smoking cigarettes.

"Let's take a closer look," said Clark, "Just act natural,"

"Uh huh,"

Clark and Garrett wandered over to the building, walking down the road. The troopers, two males and a female, didn't give them a second look, but it also didn't turn up any fruit. They casually saluted as they passed to the NET troopers and settled across the street, leaning up against the railing of another porch. Clark continued to scan the environment looking for any other obvious signs, but from what he could tell, this was a ghost town at its best. A great place for someone to hide and never be noticed, especially if you were depressed and solemn like the rest of the population here.

"Got a feeling about that house?" asked Garrett,

"Yeah, good call. We'll just wait here for a little while, see, who comes out, you know?"

"Yeah," replied Garrett, he pointed to the door, "I think someone is coming out right now actually,"

Two figures came out, one a white mid-sized man, another a black man in a winter overcoat. He looked to be one of the NET soldiers and he spoke to the white man as if explaining something to him. These NET operatives looked higher end, their equipment gave it away. Specially modified L1A1s and SA80s screamed NI4, but it could also just be a higher end NET unit. After all, this was a merchant that was crucial to their efforts, it would only make sense that the people guarding him would be higher end.

"We're going," said the black man, "The NET soldiers here should be more than adequate for your protection Mr. Wooten," the conversation was clearly audible as the road was narrow, only about twenty feet.

"Thank you for your service, Captain, but my personal details can take it from here. Thank you,"

"If you need them anyways, the outpost is just down the road,"

Clark's eyes widened, not only was this Wooten, but this guy looked and sounded familiar... "You're good soldier!" he remembered,

He remembered painfully. He remembered getting into a fight with this man, almost taking a bullet, and getting thrown out of the aircraft. He remembered how this man was the one who almost put Darius, Garrett and him into prison for years, and he remembered how this guy was NI4. It was no doubt, if Darius wanted to take on Wooten, he was going to have to deal with some tough players, a player that may be too much for him to handle.

"Oh shit," said Clark under his breath, "Oh shit..."

"What?" asked Garrett,

"That's the guy who hijacked the planes!"

"What?"

"YES!"

"Wait, he threw you out of the plane?"

YES!"

The NET troops across the street pointed to the two as if they were suspect, and they were obviously suspect. The black man took a look as Wooten exited at the suspects and immediately called out. He knew him.

"Hey!" he shouted,

"Run!" yelled Clark to Garrett as Clark fired his handgun a few times, pulling him as they sprinted. The NET soldier pulled his handgun and fired rapidly, emptying his magazine in a matter of seconds while Clark and Garrett sprinted for their lives. All of his unit picked up their weapons and gave chase but the two were already high-tailing it to their horses sitting about a quarter mile away.

"George, Eckert, get in the jeep and cut them off! Reznor, come with me!" said the man, "He's mine!"

In their way, a maze of houses which could put a little distance between the NI4 operatives. The maze would go to their advantage and it would distance them enough to where if they kept their pace and stayed together, they'd make it to their horses. Right now, the goal wasn't to fight, it was to survive with the information. Wooten was staying here and he was guarded by what appeared to be NET Army.

********

Darius: Darius mulled around his desk, tapping his mahogany cane over and over. He had more business matters to attend to while waiting for a response from Garrett and Clark.

As per his agreement with the UGW upon his release, he needed to double his security forces. Unfortunately, it's difficult to divert caravan guards from other Chapters like Reno, Phoenix and Carson City. He needed people there to stay put. So he would need to outsource to some old friends.

He picked up the phone, letting the dial ring. "Hello. It's Darius. I need you to connect me to a phone line in New Havana."

Clark: "Keep running!" Clark lets go of Garrett and reloads, twisting on the suppressor. "Only shoot if you have to, we'll have better odds if we stick together and stay quiet. Follow me." Continue to dodge through alleys on the way to the horses.

Boddz lept down the stairs and broke in to a full blown sprint down the road. The cold air made his throat feel a bit raw has he took in deep breaths through his nose, and exhaled though his mouth.

"Reznor! Look for their prints in the snow! The Jeep is already on its way to the other side of the houses. All we gotta do is squeeze them out."

This confirmed it. Darius was making a bold move, even by his own standards. Tracking the dou wouldn't be too difficult if the tracks they left stayed consistent, and boddz was sure he could out run the older man...he had never seen the younger one however.