The Days After (Game Topic)

Darius

Darius was anything but afraid of Wooten. He had an entire two nation in his pocket; one out of loyalty to business, and the other one out of dependence. UGW gets a lot of their guns and heavy equipment from Ico Caravans. Wooten would have hell to pay if he tried to even assault Darius. Both him and Garrett could take care of themselves, even without all the UGW's political mundane bullshit.

"I'm not worried about Wooten. The guy doesn't know who he's dealing with. Remind yourself of this, Garrett. When we need to be, we are some cold, scary motherfuckers, with enough cash to buy the entire state of New Mexico. We'll be fine." Darius stated with a smirk on his face.

Darius nodded to Hunter. "Don't worry about our sorry asses. It's your fucking shipment of guns we're delivering. Provided we get paid. Protect the cargo." Darius said. He checked his rifle. Making sure it was clear of jams, he started walking with the rest of the group. He brought his facemask up above his nose, and put his sunglasses on to counter the sun's glare.

Clark: "Calm down Krieger. Think. Who else knows where you live? Where would she be?" Keep watching the camp for any significant changes in troop movement.

. ADestroyer360 wrote:

. ADestroyer360 wrote:Clark: Slides the blade back into it's sheath and hops back onto his Arabian. "Well, you weren't wrong. Let me reintroduce myself; Staff Sergeant Termous ret., Former UGW Direct Action Group."

Jagdgeschwader wrote:"So, let me introduce myself properly," said Clark, "Clark Termous, former UGW trooper, 4th Infantry Division,"

What.

A Direct Action Group is slang for a special forces unit which utilizes direct means to achieve an objective, such as assassinations or sabotage instead of subterfuge. A Direct Action Group is also not specific and can reference anything that employs such means. The other alternative is that a Direct Action Group is a revolutionary group. Like ALF, ELF, or even Occupy Wall Street and this is the definitive definition of it. Based on what your character history was, I assumed you just used the term without knowing specifically what it is. If you want, I can change the line to match your initial intention.

Jagdgeschwader wrote:

. ADestroyer360 wrote:

. ADestroyer360 wrote:Clark: Slides the blade back into it's sheath and hops back onto his Arabian. "Well, you weren't wrong. Let me reintroduce myself; Staff Sergeant Termous ret., Former UGW Direct Action Group."

Jagdgeschwader wrote:"So, let me introduce myself properly," said Clark, "Clark Termous, former UGW trooper, 4th Infantry Division,"

What.

A Direct Action Group is slang for a special forces unit which utilizes direct means to achieve an objective, such as assassinations or sabotage instead of subterfuge. A Direct Action Group is also not specific and can reference anything that employs such means. The other alternative is that a Direct Action Group is a revolutionary group. Like ALF, ELF, or even Occupy Wall Street and this is the definitive definition of it. Based on what your character history was, I assumed you just used the term without knowing specifically what it is. If you want, I can change the line to match your initial intention.

Uh... I understand what direct action means, and I was referring to the special forces context. If that's not alright, I don't mind it being Infantry.

As I started to light another cigarette I started to smirk at Darius. "Well I'm not sure we can buy ALL of New Mexico, but I would like to think I have enough alcohol for us to get them into drunken submission and then make off with all their wallets". Then I turned to hunter as I started walking to my car. "So are we waiting to see how many cigarettes it takes for me to get lung cancer or are we headed out?"

Hunter

Hunter looks over at Garrett and smirks, "We're all set, I'm guessing?". He then hits the roof of his vehicle 3 times while shouting, "Mount up! We're moving out!".

Mendoza, Anderson, Davis

Non-player characters, perspective


General Mendoza, Colonel Anderson and Colonel Davis all again sat around the battle map; planning, interpreting, predicting. One week after they had last met, the situation of growing tensions was rising. Fearing that his OFSA operations in retaliation to the NET's NI4 work was being compromised, war appeared closer than ever. NI4 was the NET's intelligence service, the name was actually a code in itself, while OFSA, the 'Office of Foreign and Strategic Affairs' was the UGW's intelligence agency. Ever since the conflict of interests had started two years ago, both agencies were hard at work attempting to turn local tribes against their enemies, sabotage and the like. It seemed to only create bigger problems though by only poking both sleeping giants.

"Davis, have the BCTs been pulled forward yet?"

"M60s and other armored elements have been pulled forward, ready for battle,"

"I'll never know how OFSA managed to get those plans out of Lima, but boy are they coming in handy now; it's hard to believe that until only thirty years ago we did everything without armored support," examined Mendoza, "Now, it's an essential branch of the Army,"

"I have the 366th flying more sorties, sir," said Anderson,

"That's good, that's good."

"I also have pulled the F15s out of Mountain Home, they're ready to go on the word,"

"How is the supply situation coming around? I know our northern and central supply roads were funneling well, what about Ico and his weapons shipments through the south?" asked Mendoza,

"Ico finally got off his ass once we threw some additional zeros his way on that small arms contract," responded Davis,

"I'm really starting to hate that guy,"

"He gets overzealous with the cash flow, so it's not like it's solving the problem," said Davis, "But our domestic contractors are delivering well on schedule with diesel fuel, JP-8, body armor, food, water and heavy ordinance."

"Anderson, I think you said some 'special' weapons were on the way?"

Anderson shrugged, "They're a gamble," he said, "Nuclear weapons from Mountain Home, B61s they're called,"

"We don't make nuclear weapons," said Mendoza, "Where did they come from?"

"Salvaged from Mountain Home years ago,"

"What are you saving them for?" asked Davis,

"They're variable yield from what we've found, information wise, about them," explained Anderson, "Based on how we set them up, they can go from 10 to 330 kiloton yields, but the radiation aftereffect would be far worse combat wise."

"Maybe we'll keep that weapon to ourselves them," chimed Davis, "What if the NET possesses nuclear weapons themselves? Or larger? We've never had reports of it,"

"What about Ico's small arms contracts again?" asked Mendoza,

"Like I was saying," explained Davis, "He was getting lazy with the M14 shipments, but we threw some additional zeros and he's delivering now,"

"Boise needs to get their heads out of their asses and set all of these contracts up with domestic suppliers. Don't see why we need this Ico guy, he's a thug," Mendoza sighed, "Well, as it is, we seem to be above board gentleman. I recently ordered all frontline FOBs to DEFCON 2, I'm a little weary that things may get hectic. I've also set the VAD systems up throughout the region along with the Chaparrel and Hawk systems, so we should be safe from any aerial attacks."

"Anything you need from us, General?" asked Anderson,

"Nope, let's just keep doing what we're doing people. We've been doing this staring contest for two years, it's going to get physical soon. We need to be ready," Mendoza looked to the two officers, clad in their uniforms, "Dismissed,"

********

Krieger: *starts to calm down a little*
"Just all of the resistance.If she was running away they would have gone to the quarry, if not she is hiding. Oh, i never told you how she looked, she has orange hair ,5'7" , and has a couple freckles across her cheeks. Oh god, i swear i will finish off every one of those assholes when i get the chance!"

Clark: "I thought I told you to calm down. Run in now, we'll die, and that won't help anyone. Let's wait. If they leave and we don't see her down there, we'll check the camp then the quarry. If we see her with the NET... well, we'll solve that problem when we come to it."

Krieger: *starts to finally calm down* "fine...you win *sighs*"

~An hour and 27 minutes later~
*Drive off to the side of the road from the middle of the convoy, the group followed, then hops out the car*"what's wrong!?" said hunters driver in dismay "I need to take a mean ass piss!" I yelled out to hunter's now quite angry driver. He said something along the lines of good for nothing fuck and waste of time so I flipped him off for good measure as I zipped my fly back up and walked back to my car. I heard what I think was hunter or one his troops laugh afterwords.

Destroyer & Snowwolf

Krieger and Clark lied prone on the crest of the hill, overlooking the rebel encampment. Tents burning, they could see people being thrown from their shelters, dragged out by their collars. It was hard to watch, and it was hard to watched especially when you were waiting for someone you really cared about to be thrown onto the ground. Seth and Naomi both were in the camp, and Seth would've gone down fighting if he was there, that was for sure. If he survived, it'd be surprising. Krieger put a palm to his forehead, not knowing how they could've possibly found the encampment. He tried to figure out why they'd suddenly paid so much attention to them when it hit him.

"That officer!" exclaimed Krieger,

"What officer?" asked Clark,

"The officer Seth was talking about capturing, he'd seen him drive back and forth between their bases from time to time, he wanted to nab him one day. Guess they must've been successful,"

"Maybe...maybe not..." Clark looked back down to the camp, before being interrupted again,

"HOW DID THEY FIND THE CAMP?" said Krieger to himself, "We did our best to avoid detection, our best to stay out of sight, and they found us just like that!"

"The NET uses their NI4 to great extents. They're good, very good. They probably know every raider camp and shanty in the entirety of western North Dakota."

"You'd think the tribals we sided with could at least put a hole in them! But it doesn't look like any troopers got taken out!"

"They probably didn't take many casualties, look, they've got an M113. Without AT weapons, that thing is unstoppable. It'd plow straight through them."

"This is unbelievable..." Krieger tried holding himself together, "We've got to get rid of our weapons!" said Kreiger, "If they find us, we're screwed! I want to find her-"

"We're not getting rid of anything, we're at least half of a mile away," explained Clark, "Now keep your voice down, you'll attract attention,"

They examined the make up of the forces. From what they could see, nothing new. At least fifteen soldiers, but again that personnel carrier thwarted any type of retaliation at all. It would just find them and run them down, so the plan was to wait. But the longer they waited, the more people they saw being rounded up. Two trucks arrived, one of which was probably going to be used to transport prisoners.

"I'm not seeing her," said Krieger,

"How can you tell?"

"Easy to spot, she's got red hair," Krieger scanned again, "If any escaped, they'd go to the quarry,"

"Those soldiers are coming back from the quarry," Clark pointed to a patrol coming back from the quarry, which only degraded Krieger's moral more.

"I'm going to finish off all of those assholes! One by one,"

"You're not doing anything," said Clark, "You're keeping calm. Run in now and you can kiss your ass goodbye son,"

"I'm aware of that," Krieger was very nervous, for good reason, "Fine, you win,"

"Damn right I win, we'll go check things out after the troopers leave."

Krieger and Clark moved to another vantage point to get a good view of the area without being seen. Setting up camp for the moment, but not lighting a fire to avoid detection. Far away from Bakken, and with traveling at night out of the question, this would be their stay for the night.

"Boy, you got yourself mixed in a life you have nothing to do with, I'll tell you that,"

"If this works out for the better, I'm going back to playing the guitar."

********

ApocalypseVVolf

Tyson couldn't go back into the tent, that would've just been embarrassing, so the goal was to try and find someone he knew who may be up at 3:00 in the morning. Interestingly enough, not a lot of people were, even with the howitzers booming the entire camp with the thunder of their guns. You could hear them for miles. Occasionally a sentry would pass, but since he and Gunnar were now wearing the winter overcoats that the UGW troopers wore, none gave him trouble. He was almost old enough to be a soldier, and he looked old enough. The only reason why they were called on it before was because they were wearing their own clothes. Any civilians on the base unauthorized were called on it, so it wasn't surprising.

"Something soothing about the howitzers," Tyson said to himself, "You could get used to this,"

The artillery pieces fired non-stop for fifteen minutes. From the idle chatter of the sentries around base, it seemed they were performing artillery support for teams that were knocking out a huge raider settlement. With all of the talk of raider settlements being thrashed, it was hard to imagine them even being a threat.

"So the tribals are getting the 155s huh?" said one sentry,

"Yeah, crack the sky right?" said the other,

"And bring the rain,"

"Hey," asked Tyson, both sentries turned their attention to him, "Sorry, I'm new on base,"

"We all were once, new blood, what's going on?"

"I hear nothing but that these raiders are problematic, but I've been here one day and they're being completely annihilated by both sides from what I hear, what's with that?" asked Tyson,

"They're slippery, they gain weapons from the traders around here and from fallen soldiers on both sides and endlessly recruit angry locals against us. So they get the hammer,"

"I thought that they were tribals?"

"Some are, but most aren't. They all get the same treatment though, you have to keep in mind though trooper that our military has been battling raiders and tribals since before our country was a country. It's something we're good at."

The other sentry took notice, "You're not very old, are you just out of basic?"

Tyson figured he should be straight with the troopers, "I'm actually a transfer from the Sovereign,"

"Well, you're a long way from home," said the sentry, "How come you're up?"

"Can't sleep,"

"Howitzers?"

"Something like that,"

The sentry patted him on the shoulder, "It's all good trooper, you'll make it,"

Tyson appreciated any kind trooper he found. The majority like said before were very angry, but possibly since he was wearing the uniform, some of the troopers lightened up. He doubted it though, but quite a few soldiers qualified that the troopers were hostile to civilians.

He spent the next thirty minutes or so walking the camp, trying to find anything that stood out or looked out of place to navigate by, but it was all the same layout. After stumbling through some of the wrong tents and some apologies, he finally found his own tent and went back to sleep, with no artillery to awake him.

********

Westhybrid, KGBoom, Ztron

Garrett finished his cigarette and thought about the situation at hand. He personally wasn't a fan of government and only wanted to live his life the way he called it. It's why he signed onto the caravaneer business with his step-brother Darius, to avoid the draft and getting sent to Raider Ally, and to get away from government work. Granted, big business sent him constantly to North Mexico and the UGW, but at least he wasn't bound by them. As long as the cash flow rolled, he wasn't complaining.

"I hope this shitstorm doesn't get us killed Hunter," said Garrett, "There's a reason why I don't like governments."

"And they don't like you," said Sergeant Hunter, "I've got a habit of avoiding action, so hopefully that will grant us good will,"

Darius wasn't afraid of competition either and Wooten was no exception. Darius himself had only started a caravan corporation this fast because he was gifted at it and let no one tell you different, not only that, Wooten wouldn't dare to have his caravans assaulted. Two nations were in his pocket if you asked him. One out of loyalty and one out of dependence. The UGW and him had made a small arms contract, and because of it, 40% of small arms to the UGW were manufactured in North Mexico and supplied to Fort Shoshone in Boise, where they were transferred to various fronts.

"So what about that Wooten fellow?" asked Garrett,

"I'm not afraid of him, you seem to be forgetting we didn't get this far either by being scared little kitty cats. We'll win this fight."

"And I'll buy the rounds,"

Darius turned to Hunter, "Don't worry about us, it's your shipment of guns we're delivering. Protect the cargo, like you're supposed to,"

"I'm neither your subordinate, nor your slave," said Hunter, "I'm assigned to you, and that's all there is to it. If I need to go somewhere, you're coming with. Don't like it, hire your own protection," Hunter turned to his troopers, three assigned with him to protect the three car pickup convoy, "Mount up troopers! We're heading out,"

"Just like that," said Darius, putting his face mask on and his glasses. He climbed into the second truck and drove out behind Garrett, heading to FOB McKinley.

********

Desert Sleepy wrote:CW: See what you can find out about Darius Ico and his corporation. Check around the warehouse and see what's going on and how everything is doing.

(Expanding on this)

Go over what resources and connections I have. Am I a legitimate weapons dealer? What all do I produce? Who are my clients? Do I have any connections with raider groups? How are my relations with the UGW and the NET? Do I have armed personnel in my employ, and if so, about how many? Do I have any Lieutenants or assistants of sorts I can rely on? Also, see if I can find out about Ico's clients, trade routes, and employees.

Morrison: Head to the tent in which you call home. Lay down on your cot and get some shut-eye.

Global Update

All characters not updated update to prepare for next scene. Characters already set for the next scene won't update.

Jagdgeschwader & Sir Manguydude

After a short leave, again they were back in action. The time to play was over, and again the time to work came. Desmond thought to himself that he'd go back home when this tour was over. 11 years of this work had destroyed his personality and destroyed himself inside, five years more than the recommended service of any enlisted person. He sometimes questioned the feats he accomplished, and questioned his reactions to things. He wondered whether his parents would be proud of him for his work, or would they be ashamed of him for the atrocities he enabled. Sometimes he wondered what his remaining sister and brother would think of him if they knew the real him, not him on leave. Sometimes, he contemplated suicide, but he just funneled those feelings into his work every time he didn't go through on it. To pay for his sins, he had attempted more than once to become a man of God, but so far every time that had failed as well.

But with these memories coming back to him again, he shoved them back into the recesses of his mind. It was late, 100 hours or so. There had been delays on the ride back due to bandit scares. They attacked twice, but were repelled both times dealing no casualties to the troopers returning. Checking in with Grant, he had learned he'd been assigned as a handler to two scouts from the Sovereign. Two of many sent as a token of good will from the Alaskans. It didn't bother him much. Seeing as it wouldn't be any different than running any other troopers. He'd also managed scouts before, so it was also nothing he hadn't done. Actually, at that point, there wasn't much infantry wise he hadn't handled.

Rovanel was a similar story. In his few years as a trooper, he'd already contracted Frontier Syndrome as well. Rovanel's history of service goes mostly back to the Nevada frontier, which may as well be called 'The Purges'. When the UGW pushed southwards farther into Nevada, they met a foe which they'd never faced before. Organization. Hundreds of tribes had united to defend their lands against the onslaught of what was told to them as being the devil's army itself coming to burn their population, salt their fields and destroy their civilization, as seemed all to often the case with advancing countries. Three years passed before the insurrection was quelled, and the survivors settled into frontier life as UGW citizens, not necessarily at their own volition. The UGW again had utilized their favored tactic of total war to demoralize their enemies, which worked every time.

Rovanel as a result suffered from the insurrection mentally, only just passing psych checks. The son of a migrant family again sent to war to ruin his life. It happened all too often, but none of this was even known in the country. Veterans were told to not say anything about their problems when they returned and even given incentive not to. In the culture, to serve was one of the greatest honors there was, to fight for the country to be safe from outside threats and to give the lesser safe haven in their cities. Life without fear inside the country was paid for with the sanity and blood of men and women from all over, but it was OK. It was OK because sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good, and who doesn't want to give a little to benefit the greater good?

Desmond, Rovanel and the rest of the squad managed into their bunks. The next day awaiting the events to unfold.

********

Kiwi & Meatshield

Both pilots seemed exhausted just from the briefing alone. The operation was tantamount to threading a needle, a needle which hadn't threaded in over two hundred years, and the knowledge of how to do it correctly dying with the men who lived then. Suddenly, overnight they weren't the kings of the skies anymore, they were in a game of cat & mouse, with them the mice. John went to the commons with the other pilots while Morrison retreated to the tent that he called home. The first time he stepped in it, the first thing he wanted to do was find paper. He wanted to write to his father, he didn't feel he'd survive the initial battle.

Father,

It would seem as though the impasse is about to conclude here and the fight to get actual. Cold war going hot, I guess, is what the ancients called it. Granted, I'm sorry I don't write more often, and it may seem a little self-indulgent that I'm only writing now because I fear for my life but it's better than nothing. No longer am I safe in my Phantom, flying 50,000 feet above the ground if need be, now I am pray to the wolf of a nation we face. Thrown at the wall like a worthless asset, although I shouldn't say such things because the success of any attack actually relies on us, they say.

If I survive this tour, the first place I'm going is back home. I think we both deserve it.

Your son,
Eric

"Well, I never was good at writing," said Morrison, it taking over an hour just to write one letter, but when finished he exited his tent, greeted a few pilots on the field and entered the office building.

The secretary looked at him, "Writing a letter to home?" she asked,

"Yeah," said Morrison, "Why?"

"About thirty pilots so far have come through with letters,"

Morrison put his letter in the box and went to the door, "Expect more," he said as he closed it. The next place to go before to bed was check on John and see what he was up to. He said he'd gone to the commons, probably to revel with the other pilots before the jump into hell.

Opening the door to the commons revealed a huge gathering. Almost all of the pilots on base were in attendance. Crowded and compact, he looked for familiars and found Garrison before anyone else, a fellow Phantom pilot and his wingman.

"Garrison," he said, "Where's John?"

"Up front!" said Garrison, before the crowd cheered with John taking the center stage with guitar in hand,

"For all of us!" he said to the crowd, with the crowd cheering him on, two female pilots sat with him, before he played an old world song that was extremely popular in the NET.



"And there's a rose, in a fisted glove,"

"And the eagle flies, with the dove,"

"And if you can't be, with the one you love,"

"Love the one you're with,"

Morrison clapped at the end of the performance with the rest of the crowd, with the pilots finding ways to entertain themselves before the next day. The commons stayed packed until 2200, when MPs were told to get everyone into their bunks. The next day demanded pilots on their best.

"Figured you'd play Stills," said Morrison in the tent,

"Well, I try," replied John with a smile,

********

Desert Sleepy

Wooten was fully familiar with this Ico. He was a contract trader in general, but it seemed he had fielded his Reno chapter into North Dakota, which dealt with the weapons trade. The reason he was there must've been because of the small arms contract he signed on with the UGW, which made sense and he insulted himself for not remembering. UGW would back him, but the NET would back him. Wooten had chapters set in all different areas of the continent, completely independent of one another, with their only similarities being they answered to Wooten. Without haste though, Wooten went through his desk looking for a dossier on Darius. He'd spent so long not in competition that he'd forgotten mostly about him, but upon pulling his dossier, everything came back to him.

"Father started corporation, but put it on the map once father died in the NET by the military. Refuses to do work there now. Receives funding from North Mexican government, has pull with government being a top trader..." Wooten read to himself while smoking his cigarette, but eventually put it out.

"I'll need to reactivate some processes," said Wooten, "But I can take this guy on,"

Wooten traded in the oil network, providing guns for hire to the NET allowing their soldiers to be placed elsewhere. Over the years, he'd been able to acquire quite a reputation in the NET, and so with both countries on the brink of war, it seemed only right to him that two top dogs from either side were about to duke it out. He would probably have to deactivate some networks in the West if things went awry, but it would be easily transportable to the East in those markets. A lot of muscle went through Wooten, and with a few favors owed to him by the NET government, he could throw hell that way to Ico Corporation if necessary.

"I guess I'll sleep on it," said Wooten, "Tomorrow's another day,"

********

Cloakey & Vicious Fox

"Sergeant," called Richards, "Found the Lieutenant!" Richards got to work untying and removing the gag from the Lieutenant. It appeared he'd been interrogated in the short time he was away, but any character capable of being an officer in the NET could survive an hour of interrogation.

"Good work, Corporal," said Sergeant Cloake, he turned his attention to the officer, "Lieutenant, sir, are you alright?"

The Lieutenant patted himself to get rid of snow and dirt on his uniform, "Alright," he said, "Thanks for the assist, troopers,"

"Our pleasure, sir," said Sergeant Cloake, "Anything you need us to do?"

"This is your op, Sergeant," he said, "You're in charge,"

"Richards," said Cloake, "Gather everyone up, we're heading out of this place. Get the prisoners in the back of that 5 ton, and we'll get on out."

Richards got to work gathering all of the troopers searching for survivors and the like. The prisoners of the camp filed into the back of the 5 ton truck, assisted by troopers to get in, as they sat several feet off of the ground and the prisoners' hands were bound. One particular individual stood out to Cloake as out of place, and he took notice.

"Well," he said, grabbing the woman's cheek and turning her head side to side a little, "Aren't you pretty, what are you doing out here?"

"I'm not saying anything to you," said the red haired woman,

"Really now?" Cloake grabbed her by the collar, "You're going to be like that?"

"No! No! I'm sorry,"

Cloake let her go and tapped her on the cheek, "Don't worry, we'll deal with you and your traitor friends in a little while, don't you worry about that."

The prisoners piled into the back of the truck and Cloake escorted the Lieutenant into the other 5 ton. As the troopers gathered by Richards piled into their vehicles to get ready to leave, Cloake had an eerie feeling that something was watching him, and he turned around to scan the hills behind him. Seeing nothing, he climbed back into the M113 and egressed with the column. All heading back to Dawnstar.

********

Dimitri groggly wakes from his sleep. "Oh I have a headache... Hey Luna..." He looks over to see that she is asleep in her bed across from him. She was so innocent, it Hurt to think of past days events and what could of happened to his little sister. Her birthday was coming up and he need to get a present, later, now he needed to get dressed before she woke.

He dressed less formaly that usual with a white shirt and suit pants. He kissed Luna on the forehead and was outthe door.

John: Speak to the other guys in the commons. Play a game of cards or something.

Krieger: "hey Clark, I am sorry for dragging you into this mess...I never thought this could happen and thought we could use some help...this...this mess is just too fucked up to drag anymore people into. So if you want just go and live your life. I'll stay and pick up what remains of mine"

Clark: "You don't live as long as I have without being smart. That being said, doing the stupid thing is a lot more fun. I'll stick around for now, follow the rabbit hole."

Krieger: *notices the trucks starting to pull out*
"hey Clark, I...I think they're leaving. Let's wait 5-10 min. and then check"

Cold War Gone Hot

Kiwi & Meatshield

700 hours arrived, and most pilots were waiting for the call. Some weren't awake, but most were, keeping themselves busy in a variety of ways. Some thought that maybe the weather was delaying the assault. All throughout the night, the wind whistled and howled and snow pelted the airfield, personnel, and people alike. It wasn't very good flying whether at all, so it was possible it was delaying the inevitable.

"FULL HOUSE!" said John loudly, slamming the cards on the table, "That's what it is!" the other pilots he was playing with groaned as they lost more of their paychecks to John,

"Done playing with this guy," said one pilot half disappointed, "Takes all of your paycheck,"

"And that'll go to me," said John pulling in the pay for himself. The cash went straight into his pocket, and so far he'd won $100.

It was 715 now, and the alarm still hadn't sounded. They were supposed to go a half hour ago, what was going on, he wondered? "I think they're putting it off until tomorrow," said John to his colleagues,

"Hopefully," said one of the pilots he was playing with, "I'd do this later rather than sooner,"

As said, the airfield's alarm went off, blaring its siren in two second bursts. Everyone knew exactly what that meant. Scramble to your aircraft, it's time to go. Now.

"Think you jinxed us, bro," said John, putting the cards on the table and exiting the tent flap running.



All pilots ran as fast as they could down the airfield's parking areas. 40 Phantom IIs were tasked onto this operation from Sundown alone, larger than any task force a single airfield had ever fielded. Together, Stanley, Minot, and Sundown were putting two hundred aircraft into the air at once. A feat also that had never been attempted in the country's history. As John ran, he found he was running alone, Morrison nowhere to be found at the moment, but he guessed that was his Captain's problem, not his. The ladders were already prepped for the Phantoms, and pilots scrambled into their seats as fast as possible as well. John was putting on his helmet and mask while he wondered where Morrison was, but as he was just latching on the mask, a familiar face hopped in.

"Miss me?" asked Morrison, jumping into the seat as fast as possible,

"I thought I was going to have to fly this bird myself!"

"I wouldn't miss this moment for the world!" he said enthusiastically,

"I would!"

Morrison stared straight ahead for a moment, and realized that he probably would miss this if he didn't have to do it.

"Hopefully these birds are already flight checked," asked Cipher,

"They say they are, but it's still an eerie feeling, isn't it?"

"Kind of like a leap of faith almost,"

"Leap of faith?"

"I couldn't think of another metaphor!"

The engines of the beast again spun to life and so did the instruments. Everything started revving up as soon as the turbines spun, which in its own sense, was entertaining to watch. With the high winds though and the snow, it gave incentive to the pilots to close the canopy early or risk freezing themselves before they were in the air. Today was also probably going to be a cold day in the sky. A very cold day.

As per mission plan, Cipher and Cowboy were to take the lead on the SEAD operation, callsign; Sparrow 1. Sparrow 1 would lead Sparrow flight, three groups of Phantoms all flying four-ship formation. They'd be the vanguard of the operation, leading the attack and distracting AAA defenses (hopefully destroying them) long enough for the other flights to enter enemy airspace. The rest of the Phantoms were tasked with destroying the southern supply route and also harassing Firefox airfield that protects the southern supply route. The key to disrupting supplies through the southern route was a bridge which crossed a small canyon, and with it out, it'd delay any shipments through that area for a long while.

The aircraft passed the control response check, all controls responding to the pilot's inputs from both sides. Three minutes or so into the engine warmup, it was about time to get the ball rolling. Cipher and Cowboy's aircraft were the first Phantom to roll out, followed by their wingman in the fight, "Gary" Garrison and his WSO "Hick" Fletcher.

"Oh, and happy birthday Cowboy," said Cipher,

"Happy birthday, he says," said Cowboy mockingly, "It'll be fun, he says!"

A sight to be seen, forty Phantom IIs had their engines idling on the tarmac. With Cipher leading the charge, he rolled up first, and Garrison rolled up second, one and two on the runway awaiting clearance for take-off.

"Tower, this is Sparrow 1-1 and Sparrow 1-2, requesting permission to take-off, over."

The response was almost immediate, "Sparrow you're cleared for take-off, adjust for wind on the runway,"

"I can only imagine those guys sitting in that wooden tower must be freezing their asses off," said Cowboy, "These 25mph winds aren't doing them any good in that shanty thing,"

"Moment of truth," both Phantoms took off in unison, Garrison at their wing the entire time. Normally, something like this wasn't permitted, taking off in unison, but time demanded it. Airplanes needed to be up in the air yesterday at this pace, they were already 45 minutes late. The first pair took off and banked away headed North to meet with fighter escorts from Minot airfield, and as they were banking, the second pair was already throttling up and taking off.

"And so it begins..."

Sparrow 1-1 and 1-2 flew around the airfield once to allow for the rest of Sparrow 1 to catch up. Once they took off and joined formation, they flew at 300mph North towards Minot, slow enough for the rest of Sparrow to catch up while they were still on the ground, fast enough to make good distance.

"Sparrow 1, vector 010, angels 1," reported Cipher to home base. The point was to give them an idea of where you were heading,

Sparrow flight, 12 Phantoms grouped up after thirty minutes. They were to meet with another flight of six Falcons which would escort them into the heart of enemy territory and possibly take a hand in the ground attack. Each Phantom was laden with four AGM-45 Shrike anti-radiation missiles for the radomes of the Hawk SAM systems. With those knocked out, this assault stood a chance, in addition to that, they carried a variety of different bombs to wreck havoc on ground installations after the fact. They'd only have a limited window of opportunity though, so many aircraft in the sky would raise suspicions on the UGW side, which was well within radar range, especially in the grasslands biome of North Dakota.

"Alright everyone," said Cipher over the radio to his flight, "Listen up, and listen good. Having the first punch is an advantage we're not going to waste. Radar will be up, and we need to make every missile count. The element of surprise is on our side and we cannot afford to lose it. Pick your targets so the rest of the flight can get through. They're counting on us,"

With the exceptions of confirmatory responses, it was quiet, and between the two of them, neither one was speaking.

The Falcons appeared as black dots for a little while, but eventually grew large enough to see in detail. They bore the emblem of the 121st, a wasp striking it's pray in appropriate colors with a blue circle background to encompass it. On their tails, they bore the letters "ND" for their deployment. All flying in formation now, they stood only miles from the front.

"It's good to see you guys," said Cipher to the Falcons, "So glad you could join us!"

"Mark your target and we'll keep the bad guys off of you,"

Only a few miles away now, they dropped to appropriate altitudes to take on the missile sites. Their radars locked in, John armed a Shrike. 15 miles was the appropriate range for the missile, and about to close in, Cipher and John prepared to fire the first shot in what would be the greatest conflict either nation had ever participated in.

"Do you have a lock?" asked Cipher,

"That's a roger," responded John, "We're golden,"

"Alright everyone," said Cipher to the flight, "Prepare to launch at your targets on my mark,"

"3..."

"2..."

"1..."

"Mark,"

Twelve missiles flew almost simultaneously, off to destroy the radomes for the SAM sites. Some appeared to go for the same targets, but it didn't seem like too much of a problem. Flight took about fifty seconds it seemed from the range they were at, and in the distance they could see small red clouds for only a moment destroying key targets.

"Nice work, people," said Cipher, "Nice work,"

"Ready for the next volley?" asked John,

"Arm the next one," Cipher went over the radio, "Sparrow, arm the next set, fire on my mark,"

"Shit, that's a trail!" said an F4 pilot,

"What?" asked Cipher,

"A SAM!"

A trail was flying at the flight at phenomenal speed. Probably around mach two, the plane it was gunning for barely had time to react before the missile hit dead on and obliterated a Phantom from Sparrow, killing the two pilots instantly and turning the plane into scrap metal and undetonated ordinance.

"Sparrow! Fire at anything you get a lock on! FAST!"

John armed another Shrike, found a target, and fired, as did the flight, but more missiles hitting more Phantom and now a Falcon caused this entire operation to go FUBAR. Cipher ordered the entire flight low, and as they did, they'd just entered enemy territory.

"Cipher!" said Fletcher, "When we dove immediately two of the missiles missed their targets!"

"We'll discuss it later Fletcher!"

Diving down from five thousand feet, the penetrated the cloud layer and leveled off around one thousand feet off the ground, give or take. Cipher took the aircraft even lower, about one hundred feet off of the ground to avoid anything and everything that the AAA defenses could throw at them. Coming to an FOB, Cipher ordered John to prep a 500lb bomb on the spot, and he did. John dropped it about eight hundred feet before the FOB and landed it on spot, dropping right on the center.

"Anymore targets you want me to spontaneously react to?"

"Keep an eye out for any fighters, look around for the Vulcan systems," Cipher got on the flight radio, "Who's still active?"

"Sparrow 1-2 here," said Garrison,

"Sparrow 1-4 here,"

"Sparrow 2 is good,"

"Sparrow 3-1 is here, I've lost my flight though!"

"Eagle is good," said the Falcon leader, "Lost one aircraft,"

"Alright!" said Cipher, "We're not out yet! We've got Vulcan defenses we need to find to clear the way!"

Reports from Stanley's task force were far worse. Stanley had lost nearly all aircraft, some of the Shrike missiles not even launching. Due to that, they were retreating back to base, suffering casualties far too serious to continue. Minot's task force had taken minimal casualties, but was also flying extremely low to the ground, too low for air defenses to fire, but also too low to do any sort of attack.

********

Golan had gotten little sleep, but he was used to it. Nights before going out on a mission always got to him. The night terrors didn't help his anxiety at all. What would happen this time? Would their be dead women and children in the street when the smoke cleared? His bladder quelled the thought, as he tied up his boots and made his way to the latrines.

No one was up yet, except the guards. If an officer found him out of the barracks without his battle buddy, he would get a licking for sure. Golan would much rather catch a bullet, than wake up Desmond. The man had enough on his plate at the moment. The stress was finally causing him to crack it would seem.

Golan rushed back to the barracks having noticed that activity was starting to pick up. A few other soldiers were out of their bunks, shaving, and getting ready for another long day. Golan checked his watch after putting his uniform on, and stuck his head up over the railing to the top bunk.

"James, it is time to get up, we have a long day, and I am starving."

Jagdgeschwader, Manguydude and Apocalypse


Around 650 hours, ten minutes before wake-up in the winter months, Rovanel awakened. He hadn't slept well, but he was used to it. Not happy with it, but used to it. Nights before operations didn't do well for him, night terrors only worsening his anxiety. He worried about what would happen, about what villages would be burned down to the ground today to send the message this country isn't to be trifled with. His bladder quelled the thought, as he laced his boots and made his way to the latrines.

Besides the sentries, hardly anyone was awake. If an officer found him out of the barracks without his partner squadmate (as they're called in the UGW) without permission, he would get a mouthful for sure, and while it wasn't necessary to do this all of the time, when the base was on DEFCON 2 like this, it was mandatory. Rovanel would much rather catch a bullet, than wake up his Staff Sergeant. The man had enough to worry about at the moment, and it seemed to him like the stress of combat would finally get to him, but he then remembered that he'd been doing this 11 years and was probably born to do it.

Rovanel rushed back to the barracks having noticed that activity was picking up. The alarm rang for everyone to awaken. A few soldiers were out shaving and getting dressed, and Rovanel checked his watched after putting his fatigues on. He stuck his head up over the railing of the top bunk.

"James, it's time to get up. We have a long day and I'm starving,"

Desmond looked at him, going from completely asleep it seemed to fully awake, "It's Staff Sergeant to you, Specialist, when we're on duty; I was up two hours ago; I coordinated the operation for today; and you eat when everyone else eats Specialist,"

Desmond hopped out of the top bunk and lit a cigarette, "Where's Volk?" he asked,

"I was actually looking for him myself," said Rovanel,

"I imagine, that's why I'm asking,"

"I guess he'll turn up,"

"And he'll get it from me when he turns up. This FOB is on DEFCON 2, there isn't room for screwing up," explained Desmond, "Now, follow me, you can drive a truck, can't you?"

"I have a few times,"

"Good, we need to get one back," said Desmond rather darkly, what was that supposed to mean? He turned to the rest of the tent, "I want everyone ready for action once the Specialist and I get back, are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," said the tent, turning to attention,

"We'll be back in an hour,"

Desmond and Rovanel left the tent and headed for the Field Headquarters which was a few tents in a circle housing a radio building, both Lieutenants' offices, a field hospital, and some other structures. They entered Grant's tent and addressed him, standing at attention to him.

"Sir!" said both troopers,

"At ease," said Grant, "I'm assuming you're both here on account of a missing 5 ton truck, and you specifically Staff Sergeant for your new subordinates?"

"Yes sir," replied Desmond,

"Alright then, I've got a jeep that you can use, and you can also take the boys from Alaska with you,"

"Sir," said Desmond, "It's my understanding that those assets aren't trained in combat and only received weapons for themselves yesterday. How am I supposed to guarantee their safety?"

"I think between you and the Specialist here, you have enough experience to keep two new recruits alive,"

"But sir,"

"No 'buts', Staff Sergeant," said Grant, "If they live, they'll be more experienced, if they don't, we won't have use for them anymore,"

"Where do I find them?"

"Check their tent, they're in Foxtrot Seven right now,"

"That's right next to ours," said Rovanel to Desmond,

"Then you shouldn't have trouble finding them," said Grant, "Dismissed,"

Desmond and Rovanel both went to Foxtrot Seven, their tent personally being Foxtrot Five, so coincidentally, they were fairly close. It wasn't much of a walk before they got to the tent and opened up its flap fast and loud, surprising everyone inside.

"I'm looking for two boys from the Sovereign, does that apply to any of you troopers?" asked Desmond. The troopers in the tent pointed to two boys in their bunk still sleeping past the alarm, and Desmond went over to the bunk.

"HEY!" he said, "Wake up!"

"Uh...God..." said Tyson, "Go to sleep, wake up, go to sleep, wake up, doesn't anyone make up their mind around here?"

"Corsican and Hirvasoja," said Desmond, "You're assigned to me,"

Tyson and Gunnar hopped out of bed, finally meeting their handler. He was...shorter than they expected, but he was very authoratative in appearance. Or maybe that was just him not shaving and blood shot eyes.

"Good to meet you, sir!" said Gunnar, offering his hand,

"Both of you, follow me,"

Being already dressed, both boys hopped out of their beds and followed the Sergeant. They were headed to Quartermaster Moore's tent, which also wasn't a long walk away. Tyson, like with the trooper yesterday, sped up his pace and tried to talk with the Sergeant.

"So, Desmond, is it?" asked Tyson,

"Staff Sergeant Desmond, to you," he responded, "If that's too long, Sergeant is fine as well,"

"Alright, well Sergeant, how are you?"

"Hush,"

"Alright then," Tyson had gotten that enough to know that it was time to drop the conversation.

They entered Quartermaster Moore's tent and she stood attention, "Sergeant,"

"Sergeant Moore, I need you to outfit these boys with rifles,"

"Yes sir,"

"Uh...Sergeant," said Gunnar awkwardly, "We're not uh...trained with them,"

He turned to Gunnar, "I'm aware," and looked back at Moore,

"Oh," he said, "Well, alright then,"

Moore pulled two M14 7.62 rifles out from a locked weapons locker, checked the chamber for any rounds that may be in them, and placed them on the table. She then unlocked another weapons locker and pulled ten magazines out for each one of them.

"Alright," said Desmond, "You're getting a quick crash coarse on how to use these,"

"I already taught them about muzzle discipline and the like with their handguns Sergeant,"

"Well thank you, Moore," replied Desmond happily, "Seeing as you already know that, I'll just skip to the basics,"

"Being?" asked Tyson inquisitively,

"To load the weapon, like any other rifle, the magazine release is here, push it, put in a new magazine, have it click, then pull the bolt," explained Desmond while chambering a round, "That'll be yours," he gave it to Gunnar, "To clear a jam, you probably won't have too, but basically just drop the magazine out to avoid chambering another round, and pull the bolt back as hard as you can, generally, that will always clear it unless the shell split in the chamber, but that happens very, very rarely. If it does, abandon the rifle,"

"Seems easy enough," said Tyson, racking the bolt and slinging the weapon on his back,

"Moore, Rovanel and I need hand grenades," said Desmond,

"Alright," she unlocked another weapons locker and pulled out M7 Fragmentation Grenades, an actual UGW invention. They worked the same as any other grenade though. Three for Rovanel and Desmond sufficed, "Did you want them for these boys as well?"

"No, no, no, no, no," said Desmond, "Them blowing themselves up is the last thing I need,"

Tyson and Gunnar looked at one another, and shrugged their shoulders. It didn't really matter to them. This was more than they bargained for in the first place, they thought they were here to do espionage work. Desmond left and his team followed him, and running up to them came Lieutenant Grant, presumably to give more information.

"Also Staff Sergeant," he said, "I wanted to tell you that there will be two scouts that are watching the truck right now from the south, so get them to help you encounter those troops and then bring them back, OK-"

"What the hell is that?" said Rovanel, pointing at the sky behind Grant, a jet was streaking by extremely low to the ground black smoke trailing out the engines, so fast was he, that his engines didn't even make a sound until he passed over, when suddenly the loudness of the engines brought almost everyone in the camp down to the ground for a moment to pause. It angered Grant.

"SOMEBODY GET ME THAT PLANE'S NUMBER! I'LL HAVE THAT JET JOCKEY'S WINGS!"

About ten seconds later, an explosion in the center of the FOB flared, bringing the group to the ground, but injuring nobody. From the size, it appeared to be a 500lb bomb.

********

Tyson: Get on your feet, and assist Gunnar with getting on his. Additionally, help anyone that needs it within your vacinity. Brush yourself off, and make sure not to get in anyone's way. The base was already on DEFCON-2, having a 500-lb bomb go off nearby didn't necessarily calm everyone's nerves, or lessen the traffic of people.

With Gunnar, accompany Desmond and his team; you don't want to get left behind.

Destroyer & Snowwolf

Clark and Krieger searched all through the night after the troopers had left, from the ashes and piled executed, they found nobody that looked like his spouse, which relieved him but also just diverted his worries elsewhere. Was she captured? Or did she escape running far to outrun the soldiers? Many different ideas scrambled through his mind, but the more scenarios he played, the more he wanted to change the subject. He and Clark went to sleep that night on the hill, headed back to Bakken in the morning.

When morning arrived, they readied themselves for the day, getting out of their snow caves made in haste and moving quickly. It was a bad idea to go that late at night, with the snow and cold one thing, the other just hostiles.

"We should get going soon," said Clark, picking up his bag and slinging it on his back, "Hey, kid, let's get going,"

"What is that?" said Krieger, pointing to a white trail in the sky, miles long it seemed, "It wasn't there a second ago,"

Clark studied it, but he didn't recognize it either, but after a while he deduced it was probably a jet. Still, it was strange, if it really did appear in only a few seconds, there were no jets that could go that fast.

"Well, let's head on back," said Clark, "We'll get to Bakken, and see what happens,"

They climbed onto their horses, spurred them and off they were. About an hour long horse ride awaited them. Krieger was quiet, scenarios still playing in his head, Clark was quiet scanning the terrain. You could never be too careful in these parts, but raiders will also leave anyone who they deem to be unworthy.

Eventually, about 45 minutes into the ride, A large convoy appeared heading south to Bakken, about twelve or thirteen trucks long with an M60 tank leading the column. The soldiers all took notice of Krieger and Clark on their horses, taking looks at them as they passed. The horses halted and let the convoy pass in front of them, and Clark stared them all back. One soldier in particular looked at him with cold eyes, which reminded Clark of his days as a soldier back in the eighties. He guessed it was much different than today. But that was beyond him. What was ahead of him, was that a lot of gunfire and whatnot was coming from Bakken. Civilian uprising? Maybe. Cold war gone hot? Possible as well...

"Want to head on down to Bakken?" asked Krieger, staring in the distance a Bakken, fires bellowing from it,

It was going to be a dangerous place to be, but he figured the UGW troopers could probably use an extra gun down there.

"Let's see what we can do, kid,"

********

DJDimitri

Anesthesia worn off now, suddenly he wasn't in the best mood. It hurt, a lot, and it hurt to talk, but that couldn't get in the way of work. He'd sent someone else to work out deals for food shipments to the workers from back east, instead of locally. He was done working in that town, it could burn down for all he cared.

"Oh God, that hurts..." he stretched out of bed, "Luna!"

Luna slept past his yell, and he decided to let her sleep. He felt horrible for letting her get involved in the events yesterday and thought endlessly what could've happened to his sister. He then realized her birthday was coming up soon, maybe he'd get her something soon. Or maybe not.

He dressed in a white shirt and suit pants, putting on cash shoes to boot, walking out the door he kissed Luna on the forehead, which Luna awoke to, but didn't respond. In her personal opinion, she thought it was kind of odd, but ultimately let it go.

Out the door, it was time to get in that pickup and drive down to the nearby FOB, FOB Dawnstar and buy troopers for protection if he could. As he left, he went through the work site's checkout to clear himself to leave. Showing ID at the gate, the gate opened for him.

"Going somewhere Mr. Durov?" asked the sentry,

"Down to one of the FOBs Geoff,"

"Good luck with that, they're going mad right now,"

"Why is that? More exercises?"

"You haven't heard? We declared war!"

That shocked Dimitri, "WHAT?"

"Yeah, UGW bastards are drilling underneath the borders and siphoning our fuel. We're going to make those bastards pay for messing with us,"

"Damn it!" he exclaimed,

"I know right?"

"NO! NOT THAT!" Dimitri drove fast down the dirt road and hung a left, heading on the main road, which was still dirt, down to Dawnstar. He was still going to see if he could get soldiers for protection. Now, more than ever. If the UGW push past the NET and he's caught off guard, he'd make a fine prisoner, seeing as he coordinates the workers up the entirely of the East Strip. FOB Dawnstar was just up the road north, maybe two miles. But a two mile drive which was normally only a few minutes took at least twenty getting stuck behind an armored column. Once he arrived to Dawnstar, he checked in, disembarked his vehicle and went immediately to the Field Headquarters, where Lieutenant Spiers was coordinating infantry placement and assisting with a force headed to Bakken to garrison it. Spiers looked up and saw Dimitri, his mood went from bad to worse.

"I've got a lot of people on my list right now I don't want to see, and you're right up there," said Spiers,

"Likewise," said Dimitri, "But I need protection and I need you to lend me troopers,"

"Why in Sam hill would I lend you anything?"

"Because maybe I coordinate the workers here to drill for oil endlessly so you jarheads can use it all trampling over the locals, or did you forget about that?"

"You can't buy troopers Dimitri, I know in your thick rich skull you think you can buy anything but you can't," Spiers changed the subject, "And those tribals are savage, I've seen what you do with our own people. Can't even call that work, it's slavery! And it puts a smile on my face that I'm the one you have to go to if you want protection," Speirs pulled a requisition form from his filing cabinet and stamped it as hard as he could, "Request denied!" he slid the paper over to Dimitri, 'Request Denied' stamped on.

"How about you stop being a child and assign me troopers, seeing as I'll just go above you if you don't,"

"Then go above me, because I'd rather see your rich hoity toity ass burn,"

"I'll go above you then, and you'll be forced to do so,"

"DO IT THEN,"

Dimitri left the tent, Spiers never did like him at all, but a Captain that was in charge of the two nearby firebases did approve of him. He'd go to him and get protection, necessary, now more than ever.

********