Amritha's Story

In orbit of the planet, onboard CNS Elyxion

Deep within the central bridge of the Elyxion, the bridge team watched in mute silence as imagery filtered back from the planet’s surface. Across the main airscreen the enormous Reverence loomed above the battlefield, obscuring some parts of the port as the operation rushed onward even with the newest addition. There were a few hushed voices, or the clack of machinery as a technician ran their equipment. The battle unfolding down below while the carrier hung in orbit near one of the planet’s small moons was quite distant in a concern, though with the Aschen arrival the Starfleet vessel made no intentions of moving suddenly.

From bow to stern nearly two and a half kilometers with a beam of almost eight hundred meters, the Arbaleks class Expeditionary Carrier was one of the smaller interplanetary carrier ships in use throughout the Exogarden’s squadron. It was also, more importantly, a long-distance strike and reconnaissance vessel, ill-armed in terms of cannons and missiles. Strikecraft, marines and transport vehicles is what the Elyxion specialized in. Her commander, Captain Jakob Aatos stood with his hands on the railing while he studied the Reverence on the airscreen ahead. Beside him was the image of a fair woman, soft green eyes and thin hair spilling over bare shoulders.

“I am sensing an elevated heart-beat Captain, was the High Commodore wrong for selecting the Elyxion for this mission?” Amritha inquired, her fabricated view betraying the odd shimmer in her visage as the woman turned to face the silent Captain.

“No ma’am - Systems, prepare the ex-fil package for the mission return.” Jakob began, barking an order down to the decks below when the bridge stepped into activity a moment later. Looking back over to Amritha, he studied the intelligence standing before him. “I take it you’ll be informing the Commodore.” The Captain inquired through a hushed tone, watching the intelligence then glance over to the main airscreen.

“Personally. The Task Force’s secondary phase is beginning smoothly, you don’t have to worry so much about that.” She placated the nervous Captain with a soft nod, chilly eyes almost soft for a moment. “The Elyxion is to return-sortie with the Trafalga upon mission completion.” Amritha began, then turning away from the Captain. “What’s left can be for the Aschen, you only had one objective. Let them have any prisoners as well, sate their palate for the flare of execution.”

As she spoke, the Captain stood away from the railing, a comms display winking to life in front of him. Nearby hails from the Reverence II were being processed. He steadied himself as the link between the two vessels opened, but in a second a question crossed his mind. The Captain turned for Amritha one last time, glancing over his shoulder to then see nothing behind him. With a sigh, he turned back to the display screen.

“This is Captain Jakob Aatos of the CNS Elyxion to the Reverence Far Sight Lost, an Exogarden Task Force has interdicted a possibly dangerous shipment bound for Aschen space, marine and aviation assets on planetside as we speak and we are engaged by possible insurgents.

We have a marine platoon groundside and accompanying strike package that has sortied on the target prior. We’re processing battlefield damage assessment now, while ground forces mop up the rest of the resistance - uh, how copy Far Sight Lost?”


“This is Alpha 2-3 calling site green at the port, designating targets for ground engagement now.”

Atop the roof of the port’s main office building, the marine squad in the southernmost dock of the port were taking up defensive positions with objective Charlie and the town out ahead of them. Asphalt crunched under boots as Sergeant Parsons aimed a finger down to the far end of the roof.

“Let’s slap the 14.7 over there, and we’ll put a slug through anything these Aschen are going to kick up.” He barked, turning towards a Private as he approached carrying a backpack comms drive. The marine held a wireless receiver, while the other draped across his battle rifle strung to his chest.

“We’re patched in with comms from the carrier.” The Private reported, and then Parsons quickly took the receiver. As a pair of marines broke open the drop container and began assembling an anti-material rifle, Parsons stepped besides a conditioning unit plugged into the roof and pressed the receiver to his cheek.

“This is marine infantry squad Alpha 2-3 to Aschen ground forces, we have one objective secured on this location - Alpha 2-4 is at the north end of the port with objective Charlie. Be advised multiple fire contacts on approach into the town. 2-3 is preparing for long range suppressing fire now.”

Between his eight marines they had the 14.7mm anti-material rifle and an MG-40B GPMG, not to mention a contingent of launchers and grenades. Defending the objective, and projecting fire onto the port and into town below was Alpha 2-3s secondary task next to supporting Alpha 2-4 at objective Charlie.

At a distant end of the roof, Lance Corporal Daniel Barislav and PFC Otto Franer were setting up the MG-40B onto a tripod. Yanking open the receiver, Barislav cleared the weapon for a fresh strip of 7.9x59mm rounds that Franer was pulling from a box. “We got eyes on 2-4? They haven’t gibbered over platoon comms yet.”

Barislav was already ahead of Franer, leaving him to load the weapon as he pressed a set of binoculars to his eyes and looked down into the port below. Along the main thoroughfare to the northern warehouses, the Lance Corporal spotted the familiar, splotchy coastal camouflage of the ALIRBAD’s marine infantry stacking up to a nearby warehouse. Tapping at a key on his comm bead, Barislav kept the binoculars fixed onto 2-4.

“This is Bari, advise the Aschen to form up and support 2-4, they’re stacking on objective Charlie.”

A few hundred meters across the port, a squad of eight marines peered over the road barrier, beginning to crawl over it and filter their way towards the first warehouse. The marine at the front, a Sergeant, cradled the M-8 submachinegun in his hand and drew a hand into the air. As he keyed his comms, the marines lazily stacked up against the door. “This is Alpha 2-4, stacking on Objective Charlie.”

Eden Prime, somewhere in the Charybdian Shores

Despite Eden Prime’s remoteness, no less than a thousand lightyears from Terra, five to Langara and nearly ten to New Empyrea, the planet had every trapping of interstellar civilization common to a settled world. The Terran Federation’s admittance into the Interstellar Nations in the wake of the Terran Conflict was a double-edged sword that many in the House of Nations still probably debated about to this day - if one could simply hop through the Charybdis Veil into the Garden like one used to. On one hand, many of the central blocs were quick to use Terrans in their grand game for trade and resources in the Local Region like the Blue League, quick to punish the Aschen economically now that they had done the worst military, was quick to establish a rich industrial state in the barrens of the Local Region.

Off-setting the Aschen Empire’s difficult economic position with an even greater cultural insult, of accepting a Terran state to the Interstellar Nations before the more ‘civilized’ Aschen, was the reality that much of the territory that became the Terran Federation was hardly a homogenous state in terms of ethnicity. Roughly twenty percent of the population were previously stateless Gardenite colonists scattered across various planets that would become the Federation’s borders, and even later, in the wake of the First Galactic War, would Terran and Aschen refugees find themselves building a nation together.

The political victory for the Federate was not to be undermined either, despite the best efforts of the blocs of the Outer Garden to keep the Charybdis Veil as the de-facto border of the Interstellar Nations. In the time since that distant conflict, the Federation had seen nominal peace. Smuggling and sectarian violence aside, the Terran Federation seemed to be the Coalition’s greatest victory in bringing territories beyond the Charybdis Veil into the Gardenite fold.

That was, however, simply on the surface. Behind closed doors however, the Terran Federation’s greatest threat weren’t the distances to their allies, or even the tumultuous political battleground of their former homelands. In the recent months since the communications blackout and inability to traverse the Charybdis Veil, the Federation and her population of Scatterrans, Aschen and Terrans have had to nominally ‘share power’ with the standing might of the Apparatus forces marooned on the other side of the Veil.

Head of state of the Terran Federation, Johnne Rodre, was grateful for the Exogarden of course, but having lived through the Terran Authority, the Aschen occupation and subsequent struggles of settling the worlds of the Charybdian Shores, and the beginnings of this blackout had set him on edge with the Exogarden. Or rather, the Apparatus’ propensity to disregard the wills of the peoples and governments she nominally served had set him on edge. Sheffield had established the Federation’s ‘intricate’ relationship with Exogarden at its creation, but Johnne wasn’t able to put away the sensation one found when in a room with a wild, unchained animal.

That was how he felt now, closing the door to the large conference room and seeing the slim, brown haired woman standing before the large bay windows. Her Navy blues were crisp and clean, a small beret nestled on her head, while her hands were draped in front of her. She didn’t seem to notice Johnne arriving, instead allowing the Terran to close the door behind him.

He’d heard of the woman before, one of the Star Fleet’s capsuleers - a living, immortal computer used by the navy to operate their larger starships. This was no simple capsuleer however, in the months following the blackout she had become a staple around Metropolis City, meeting with the Terran government to organize the ‘effective protection’ of the Terran Federation and other minor states of the Charybdian Shores. She reported back to someone in the Exogarden, though Johnne had yet to find out exactly who.

Perhaps it was one of the Corps’ junior officers, one of the marine commanders or a commodore of the Exogarden’s Varangian Squadron. He’d met most of them.

“I’m glad you were able to meet with me, President Rodre. It seems communications are difficult even this far from the Veil.” The woman said quietly, her chin tilting down just slightly as her hands dropped to her side.

“Y-yes, of course. I take it this is about me denying the operation to - “ Before Johnne could finish, the woman was turning, sharp green eyes focusing on the Terran. Easily standing a clear head taller than her, Johnne couldn’t explain the unnerving eyes that locked on to him despite the woman’s small, diminutive appearance. Even though she had those distinct, Gardenite features, her small frame betrayed a danger deep within the woman’s mind.

“Despite the Terran government’s concerns, we have decided to move on that asset.” She informed rather bluntly, her empty face hardly missing a beat as Johnne’s curse stuck in his throat. “Simply business, I’m sure you understand. That being said it appears I may have been … unclear in some of my previous agreements with your government.”

The woman was standing before Johnne in the blink of an eye, her delicate face locked into a determined visage as she leaned close. “We’ve put a couple corpses back together on some backwater lighting station and it turns out quite a few were low to mid smugglers,” She said, bringing her face closer and closer to study Johnne. “Two or three were in Federation custody before their little roadtrip. Am I to assume, President Rodre, that the Federation security forces are possibly complicit? Or just incompetent?”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but - “ Johnne steeled himself before the woman, one hand holding the breast of his suit jacket. Before he got his voice though, the tiny woman simply shook her head. He was silenced in an instant, fuming down at the Gardenite.

“Pace yourself, Mr. President. Despite my initial accusations we are, officially, still on the same side.” She offered, then raising a delicate hand up to smooth his jacket’s breast. Her voice was steady and low though, head turning down just slightly. “We have reason to believe the blight and our psionic ‘incidents’ may be connected.”

Johnne turned his lips into a scowl, if this wasn’t enough of a problem on it’s own, he was reeling at the thought of something this massive going on just beneath the veneer of the rich nation. “What do you mean? The blight’s a planetary crop failure … and psionics have been fleeing Aschen space for decades, our Federal Psionic Program has - “

“I’m aware of the success of your civil programs, Mr. President, but Cordon Forces have encountered a number of combatant psionics that is concerning to the Juniors.” She started, and then took a brief step beside Johnne. One slight hand rested on his shoulder, giving a soft grip. “I would appreciate it if you informed the Local Regional Bureau of the … specifics of your little board school programme. If I don’t have to worry about your little school being a pipeline to extranational actors, it will placate the High Commodore too.”

“You can’t be serious, the Exogarden has no right to monitor the civilian governments - the House of Nations will have a fucking stroke when … “ The woman’s harsh green eyes narrowed, while at the corner of her mouth a smile broke.

“I don’t think I have to remind you the House of Nation’s inability to help our predicaments now, Mr. President. Communications drop routinely between the Garden and the Local Region, but considering there was an entire Apparatus corps that deserted just prior to the breakdown … do I need to explain how difficult Rogue divisions can be for us both?” Her voice softened at her last question, giving Johnne an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder before drawing her hand away. “It will be in both of our interests if we cooperate fully, and work for the common effort of securing the Shore Planets.”

“I … I see, I can make a call to Sheffield as soon as possible, and the Director of R&D.” The woman turned slightly, features softening as she seemed to achieve the complacency from Johnne that she desired. He never noticed how empty a capsuleer’s eyes were, this one’s a pair of deep, sage eddies that studied a cruel world and found it almost unimpressive. Johnne took a deep breath after he spoke, loosening his tie while the woman simply strode for the door.

“Excellent, Mr. President - I’m glad we were able to come to this understanding. I’ll inform the High Commodore of you and your government’s full cooperation, the Exogarden appreciates Terran assistance with these situations.”

Captain Aatos stood with his hands behind his back, looking at a diagnostic of the Reverence II. He had only seen one in person years before when he was younger, on a distant world in the Eastern Republics in a war long ago …

“We’ve found new arrival contacts, signatures read Aschen ships!”

The shrill bark of an Ensign brought him out of his thoughts, and the Captain cautiously glanced over his shoulder once more, as if expecting to find someone in the crow’s nest behind him. “Fuck - this is the CNS Elyxion. We’ve tracked a smuggling pipeline, one end Exogarden security forces uncovered on a planet in the Charybdian Shores. Whatever these insurgents have been smuggling to Aschen space has required considerable resources, an entire life support system even … “ As Jakob began to debrief the Aschen admirals, he was sure to keep the most important cards to his chest - or rather, to the chest of the High Commodore that sanctioned this operation.

What was more concerning was the resistance put up planetside that left an uneasy burning in him, even with the arrival of the Aschen. Amritha’s personal interest in this mission was another factor that drew him to a darker and darker place as he spoke.

“Every smuggler and bootlegger will be running to the star lanes after we neutralize this den, so if there’s anyone you’ve needed to bring in for questioning I’d think about that right now. This is the largest trafficking lane we’ve found in the past few years, and whatever it’s for … well, it’s big as hell.”



Planetside, the eight marines packed at the warehouse readied their weaponry. A Lance Corporal adjusted the firing arm of his MG2 autosuit. The exoskin was light enough for use by even the most mobile of marines, while allowing the user to carry a heavy belt as well as the use of an articulating arm for operating the larger machineguns. The MG-40B hanging by his hip was one of those larger machineguns.

“Ay look, more locals!” A Private replied, loading a 42mm grenade into the magazine tube of the GL-91 grenade launcher. Several of the other marines were quick to recognize the Aschen, giving them a quick all-clear and then waving them over.

“You idiot, those are the fuckin’ Asch - we’ll open it up and you can storm it!” Another Corporal shouted, standing off to the side of the door. Gripping the handle to draw open the warehouse door, the Lance Corporal and Private both then stepped into action. Standing in front as the door opened, the Lance Corporal and Private both levelled their weapons up.

“Ay this the Uber Eats, got the firecracker shrimp!”

The GL-41 fired first, a single round bouncing deep into the warehouse to explode with a heavy bang, and was then joined by the MG-40B as the Lance Corporal proceeded to bathe the warehouse before him. The other marines backed away just slightly, as the two marines poured their ammunition into the warehouse. Another marine then turned towards the Aschen, stacked up with his comrades and then waving the heavily armored troopers forward as their two fighters emptied the last of their ammunition.

Lance Corporal Parkastos disengaged his autosuit, swinging the MG-40B off of the mechanical arm before it folded onto the pack mounted to his shoulders. As the Aschen forces stormed in, Alpha 2-4 only exchanged brief gunfire with the insurgents before joining the Aschen. Towards the rear of the warehouse, Alpha 2-4 and the Aschen adepts would find the objective: a pair of shipping containers chock full of life support equipment and materials.

Parkastos keyed his comms with a free hand, soon scanning over the contraband before him. “This is Alpha 2-4 we are green on objective Charlie, definitely a positive on that target analysis.” He started, checking the time on a wristwatch as two other marines were busy securing the contraband.

“We’ve got oxygen and CO2 filters, electrolysis units - whatever they’re moving it’s humanoid.” The Lance Corporal remarked, before making a quick snap to Private Apallis as he studied a large o2 filter. “E - ay, don’t fuckin’ break shit! This is evidence, idiot.”

“I ain’t gonna’ break it!” Apallis snapped, bitterly turning the box away from Parkastos. The Lance Corporal only huffed, snarling to his comrade.

“Y’rember’ the fuckin’ toaster?”

“Who knew you weren’t supposed to put metal in it.”

“Everyone, Apallis, literally everyone knows that.”

The Lance Corporal let out a defeated sigh as the two marines began to bicker, giving a glance over to the Aschen adepts with a defeated shake of his head. When the comms began to babble again, Parkastos tipped the earpiece back into position. “Fuckin’ idiots these guys … uh, yeah, this is Parkastos, it’s cleared. Any news on the Commander?”

Two of the Adepts moved rather clumsily, and noisily behind the Lance Corporal as they too shouldered their weapons, each Adept letting their weapons attach with a magnetic clamp to their armor, as they lumbered over to the shipping containers.

Each one of them cantered their head as their visors retracted, eying the contraption that was in front of them.

"What is it?" One of the Adepts asked, turning towards his Sergeant, whom shrugged. "Hell if I know, let's leave it, and let the glassing beams handle it." He suggested, as what sounded like thunder echoed in the distance, followed by a brief flash of orange-pink light that seemed to wash through the windows. One of the Adepts went to the window, and looked out towards the Reverence II in the distance, a brilliant lance of energy fired from the belly of the ship, causing flames, and plasma to lap high into the horizon above the buildings. They had begun glassing an insurgent controlled zone, taking care to avoid Exogarden positions.

"Hey!" The Adept Sergeant called out.

"Whatever nonsense you got here, we better pack up and get rolled out, they've started glassing, and it won't be long before they reach our position." The Adept said, moving back to the Lance Corporal, and his Marines, his visor retracted with a plume of smoke from his cigar, that he had been nursing on throughout the entire engagement.

"What do you suspect this all is, Sarge?" A third adept inquired, lumbering over Private Apallis, and nudging one of the o2 scrubbers with his comically large armored foot.

"Whatever it is, it ain't pretty" He turned to the Lance-Corporal. "Corporal, what do we gotta to to secure this stuff!?" The Adept-Sergeant called out.

Parkastos stood beside a pallet full of materiel, studying the various filters and devices. He was quiet as the radio continued to squawk, the occasional bark of gunfire coming from the other end. Apallis and PFC Strommat were busy photographing and logging the equipment before them. “I think we’ve got a few shipping numbers intact, might be able to get something from that.” Apallis remarked, resting one elbow across his knee as he stood crouched before the pallet.

“I dunno’ what’s been goin’ on in your neck of the woods but whoever’s been trying to get into Aschen space has known their way in. We’ve had traffic disappearing around this constellation for months.” Strommat replied as he caught the question of one of the Adepts, taking a small vial swab and promptly shoving it back into the pockets of his ballistic vest.

“Whoever it is they’re definitely a pro, some of this shit reeks of Red Halo.” Apallis tossed away a packet of air filters and then promptly stood up. Looking over to the Adept by the window, the din of the glassing was slowly growing closer and closer - and Apallis even tasted carbon and atmosphere in the air while he adjusted the G4K rifle at his side. “We’ve heard some odd shit about this little trafficking ring - whatever they’re smuggling, there’s not a buyer in Aschen space for it. Not one intel has determined, at least.”

As the Aschen Sergeant called to the Lance Corporal, Parkastos shook his head and cleared his nose with a huff. “Let it burn with the rest of the planet. We’ve got all we wanted off it, tags and prints. This should have been more well defended if they needed this stuff to make it all the way into Aschen space, wherever they were taking it.” Parkastos’ eyes narrowed then, thoughts running through his mind.

“If you needed this big of a safety just to get through the Local Region we should’ve stepped off into a fucking shitstorm right, Parkie?” Apallis inquired, coming to stand with the marines and other Adepts.

Parkastos’ face suddenly turned, eyes widening a second as he looked over to the Adept Sergeant. “This planet was listed uninhabited on our starcharts - we haven’t had a probe in the constellation for years though, what do your charts read?” He barked to the Sergeant, then promptly turned to look out the window as he brought his JEMI short-band radio to his lips.






Onboard the CNS Elyxion, Captain Jakob Aatos took a sharp breath as he watched the displays before him. The port had been secured, but as the marines and Adepts groundside linked up, questions began to filter through Aatos’ mind. He had expected more resistance, or at least a more determined attempt to keep the marines from the docks.

Now things were simply going too fast for him to think. It had been mere hours since the Aschen begun their glassing, and at his estimation they would only have a few more hours more before there was a complete collapse of the biosphere on the planet and any investigation would become exponentially more difficult. “Fuck. What’s our timeline looking like here?” The Captain barked.

Down below, an Ensign in Systems stood over the working pit while three other technicians were working. “Estimated sixteen hours before a biosphere collapse and anyone groundside will need to be in a vac-suit. Atmospheric boil to begin in six to eight.”

Just then, a Lieutenant let out a deep yell from Comms, holding a receiver tight to his ear. “Captain, we have comms from Commander Solomon’s unit! He needs connection with both the Elyxion and the Far Sight Lost!” Aatos gripped the rail tightly as he heard the report from the Lieutenant, then firmly nodding as he agreed to the request. As the link was established, the expeditionary carrier tethered its high-powered communications beam to the Aschen ship, a channel soon opening that was first marked with loud gunfire.

Aboard the Far Sight Lost...

"Admiral, I have an incoming transmission from the CNS Elxyion." EVE chirped as Admiral Genna manipulated her holographic interface, a sound interface flickered into view, she reached up and tapped the icon, and pulled the screen towards a large interface, thumbing her chin, and resting against the console.

”This is Commander Solomon, planetside at objective Charlie - we’re at the Governor’s House but need backup immediately, and a medevac. We’ve - uh, we’ve stumbled on something big.”

"Commander Solomon, this is Admiral Genna, Far Sight Lost actual, I've got reinforcements en-route, hold tight." She replied, triangulating the origins of the transmission on the large command interface, while clicking two Condors on the icon, and a third to be sent to the warehouse.

"Let's extract the Adept team, and Alpha 2-3." Genna called out, before keying the comms.

"Alpha 2-3, this is Far Sight Lost actual, evac Inbound, standby."

Genna turned towards EVE, and then highlighted another swathe of city. "We'll redouble our energy projectors to these neighborhoods here, and start sterilization." Genna remarked.

The massive superstructure of the Reverence II groaned, and protested against the pull of gravity, as the ship's massive thrusters ignited, and the thirty kilometer long supercarrier began to move it's yaw, it's prow adjusting slightly to reveal sunshafts through the darkened sky.

Three Condor VTOLs descended from the belly of the beast, engaging their thrusters, and darting off into two different directions. One Condor began heading towards the Warehouse district, to pick up the Adept Team, and Alpha 2-3, while a pair of Condors began to head towards the Governor's house.

---

Groundside, Warehouse District

The Adept Sergeant shrugged in his armor, the servos, and hydraulics hissing with his movements. "This world was categorized as a colonial frontier world, sparsely inhabited fringe world, with little attention paid by the Empire." The Adept replied, taking a moment to key EVE up for the inquiry.

He lumbered over to the pallet of equipment, and then paused, there was a deafening thunderous roar, and a stiff breeze that washed through broken windows. The Reverence II above had stopped glassing for a moment, igniting it's gargantuan engines to reposition itself further away from their position.

"Sarge!" An Adept called out, as he pointed up into the sky. "Condor!" He called out, the shrill whine of the VTOL engines carrying through the interior of the warehouse.

"Apallis, our ride's here!" The Adept Sergeant, a man by the name of Tarkus called out, as his visor retracted.

"Let's load this garbage and get out of here, looks like you got some friends who need help at the Governor's Mansion." Tarkus added.

---
Groundside, Governor's House

"Solomon, this is Constellation-Five-Nine-Nine, coming in hot, I've got Nebula-Two-Niner-Niner with me, we got assistance inbound, hold position--" The message abruptly cut out at the sound of 30mm flak going off overhead, the pair of Condors, with one of them trailing thick black smoke swooped around the large gated front yard of the Governor's Mansion.

"Triangulate that small arms fire! Take em out!" Sergeant Tiri called out, slamming a fusion cell into his disruptor rifle. He flinched briefly, as small caliber rounds ricocheted from the hull of the VTOL.

"We're hot, go go go, the Navy ain't payin us by the hour!" Tiri called out, hitting the ground running with two ten-man squads of Aschen marines, all formed up and hitting the ground running.

Gunfire was interrupted for Solomon, by the distinct cracks of disruptor fire, as Sergeant Tiri's squad engaged a group of insurgents on the south side of the Governor's lawn, using overturned cars, and some steel hedgehogs as cover, sending shimmering green bolts of light into a block of rowhouses across the street.

The running gunfight that had brought Alpha 2-1 out to the Governor’s Mansion put fire deep into Solomon’s veins, him and his marines chasing the retreating fighters out of the city and into the muddy slums on the port’s outskirts. As Solomon and his squad of twelve made their way onto the street, the radios squawked on as the roaring engines of an Annihilator were soon heard in the distance.

“Alpha 2-1 this is Rampage Actual, I’ve got white/black scopes on a structure due north-west, keep your distance. Gonna’ put some ordnance in there.”

Solomon immediately took cover nearby a shack, waving his marines back into cover as well. Crouching down and propping his short-barrel G4KS on the wall, he studied the structure up ahead. It looked to be a commercial building, two stories with a small restaurant on the ground floor. Staff Sergeant Duncan took position behind him, leaned up against the wall as he waited for Solomon’s confirmation. When the Commander nodded, Duncan pinched the comm-strip wrapped around his throat.




There was a passing quiet moment as the engines thrummed, then followed with the shump-shump of a distant cannon in the air. A pair of 37mm shells slammed into the structure, the first one impacted the sidewalk and spraying dusted concrete, while the second punched through the second story, exploding with a loud crack as it set off a cache of ammunition hidden within.


As the flowering explosion threw bits of rubble and flaming debris onto the street below, the Annihilator passed in a lazy circle overhead, jets screeching. Onboard, Lieutenant Stanford and Commander Lyndon were scoping out the wreckage of their strike, Stanford turning the Annihilator’s high powered sensors down onto the ruined building below. A few moments later, the comms-bead in Solomon’s ear crackled. “This is Actual, nothing’s alive down there. You boys are cleared to move, Alpha 2-1. In overwatch.”

With that, Solomon rallied his marines and struck onward, winding their way up the streets and through the slums. As they neared the outskirts of the city they encountered a roadblock, two sets of parked cars lined across the street while at least a dozen gunmen waited for them. Solomon, Duncan and two other marines had barely made it into cover at another street shop before they opened fire, bullets pockmarking the street and walls as they made it into cover.

“We’ve got contact, we’ve got contact! Roadblock up ahead!” Corporal Matties shouted into his headset, shrinking back into cover as bullets impacted mere inches from his head. Peeling around the corner, he shouldered his G4K1 and let a burst of fire off towards the fortifications.



After the radio squeaked, Solomon threw up a hand and made a long wave. “They’re hitting the roadblock with a swarm, heads down!” He barked, reaching out to pull the Corporal back into cover before the first of the micromissiles slammed into the roadblock. There was a dull foomph when the first microdrone exploded, the small missile exploding in a shower of shrapnel and pressure. In the next few seconds, a dozen more small explosions rang out across the roadblock, Mk. 11 Plumata micro-diameter missiles peppering any targets scoped from the Annihilator above.

When the smoke finally cleared, Solomon sent the Corporal and another marine out first. The two slowly advanced from their cover, weapons at the ready, with Corporal Matties at the rear on the comms. “Holy shit Rampage. Talk about mulching the garden.” Matties remarked into his earpiece, reaching a hand up to the marine’s shoulder before him.



Solomon and the rest of the squad advanced after receiving a brief signal from Matties and the other marine at the roadblock. Picking his way through, Solomon made it a point to ignore the mess. Leveraging his way over the hood of a car though, his arm slipped in a murky puddle of blood that had been sprayed when a micromissile went off directly near a man’s torso. His chest hit the hood with a dull thud and then he slipped off onto the street, knees slamming into what was left of the gunfighter with a sickening crunch.

“God, fuck!” Solomon barked, before he felt the gloved hand of Sergeant Duncan tugging at him. Fortunately Solomon couldn’t see his face, but he imagined the sort of smile the man wore as he pulled his commander up.

“Watch the step there, Commander.” Duncan replied bluntly, stifling the chuckle in his throat as Solomon got onto his feet and through the rest of the barricade. Solomon clambered over the last and dropped onto the street with a huff, promptly bringing his rifle to bear. As he surveyed the road ahead, his eyes narrowed on a small street winding up a hill towards the Governor’s Mansion, a large colonial structure perched above the city below.

“Alright boys, there’s objective Charlie. What’re we looking like on ammo?” Solomon asked, glancing over his shoulder to Corporal Matties and his fireteam, then to Sergeant Duncan’s. The marines all quietly checked their weapons and magazines; seven rifles, two machineguns and two sniper rifles between all of them.

“We’re green, Commander.” Duncan responded, adjusting the wire stock of his own MP-24. Smaller and lighter than the G4 rifles the rest of the marines carried, Duncan had always preferred the more maneuverable machine carbine in 9x20mm to the heavier, 7.9x59mm battle rifles widely issued to the ALIRBAD.

With that, Solomon gave a soft nod before advancing at the head of his squad. As they made their way up the road to the entrance of the mansion, Rampage Actual was still looming overhead, engines roaring when the Annihilator banked a lazy turn over the sprawling structures.



Somewhere on the lawn of the mansion there was another dull crack of a weapon, this time quite a large gun. Solomon could even see the harsh flash-trail of the anti-air cannon as it fired, bright red streaks tearing through the air and past the Annihilator. One of them finally struck the gunship, along the rear of the fuselage, making a sound of rending metal as the Annihilator shuddered and then billowed out a deep, choking black mass of smoke.



As soon as the Annihilator had turned and begun to pulse away, still followed by an angry trail of gunfire, Solomon and the marines broke into a sprint up the road to the front fences of the mansion. Then, just as they reached the fences, Alpha 2-1 was raked with gunfire from the windows and balconies, the lawn a beehive of activity. Solomon and four marines took cover immediately by the front gate, using the large stone pillars as cover from the harsh gunfire.

That wasn’t the only surprise though. Peering over his cover, Solomon realized not everyone running around the lawn or in and out of the mansion was armed. A few of them even seemed to be garbed in lab coats and hazmat suits, hurriedly working back and forth and in between the armed gunfighters that were obviously protecting something.

“Duncan, you seeing this shit?” Solomon hollered out, planting his back against the pillar of stone as he folded back into cover, Matties beside him draining half a magazine into the fighters for covering fire.

“Yeah! You seein’ little blokes in haz gear and lab coats?!” Duncan replied with a shout, several of the other marines calling out while exchanging fire with the fighters.

"Whatever they've got here it's somethin' worth fightin' for! They're dug in with a fuckin' 37 millimeter!" Another marine shouted, ducking down back into cover just as a string of machinegun rounds impacted over his head. Solomon left out a grunt as he pulled his JEMI short-band free from his voice, soon keying into the comms. "Marines! Shoot us a way into that god damn mansion! Pasters, Rattaglio, lay down some fire!" He commanded, and the two marines quickly set about their orders. Positioned on either end of the marine position, their two SAW-429s rattled away in deadly scythes of machinegun fire. After he barked into the radio, Solomon then folded his rifle up into his chest, throwing hand signs with his free arm.

Solomon then smacked Matties on the shoulder, pointing at the locked gate. The Corporal practically read his mind, soon standing up and putting two rounds through the lock with his rifle. Next, he shoved it open, filtering in behind another marine while Duncan and his fireteam simply blew a hole in the fence with a breaching charge.

Routing the gunfighters from the lawn was easy enough, the marines advancing under cover of their machinegunners until a pair of three had reached the front patio. Making their way quickly up the stairs, one of the marines promptly sent a boot into the door while his comrade threw a stun grenade through the opening.

“Staff Sergeant, you keep a fireteam and secure the lawn! I’m going in!” Solomon barked, rapidly following up to stack behind the three marines even as Duncan and the rest of the squad were hoofing their way across the lawn. Duncan was just about to stop the Commander before gunfire erupted from a small fighting pit dug in the lawn, catching one running marine in the leg and dropping him onto the floor.

Duncan spun, dropping to his knee and then bathing the foxhole in a hail of 9mm rounds from his machine carbine. “Sonuvabitch! Stentlon’s hit! Watch your perimeter!” Duncan bellowed, the marines remaining with him soon fanning out into a crescent across the lawn. By the time Duncan got back onto his feet and towards the door, Solomon and the marines had already disappeared into the building, the din of gunfire and screaming erupting from inside as they breached.

Alpha 2-1, and now Duncan, had more problems however. Securing the front lawn was easier said than done, as two other hardened positions sat perched on either wing of the manion’s large foundation. Unlike on the lawn however, these two points were connected with a line of trenches running around the south lawn and connecting one another. Realizing this, Duncan growled as he and the remaining marines bunkered down in their positions at the front of the mansion.


By the time the Aschen had arrived, Duncan and the first fireteam was still at the front of the mansion, trading shots with the gunfighters in their hardened positions while the Aschen marines arrived to drop onto the south lawn. “This is Alpha 2-1, Bravo Fireteam is out front - watch your approaches, we’ve got heavy resistance here up front!” He barked.

Now with their reinforcements though, they could properly roll up the defenses. Peeking out from cover, Duncan was followed by another marine as he charged the position on the left side of the mansion. Running in a crouch, he yanked a frag grenade from his vest and promptly rolled it ahead of him into the trench.

When a man, having spotted the grenade and hauling himself out of the trench to flee, was shot dead by the marine behind him, Duncan flopped onto his stomach at the lip of the trench. “Sorry mate!” The grenade exploded in a flurry of pressure and fragmentation, one blood curdling scream following the bark of Duncan’s machine carbine when he rolled into the trench. Peeking up over the edge of the trench, he spotted one of the squads of Aschen, promptly giving them a bold wave while he hefted the MP-24 with one hand.

"By the gods what have we gotten ourselves into..."

Marine Sergeant Decurion was caught in the thick of it all, the ratta-tat of gunfire, and the sounds of bullets whizzing past him caused his mind to briefly go blank, the disorienting flash of a disruptor muzzle blinded him in his left eye for just a moment. The din of combat enveloped him, washed over him, and brought him into a fugue state from intensive combat that was completely unlike the simulations.

"Sunt tibi bene!?" The Sergeant's radioman called out, before he grabbed the man and pulled him to the ground. "Ex disrumpam!" He screamed, before he smacked the sergeant across the face. In the face of withering incoming fire, the Sergeant couldn't think, before everything came rushing back.

"Veni in, miles ad victoriam, eamus!" The Man shouted, his collar pins denoting his rank as Specialist called out, as a bullet struck the ground right next to them with a loud ping. The Sergeant shook his head violently, before he cried out. "Form up, find cover, take out that frakking machinegun nest!" He called out, gesturing forward at the hardened position on the right, bullets ricocheting all over as the Aschen team went prone, trying to find what little cover they could from the barrage of rounds coming at them.

"Castellanos! Aventus! Form up to the right, swing wide, Kalfkos! Field of fire on that MG." He screamed. The Aschen squad moved to the right, Sergeant Decurion, and Senior Corporal Kalfkos raised their weapons and began firing rapidly into the hardened position, sending streaks of green light searing against the sandbags and the trench that had been dug, spraying the trench, and the positions behind it with molten rock, and superheated slag from the disruptor impacts, one after another until Decurion's muzzle flew open into sections of four, exposing an intricate pattern of red hot coils, and began venting hot green plasma all over his hand causing him to recoil, and drop the disruptor rifle.

"Plas out!" Castellanos cried out, as his hand was suddenly enveloped in green plasma, and he hefted the plasma grenade in a wide arc into the hardened trench, engulfing it in superheated plasma, and molten slag, causing a scarred, and disfigured insurgent to stumble forward, on fire, and smoking until he fell forward, some of his clothes still sizzling, and smoldering.

"Go, go into the trench!" Decurion called out, stooping back down to pick his rifle up, and check the charge. "Let's go, advance!" Stacking up around an overturned SUV, they moved towards the right flank, alternating their weapons fire to maintain a persistent salvo of disruptor fire focused on the remaining points of contact on the mansion, blowing chunks of molten stone, and dirt away from their impacts, and bathing the entire area in a miasma of thick smoke, and ozone.