Science Fiction The Future: Old Premise. New War, 2219.

Orbiting a trio of stars in a solar system approximately 150 light-years from Sol, the planet Zion is one of the more distant colonies under the control of the far-reaching Galactic Colonial Confederation. An arid world with a diameter of roughly 11000 kilometers, its landscape is alternately dominated by rocky mountain ranges and vast salt flats. A shallow, high-salinity ocean with many barren islands forms around the equator in the eastern hemisphere, around which much of the population of thirty million has settled. Since around 2110, this seemingly barren and inhospitable place has been the home of the flexible and dynamic Jewish culture, who has transformed this place into a thriving colony world with a indomitable economy based on mining vital resources such as titanium. In the seventy-eight years of peace since the disastrous Corporation Wars, Zion has become one of the jewels of the glistening Confederate crown.

But there are always holdouts. Once a group of honest laborers much like the Jewish, the fanatical new leadership of the Aryan home moons in the Rho Coronae Borealis system have formed the totalitarian Aryan Empire, forming a massive armada to dominate space and terra firma alike. They seek to build their master race in the galaxy, declaring war on all races judged inferior, with a pledge to wipe their memory from the pages of history.

On the morning of 30 September 2219, alternate space surveillance surrounding the HD 188753 system detected several very large masses approaching the system before going offline. Several ships of the Zion Arm of the Cygnus Primary Fleet were sent to investigate, but also went offline. Shortly before 11.00, as the remainder of the fleet was put on alert, forty-nine Aryan ships arrived in-system between the primary jump points, cutting the system off from escape, and immediately engaged the Confederate forces. Simultaneously, fifteen troop ships bearing an invasion army of 350000 arrived inside the defense perimeter and began the ground invasion. The first shots of the Semitic War rang. The battle for Zion had begun.

Welcome to the Semitic War. You can play as a member of the Confederate Army, Marine Corps, Navy, or Life-Saving Service (a futuristic Coast Guard) as the Aryan armada opens its mouth to swallow Zion, and it's your job to break its jaw. The rules are pretty simple.

1. Keep the swearing and violence to a minimum.
2. Keep the OOC to a minimum.
3. No God-RPing.
4. Keep your characters realistic. The height and weight restrictions are 190.5 cm (6'3") and 108.8 kg (around 240 pounds), and none of that "pure muscle" stuff if you come close to those maximums.
5. PM your character sheets to me for approval.
6. The GMs (myself, Deiskrad, and Vangarian) are the law.
7. Kick some ass and have fun!

Character sheet:

Name:
Birthdate (Age):
Homeworld:
Affiliation (CAMF Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Life-Saving Service):
Specialty:
Rank:
Weapons:
Bio:

Go now.

Here's my character sheet for a better reference.

Name: Andrew Shepard Issigonis
Birthdate (Age): 15 May 2200 (aged 19)
Homeworld: Verdana
Affiliation: CAMF Life-Saving Service
Specialty: Undesignated engineering apprentice
Rank: Fireman Apprentice
Weapons: M11 Universal Modular Weapons System, medium Squad Automatic Weapon variant.
Bio: Born on one of Verdana's immense homesteads at the turn of the twenty-third century, Andrew Issigonis spent his formative years doing what every farm boy does: passing the time by drinking too young and fighting too much. Either in a bid to rid himself of this culture or to do something with his life (or both), he joined the Confederate Life-Saving Service. He isn't so sure he likes it, stuck being the lowest-ranking nonrate on a way-too-old oceangoing vessel (the LSS Seropian) on a desert planet, but whatever keeps him out of trouble.

GM Approved

Name: Brian Andrew Engelhardt
Birthdate (Age): 25 July 2188
Homeworld:Earth
Affiliation: CAMF Marine Corps
Specialty: Tank Commander
Rank: 2nd Lieutenant, Platoon Commander, Second Platoon, Company D, Eighteenth Armored Battalion, Eighteenth Marine Division
Weapons:M2173A3 pistol, VMP 14.5x22.5mm SMGs available in weapons locker
Bio:Born in 2188, the son of Wilson and Sara Engelhardt, enlisted in 2210 originally as a personnel clerk. Accepted into OCS as a Corporal, he graduated in 2217 and went the path of the Marine tanker. Though unhappy as a clerk, he's used these old connections to make sure his platoon (and company as well) always has its beans, bandages, and bullets. Coming up through the ranks, and not through an academy, has kept him as a highly approachable and accessible officer, with little of the awkward aloofness that accompanies many Junior El-Tees.
Personal Dossier: Engelhardt was married and divorced to his High School sweetheart. They did not part on the best of terms, but they keep in touch. Probably a very real part of him enlisted in order to get away from her and anything that reminded him of her. Both of his parents are still alive and he maintains a good relationship with them. His father worked as a mechanic and operator and sometimes salesman of large farm equipment such as tractors and threshers and harvesters. Some of this rubbed off onto Brian, which is why Tanks were his first choice of MOS. He has vague notions of getting out of the marines in a few years and either returning to earth and working in the Mag-Leg train system of North America on Earth, or owning and operating an engine repair shop on one of the colony worlds.

Name: Rho Sigma.

Age: 24 years.

Home world: Colony World of Consolidation.

Affiliation: Marine Corps.

MOS: Marine Infantry Platoon Leader.

Rank: Sargent

Weapons: M-11 Universal Modular Weapon System 10mm x 40mm projectiles. 10mm x 200mm rounds with two double snail two hundred
round double drum medium SAW squad-automatic with heavy barrel. M-2173-A3 Heavy Pistol 14.5mm x 22.5mm w. four 10
round magazines. Hand grenade HE M-8 x 4.

Bio: Rho was raised as a unadopted ward of the state after his father left his mother as a result of poor economic
conditions. Soon after this his mother gave Rho up for adoption through the state adoption board. After spending
his teens involving himself in one fight after another with other students in school, Rho was confronted with his
counselor and a special guest, Master Gunnery Sargent Phillip "The Pitch Fork" Petersen made Rho an offer he
couldn't refuse. Within two hours Rho was signed up and swore in to join the Marines. After four years in the Corp,
Rho transfered to the Colony of Zion and was offered a raise in rating to Sargent. Since his mother's heritage was
Jewish he saw it as a path to something special. He accepted his new rating and at the end of his stint with the
Marines of Consolidation, transfered to the Confederate Armed Military Forces (CAMF) Marines stationed at Ararat
Valley. It's been two years since Rho's transfer it's the day of the invasion and his platoon is on patrol. Hell's
coming.

. . .Did the forum die?

IC: As Fireman Apprentice Andrew Issigonis
Location: Multipurpose Range C, Foothills Marksmanship Training Area, Marine Corps Base Ararat Valley, Zion
Date/Time: Around 11.30, Thursday, 30 September 2219

All three suns were now fully in the sky by the time Issigonis got his first break from a solid morning of shooting. He and a few other guys from his ship had been sent to this range for a week to qualify on the squad-automatics. His datapad was telling him he wasn't doing incredibly well. He could imagine quite a few reasons why. The damned weapon was heavy, the targets were pure white on a planet with three suns, the heat of late September combined with the heat the weapon gave off was like standing in an oven, and he also had to live here for a week, with minimal liberty and a squad bay dating to the nineteenth century. He was going to have to kick some ass on these two days, the moving-target phase, to qualify if he didn't want to have to come back here. He took a drink of water and sighed.

Ugh, I hate this bloody place, he thought.

Character sheet:

Name: Mitchel W. Sullest.

Birthdate: August 12, 2187, 32 years.

Homeworld: Sinnabar IV.

Affiliation: CAMF/New Jerusalem Port Authority.

Specialty: Command and Control.

Rank: Space Navy Commander.

Weapons: Heavy Weapons mounted on board the Traveler's Rest, Twelve short MACs with assorted ammunition six top side six bottom side, Personal Weapons, Combat Rifle 12.5 mm x 200mm slug thrower, two sets of dual snail magazines of fifty rounds each, 10 mm x 40mm round pistol with 3 extra ten round clips. Ceramic Combat knife with a razor sharp edge, measuring eight inches long. (Dundee Special).

Bio: Mitchel W. Sullest was born on August 12th, 2187, to Willard Conner Sullest and Sharon Bethany Sullest on the Colony World of Sinnabar IV. After finishing primary school, Mitchel joined up with junior ROTC training. He liked the lifestyle and decided to join up with the next level of military training for real. Having a little advantage with his head start in ROTC, Mitchel rose up through the ranks as a Mustang ultimately making the rating of Commander. When the opening for command at Traveler's Rest came up Mitchel transfered out of CAMF Navy to New Jerusalem NJPA. He's adjusted well to civilian life and been in command of Traveler's Rest for two years. It is Thursday, 30 September, 2219. Hells coming.

IC: New Jerusalem Port Authority, Commander Mitchel W. Sullest, LPC, Lieutenant Commander Sharon B. Tanisla.

Location: In Geosynchronous Orbit above New Jerusalem, Traveler's Rest Orbital Star Port.

Date/Time: 11.45, Thursday, 30 September 2219.

Alarms had been silenced, but the NJPA had gone to Code Red status moments before following the arrival of many large masses of what appeared to be interstellar ships. Commander Mitchel was concerned for the civilians who were caught between New Zion and Traveler's Rest in transition with no other way out of their present situation than to finish the cycle and arrive to their respective destinations be it on New Zion's surface at New Jerusalem or here in Orbit at the top, at Traveler's Rest. The best that could be done for them was to keep the facility out of this likely enemy's hands for as long as possible, so that shuttles could be brought in to transport them out of harms way as they arrived to the top.

His first officer Lieutenant Commander Sharon B. Tanisla chimed his communications insert.

"Sir we've got fifteen ships that just popped in out of Altered Space into relatively low orbit. They're behind us and gaining on an approach to New Jerusalem," announced Lieutenant Commander Tanisla.

Between Sharon and Fleet Command he was being fed Intel on what was happening.

"Talk to me, number one. What is the size we're dealing with?" he ordered.

"Sensors indicate that they are Super Heavy Combat Transports loaded with Troops and accompanying Combat Equipment. They're at about the one million metric ton range,I'd estimate between 20 thousand and 25 thousand troops each." she responded. This was going to be very ugly, he knew it. They were woefully unprepared for this kind of an invasion down below. Mitchel knew that he was going to have to use the facility for something it wasn't normally built for given its operational parameters. True he had twelve short MACs at his disposal plus the B-59 Confederation was on station to guard the port. Still his command was effectively a sitting duck unless he was able to disconnect from the umbilical. But once that happened the facility was on its own with no way of resupply except through ship borne efforts. Damned if you did and Damned if you didn't. In the mean time he had to make a decision to reduce the lose of life below at the hands of the invaders.

"Fire Control Officer!" Mitchel called.

"Fire control, Aye," answered the Gunnery Officer.

"Lock on to approaching combat targets descending towards New Jerusalem. Concentrate fire with all six lower MACs 7 through 12, as the targets enter into range," Commander Mitchel called.

"Targeting, Aye," answered gunnery.

Closer they came in a wedge formation, possibly in anticipation of aerial interception or anti aircraft like batteries. The window of opportunity would be brief at best.

"Firing," announced the Gunnery Officer as the six lower MACs set off a wallop felt throughout the installation with accompanying flash. The leading edge of the arrow shaped formation blossomed as one of the Super Combat Shuttles exploded. The MACs cooled for a few seconds before reloading. While these precious seconds passed the remaining formation continued along through the towards the closing of the window. Another round of fire was sent screaming down to the descending formation of enemy shuttles. Again another shuttle exploded due to the concentrated onslaught from above. Again the MACs cooled. By the time another round of fire was ready the formation had descended too far and had effectively gone out of range. He'd done his best given the opportunity at hand. Now it was up to the militia below. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath, then let it go with a sigh.

Tag: Deiskrad, Sanc.

IC: As Fireman Apprentice Andrew Issigonis
Location: Multipurpose Range C, Foothills Marksmanship Training Area, Marine Corps Base Ararat Valley, Zion
Date/Time: Around 11.45, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"Not Quite a Red-Letter Day"

His shoulder ached profusely from carrying the oversized SAW around at sling arms all day. After visiting the head, he took the time to for once set the weapon down and massage some life into his shoulder. There was a thick line of sweat on his dark blue utility jacket where the sling had pressed into it. His reflection in the rust-spotted mirror looked like watered-down crap. He splashed his face with rusty warm water, grabbed his weapon, and walked back out into the powerful sunlight. Overhead, a few fighter-bombers from the nearby airfield rushed into the sky at full tilt, followed by their sound drowning out the firing line in the middle of a drill. He also noticed the bright-white glow of a very large ship--he thought it might have been a battle cruiser--streaking across the sky.

He and Stevenson, the shooter next to him he vaguely knew, were nearly back to the firing line when there was a sound of thunder. The ground vibrated under their feet and Issigonis looked up. The sky was suddenly full of. . .holy crap, a lot of enormous wedge-shaped ships plunging toward the surface. One of them even blocked most of the light coming from the smallest sun, casting a shadow over the mountains. They were ignoring everything, even the dozen or so more fighters that now raced to intercept them, as they dropped straight down into the upper atmosphere, taking just seconds to get there. An ominous wind rushed across the range.

"That doesn't look too good," Issigonis said, stating the obvious for everyone.

As they watched, one of the closer ships was impaled several times by explosions, quickly being swallowed by the largest and falling to ground in a million pieces which doused the mountain range to the south of the base in fire. The ground shook harder. Like gruesome coral reproducing, the remaining ships in the formation each expelled a cloud into the sky, which formed itself into thousands of capsule-shaped pods that showered toward the valley. A warning klaxon blared. Anti-aircraft fire appeared from various points at the base, intercepting some of the pods and popped them like metal balloons. But there were too many.

"Oh, God."

The pods were beginning to land. Everywhere. They embedded themselves into the dirt with a resounding WHUMP. Gunfire now echoes across the base. One of these pods slammed into the ground between him and the firing line. It was about four meters tall, black with a large polarized viewport at its front, which Issigonis now had his loaded and hot weapon pointed directly at. There was a brief hiss and atmosphere vented from around the viewport. It popped off with a surprising BANG that knocked him on his ass. A man, obscured in black armor, armed with a bullpup rifle of some more, and looking at him through a red-lensed gas mask jumped out. Issigonis made to pull the trigger, only to find he forgot to take the safety off!

Crap!

The soldier had barely even raised his own weapon before over a dozen SAWs lit him up and cut him nearly in three. Blood splattered the interior of the drop pod and his pieces slammed to the ground. But several more pods had landed all over the range and the entire marksmanship facility was suddenly under attack. Issigonis turned the selector switch to FULL and stood.

It was only the start of an awful day.

IC: 2nd LT Brian Engelhardt, Platoon Commander, Second Platoon, Company D, Eighteenth Armored Battalion, Eighteenth Marine Division
Location: Battalion Maintenance bay, Ararat Valley Marine Corps Base
Date/Time: 11.45 30 September 2219

"I sure hope it's not shot." Brian Engelhardt said. He was elbow deep in the left fusion reactor for his tank, the Dirty Daisy. He was feeling around the inside of the deactivated tokamak. Wondering why it had suddenly shut down during a standard and simple diagnostic. If the tokamak were damaged beyond repair, he'd have to put in the paperwork for another. Getting another could take a long time out here in the outback of Man's diaspora into space. Not to mention the quartermaster would give him an earful, and maybe the captain too, given his general assumption that his men were lax on maintenance to begin with.

He hated paperwork.

"Maybe it's just the primer El-tee. You know, planned obsolesence. So the navy has to keep buying them." it was his driver, specialist Niko Virastyuk. He had the tendency to see the bright side of things. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it was bloody annoying. Engelhardt's face was concealed by the reactor hatch, so Virastyuk didn't see him roll his eyes in annoyance.

"That'd be great, we could chance that out in less than fifteen minutes." he said without any hope it would come to pass.

Engelhardt rolled back on the wheeled platform, and checked the screen with the diagnostic readouts. It wasn't helping untangle the myth of why the left fusion reactor was on the fritz.

"Go and get a new primer. We'll install it and when that doesn't work, we'll go on to what's next."

Specialist Virastyuk went off to find one, evading a cone of sparks from a nearby welder.

Engelhardt rose to his feet, and ineffectively dusting himself off, walked around to the front of the tank to find his gunner, Corporal Diane Flanagan, clearning the main gun.

"Anything I need to know about?" He asked.

"It's already zeroed. This is the last of it." she said. It was busywork and she knew it. She was very good and could get things done fast and effectively and never scrimped. Probably because she hated busywork. But most of maintaining a hundred-ton vehicle was busywork.

"What's that?" she asked.

Engelhard listened. Over the din of hammering, welding, massive hydraulic jacks and various heavy prime movers going to and fro, there was something else.

A Klaxon.

Stuff had just got real.

"What the...?"

TAG: all

IC: As CAMF Marine Corp. Sargent Rho Sigma.

Location: Foothills of the Ararat mountains north of the lower portion of Ararat Base. Returning from Patrol.

Time/Date: 11:55 AM, September, 30, 2219.

It felt like a sonic boom on steroids. That's all that Rho Sigma could describe it as. First one then another huge trans-atmospheric ship appeared out of the upper reaches of the blazing sky. At first they seemed intent on racing onward then one of them was holed six times from up above. It had to be friendly fire from Traveler's Rest Port Authority from above and at the top of the BEAN STALK, or maybe the Confederate along with the Star Port's MACs, thought Rho. Looking for recognition markings on the now quickly descending ships, then coming up only with what looked like an eight legged warhorse with flames coming out of its nostrils including a black mane with a red coat. The warhorse was standing upon four of its legs along the rear with it leaning forward as though to leap forward or perhaps trample its enemies. Suddenly what appeared to be thousands of jettisoned pods raced out from the huge behemoth's underside and lower flanks. Down they came like an angry swarm of stinging insects hell bent on enveloping any who opposed them. Rho got on his Platoon frequency snapping out orders letting his training take over.

"Platoon! Alert! Inbound hostiles! Air insertion! Using Drop Pods! Stand by for orders!" he called. Within seconds all members of his Platoon responded.

Rho switched to command frequency and up the ladder. Major Jenner appeared in his thumbnail sized heads up screen that overlapped his right eye.

"Well Sargent Rho it's dropped in the pot today. Initiate emergency plan Alpha-1. Get your Silver Backs Platoon down to Fire base Charlie where you're to meet up with the Tanks of the first Tank Battalion located there. Safe guard those tanks for as long as you can or until the crews show up which ever comes first!If it looks like it's Mission Impossible, you are to blow them. Is that understood?" he barked.

"Acknowledged and Understood sir," Rho answered.

"Good luck Sargent," Said Jenner. "Out".

Rho Sigma went back to his platoon frequency and started in where he left off.

"Listen up you apes. we got a class A-1 invasion being rammed down our throats. We've got very little time to hook up with the 1st Tank Battalion. If the chauffeurs aren't there we're to keep the tanks company until they do or until we run out of ammo! Long before we run out of ammo we're going to blow those Tanks to kingdom come! Is that clear!" yelled Rho.

"Yes Sargent. It is," they answered as one.

"Everybody mount up and high tail it to Fire Base Charlie on the double!" he called.

Within moments they were speeding towards their destination driving Black Ops electric powered 4x4 Combat Jeeps at over 55 mph. All the while the silver gray clouds of Drop Pods descended towards the ground behind them closer and closer to them and to the ground.

Tag: Sanc., Deiskrad.

LPC: Captain Eric Woods, commanding officer of CAMF battlecruiser CCS Confederate (CB-59)
Location: In orbit over Traveller's Rest space station
Date/Time: 11.59, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"The Might of the Confederacy"

The station's MACs had succeeded in taking out two of the enormous troop carriers before they dropped into the upper atmosphere, out of range of their weapons. Captain Woods had considered pursuing them, but groundside command wasn't keen on having a giant burning hulk falling on them, and requested they disengage. Still, Charlie Oscar ordered a full sensor sweep of the remaining thirteen ships. Eight of them had dropped a cloud of single-man orbital insertion pods, targeting the Ararat Valley facility and the city of New Jerusalem, approximately twenty-nine thousand troops in total. They had no weapons or defensive systems of any sort, appearing to be there for the sole purpose of dropping waves of troops onto the planet. He didn't like this, but Captains weren't there to give opinions to Generals.

Despite being nearly thirty-five years old, the Confederate was one of the most formidable ships in the Confederate fleet. The namesake of its fourteen-ship class of heavy battle cruisers, she was in the only category armed with both old-style magnetic accelerator cannons (four of them) and the CAMF's new turbolaser batteries. All of her 2.2 kilometer length and twenty decks were encased in 2.5 meters of Type-1 alloy, more than any other ship in the fleet. Despite being a heavy bird at 2.6 million tons, she still managed to be one of the fastest ships in the fleet as well, surpassed only by the revolutionary new Semean-class cruisers. Transferred into the HD 188753 Defense Fleet four years ago, Zion was very lucky to have this ship at her side.

Especially on a day like today.

He called up the tactical display on his command console. Forty-nine ships identifying themselves as the Imperial Aryan Navy had arrived in-system, between the superior and inferior jump points, all but cutting the system off from escape. They outnumbered the HD 188753 Defense Fleet, and even the smallest ships easily dwarfed the mainstay Martinet-class destroyers. The fleet had rushed to meet this new threat when the troop carriers arrived and started a simultaneous ground invasion.

"Altspace ruptures! Three of them! Just past the inferior jump point!"

Suddenly, three of the Aryan vessels--he estimated them to be destroyers or light cruisers--disappeared and reappeared less than a hundred thousand kilometers from the Confederate's bow, a pinpoint jump. They almost immediately began firing on both his ship and the space station with plasma-stream weapons.

"Put us between their firing solutions and the main body of the station!" Captain Woods ordered.

The engines growled and the battle cruiser accelerated into the path of the blue-hot plasma. Her hull shuddered as she took the brunt of the impacts, her nigh-impenetrable armor absorbing all. Meanwhile, having a better angle than she, Traveller's Rest opened fire with a MAC salvo, shooting above and below his ship. Their firing solutions were true--all but one of the shots birthed massive explosions across the hull of the closer two Aryan vessels. Confederate swung about, bringing her weapons to bear against the incoming threat.

"The lead vessel has taken the most damage," LTJG Sylmar, Officer of the Deck, reported. "Hull integrity approximately seventy-five percent, venting atmosphere at several sections."

"Give me firing solutions for all four MACs," Captain Woods ordered. "Target their forward weapons with standard rounds and the largest hull breaches with shredders."

"Firing solutions calculated."

"Fire!"

Plasma and MAC rounds changed sides as Confederate fired her first salvo of the war. The Aryan plasma scorched Confederate armor and the Confederate MAC rounds tore through Aryan decks. A kilometer-long balloon of metal burst on the starboard side of the lead Aryan vessel

IC: As CAMF Marine Corp. Sargent Rho Sigma.

Location: Foothills of the Ararat mountains north of the lower portion of Ararat Base. Racing to the Helifield Delta.

Time/Date: 12:05 PM, September, 30, 2219.

They were now rolling hot with a running gun battle along the open field heading towards Outback Airfield Delta, where sat two remaining C-23 Quad vectored thrust heavy cargo and troop transports winding up for a run. Assault Pods dropped down from above as a shadow fell across the outer airfield. One of the SHCs had chosen to dump its load here right smack dab on top of his platoon! Dozens of pods started hitting ground as Rho and his men approached the two C-23s.

"Hit the closest ones while they're inside!" he called over the comlink.

Tracers started flying along trajectory arcs to their targets as his men shot at every pod they had in reach. Some popped open to reveal an already dead invader, but too many carried more that just kept coming down to replace them. The Door Gunners were making a good accounting for themselves where his men couldn't reach with their SAWs or Assault Rifles. Alpha Platoon raced in with the ferocity of Tigers fighting Wolves. Their SAWs opening up with no remorse or shame as the platoon vehicles made a semi circle around the C-23s rear entry ramps. This gave the Door Gunners time to finish securing valuable Ammunition for transport out to Fire Base Charlie. One by one they then loaded in the vehicles double time all while fighting off a tenacious enemy.

"Up ramps!" called the load master as one of the door gunners got his head blown to red mist and helmet shrapnel. his body slumped sideways and back onto the rising ramp floor, then sliding forward down the increasing slope leaving a red streak behind it. Saws returning fire for as long as it took to kill the killer. Auto cannons from the under belly started taking up the slack on the enemy troops long enough to clear the field, which was now being over run with soldiers from out system. Rho saw it. A large ship now landing and even then lowering ramps. As they gained altitude he saw tracked vehicles coming down off of those ramps bristling with guns and armor. On their sides, everyone had an eight legged horse standing on its hind four legs leaning into a jump or leap. Its mane was a dark fuligin black with blue high lights and a stark red coat over the rest of its body. It's nostrils vented flaming orange fire. Rho turned away. The cargo crew was picking up their dead comrade the mood was dark, like the shadow that fell across the field as they'd raced into hell, fire and smoke...and death.

Rho did a role call on the comlink, then had his men help with the cargo crew They had ammo with punch to deliver to the 1st Tank battalion. They were going to need it real soon.

Tag: Sanc and Deiskrad.

IC: 2nd LT Brian Engelhardt, Platoon Commander, Second Platoon, Company D, Eighteenth Armored Battalion, Eighteenth Marine Division
Location: Battalion Maintenance bay, Ararat Valley Marine Corps Base
Date/Time: 12.07 30 September 2219

Engelhardt dropped and rolled as a line of bullets stitched across the bay, ricocheting insanely off the hulls of tanks and other vehicles parked inside. He scurried behind the tank, dared to lean out for a second, and a few bullets kicked up cement dust from the concrete floor mere inches from his face. He rubbed his eyes free of the stinging grit, and tried to force calm into his hyperventilating body. Who were these clowns? What did they want with this obscure piece of outback estate at the crossroads of Nowhere and Who Cares?

As he glanced about from behind the relative safety of a tank tread, he saw his first combat dead.

He'd been a grease monkey. His coveralls that had been smeared with only dirt and oil, now mixed with carmine. He'd tried to run across the bay or something, and they'd led him just right. Three neat holes, entry wounds, tattooed his back. He lay facing away from Brian, and there was no way to tell if he were young or old. His last act, apparently, had been to reach for the multi-tool that was just out of reach.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder, and Engelhardt nearly died of fright. It was Virastyuk. Niko was trying to pull him to a safer position underneath the 100 ton behemoth. Engelhardt was starting to go along with this good idea when somebody screeched at him.

"Stop right there! Hands where I can see 'em! Jetzt! NOW!"

Engelhardt did as told. Rough hands rolled him over. The barrel of the automatic rifle seemed huge in his face. He flinched and turned away slightly. He saw another pair of boots directly to his side, accompanied by the chatter of a radio.

"Get the other one out."

"We should just ice them. No prisoners, right?"

"Yeah, but these are specialists. Technicians. And they're not Jews."

Engelhardt was taken aback by the absurdity Jews? What century is this? He glanced up at his captor.

"Look at me cockeyed again M***********. I will drill you and use a photo of your girl to satisfy me tonight? Got it?"

Engelhardt nodded almost imperceptibly.


-----------------------------------

Date/Time: 12.12 30 September 2219

They'd lined them up against the wall and told them to sit with their hands on their heads. Like it was a Tornado drill. They were told to shut up, and not move a muscle or risk being shot. Engelhardt heard a lot of code that he was unfamiliar with as they communicated with their superiors. Even though he'd been spared, he didn't think he would live much longer. Even Virastyuk seemed sullen and resigned to this. When engelhardt looked over at him, he appeared to be praying.

Flanagan was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she'd got away.

Maybe.

The enemy appeared to be packing up. Most of the soldiers were moving on, but some of them stayed behind. Engelhardt was certain he'd heard them call for extraction, and that it was for "persons of interest". That had to be he and the rest of the captured battalion.

First day of the war and the war's over for me. If I were reading this, I'd laugh. He thought miserably.

TAG: Vang & Sanc

IC: As Fireman Apprentice Andrew Issigonis
Location: Foothills Marksmanship Training Area, Marine Corps Base Ararat Valley, Zion
Date/Time: Around 12.10, 30 September 2219

"The Little Things in Life"

He looked down the reflex sight to check the ammo counter. Seventy-two rounds left in the drum. The cloud of insertion pods had all but flooded the range. Unfortunately, the key problem for them was the fact they had invaded a shooting range, full of armed Marines who were training for this very thing. Most of the pods on Charlie Range were now accompanied by lifeless corpses riddled with 10mm. Some of the range staff were trying to call for help on their talkers with varying degrees of success. What was obvious was that the entire base was now under attack. He felt suddenly lucky he was caught ready. Judging by the two smoke plumes that gushed from explosions on the main body of the base, things weren't going too well on mainside.

"Hey! On me real quick!" the RSO, a stereotypical Staff Sergeant, called out to the shooters. He clutched a pistol with its slide locked back. The chamber was still smoking. As he proceeded to casually reload, he laid out an on-the-spot plan: "I'm sure y'all know about the ammo bunkers we got across the street. One for each range. We got ammo now, so we're the lucky ones, but if we can't hold on to those bunkers, not only are we done, but the whole base might be. Looks like right now they're still loopy from the drop, tryin' to rally up. Don't let 'em do that. *****n' wail on 'em and keep their nasty hands off our ammo."

The shooters of Charlie Range split up, approaching the street from both sides of the range office. Issigonis was on the right side, coming out by the Charlie Range sign next to the RSO himself. The almost nonchalant way he stepped out into the line of fire, his pistol in hand, reminded Issigonis of some invincible characters in the ancient computer games he used to play underway. Speaking of line of fire, four of these shock troopers made a rush for the cover of the range staff's cars. Even before he could get his weapon raised at one of the easier ones, the RSO simply raised his pistol and fired four times in rapid succession, taking out the windscreen and both side windows of the car. He cursed loudly.

With no cover of their own, the shooters were very vulnerable to return fire from the parking lot, and it wasn't long before one guy in a Marine uniform took two in the stomach and went down with a shout. Every single gun on that side opened up, ten-mike-mike ripping every car in the lot to shreds. The fragile plastic and aluminum panels did little to protect the shock troopers from the merciless barrage. By the time the safety corpsman arrived to drag the wounded man to safety, two of them had already gone down. One tried to run for better cover at the concrete base of the bunker, but the RSO's God-pistol spread the blood supply to his brain all over the ground with one shot.

"Damn!" He couldn't help but say it.

The final of the four troopers was there somewhere, perhaps releasing bodily fluids onto himself as the shooters now crossed the street and made to secure the bunker with a 360-degree field of fire. Oh, there he was. He popped off a five-or-so-shot burst from the hip, turned tail, and sprinted for the back of the exchange nearby, followed by a stream of tracers that were quicker than he was, taking out his legs above and below the knee and marking the positions of various vertebrae along his back. Very paralyzed and doomed to exsanguination, he slammed to the deck, coming in second to his rifle, which skidded across the dirt out of sight. As they watched, he stirred slightly, getting up just high enough to pull something from his vest.

"Oh HELL no!" the RSO yelled, emptying the rest of his pistol into him. Miss, left upper arm, upper back, base of the helmet, the trooper fell flat and without further ado, exploded with enough force to flip over the car closest to him. Issigonis yelled something he couldn't hear and now

IC: New Jerusalem Port Authority, Commander Mitchel W. Sullest, LPC, Lieutenant Commander Sharon B. Tanisla.

Time/Date: 12:02, Thursday, 30 September 2219

location: Traveler's Rest space station in orbit above New Jerusalem.

It worked! One down two to go! Commander Sullest knew that the best points were bound to be in the advancing Ships hull where ever there were Plasma Capacitors or Ammo Magazines under neath the skin. He wanted to do more than just cause a venting of atmosphere.

"Number One! I need a scan of the those two Pop-n-Jays for weaknesses that we can take advantage of. In the mean time, Fire Control Officer, I want you to hit their forward weapons now that they are closer. Do me proud! Fire!" called Sullest.

"Targeting, Fire!" called Fire Control Officer Dirk Benning.

Out lanced six more penetrators with Mercury warheads for extra expansion upon entry into the interior of the Cruiser on the port side of the formation. One penetrator hit a vital spot just below one of the cruiser's forward Plasma Turrets. The Turret must have been charging as the penetrator hit. Off came the turret with great alacrity and pent up energy while secondary explosions ripped through its complimentary deck! Another penetrator hit into shielding that appear to be covering the cruiser's central power feed. It blew and effectively cracked the cruiser's beam. Its lower section began venting plasma rather than atmosphere. He knew it was about to blow. The Screen's anti-dazzle kicked in as though on Que. Two down one to go, he thought. The MACs were cooling.

Tag: Sanc. and Deiskrad.

LPC: As Captain Eric Woods, commanding officer of CCS Confederate (CB-59)
Location: High orbit over Zion, approximately 100000 kilometers from Traveller's Rest space station.
Date/Time: 12.18, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"A Slap in the Face"

As the second cruiser shattered into a blossom of chunks and fire, the third fired its full-reverse engines and maneuvered its way out of the glowing debris field. The massive amount of heat emanating from the breakdown of two plasma reactors clouded Captain Woods' thermal sensors, giving him a bright red screen of death. The retreating cruiser pulled a fast J-turn, blasted through the debris field, and headed back toward the main body. No pinpoint jumps this time.

"Give me everything you've got on the engines and bring us to course two-six-six, up two. Target their engines and open up as soon as we're in range."

Captain Woods was thrown back into his seat as the Confederacy's most powerful fusion engines of the 2180s sliced a burning trail through space. The battle cruiser tilted slightly onto her new course.

"Shredder rounds aimed. Estimate eighteen seconds to firing range."

In the distance, a million or so kilometers, the inside jump point of the system was burning. Though outnumbered and outgunned, the HD 188753 Defense Fleet was giving it everything they had. As an aside, he zoomed out the scale on his viewscreen. Two enemy contacts disappeared from radar as he did so. Feeling satisfied, he returned his attention to the task at hand.

"Ten seconds to firing range. . .nine, eight, seven, six, five. . .four. . .three. . .two. . .one."

"Fire!"

"MACs hot. Firing."

Thunder echoed through the hull as the quartet of MACs spat fire. Once again, her targeting was true and all four rounds each devoured a fusion engine. The aft section of the fleeing cruiser briefly turned into a miniature B-type star, complete with its own Kuiper belt of debris. Carried forward by its remaining momentum, the forward section shed hull pieces and armor shreds into space as it spiraled into the hulk of another ruined vessel.

"Excellent shooting. Reduce power to fifty percent and bring us about to course--"

"Alternate space rupture! One-niner-six, up three! Sir, it's big!"

The demon that slithered out of the alternate stream somewhat resembled the cruisers he had just taken out, except it was much larger. It dwarfed even the Confederate and bristled with more glowing plasma weapons than he could count. It muscled its way into the thick of the battle, engines glowing a furious blue as it made its way directly toward the carrier. Without warning, it emitted a pencil-thin beam, aimed at a destroyer, the Jacksonville, slicing it in two just fore of the wings as easily as a hot knife passing through butter. A shocked silence fell over the bridge crew.

"Full reverse! Get weapons on that thing, anywhere you think you can hit it!"

"Calculating. . .wait. Jacksonville is blowing emergency thrusters! They're on a collision course!"

FLEETCOM crackled. ". . .sonville. . .ise, all CAMF ships disengage to . . .safe distance. We're throwing the self-destruct. Good luck, boys."

A red bubble appeared on his viewscreen, minimum safe distance to escape the fusion detonation of a Martinet-class destroyer. The Confederate was safely outside it, but most of the dreadnought was not. The aft section of Jacksonville slammed into the underside of the dreadnought, between the base of the energy projector and what appeared to be a launch bay, barely putting a scratch into the fearsomely large vessel.

The resulting explosion was so powerful it knocked his ship five degrees off course. A full third of the dreadnought disappeared into a howling maw of fusion energy, which then stripped the remaining outer hull off like a banana peel, exposing every section of what remained. FLEETCOM died and rebooted. His tactical display overloaded, failed, and rebooted. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the fire vanished, havi

IC: As CAMF Marine Corp. Sargent Rho Sigma.

Location: Airborne but nap-of-the-earth above the foothills of the Ararat mountains northeast of the lower portion of Ararat Base. Flying towards Fire Base Charlie.

Time/Date: 12:15 PM, September, 30, 2219.

The two CAMF Marine C-23s raced along at lowest possible altitude and at the highest possible speed. Sargent Rho Sigma and his Recon Platoon had gotten word from Major Jenner that the Sit Rep for Fire Base Charlie had taken a power dive. An Armor Technician had managed to set an alarm off with a BROKEN ARROW code before his chips were cashed in for him by the interlopers.

"Silver Backs! We have a situation at Fire Base Charlie. This may well include a hostage situation. As with all Fire Bases there are special entrances that are built into them for covert entry without being observed. We'll be using that method of entry in this situation so that we can take out the Aryan Assault Brigade that got dropped in while they got caught with their pants down. I'm down loading the data to you now," he said.

Rho adjusted the com-link with his platoon. Up popped a 3-D map with details of the Fire Base in the platoon's Virtual Reality Buffer Network. To the South of the Base was a hidden entrance with an entry way made to look like an abandoned bunker block house stripped of all the normal accoutrements. A rusty weapon platform doubled as a hidden floor entrance. Rho marked it with a flag for his platoon members to recognize.

"We'll enter here at this hidden opening from there we travel to the base by the tunnel and enter by way of the base armory. There we reload and grab some heavy extra fire power to waste the bad guys. Since the block house is hardened against scanning they won't be able to determine our presence. From there we can target most of them that are outside of the maintenance shacks. Once their out of the way we take the one's inside the maintenance shacks and eliminate them. We'll have to use our Gold Cup Skills. No Explosives unless we're certain that a target is clear of any members of the 1st Tank Company. Personnel and Tocamak Fusion reactors don't come cheap, so stick to what I've shown you," said Rho.

Thirty seconds later they were down in a clearing south of the Fire Base within a hundred feet of a lone block house of gray concrete for all intents and purposes looking like an abandoned bunker. All of the platoon's vehicles were offloaded in haste then the Silver Backs platoon unlocked and entered the block house and its secret access to the tunnel beneath that led to the Base armory. They ran down to the base's armory and climbed up into its interior from beneath, by-passing the armory's false flooring in the south western corner. Within minutes the Silver Backs had set up watch over the fire base from within its safety.

"Boss we got company coming our way. Looks like a squad of Aryan goons coming to check out the ammo reserves," called Corporal Terrance Gig.

"Get ready to take them out if they attempt to enter," he said in a low voice. "Sprawl, get over to the security terminal and see if you can locate the positions of the rest of the enemy by the remotes located in the maintenance shop and at the Fire Base Commander's compound,"

"On it," answered Corporal Gig. He no sooner got the images then there was a sudden flash from the sky and a black out on all the remotes across the fire base. The video network failed then rebooted.

"What just happened?" he asked suddenly.

"Skipper. I think we've been hit with an EMP blast," said Gig.

"Check your equipment! If it checks out we're going to change the game plan!" he snapped.

All members checked and confirmed their equipment was fully functional then unpacked silencers from the armories specialized equipment cage usually used for storing Black Ops Gear. They then mounted the silencers.

"All right. We form up into three fire teams and go out. Team one takes out the goons coming our way. Teams two and three take out their sentries," he ordered. "After that all of us take out the rema

IC: New Jerusalem Port Authority, Commander Mitchel W. Sullest, LPC, Lieutenant Commander Sharon B. Tanisla, LPC Fire Control Officer 1st Lieutenant Dirk Benning and Communications Officer Lt. Judith Pearce.

Location: Geostationary Orbit atop of "The Bean Stalk", at Traveler's Rest above New Jerusalem, New Zion.

Time and Date: 12:25, Thursday, 30th of September, 2219 AD.

The command network had weathered the electron blast that had accompanied the demise of the leviathan that popped in on the party. The Central Control Crew was amped with excitement but tempered with a sense of loss over the Jacksonville's sacrificial self destruction.

"Communications Officer! Send a message to the Confederate, advising Captain Woods that we stand ready to assist in any rearming, repair or other needs that they might have during this emergency as time allows," said Commander Sullest.

"Aye, sir...sending," responded Lt. Judith Pearce.

In the mean time new arrivals had showed up from their climb up the Bean Stalk, only to be told that their home world was under attack and that they wouldn't be allowed to leave until things were back under control. Many were in tears at the news others were very angry-to be sure at the invaders-not at the commander or his crew. Meanwhile the damage control parties started making rounds throughout the station checking for any signs of damage from the exchange of fire that took place only moments before with the Aryan Attack Cruisers.

Tag: Sanctimoniously and Deiskrad.

LPC: As Captain Eric Woods, commanding officer of CCS Confederate (CB-59)
Location: Outer orbital perimeter of planet Zion
Date/Time: 12.33, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"Making a Statement"

"Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner, this is Tango Romeo, hailing," crackled FLEETCOM as Confederate made best speed back to the orbital perimeter.

Captain Woods keyed the frequency. "Tango Romeo, Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner receiving. Go ahead."

"Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner, we saw you danger close to that detonation. Request status report."

"Tango Romeo, we are green. All systems online. Armor integrity at sixty-four percent. Returning to defensive positions. ETA five mikes."

"Roger, Charlie-Bravo. We'll do what we can to assist. Out."

The surface of Zion sped into better view on his screen, a tan ball, weathered by the darkness of sodium clouds, with a large blue wet spot in the middle. Near the northern edge of that spot, he could already see the fires of battle raging, even from this extreme distance, only becoming clearer as the battle cruiser drew closer. It was clear that, even with his ship's presence at her side, the space battle for Zion was not going to end well. The enemy's ships were better armed than theirs, and more and more were pouring into the system. He was becoming convinced.

Zion was going to fall.

"Alternate space ruptures! In the middle of the defensive cluster! Counting at least a dozen!"

Time to make it count.

"Bring us about. Deploy the gunships. Full speed ahead."

IC: As CAMF Marine Corp. Sargent Rho Sigma and his Howling Recon Commandos. With assorted LPCs

Location: Fire Base Charlie.

Time/Date: 12:25 PM, September, 30, 2219.

"See if you can get a down load from these on board computers they use for their tanks. I want to see if any improvisations have been included that we can anticipate their moves through software subroutines."

"They look to be of common Confederation design parameters except for these calls here and here. It switches from C++ to Machine language, converted to Hexadecimal code I could read it better and give an educated guess as to what it does."

"I'm not interested in educated Guesses!"

These subroutines are much more elaborate than what I've seen from the usual Confederation Macros. It'll take me a while to decode them as their chip sets are not to standard layout."

"How long will it take?"

"That depends on the number of chips that are involved including their specific function parameters. Say anywhere between two to as many as eight hours if there are any more of these chip sets located elsewhere the way we've been coming across them for the last fifteen minutes."

"I'll fix that nonsense right now." **Footsteps heading towards the direction of some of the technicians**

"You! Technician! Turn around and face me! All of you listen to me! You will tell me who among you has a thorough knowledge of these tanks digital electronic and CPU systems! If you do not comply immediately, one of your mechanic friends here will be my personal experiment in liberal arts, as I paint the floor with his brain tissue a nice bloody red! Is that understood!?"

"Don't harm them! I'll explain how the programming works and electronics works," a voice calls from the far wall...

"Tango-2 we've got position."

"Copy Tango-2...waiting on Tango-1 to arrive and box 'em in."

"Tango-3. This is Tango-1. We're in position."

"They're getting ready to do the nasty with one of them.

"Tango-3 in position. I've got Commandant Crud. Meeks, Shepperd you've got the Goons holding the Technician on his left and right respectively. Men on my count to zero on zero, you are to open fire until the last one is dead. 3,2,1,0"

Pop! Immediately followed many many more of them in very quick succession. Crud and his two Goons holding the brave technician were the first to drop like sacks of potatoes. As the first of his other soldiers noticed the red dots of blood forming on the Commandant's and bodyguards foreheads with their respective brain pans blasted out the rear, they had just enough time to feel the horror before they too dropped dead of the same affliction. The last three tried to scurry under the tanks but in anticipation of that move Collins, Seavert and Billings were waiting down below from three different locations just in case. Check and mate.

It was all over in five seconds.

Tag: Deiskrad, Sanctimoniously, others if you care to join in the fun send Sanc or me a PC CS to review.

LPCs: As Gunship Charlie-Zero-Seven and Travellers Rest space station, on FLEETCOM Channel Five (geosync uplink)
Location: Vicinity of Travellers Rest space station
Date/Time: 12.55, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"Overheard"

"All wings, this is Tango Bravo Actual. Radio check."

"Tango Bravo Actual, Charlie-Zero-Seven copies loud and clear. Good to hear you down there. We got your back."

"All wings, fourteen stream ruptures inside the defensive perimeter. Two dreadnought-class vessels, two cruisers, four destroyers, and six corvettes. Do not, repeat, do not engage the heavies. Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner is on intercept."

"Solid copy. We'll let them come to us. . .wait. The heavies are breaking off, they are not moving to engage Tango Romeo. Picking up a swarm of contacts coming out of those dreadnoughts! Corvettes are moving in."

"New targets. MACs are hot. Get clear!"

"That's a hit right there. I can see the background of my radar now."

"Keep them busy! Recharging!"

"Engaging."

"Those things are like china dolls! Ready another salvo!"

"Fiesty, huh? How fast can you go? One-Zero, I need some light on my sexy ass!"

"Firing!"

"Watch out now! Lead him through the debris field, make him sweat."

"Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner confirms one heavy cruiser down."

"Yowza!"

"Eyes on the farthest corvette. Draw it into range."

"Charlie-Zero-Four is down. Damn. . ."

"Ready salvo!"

"Danger close on that corvette! I got atmosphere! I'm gone!"

"Solid hits, Zero-Seven. Corvette is gone, too. Watch out, firing again."

"I felt that one."

"Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner, confirm."

"Carrier just went dark! She's dead in space!"

"All wings, fall back to the dock perimeter! Charlie-Victor-Two-Two-Four is down, repeat Charlie-Victor-Two-Two-Four is down!"

"Keep those fighters at arm's length!"

"Charlie-Bravo-Five-Niner inbound, dreadnoughts in pursuit."

"Does this mean we've lost?"

IC: 2nd Lieutenant Brian Engelhardt
[bLocation:[/b]Maintenance Bay, Ararat Valley Marine Corps Base
Time:1220

He thought he'd known fear when his High School Football Team had faced their arch rivals, the Sorenson Tigers. On the Tigers, was a giant linebacker named Washington. The kind of guy who ate Offensive Linemen for lunch and had Tight Ends and Running Backs as a snack before deciding on whether the Quarterback for dessert was overkill.

During their game, Engelhardt's team (the Hoplites) had lined up their nickel offense. Engelhardt could barely hear their commands of his own Quarterback, as they were away and the Sorenson crowd was large and aggressive. But he had heard as sure as the day slipped into night the taunts and jibes of the Tigers. And on this particular fateful play, Washington had looked at Engelhardt, pointed and grinned in his predator way at him, and said "I'm coming for you, boy."

Up till now, that had been the moment of utter terror in his life. He'd remained focused and held to his blocking assignment, but for Washington it was like brushing aside a beaded curtain. He'd went on to blow up their running back for a loss of 2 yards. Maybe that moment was subconsciously when Engelhardt decided to go for tanks, in order to be the biggest, meanest thing on the field, and avoid a repeat of that humiliating and terrifying day.

But none of that was as terrifying as right now, wondering miserably if they were about to be shot or worse. Their captors spoke in english, but it had a lilt of some kind that was unfamiliar to him. He tried instead to focus on his training: Name, Rank, Serial number. Nothing else. Watch for an opportunity, lead your men. Offer the enemy nothing, but don't give them enough reason to kill you.

Niko had ceased praying and now was simply looking about warily. They still hadn't seen Flanagan, and were trying to avoid their captors gaze. Suddenly there was a hail of gunfire. All of the captured mechanics and technicians and soldiers all yelped and hit the floor. For several hair raising seconds there were two distinct machine gun sounds. Then all was quiet. Engelhardt peeked out, and saw all the ones who were his captors moments before, lying dead or dying.

A fire team of Marines, perhaps the most welcome sight in his life, edged around the side of a massive drill press.

One of them yelled "Clear!" and more marines emerged. Engelhardt got shakily to his feet, as did the rest the freed captives. One of the marines moved forward and shouted.

"Alright, let's get these vehicles going! Anything we're not diddee-maoing in has gotta be scrapped. Those tanks especially, let's get in the war!"

Engelhardt numbly moved. The overload of adrenaline was making him shaky and less coordinated. He nearly tripped over the legs of a dead man. As he stumbled to catch his feet, he glanced down and saw that it was the same enemy soldier who'd stomped on his head and threatened him and his girl. He wasn't dead yet. Engelhardt felt a savage vengeance rising in his breast.

He nudged the trooper over. He was bleeding badly from a wound in the right abdomen. His liver. He'd bleed out even if there were surgeons on him now. Engelhardt only had a moment. He pulled out his palmdat and activated it. He held it out so the trooper could see.

"See her? That's my wife. Ex-wife actually. Closest thing to a girlfriend. Still love her, sort of. ANyway, if you'd made good on your promise, this is probably what you'd have used." He nudged the soldier in the wound, the pain floating him back to a moaning consciousness.

"Anyway, you're never gonna please yourself to her. But I thought it'd be nice for you to see her as you died. You can see she's laughing..."

He paused.

"Laughing at you."

The troopers eyes half closed, and all movement stopped. Engelhardt snapped the palmdat closed. Virastyuk and Flanagan were there.

"We all know what now: Let's go meet the new neighbors."

The three of them ran to their tank.

TAG: Vang

IC: As Fireman Apprentice Andrew Issigonis
Location: New Jerusalem, Mehoz Yerushalayim, Zion
Date/Time: 13.22, Thursday, 30 September 2219

"A Dying City? Not While I'm Still Alive!"

Oily plumes of smoke had wormed their way into the forest of glittering kilometer-high skyscrapers that rose from the beige Zion dirt. The smell of fire was nearly overwhelming as the dropship disappeared into the concrete jungle, passing under high-level monorail lines and over private landing pads. One building, adorned with light blue Hebrew characters down its spine, was completely wrapped in a furious conflagration around a third of the way up, consuming an area taller than any building on the Ararat Valley base. There was no telling how much longer that one would be able to stay standing.

"Two minutes!" crackled the pilot over the COM.

Issigonis keyed his acknowledgment light as the dropship angled slightly, passing through the bulk of the city and now overlooking the central plaza. A massive old-style synagogue (he heard materials were brought in from Earth ruins to build it) was there at the very center of the city. All of the architectural, aesthetic, and engineering triumph that formed the city of New Jerusalem radiated around the faith that put it there. It formed one terminus of a wide tree-lined boulevard, with the government buildings and residences alongside, which led to the space tether base, connecting Zion's two greatest symbols.

Or, used to be.

The top floor of one of the residences blazed, casting a frame of smoke over the sea of people that mobbed the space elevator entrance, hoping with all they had to get a ticket off-planet. Near the synagogue, tracer fire exchanged places and a grenade explosion popped a section of prefab road surface out of place. The dropship circled, strafed the park with its chin guns, then put down a few blocks back from the synagogue.

"Go, go, go! Secure the synagogue!"

Making sure this time to turn the safety off, Issigonis alighted from the dropship and his feet hit the pavement. His heads-up display marked any target that was visible, five of them, to his northeast. He found a spot to set up his SAW on the hood of a damaged car. The powerful weapon slammed his teeth together in his head as white-hot death streamed toward the park. At least two of the markers disappeared by his own hand and the rest went down in short order. Displacing, he sprinted a block, sliding to a stop near the entrance to the burning house.

"Lima Sierra-Serra, this is Evac Command. We have eyes on AA at the roof of the Prime Minster's residence, trained on the tether. It's holing everything we try to send up. We need that dead ASAP. How copy, over?"

"Evac Command, Lima Sierra-Sierra has your back."

The building next door to his, an avant-garde house composed of several cubes stacked haphazardly on each other, flashed on his HUD. He fired a burst of covering fire before sprinting to the base of a security wall. A firefight raged above his head. A grenade landed on the sidewalk less than a meter from his feet.

"Oh, ****!"

He made a dive for it, grasping the scalding-hot metal ball in his hands and hurling it upward as far as possible. It disappeared onto the roof and exploded with a THWAP. An enemy trooper, sans an arm and a leg, went flying off and landed on the other side of the wall. He pulled the SAW into his shoulder and let off a hail of fire at the topmost cube. Meanwhile, several members of his squad made a bum rush into the ground floor of the residence. He fired a few more rounds at anything he thought might be human, and followed them inside. There was a large metal staircase that spiraled its way up to the highest cube, and it was crawling with Aryan troopers. He saw one, a kid who couldn't have been much older than him, and brought him down with a sound of thunder. It was a quick job, clearing out the staircase and sprinting to its summit.

The AA gun was on a penthouse-like balcony, across from a large bubbling hot tub. He had barely cleared the stairs w

IC: As CAMF Marine Corp. Sargent Rho Sigma and his Howling Recon Commandos. With assorted LPCs

Location: Five hundred meters from Fire Base Charlie at the other end of the hidden access tunnel, outside of
abandoned military styled bunker.

Time/Date: 12:50 PM, September, 30, 2219.




CAMF Tanks, troop carriers and support vehicles were pulling up in two lines of two for extra fuel Ammo and needed parts from the landed C-23s as cargo handlers began moving their loads off of the military transports with nearly unbelievable efficiency.

"Move it Marines! The more ammo we unload the more dead Aryan bodies we get to dance a jig over!" yelled Rho as they formed up and passed ammunition, parts and fuel out of the C-23, VTOL's interior. All terrain fork lifts rolled out with load after load as each tank or other vehicle pulled up for what ever could be spared in the way of needed supplies. Soon the tanks were forming up into combat formation in preparation of the approaching enemy combat tanks and other vehicles with troops, all howling for their blood. The troop carriers followed with the support vehicles in tow behind them.

Finally the last of the supplies, ammo and fuel was distributed and disseminated amongst the First Marine Tank Company. They were as ready as they were going to be and they were as motivated as they were going to be as well. Finally the order came.

"Intercept the enemy and Attack!"

Tag: Deiskrad and Sanctimoniously.