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Things were complete chaos. The Falcanians had finally locked onto something tangible and had deployed their troops overland into unclaimed territory hot on a trail that had eluded everyone else.
In response the 177th Furrozzii had been dispatched on a southerly course designed to set a hard perimeter in order to be ready if anything the Falcanians flushed out broke their containment. In addition, the 5th Battle Fleet had been dispatched from Radience to patrol the northern shores of the lands between Maraque and Sorthern Northland. If anything was there, it would surely be found.
Ardoin looked at himself in the mirror of the Rover as it bounced along over the rough terrain. Damn he needed to shave. Perhaps he would soon have the chance. |
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OP: Sir, all of our drones from Seraai, they are reporting radiation levels higher than normal when taking off into the Valley.
CM: The Radiation shouldn't affect us.
OP: I know it shouldn't affect the mainland as projected sir, but at the higher altitudes, it appears stronger than predicted.
CM: So It seems. Perhaps we should get a specialist in here.
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SP: Indeed, its worse than I had feared. As you can see on this plot, the upper level radiation is indeed higher than expected due to the winds taking more of the radiation in a southerly path across the water instead of the expected path more along the coastline towards Andossa Se Mitrin Vega.
CM: What is this little bit here at the end of the plot, near Irougil?
SP: Well, indeed that is the part that is worse than I had feared. Its a bit of a hard thing to predict. But due to the topography of the Vilitan island, the radiation from the upper atmosphere is being pulled between the Vilitan ranges. Then, as it exits the Liguon Valley and over the Tival Jungle it is confronted by the open water winds that were previously shielded by the Western Vilitan Range. The open water winds are pushing the radiation downward, squeezing it between the open water winds and the Eastern Central Range. The net result is a concentration of radiation exiting the southern portion of Vilita, directly over Irougil.
CM: How high? Thousands of Feet?
SP: Its hard to predict
CM: Give me a guess
SP: If I had to gu... well, I'd evacuate Irougil. Its not worth the risk.
CM: Evacuate Irougil! What are you telling me here?
SP: I'm telling you that the model I've just run with an accurate topography of Vilita and input from the drone readings through the Liguon Valley, suggests that the radiation levels in Irougil could quickly become comparable to those seen in Sorthern Northland itself, if these open water winds continue to condense and force the radiation downward against the Eastern Central Range.
CM: WHAT! DAMMIT! This can't be happening. Call back the drones. Let the Falcanians and Vaian's deal with Sorthern Northland. We need every drone in the sky NOW over Irougil and the Liguon Valley. This is crazy. How come we couldn't predict this, we could have had everyone out days ago. We could have seeded the clouds and got rid of some of the radiation before it reached our shores. Dammit Dammit Dammit! Who's fault is this! Dammit!
SP: Sir, given this model, the priority must be to evacuate Irougil. Like, now.
CM: GET ON IT THEN!!!!!!!
-----------------------------------------
The last citizens gathered up their belongings and made their way out of Irougil. Many went to stay with family in Arcticala, and other Vilitan cities. However, some were ready to start anew right away, and moved into a low population development outside of nearby Cittea, dubbed "Irottea" or "Irotiia" by the transplants. They didn't know when, or if they would be able to return to their homes, but some of them didn't care. "Even if the radiation goes away, its obvious that Irougil is built in a bad spot if this can happen once, it can happen again. I think I'll just start fresh in Irottea and hopefully some of my former neighbors will do the same."
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Just in case you forgot, there were a bunch of geese in radioactive Sorthern Northland, all the while mechanic terrors rumbled overhead. To be honest, we're not sure what it all means, but it'll come round and mean something worthwhile in the end. Maybe.
In the meantime, the Bovine Goose Corps of the Armed Forces League of Allemenschen Critters (AFLAC) of Nellietopia (weird history there, my friends...) was headed on its way south, having survived the radioactive clouds and the mutant worms. And here, they would (hopefully) find survivors to peck into dust. Such it was that the surveillance crew spotted what appeared to be clear signs of habitation towards the south of the country on a small quaint island. It's hard to miss such a small island as this, since it was so perfectly tucked into the profile of the coastline that you'd never suspect that it was an island. But it wasn't a simple run over to the island, since the great distance between the shore of the continent to the island was perhaps a big ask for any person - but the uncommonly large numbers of predatory fish in the area seemed to make the swim an irreconcilable flirtation with Dr. Death and his minions, Pain and Agony.
But here was the Bovine Goose Corps, ready to deliver the sucker punch to these hapless Sortherners.
You could see it in the distance, a great flock that covered the sky in their dull gray feathers. And they descended upon the island in great numbers from the north, such was the odd occasion that people from across the quaint little island stood at their doorsteps, their entrances, their intersections, their highest heights, and unfortunately for some, their laundry lines. Indeed, the few twenty minutes it took for people to get assembled to watch this great assemblage of bird and fowl. And they assembled at the north shore of this island, extending as far as the eye could see. The islanders all cheered the arrival of these auspicious creatures, thinking it to be signs that Sorthern Northland was all at peace once again (although why anyone cared remained a mystery, especially as some of the older folk had fought to win their autonomy from the cold, heartless clutches of the Beningrad Commissariat...). One suspects that these people couldn't tell the difference between a turtle dove and a bovine goose.
But they knew a duck when they saw one, such was the uniform distaste of ducks among the islanders. Of course, it was odd to them as they watched one little white duck fly up to the center of this formation and starting to quack orders to the rest of the birds that had assembled. In an instant, the geese all raised their banners and refined their beaks for pecking and their feet for stomping. They waved their wings in unison, such that the people could feel the breeze blowing in the opposite direction than was expected for that time of day. And when all these things had passed, Guard Duck pulled out a megaphone and gave a big "QUACK".
The quaint little people had no clue what was coming to them. |
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The Rover piloted by Captain Ardoin Al’sha sat alone atop a small hill somewhere in the central northwestern area of unclaimed territory between Maraque and Sorthern Northland. He had given upm hope of keeping pace with the Skymarine and had decideed that the best course of action for his recon force was simply to sit and wait. Somewhere ahead the Skymarine and subsequent Falcanian forces had locked in on something. Reputation said they would find it. And with VDF forces covering escape routes south and north, this was the only place left to possibly defend.
The radio was awash with news. Survivors had been found in Inis Na Dun. An unseasonably strong jet stream had carried the radiation southward towards Vilitan shores rather than easterly as had been predicted. The Vilitans were leaving Sorthern Northland in order to take care of things at home although other reports referred to a growing distrust from the Vilitans towards the Falcanians and Vegai. Which was more true could not be discerned.
Ardoin had even chuckled as multiple reports of an aggressive gaggle of geese were received viewing the geese as a direct threat to life flowed in. In times such as these there was no limit to the absurdities that found their way into the far greater reality of things.
So what would happen when this was all over? He had asked himself that vwey question no les than a hundred times in the past two days. One thing was sure, he was not ready for a return to ordinary and bland duty in Radience. Surely there would be other opportunities.
“Attention all VDF forces. The Skymarine has come under fire by unknown and unseen enemies. Be advised to hold your positions and ready for defensive measures. You will remain under hugh alert status until further notice. Confirmation Code XT6KL8-Q144 RHAE.”
Ardoin confirmed the code and switched on the infra-sweep. No sense being caught unawares. If anything living came within 5 kliks he would know it. |
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Combat. The last resort of civilised nations. The first specialty of the Skymarine.
First forged from the remnants of the three military factions after Unification Day, and incorporating lessons learned from the civil war, the Skymarine was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, since the end of the civil war, Falcania had yet to wet her blade in the fires of conflict, but that all changed three days into the pursuit of the convoy.
===================
Sergeant Balner sat in the command console of the lead chopper, with Sergeant Willins of Squad 23, and the increasingly-influential Sergeant-at-Arms Onnigan. The three of them were about to engage in a ritual as old as Falcania itself.
2 Platoon had been selected to lead the vanguard of the attack. But one of its three squads was to have the honour of being the first into battle. Falcanian military doctrine had always favoured the spearhead, and every spearhead tapered to a point. One of 2 Platoon's squads was going to be that point, and throughout history it had been considered good luck to draw lots for it.
Sergeant Onnigan leaned in his seat, shuffling the deck of cards. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way. Seeds, then Coins, then Wings, then Swords." He fanned out the deck. Willins went first, then Balner, before Onnigan took his own card. They flipped at the same time. Willins held the four of coins, Onnigan the hen of wings. Balner looked down, assuming Onnigan had won. He held the ace of swords. Onnigan smiled. "Auspicious."
===================
Mossi heard the good news from Balner, later that day. 22C prepared themselves, placing their FALCs in their racks, as Mossi turned the key in the locker. The CLAWs gleamed in the dim light overhead. Mossi handed them out, before taking his own. The bolt slid back, smoothly, before clicking into place with a wicked snap. The FALC was an assault rifle, a weapon of war, but the CLAW was a weapon that couldn't have been invented outside of Falcania. Some nations that gleefully bought Falcanian arms by the truckload to distribute to their populace had banned it. The Combined Light Assault Weapon had been designed for shock troopers. They were bloodthirsty weapons. He hadn't used these since the war...
===================
The convoy they had been pursuing, had stopped for the evening. It had been the first time that they had been seen to make camp. Were it not for the hostages they could have, strike aircraft would have glassed them off the map in transit; however, it had been decided that this would have to be done up close, and personal.
The helicopters crested the horizon, to be greeted by a salvo of Starspike missiles. Mossi braced. "HOLD! IMPACT!" Out of the shoulder door, he saw the adjacent chopper get winged by a blast and forced to peel off. So far, they were in the clear.
"Contact in 40 seconds! Prepare for descent!"
Small-arms fired joined the explosions around them.
"20!"
Mossi could see the battle-lines now. They didn't look like soldiers; more like robes. Insurgents, he classified them as.
"GO! GO GO GO GO GO!"
Squad 22 descended first. Mossi flared his wings, slowing his descent, fluttering to a halt faster than the insurgents had planned, ten feet behind the battle line. He turned on his heel and threw himself at the insurgents. The nearest one turned with a pistol, but before he could think, Mossi had cleared the gap, firing his CLAW in a controlled flurry to the right. The 9mm round streamed out like a beam of hollow-point steel, and cut down three men where they stood. He stuck the man with a bayonet, ending his charge. He looked around; the fifteen men of Squad 22 had made mincemeat out of the insurgents. Trooper Donard had claws, and was using them; Mossi watched him tear the throat out of a man. This was the legacy of the CLAW. It was not just an SMG glued to a 12-gauge shotgun. Being issued one was a tacit order to get into a melée, to be close enough to the man you were killing to see his eyes, feel his breath as you killed him.
A larger body of insurgents was gathering by the camp, assembling into firing positions. Mossi issued a battle-screech and plunged forward, letting off a fierce spray of bullet and shot. He saw some of the insurgents run; actually run away from his unit, as they descended upon them at close range.
This wasn't war. This was slaughter. |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Ardoin shifted restlessly in his seat. There was battle afoot and he had friends in the front lines. It was almost wrong that he should be sitting safely here while the Falcanians risked their lives for what was possibly a lone Vegai hostage. In disgust he threw his cigar out the window of the rover.
One hundred yards to the left and right and 50 yards forward were the other pair of Xaiku forming the ends of the standard Pincer formation. To the rear would be the pair of Hyu’Terii, though the combat abilities of all five vehicles combined would not amount to much. This unit was designated for recon rather than combat and the bulk of any heavy fire would have to come from the trio of Mizzeks should anything flow their direction. That they had the assault choppers at all had been a twist of the fates surrounding their deployment.
Ardoin continued to contemplate their chances in battle when suddenly the radio awoke again, this time violently,
“Incoming missile! Captain Ardoin!” the voice was almost frantic. “No time…” The com went dead and Ardoin turned to see the leftmost Mizzek spin helplessly into the ground, rear rotor in flames.
Then he was moving, sending the Rover forward. Where did that damn missile come from? Nothing had showed itself on the infra-sweep.
“Fire ECMs and move! Then find where that damn missile came from! Damn it! Hya’Kuhn, check for survivors. We cant have lost all five men aboard. There was no explosion.”
A second missile was a near miss as the ECM did its job. And still no sign of where they were coming from. |
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The fires burned in the hearts of the Falcanians; and this is why they were feared. Other units had deployed to support 22, tactically advancing behind the CLAW-wielding vanguard, visibly awed at the swathe of destruction they had waged.
===============
Mossi screeched as he descended. He was now out of ammo for his CLAW, which was slung behind him. Mossi had been born without talons of his own; instead, he was running, with pistol in right hand, and holding the great, pointed slashing blade of the machete-like Carak in the other. The insurgents were in full retreat from the madmen that swept through them; Mossi would later recall, after the red mists cleared, being shot in the shoulder, before having cut off a man's arm at the elbow with the traditional Falcanian blade.
Squad 21 moved up to relieve them. Trooper Donard was seeing to a compatriot, Trooper Wytol, who had taken four 7.62 rounds to the chest, and was currently bleeding to death with a satisfied smile on this face. The chilling comedown of the battle rage mingled with the numbness from his own shoulder, and Mossi felt at it with fingers dripping with blood. He felt light-headed, not really sure whose blood it was. Balner saw him fall to his knees, and yelled for a medic.
It occurred to Mossi, as a Skymarine doc patched up his shoulder, that the insurgents fell quickly after the assault. It had been a token defence, at best; the squad had lost only two of its fifteen men to an assault on an entrenched position. Even taking into account the close-quarters talents of the Skymarine, those numbers were good.
===============
But after the first wave, where were the insurgents? The camp was silent as the grave. Not even any sign of the men who had run away.
Blackard led the troops in, in full battle dress. He'd seen the carnage wreaked by 22, and stepped into the campsite.
"B clear!"
This was feeling familiar by now. He stepped into the makeshift shack, clearing the corners with his weapon. There was nothing here but some makeshift cage cells. He saw movement from one of them, and aimed his gun. "Identify!" He repeated it in High Tongue and in Draconic. He (and it was a he) raised his hands.
"No! Don't shoot!" The man spoke very quickly in Draconic, and Blackard couldn't quite make out what he was saying.
He lowered his gun. He pointed at the flag embroidered on his uniform, and began stumbling over his Draconic. "I am Captain Blackard. Falcanian Skymarine. We are working with your sirs, and we are working with Captain Ardoin Al'sha. This is a rescue. Are you understand me words?"
The man nodded. "I am Captain Berul Caern’jiu, and I understand you, sky-man," he replied, in passable High Tongue.
As a soldier began cutting through the bars of the cage, Blackard held his radio. "Company Command, this is Blackard, do you copy?"
"We copy, report situation, captain."
"Insurgent camp neutralised, repeat, camp neutralised, hostage recovered seemingly unharmed. Commencing extraction. Tell Ardoin the good news."
"Very good, captain. Be advised, Al'sha and unit are under fire, coordinates eight-buzzard-nine north, seven-toucan-seven west."
"We're on our way, Blackard over and out." He turned around. "We have to move! Get everybody in the air!" He helped Captain Berul out of the cage. "We need to help your compatriot, we can arm you if you wish. Please come with us." |
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Falcania |
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Winging It Since 2004 |
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Posts: 776 |
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It was over as soon as it had started. Once the second missile had failed to find a target, no more had been sent their direction. That they had narrowly missed a major engagement was obvious, but what would they have been engaged with? None of the men present could answer that question. They had all seen the Mizzek shot down and the second missile which ha d plowed harmlessly into the ground. They had all felt the ground tremble as something massive passed close by. Yet nothing had shown on radar, infra-sweep, or C-scan. Nothing had been seen visually - and something large enough to tremble the ground that way should have been easily caught by one or more systems and at the very least it should have left a dust cloud and deep tracks in its wake. Yet there was nothing.
Ardoin picked up the com. “Attention VDF and Skymarine forces. Aphi Tul threat is over. Repeat we are no longer taking fire.”
The reply from the Skymarine was quick. “We receive message. Threat defeated. Also have we Captain Berul Caerju in custody safe.”
“Not defeated. Simply gone. Copy on rescue of Captain Berul Caern’jiu.”
Ardoin sighed in relief. He could only hope that the Skymarine had suffered little loss in recovering the missing soldier. He had grown to trust and admire the strangers from the south of Atlantian Oceania. He hoped that with the current situation reaching its conclusion that he would be able to work with them again. Blackard and Mossi had proven to be as honorable as any Vegai.
The sky rumbled as the Rear Guard of the 177th and the Skymarine simultaneously made their arrivals. Ardoin exited the Rover.
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It's been months, hasn't it? But rest assured, the pitched battle did occur. It was a grand fight between the geese and the quaint peoples of the island, mostly on the part of the geese, because the quaint people were actually unaware that the geese were attacking them. It started as disruptive gaggles of geese tore through the village, with people running away as the geese swept with their wings against the buildings, pecking any vehicles ranging from an old truck to a little rusty red wagon, tossing garbage cans into the street, and otherwise causing a riotous ruckus. It finally dawned upon the people that they were being assaulted by the geese (although unaware it was all intentional) and decided - contrary to all things Sorthernish (granted, these aren't your typical Sorthern stock of people, hardy and industrious they were) - to fight back with pitchforks, bales of hay, and the occasional swearing and crossing of the Holy Trinity thingy.
You know, I can't really say what actually - it was such a blur and my memory isn't that good anymore - but eventually, the geese decided to stop. No one knows why, but I imagine it might have had something to do with the discovery that these people weren't Sortherners (because a Sortherner wouldn't be so aggressive in their defense against a mighty foe as the Bovine Goose Corps). And after a few minutes of deliberation, the geese - led on by AFLAC Commander Duck - brought out a giant piece of paper, and using a quill pen, started to draft up a treaty of non-animosity between the quaint people of Inis na Dún and the Bovine Geese (as a species) and AFLAC (as a paramilitary organization). Of course, you ask a goose to write up a treaty, and it looks like chicken scratch (and oddly, they did use a goose quill...).
Anyway, when all was said and done, the quaint people of the island looked at this piece of paper and thought (at last) that these were intelligent creatures trying to impart their solemn blessings upon them (although the fighting seemed intensely counterproductive...). Lest they should know that the treaty stipulated that as long as these people would remain non-Sortherners the flocks of the Bovine Geese would never trample their soil ever again, they decided to make a quilt out of the paper, tearing it to shreds and using it as the little stuffing that goes between the pieces of worn fabric. By then, the Bovine Goose Corps had departed for home, leaving behind a fragile but precious peace between the island of Inis na Dún and AFLAC.
And there was much rejoicing. |
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