Conoran Bush War

[Conora]

NORTHEN CONORA, HUMBAR DISTRICT

     The crisp fall air nipped at the groups faces. Gathered inside a well-aged barn, one that could have reasonably stood through both great Island Wars, the men patiently waited for the arrival of their speaker. They had set up a small wooden stage in anticipation of his speaking and they all wore their best uniforms while still a mix of camouflages, most wore surplus olive drab fatigues of the old Danelian Army, the red and black tricolour sown proudly on to every members arm. The distant sound of motor and the kick up of the gravel road signaled to the cell leaders to call everyone into order. They stood at attention flanking the entrance way and leading to the stage. Many of the men wore the age of conflict, the early wrinkles and scares of the last Great War, only 24 years old. The car, a simple black sedan of pre-war design, pulled to a stop. A large, young man, dressed in an impeccable set of Danelian fatigues, stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door to let him out.

There he stood, 5’7”, his piercing brown eyes scanned the ensemble of men before him. He raised his arm to sweep to the side his crisp brown hair, cut to the old Danelian military regulations. He approached the cell commander and pulled him in by his shoulder, “have all the precautions been taken?” “Yes, sir, we shouldn’t expect any trouble from the feds, we've arranged for a distraction for the local cops on the other side of the munie’ and we have spotters out on the hill for drones.” “Good, then let’s begin.” He strode to the stage, capturing stares from the younger recruits. At the foot of the stage he playfully hopped up onto it. Turned to the lines of troops and motioned for them to come in. The troops quickly took seats on the dirt ground without saying a word, only the shuffle of feet filled the barns stale air. Once settled the cell commander stood up to the left of the stage and addressed his men, “Today we are honoured to welcome the commander of our movement, the answer to our problem, and the next king of Danelia, General Joseph!” A few claps and one overly enthusiastic “woo!” from a new recruit. The cell commander turned to the man on the stage and saluted with a quick “sir” before taking his seat before the stage.

     Joseph took a small step forward before opening. “Good evening friends, as you all know we live under an illegitimate government.” He was famed for cutting to the chase with his speeches, a talent not lost on his mostly working class army. “Our nation was ripped from us by tactical blunder and by the selfish. We all suffered in the darkness that was the 2nd Island War, Danelians and Foresters alike.” The crown booed to the mention of the Foresters, Joseph waved down there yelps. “But to force us to submit to the leadership of a Forester general under the false claims of unity is sickening!” The troops booed again, Joseph paused for silence. “We have been shackled by our greatest enemy, the promise of equality has been a lie! While the Forestia side of the Island prospers, our people remain jobless! While Foresters get the top jobs, our people beg for factory work! This is not the way of our people, and soon we will end this oppression!” The troops exploded with cheers. “We will take back our lands! We will make the Foresters to suffer as we have! We will destroy the illegitimate state of Conora! We will restore our honour! We will succeed!” The troops were at their feet, cheering, pumping their fists, and chanting “Dan-eli-a!!” Joseph motioned for silence, “For this to happen we must all play our part, and tonight it is my pleasure to inform you of your play.” The room fell silent, excited stares from the younger members and hardened looks for the older members, the veterans of the previous war who knew all too well the real cost of war. “Your mission is to choke the flow of energy to the cities in the East. To draw federal troops into the North. You will attack the ironically named ‘Peace Power Generating Station’ on the Sacrifice River. Knock it out and keep it out. Your cell commanders will fill you in on further details, special equipment has been provided to your cell. Godspeed and remember, ‘Life before Honour’.” The old motto of the Danelian state stirred the troops into a cheer.

     As Joseph stepped off the stage, he again grabbed the cell commander and looked eyes with him. He delivered with chilly significance “Honour before Life” once more. It was real now and once the euphoria of action wore off the mostly fresh troops would be fighting tooth and claw against a rebuilding, but still professional army. The cell commander gave Joseph a very sombre nod as he exited the side doors of the barn, “is it all really happening? Are we ready?” he thought to himself before turning to face his troops.

[Conora]

VALOUR HERO CITY, CENTERAL CONORA

The blackouts rolled across most of Conora at around noon, the Conoran Power agency, like the entire Conoran government was only a year old but benefitted from the expertise of seasoned professionals who had only recently come out of hiding, was able to pinpoint the source of the problem within half an hour despite having to work with two horrendously outdated system that had not even been fully intrigued with one other yet. Yet even with their handicap they were able to report to the Chairman a full hour and a half before the security services realized that three police stations and a special police detachment at the dam had been captured by local rebels. One of the realities of unifying and rebuilding two states. When the Commander of the Conoran Defence Forces, General Woods and the Commissioner of the Conoran Police Service, Commissioner Norse burst into the Chairman’s office he was already engaged in a lengthy discussion with the Minister of Power and his top engineer. “Late to the party boys, have a seat” stated the Chairman as the two men sheepishly took a seat in the large office. The beautiful, yet functional office place reflected the Chairman well. A proper statesman, but not one for needless luxury or political “fluff.” “The situation, as I was just discussing with the minister here reflects a troubling concern, while we’ve dealt with fractured insurgent groups before, this appears to be the work of a single organized military force.” Both men nodded in agreement. “I took the liberty of scanning police intelligence reports and I worry this might be the face of Danelian separatists.” “Well sir, it would appear so. I’ve mobilized the police reserve and they await your green light to begin operations in the North” answered Commissioner Norse. Quickly cutting in the CCDF stated, “Sir, while the police reserve is fine and dandy, let’s keep in mind that they have already lost four stations, perhaps this calls for a more aggressive approach?” The General of Police scowled at the CCDF’s remarks. The Chairman pondered his thoughts before responding to the men, “This nation has been defined by war for as long as I can remember. I don’t want another war over this. Send in the police reserve with the Ministry of Power’s engineers and get this power up and running. That’s priority one, following that see if you can open up lines of negotiation with whomever his behind this. As for the defence forces, but them on alert, call-up the reserves and get as many vehicles serviceable as possible. If the police find themselves in a pickle, you’re getting them out. However for the mean time I am not bringing this nation to war again, at least not yet. Get me the Minister of Communications and have them spin this as gangs looking for influence. Downplay the use of the police reserve, get some shots of regular squad cars rolling around, but saturate the North with tactical teams. I don’t want bloodshed, but let’s prove a point. I want these buttholes arrested and interrogated asap. Find out what we’re really dealing with here. Okay that’s it, get to it.”

[Conora]

MOTORWAY 45, NORTHERN CONORA

Constable Brick, a young officer of only 21 years, had never left his city on the South coast of Conora before, and rolling through the lush woodlands of the North filled him with excitement. He has driving lead truck of a convoy of ten police reserve trucks. The trucks where all army surplus from the last great war, all painted the deep blue of the new Conoran Police Service. His co-driver, Sargent Dick had been an officer for 23 years serving the old Danelian Police Force through the last days of the 2nd Island War and through the anarchy of the post-war collapse, was taking a well-deserved nap. He had a deep scar across his neck from when a biker gang member had tried to slit his throat for arresting his brother during the days of anarchy. Dick had no real political allegiances, he had sworn his allegiance to his community and to policing, under the old flag or the new made little difference to him, especially since he maintained his pension through the unification. His head was filled with dreams of fixing his father’s sailboat and travelling the West coast with his wife, a fellow devoted sailor. These where his last thoughts when the truck was hit with a high explosive rocket propelled grenade. Brick, Dick, and the twenty officers in the back of the truck where killed almost instantly as the overpowered rocket incinerated the truck. Its flaming remains disabled the truck behind it who slammed into it at almost full speed. Other trucks flipped and twisted as a combination of rockets, anti-armour mines, and improvised explosive devices rocked the ground. The officers who managed to survive scrambled to their weapons and body armour as a wave of irregular foot mobiles emerged from the tree line to mop up. The convoy was only 40 kilometres from the dam site when it was hit. Other convoys, who had been carefully tailed since they arrived in the North where all hit simultaneously. A few managed to react, but the officers simply did not have the fire power to repeal the level of attack they received. The rebels had been stocking heavy military weapons from the thriving black market that benefited from the collapse of old empires.

[Conora]

CDB BLACKFOOT, NORTHERN CONORA
23h00

Conoran Defence Base Blackfoot, was well past its prime. Once a key air base for the Danelian Air Force, its hangers and out buildings where bullet ridden, the control tower had partly collapsed years ago and the runways where cracked with greenery forcing its way through. The base had once been staffed by 15 000 airman of the last regime and had been home to the Danelian 4th Tactical fighter wing, it was now a holding yard for the demilitarization the Chairman had promised. The runway and hangers where packed with armoured personnel carriers, heavy trucks, infantry fighting vehicles, and tanks. A mix of new and old. Most had the faded insignia of Danelia, but I few had the distinct green triangle of Foresta, vehicles who no dough found their way into the area during the reclamation and unification of the mid 2000’s. While some of the older vehicles bore the wounds of conflict and the rust of age, most where still operational, a fact that the Danelian rebels, now calling themselves the Free Danelian Army, counted on. Fred Banter, peered through his binoculars, he surveyed the parameter of the base. He noted the hastily put up new fences over the rusted tangled mess that was the old ones. He knew his cell of 40 men would make quick work of the 7 or so Conoran military cops on duty that night. He was a master of his trade, during the last war he had served as a special operations trooper, specializing in raids. During the post war chaos he worked as muscle for a local mayor and had fought against the Conoran federal forces when they took his town. He had lost that fight, he would not lose this one.
Private Jamie King was making her way to her patrol car. Her Military Order team had to work overtime with the black out. Thankfully the base was able to get a generator going, but she was still overworked. While visibly flustered, one the inside she didn’t mind much. She remembered when the tanks of the unified Conoran army rolled into her town, how the trembling ground drove out the gangs, how the soldiers had fixed up the local school and restored power, and she remembered to nod she got from a female tank commander when they rolled through some 2 years ago. It was the nod that pushed her to enlist in the Conoran Army. She remembered earning her Military Order brassard and parading at her graduation. It had only been a few short months ago the fresh summer air, now replaced by the fall breeze. As she started her patrol car, she smirked to herself, “Going to be a pregnant dog to plow around all these d**ned tanks.” Her squad car bumped onto the bases perimeter road. She flicked on the spot light and ran it back and forth along the tree line beyond the fence. No more cautious than usual. She had heard of the disturbances at the dam, but information had been iffy. She suspect gangs, or activists. No one who could seriously threaten a military base she thought as she started to pay more attention to the spotlights beam. Suddenly she say a flash a clothing. She unclipped her assault rifle from the car gun rack, and stepped out, if this is local kids or hunters again I swear to god… CRACK. Her rifle tumbled from her hands as she crumbled to the ground.
Fred’s men scrambled from the tree line after the marksman took his shot, a team of three darted in front of the rest and quickly snipped holes in the bases fence, just as they had rehearsed. The 40 men quickly made it onto the base grounds, darting from vehicle to vehicle. Half the men moved with the steady, strong, yet oddly graceful momentum of a professional soldier, it was clear whom the veterans where. The other half jumped from vehicle to vehicle, without much care for muzzle control and many holding their rifles awkwardly. They quickly swooped in towards the Military Order station, housed in the old officer’s club, the words 'Military Order' stencilled over the grand stone arch way marking the entrance. The other olive drab patrol cars still parked, their drivers either sleeping or still slowly getting ready inside the building. The raiders burst into the door swiftly, a startled sergeant tried to upholster his pistol, but was shot before he could get it out. The other MO’s scattered around the large open room that had once been a dance hall. They flipped over desks and squeezed off a few rounds each from their pistols. The MO’s who had been sleeping jumped from there bunks in the right corner of the hall ran towards the weapons locker to the left but were all gunned down as they tried to dash. The remaining MO’s didn’t last long, the bullets of the raiders tore through the thin wooden desks and made quick work of the defenders. The base was now in the hands of the Free Danelian army, and more importantly its vast stock of surplus military vehicles.
Laying in the cold gravel road at the foot of her squad car, lights and motor still running, Pvt. King slowly came to, she had been shot by a high powered hunting round in the shoulder. A through and through that missed any major arteries, she stumbled to her feet and flopped across the front seat of her squad car. She reached out and grabbed the first aid kit in the glove box and went to work patching up her wound, and making a sling. She had heard the gun fire come from further in the base and by the sounds of it, her fellow MO’s where dead or captured. She got up and out of her car to stubble towards the hole in the fence her attackers left. She figured they would be mopping up soon so she decided to run away as fast as she could towards the nearest town. As she escaped she looked back to see a convoy of fuel trucks entering the base, all spray painted with pro-Danelian slogans. “The tanks, the b*****ds want the tanks” she mumbled to herself as she humped her way deeper into the woods. The nearest town was a good hour walk.

[Conora]

CONORAN MINISTRY OF INFORMATION – CONORAN NEWS AGENCY
08h00

Two emotionless reporters sat behind there steel and glass desk, a Conoran Flag pole flanked the back fall and a large screen behind the desk was black. The female reporter began, “This weeks power shortages have been traced back to problems at the Peace Power Generating Facility in the Humbar District of Northern Conora.” A satellite view of the Island flickered onto the screen and zoomed into the dam site. “Rebels, calling themselves the Danelian Freedom Army, have taken the dam and key towns surrounding it. Overwhelming local police.” The male reporter looked to the camera and picked up without missing a beat. “Police Reserve Forces had been mobilized in the days following and where attacked on route to the North, being over whelmed by well-set ambushes along their routes.” That comment would cost him a promotion and he knew it. The screen played stock footage of Police conveys departing traveling along roads. “Currently no word has come out of the Chairman’s office, but sources in the Defence Forces speculate that full troop deployments are to be expected within the week, if not, today.” Footage of troops loading up trucks and armoured personnel carriers flashed onto the back screen. “A leaked video from the DFA, or Danelian Freedom Army, has more.” The screen cut to what was clearly a home shot video, Joseph, with his impeccable combed dark hair, and deep piercing brown eyes sat on a simple wooden chair, back dropped by a large camouflage net set up some wear deep in the Conoran woods. He began to speak, “Friends, I am General Joseph Iron, commander of the Free Danelian Army and I address you about the pressing issue of our broken fatherland. The illegitimate state of Conora, formed by the cowardice of weaker men occupies what is ours. It is no more than a rebranded form of our old enemies the Foresters. It occupies our land and has subjugated our people with the false promises of unity and equality. I say we must shed ourselves of it, we must restore our monarchy, we must take back what is ours, our honour!” The screen cut to shaky footage of captured police officers in the control room of the Peace Power Facility and panned out to show the burnt and smashed control panels. “We have taken your power, and we will let you freeze this winter if you don’t surrender what is rightfully ours, we have killed your boys and will continue to do so as long as you send more police or soldiers.” The screen shower shaky footage of burned out police trucks and blanket covered bodies. “We will have Danelia back, and I call upon all Danelians to rise u….” the screen cut to black and then to the flag of Conora with the text “Signal Lost - Please Stand By. Ministry of Communication” superimposed onto it. The static filled the airwaves but the message was sent, the Island of Conora was again thrust into conflict.

[Conora]

A Conoran Defence Forces presence patrol dismounts to inspect a road blockage

[Conora]

5KM NORTH OF LOGSBOURG, NORTHERN CONORA


     June McGully had just woken up, just before the golden beams of the sun. She quickly got dressed in a heavy flannel shirt and jeans, and scarfed down a plain bagel. She wanted to get the wood stove going before her kids woke up. Her simple log cabin had been in her husband’s family for generations, but since the 2nd Island War it had been without power or her husband. He had been killed in the war and buried in a mass grave alongside his comrades, an airstrike is what her official letter of death had said; she knew that by the late stage of the war however most of the letters had been mass printed with little truth in the cause. She took comfort in thinking it was a quick death though. She swung open the screen door and onto the porch her and her late husband had built, she grabbed the worn axe, resting against a support beam and hopped off the porch onto the soft ground of the forest. The first rays of golden light trickled through the heavy pine, the fresh clean air filled her nostrils, and the songs of the morning birds was welcoming. She was still adjusting to the sounds of peace, no longer was she awoken at all hours to the distant sounds of the air raid sirens or the crack of fighter jets above, no more scrambling with her two boys to the shelter in the backyard next to the rotting shed. While she was distrustful of the new Conoran government, but at least it was peace, the war, the anarchy, she was glad it was over. As she chopped her morning wood, she heard something quite off, the rumble of motors, but not just any motors, she recognized it, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She stopped mid axe swing when she saw the headlights bouncing over the hill on the long winding dirt road towards her cottage home. Could it be the rumble of the construction trucks the Ministry of Power had promised would bring back electricity to her humble home? But just as the first M113 APC of a long convoy crested into view, she was already sprinting towards her house, she had remembered the sound, the sound of armoured treads. Ready to grab her boys and again plunge into the damp, stale, cramped air of the steel and concrete shelter. So much for the sounds of peace. So much for peace.



     Gregory Blitz at 26 was too young to have served in the last war, but his Father had. He remembered when his Mother cried, he remembered the pain and anger he felt when at 17 he heard that his father had been killed. Then only a year latter to have the government his father fought for collapse, to now live under a Forester. He hated it all, so he was proud to now dawn his Fathers armoured corps jumpsuit. He smiled as the newly liberated APC’s rolled down the dirt road. Ready to establish a front head to take the town of Logsbourg. His passion for the movement, and his natural talent for tactics had allowed him to rise up the ranks of the DFA, he was an armored leftenant, a section commander in charge of 5 M113 APC’s, each with an 8 to 10 man infantry unit housed within. As he stood out the commander’s hatch with his radio in hand, scouting and placing positions for his unit to hold until the order came to attack. His gunner, Hans Green was casually smoking a cigarette as he rested his other arm on his browning .50, affectionately named “Lucy.” Gregory and Hans both noticed the woman in the red flannel rushing her boys out the back door towards what was clearly a shelter. Gregory looked back to his gunner and shouted over the roar of the Detroit Diesel 6V53T, “Should we tell her?” Hans just shuck his head as he took another long drag from his cheap cigarette. Gregory shrugged and thought to himself “guess they’ll figure out soon enough.” He had confidence that the DFA would succeed. They now had tanks, APC’s, heavy arms, uniforms. The Danelian military was back, the equipment may have been dated, half the troops untested, but they had spirit, they had drive, Gregory was confident. Honour before life.

[Surdra]

The Estate,Northern Surdra

From the outside it looked just like the hundreds of other manor house scattered across northern Surdra. In truth it was very much like normal manor house in the north of Surdra. Built in 1667 the house had a central three story stone block porticos, containing the state and principal rooms, between two flanking wings. The wings have a center projection of three bays, crowned by a pediment, either side of which are 7 bays of sash windows above a ground floor arcade. The west wing housed secondary and service accommodations. The west wing also is distinguished by a great colonnade and boasted a lofty vaulted kitchen and massive great dining hall. The east wing contains the stables, a sixty-foot chamber of palatial design, with stalls and mangers of stone fit, along with a large automotive garage. Between the two wings there was a great open courtyard decorated with a simple water fountain and a simple gravel driveway that wrapped around the fountain before heading away from the house. The exterior was a perfect example of the Surdran baroque style at its finest.

What set the manor house apart was not the house itself, it was those who lived there. The house, simply called The Estate by those who lived there, was the home and unofficial headquarters of the Central Intelligence Service’s Special Activities Group. Set on well over 100,000 acres of remote countryside, The Estate not only provided the space for the members of the SAG to train and hone their skills, but it also gave them a place to relax and recuperate when not on assignments.

The Special Activities Group was responsible for covert operations known as "special activities;” i.e. direct action missions such as special reconnaissance, psychological operations, raids, ambushes, sabotage, targeted killings and unconventional warfare. Basically all the nasty little activities that any modern superpower needs to spread its influence around the globe, but would never see the light of day. Most of the several hundred operatives that the SAG employed came from the elite military units in the Surdran military; Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, Delta Force, and DEVGRU, but the CIS also recruited operatives from within the CIS. The CIS's formal position for these operators is "Paramilitary Operations Officers" and "Specialized Skills Officers." Every one of the Paramilitary Operations Officers had to attend the Clandestine Service Trainee (CST) program, which trains them as clandestine intelligence operatives (i.e. "spies"). The primary strengths of the SAG Paramilitary Officers are agility, adaptability, and deniability. They often operate in small teams, typically with six operators (with some operations being carried out by a single officer), all with extensive military special operations expertise and specialized skills that do not exist in any other unit. As fully trained intelligence case officers, Paramilitary Operations Officers possess all the clandestine skills to collect human intelligence—and most importantly—to recruit assets from among the indigenous troops receiving their training. These officers often operate in remote locations behind enemy lines to carry out direct action (including raids and sabotage), counter-intelligence, guerrilla or unconventional warfare (UW), counter-terrorism, and hostage rescue missions, in addition to being able to conduct espionage via HUMINT assets.

For the six-man SAG team 2-23, the day started out much like any other at The Estate. They all awoke well before dawn for a group run across the estate grounds to a small gun range tucked into the nearby hills; were each member spent the better part of an hour practicing their marksmanship before another short run to a small lake where they then swam from one end to the other and back. After finishing with their morning exercise with a full sprint back to the main house, each team member showered and changed and reunited for breakfast in the main dining hall. Of the six team members present three were from the Navy’s DEVGRU (aka SEAL Team Six), two were from the Army’s Delta Force, and one had no military experience. Sitting around the large rectangular dining table SEAL Antonio Tolentino and Delta Force operator Jerome Thurman argued if the 89’ Avalon Legion football team was as good as the 73’ team. SEAL and the team’s only female member Sarah Galvan silently ate her breakfast while she read the morning’s newspaper. Team leader and SEAL Jesse Huyck and Delta Force Operator Oliver Brooks shared old war stories with the only non-military team member, Matthew Keller. Matt (as he preferred to be called) was by far the youngest and least experienced member of the team, but he was also by far the smartest. A certified genius, Matt had dual PH.D’s in Linguistics and Computer Science (along with a handful of other degrees). He also could speak nearly a dozen languages; eight of which he could speak fluently. In fact one of his hobbies was to learn a new language each year. After entering college at 16 and finishing all his degrees at 21 Matt joined the Central Intelligence Service instead of joining the public sector and making his billions simply because the CIS sounded, “more exciting.” Matt made a mockery of all the pre-screening and entrance exams (at one point even pointing out and correcting a mistake that was on one exam.) He was still basically a raw recruit in the CIS - only six months of field work to his name, but in that short time he found three terrorist cells in Yuropia, found a leak in the Yuropian intelligence network, and cracked an uncrackable terrorist cipher in his spare time. Even after all that he found normal field work too boring, mostly because he was losing his mind being stuck behind a desk in some embassy all day. So after only six months in the field Matt applied for the Special Activities Group. Despite not having a military background he scored higher on the physical exam than most and discovered that he was a natural marksman. Regardless on how well he did in the exams Matt was still a rookie and therefore placed with a SAG veteran, Jesse Huyck.

“So there we are, surrounded by a half dozen Sariahian engineers, waiting for us to blow up a ton of unexploded ordnance,” Jesse Huyck said as he downed a forkful of scrambled eggs.

“Here we go,” Oliver Brooks said shaking his head.

Now smiling Jesse continued, “So there we are, about to blow up this pile of unexploded ordnance when all of a sudden Ollie here shouts for us to hold on. Now I’m thinking something is wrong with the charge or that someone had walked into the area. But no, all of a sudden Ollie stands up and shouts, “I left my d**n hat back there” and without another word starts running back to the pile to get his d**n hat.”

All three men burst out laughing before Oliver Brooks quickly replied, “In my defense, my mother got me that hat. If she found out I let it get blown up she would have never let me hear the end of it.”

Glancing over the other two men’s shoulders Matt noticed Eli Dunn, the senior operations officer of SAG, approaching their table.

“Good morning gentlemen,” Eli said in his normal soft voice.

Wiping his mouth Jesse replied, “Morning, what brings you down here with us grunts?”

“Your team is up, the boss wants to see all of you in the Cage in 15.”

“Alright we’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Cage was a large Faraday cage, preventing any electronic signal from getting in or out, making the room one of the most secure places in the world. Built underground, it served as the main briefing and conference room for the SAG. The Cage was a large circular room with a round, black conference table in the center. To enter the Cage, a bio-scanner had to confirm one's identity via fingerprint, iris, and voice scanners and upon confirmation opens the entrance.

Waiting for 2-23 in the cage was the director of the Special Activities Group, George Drayton. George Drayton was a legend in the SAG and more of a myth to the rest of the intelligence community. With over fifty years in the SAG and more operations under his belt than anyone else, he had more experience then the next five guys combined. But half a century of black ops had caught up with him, he lost his right arm over a decade ago and several bits of shrapnel in his back gave him the daily threat of being stuck in a wheel chair. But regardless, he never slowed down. Every operator in SAG all said the same thing, “the old man was one tough sonofabitch.”

As the team shuffled in he said, “Good morning 2-23, please take your seats,” once seated he continued, “We’re sending your team to Conora. Anti-communist forces have begun attacking government forces. Dunn fill them in.”

As the Director steeped back from the head of the table Dunn moved to replace him. The briefing went on for some time, the team went over every detail. Government strength, rebel strength, Government loses, Government actions, Rebel actions. By the time 2-23 left the Cage all of them had a better understanding of what was happening in Conora than most of the people living there.

By midday the team had gathered all their gear and were already moving it to the nearby private airstrip used by the SAG. Weapons and ammunition had been drawn. Each team member had several thousand dollars in local currency issued to them.

Once everyone and their gear was loaded into the SAG’s private 727-200F, the plane took off and was heading north. Its path would take it over the pole and then into Alyeska to refuel before finally to Conora.

[Conora]

OUTSKIRTS OF PARADISE BAY, SOUTH-WESTERN CONORA
0100

     Ralph Brime was jittery with anticipation as his cell of DFA fighters bumped along the quiet dirt road leading to the far Western beach of Paradise Bay. It had been a rainy last few days on the South of the Island and a light fog had already rolled in, so he knew the beaches would be empty all day; not that it would be a major issue, the Western beach was usually pretty quiet anyways asides the odd teenage couple looking for some privacy. His cell was rolling along in three civilian pickup trucks, his was upfront in a nice newer model, while his two rear trucks were battered pre-war trucks. They had avoided any main roads knowing that a convoy of picks-ups would perk up any local police. He had only received his orders a few days earlier in a coded text message sent to a disposable phone he had since disposed of. The details where limited, as it was the DFA’s policy to keep secrets close and only give the most basic level of knowledge to cells. He only knew that his cell was to pick up a team of foreign operatives to assist the movement somewhere along the beach, nothing more. He had heard rumours of aid coming in, but until now it was never confirmed. He still didn’t really believe it.

     As the trucks headlights peered through the evening fog he saw the dead end that overlooked the beach, he and his men would sit and await the arrival of the incoming team. At 21, Ralph was hardly out of trade school. He was a welder by trade, following the footsteps of his father, but now he commanded a cell of young fighters, mostly his age with one as young as 18. All the experienced fighters where in the North, but so where most of the Conoran security forces. As he pulled up alongside the rotting wooden barrier to the beach he killed the engine and waited. His co-driver, a young farm boy from the area was shaking, this was his cell’s first real mission and it was showing in his young fighters. The farm boy nervously light a cigarette with shaking hands as he rubbed his foot on the butt of the hunting rifle leaned up against his door. He turned to Ralph seeking some words of calm, but received a sharp head nod in the direction of the beach. Through the fog he was able to barely make out the water line, slapping against the sand. There they sat, watching, waiting.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

DOWNTOWN PARADISE BAY, SOUTH-WESTERN CONORA
CONORAN POLICE DETACHMENT
0115

     Another boring night, thought Constable Jessica Darwin as her patrol car rumbled to life. The car was an older pre-war Lada, repainted the dark blue of the new Conoran Police Service, but a few chips and scratches showed the pale white of the old Danelian Royal Police. She was ready for an uneventful shift, but just as soon as she pulled out of the stations parking lot her radio cracked to life “Car 2, Car 2, reports of suspicious pick-ups out by the Delanie Farm, Miss Delanie sounds real concerned they might be smugglers, can you head over and check it out there?” “Dispatch, I’ll swing by, responding code 3” “10-4 Car 2, stay safe Jess” “always am Greg, get back to your crossword, car 2 clear.” Probably just a couple of kids out for a morning swim she thought to herself, the Delanie’s where well known for raising a fuss over nothing. She was sure she’d be back for her early morning coffee at 2, it was a 20 minute drive to the farm.

[Surdra]

35,000 feet above sea level, off the Southern Coast of Conora

The cabin of the 727-200F was dark, the only light coming from two strips of dim LEDs running along the floor and the flash of the plane’s wing tip anti-collision strobes. Aside from the team the only other people currently on the plane was the two pilots and the two man flight crew. For much of the journey the two groups said nothing to each other, the flight crew knew that their job to get their cargo to a particular spot of the world, nothing more and nothing less.

With nothing to really do during the flight everyone on the team decided to try to stock up on sleep, it was very likely that during the coming mission they wouldn’t be getting very much of it. All except Matt, the excitement or fear of his first mission, he couldn’t be sure which it was, kept him from sleeping. He had given up around the time the plane crossed over the North Pole. Now he just listened to his music and stared out his window to the ink black sea below him. He didn’t know how long he stared out the window but just as he was beginning to nod off he saw from the corner of his eye Jesse rise from his seat and cross the cabin to take the seat next to him.

“Hey kid, how you doing.”

Taking his head phones out of his ears Matt replied, “Good boss, a little amped up but that’s it.”

“Good, listen. We don’t know what’s going to happen down there. So unless I tell you otherwise I want you no more than six feet from me. When I back up I want to be tripping over you, got it?”

“Ya I got you boss.”

Jesse patted Matt’s shoulder as he stood up, “Don’t worry kid, before you know it you’ll be leading your own team with your own tenderfoot to worry about.”

Matt just smiled as he put his head phones back in, “Jeez, thanks boss.”

Jesse wasn’t even back in his seat when the night lights in the cabin suddenly came on, bathing the entire interior with a red glow. This was the signal that they were nearing their destination.

No one in the team need to be told what to do. Each team member moved to the rear of the plane where their gear was piled and began gearing up. Under their civilian garb and combat gear each team member wore heavy-duty polypropylene knit undergarments. On top of that they strapped large rucksacks to their fronts along with all their parachuting gear. Once fully geared and after double checking their equipment each team member began pre-breathing pure oxygen for the last 30 minutes of the flight. If they didn’t the sudden exposure to the low external pressure outside the aircraft would likely cause hypoxia. This meant that the flight crew also had to begin breathing pure oxygen.

When the 727-200F was not designed as a military transport, rather it was a short to mid-range commercial transport, however, its unique aft airstair which could be opened in-flight. The CIS used the 727 to covertly airdrop supplies and agents behind enemy lines. SAG’s small fleet of 727s had been heavily modified with reduced weight, extra fuel tanks to increase range, noise reduction, missile counter-measures, and jammers. So much so that the SAG’s 727s only aesthetically resembled their civilian counterparts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once over the drop zone one of the flight crew squeezed past the team members and opened the aft door which opened up to the airstair. After securing himself with a safety line, he opened the airstair. As the stairs slowly opened Matt’s ears popped with the sudden loss of pressure, even though the cabin had been slowly depressurized during their pre-breathing. With the stairs down the crew member descended the stairs to check that the exit was clear and to do “the Jump.” In the early days the CIS discovered that after a jumper left the rear of the plane the 727’s airstairs would suddenly slam upwards and cause the whole plane to suddenly to lurch forward. No planes were lost but a modification was added to lock the stairs in position, the Cooper Lock. In order to engage the lock someone had to walk to the end of the stairs and give one solid jump forcing the lock to engage.

With the stairs secured the crewman retreated back into the cabin and was replaced with Oliver Brooks who was going to be the first one out of the plane. Matt stepped in behind him, with Jesse right behind him followed by the rest of the team. Standing at the top of the stairs looking out into the black seemed to take even longer than the entire flight. He just wanted to get it over with, mostly cause he knew once he stepped off the plane there was no going back, this wasn’t a training exercise where if things got to heavy he could just quit. It was do or die now.

Despite his fear, when the small green light over the stairs clicked on he didn’t hesitate. He just followed Oliver into the black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like a group of wraiths they descended, silent black voids in the night sky. The rain and fog only served to better conceal their arrival. They had dropped nearly 30 miles south of the Conora coast before gliding to the southern coast.

One by one each member of the team swooped down and soft set down on the beach before collapsing their chutes and running for the cover of the tree line. They were on and off the beach less than 30 seconds, leaving behind only foot prints they were slowly being erased by the lapping waves as they moved off to where they planned to meet the DFA 2 kilometers south.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As his driver lit up another cigarette Ralph Brime nervously checked his watch for what seemed like to be the hundredth time since his cell had arrived at the meeting location. The rain was coming down harder now and the fog had only gotten thicker. The whole cell was on edge, the people they were supposed to be meeting were over thirty minutes late, and every second they were here only increased their chances to be discovered.

He was beginning to think that something might have happened to the people he was supposed to be meeting and that he should get the cell out of the area but that idea was soon removed.

“Howdy boys.” Ralph nor anyone in the cell had heard or saw her approach. Each one of them as the blonde woman seem to suddenly appear alongside Ralph’s pickup.

Just as quickly as she appear another man suddenly materialized on the other side and walked up to the cab. Reaching in he took the cigarette from driver, who was too shocked to do anything but just stare. Crushing the cigarette under the heel of his boot the man calmly said, “You know smoking is really bad for your health.”

Then, like ghosts, four more men stepped out of the fog with their weapons aimed at the cell members. The speed of it kept them from reacting, those who managed to move raised their hands in surrender. In the following brief moments of silence Ralph’s mind raced with the thought that the Conoran security forces had discovered them.

“I hear that northern Conora is cold this time of year.”

Ralph was so relieved to hear the phrase that he almost forgot to respond, “The south is even colder.”

The mystery man took a step back and signaled to his men to lower their weapons, “Good to hear, I’m John. Let’s get moving.”

With no other words the new arrivals loaded their equipment into the back of the trucks and jumped into the truck beds with the help of the cell members. Soon the three trucks were moving away from the meeting site.

[Conora]

MOTORWAY 2, OUTSKIRTS OF PARADISE BAY
SOUTHWESTERN CONORA
0138

     The tireless pounding of raindrops pelting her beat up squad car wasn't helping the aimless driving up and down some of the beach’s back roads that Constable Darwin had just completed. She was ready to head back to town. Unsurprising to her, Miss Delanie’s “smugglers” where nowhere to be seen and 30 minutes of her downtown patrol time was wasted. She picked up her squad car’s radio piece and started to call in her return to town, “Dispatch, Car 2, no smugglers to be found, maybe next time” she stated jokingly. “Car 2, 10-4 on that, 10-19 to town and continue early morning patrols. I’ll call Miss Delanie and tell her you gave it your darnedness” “10-4 Greg, car 2 clear” “dispatch clear.”
     But no sooner had hooked her mic back down that a pair of fast moving headlights crested along the ocean side motorway, followed by two more sets. Almost simultaneously her cruisers mounded speed radar peeked up, reading the headlights, now clearly seen as a convoy of pick-ups, at 89 km/h. Well above the posted 70. Dawkins murmured out a quick profanity as the trucks shot past her car. She pulled a quick u-turn before calling it in “Dispatch, this is car 2, I have three speeding pick-ups that just flew by me heading North on M-2. I’m going to proceed with a traffic stop” “10-4 Jess, be careful, I’ll see about getting another car up to you.” “Dispatch, hold off on that, I’m going to establish what’s really going on here. Might just be some dumb kids.” She hit the sky blue lights on her squad car as she closed in on the red taillights of the last truck. “10-4, be careful Jess, play it safe.” “Car 2 clear” Jessica snapped back, she was tired of be babied and protected by her male superiors. “dispatch clear.” She felt she could handle a few drunk kids out for a joy ride as the sirens pierced through the foggy dark.  
     As the trucks pulled off the road together she rumbled her car onto the shoulder with them. She reached out and grabbed her ticket book and Maglite from the passage seat. The first bust of rain hit her pants hard as she stepped out of the squad car, quickly soaking the parts of her uniform pants not covered by her jacket. As she walked towards the rear of the first truck suddenly the feeling of this all being a bit off washed over her. The trucks all stopping together and travelling in a tight pack was odd enough, but has her flashlight beam cut through the fog and rain the contents of the pick up’s bed showed itself, odd shapes beneath some cheap blue tarps. She paused as she looked over it, putting together what she saw before her, Miss Delanie may have been right. She then lifted her gaze the truck cab, two fit young men, visibly nervous. She brought her left hand to rest on her holster as she approached the driver, just now rolling down his window. “God I wish I waited for backup” was the only think flooding her mind as the rain continued pouring down and she moved ever closer to the diver.

[Surdra]

Matt shifted under the cheap plastic tarp as the lead truck pulled off to the side of the road. Next to him was Jesse, the other four Surdrans were spread out evenly in the other two trucks. Peeking out from under the tarp Matt could make out the shape of the police officer as she talked to the two men in the rear truck. From even over forty feet away matt could tell things were not going well.

“What’s happening?”

Jesse had shifted so he was up closer to the rear of the truck next to Matt but still not looking out.

“Not looking good boss, I think the cop wants to search the truck.”

As he said that, sure enough, the police officer swept the bed with her flashlight.

Keying his throat mike, Jesse radioed Sarah Galvan and Jerome Thurman who were currently hiding in the trailing truck's bed.

“Sarah, Jerr; you guys alright back there.”

The only response was two quick clicks, no.

“You think you’ve been made?”

Another two clicks.

“You guys think you can hold out?”

Two more clicks.

“Alright guys, helps coming.”

Slowly, as to not attract the police officer’s attention the two men slipped out of the truck bed. Jesse moved to the front left of the second truck, careful to avoid the headlamp, so he could provide cover while Matt moved down the rights side using the trucks as cover.

As Matt cleared the second truck things went from bad to worse. The passenger of the rear truck shifted in his seat as he attempted to retrieve the pistol in his waistband. Seeing his move, Constable Darwin quickly drew her pistol and began shouting at the men to put her hands up. The passenger made one last desperate move for his pistol and was able to draw it before she fired a single shot into the cab, striking the driver in the neck. Then all hell broke loose.

Suddenly Constable Darwin found herself alone and nearly surrounded as several armed men (and one woman) sprang out of the trucks. She quickly began back-pedaling while firing with her pistol until a man stepped out from between the second and first truck and unleashed a burst with an assault rifle. Still holding her Maglite in one hand and her pistol in the other Constable Darwin spun around and ran for her squad car.

She didn’t see Matt as he came around the rear of the last truck and ran into her at a full sprint, picking her up off the ground before slamming her into the ground. The impact knocked the wind of her lungs and sent her pistol and Maglite sliding across the pavement. Now on top of her, Matt reached down and violently ripped her radio mike off her uniform. Constable Darwin then gave him a solid punch squarely on his noose, causing Matt to recoil just long enough for her to break free. Clawing at the pavement, Constable Darwin tried desperately to reach her pistol, but just as she was about to reach it Matt was back on her. Grabbing her by her duty belt, Matt pulled her back and spun her around. She tried to punch him again but this time he was ready and easily blocked her punch and rewarded her effort with a violent elbow strike to her face, followed quickly by three more strikes in quick succession.

The impacts, coupled with her head bouncing off the pavement, left Constable Darwin in a semi-conscious state. She was unable to offer any further resistance as Matt and Sarah, who leapt from the truck to aid him, rolled her over and cuffed her with her own handcuffs. While the two operators stripped her of her equipment and searched her person Jesse was already moving to get the DFA under control; half of them didn’t know what to do and the other half were trying to help their wounded comrade. Jesse had to nearly grab a few by the collar but soon he got anything under control.

Done with the search, Matt and Sarah picked up the Constable and leaned her up against the side of the truck. Taking the Constable’s personal items from Sarah, Jesse looked her ID over, before checking her phone.

“Well, Jessica Darwin, Constable Jessica Darwin. Seems we have a problem.” He didn’t look up as he began sifting through her contact list, “Let’s see, here’s dad and mom, oh and I’m guessing this is your sister.” Closing the contacts, Jesse then began searching through her phones photo’s until her found one that looked like a family photo and held it up for her to see. He then took her radio from Matt and held it up for her, “You’re going to call your dispatcher and clear this stop. If you cooperate, you’ll live to see Mom, Dad, and Little Sister again; if you refuse or try to call for assistance I will give you over to the friends of the man you just killed and let do what they want and then I will go and find Mom, Dad, and Little Sister and I will kill them in the most horrific way you can possibly imagine. Then, while you cling to life I will make you watch me killing them over and over again until you are begging me to kill you. Do not test me Constable, I have no quarrel with you. Do not make me your enemy.”

Jesse paused there for a moment in the pouring rain, judging the look in her eyes. Behind him Matt paced back and forth, never breaking his gaze, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. After a moment Jesse moved the radio closer to her mouth and pressed the transmit button.

[Conora]

     Constable Darwin took a shaky breath before opening her mouth. In her head thoughts where whizzing back and forth at a mile a minute; her duty to report, the pounding pain from the back of her head, but most prevalent was her fear, not the little roller coaster kind, the primal type. The type that upsets your stomach, makes your heart pound through your chest, and your hands tremble. She looked her attacker with teary, yet resilient eyes as she called it in, “dispatch, this is car 2” “go ahead car 2” “traffic stop is cleared, just a few kids” “10-4 car 2, 10-19 to town the roads are getting nasty out there” “10-4 dispatch, car 2 clear” “dispatch clear.” Just after her last words spilled out of her mouth, she gasped and dropped her head down. She was suddenly over taken with anger, with herself, her situation, and the group of strange men (and one woman) who had emerged like shadows to take her down. Whoever these people are, we’ll get’um back she thought. She then looked up to the man who had threatened her and her family and in an act of defiance give him a simple “f**k you” with a smile, before being knocked out cold.

[Conora]

LOGSBOURG, NORTHERN CONORA

1256



     Gregory was impressed with his men. They had rolled into town quickly, mostly held formation and had reacted as trained when the police offered what little resistance they could. The town had been taken in under 20 minutes, the local police where now locked up in their own cells, along with a few other major resistors. It was a quick success, and he welcomed the celebrations put on by the town’s sympathisers. While 4 infantry sections took up positions on the town’s outskirts to provide a screen, the rest of the men relaxed, drank, and danced to traditional Danelian folk songs. Mission accomplished he thought. But his relaxation was cut short when an infantry Captain started knocking on the rear of the APC Gregory was currently lounging on. One glance back to his face and Gregory knew it was no good, the Captain was one Edward Heartsblood, a seasoned veteran of the last war. Heartsblood awkwardly climbed up to APC’s roof, his rifle and equipment rattling against the steel beast. “What is this Micky Mouse bulls**t!? The whole f**king Conoran army could be rolling in any moment now and half our f**king force is already dickered!” Heartsblood shouted, “Sir just some well-deserved R&R for the boys, they did well today” Greg replied with the confidence that only a young officer can. “Well let’s see how your boys like R&R when it’s their f**king guts painting the streets”. The Captain was very unimpressed with Gregory’s laid back domineer, he had appointed the young man under the impression of his maturity, but he was quickly proving the Captain wrong. Greg stumbled to reply and realized the misjudgment he had made, but Heartsblood interjected before his words could come together, “get the f**k out to the defensive lines, I want your men sober and working asap, and that’s a f**king order!” As the captain hopped off the APC to start moving the men, Greg couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. He hoped that if his father was watching he’d forgive him.



__________________________________________________________

25 DEFENCE ROAD, HERO CITY OF VALOUR

WESTERN CONORA
CONORAN DEFENCE FORCES HEADQUARTERS
0100



     The two large towers that housed the CDF HQ where of bland design, dull concrete and narrow blast proof windows mirrored each other on the opposing side of the complex, located a short 20 minute drive along the private government roads, that connected key building without the delay of traffic, from the council building and busy downtown of Valour, the countries capital. Inside the South tower the offices where buzzing as General Woods quickly paced down the halls, his face visibly flustered as he rushed by junior officers and senior NCMs who had paused from their rush to salute the commander of the Conoran Defence Forces. Today he was scheduled to give a briefing to the Chairman on the state of affairs and it wasn’t good. As he reached the door to the meeting room he paused to collect himself before entering, his aides were already in place and exchanging notes with the Chairman’s aides.
     The room feel silent as he entered, under the gaze of all present he removed his hat placed it down on the boardroom desk, took his seat, and a long drink from the glass of water before him. “The situation General?” the Chairman inquired. The General brushed his gray hair with his hands before kicking off, “Well sir it’s not looking good, we are still a few days away from being able to organize a column to retake the Peace Power facility and it would appear that’s the least of our troubles.” The Chairman lifted an eyebrow as the General went on, “My office received a report from some lone MO, who was based out of Blackfoot and she reported that her section was killed or captured and the DFA seized the armoured vehicles we had waiting there.” “Are they operational?” the Chairman interrupted, to which the General quickly replied, “yes sir, in the rush to demilitarize we, and I quote, ‘skipped some precautions in the name of speed and cost.’” The Chairman put his hand to his face and sunk his head low, letting out a quick profanity as he realized the cost of his political shortcuts had the potential to now cost lives. The General carried on, “it would now appear that the DFA, now equipped with heavier weapons, at least a brigade worth of light armour, and possibly some heavy armour as well have rolled” Christ, how many vehicles did we even have rotting on that runway?” “Quite a fair bit, now as I was saying, they seem to have rolled across towns to the North of the Island. As I’m sure you know based on the Police losing detachments up there.” The General motioned to one of his aides to bring over a large envelope marked ‘Secret’, he opened it and laid out three aerial photographs of what appeared to be different stages of a mounted infantry attack on the town of Logsbourg. “These where captured by drones yesterday sir, it would appear they are sweeping across the North of the Island to link up with the DFA at the Peace Power facility. I recommend we send in the para’s to retake the damn, while a mounted infantry column with air support clears a path for Ministry of Power works to get the gird back up. However one of our primary concerns is this DFA armored column. If they get to the Damn before our column does, the para’s will be screwed and we could be looking at a long drawn out battle at the damn site, which could result in heavy damage or even the total destruction of the site. I’ve looked at using fast air to strike the DFA on the move, but they have seized state of the art anti-air weapons, our only option is to either divert the main effort away from the damn, meaning at least another few months before it’s back online, or enact a full nation mobilization to get the supplementary force out to increase troop sizes to allow for a second light column to quickly advance on the DFA armour to hold them off until we can free up the regular force.” The Chairman was silent, listen to every word the General had to say. “The only potential problem with the second plan is mobilization takes time and we would have to act fast, also the supplementary force is simply not equipped to take out an armoured column, even a dated one. The casualties would be high, but I don’t think we can afford to allow for people to freeze to death over the winter. The police are already seeing riots in Port Conora, Mountain Side, and Suddery, as talks of electricity rationing hit the press.” The Chairman’s head snapped up as the General finished and a look of displeasure hit his face as he informed the General of the plan of action to take.

[Surdra]

“Get her secured,” Jesse said looking down at the body of the now unconscious Constable before turning to Sarah and Oliver, “you two take the cruiser and follow us. Let me know if anything come over the police ban.”

“Got it boss.”

“Good work kid,” Jesse said as he handed the police radio back to him, “by the way, you’re bleeding.”

It was only then Matt realized that he had blood streaming out of his noose from where the Constable had punched him. Oliver gave the young operator a sympathetic pat on the back as Matt pinched his noose and tilled his head back to help stop the bleeding.

The group quickly loaded the wounded driver and Constable into the back of the trucks and sped off. They followed the road for a few more miles before turning off onto an unpaved back road, at Jesse’s request. He didn’t know how long before the local cops discovered one of theirs was missing but he wanted to get off the main roads as quickly as possible. The DFA cell leader, Ralph, tried telling him that it would take even longer to get to the safe house but Jesse made it clear that it was worth it to avoid any more police. He also made it clear that from now on they would always travel the speed limit.

---

It was almost sun rise when finally reached the safe house. It was an old farm located deep in the remote woods outside of Paradise Bay. Matt was glad to finally see their destination, riding in the bed of the pickup had been hell, but it could have been worse. At his feet was the handcuffed and blindfolded Constable Darwin.

She was still out or at least acting she was, Matt hadn’t bothered to check. He had spent most of the time shifting through the Constable’s phone. Her texts confirmed that she was close with her family, particularly with her younger sister. No boyfriend or husband, didn’t seem to be dating anyone at the moment. Most likely was too busy with work. Matt figured that she couldn’t give them anything extremely valuable and they already had access to the local police ban; no, at most she could give them and insight with how the local cops operated. That, and she would be grade-a hostage. As the pickup stopped in front of the farm house he made a mental note to send a request back to the CIS to have them prepare a dossier on her.

Hoping out of the truck bed Matt surveyed the farm around him. It was set in the center of a small valley between two large forested hills. He farm itself looked like it had been around since longer before any of the two Island wars. If Matt wasn’t mistaken it might have even been from when Surdran trading companies were still on the island. Not too far from the main house was two large barns and a couple of shacks that seemed ready to fall down with a strong breeze. None of this was a surprise, they had seen satellite recon of the farm before they had left, but what the satellite didn’t show was the makeshift tent village set up in the nearby woods.

“Stay with the Constable,” Jesse said as he tapped Matt’s shoulder, “don’t let them do anything to her.”

“Got it boss,” Matt nodded as he followed after the guards who led the Constable to a nearby shack.

Jesse in turn followed Ralph into the main house with Oliver while the rest of team scouted the rest of the farm. Inside Ralph lead them to a small corner office where a middle-aged man in green fatigues waited.

“Captain? Here is the leader of the foreigners.”

“Thank you Brime. Please wait outside.” Ralph nodded and swiftly backed out of the office closing the door behind him. “Welcome, I am Captain Rhodes. Your name?”

“You can call me John. This is my second in command, Dave,” Jesse said as he motioned to Oliver standing behind him.

Captain Rhodes didn’t reply right away, silently judging the two men standing before him. The Captain was more than aware that he had not been given the men’s real names. But it was of no consequence; he didn’t need these men for their names, he needed them for their skill.

Satisfied with what he saw, Captain Rhodes waved for the men to join him at the large map of Southwestern Conora spread out on a nearby table. The Captain then began to explain in detail the status and current positions of the units under his command along with the locations and status of all known CDF and Police forces in Paradise Bay and the surrounding area. He also explained that while morale among his units was high, do to largely the DFA’s successes in the north, almost all of his men had little training. He had for the moment did his best to place his few veterans into leadership positions to counter this but it was only a temporary solution. Another issue that only compounded the lack of experienced fighters was the lack of military-grade weapons. Most of their current stockpile was repurposed civilian firearms such as hunting rifles.

It was then Jesse gave his suggestion for how to fix their weapon problem. Captain Rhodes was surprised at the audacity of the foreigner’s plan. So much so that he realized that it might just work.

---

Matt followed a few feet behind the two DFA fighters as they dragged the Constable to one of the farm’s shack. Throwing her inside one of the fighters began kicking her several time in her gut until Matt stepped in.

“That’s enough,” Matt snarled as he pushed the fighter away from the defenseless Constable.

“You’re protecting this bitch,” Danelian fighter questioned as he pushed back.

“She’s my prisoner,” Matt fired back staring the man down, “Nobody touches her unless I say so. If you want to make an issue of it we can settle it outside.”

“Come on man,” the other fighter pleaded, “it’s not worth it.”

The man stared at Matt for a few more seconds before grunting in disgust and leaving the shack. Matt watched them walk away before walking over the Constable who was curled up into a fetal position. Matt reached behind her and undid her cuffs and then sat down on a crate next to the door, facing the Constable. As she slowly sat up and rubbed her wrists Matt unslung his rifle and ejected the magazine and leaned it up against the wall next to him.

He took out his canteen and leaned forward to offer it to the Constable as he asked, “You alright? I am sorry about this. Truly I am.”

She didn’t respond as he took his canteen and unscrewed the cap. As she took her first sip Matt continued, “Your name is Jessica right? I’m Steve. My boss will no doubt let your superiors know we have you soon, you want me to pass a message to your family to let them know you’re okay?"

[Conora]

     Jessica was a bit taken back by the genuine act of seeming kindness from the man who had, moments earlier, beaten her to the ground. She suddenly starting putting it together. This man was no Danelian irregular and he was too young to be a veteran of the last war, but he was professional. A mercenary was her best guess, but knew it best to keep it to herself. She nodded to the Matt’s question and shifted her weight to find more comfort on the dirt cold dirt ground. The smell of wet rotting wood filled her nose as she ran over her hostage training in her head; “Monotony is deadly, do not discuss security matters of any sort with anyone, if you must a name and badge number only.”



_____________________________________________________________________________________

PORTMOUTH – EASTERN CONORA

HM KING ANDREW ARMOURIES
 PORTMOUTH ARMOURY
PORT'S GUARD 3rd LIGHT INFANTRY REGIMENT



     “Good afternoon troops” Chief Warrant Officer Wolfe opened with to his assembled soldiers. “Afternoon sir” his soldiers responded in unison, he continued; “As I know you have all heard, and no doubt felt, domestic hostile forces have taken control of the Peace Power Generating Facility, hurting our power supplies. And those regular force weirdo’s are tasked with taking it back. But it would seem that the DFA thinks they can just roll up on the Reg Force’s flank with some big scary column of forty year old junkers. Which means that our 5 day work weeks might pay off.” Excited chatter flooded the ranks. CWO Wolfe carried on, “A and B coy are being amalgamated to bring us to one full regular force company and you will be kept here for another week of intense cohesion training before being attached to a 4th and 5th Regiment company up in Valour to form a real infantry regiment under the command of our very own Major Lawson.” The soldiers cheered for a moment before being reigned back under control by their platoon sergeants. “I know the 4th Regiment guys are a bunch of wild hicks and the 5th Regiment is a bunch of drill monkeys so let’s show them who’s best!” More cheers as CWO Wolfe dismissed his troops to the mess. The soldiers breaking into the regiment’s old unofficial motto “Guardsmen – Advance! Guardsmen – Advance! Guardsmen – Advance!”

     But beneath the excitement of breaking the monotony of regular training, many of the men were washed over with an uncomfortable feeling. They had all heard the rumours of the DFA rolling over villages, of the slaughter of MOs up in CDB Blackfoot, and few of the troops had any combat experience, most where fresh out of, or still in high school. They had confidence in their training, but it was still worrying.

     “Ready to pound some DFA scum!” Private Neil Jones enthusiastically asked Private Robert Young as they both climbed the drill hall stairs up to the junior ranks mess. “As ready as ever I suppose” Young responded with hesitance, he lacked the enthusiasm of his colleague. “F**king better be buds! Finally get to get into the s**t man, I’m pumped! How are you not pumped bro?” Jones continued on as they removed there berets and entered the mess room. “Yeah, I want to be the first kid on my block with a confirmed kill” Young sarcastically responded, quoting a well-known war film. Jones, unsurprisingly to Young, missed his sarcasm and gave him a, “f**k yeah bro!” in response as he disappeared in the sea of Conoran Concealment Pattern uniforms flooded around the Messes bar window. Private Robert Young took a seat in one of the messes well-worn wooden chairs and stared up at a golden colored plaque listing the names of the units dead who died in the war of unification. His eyes stopped and the blank space below the list of names.

[Surdra]

Matt reached into a vest pocket and withdrew a simple small notepad with a cheap pen stuck in the binding. After making sure that nothing was written in it he offered it to Jessica, “Here, you can write a message with this. You have my word that I’ll do my best to get it to your family.”

[Conora]

Jessica looked up at the man, then offered a thank you as she took the pen and paper and scribbled away a short note:

"Hey mum love you, I'm okay. Should be home soon. Don't forget to feed my cats.
Tell Greg I owe him 20 Theeds and that lunch date."

When she finished she raised up and handed back the notepad and pen. She paused however before relinquishing the pen, the thoughts of stabbing her captor in the neck with the pen and running out of the dank barn. But she knew better.

[Conora]

Mountain Side, East Conora
CDB Mountain Side
1st Amalgamated Light Infantry Regiment (The ‘Toons)
1900

     “Corporal Young! Corporal Young! Warrant Grey wants you in Ops!”
“I Got it, cheers boot!” Corporal Robert Young was still getting used to the extra hook on his epaulette. A nice field promotion and an even nicer $15 a day bump to his pay. While Young would like to think it was because of his excellent soldiering, in reality he was a mediocre troop but being one of the few infantry Supplementary Force soldiers with a Military Drivers Permit he was promoted and pegged to Company Transport. Cpl. Young left his tent, looked around for any MO’s before lighting a cigarette. Buttoned up his tunic and tossed his CONCP small back over his shoulder.
     The gravel crunching beneath his black boots. The last few weeks had been intense, even in his new support position, as three part-time Supplementary Force companies had been drilled hard to rush them up to Ready Force standards. The few Ready Force members still on base (mostly officers and a few POGs) had taken to calling the amalgamated regiment the ‘Toons, as like cartoons, they had usually only trained weekends until the recent instability. Cpl. Young walked by tent after tent in the seemingly endless maze of temporary housing erected on what was formerly the base’s three sports fields. A quick glance into each tent gave a snapshot of how the soldiers spend their downtime; some read, many slept, some arguing over woman, others over politics. Three tents containing wrestling matches, no wonder the MO’s always seemed so angry through Cpl. Young.
Cpl. Young flicked away his cigarette butt, after looking over his shoulder to insure no one with the power to chew him out was watching. He approached the Operations Centre, a massive mismatch of green tents and tarps with antennas and satellite dishes poking out at a seeming random, Cpl. Young couldn't help but to think to himself, such organized chaos. He quickly had to salute two officers, who returned his greeting with a limp half-cocked arm raise. Into the den, as he removed his beret and followed the cardboard and black marker signs to A Coy transport.
     Pulling back the separator tarp, he approached Warrant Officer Grey, a tall built gentleman with clean combed over hair, one could easily mistake him for a man ten years younger if not for it's grey colour and his telling stress wrinkles. WO Grey greeted Cpl. Young with a smile and, “Glad you didn’t get lost this time, eh?” “No sir, learning to navigate this bloody maze” “Good on you, okay, so we are going to need you to draw MILUV (MIlitary Utility Vehicle, a militarized Silverado in flat green) 07895 from compound and start doing runs with CQ to start issuing ammunition to A Coy for 0600” Young’s eyes widened, for the last few days the soldiers had been on edge waiting for move-orders, the issuing of ammunition meant that the time was drawing close, abnd for it to be dropped on him so nonchalantly?  Young was a little stunned . WO Grey continued, “You’ll also be given your route card for our deployment to the Peace River basin” “Sir?” Young was able to mumble out, still dazed by news, “Yes, it’s happening Young, 0900 hours tomorrow we hit pavement in convoy”. WO Grey continued for some time with further details on both the ammunition issuing and convoy plans, but all Cpl. Young could think about is how real everything was quickly becoming