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For 35yrs the border between the Human Empire and Gorgonzola Empire as remained mostly peaceful. The citizens for the Human Empire of this border region are loyal to the last man, woman, and child to the Empire. It was on one of these worlds that gave birth to a legend. The world of Apollo 6 is one of the harshest worlds within the Empire. One so harsh that only it could claim to be the birth world of James J. Owens, the most feared of Death Dealers. A world that is even now poised to give birth to a new legendary warrior. One who shall be baptized in the blood of the Empire’s enemies. Robert Wolff youngest great grandchild of James Owens’ sister Cecilia Owens.

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Ding! Ding! LOOK SHARP EVERYBODY! The Eastern Egg hunt is on. Post your finds in the comments. I will give you one hint. There are 8 historical, 26 military, 4 political, and 5 pop-culture. (chuckles) HAVE FUN!

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Chapter 9
Day 15 of the war
Royal Battle platform, Ryuk, Northern Lights System: middle of 3rd watch

James Nakatoma stood quietly staring out the observation dome wondering how many times his mother Maiha stood in the very same spot. The weight of the war with the Gorgonzola Empire was boiling over to a full-blown war of genocide. The reports coming out of the Highlands System were depressing.

Whole villages were being slaughtered for daring to support the resistance. Out of the 90 some smugglers turned pirate only 23 were still flying. Of those 13 were in need of major repairs and refit thanks to their fighting the Gorgonzola Expeditionary battle fleet. For every ship they lost the pirates took at 5 with them to their eternal rest. Then there was the unconfirmed report that the Death Dealer Special Operations teams being KIA during their insertion hit even harder. Without those 14 deadly warriors to organize the locals he knew retaking Apollo 6 and the Highlands was going to be damned near impossible. Even after dropping all available Death Dealer Battlegroups on the Gorgonzola Empire the Human Empire had only managed to claim 15% of the needed territory to drive the enemy to its knees. Even with calling up the Phantom Divisions James knew that he would have to change the paradigm of the war. The question was how.

“Damn it. Why did those son-of-bitches have to push matters? I was willing to let them get away with their fracking raids, but this is ignorance.” James snarled.

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, my Emperor.” The voice of the ancient AI had James chuckling. “That is better. What has you walking my walls at this time of the night, James?”

“The reports coming in from the front. At this rate we’ll capture twenty-five percent of Cheesehead territory only to lose the war to attrition.” James sighed. “We’re losing personnel and equipment at a rate we cannot substant.”

“I have gone over the reports as they have come in, James. I know that our Battlegroups have been taking heavy loses. I have run countless computations to account for these loses. I can only come to one conclusion. The Gorgonzola forces are using a new type of chemical weapon.”

“That would account for the total loss of the Death Dealers that were station on Apollo six at the start of the invasion. It would also account for the heavy losses on the other planets in the Highlands system.” James slammed his fist into the transparent armor plate that made up the observation dome. “For centuries we have avoided the use of those damned weapons on civilians.”

“That may be true James, but you have withheld our most powerful weapon to date. When will you carry out your mother’s threat? When will you unleash the seven-forty core crackers and rain down hell on these Fascist pigs?”

“To be honest old man. I was hoping to avoid the use of those monsters. I have always hated to wholesale slaughter of civilians.” James sighed once more as he looked down at the nightside of Aurora. “But they have brought this on themselves. Ryuk Priority one communique to all pirate captains in the Northern Lights system. Rendezvous at Aurora Station three. End communique. Send it now Ryuk. I want full conformation of receipt by all ships.”

“Sent my Emperor. All pirate ships have acknowledge receipt.” Ryuk was silent for a moment. “You’re sending them to deliver a package of death and destruction James. What planets are you planning on targeting?”

“There are fifteen individual States within the Gorgonzola Empire. That means fifteen capital planets that need to be destroyed not counting the Empyreal Capital Planet of San Vitruvio. Of those sixteen Capital Planets only ten need to be turned to radioactive dust clouds.” James snarled with a coldblooded viciousness only ever seen in his mother Maiha’s greatest moment of rage. “I will turn the Gorgonzola Military Command and Control structure into the fuel for stars.”

“You’ll have to forgive me James. But you have managed to confuse this old AI.”

“It’s simple Ryuk. The Cheesehead Military is structured the way of the NAZI military in nineteen-forty-four. Every unit is so micromanaged that it isn’t funny. All strategic commands have to run through their individual capital commands before being carried out in the field. Any military decision must be approved by their State Committee Authority. We take out just ten capitol planets and their whole command structure falls apart.” James chuckled with cruel intent. “Our good friend Chancellor Juliana and his people called for this tune for this war. It is time for them to pay the piper.”

“And what tune shall we play in return, my Emperor?” Ryuk asked with equal intent as he began calculating the needed hyper jump pathways for the pirate ships.

“We shall play them the Endless Waltz, Ryuk.” James answered honestly as he turned away from the window with grim determination. “And a bloody tune it shall be.”

Day 10 of Full Occupation
White Bull Tavern, Goulcrest, Apollo 6, Highlands System

Grayson Vanderbilt looked around the tavern’s main room slowly drinking a Howling Wolf black and tan beer. He still could not believe how far he had fallen in the last month and a half. His family estate lay in total radioactive ruin. All of his plans, all of his deals, lay in those same ruins. As far as he knew only his butler Markus had made it out of the estate with him. Of the Apollo 6 government only one other member had survived the first wave of the attack by the Cheeseheads. The most depressing matter was the Cheeseheads had attacked his militia forces. Destroying all but a handful of the weakest and poorest equipped units. The only thing that saved those units was their locations.

Even now the Cheesehead forces were losing forces in the mountain regions. The plains and swamp areas were death traps 2 out of 5 times for regular transport and supply units that dared to cross them by way of rail or road. Only in convoy formation was there any guarantee of success. The smaller outlaying cities weren’t as safe as the Proventil Military Governor was claiming. More than a third of those cities were hives for resistance cells.

The Resistance was going but it was still small and in danger of dying. The reports of the total destruction of Creeville, Shakmery, Noni, Glok, Zlale, and Ardrough had been confirmed by his fellow Parliament member Jennifer Julian. If she hadn’t been at her home in the Ivory Lynx Timberland at the time of the attack, she would be dead in the ruble of Capital.

“Excuse me sir. I have a report on the Revolutionary Extremist Union, Free Citizens Union, World Community Party, and the Monarchist League Army.” Markus’s voice brought Grayson out of his downward spiraling thoughts. When Grayson nodded his head, Markus continued. “As of zero-seven-thirty-five this morning the last of them were executed in Capital Square by order of Military Governor Baudelaire.”

“Let me guess. They were quartered, drawn, and hung using piano wire?” Grayson asked with deepening depression. When Markus nodded his head, Grayson sighed. “Damn. What about their weapons caches? Any word on those?”

“Captured by the Cheeseheads, sir.” Markus answered honestly.

“What of the North Mountain Volunteers? Any word from word them?” Grayson wondered.

“None sir. The same can be said for the other militia units in the regions for the Farmingroy Snow Fields, Deerfield Forest, Northern Rat Steppes, and the old Dornwich prefecture. To be honest sir. The only Resistance Forces that we’re still in actual contact with are the ones here in Goulcrest.” Markus sighed as he related the harsh truths of the situation to his employer. “Sir, I know you don’t want to hear this but if you are to make any headway with the locals. You need to turn the Ghost Fighters, and the Crimson Insurgents to your side. Away from Miss Julian.”

“Why do I hear a qualifier in your advice Markus?” Grayson snarled as he waved to the chair next to him.

Once Markus had taken his seat, he dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “We cannot kill the whore out right sir. Miss Julian is too well loved by the local Resistance. If you were to even come under the smallest of suspicion in her death. All of the Resistance would raise up against you.”

Damn. How could that bitch gain the trust of the common people so easily?” Grayson mumbled to himself. “What does she know that I don’t?”

“The answer is in her birth sir.” Markus answered honestly. At Grayson blank look the butler sighed. “She is commoner sir. She has advantages that you as a Lord do not have. The greatest of which is she is a veteran of the PDF.”

“I forgot about that. Didn’t she use her status as a veteran to gain the needed votes to oust Randal Vought four years ago?” Grayson asked in confusion.

“She did. Though that was not her greatest draw. It was her Reformist Platform that gained her so many votes in Blackwater and Rockaway ports. The both seaboard areas love the woman. Mainly because of the changes she was able to push through the Parliament for the independent dropship captains and owners.” When Markus mentioned the Free Trade Shipping Bill that had killed Grayson’s plans for controlling all of the dropships coming and going from Apollo 6. It took all of Grayson’s control to keep from lashing out at his butler.

“Don’t remind me of that piece of shit bill. Tell me how we’re going to deal with the bitch already.” Grayson ordered heatedly.

“For now, we can do nothing sir. We need to be patient for now. Only a few of the Resistance members know exactly where she is hiding and working from. The same as for you. What you need to do is find ways to undermine her control.” Markus pointed out with true honesty. Markus knows that Grayson Vanderbilt is a greedy bastard. The problem is the greedy bastard is one of the few true leaders left on Apollo 6.

Grayson nodded his head and turned thoughtful. After several minutes Grayson snapped the fingers of his left hand. “Markus did the cache in Dunkirk Cove survive?”

“Yes sir. As far as I know it still remains hidden.” Markus answered quickly.

“I forget what all is stashed there. Do you know?” Grayson asked hiding his smile behind the lip of his glass of beer. Markus reached into his jacket and pulled out a Dark Hacker minitablet. Seeing this Grayson felt the need to comment. “That better be protected better than your soul Markus.”

“No need to fear sir. If the wrong password is entered this little beauty will explode. It will level a building the size of this tavern.” Markus reassured his employer. Markus held up a small blood testing device as well. “Without this blood glucose tester and the correct password that only I know. BOOM! No more tablet or surrounding building. Trust me sir. It is well protected.”

“Just wanted to make sure. It’s bad enough that I lost my home network. That is the only database we have to work from now.” Grayson sighed.

“No problem sir. Your worries are understandable.” Markus assured Grayson knowing full well that his own life depended on the security of the information his minitablet held. “Here we go sir. The full inventory for the Dunkirk Cove cache.”

Grayson took the minitablet from Markus and scanned the list. As he did his hopes for a positive future rose with each line.

1. 20 crates SEM-48A3 7.62x51mm assault rifles (24 per crate)
2. 20 crates SEM-32 45mm grenade launchers (12 per crate)
3. 20 crates SEM-22 45mm grenades (100 per crate)
4. 10 crates SEM-121 Light Squad Automatic Weapons (12 per crate)
5. 10 crates SEM-250 Heavy Barrel Flexible Machinegun (5 per crate)
6. 10 crates SEM-32 Anti-tank laser guided missile, launchers (2 per crate)
7. 50 crates SEM-28 Anti-tank Rage Fire laser guided missile (4 per crate)
8. 25 crates SEM-75 Light Gatlin anti-personnel Laser (1 per crate)
9. 25 crates SEM-750 Heavy Gatlin anti-armor Laser (1 per crate)
10. 15 SEM-17C High Mobility Fast Attack Vehicles
11. 15 SEM-21A1C Light Armor Striker Class Vehicles
12. 10 SEM-9C Light Armor Halftrack
13. 5 SEM-16C ADA Halftrack w/ M-45 Quad-mount Heavy laser
14. 15 SEM-3E8C Sherman Main Battle Tank
15. 25 SEM-977C Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck (HEMTT)
16. 2 SEM-45 Heavy Track Multiple Launch Rocket System

The list continued on listing all the needed ammunition for the weapons listed. But it was the SEM-45 HTMLRS that he wanted to insure that there was munitions for. IF the replacement rocket pods hadn’t been stored at the Dunkirk Cove cache then they were nothing more than one-shot wonders. “Markus where were the replacement pods stored for the SEM-forty-fives?”

“They are under the listing for spare parts sir.” Markus chuckled. “Don’t ask me why please. All I know is that is where Mr. Hennery placed them.”

“No need to explain Mr. Hennery’s reasoning, Markus.” Grayson chuckled. “I know that he has his reason for treating the replacement pods as spare parts.”

“Um… sir why on earth would he even think of classifying rockets as replacement parts?” Markus asked with real confusion.

“He’s a mechanic first and foremost Markus. To him the pods would be like replacing the barrel of a machinegun when it overheats. After all, once a pod has been fired it is little more than an empty stake of tubes.” Grayson chuckled softly. “Ah there they are. Humm… I thought had more than twelve replacement pods for the launchers.”

“There may be more in the other two caches that the Cheeseheads haven’t found sir.” Markus told Grayson as he took the tablet back and opened to other files. After scanning the files, he found what he was looking for. “Here they are sir. The rest of the replacement pods are in the Stanfield cache.”

“How many do we have in total?” Grayson wanted to know.

“With the twelve in Dunkirk it brings the total to thirty pods per launcher, sir.” Markus answered as he added up the number of pods.

“Not enough to force the Cheeseheads off our planet but more than enough to cause the bastards heartburn.” Grayson snarled with wicked intention. “Heartburn that will chock them on their own blood.”

Ranger station 15, Deerfield Forest: Day 7 of mission

Ace could not believe his team’s good luck sense landing. They may have missed their drop zone, but they were still close enough to their target. In many ways missing their drop zone had saved their lives. During the hike towards their original DZ they crossed a Cheesehead Cavalry patrol. Splinter knew that they were looking for the Black Saints and Fallen Angels. If they had hit their original DZ that patrol would have been all over the top of them. By missing their DZ the patrol was out of position to intercept them. That had been their first piece of luck.

The next piece of luck had come the second night of their mission. They were 54 miles outside of Sario when Specter found a local Police officer. If it hadn’t been for that officer’s warning, he would have led his team straight into a full company of Spectral Corps Mounted Infantry. That warning had been enough to avoid the Infantry and clear the area with time too spare.

Their next piece of luck came the next day. Skipjack was able to make contact with the Fallen Angels. They too had landed off target of their DZ. Yet they too had a run of good luck in avoiding Cheesehead patrols. The only downside to their mission so far had been the loss of contact with their LTs, Blackjack, and Warrant Office Wolff. Ace had been forced to accept the fact that they were KIA. Now that they were able to contact the Angels Ace knew they could coordinate their actions.

The last piece of luck had come that morning. Once again it was Specter who had come to the team’s rescue. He had stumbled across a Deerfield Forest Ranger. The Ranger offered his station for the team’s use as a base. Now that they had a base to operate out of, they could get down to work on organizing the Resistance. From what the Ranger had told him. The local Resistance fighters weren’t having much success. In truth they were losing members left and right. At the rate they were going there won’t be a Resistance much longer.

“Ace those locals you wanted to talk with are outside.” Ranger Steven Cox called out from the doorway. As Ace neared Steven he was warned. “Ace whatever happens don’t let the shithead in the blue ballcap run things.”

“What’s his deal?” Ace asked quietly as he drew next to Steven.

“That’s Dale Winthrop local Union boss. He runs Sario’s metal works plant.” Steven answered as he looked over his right shoulder at the man in question. “And most of the town thanks to his position in the Union.”

“I take it Sario is a union town?” Ace asked only to get a head nod from Steven. “Frack! Just what I need. The asshole is going to be one of those damned Union first frack nuts that I’ve always hated. How much of the local population is Union.”

“Better than seventy percent of the people in Sario belong to the Workers’ Union, Ace. The ones who don’t own their businesses or are farmers.” Steven explained quickly. “Even office employees are part of the Union.”

“Damn. Not good.” Ace snarled quietly. “Now I know what Gunner meant by having to deal with the local assholes first.”

“Um… Ace who is this Gunner you and your team have been talking about?” Steven wondered as they looked out at the five gathered leaders of Sario.

“He’s from Goulcrest and the leader for the other team of Death Dealers that landed with us on the other side of the continent. He warned us that we would have problems getting the locals to follow us.” Ace sighed. “Now I see what he was talking about.”

“If he is from Goulcrest and on the other side of the Northern continent then be thankful.” Steven grunted as he pointed with his chin towards the gather Resistance leaders. “The people around here don’t take kindly to those from the Capital. They don’t care who they are. Commoner, Politician, or High Families. They’re all scum in their eyes second only to Empyreal Reps in these parts.”

“Damn. Talk about knowing the population.” Ace chuckled. “Looks like Gunner called it right on this one.” At Steven’s blank look of confusion Ace explained. “When we were breaking down our teams and assigning them to sectors Gunner was the one to assign us to this part of your world. He said something about this area needing a blue color point of view to work.”

“I take it that you and your team are from blue color families?” Steven asked.

“You could say that Steven. All of us come from union-controlled planets. We all know how to deal with Union bosses.” Ace snarled then popped his knuckles. “One way or the other. That asshole will lesson to reason. We are the Professionals.”

“Good luck and God’s speed friend.” Steven chuckled and went inside. “You’ll need it with that bunch of fools.”

As he neared the gather men Ace took in their individual stances. He could tell that each man was expecting something from him. With one exception. Dale Winthrop, local Union boss, and from the looks of things all-round thug. Ace couldn’t help but think. ‘Typical Union Boss asshole. Worked his way up through the union on the backs of his fellow union members. If anyone got in his way. He made them disappear.’

“Gentlemen thank you for coming.” Ace started off with only to be interrupted.

“Enough with your pleasantries Black Shirt. Get on with your business.” Winthrop snapped then spat on the ground. “We got a planet to take back.”

“You know something Winthrop. I was going to try and be polite with your sorry ass.” Ace sighed then moved with a speed that none of the others expected. Even as he drove his fist into Winthrop’s gut Ace snarled. “But you had to go and be a fracking bigshot union ass wipe. Now shut the frack up and let the adults talk.”

With Winthrop on the ground gasping for breath Ace turned to the other four men. “Okay people let me be perfectly clear on this matter. There are eleven Death Dealers on this planet with the same mission. To give the Cheeseheads as much shit as possible. You can do one of two things. Listen to what we have to teach you or get the frack out of our way. Because if you get in our way, we’ll kick your ass right along with the Cheeseheads. We don’t care about what happened in the past. We’re here to do that one thing. Do you understand?”

“Just who the hell are you to think you can tell us how to deal with the Cheeseheads?” Asked the only man in a business suit.

“Death Dealer Sergeant First Class Adam Wilder, butthead. Leader of the Black Saints.” Ace snarled in response. “And Death is Dealt by my hand.”

“You all can do what you want, but none of my people will be helping this whelp and his thugs.” Winthrop grunted as he climbed to his feet. “The Union knows how to deal with Cheeseheads. We don’t need the Empire’s help.”

“You know something, Winthrop. I was going to ignore you. Find a way to work around you and your thugs, but I see that you’re going to be a real problem.” Ace sighed.

“And just what are you going to do to stop us, boy?” Winthrop snarked. In his eyes he had, had enough of this Empyreal dog’s bullshit. It was time to give him an education on how things worked in this part of Apollo 6. “Without the Union you’ll never have enough people to form your little Resistance Force.”

“So, you’re going to withhold the support of the Workers’ Union unless you’re put in charge. Is that it?” Ace asked with a knowing smile.

“I am in charge here boy. If you hadn’t figure that out by now. Then you’re dumber that you look.” Winthrop chuckled as he cross his arms over his chest posturing.

“I thought you would take that point of view.” Ace gave the man a nasty smile that never reached his eyes. “Seeing as how you feel that way let’s end this problem with a little one on one fight?”

“You caught me off guard with that first attack of yours, boy.” Winthrop snarled as he took up a fighting stance. “Time for you see what a real Union man can do.”

“Find by me, asshole. I only got one question?” Ace stepped towards him without taking up a fighting stance. “First blood or death?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ask one of the men in coveralls.

“It means that whoever draws first blood wins.” Skipjack said as the other Black Saints joined the gathered men. “Or the fight is to the death. Challenger’s choice.”

“Doesn’t matter. Either way this boy is going to know his place.” Winthrop snarled. “If that means I have to kill him to get the rest of you to understand that the Union runs things around here. Then so be it.”

With that Ace chuckled. “Then to the death it is. Now, shut up and fight, asshole.”

The fight was over before it really began. Winthrop threw a hard punch at Ace’s head only to find his hand blocked by the younger man’s arm. Ace threw one punch. It was a deliberate strike to Winthrop’s windpipe. The single blow crushed the man’s windpipe killing him instantly. As Winthrop fell to his knees trying to breath the other men looked on in horror. The callus way that this Death Dealer killed shocked them all to their very cores. Yet even more shocking was the fact that he had just killed one the best bare-knuckle fighters in all of Sario with one punch.

“That gentlemen is how a Death Dealer fights. We hold nothing back. It is all or nothing for us. You want to take back your home. Then shut up and listen to what we have to teach you. Do that and we’ll give you a real fighting chance.” Snarled the white haired and blue-eyed High Elf Splinter. “Almost a hundred years ago a lone Death Dealer came among my people. It was by his teachings that we learned how to wage war as a unified people. Here you have eleven of us. Just think of how much we can teach your people and how many lives our teachings will save.”

“Lee this is one time that we need to swallow our fracking pride and accept their help.” The man in coveralls grunted. “We all knew that Winthrop was pushing his own frack agenda from day one of the attack.”

“That is beside the point, Jeered. We have a long tradition of fending for ourselves. We’ve never needed the Empire’s help before.” Lee Collins, the business suit wearing man grunted snidely. “Why change that now?”

“Because those aren’t standard Cheesehead soldiers you’re facing.” Spector called out from the doorway. “Until now the Gorgonzola Empire has kept their Great Guardians Divisions within their borders. The soldiers you’re facing now are nothing less than the most diehard fanatics in all of Human space. They don’t question the orders of their commanders and will fight to the death. They will slaughter very last man, woman, and child on this planet if ordered.”

“Is that why they’ve been wiping out whole towns and villages?” asked the one man in the group who had remained silent until now. “Names Jason Hall and I run the local hunters’ guild. Unlike Winthrop, I actually know what I’m doing with a rifle.”

“That may be true sir, but you’re still an amateur. The first time you try to snipe one of the Cheesehead commanders you’ll end up dead. Oh, you may get your shoot off and kill your target.” Spector said as he walked over and got right in Hall’s face. “But then the Cheeseheads will drop a full battery of one-five-fives on your head. Then you and your spotter are dead. You’re not hunting row bucks or big horns now. You’re hunting humans. The deadliest of animals. Get that through your head.”

“I would listen to him Hall. Spector was the number two sniper in his class.” Skipjack chuckled. “You don’t want to meet the number one.”

“If that is the case, they must be a truly terrifying Death Dealer.” Lee chuckled. “Though it is a shame they’re not on Apollo right now.”

“I never said that sir. I would wager long odds that right now Warrant Office Robert Wolff is raising unholy hell wherever he is on Apollo six.” Ace chuckled. “That man is truly a one-man army.”

“Did you say this Death Dealer’s name was Robert Wolff?” Lee asked for the stunned Resistance Leaders. “Please tell me that the son of our greatest heroes returned?”

“I don’t know about him being the son of your heroes, sir. I do know that Wolff is from Apollo six.” Ace explained a little confused by the reactions of the men.

“WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU SAY YOU WERE WITH HIM?!” Yelled Hall. At the looks of confusion on the Death Dealers’ faces he chuckled. “Young man the fact that you’re here with a Wolff will smooth over a great deal of bitching for you.”

“Why’s that?” Ace asked in real confusion.

“This planet owes a great debt of honor to the Wolff family and the Owens clan. There’s not one citizen on all of Apollo six who hasn’t heard the tale of their heroics.” Lee quickly explained. “Or of his parents’ sacrifice.”

“Then it’s a good thing that he’s here?” Skipjack asked in bewilderment. “That’s not what he told us on the way here.”

“There are only small minority that hold grudges against the Owens Clan or Wolff family, young lady.” Hall chuckled then spat out a wade of tobacco juice. “You’ll find those sorry asses among the High Families.”

“Looks like Gunner came by his attitude for the High Families naturally.” Spector snarked. At the funny looks from the Resistance Leaders, he chuckled. “Warrant Officer Wolff got into more than one fight with the dipshits who came from High Families in our class. Put more than a few in the hospital and ended their chances at earning their Empyreal Blacks.”

“That sounds like a Wolff alright.” Lee chuckled. “Now, gentlemen. Let’s get down to business. We’ve got people to train.”

Lineberry pass, 50 miles north Lineberry, Eastern Rat Steppes

“Rimfire to Tigger, Over”

“Tigger here Rimfire. You have traffic? Over” Tigger answered the radio call from their forward Scout quickly. She knew that he won’t break radio silence without reason. Whatever it was had to be bad.

“We got incoming. One company of India, Foxtrot, Victors, with a platoon of Foxtrot, Alpha, Victors for Scouts. Over”

When Tigger heard there was a full company of IFVs with an FAV in support headed their way she chuckled. “Copy that Rimfire. ETA on guests? Over”

“At current speed, sixteen-mikes, Tigger, Over”

“Copy that Rimfire. Any sign of air support? Over” Tigger asked of her only worry.

“Negative signs of air support, Tigger. Not even an ancient Uniform, Hotel, sixty-two Seahawk. Something smells, Tigger. Over” Rimfire warned.

“Copy that Rimfire. Start your withdraw now. Rendezvous with team at our location, Over” Tigger ordered as she thought about his warning. Tigger turned to Iceman. “Okay boss you heard Rimfire. Do we still set off the ambush?”

“It doesn’t matter if they have air support or not, Tigger. We spend the last three days setting up this ambush. Once those Cheeseheads are in the trap. We blow the charges. I know that we’re starting to run low on supplies but until we clear out this company of Guardians. We cannot take the chance of heading into Lineberry.” Iceman didn’t like having to make all the calls, but he was the one with the rank.

“I know that Iceman. I just wish we could’ve taken down that supply convoy two days ago. Then we would need to head for Lineberry.” Tigger bitched.

“I would have loved to take it down myself Tigger.” Iceman sighed and looked down the highway towards the direction of the enemy company. “But thanks to the locals acting the fool. The Cheeseheads have been escorting their supply convoys with Fire support APS lances. I know that we have the firepower to take out everything up to an Assault class APS individually. It just isn’t the time for that.”

“Why not Iceman? We’ve been pulling this hit and run bullshit for the last week. I say we start slamming the Cheeseheads where it hurts.” Jukebox grunted. “Or have you turned yellow Iceman?”

“Knock it off Jukebox. Iceman is our CO until we either confirm Gunner’s dead or join up with him. Either way we fallow his orders. Got it?!” Snow snarled in defense of Iceman’s orders. “He’s kept us alive and on mission so far.”

“Fine. I just hate all this sneak and peek bullshit. I signed up to hurt the Opfor.” Jukebox grumbled. “Not annoy them.”

“Look I get where you’re coming from Jukebox.” Iceman sighed with real understanding. “But every time we hit one of these troop convoys, we bleed the Cheeseheads that much more. As strong as their military is, sooner or later. They will have to give up. No nation has an unlimited supply of troops.”

“You seriously think we can turn this into a war of attrition?” Snow asked of Iceman. “Come on man. We’re only one fire team.”

“A fire team of Death Dealers.” Iceman snapped. “And yes, we can turn this into a war of attrition. This is our kind of war people. We keep taking out the troop convoys. The local Resistance will take notice. Once that happens. We start training them to take back this planet.”

“Okay boss. I gotcha now. We have to win the hearts of the locals before we start breaking heads in earnest. That it?” Jukebox wanted to know.

“Now you’re starting to think like a Spec Ops Death Dealer, Jukebox. Remember we are Force Multipliers. We go in and turn the local population into trained soldiers. While the main force takes out the capital forces of our enemy.” Iceman chuckled at the blush of embarrassment that crossed Jukebox’s face. The sounds of heavy track engines reach their ears just before Rimfire showed up. “Time to punch the clock and go to work people. How far out is the convoy Rimfire?”

“Ten minutes and counting boss. They’ve changed formation slightly.” Rimfire reported with a smile. “They pulled the lead FAV back and replaced it with an IFV.”

“Those IFVs what make are they?” Iceman asked with a nasty grin.

“The new thirty-five-ton F1-D5 Lurker. Real pieces of shit. The damned things can take a direct hit on the front and sides with no problem.” Rimfire answered giving off the technical data for the F1-D5 Lurker Infantry Fighting Vehicle. “But the ass end and top armor is paper thin. Depending on the variant. Only the anti-tank gun carriage has any real protection on top. As for the rest of the variants. Well, our SEM-48A3s can punch holes through with no problem.”

“What about the FAVs?” Tigger asked quickly as she thought about their mobility.

“All six are Scout/Fire suppression models of the CIQ1R Cyclone.” Rimfire chuckled.

“You have got to be shitting me? Really?” Tigger asked with real excitement.

“I’m not shitting you Tigger. You want to know the good part?” He asked her with a wicked grin. “Not of them have the reactive armor plating.” When Tigger heard this her eyes weren’t the only ones to bug out. “They’re all canvas skinned.”

“Rimfire, Tigger, you’re to target the last two Cyclones in that convoy. Do not let them enter the blast zone. I want those bitches for our use. They go down first. Once they’re stopped, we blow the charges in the road and pass walls.” Iceman ordered and looked towards the oncoming convoy. “Everyone to your positions. Here comes our dance partners. Jukebox, get ready to play the music.”

“On it boss.” They all called out and took their positions for the ambush.

Iceman watched as the number 1 IFV entered the kill box. He raised his left hand to single Jukebox to get ready. When he heard Tigger and Rimfire pull the trigger of their rifles he dropped his hand. The blast of the buried explosives rumbled through the pass floor. The Fallen Angles watched as the enemy IFVs flipped over, exploded from the inside out, or just stop dead in their tracks and burn. The 4 FAVs that escaped the sharpshooter fire dead in the heart of the blast. Tigger and Rimfire both squeezed off three more shots. Killing the crews of the 2 FAVs outside of the blast zone. The Fallen Angles were no longer walking.

“Let’s go people. Sweep and clear. Meet up at our new rides.” Iceman ordered and headed down the slope of the hill towards the kill box. As he moved, he swept the area ahead of him with his rifle. Like his fellow Death Dealers, he checked each IFV and FAV he came across for signs of life. He like the others found nothing. Their ambush was a textbook example of how to kill a convoy with overwhelming odds.

While Iceman, Snow, Free Runner, and Jukebox cleared the kill box, Tigger and Rimfire secured the two undamaged Cyclones. As Iceman passed the last IFV Free Runner stopped. Until now she had kept her opinions to herself and carried out his orders. “Ice we need to talk.”

“What’s up Free?” Iceman asked in a hushed voice.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face Jukebox in the circle. He may have backed down for now.” She told him as she looked to where the hothead of their team was checking a destroyed FAV. “If you haven’t figured it out yet. He thinks he should be the one in charge.”

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t help that we’re both E-sixes.” Iceman sighed. “Do you really think he’ll push it that far?”

“He’ll push it that far and more, Iceman. That old bullshit about Navy and Marines leading the way is too well ingrained in his mind. You got time in grade and the experience as ground pounder. I’ll follow you as well the rest of the team anywhere.” Free Runner told him as she looked at the one problem child in the team. “Jukebox on the other hand will question your every order. Put him in his place before shit gets stupid and we start losing people. If Wolff was here, he won’t think twice about fracking with him for one simple reason. Wolff would have handed him his ass already more than once.”

“Read you load and clear Free. I’ll take care of our problem child once we’re secure. Let’s head over to the FAVs.” Iceman reassured his team’s languages and vehicle expert. “You know something Free Runner. I got a feeling we’re going to get a lot of use out of our new wheels.”

“Be nice to not have to walk every damned where for a change.” She chuckled. Twenty minutes later the two Cyclones were speeding away from the ambush site. It would be eight hours later before anyone would know of the ambush. The legend of the Fallen Angles would be born that day. All thanks to a piece of graffiti left at the site of the attack on the side of a destroyed IFV. To most the sight of wings and a halo would speak to religious connotations. Not this pair though. No one could mistake broken wings as anything other than a Fallen Angle.

Ridgeline overlooking Camp Rampage, Occupation Command

I looked over at Blackjack one last time. “This is where we part ways partner. You can find an entrance to the underground tunnels four killicks long this ridgeline.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay with me, Gunner?” The cyborg asked. “I know that my people could use someone with your training.”

“Sorry but no. After I take this shoot, I’ll be fading into the Goulcrest population. Trust me I know the streets of this city better than anyone else.” I chuckled as I thought about what I was about to do. “This is one time where two is a crowd.”

“You have to be crazy Gunner. You know the moment you take that first shoot all hell is going to rain down on this ridgeline. I count no less than a full battalion of Heavy and Fire Support APS down there in that camp.” Told me grimly. “They’ll level this hillside in nothing flat. What are you going with that kind of firepower aimed at you then? That rifle of yours may be able to punch through the armored glass of the cockpit but those beasts will be moving by then.”

“I don’t plan on staying in one spot Blackjack. I also have one advantage that they don’t have. Time.” I chuckled evilly. “It takes time to mount an APS. It even more time to bring them online from a cold start.”

“How long?” Blackjack asked with true interest. This was information that she and her teams could use in their own fight against the Cheeseheads.

“From a cold startup ten minutes. That doesn’t count the three to four minutes it takes to climb up to the cockpit without steps or ladder. If there is a ladder or steps two to three minutes. That doesn’t take into count the five to seven minutes it takes to reach the APS. That’s anywhere between seven to ten minutes. During that time, an APS pilot is exposed to fire. In six minutes with this rifle, I can place twelve aimed shoots over a forty-meter area.” I told her as I lifted my snipers rifle from my shoulder.

I dropped my rucksack on the ground. I began to remove the magazines I had stored there. Once I had all 12 spare mags plus the 6, I had in my ammo pouches laid out I grinned. “I got damned near a full combat loadout for this monster. That’s ninety rounds I get to play with. More than enough to keep those dumbasses occupied until you get into the city undetected.”

“That is an awful lot of killing to do and still stay in one place.” Blackjack snapped. “I suggest that you return the extras to your rucksack. There’s still a whole lot of fighting left to go in this war.”

“I’ve beaten the odds in life more than once already, Blackjack. By all rights I should have died on the backstreets of Goulcrest years ago.” I told her honestly as I set up my rifle to take my first shoot. Even as I laid down behind it. I felt a peace come over me that I had not felt in a long time. Without looking up at her. “My parents died on this planet fighting these pieces of shit. This isn’t war.”

“Then what is it?” Blackjack asked fearing the answer.

“It’s payback.” I snarled as I sighted in on a dipshit officer that just returned at salute. “Get ready to run.”

“I’ll let you continue with your plan if you’ll answer one question for me.” Blackjack wanted to know as she turned in the direction of the underground entrance. I just nodded my head. “Why are you so set on dying here today?”

I sighed and sat up. I grabbed all but 2 of my magazines and returned them to either my rucksack or ammo pouches. She was right. If I continued down this path, I would end up dead. “Fine. If you make it in. Find either the Sky Reach Orphanage or Club and Cuff bar downtown. Just ask for me at either place.”

“Why do I have the feeling that I won’t get a warm welcome at either place?” Blackjack asked with a wicked chuckle.

“Because you won’t, but don’t worry they won’t kill you at first sight.” I told her honestly. “The only person who will have a real problem with you is Father Jim at the orphanage. He get overprotective of his charges. He’s still good people.”

“Why do I feel a story hidden there somewhere?” Blackjack asked she started to walk in the direction I told her. “You’ll have to tell when we meet up again.”

Once she was gone, I took up my firing position once more. As I scanned the base that had once been the home for the 12th Airborne Ranger Battalion, 43rd Airborne Border Division I felt a deep-seated rage rise up in my chest. I don’t remember where I first heard the words for the prayer, but they came flooding back to me.

“Blessed Lord grant onto me your divine Grace. For I intend to die the hero or live long enough to become the villain. Let your hand guide my aim so that I might smite mine enemies. As your Angle of Fate did whisper in my ear that I could not stand against the storm. I did whisper in her shell-like ear. I am the storm. Amen.” I pulled the trigger and sent the first round down range.

I know it wasn’t an officer, but the APS tech would do just fine for kicking off the confusion. I shifted my sights to my next target and fired. This time I targeted the MP on duty at the gate. I was shifting targets before the second hit its mark. This time I was targeting an officer near the APS units. I was onto my fourth target before the garrison sounded the first alarm. “Damn they’re slow. Must not be regular military or they’ve gotten complacent.”

I quickly reloaded a fresh magazine then shifted my sights to the APS room exit and waited. Then as the first pilot exited the ready room, I pulled the trigger. He dropped 4 feet from the door. The second pilot died while still in the doorway. The third pilot made it 6 feet from the door before he died. The fourth pilot joined the third in the doorway. The fifth pilot didn’t even make it to the doorway as I dropped him while still inside the ready room. As I was reloading three APS pilots cleared the ready room and were headed for the machines. I dropped them in rapid succession. Then returned to the ready room. As the next two pilots tried to retreat to the ready room’s safety, I put one round into the head of each.

I quickly loaded my third and final magazine that I was going use. I shifted my targets from humans to equipment. I upped the output on my rifle to full power. I sighted in on the fuel depot and fired. Once again, my M-200 Mark 4 acted as a man portable Gauss rifle. Again, the round I fired was unique to the M-200. Unlike the depleted uranium, long-rod, armor-piercing, fin-stabilized, discarding sabot round I used on the B1-V7. This one was a HEAT round.

HEAT stands for high-explosive anti-tank. This a type of shaped charge explosive that uses the Munroe effect to penetrate heavy armor. The warhead functions by having an explosive charge collapse a metal liner inside the warhead into a high-velocity superplastic jet. It was perfect for destroying equipment. When it hit the first fuel storage tank the explosion lite up the evening sky with a rolling fireball. The next four rounds found their quickly marks. In their passing those 4 HEAT rounds destroyed several light transports, started ten fires, and caused the ammo storage building to explode.

“Well, that’s enough insanity for one day. Time to bug the frack out.” I said as I grabbed up the empty magazines and my rucksack. For the first time I was happy as hell to have that extra foot on the end of the barrel for the suppressor. If not for that the garrison force down, there in that camp would have been all over my ass in minutes following my first shoot. Thanks to it I now had all the time I needed to escape. Well, that and the piss poor reaction time of the Cheeseheads. “With all the hell I just raised down there. It’ll take them more than three to four hours to organize a search party. I should be able to reach the underground entrance before they even figure out where I setup my nest.”

As I worked my way to the underground entrance, I kept thinking about how piss poor of a showing the Cheeseheads put up. I don’t know what it was, but something was way off. It was like they couldn’t be that they were actually being attacked. As I neared the outer edge Goulcrest I found out why. The majority of the Cheesehead forces where Occupation troops. These guys were real, honest to God REMFS. Second rate soldiers at the best.

“Where the frack are the Front-Line troops?” I wondered as I worked my way to the underground tunnels. Once there I was able to make my way to where I could go above ground and onto the backstreets that were my second home. I took a deep breath and let a nasty smile grace my face. “Damn it's good to be home again.”

-----tbc-----