"Dear B.B.,
We're finally receiving our deployment orders, and as I write we're enroute to [CENSORED FOR SECURITY]. Apparently the local militia have been having problems with rogue PDF companies raiding villages, extorting travelers and generally just being assholes to the people living here. From what I gather, the militia has been forced into drafting regular civilians just to match the attrition rate. Apparently the enemy soldiers are trained and equipped to the level of guardsmen, but hopefully our presence there will turn the tide. After all, we have better training, better equipment and we also have air support.
On our first sortie, one of the guys in our squad got killed by a girl that seemed to be either insane or overdosed on some kind of drugs. We later found out that she'd been taken from one of the nearby villages when the enemy raided it about a month previously. Needless to say, her family was furious when they learned that she was killed by two of ours (in self-defense, of course. She was armed and she just killed someone. There was no way to know that she wouldn't shoot again), but once they understood the circumstances, they were grateful that we found out what happened to her. Still, I saw the look on that girl's face when the Sarge and Zack fired, and it's not a sight I'm ever gonna forget.
With any luck we'll just drop in, scare the bejeesus out of the enemy and get to go home after doing a little cleanup to make sure we don't have to come back to do it all over again.
From Lietuvos with love,
- Specialist Andrew Franklin, 08th MST"
There was an awkward silence in the passenger compartment of the Valkyrie. Apart from the noise of the engines, the room was dead silent. Allan looked around at the other members of his squad: Sergeant Lukas was looking over the mission plans for the umpteenth time, Samwell's head was bobbing up and down presumably to the beat of the music he was listening to, while Specialists Furst and Elsman could be seen playing cards up next to the rear hatch. The new recruits, Privates 1st Class Williams and Jackson were visibly nervous, Specialist Franklin was writing another one of his letters, Ibrahim was checking his weapons again and Ivanova was asleep, using her armor to keep her sitting upright. I really wish I brought a book or something, Allan thought to himself, Anything to end the boredom would be nice...
"Hey, Samwell," Allan said after a couple minutes, "Whatcha listening to?"
Samwell took out an earphone. "What was that, Zack?"
"I said, 'what are you listening to?'"
"It's called 'Rose Petal Parachutes,'" Samwell grinned, "It's a song about love and peace."
"I've never heard of that song before," Allan replied, "Who's it by?"
"It's by a little-known group called 'Double-Shaft,'" Samwell said, "I'm the arranger, lyricist and lead keyboar- wait, here's the best part!" He cranked up the volume on his music player so loud that everyone else in the compartment whipped their heads around to glare at him as a fast-paced yet mellow electronic keyboard solo played. Samwell began to imitate playing a keyboard in the air as he closed his eyes and passionately danced in his seat to the music.
"Specialist Samwell," Lukas barked, "turn that shit down! Some of us have work to do!"
"Sorry, sir..." Samwell muttered as he glumly turned it back down to tolerable levels and stuck the earphone back into his ear, "Didn't mean to spoil the moment..."
A single autogun report claiming the life of one of his adjutants was enough to anger Vyrum Vilkas, First Citizen of the New Independent Democratic Republic of Lietuvos, a domain and title he created himself. "Fools," he murmured irritably as he motioned for one of his handmaidens to refill his wine flute, which she dutifully performed, "They can't seem to understand that they'll eventually bow to my superiority, so why do they waste their lives in futile resistance?" The handmaiden, being sensible, did not reply to this rhetorical question.
With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he gestured in the general direction of the village. "Burn the village and everything around it," he ordered his lieutenant, "but spare the people."
"Also," he continued, "Send in the tanks. I want them to understand just how futile it is to resist the will of the First Citizen."
Lieutenant Burning surveyed the sky in front of him with the trained eye of an experienced military pilot. Years of flying taught him that even the smallest detail is important, and that one mistake could cost him his life and his plane. So naturally, when he saw an orange glow coming from below the horizon the first thing he did was to find out if it was an immediate threat. Due to the lack of an auspex ping, he could rule out a missile or any solid airborne object, it wasn't moving fast enough and it was too irregular in shape to be a beam of some kind and it certainly wasn't the sun rising.
"Hey, Foxey!" Burning called down to the gunner, "get me an ID on that glow at our ten!"
"Looks like a surface feature, Lieutenant," replied Foxey, "Probably a fire, but it's pretty big."
"Damn it," muttered Burning, "Angel Base, this is Angel Two. Angel Base, this is Angel Two. Lieutenant Halder, do you copy?"
"Angel Two, this is DaCosta," a voice came from over the vox, "What's the problem?"
"Relay this to the L.T., DaCosta;" Burning replied, "I have what looks like a wildfire at 10 o'clock, but all my data suggests that it's too wet for that at this time of year."
"Lieutenant Burning," Foxey called up, "I have a better visual. It looks like we have enemy armor in the vicinity."
"Can you tell me what that fire is?"
"Yes, sir. It looks like a base or village."
"Which is it," Burning demanded, "a base or a village!?"
"I'm not seeing anything that looks military," Foxey replied, "so I'd guess that it's a village."
"This is Commissar Sutherland," a deep, gravelly voice said over the vox, "Our only concern here is to arrive at Jonava and meet up with the 103rd Linas Defense Regiment. One village is an acceptable loss compared to our failure to arrive at our destination."
"With all due respect, Commissar," Halder said in the background, "I am the supreme commander of all Imperial forces in this theater. I'll be the one to give the orders.
"Angel Squadron and 1st Platoon," he continued, "There is a change in your orders. We are engaging the enemy formation according to contingency plan Falcon. The 15th Platoon will continue along with the escort to Jonava. Mark this position as a waypoint, gentlemen. If we fail to arrive after 12 hours, send a force in to this location to find us. Understood?" Halder's orders were answered by a chorus of cheers.
"Well, then," Halder stated, "Let's earn our paychecks."
Just beneath the cloud cover, one of the transport planes flew over the still burning village, its gray hull blending in with the clouds and the night sky. Its enormous back ramp opened up, revealing its cavernous interior. After about a minute, the gray armored bulk of a Chimera armored transport rolled down the ramp and began its long fall to the ground below.
As the tank fell, the extended side compartments blew open, deploying a series of parachutes to slow the 38 ton adamantium and steel block's fall to a safe level before it hit the ground. At a half-dozen meters above the ground, thrusters on the bottom of the side panels fired to slow the vehicle's descent further, shortly before explosive bolts fired to separate the side extensions from the main hull, freeing the Chimera to drive on the soft, grassy soil beneath its treads. The top hatch opened up, and two men began setting up an autocannon on the vehicle's hull, while two others hefted their plasma guns over the edge, scanning for the enemy.
Next to drop from the plane was the special missions squad assigned to the platoon. These five men dropped with professional confidence to the landscape below, landing near their designated drop point.
Finally, it was Golan's turn. The Platoon Sergeant had eschewed the heavy armor of the Corvis Mobile Infantry in favor of lighter flak armor with a mirage colloid system integrated with the plating and fabric of the uniform. Strapping a grav-chute pack to his back, he checked his armament once again. He certainly had enough grenades, he didn't think he'd need any more meltabombs, his combat knife was properly stowed and his modified pulse carbine was in working order, with its underside grenade launcher loaded with a single airburst charge. This weapon was very special to Golan, as it once belonged to a Fire Warrior Shas'ui who was a nemesis of his during the campaign to free his world from the Tau Empire many years ago. It wasn't until a major battle left them both without ammunition or nearby allies that Golan was finally able to kill it, taking advantage of the alien's weakness in close quarters combat. After quite a bit of tinkering and testing, he was able to make the weapon compatible with standard Imperial power packs and modified the grip to be usable by human hands. Understandably, this now unique weapon was of extreme sentimental value to the man.
"Sergeant Davis," a voice over the vox said, "you're clear to drop. Happy hunting!"
"Time for some thrillin' heroics," Golan declared before strapping his rebreather to his face and pulling his goggles over his eyes. He signaled to three before running off the edge of the ramp, falling to the ground many meters below. The transport plane's ramp closed up again, and the lumbering aircraft flew off towards its original destination.
"Mission accomplished, First Citizen," the lieutenant reported.
Vilkas smiled with that sort of predatory smile that only a man of his temperament could do as he took yet another sip from his wine flute. "Excellent," he said amusedly, "Inform the men that we're returning to base. Tomorrow I intend to dine somewhere other than a tent in the middle of nowhere."
The lieutenant was about to step out from the tent when his head suddenly evaporated in a bright blue flash, at the sight of which Vilkas' handmaiden dropped the wine bottle she bore, shattering as it hit the ground. Clumsy woman, thought Vilkas as he stood upright and reached for his pistol, I'll deal with you when I don't have more important things to do. Vilkas' bodyguards and the rest of his command staff formed a protective circle around him, determined not to let any harm come to him. "Viktor," Vilkas' newest adjutant called out over the vox, "what is this? Viktor!"
"I-I don't understand, sir!" a frightened voice said over the vox, "There's no one there! The shot came from out of thin air!"
"Search the area and find the shooter!" Vilkas ordered, "How did an enemy manage to get past the sentries undetected? Find him and kill him!"
"Yes, First Citizen!" came the reply over the vox.
A loud explosion sent shrapnel flying through the fabric of the tent, killing one of Vilkas' bodyguards and causing the flimsy construct to collapse around them. The first of Vilkas' men to dig himself out of the ruined tent soon had a hole the size of a man's head burned through his chest. Being much more cautious, Vilkas and his men slowly crawled out from the wreckage and took cover behind what structure remained. Vilkas surveyed the area surrounding his command tent. The watchtower was in ruins, as was the comm aerial. The two squads of infantry staying at the base for defending him were all dead or hiding, and the camp was eerily silent. Not even the insects were chirping.
To his right, there was another flash of light, and another, as Vilkas' men were mercilessly cut down one after another by weapons fire seemingly to come from nowhere. Vilkas closely watched the location where the flashes came from, and thought he could see movement, but without a distinct shape to it he could not tell what it was.
Eventually, an armored figure seemed to materialize right in front of his eyes and sprung into action, decapitating another of Vilkas' men with a point blank shot of a weapon Vilkas was unfamiliar with and running his adjutant through the sternum with a rather large combat knife in the blink of an eye before leveling his strange gun at Vilkas' forehead. "I suggest you surrender," the armored figure said, "No one's coming to rescue you."
Vilkas gulped in surprise. Who was this demon, and why could he turn invisible?
Meanwhile, the armored units Vilkas sent to torch the village were faring no better against the mobility and firepower of Angel Squadron. Angels 3 through 6, all Vendettas, tore through tank formations with the contemptuous ease of a child tearing a sheet of paper, while the lead Valkyries reduced many infantry squads to brown stains on the grassy plains with flurries of missile from their rocket pods, as well as the hail of multilaser bolts their nose-mounted weapons spat out. The lines of flaming tank wrecks were a testament to the lethality of the 08th Corvis Airborne platoons.
After mere minutes, there was nothing left of the armored column, and any survivors were running or pinned down behind the vehicle wreckage. When the Corvis infantry finally set their boots on the ground, there was no resistance from the enemy, as those who were hiding promptly surrendered.
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