Northern Srares Mountains,
Srares' Outskirts, Carlac
<"Proost to Cairn One! Southwest and Southeast corridors covered, moving in the other half to see if anything wants to flank us early. Not sure what the Goliaths are saying to it though, haven't heard from Brand for about an hour so far. Last thing he said to me was, and I quote exactly,"Trust in God, Arman.", and I'm not so sure I like the tone with which he said it.... Any orders or intel for us, Milord?">
'Hit the city's northern outskirts with incendiaries for now, Cataphract One. Nothing new intel-wise, Cairn One out!', the young Lord responded, impatient to see more of the city, even if it meant setting some parts of it ablaze. Barran had every intention of making good use of his infantry, but in order to know if it was suicide or not to send them, in order to know if it was necessary to lead the assault, he needed Srares to burn like kindling. Knowing it would be easier to see through water than it would be to see through snow, a far-spanning rise in temperature from a wide, singular concentrated perimeter would eventually be enough to help partially eradicate the blizzard-obscured view of the city beyond. Unfortunately for the New-Imperials on the ground, the map-blueprints of the three largest cities had been deleted down to a point in time, the pre-Miraluka years, proving only to be of half-use to the Lord-Captain's planning process. All three of the locations under siege, especially the Carlaci metropolis of Srares, had either grown over or had grown beyond the old cities that either crumbled or became historic districts as a result, making all the new additions present a multitude of individual challenges on their way to the deep urban-centres.
As the bombardments began, Lord Michael would begin to see exactly how much Srares had grown with years Imperial and Mawite assistance, noting that despite Halketh's failings as an Imperial, the Miraluka was proving to be no slouch in the art of ambitious governance. Not only had the city grown itself a considerably-large collection of smaller suburban districts, but the growth in infrastructure, industry and defence capabilities was also there to be seen. Yet still only in part, due to the weather conditions and the smoke-plumes that added to the obscuring of the view beyond, though the first fires would die out and give way to others farther away in a slow; overlapping process that would reveal a battered-and-beaten Srares', little by little. Revealing a fortified wall encompassing the entire outer boundary of the suburban and industrial outskirts, the XT-62s had been thumping against a surface that was several metres thick, and possibly thicker due to the snow and ice making for a soft surface that killed the shelling impact at their terminal-velocity points, forcing a a few segments of the siege-lines to readjust their smoothbore inclines to send their incendiaries where they were expected to make more of a difference.
Turning north to gaze on the White Crescent mountains where their command-centres were put together, Barran decided to hurry things along a little bit, pacing back downhill a little before turning back to Yorunarr, tapping on his left ear twice in a signal to the Novanian who watched on curiously as he lifted his comm-device to make another play. Michael then inhaled the cold winter air through his nostrils before beginning, taking stock of the intensifying weather conditions as the urge to use the artillery-pieces took hold, shouting,
'Barran to QM One! Lets give these Mawites a taste of our missile array, but we only need one twenty-second barrage to clear the way! One klick north of our current-position, creep that barrage forward another klick if need be! GO FOR IT!!!', as he braced for the arcing display of frightening firepower, fully intending to let his eyes follow the trajectory of the first missiles as they traced over to the northern defences. Both the Woad and the Novanian knew they were in for an awe-inspiring show of firepower, so all they would do is remain silent as they waited for the confirming transmission and the subsequent barrage, anticipating the mayhem with smirks on their faces, caring not if the missiles were effective or not.
<"Archer to Cairn One! Better make it thirty if the tanks aren't leaving a dent yet, just leave this one with me. We have plenty ammunition for the op, distributed about the place so we don't have any unwelcome cache-explosions but not too far that we can't be quick enough to get what's required between barrages. In any case, we'll take datapad-message coordinates from here on in..... Watch this, Milord. QM One out!">
The rockets from the MLVs would go off first, unleashing hellfire on the city's northern walls, and all the entrenchments nearest to it, a mauling to open proceedings in their assault on Srares. Within moments however, the Predator Launch-Platforms would dwarf the rockets in loudness, jet stream width, and the resulting explosions that would take chunks out of the fortified obstructions barring their view of the suburbs and industrial estates beyond. Shockwaves, rock-fragments, shrapnel and all sorts of destruction would rain on the city's first northern line of defence, and the Wanderer couldn't help but take stock of the fact the city's first defensive action had been in vain, dying whilst being completely unable to organise themselves for retaliation in time, slaughtered like cattle for a Baron who led their people astray. Michael did not want to embody such a man that night, not whilst he was in charge of a contingent who deserved deaths more meaningful than those he was ordering on the besieged Carlaci, which reminded Barran of the last transmission he received from, kicking in late as he also recalled what Proost had said about his own,
"Last transmission from Brand".
Promised Brand I wouldn't interfere, an' I'm keepin' ti that promise. The others aren't owed explanations on the matter.
PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - PART SEVEN
Northern Srares Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac
'Whatever's gawn on doun south, it's getting a little stranger as time passes. Jus' sayin', sir.'
Feeney had taken position at the southern lookout ridge, switching out for Baird after he returned to keep the scouting troops briefed on the situation as it progressed, though the young Lance-Corporal would find himself being relieved in a state of peak wariness in contrast, being forced to watch the creeping purple glow of the mist beyond approaching as he sat there and scanned the trees around him with the SA-65's fitted scope-sights. To the young Ewelarne Highlander's relief, the Guard-Captain would return to the same post to check in on his favoured replacement non-com, understanding the lad had similar potential to his own in the early days of his service with Blue-Heart Battalion, and being ever so curious as to what changes had occurred since Feeney was sent to man the makeshift, poorly-concealed southern lookout station. Even after all the stories that Feeney had been told of the Blue-Hearts' exploits, hearing of the sheer weight of the horrors they had to overcome, Rhone's exalted prodigy knew the young Highlander would see this experience as something frighteningly new, almost feeling that jittery apprehension right there with his latest addition to the non-commissioned caste.
'Aye, an' we're still t'hear fae Eclipse Company an'aw. Word fae Barran is that they intend to approach fae the south, so they should be passin' through this way.... But on Carlac, anything can happen. New ti the likes o' yersel, new t'me an'aw.'
Kneeling down to the lad's right-hand side, Ryan chose to calm his subordinate's mind by levelling with him, going against the regimented instilment of heightened alertness for just a little while in saying,
'I know ye think I'm some sort of gifted warrior who can survive anything, an' while I am a survivor.... Bear in mind I wasn't much older than you are now when Bastion 2 was thrown at us, an' most still agree that you're doin' better now than I did back then. Food for thought.', as his eyes scanned the horizon ahead. Baird was hoping it might help in the long-run, but understood the glaringly obvious condition would be for Feeney to survive the battle first, so the young Guard-Captain opted not to lecture any further, wishing not to overcook his temporary kindness while he was still alive to express it properly. There was a perfect middle-ground where just enough focus could be found that Feeney could drop out to make calmer, calculated decisions in the moment, and Baird knew that it was when his subordinates where in such a state that they were the most receptive to commands, behaviours the Guard-Captain had instilled in others on multiple occasions before, though it was obvious it wouldn't be so easy on Carlaci soil.
'Aye, fair point! In fact, now that you mention it, the others ay'ways did say yer the youngest Guard-Captain in Free-State history. I just never knew ye were even younger than the others imply, sir.... Quite the insight, must be said.'
Happy to see the lad of eighteen years receptive to instructions once more, the twenty-three year old Guard-Captain was about to remind his own prodigy that he was capable of much more than the likes of Kevan Rhone and himself when the distant echo of a snapping twig sent the serenity crashing down around him, and as both SA-65s pointed downhill through the trees, Baird could hear a lengthy, loud inhalation-and-exhalation through the Lance-Corporal's nostrils to his left.
'Haud yer fire, Feeney. I'll take the lead on this one.', Baird muttered almost instinctively, almost compulsively blurting out his response in reaction to both the twig-snapping and the fearfully harsh intakes of air alike. Looking through his own scope-sight, Baird would slowly rise from his prone position to reveal his silhouette to the southern approach at a single-knee crouch, keeping his rifle shouldered perfectly in every step of the change in shooting-stance; then, slapping Feeney's shoulder, Baird silently ordered him to cover their entire left flank, gesturing open-palmed guidance in a two-point signal from front to back in that general leftward direction.
'HALT!!! IMPERATOR!!! I REPEAT - IMPERATOR!!!'
'HOLD YOUR FIRE!!!!', the responding voice yelled back from a position downhill that wasn't visible to the alerted Woad-born duo, remaining as such until they heard the fitting response from the heavy-footed distant figure with the rough Northern-Galidraani accent. Although they were waiting for a few seconds, those few seconds felt like an eternity was passing before the Highlander's very eyes, and when Baird quickly looked left once more, he couldn't help but but smirk at the good fortune of seeing that Feeney wasn't cracking under the pressure yet. Though they didn't know it yet, the men of Guardian Company were moments away from linking up with Amadeus Blackwood's very own Eclipse Company, but the stress levels would only continue to rise until the fellow in the distance finally roared,
'IT'S,"TAVLAR", INNIT?!?!?!', to put the Woad-born duo's minds at a much-needed ease. The resulting emotion, however, would be irritation in both cases, seeing Baird and Feeney grit their teeth at how close they had come to a friendly-fire incident, a curse that neither Guardian nor Eclipse company wanted to be the originators of.
*'Amadan.... Ghabh e an ùine fuilteach aige, nach do rinn?', the Guard-Captain grumbled under-breath, sniggering when the Lance-Corporal started wheezing mirthfully, but trying to cut his laughter short so he could properly address the Galidraani soldier waiting downhill. Safety-catches would then be applied, routinely returning their index fingers to rest across the rims of their trigger guards, the Woads would then drop their barrels and let the undersides of their stocks rest against the same shoulders they were previously pushed up against. As soon as both were ready to receive friendlies, cursory nods would be traded before Baird stood up first, finding it easier on account of the fact he was already up in a kneeling position when they opted to get to their feet, yet Feeney was still quick enough to be standing almost an instant after him. Clearing his throat to shout again, the Guard-Captain quietly sniggered once more but controlled himself enough to bellow,
'MATE, WE ALMOST FIRED ON YOU!!!! HONESTLY, THAT KARKIN' PAUSE, MINN!!!! WHIT YE PLAYIN' AT?!?!?!?!', as a reflection of how annoyed he had been just moments before.
'GET KARKED, MATE!!!! WE'RE THE ONES WITH THE DROP ON YOU LOT, SO DON'T GO GETTIN' IT THE WRONG WAY AROUND!!!! FETHING WOAD-BORN PLEBS, THE PAIR O' YA!!!'
**'Idiot.... Took his bloody time, did he not?'
The Mongrel
Konrad Harrsk
| Auria Blackmoore |
Aemilio Valaar
|
Michael Barran
