PWOFalcon
“Lieutenant General Sherman, the Vagahm Engineers have successfully completed an undetected tunnel beneath the enemy blockade. One tunnel is operational, with two additional tunnels projected to be completed within the next few weeks. This will enable my Minutemen to conduct multi-vector assaults on enemy positions.
Progress has been deliberate but steady. The Minutemen have executed three significant strikes on rear depots, supplemented by minor skirmishes with hostile patrols. To safeguard the tunnels’ secrecy, I have ordered units to operate farther from the blockade. However, navigating unfamiliar terrain has posed challenges. Local militia scouts have improved our operational success, though our reach remains constrained.
Notably, Ar’lya, a Farian female scout and trader identified during st month’s rescue operation led by Captain/Duke Ryder, has proposed a promising strategy. Leveraging her connections with local vilges, she suggests establishing a friendly outpost deeper within Aristocracy territory. Major Comanche is evaluating this proposal. If viable, this outpost will extend our ability to disrupt enemy logistics, demonstrating our capacity to strike no matter where they conceal their supply lines.
I have coordinated with Major General Webster, 4th Infantry Division, who has committed two Field Artillery Brigades, alongside Lieutenant Colonel Patterson’s 4th MDTF (3-16 LRFB), Odysseus, and AMRSS batteries. We concur that disrupting the enemy’s logistical lines besieging Salva is the primary objective. Severing these lines could compel the Aristocracy’s northern Brigthon forces to withdraw.
Request your guidance on prioritizing resources for the outpost initiative and any additional support to accelerate tunnel completion.” – Colonel William Hackett, Minutemen HQ “Pace”
April 15th, 2068 (Military Calendar)
Kreito Vilge, Yuplenia Mountain Range, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Agore
*****
As Fraeya Holiadon approached Kreito Vilge, sweat trickled down her neck, her limbs trembling with fear. Her heart thudded like a war drum, each beat echoing the crunch of leaves underfoot. The acrid scent of cooking fires mingled with the damp earth of the surrounding forest, sharp in her nostrils. Her Farian guide, Ar’lya, strode confidently ahead, twirling a thin branch between her fingers.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Fraeya muttered, tugging at her torn garment, which clung uncomfortably to her skin.
“Stop whining,” Ar’lya teased, her voice light but firm. “Or I’ll swat you with this stick. Besides, you look… enticing.”
Fear ebbed from Fraeya, repced by a strange surge of empowerment. She gnced at her ruined green cover, now revealing more of her form than she’d like. Part of her recoiled at the role she pyed, but another recognized its tactical necessity. “You think so?”
Ar’lya’s amber eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh, absolutely. I’d wager those Comanche and Horatius boys—Ford and Forest—were sneaking peeks while you changed. Especially, you know who.”
Fraeya’s eyes widened, and she gnced back, knowing Ford and Forest trailed nearby in their Itlian-Ghost suits, cloaked by active camoufge. Ar’lya hadn’t shared the full pn with Captain Ryder—posing Fraeya as a sex sve to slip through the vilge gate—but there was no way her friends had seen her dressing. Still, she couldn’t resist checking, only stopping when Ar’lya’s sharp tone cut through.
“Don’t look back,” Ar’lya hissed. “Focus.”
“Sorry,” Fraeya whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m just… worried.”
Ar’lya’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “Why? I thought elves loved running around half-naked, communing with nature and all that spiritual nonsense.”
“Only at home,” Fraeya said, her pointed ears flushing. “With familiar folk. Not strangers—or as a sve.”
Ar’lya’s ugh was surprisingly melodic for a gruff warrior. “A shy elf? Listen, survival sometimes means using what the Goddess gave you. Or this new God the Altaerrie mutter about. Why else would the most battle-hardened males turn into drooling fools at a pretty face?”
Fraeya frowned, struggling to grasp Ar’lya’s point. In her sheltered elven community, she’d never considered her body a tool for influence. “Do they really act like that?”
“You have no idea,” Ar’lya said, her tone knowing. “A flutter of eyeshes can sway weaker men. I’ve gotten free goods and out of trouble with a little charm. It’s a cw as keen as any bde, if you know how to scratch.”
“Then why aren’t you the one pretending to be a sve?” Fraeya asked, genuinely curious.
Ar’lya’s expression darkened. “Because I swore I’d gut that Elder if he touched me again. Farians keep their promises—our oaths are carved in stone, not whispered in wind.”
Ahead, Kreito Vilge loomed, its wooden palisades stark against the afternoon sky. Fraeya felt the weight of their mission settle on her shoulders. With Vagahm engineers carving an underground path from Salva to bypass the Aristocracy’s blockade, the Americans had struck relentlessly at enemy supply lines. Now, Colonel Hackett sought an outpost to streamline Minutemen operations, and Ar’lya had suggested Kreito—a small trading post she knew well, one that resisted Unity’s zealous preachings.
Comanche and Horatius teams had scouted the vilge, hoping to align it with Salva under the House of Ryder. But they found Kreito occupied by Unity forces, intent on converting its people. A direct assault risked alienating the vilgers and causing civilian deaths, undermining their goal. So, Captain Ryder devised a subtler pn: send Ar’lya and Fraeya, with Staff Sergeant Kurt Forest and Sergeant Benjamin Ford providing covert support. Ar’lya’s familiarity with the vilge and Fraeya’s role as Ryder’s envoy would secure the Elder’s allegiance, allowing an attack alongside the Altaerrie once the vilge committed.
The catch was the Itlian-Ghost suits’ camoufge, which distorted at close range. Ford and Forest needed a distraction to slip past the guards unnoticed.
As they neared the gate, Fraeya’s fear resurfaced. Ar’lya’s pn hinged on her posing as a sex sve for the Elder, known for his many wives, to secure a private meeting and distract the guards. The thought twisted Fraeya’s stomach, but the mission’s importance—gaining an ally against the Unity—steeled her resolve.
A Farian guard atop the wall announced their arrival. The gate creaked open, revealing Dor’urth, a weathered Protector wielding an elecprobus set to spear mode, its tip glowing faintly blue. Scars crisscrossed his faded brown fur, testaments to battles long past.
Ar’lya rushed forward, embracing him, her tail swishing. “Dor’urth, you old warrior! Good to see you.”
“Didn’t expect you for months,” Dor’urth replied, his gravelly voice warm. “If ever, with this war.”
“War’s all anyone talks about,” Ar’lya said casually. “Bad for trade.”
“You once said war was good for trade,” he countered, whiskers twitching.
“Only if you survive to collect,” she shot back with a shrug.
Dor’urth’s gaze shifted to Fraeya, appraising her with unabashed interest. “This one of your treasures?”
Fraeya tensed, but Ar’lya smoothly interjected. “Bought her from Affrooliea. Toriffa captured her from those human enemies near Salva. Boring story.”
“Toriffa?” Dor’urth’s tone was skeptical as he studied Fraeya’s healthy form. “J’avais don’t usually leave captives in such… fine condition.”
“Why do you think I bought her?” Ar’lya chuckled, resting a possessive hand on Fraeya’s shoulder. “A gift for your Elder. Goodwill in troubled times.”
Dor’urth stroked his chin. “Surprising. Aristocracy w bans selling war prisoners unless they’re criminals.”
“And the Unity brands everyone an enemy unless they bow to the Katra,” Ar’lya retorted, pointing at the crimson Unity banner above the palisade. “Besides, with these humans around, I’ll find business elsewhere.”
Fraeya noted Dor’urth’s ears ftten slightly at the mention of Unity, a subtle sign of discontent. Ar’lya was probing, using the Unity’s dogma to gauge the vilge’s stance. Clever.
“True,” Dor’urth said quietly, gncing around. “The Elder will like your gift, but our… guests limit what we can offer.”
He knocked on the gate, which opened wider, revealing wooden buildings with grass roofs, firepces glowing against the chill. The air was thick with woodsmoke and the scent of fur. Three rger structures—stores and warehouses—bore colorful trading symbols.
Ar’lya nudged Fraeya forward with a light tap on her rear, part of the act. Fraeya forced a submissive demeanor, senses alert. Vilgers—mostly Farians, with a few other species—stared with curiosity or interest, their chatter fading as the pair passed. Several guards and three Unity warriors approached, their weapons glinting.
Fraeya’s gaze locked on an Orc battle mage, his bck uniform adorned with red trim and silver runes. Ar’lya stepped between them, loudly decring “Silithia” was for the Elder. She spun the same tale of buying her from Affrooliea.
The Orc, Frango, snarled, insisting traitors to the Katra faced execution. Ar’lya countered that the Unity sold disloyal females into svery as punishment, offering Silithia as a reward for loyalty. Frango scoffed, ciming the Unity had no sves, only those seeking redemption—a distinction Ar’lya dismissed as semantics.
Frustrated, Frango inspected Fraeya, his glowing eyes unnerving. He mocked her beauty, demanding she disrobe to prove her worth. Indignation repced Fraeya’s fear. Channeling her training, she shed her torn jacket with feigned confidence, revealing more of her form. Behind her stoic mask, she prayed Ford and Forest were capitalizing on the distraction.
She caught a glimpse of their distorted forms slipping past the distracted guards. Dor’urth noticed too, his eyes widening, but Ar’lya quickly engaged him, whispering, “Trust me.” The Protector hesitated but held his silence.
“Frango,” Dor’urth said firmly. “They’re here to trade. Any objections?”
The Orc gred at Fraeya. “Fine. Let the ugly filth in.”
As the guards dispersed, Fraeya overheard Frango’s muttered insults. “Ugly?” she hissed under her breath.
“Easy, girl,” Ar’lya whispered. “We’re in. Let’s move.”
Dor’urth escorted them through the vilge, warning that the Unity would sughter everyone if their pn failed. They reached the Elder’s hall, a sturdy building on a raised ptform. Dor’urth ordered the guards to stay outside, ignoring their confusion.
Inside, Elder Isrika knelt by a massive firepce. He rose only when Dor’urth mentioned Ar’lya’s “offering.” His smile was forced, his eyes weary, hands trembling.
“You alright?” Ar’lya asked.
Isrika sighed. “The Unity’s conversion has been… difficult. They executed one of my wives for honoring Tekali. Dozens of vilgers followed.”
“It’s the path of Progression,” a feminine voice interrupted, chilling Fraeya and Ar’lya. A chill swept the room as a Unity Priestess emerged, her crimson robes trailing like blood. “Enlightenment demands sacrifice. Those who resist face punishment—or death. What’s this interruption?”
Ar’lya recovered quickly, her tail shing, whiskers taut as bowstrings. “A sve from Affrooliea, loyal to the Altaerrie. Sold into svery until she’s enlightened.”
The Priestess eyed Fraeya. “I hope she’s a better wife than your st. But first, a public lesson in humility for those who defy the Katra—”
An ice shard pierced the Priestess’s skull, and she crumpled. Fraeya lowered her glowing hand. “I’m done being insulted.”
Isrika and Dor’urth stared, panic-stricken. “What have you done?” Isrika demanded.
“She didn’t give us a choice,” Ar’lya said. “You were supposed to be alone.”
“You’ve doomed us!” Isrika cried.
“Not so,” Fraeya said. “The Altaerrie are outside, ready to strike.”
The Farians recoiled, muttering about the Altaerrie. “You work for those monsters?” Dor’urth asked Ar’lya.
“They came to kill us,” Isrika added. “This is punishment for not converting!”
“Are you drunk?” Ar’lya snapped. “What nonsense is this?”
“The Altaerrie wiped out all races on their world,” Isrika said. “Even their own kind. They’re here to cleanse us.”
Fraeya and Ar’lya exchanged confused gnces. The Unity had twisted Earth’s history—where other human species went extinct millennia ago—into propaganda. Fraeya recalled Comanche’s warnings about misinformation.
“That’s a lie,” Fraeya said. “My father brought the Altaerrie here to fight the Unity, to free us. They’re not what you think.”
“Impossible,” Isrika scoffed. “They said we’d be cleansed unless we joined the Katra.”
“Coming from the people who murdered your wife,” Ar’lya pointed out. “I work with the Altaerrie. They’re different, not evil. Listen to Fraeya.”
“The ‘false Noble’ you mentioned is my friend, Mathew Ryder,” Fraeya said. “He freed Princess Assiaya from Lord Kallem and adopted her out of love. He’s no noble by birth, but he’s kind and fights for us all. The Unity took my family too. We came because Ar’lya said you’re good people. When we saw the Unity banner, Captain Ryder refused a direct attack to spare your vilge. Join his House, and the Altaerrie will protect you—free to love, worship, and live without fear.”
Fraeya’s voice broke as she paused, wiping tears with her tattered jacket. Her father’s face—stern yet kind—fshed in her mind, stolen by the Unity’s cruelty. The Farians stared, moved by her sincerity. Isrika and Dor’urth conferred quietly.
“I see why Ryder sent you,” Ar’lya said, handing Fraeya her magical gloves. “You speak from the heart.”
Fraeya slipped on the gloves, feeling a spark of pride. The Farians returned.
“If the Altaerrie vow protection,” Isrika said, “we’ll join Ryder’s House.”
“You won’t regret it,” Fraeya promised.
“What now?” Dor’urth asked.
Ar’lya knelt by the Priestess’s corpse, severing her head. Holding it aloft, she said, “Time to make a statement.”
They marched to the muddy courtyard, Dor’urth rallying the guards. Fraeya sensed their fear—a simple vilge wielding stick spears against the Unity’s might. Some clutched children, eyes haunted by memories of Unity’s executions. Ar’lya tossed the Priestess’s head into the mud, drawing gasps and the attention of Unity guards.
“What have you done?” Frango roared, staring at the head.
“You murdered my wife!” Isrika shouted, pointing to a basket of severed heads beneath a shrine, victims of Unity’s “examples.”
Frango’s fists clenched, air swirling around them as his aeromancy fred. “This is the darkness we purge! The Katra’s truth will burn away your heresy, even if we must purge every soul! Warriors of the Katra, kill them!”
A gust surged toward the group, but Fraeya thrust her hand down, summoning a stone spear from the earth to sm Frango into the ground. The vilgers and Unity soldiers froze, stunned by her magic. Two Unity warriors fell to 6.8mm rounds, and Ford and Forest decloaked beside Fraeya and Ar’lya, their sudden appearance startling the Farians.
Ar’lya sprinted to the gate, flinging it open. A Hispana shieldwall marched through, deflecting enemy strikes, as Comanche and Horatius stormed in. Forest signaled to Horatius, his voice low over the comms. “Fnk left—pin them against the warehouses.” Shouts and steel cshed near the warehouses, where vilgers fled past burning stalls. Fraeya warned Isrika and Dor’urth to take cover as Frango rose, his armor dented, right arm useless. He unleashed a gust at Fraeya, who countered with a V-shaped earthen wall, splitting the attack. She thrust the ground forward like a charging bull, but Frango stabilized with a wind bst, knocking her down with a focused air burst.
The air howled, a hurricane born of Frango’s rage. Fraeya pressed her palm to the mud, summoning a sludge wave that churned toward him. He shattered it with a gust, his eyes bzing, and hurled a focused airburst. Fraeya countered with a high-pressure water jet, slicing through the wind and drenching the Orc. Her boots slipped in the mire, but she steadied herself, thrusting her hand down. The earth quaked, a tremor swallowing Frango into the mud. She encased him in ice, her hands trembling, the rush of magic and rage leaving her dizzy. A dull ache pulsed in her temples—channeling so much power always took its toll. Had she become what she feared—a killer?
“Brutal way to die,” Ford remarked.
“He called me ugly,” Fraeya said, eyes bzing.
Catching her breath, Fraeya watched the battle unfold. Comanche and Horatius swept through, overwhelming the Unity forces. Tempr units soared over the walls, targeting enemy high ground. Vilge guards, guided by Isrika and Dor’urth, harassed the crusaders, creating chaos. The Unity refused surrender, setting buildings abze in defiance. ?lia Valhana, her auburn hair singed from deflecting a fire spell, sprinted to Fraeya’s side, her voice sharp with urgency. “Keep the fmes back—I’ll shield the eastern stalls!” Together, they used their magic to douse the fmes, saving the vilge.
*****
Walking into the Elder house, the facility reminded Ryder of the Kitsune, but grander. Animal bones provide decoration, flowers, and baskets hanging from the ceiling and walls. Besides the many rge firepces and rugs on the floors, patted baskets acted as chairs.
"Cozzy," Ryder said.
"Thank you," Isrika replied. "I know it is nothing compared to your station."
"You will be surprised. I currently live in a closet." Ryder saw the reaction from all the farian's, including Ar'lya, who commented that she assumed that was another Comanche joke. "We have a Pace, but the needs of our people come before luxury."
"You are modest," Isrika said.
"To be fair," Ryder replied. "I am looking for an upgrade. Now, should we conduct business?"
"Yes," Isrika said. "Your sve friend…."
Ryder turned to Ar'lya with eyes demanding an answer. She gnced away with guilty but unapologetic eyes.
"What?" Ar'lya asked. "You asked me to get us inside; I did."
"Fair enough," Ryder said. "But you expin to him that svery has been outwed with my domain. All sves must be freed or become a motuia."
This frustrated the rodent, and she began expining some of the Salva ws. In the meantime, everyone sat down around the table in these patted baskets.
"I wish to thank you again, Lord Ryder," Isrika said. "I am not accustomed to warriors being restrained."
"You should thank Ar'lya," Ryder said, sitting in the basket. He found it awkward as he was twice the size of these farian's. "She said you were friendly, one we could trust. The st thing I wanted was to kill one of your people accidentally."
"As I said, thank you for your restraint," Isrika said. "The question remains: why did you aid our vilge? We are not a warrior people."
"It is simple," Ryder said. "Our war against the Unity and Aristocracy. As you know, Kallem Verliance annexed these nds six years ago. We intend to build a new country under the leadership of my House, with my daughter, Princess Assiaya, as its head. To do that, we must set up a base in your vilge to strike the enemy and break the siege."
"Princess Assiaya? Your sve friend, Fraeya, mentioned her name. I was under the impression that she was dead along with the rest of the royal family."
"Her death was Aristocracy propaganda for obvious reasons."
"With respect, Duke, I find that hard to believe. The entire royal family was killed. If she were alive, we would have known by now."
Ryder reached into his Velcro tactical pocket within his battlesuit and grabbed a small film photo of Assiaya. She was wearing her green elvish royal dress in a presenting manner, as this was the first time being worn right before her coronation. He couldn't help but smile before handing the picture to the Valkyrie.
The Elder and Protector studied the image. They quickly accepted that the Princess was alive, but were more focused on the quality of the photo, which was made out of a strange paper called film.
Once their curiosity over the film photo ended, Ryder expined to his people that he wanted to turn his vilge into a Minutemen Forward Operating Base. From here, they could strike deeper into the enemy's rear, breaking the siege around Salva.
"The Elder wants to know what you have to offer," Ar'lya said.
"I thought you said he already pledged loyalty?" Ryder asked. "I thought I was doing a formality."
"He did," Ar'lya said. "I think he is just trying to py hardball as you Altaerrie say. It is uncommon for a high-ranking noble to visit the lowest csses, so he is intimidated."
Ryder reached into his pack and pulled out a scroll, handing it to the Edler Farian. "On here is everything we have to offer. But in short, as Duke, you will be citizens of the nation we are building. We will provide economic aid, trade rights, legal rights like religious freedom, and, most importantly, military protection against the Unity and Aristocracy."
The Elder opened the scroll, which was written in Lat and Elvish. Ryder could tell that the Farian was interested in the agreement. However, the Elder's eyes were doubtful.
"The agreement is wise," Isrika said. "I am also thankful for your people freeing us from the Unity, but it would be unwise if I did not express my concerns."
When the Elder Farian spoke, Ar'lya began transting. When the Aristocracy annexed these nds, The Vampire Lord made special agreements with the significant City-States within Nevali. The city of Iriskia was granted farmnd owned by Kreito in exchange for its loyalty to the Aristocracy. While Isrika was thankful for being freed, he wished for the Ryder House to return it, assuming it had broken free from the siege.
Ryder was surprised by the request, but it was expected. He and Hackett had debated this scenario, in which potential allies might demand the annexation of another nd as a condition of loyalty. It was agreed to avoid such a scenario, especially since the Americans had no historical context for the region's politics. Picking a side on a rivalry going back hundreds, if not thousands, of years was not ideal; however, they were at war and needed allies. Isrika was decred the first target after the siege was broken.
"He wants to know if you can recim their nds?" Ar'lya asked.
"I cannot promise them that," Ryder said. "If the opportunity arises, we will return the stolen nd that was given to Isrika. However, I would like to emphasize this point. My House and my people are not here to rewrite past wounds but to y a new foundation. If you side with us, we will do everything we can. We won't betray you."
The Elder stared at the document and then took it. The Farian then spoke to Ar'lya.
"He said," Ar'lya said. "You can use his vilge as a base against the Unity. In exchange, he wants to be seen as the Lord of these nds, with legal protection in a court of w within your daughter's kingdom. A House worth recognizing."
The Captain could see where the demands came from. From what he understood, the Farians were not considered equal because they struggled against more vigorous species, like humans, orcs, and vampires. The Elder saw an opportunity to elevate his position and was taking it. He didn't care whether it was for the best of the vilgers or driven by personal greed.
"Done."
"Okay," Ar'lya said. "Now he wants to know what you need of him."
"Now," Ryder said. "A team will come to set up camp. For us, give me your best scouts as we go hunting."
April 15th, 2068 (Military Calendar)
Yuplenia Mountain Range, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Agore
*****
Captain Mathew Ryder scanned the surroundings, his eyes catching the two teams crouched behind tall grass and dense tree brush. They blended seamlessly into the natural cover as a Unity Orgat airship glided overhead.
It was a light night, the gas giant’s faint glow casting a soft sheen across the ndscape.
"Do we engage?" Barrios asked over TEAMCOM.
"I’m pretty sure they don’t know we’re here," Forest replied. "Just passing through."
"Probably hauling supplies," Barrett added.
"Cocky bastards," Walce growled. "Can’t wait to school them."
"Knock it off," King snapped. "The airship’s moving out."
The airship accelerated toward Isrika, supporting the blockade of Salva. After a few minutes, Ryder rose and signaled the all-clear. The American and Hispana teams, alongside their Farian vilge escorts, reformed their formation and resumed their march.
To Ryder’s fascination, each member of Horatius wore a crystal-lens device called a Noxvisus, mounted over their right eye socket. It evoked memories of the bulky night-vision goggles soldiers once strapped to helmets before HUD integration. He’d heard of simir tech—DARPA had spent decades researching metasurfaces, amplifying light through resonance at specific IR frequencies and converting it into visible light within the lens. This was Agore’s night vision.
Ahead, Ar’lya and another Farian guide from Kreito vilge deftly navigated the terrain. Their expertise was invaluable, and Ryder considered recruiting volunteers for the Salva Militia. The Americans needed scouts who knew these nds, and the rodent-like Farians seemed perfect for the role.
As the group descended a slope, Natilite approached Ryder. "You did well back at the vilge," she said.
"I just followed Hackett’s advice," Ryder replied. "Go big to win an audience."
"It worked."
"This time. That vilge was desperate and knew they needed us. I doubt it’ll work every time."
"I’m just gd you’re embracing your Duke role. Confidence is key in House politics."
"It’s different out here," Ryder said. "Less formal. My shoulders feel lighter."
He gnced at Fraeya, clearing obstacles with her geomancy magic. "Fraeya, I owe you an apology for putting you in that position. I didn’t know Ar’lya would use you as a bargaining chip."
"It’s fine," Fraeya said. "It was… thrilling, in a way. I trusted you and Ar’lya."
"Noted." Ryder turned to the Farian guide. "Ar’lya, how far to the supply route?"
"Just below," Ar’lya replied. "Now what?"
"Now we get to work." Ryder faced Comanche and Horatius. "Higgins, Forest, call in a missile strike. Wings, Ford, paint the targets. Everyone, find cover—they might return fire."
The teams fanned out, taking concealed positions to avoid clustering. Staff Sergeant Forest and Sergeant Higgins set up an observation post, connecting a ser rangefinder to their ptop to rey coordinates. Natilite, the team’s best marksman, wielded a powerful ser pointer shaped like a miniature rifle, aimed at the enemy position.
Ryder crouched beside them, studying the ptop screen. Two dozen walkers and wagonettes moved along the highway, most den with supplies. Only the lead walker had an accelerator as an escort.
"Which one do I target?" Natilite asked.
"Nat, focus on the fourth wagonette," Ryder said. "Ford, hit the second-to-st. Let’s box them in."
"Boss," Higgins reported, "I’m patched through to 4th MDTF, Odysseus battery."
"Good. Strike when you have a lock."
Guided missiles and artillery were ineffective beyond line-of-sight until recently, limited by the ck of IRS or GPS infrastructure and the need for target painting. Previously, Americans relied on unguided rounds, crude map coordinates, radar tracking, or rare drone penetrations past enemy energy defenses—none consistently successful. That’s why the Minutemen bypassed the Aristocracy’s blockade. With the Vagahm tunnel network operational, VII Corps deployed an Odysseus transporter-erector-uncher battery from the Strategic Fire Battalion, 4th Multi-Domain Task Force—a theater-level unit specializing in multi-domain warfare, including precision weapons, cyber, and intelligence.
Confident the situation was handled, Ryder moved to a ridge overlooking the enemy convoy. Both teams lined up, some readying weapons, others peering through binocurs, awaiting the missile strike.
"BOC-Actual, this is Comanche-Lead," Higgins said over the radio. "Requesting two Mācuahuitl."
"Comanche, this is Odysseus-Actual. One PDS is on standby, awaiting fire coordinates. Targets must be marked, or Mācuahuitl cruise missiles won’t hit."
The Comanche Airmen reyed coordinates to the 4th MDTF, confirming two Mācuahuitl missiles were inbound. Ryder pulled his cross neckce from under his colr, kissed it, and offered a silent prayer, hoping this strike could shift the war’s tide.
"It’s almost offensive," King said beside him. "Their carelessness."
"Yeah," Ryder agreed. "Even the IRA wouldn’t be this sloppy."
"It’s because we haven’t broken their lines," Antius said.
"Good point," King replied. "They thought they’d crush us first, so they skimped on escorts."
A brilliant fsh lit the sky as two Mācuahuitl cruise missiles smmed into the convoy’s front and rear. The bsts engulfed the central vehicles, the rear erupting in a massive fireball from votile cargo.
Ryder watched as Comanche and Horatius celebrated. The Horatius team was electrified, cheering and csping each other in triumph. For them, this was a rare chance to strike a superior foe—a victory they hoped marked a turning point, not a fluke. The Kreito Farians stared wide-eyed, as if witnessing such a strike for the first time. They would report to their Elder, affirming their alliance in this escating war.
"Comanche-Lead, this is BOC-Actual. Requesting damage assessment."
"Strike successful," Ryder replied. "Requesting one more. Target will be marked."
"Secondary strike approved. Mācuahuitl-3 unched. Stand by."
"Impressive," Antius said. "You can pull this off anytime?"
"It’s not that simple," Ryder replied.
"Normally," King added, "we’d have birds overhead marking targets. But without them, we’re back to old-school methods."
As the final missile approached, the teams braced. The enemy below, still reeling, didn’t dismount. Marked by Ford, the missile struck, obliterating the convoy’s remnants.
Fmes roared along the highway, and Ryder felt a surge of pride. He gnced at Fvius-Elpidius Antius, whose eyes gleamed with newfound hope—a spark Ryder hadn’t seen before.
