“Does Vitelian cuisine not agree with you?” Loch bent slightly over to peer at the Strossvalder’s coffee, barely touched. “A shame. Before their collapse, they were inventive indeed. As much as Valsten, though I would prefer the meeting with the fruits of the south to that of the far west. How about you, miss?” He turned his attention deliberately to the black haired woman, who had been glancing at Von Neubaum in confusion, “For some reason, our mutual friend has had enough of the west, but does this taste not tempt one?” Loch didn’t know everything, but it was a fun hobby to feign at omniscience nevertheless.

“You must be here to gloat, then.” Von Neubaum didn’t allow his friend to reply, speaking up first himself. “Stealing the ballots is rather low brow, as far as plans go. How long do you expect that to work? The referendum will go through.”

“Low brow, but very funny. Especially when I let you see me do it just too late to be able to stop me.” Loch allowed himself a closed mouth chuckle before continuing. “No, it won’t work long at all, perhaps a few days, but I admit that I need to fumble for whatever time I can in these circumstances.”

“My commanders have put a price on your head,” Von Neubaum’s look remained cold and bitter, though the shape and lines of his face gave that a certain romance, admittedly. It didn’t make him ugly like other men might in such a mood. “You should be more careful. I would probably be rewarded if I shot you right here.”

Loch looked innocently behind him. “Ah, but that wouldn’t be very sporting, would it?”

Von Neubaum glanced where Loch looked, and when he looked back at the golden haired man he was smiling at him once more. “You don’t like to play fair games, do you.”

“I find unfair games much more interesting, yes.”

“Did you come here to do nothing but peacock?”

“No, actually.” Loch’s smile melted away, “I had a question for you specifically, since you arrived here. We both know where you used to be. You aren’t as good as you think you are at covering your tracks. I daresay you didn’t care about doing it at all. A little bird told me that it was likely you were in Halmeggia during its civil war. We can respect each other and confirm that truth, yes?”

The Strossvalder’s expression did not change. “What about it?”

“Did you have anything to do with what happened to its royal family? You or any connections to the Archduchy?”

“…Are you mad? Of course not.” Von Neubaum scowled.

“I see.” Loch thought a moment. “Well then, good luck. If you’re going to take the lady anywhere in the morning, though, may I recommend down the street and at the corner of Gildr Street and Gruhn Way? There’s a lovely little waffle store there, up a floor from a soup shop. Their sausage is absolutely decadent.”

“…”

Loch shrugged at the indifference before he turned and went on his way. He’d done his best, and some people couldn’t be pleased in the reliable ways.

-----

You are a wreck.

…Well, it could be worse, but not in any way that would be shocking rather than some resentful turn of fate. For your person in particular, not anyone else. Getting woken up in the night and beaten before being challenged to a duel you couldn’t possibly win yet had no choice but to accept, combined with the threat of Gerovic, the Fear, it was all far too much to think about. Let alone the other problems, like how you had no idea where Emma, your ethereal asset, had absconded off to. The removal of your conditioning had swept away your fighting ability so that you may as well have been holding a handful of noodles whenever you clutched a gun, to say nothing of close combat skill that had already been lacking, and though the pressure was no longer nearly as bad as it used to be, the shadows still stared, and the mists whispered, with your senses feeling ever inadequate to mind all the threats surely hiding all about.

In short, you, Richter Von Tracht, never been worse in your whole life, and your little finger on your left hand had been broken, too, a deep slash cut in your face by Bertram as he attacked you the other night, and the two places he’d punched you in afterwards were still sore- you hoped he hadn’t fractured one of your ribs. At the very least your subordinate officer, Junior Lieutenant Krause, had been at hand to help- as he continued to do, driving you to the doctor to be treated as your injuries were disguised to any others as a result of drunken revelry. The events of last night were to be kept secret to anybody else. Bertram has warned against involving others, and you weren’t about to test his patience, not yet.

Krause had asked you about a plan for what to do, as he drove you to the hospital, your car escorted by armed motorcycles fifteen meters to the front and back, space allowed due to the snow on the roads. You had answered simply- that you were doing this alone, and were prepared for the likely consequences, with the caveat that you didn’t intend to be the loser in the confrontation.

An empty reassurance to yourself as well as to Krause. What else could you do in the end, though? At least you had been given the deadline of one week to prepare.

Suffice it to say Krause wasn’t satisfied with this.

“I can’t believe your plan is to go and get yourself knocked off in a fight so hilariously uneven,” Krause muttered, “There’s no way you’ll be able to make things even in a week.”

“…Well…” you thought of a half-serious elaboration, “…I did think of inviting one person…and their escorts…Kommissar Zohl…if you’ve heard of him…”

“He’s attached to the 13th Mech Guard up north, isn’t he? Why him? I didn’t think you knew each other.”

“…He’s a piece…piece of shit…”

“Oh.” Krause blinked. “If you’re not on good terms, I don’t see why he’d want to go with you into what’d be a trap for him.”

“…He wants to…make me owe him…but…” as nice as it would have been to get Zohl killed along with you and make this whole affair not a waste, you couldn’t see Zohl being gullible enough to go with you either. You hadn’t met with him since the Langenachtfest party, not answered any letters he sent- surely he’d think that you suddenly wanting him by your side was off, and were you to share the details, he certainly wouldn’t come himself. “…It would have been a good thing…to get rid of him…” you relented sullenly.

“You’ll certainly owe him if he saves your ass,” Krause muttered, though he had a look like he’d found something in what you’d deemed a failure. “We’ve got a week to figure this out. Rondo’ll be coming back around in a couple days, too, with the other mercenaries. Maybe we can at least put Gerovic in a tight spot so we can handle one thing at a time.”

Unfortunately, Von Metzeler’s return wouldn’t bring much relief, you predicted. He had had the same conditioning removed as you- and the same Fear afflicted him afterwards, without any combat to temper it, unless he had been both unlucky and lucky at the same time. Anya was wounded, as had Kelwin- your primary capable leadership soon would consist of hired guns, unless you wanted to overwork Krause, or delegate more to the infantry company’s lieutenant in the absence of their commander, whether that would be temporary or more a long term problem.

The stop at the hospital was quick, thankfully. Your finger was set and splinted, the slash in your cheek was sewn up and bandaged with a strip of gauze and tape, and you were pushed right back out. A rare case, you figured, of being a person who clearly had no need to convalesce. You’d have thought of visiting Captain Kelwin, but…your last conversation, despite you meaning well, hadn’t ended like would be ideal. Some more time apart was probably good for both of you.

It occurred to you as you were being treated that you should…prepare for the worst. Write a couple of last letters, just in case. To Maddalyn, of course, and your parents, but also to Hilda. Not ”Thank your brother for murdering me,” but…something else. Something to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, because…it was her brother, after all, and he indicated he’d met with her- and that she failed to convince him not to come after you.

Yet when you returned to your tent, still above ground- you’d be sure to put yourself first in priority to move into the mole holes now- refusing for the time being to be bothered with reports or updates or the like, and focusing on this single obligation…you ended up staring at paper, pen in hand, ink drying on its tip. You would write a few words, and then you would see the desk, page, and ink all swirl together in a blur, until you could but hold your head in your hands, noises outside a fuzzy ambient incoherence as you couldn’t help but think of one thing.

These were your last words. This was your death, staring you in the face, and you’ve accepted it.

You had somehow not feared death before. Yet when it looked into your eyes from so close…it…

Ringing in your ears. Mouth dry, heart pounding. Dizziness as you realized with a start that your breath had caught in your throat. If you died, what would happen to Maddalyn? To your parents? To your comrades? Your legacy, your family? If your life was snuffed out, then, finally, Von Tracht would die out, not in heroic battle, but like a dog being put down in the woods. A realization came, that only one sort of friend was close at hand to help the most…

As you finally began to write, you realized…perhaps you had drunk too much. The fear had been mostly driven off…but the unfamiliarity, the sadness of it, the questions…the words simply would not come, and those few that did were unsatisfactory. You had to improve your odds, to at least try, even if it sounded like only sorcery would make it possible.

…Sorcery.

-----

“No.” Yva’s response to your plea was swift and certain.

“…But…Why..?” You had expected a refusal, but this was one of the few life lines you’d seen, and damn if you wouldn’t try and reach for it. You’d explained all you thought necessary, and what you wanted- within the confines of the cottage, of course.

“You know enough to know why,” Yva’s tone only grew harsher, her eyes flint behind her glasses as she looked up at you. “Are you a victim of unfortunate circumstance? Are you one who would not know the balance that is being toyed with? It is because you come here to ask for aid, that I cannot give it. You could not possibly have anything to offer that would make me budge from this decision.” She stepped past you slowly, then stopped, her eyes still stabbing into yours. “Rather, you do have something to offer, but you would never give it. I am kind enough to inform you that you should not even consider that, for the health of you and any you hold dear.”

“…What…what is it…” you were still tempted to tug on that thread.

“Somebody very powerful thinks you worth defending,” you felt a faint grasping sensation in the air about you, and you spied shimmering threads for an instant, as Yva continued to stare coldly. “Who is it, I wonder. The Blade of the West? The Specter of Time? Whom Crawled from the Depths? The North Wind-Borne?”

“…I don’t-“

“You would not know them by those names,” Yva tread over you verbally, “But you do know at least one. That you know what you do and have this weave is all but confirmation. Know that there are those whom are not I who would no longer say you are uninvolved. You are not on a side. For me to come to your aid, you would change this. That is all.”

“…”

“…When is your officer, Von Metzeler, returning?” Yva smoothly transitioned from the severity of before, as though pretending it never happened. “Tomorrow or the next day, I believe you implied?”

>You couldn’t just let it go like that, not even if you had to get on your knees and beg. Surely she could at least keep you from dying?
>…What if you were willing to be involved? It was a trade for life, after all…
>Fine. You had tried, but there was no chance of any progress. Maybe you should have known, but it was worth a shot.
>Other?

Past Threads are collected here: https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
Twitter for announcements and various horseshit is @scheissfunker

>>4004536
>Fine. You had tried, but there was no chance of any progress. Maybe you should have known, but it was worth a shot.
Being involved in the magic shit looks even more dangerous than fighting Bertram. And also can put Maddy in danger.

Let that guy who thinks we are worth defending (who I'm pretty sure is the Specter of Time) come out and actually defend us.

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Get dunked on, Von Neubaum

>>4004536
>>You couldn’t just let it go like that:
>Other?
She doesn't have to keep us alive but she can at least answer questions about Bertrams Bullshit Magic Eye, its powers and how to get around it.
Can she think up has some kind of counter to it?

Maybe drop the fact that if Richter dies then the Strossvalder mission will probably get pulled back home for good as well.

If he were a normal man then I'd accept just finding another non-sorcery way but he's already got all the cards stacked against us, surely we can at least nullify his eldritch advantage.

We absolutely should not get involved in any wizard magic cock measuring contest though no matter the cost.

If she doesn't answer anything or gets all snippy with more of the same "these ways are not meant for yoooou" I see no need to give her a hard time estimate for when Von Metzeler is coming back.
If instead she is cooperative however then Richter should mention to her that Von Metzeler is probably going to need her more than ever now if he's lost his memory.

Also didn't Richter get shot and Poltergeist not appear out of thin air to help? I think we can't rely on him showing up either.

>>4004536
Supporting this >>4004610

>>4004560
Alright then, keep your secrets.

>>4004610
>>4004673
Draw me a map of his eyes.

Writing.

No, you couldn’t just let this go, not when your life was on the line. No, you couldn’t possibly demand direct aid, or even for your life to be rescued from the brink of death after being defeated, but, you could at least even the odds. That was fair, wasn’t it? Soulbinders ill approved of the normals dabbling in their domain, and Bertram had his damnable sorcerous eye, a mockery of Maddalyn’s, and though you had an idea of how it worked from Maddalyn, that you didn’t fully understand it was an advantage against you. One you could at least ask advice in redressing.

“…I understand that it isn’t…my place, or whatever…” you steered the matter back hard, “…But…this is not simply man against man…and if I were to perish…my subordinates might be drawn away…” After a moment to try and let these sink in, you finished the statement, “…my opponent…he has a sorcerous eye…one like…”

“This?” Yva took off her spectacles, and she shut her eyes; when they opened a moment later, they were black as night, with glowing white centers- it was eerie how alike every eye like that had been.

“…Yes…” you coughed, looking away. “…Please stop that…”

“Unsettling, I am sure.”

It was, but probably not for the reason Yva thought. You certainly weren’t about to tell her that her eyes reminded you of your fiancée. “…Can you at least…tell me what I can do…do about that..? How it…how it works..?”

Yva gave you an annoyed half glare, crossed her arms (something she had recently regained the ability to do) and considered her response. “…Alright. What lives within this man’s eye does not see with light, as most eyes do. It sees the Presence, and though darkness is no barrier to it, and the living clearly stand out, what may be clear as crystal to our eyes is as a wall to that vision. Water, glass, but one may obstruct themselves in other living things formerly flush with presence. A soulbinder may be able to identify a man among foliage, even if it is fresh cut. I doubt a similar case for an amateur, no matter how practiced.”

“…Interesting…” hiding yourself among foliage was already an obvious strategy. At least it would still work.

“Also of note locally,” Yva continued, “You have surely noticed the Kalamarz. Their properties are unusual. They drink deeply of Presence when it is in its free state, and things made from them share their properties, even after they are no longer part of the tree. Water boiled with its bark, its sap, its crushed seeds, its charcoal…though the tree’s lifeblood is what is most potent, all soak up presence…and would dull any ability to sense the presence of what is beneath.”

That…was an order of magnitude more helpful. But… “…That’s…an interesting thing for you to know…I thought your sort…hid in…hid in plain sight…”

Yva’s eyes narrowed in warning. “I would not think overmuch were I you.”

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“…Sorry…” you muttered, tilting your cap down.

Yva cleared her throat. “My question from before, now. I believe I have overpaid for that.”

“…Sorry…Yes…He’ll be here…late tomorrow or…early the day after, perhaps…but when he does come back…” you wouldn’t have bothered saying this if Yva had decided to not help whatsoever, but since she had told you things… “…he says he…lost his memory of many things…but not anything recently…so he’ll…he’ll need your…I don’t know what is up with you two…acquaintanceship..?”

“…Yes, acquaintanceship.” Yva seemed satisfied by that descriptor. “Did you think it something else?”

Thoughts arrived at how people saw you and Anya. “…No…I wouldn’t have thought that…”

“Good.” Yva waved you out of the cottage. “If that was all.”

-----

When you returned to the headquarters camp, you were informed by aides that raids were ready to begin- though with your tanks out of fuel, were things to go wrong, you wouldn’t be able to come to the rescue of any raid squads. Their entries, supply caches and preparations had been set up, though, so all there was left was to set them loose on preferred targets.

Though, besides giving your direction on that, you did not linger. You intended to do your utmost to survive past the week, and to do that, you’d have to train. Not only in marksmanship, but also in close combat- with Anya out of commission and not out and about camp anyways (hopefully resting), you had decided to bother your loader, Jorgen, about giving you lessons in axes, or failing that, knives. He was a Yaegir, one of the warrior people of the forests of the north nestled in the south of Naukland, and you remembered that his skill was certainly reflective of the talk about Yaegirs. Whether you’d be a quick study was another matter, but it wasn’t like the crewman, with no fuel for the tanks, would be going anywhere anyways.

Though, as to what you had advised the raid squads to look for…

>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>Make raids on places that would draw attention. Villages, towns, traffic on the roads, the like. (Hard, Aggressive)
>Deep reconnaissance. There weren’t many soft targets close up, and you needed intelligence on what was further in. (Hard, Passive)
>Other?

Also, choose a perspective change. No, you don’t get a clear answer as to who’s who.

>The Scion
>The Remnant
>The Rogue
>The Vanguard

>>4005014
>>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>The Scion

>>4005014
>>>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>>The Scion
With all our losses let's play it safe for now

>>4005014
>>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>The Vanguard

>>4005014
>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)

We don't have any good leaders besides Kristoph for anything serious. Also don't want to escalate too much.

>The Rogue
Hoping it's Poltergeist

>>4005014
>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>The Remnant
Perspective change woo-woo

>>4005014
>Make raids on places that would draw attention. Villages, towns, traffic on the roads, the like. (Hard, Aggressive)
>The Rogue

>>4005014
>>Deep reconnaissance. There weren’t many soft targets close up, and you needed intelligence on what was further in. (Hard, Passive)

>Also, choose a perspective change. No, you don’t get a clear answer as to who’s who.
>>The Rogue

>>4005014
>Deep reconnaissance. There weren’t many soft targets close up, and you needed intelligence on what was further in. (Hard, Passive)

>The Vanguard

Don't forget the friendly phrase Poltergeist left us, Poltergeist, I am lost and you are bound.

>>4005014
>Ambushing patrols and harassing camps. Let the Twaryians have a taste of their own medicine, without committing too much. (Easy, Aggressive)
>The Vanguard

>>4005043
Switching to Vanguard

>>4006058
Didn't we already use up our Poltergeist-out-of-jail-for-free card somewhere?

Alrighty then.

>>4005043
>>4005065
>>4005129
>>4005155
>>4005182
>>4006165
Playing it safe.

>>4005853
Raise a ruckus

>>4005973
>>4006058
Get in deep.

>>4005065
Scion

>>4005129
>>4006058
>>4006165
>>4006202
Vanguard

>>4005155
>>4005853
>>4005973
Rogue

>>4005182
Remnant.

Soft touch and hard face it is. Writing.

>>4005155
>Hoping it's Poltergeist
Haha. I don't think so. A hint, they're all tank commanders. Wizard adventures will not continue soon.

>>4006299
>Didn't we already use up our Poltergeist-out-of-jail-for-free card somewhere?
You have not. He may have done a few unasked for favors, but the promised one is not spent unless it's one requested after the words are spoken.

The losses of the week had already been severe- and while you might have been a gambling man some other time, recent events had made you plenty cautious. So you advised that the raid squads play things safe. Keep the harassment small scale, as the Twaryians had mostly except in rare cases. Tit for tat. No need to provoke more, especially now. There was already enough on your plate, especially with a shortage of leadership.

That done, you fully intended to make this day yours, and to leave Netillian matters to Netillians. Now, where was Jorgen…

-----

A smoky tavern, thick with sweet, white haze, mutterings in one corner, laughter in another, and chanting yet elsewhere, a low lyre and pipes pair playing under it all. A deeply wrinkled man, dark tan from decades in the sun, a crooked yellow smile and a bent nose with the width of a tree stump and a similar termination. Dressed in Vyemani fashion, the wear of those who ever wander yet are never lost. A tall deck of wooden slats- cards, but for playing fate, not for gambling- that is another table. He already cuts the deck as his eye is caught. The cards are drawn and laid upon the table, with a set waiting for but one to be turned over.

Come here, and look upon this arcana suit in your cards. The suit of the Knight- the warrior, the champion, whose domains are duty and valor. As with all the arcana that we may lay upon our tables, to spy into what is to come, each of the four aspects of a suit match a nature of a man. It tells little to draw from the Knight, but the aspect, there comes actual semblance at clairvoyance.

I shall list them, for you whom is unenlightened. Look here upon the Scion, the aspect of the Knight whom holds the triumph of Duty. Let not that word fool you- a triumph of duty may not always bode for the better, but such is the same of all arcana triumph aspects, as you should know. See here its opposite, the Rogue, the nemesis of Duty. Yet the Rogue aspect may represent a freedom from an unjust duty, do see? Here to the bottom of the suit is the nemesis of Valor, the Remnant. A cursed card, most believe, and indeed, where it appears, most would only hope to see it as their enemy.

Yet here, the card you drew. The Vanguard, the Triumph of Valor. A mighty force, or a powerful opponent, or in another context, a stalwart ally, or even, as some may desire, one self’s own aspect. How lucky for you, that it was your opening, and thus, your person.

-----

The Vyemani grinned up at you, and you grinned back. “Not many of your sort have the patience for our little games of fate,” he said in the same rolling voice as before, “yet you certainly seem interested.”

“What can I say?” your Imperial was accented unless you focused good and hard, but you could speak it and understand it decently enough. It wasn’t long ago that you couldn’t- but with what was to come, it would have been silly to wrap yourself in your own flag and culture, thinking it an impenetrable shield. “Your cards show me in such a flattering light. For that alone,” you took out a dished pewter coin, worn but still of worth, especially considering the future you saw. “A gryivna. Though from the look of your cards, you hardly find coin hard to come by, do you?”

The old fortune teller cackled to himself through closed teeth. “Heh heh. Some around these parts would consider such payment an insult. Coin is coin, though. A thanks, mister..?”

“Gerovic.” You said, “Andrej. I go by a more formal title sometimes, but,” you brushed your hands down your jacket, plain as the rest of your current dress- you weren’t looking to part crowds with a black uniform of your nation’s army at the moment. “I am but a man right now.”

“A man with quite the cards,” the Vyemani’s smile broadened to crease his cheeks into his sunken eyes, “Could I tempt you with further games, perhaps? Your luck seems remarkable…”

“Much as I would like to see if I am being toyed with by the Judge or by somebody slightly younger,” you declined with a wave of your hand and a closing of an eye, “I do have some business to take care of. Have a good day.”

It was easy for you to be distracted. Astute enough eyes had such a weakness, as the implicit invitation of the Vyemani had. There was also the lonely looking, tired, slightly pretty young woman with a clay bottle and accompanying cup at an hour far too early to not want a sympathetic ear and a person to share drinks with. Alas, for necessity’s sake you preferred to keep such interactions with women brief and to get right to the point, hurried along with payment and punctuated as efficiently. You simply didn’t have time to play long games with individuals for companionship, not when the truly fulfilling games of these turbulent times were with enemies.

Enemies, perhaps, sometimes met with, such as in this den of equal parts relaxation and predation. One could never know at the first touch. Yet the person you were here to meet could be either, in the long run. They were a native of this conquered land- though now searching for allies wherever they could find them. Unidentifiable, save for the secret, innocent marking, of a collar popped unfashionably up.

>Never somebody to be trusted- but somebody to maybe be used. Thusly, you would go forth to speak with them as a friend.
>A threat- you already had loyal allies of this country, and they ill needed rivals. This would be but a warning- and if need be, an example. They would be dealt with.
>A heretic yes, but a lost sheep. Perhaps in their need, they could be guided to a path alongside yours. You were no holy man, but you liked to think yourself decent enough to be true in your bartering for an alliance.
>Other?

>>4006415
Well fuck, we gave Gerovic the most powerful card.

>Never somebody to be trusted- but somebody to maybe be used. Thusly, you would go forth to speak with them as a friend.

>>4006415
>Never somebody to be trusted- but somebody to maybe be used. Thusly, you would go forth to speak with them as a friend.
Of course we gave Gerovic a damn good card. Next thing we know, he finds in the forest while we’re dueling Bertram.

>>4006448
That would actually be good cause Bertram would shoot him. Nooo, Gerovic will defeat all our raids and kill another half a platoon.

>Gerovic quest is actually happening
Oh god I'm sorry for this anons

>>4006415
>A heretic yes, but a lost sheep. Perhaps in their need, they could be guided to a path alongside yours. You were no holy man, but you liked to think yourself decent enough to be true in your bartering for an alliance.

>>4006415
>Never somebody to be trusted- but somebody to maybe be used. Thusly, you would go forth to speak with them as a friend.

Now I'm not hoping it's Poltergeist.

>>4006415
>>Never somebody to be trusted- but somebody to maybe be used. Thusly, you would go forth to speak with them as a friend.
To guess the rest Scion is Metzeler Remmant is Wizelci Rogue is Eakova?

I return again.

>>4006436
>>4006448
>>4006473
>>4006837
A useful tool.

>>4006460
A lost sheep

Writin'

>>4006436
>>4006448
Just so it's clear, the choice of cards is the choice of character- you didn't give Gerovic anything, his card is simply the Vanguard.

>>4006837
Close. 2/3.

>>4007046
Does Richter have his own card?

>>4007060
He does not in this particular suit, no. It would have been a bit awkward to have a perspective change...into himself.

The cause was not one that could be compromised with- the redressal of the balances disrupted by the Kaiser long ago could not be compromised upon. Such was the common doctrine and bluster of Twaryi, but sometimes one had to be flexible. Or at least appear such. You knew well enough of times your nation had blundered or been cowed as a result of trying to appear unflinching without having the raw strength for it.

So yes, much as this contact probably approached you with a metaphorical knife behind his back, so did you. Any friendliness would be a mask, albeit a well-fitting one. One of the best ways to get anything done when you didn’t have a hundred guns behind you was wearing an expression bright as the sun, after all.

“Hello there,” you sauntered up beside the popped collar man, who looked barely breaching two decades were it not for the heavy lines about his eyes, “You look like a man in need of a few drinks.” No effort was made to hide your accent- both of you were not pretending to be that different.

“We need a lot of things…Captain.” The young man said, turning his head sideways, “And we’ve not many places left to turn to, to find them.” Clean shaven, you noticed, and though the clothing was plain, it was not rumpled or twice worn. Either wanting to look good for this meeting, or just fussy in general? “The rumors about your country’s overseas support. How accurate are they?”

“Gossip already?” you sighed, “Aren’t such things better spoken of over a little dish of something that tastes of lightning and isn’t much better for the body?”

“Are you always this way with everybody you meet?” Impatience.

“Of course,” you answered, “I like to get to know people before I parley with them. Not everyone wears their intentions openly like a corner store salesman.”
“I am with the National Liberation Front, and you are with the Twaryian Army.”

“Thank you for saying what we both already know.”

“…” the contact gave a short huff of annoyance, “Then what else do we need to know? Is that not enough to start?”

“Perhaps another pair of things to know,” you held up two fingers, “Is that I hear you have dealt with Twaryi before, and embarrassed them for trusting you. Clever the first time you enact a betrayal, yet hard to forget a subsequent time. Secondly, that Twaryi already has Ellowian allies whom benefit from the overseas support so rumored about. Any divvying up of that is less for us, and those we trust, in the end. Do you see what I am getting at?”

“…”

“You did not simply think I’d not have heard, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then stay a while,” you knocked on the counter for a waitress’s attention. “Over here!” you called, “Hot burnt wine for us both. You know what I’m talking about? Good.” Your order was given priority- a nice bonus when one was authoritative with your sort of accent. The heated ceramic bottle, wrapped in a leather holder, steamed outs its top, two shallow, traditional wide lipped drinking cups set before you- designed to let the heat dissipate more so that the less daring did not have to wait too long to drink. You were used to taller cups, you thought as you put down a few small iron coins for the place. “Anyways,” you told the Ellowian resistance member, “before we speak of what I can do for you, kind as I am to consider, you are going to tell me how your lot intended to make us forget the earlier offense, aren’t you? I might seem personable, but the moment you make a fool out of me for my charity, you will regret it. The Judge giveth life and joy, but also misery and suffering, yes?”

“I had hoped that meeting in the first place would show an intent to mend that,” the NLF man muttered, as you reached out and poured his drink for him.

“So my generosity wouldn’t be returned to me in the hands of the Eastern Resistance Army’s child soldiers?”

“No.”

“Drink a little, good sir, it helps loosen up.” Something this insurgent absolutely needed, by your measure, as you poured yourself a cup and started drinking from it. Most would never admit it in public, but the smoother Ellowian liquor was superior to its eastern cousin, despite their lack of love for the fire that enhanced it. “Might I make a few suggestions?”

“Hm.”

>You’d heard your friends in the Revolutionary League had some trouble recently. Perhaps they could have some help reestablishing themselves?
>You needed a ruckus raised somewhere. Maybe they could put your help to good use in a particular sort of place. (What target?)
>You’d like to know some things that might not be comfortable to part with. But they would have to be if you were to trust one another, wouldn’t they? (What information?)
>Other?

>>4007191
>You’d heard your friends in the Revolutionary League had some trouble recently. Perhaps they could have some help reestablishing themselves?

>>4007191
>>You’d heard your friends in the Revolutionary League had some trouble recently. Perhaps they could have some help reestablishing themselves?

>>4007191
>>You’d heard your friends in the Revolutionary League had some trouble recently. Perhaps they could have some help reestablishing themselves?

>>4007191
>>You’d heard your friends in the Revolutionary League had some trouble recently. Perhaps they could have some help reestablishing themselves?
NLF working with the Twaryians is going to make stuff even worse for us fuck.

>>4007226
>>4007248
>>4007260
>>4007291
Unanimously helping friends! This will not cause any problems at all.

Writing, though I'm resuming from partway through anyways, so update soon.

”Hm.” That certainly inspired confidence. What choice did he have, though? You were the dealer here, and this NLF hopeful had to play with whatever you gave him, so long as it wasn’t an absurd trade.

“Lately, I couldn’t help but hear from a few friends of mine…” you tapped your finger on the counter both of you sat at, “That the Revolutionary League…you’ve heard of them? Of course you have. They’ve had some serious trouble recently, so much that they’ve been near driven out of the region. If you’re really in need of help, how about you give them some help too? So they can reestablish themselves? You have hideouts and such, do you not?”

“Uh.” The insurgency contact tried to keep a poker face, but you had quick eyes- and an understanding of the situation. That reaction he couldn’t hide was completely reasonable- if the Revolutionary League could take advantage of them with the knowledge they’d gain just from being harbored, you could get the upper hand too- and like it or not, half of Ellowie was occupied by Twaryi. You were an enemy, and there were things you could not be trusted with. It would have been quite a windfall if he hadn’t thought about it, of course. “…Well, we’d need to find them, first off, or have them wait where we could get them…”

“That won’t be a problem. You got over here all right, didn’t you?” Patrols weren’t your domain, thankfully, else you’d be upset about meeting with somebody who probably laughed at what security there was with their crossings. You weren’t here to do busywork like that, though admittedly, that did mean that if your rival over the border was daring enough, he’d take advantage of any lapse in attention by those actually responsible for sector security. “Anyways, just give me that much, and once things are going in a way I like, I’ll fill my end of the bargain. Your rumored mountain of war materiel.”

That got the young man’s attention again. “Of course, yeah. Is it really…”

To tell the truth, it wasn’t as massive a contribution as one might hope for. Yes, the Caelussian Federation was sending heaps of stuff- but the Ellowian navy had managed to avoid complete destruction, and despite a few vessels being hunted down, they had made common cause with the pirates that the Federation had allowed to become a problem, and found safe havens in the islands and among the outlaws in spite of the loss of their home ports.

Ellowie had never engaged in unrestricted commerce raiding before, yet now, even after near a few months of convoys and individual cargo ships being savaged by all manner of submarines, destroyers, even a menace of a heavy cruiser, armed with the guns of something a whole weight class above it, the Caelussians had refused to treat the threat with the necessary attention, and the Twaryian naval command was hesitant to risk their relatively limited number of ships to deal with the threat themselves- as generous as the east continent was with land warfare materiel, they were also wary of directly sharing much in the way of vital naval assets.

A stressful pain in the ass, that there was absolutely no reason to tell this NLF man about. From his perspective, far inland, with no knowledge of what came into port or what was meant to, the “mountains” may as well have been as plain as true ones on the horizon.

A smile that came easily. “You wouldn’t believe the gifts I could start giving you. The right word from me to the right folks, and you’ll be like the spoiled daughter of a merchant prince.”

“Though seeing some of these gifts would be more convincing than promises.” the young rebel mused to the air.

Ah, a gold digger. Though they had their charms, didn’t they. “Of course. Here, we’ll arrange things like this.” You pulled a notepad from your coat pocket, and a crappy grease pencil. “We’re here, see? Go here,” you quickly lined out the large town’s relevant features, and the streets. Just enough to navigate by. “Tell them who you are, and that we talked about this. I’ll give you my autograph, that’s good enough to convince them. They’re the local branch of the Revolutionary League. Once we have things moving, along with sending those guys over, they’ll bring a nice, fat harvest of what you want most. Does that sound fair? If what we’ve got to give isn’t to your liking, you can call the whole thing off even, no tricks.”

“We’ll see.” A hard face, but he couldn’t hide his avarice. He took the slip of paper you’d marked with a map and a signature, and began to walk off.

“Not even a goodbye?” you complained to the back of the man’s head as he headed out the door. “Hey, you haven’t even touched your drink!” That didn’t grab him either, and the NLF contact went straight on to business. Good work ethic, sure, but couldn’t he have indulged just a little bit for politeness’s sake?

Well, maybe you shouldn’t linger here long either. Or could you? You hadn’t relaxed in a little bit, after all.

>Get back to camp and rouse the tanks. It was time to stir up a little trouble again, elsewhere on the border. Couldn’t have the Netillians go thinking they were too secure for long, and too much time away from any fights would dull your edge.
>Maybe it was time to go sightseeing. Across the border. You were already dressed to travel, after all, and you thought it might be nice to go around and meet a few new friends.
>You’d already paid for the alcohol. Find somebody to share it with. A little bit of unwinding wouldn’t hurt any long term plans.
>Other?

>>4007937
>Maybe it was time to go sightseeing. Across the border. You were already dressed to travel, after all, and you thought it might be nice to go around and meet a few new friends.
All according to cake

>>4007937
>Get back to camp and rouse the tanks. It was time to stir up a little trouble again, elsewhere on the border. Couldn’t have the Netillians go thinking they were too secure for long, and too much time away from any fights would dull your edge.
"Elsewhere" means "not here", and yes I am a metagaming shit.

>>4007937
>Maybe it was time to go sightseeing. Across the border. You were already dressed to travel, after all, and you thought it might be nice to go around and meet a few new friends.

>>4007937
>>Maybe it was time to go sightseeing. Across the border. You were already dressed to travel, after all, and you thought it might be nice to go around and meet a few new friends.

>>4007937
>>Maybe it was time to go sightseeing. Across the border. You were already dressed to travel, after all, and you thought it might be nice to go around and meet a few new friends.

>>4007953
>>4008226
>>4008633
>>4008687
Tourism!

>>4007982
Aggressive tourism!

Writing, update soon.

Rolled 3 (1d4)

The house could enjoy its own servings today, you thought as you rose up and took the same route the last man had out the door. You had other places to be- places you weren’t supposed to be. It was a cruel twist of fate that such places also had a tendency to be the most enlightening as well as fun to visit.
It’d be a long way to walk- you borrowed a bicycle and rode along to Dymy- once a small town, but now the last stop on the railway from Twaryi. It went both ways, of course, but no trains went across the border, or even came close- yet neither side seemed to think it necessary to demolish the connecting tracks. Hopes for the future, maybe.

Was it the best time to go gallivanting over the border? Not particularly, considering your capture or elimination would not be rewarded with a sizeable bounty. A mistake maybe, to send a photo yourself, but you couldn’t help but revel in the infamy- and apparently . It certainly was a good thing to brag to ladies of the night with. You certainly couldn’t try and charm them with your face, though in situations like you were about to embark upon, looking somewhat plain and forgettable was a valuable ally. Though, it being the season for scarves meant that you had an extra layer of security on that front, too.

Brisk midday came, the sun glittering off the snow, as you walked along the tracks which saw no trains, in your plain and ironically honest disguise as a mere civilian traveler. When one drew a border right in the center of the country, there was plenty of people who’d lived their entire lives without an invisible line of demarcation close to home. Straying over it was entirely understandable. There was, however, the risk of encountering locals of a particular sort. The Combined Battalions, a part of an initiative Netilland had made to empower a puppet state rather than Twaryi’s route of wholly assuming administration. Your accent was passable, but a native Ellowian would definitely smell something funny, and you hadn’t even eaten borscht today.

A risk you’d have to take, considering what you wanted to check on. Maybe it might be fun to get caught, so long as you didn’t smell exactly like somebody named Andrej Gerovic.

The risk of utilizing your current disguise, though, was that you couldn’t sneak about. Not sneaking about meant that you would be found by a patrol almost immediately, should they be being kept up. Naturally, you were found by some soldiers just about five minutes after crossing the border.

”Far du Haulle bes dhu?” One of the Netillian soldiers demanded after they’d made you stop, having run over. ”Foharr kahmmst dhu?” Netillian New Nauk had a tinge of Old Nauk to it, that made it a bit grating. Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? At the very least, they were plain Netillian soldiers- green uniformed, black helmed, though better equipped than the usual judging by the machine gun, not of the older models. Not the Ellowians you might have encountered were you less lucky.

“Hi there,” you said nonchalantly, with the best neutral accent you could muster. “How are you? Just came around seeing how the railroad ties are.”

“Don’t just blow off the question,” another Netillian said harshly, his hand tight on his rifle, “What place are you from? A village? A town? It’s dangerous to be out by yourself these days, and you’re suspicious as hell. Wherever you’re from, we’re taking you right back.”

>Why, you’re from New Jorgenstohn, of course. A new arrival, from the other town that burned down.
>You hate to admit it, but you’re from a UGZ. Maybe they could be kind enough to not take you back? (Which one?)
>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.
>You’re from a village across the border. You might have gotten a little lost, but you’d like to head back.
>You’re a Twaryian spy who’s had a change of heart. What a windfall this is- might they mind taking you in for protection?
>Other?

>>4009521
>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.

>>4009521
>>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.

>>4009521
>>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.
Would be fucking hilarious if this patrol actually managed to capture Gerovic

>>4009521
>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.

>>4009551
Gerovic is too lucky for that shit.

>>4009521
>>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.

I'm imagining Richter is probably off having some gruelling Rocky IV-tier training montage, wrestling Yaegirs and humping tree trunks with a rifle right now while we take Gerovic out for a nice cross-border day trip and exotic dinner. Our poor boy

>>4009521
>Do they have a problem with humble vagrants? You’re afraid you have no home to be escorted to.
>>4009589
With this playing https://youtu.be/Ld43X49rs8A

>>4009532
>>4009537
>>4009551
>>4009579
>>4009589
>>4009597
I'm a sovereign citizen, you can't arrest me, borders are a social construct, am I being detained?

Writing.

>>4009853
Sorry Mr. Gerovic, commanding a tank makes you a corporation.

>>4009853
>inb4 Gerovic and Richter meet each other without knowing about the other

A winning smile, or so you liked to imagine. Confidence could accomplish much where other things were lacking, even for one as ordinary as yourself. “Is there a problem with my being but a humble vagrant? Much as I’d like to accept your offer, I have no home to return to. My bride is the wind, and my life is the trail.” A romantic little quote from a novel you read, in exercises to expand your Imperial vocabulary. Unfortunately, the patrol was not impressed with your eloquent literary reference, though you could have presumed such a reaction before even saying it from the…rustic appearance of a few of them.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like a Vyemani,” a more knowledgeable trooper supplied.

“Indeed,” you agreed.

“Yeah, well, not even rat men are allowed to just skip over the border here. Humble vagrant. Spy, more like, I bet. Even if you were a rat man, you’d be even less trustworthy, just like those crackpot moss heads.” Moss head? A new term. Presumably he was speaking of the- “You’re coming with us for questioning. Run away and we’ll shoot you.”

“I was more planning on walking away.”

“Shut the hell up.” The leader of the patrol stepped forward and grabbed you by the collar of your coat. “One more word out of you and I’ll whack you. Kashern! Get your ass over here and frisk this guy. See if he’s hiding anything.”

Getting whacked wasn’t something that sounded appealing, so you tolerated the search. It wasn’t as if there was anything to find- you had practically expected this to happen. The identity you carried was false, the mementos you carried had false stories, and the gun they picked off of you was a purposefully chosen antique derringer, not something one could trust to defend against more than a single midnight mugger, and even then more than a few would trust a prayer more.

“Nowicki, huh,” the leader sneered at the false passport you were carrying- an old, crappy, certainly out of date one like many wandering folk (most Vyemani, particularly) would carry- that particular one had an expiry date of near four years, not coincidentally, just before the Ellowian Republic reclosed a very brief time of allowing migrants from Twaryi. Nowicki was a common name in Ellowie, but also one adopted by many a migrant hoping to discard their foreign past, especially with all the bad blood between prideful Ellowie and its neighbors. With enough layers, a lie could seem more genuine than the truth. “We’ll be confiscating your toy gun here. If you’re clean, we might give it back, but you can’t have it anyways if we decide to cart you off to a UGZ like vagrants get dumped in regardless. Don’t make any trouble. Come on, boys, let’s take this moron to the base.”

Mock you as an idiot as they may, the fact was, you thought smugly to yourself, that they were taking you to a place you wouldn’t mind having a look around at all.

-----

You only saw a few sights as you were shoved through the headquarters camp. Much as you’d like to have had a glance at the tanks in the motor pool, you only got a glimpse at the recognizable form of a T-16, still in black paint. So that’s where it had ended up, hm? Unfortunately, besides a concerted appearing effort to fortify and move everything underground, you noticed nothing else of interest before being bound, cuffed to a chair, and left guarded in a large tent. It seemed that you were at least interesting enough to keep around rather than being hauled straight off to a camp. That was indeed a risk, and if that happened, you’d have had to…think of something.

It took a full couple of hours or so for somebody to get to you, and right at the precipice of dying of boredom, somebody finally came through the tent flap door, with a rough dismissal of the two guards as they walked out past the one entering. In the meantime, you had messed with your restraints enough to free yourself quickly, though that was mostly out of an agonizing lack of anything to do, since the guards were as conversational as boulders, save for when you hummed or whistled, where the entirety of their interactions would be threats.

”Vas faer en faerdammter schmerss en meine arsche,” said a female voice, speaking an awful lot through her nose, who could have sounded like a little boy were it not for her foul mouth. The black uniform threw you off for a moment, but it had a silvery white trim like nothing in Twaryian service, and a cap with a shield emblem in its center. If you were to be cruel, the young blonde woman, with her freckles and slim figure, looked as much like a little boy with her diminutive slim figure as she sounded. Her right arm was bound in a sling. Wounded, and recently, not like the deep scar across her face. “So who the fuck’re you supposed to be?” she demanded. What in the world was that accent? It was the first time you’d heard that. Was it Strossvalder? Fascinating. “Hey moron.” She cleared her throat, “I asked you a question.”

>”Hey there, sexy. I usually like to wait a bit but you had those men ordered right out, huh? That’s some initiative.”
>You’re just a traveler, not up to anything suspicious. You’re sorry if that’s a boring story, but it’s the truth, and you don’t really know anything she’d want.
>Of course. How rude of you. You’re Alexey Nowicki. What was her name, since you were getting acquainted?
>Free yourself theatrically and ask for a dance.
>Other?

>>4009929
>Of course. How rude of you. You’re Alexey Nowicki. What was her name, since you were getting acquainted?
Don’t wanna see him getting punched in the pee pee so soon

>>4009929
>Of course. How rude of you. You’re Alexey Nowicki. What was her name, since you were getting acquainted?
Knowledge is power.

>>4009951
>>4010096
Well aren't we polite.

Writing.

“Of course, of course, how rude of me.” You didn’t actually care about true appearances, of course, but you were in no position to be domineering, even if that would have led to more answers to your many questions. “My name is Alexey Nowicki. I’m-“

“Fuck you, that’s not your name.”

You weren’t quite expecting to be interrupted with that. “…I assure you that it is. If you would look at my passport-“

“That’s my name. Nowicki.” The woman seemed puzzled. Did she not know how common it was?

“People can have the same name. Especially one like Nowicki.” You pointed it out succinctly, “Don’t you know how many people have that name? How many people have taken that name?” A realization as you peered behind her eyes. “…Are you really an Ellowian? You don’t sound like one, for sure.”

“…That’s none of your damn business.” The girl recovered quickly, despite her curiosity clearly lingering, “And I wasn’t asking your name. Who the hell cares about that? The guys who brought you in said you were claiming you were a vagrant. You know how bullshit that sounds, don’t you?”

A shrug of your shoulders. “If you want to ask me questions, I’ll answer them. Suspect as I may seem, I can’t help what I am. I can’t stop you from beating answers out of me, but why bother when they’ll be useless? Or worse, if I make up outright fiction to satisfy you?”

The woman scowled at you, tilting on a leg and putting her free hand on her hip. “I’m thinkin’ of beating you anyways just for fun.”

“With one arm?” you tempted yourself with an innuendo, “One hand?”

“With my fucking feet.”

“Ooooh, even better.”

“Shut up. You know you could just be shot here and nobody would give a shit, right?” Testy, this girl was, though her irritation seemed to have carried over from somewhere else. Try as you might, you hadn’t deepened her anger more than it already had creased her face. “That’s probably what the penal battalion people would do just a bit over. So how about you quit fucking around and say something that doesn’t make me want to kick you?”

“Ask away.”

“…” The girl must have been expecting another retort. Maybe she was even disappointed. “Alright. Why were you coming up from the border? The guys said you were following the railroad north.”

“I tired of where I was. I am a wanderer, do I need any other reason?” Your romanticisms had no effect, and you didn’t expect them to, but you had to remain in character. “Though admittedly, I was pressured onwards by the further encroachment of the eastern invaders, as they steadily turn Ellowie into Twaryi, into Caelus…”

“How so?” the young woman demanded.

“Simple things. Troops on the roads, their militias elsewhere, the paranoia and mistrust as all report one another, the persecution against ”heretics”, if I were to want to stay anywhere, why there?”

“You ever hear of anybody called Gerovic?” She asked next. How flattering.

“I’m afraid not.” Your story simply didn’t line up with your own presence in the region. “I traveled up from further south, and I hadn’t heard of him down there either. If he’s somebody around here, I’ve only recently arrived.”

“…” The woman was starting to get bored- you were a waste of time, but she thought of something else that gave some spark back. “You see anything interesting up the way?”

“I went the way to Dymny, then went further after. Nothing more than the usual.”

“Where before that?”

Hm, that could have been a troublesomely sharp observation there. Truth be told, you didn’t remember the names of all the towns back down the way; that is, the names they used to have, if she were to keep pressing further and further back. Perhaps you could bluff…”

“I rode the rails up from Wlasavia,” you managed to find a thread to cling to, “Here was where the trains ended. What choice did I have but to walk?”

There was the point where the woman’s flagging interest finally fled. “Fuck it.” She sighed as she took her hand off her hip and slipped it in her pocket, “You’re goddamn useless. But that doesn’t mean you’re walkin’ out. Just in case, I’ll have you kept at the UGZ. That’s where you morons who wander all over are supposed to be shipped off to, anyways. So unless you suddenly remember something real interesting, get ready for a long stay.”

>In that case, you did remember something interesting. (What?)
>Wait for her to leave, then free yourself and affect an escape.
>Fine, you could go to a UGZ. And slip out on the way, or when you arrived.
>A new place to explore? Exciting. You wouldn’t mind being kept sheltered for a bit. Your men could handle everything anyways.
>Other?

>>4010448
>Fine, you could go to a UGZ. And slip out on the way, or when you arrived.
GeGe bizzare adventures

>>4010448
>Fine, you could go to a UGZ. And slip out on the way, or when you arrived.

>>4010448
I feel like Gerovic wouldn't give up so easily in the middle of the camp of the strange Strossvalder rival that he'd like to see more of.

>>In that case, you did remember something interesting. (What?)
Make up seeing Twaryian army movements out of this sector.
Or that you saw a military airfield getting constructed not too far away.
Or maybe a lie about something out of the ordinary like a huge railway gun like the Caelussian equivalent of the Schwerer Gustav sitting in Dymny. Unless that breaks the artillery ban for the border lands. I dunno I'm sure both Netilland and Twaryi are secretly breaking rules all the time.

otherwise:
>Fine, you could go to a UGZ. And slip out on the way, or when you arrived.
Still more stuff to see over there.

>>4010448
>>Fine, you could go to a UGZ. And slip out on the way, or when you arrived.

>a thousand years later
I'm here now. Blame hungry trees.

>>4010468
>>4010491
>>4010684
Go to summer camp

>>4010559
But have you heard of all this?

Updeit soon.

Not that being shipped off to one of the much whispered about Ubergangszentrum, “transition centers,” wouldn’t be an enlightening experience, but if you could at least convince this girl to keep you behind to be queried by any superiors, that would be better than just being sent away, scarcely knowing more about your opponent personally besides that perhaps he had a taste for blondes.

“Maybe I did see something interesting then,” you added a more cautious contemplation to your tone, “…there was land being cleared and evened out earlier along the tracks. A place being built.” Indeed, a place was being built thirty three kilometers south from Dymny- a small airfield for light aircraft, but it was hardly a secret. It was almost done last you heard anyways. “And…there were people coming up from the south, then going west, I think…” Utter fabrication, so vague nothing could be gleaned from it.

She knew it, too, as her patience for you ended. “Yeah, I bet. Now you’re just boring. Hey! Louts outside! Get this idiot out of here. I’ve wasted enough of my time. Fuckin’ ‘stache thinking he’s so funny…”

-----

Slipping out of your already loose bonds was an idea you considered early, as you were delivered on a plain horse and cart with but a single guard, though it was a risk you didn’t particularly need to take. Everything that had happened had been by your consent thus far, after all, save for not being held in preferred detention for longer. You hadn’t had a good look at any UGZ from afar- now would be a chance to have an up close and personal look. Hearing of them was one thing, but the state was inclined to take the least generous view as part of propaganda, and propaganda had a way of spoiling any truth that happened to be adjacent. Of course, the rosy Netillian name for them was probably no more accurate. Transition Center. Yet they’d been here for months. Was there even progress being made, you wondered.

UGZ-09 looked to be standard for what you’d looked into, as well as based on reports of the place’s own description. It was a city in miniature built atop a town, with inconsistent construction in various stages of incompletion everywhere but the well-fortified and barb-fenced perimeter. It was all grey, brown, and gloomy, even the uniforms of the garrison seemed dulled by the surroundings, though you were far away enough that maybe any hint of pleasantness was blurred in, rather not being present whatsoever.
Yet you noticed something as you were walked through the streets. The people here were discontented, but they didn’t seem to be suffering. Most of the time. There were places where you saw rowdy Netillians causing distress, and you asked after that.

“Penal Battalion troops,” your escort said, “Watch out for them while you’re here.”

While you’re here. It didn’t sound like he was trying to lie. The Netillians believed the words of their despots, at least. Penal troops though, hm? You’d need to do some asking around about that. Just from looking about, the people in this UGZ were tragically lacking in rebellious spirit. Somebody was treating them too well; a closer inspection of the incomplete buildings showed at a glance that they weren’t dilapidated, but being finished ad hoc. According to your intelligence, as well, UGZ-09 had utterly failed to rise up and cause trouble for the Netillians like UGZ-07 had. It would have been a catastrophe for the sector if they had, yet they didn’t…

In short, trying to mess about using the UGZ’s denizens was likely a futile gesture.

Penal battalion soldiers, on the other hand? Disgruntled malcontents, and most of them, you had heard, weren’t in their position for even being normal criminals, but for being political dissidents, or being related to them. What a fertile bed of soil that could be.
Then again, that would require being here a bit longer…

>Remain in the UGZ. Not the loveliest looking town, but the locals were charming.
>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
>Other?
Also
>Draw another card?
>Draw the Revenant

>>4013252
>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
Criminals can be counted on to chase their own well-being, but you never know with the idealist types. Properly formenting unrest will require too much time.

>Draw the Rogue

>>4013252
>>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
>Draw the Rogue

>>4013252
>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
>Draw the rogue

>>4013252
>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
>Draw the Revenant

>>4013340
Actually changing cars to Revenant

>>4013252
>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.

>Draw another card?
Remnant
Too curious, when the fortune teller said it was a very bad card.

>>4013252
>>Slip away. Your comrades called, your homelands beckoned, and you could accomplish more with cannon than with words, in due time.
>>Draw the Rogue

>>4013252
Supporting this >>4014625

Rise and shine.

Aside from unanimous slipping back to greener pastures:
>>4013264
>>4013269
>>4014888
The Rogue

>>4013393
>>4013622
The Revenant

>>4014625
>>4015592
The Remnant

Rogue it is, then.
Writing.

No, interesting as it was, not was not the time. It was too slow-too gradual. Criminals pursuing their own greed or vices could be counted on to make mere mischief, but the ideologues? They required more investment, and you were already quite invested in a quicker solution to the ails of the world.

The UGZ was crowded, and the streets were no different, as you were walked along rather than transported in a cart, by the same lone soldier. With your bonds already loosened, all it took was for you to slip your wrists out…and give the man a good clout in the lower back and a swift kick to the shin. It was for his own good, really, as he yelped in alarm and you sprinted off into the alleys. It was much less embarrassing to have been sucker punches by a prisoner than for them to have mysteriously disappeared.

…Well, this was ultimately less productive a venture than you liked, you thought as you ducked into an alley to stop a good three blocks away, inverting your jacket to its alternative color inside, and only coming out when you saw a flat cap you traded off the man wearing it in exchange for your belt. It was funny how much clothes could make a man, as you practically became somebody else entirely, leaving you plenty of time to find a way out of the place to get back to your unit, and to your tanks…

-----

The cards are drawn, and laid down upon the cold earth. With such simple tools, one may gaze into the eyes of fate and glean her intent, if only just the faintest clue of it, or so it is said. Some would say that one sees what they wishes in the cards, and that if destiny were so easy to discern, that everybody would do it. Yet, in ancient times such weight was placed upon omens, and indeed an Augur of eld could very well decide the future, were the auspices so poor that catastrophe was not dared to be tempted.

The card is flipped, of four laid down. One of the suit of the Knight- the nemesis of Duty, the Rogue. The Rogue is in the suit of the knight for very good reason- as the forsaking of Duty is not something as black and white as Nemesis or Triumph. In times long ago, when these practices were first made, after all, an agent of chaos was merely that of nature, and not a defined enemy of Order. Times have changed- yet the Rogue has changed from one following nature, to one defying false order. The Knight is a neutral suit- and has such accommodation.

Yet your card, for all the intrigue about it, has one agreement held by all to be definite- it is not one that Fate holds certain nor peaceful futures for. How quickly the Nemesis of Duty may slip to become one or the other aspect of Valor.

-----

“Sounds like a load of horse crap.” You muttered, squatting down and peering at the card flipped over. “That don’t look like no Rogue or whatever either, that’s a Jack of Clubs. I ain’t blind.”

“Well,” one of Richter’s crewman, his gunner, named Stein, was caught off guard for some reason. “I don’t have actual Arcana, but each playing card has a match, in case…”

“Can I get a cooler card?” you asked as you started flipping the others over, “Which is the best one? Give me that one instead.”

“You can’t just pick your card,” the blonde gunner said testily as he slapped your hand away, “Mocking Fate even in a little game like this is bad luck.”

“Fate can kiss my ass,” you declared, “King of Clubs. What’s that one?”

“The Vanguard. That’s not your card though, can you stop? You’re accidentally giving yourself a really bad omen-“

“It’s just a stupid game,” you had to remind this guy. It was a funny thing that you knew his sister- Karla Smitt, or rather, by the name everybody in the Hogs called her, Smitty. Long blonde hair, big fat rack, and a few screws loose. Besides the face and the screws, her brother didn’t seem much the same, even if Smitty had joined up not long before Hell kicked the bucket.

“It’s….feh.” Stein sighed and swept up the playing cards. “You could at least play along. Jorgen and Mal went off in the woods with the Commander, and-“

“Why not get the dirtbag in on this then?” the gunner and the radioman, a sleazeball named Hans, had been acting all crappy to each other ever since you’d signed on. You’d heard they were supposed to be good friends, but you certainly couldn’t see it. “Is it because he fucked your sister?”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He put the deck back together and stood up, “Should have known you’d be like this. Go piss all over somebody else if you’re going to act like you’re always on the damn rag.”

“Whatever,” you said to his back as he got away from you. He was the one who asked if you wanted to play a game- you didn’t think it’d be hokey fortune telling.

Your name is Anya Nowicki, and it was about time for you to stop goofing off playing stupid card games.

>Go see what fairy boy was doing in the woods with manlier men. Maybe somebody there would be willing to have a spar for once, if they were already doing it.
>Check up on the Ashes. Judge above knew that kids didn’t handle winter very well as it was, and you’d barely found the time to get more things for them. A gram of prevention was itself many times over in cure.
>The National Liberation Front was probably as impatient as ever. With Richter not giving them attention their temperament could shift to that of a scorned lover- best to try and preempt that.
>Other?

>>4016252
>Check up on the Ashes. Judge above knew that kids didn’t handle winter very well as it was, and you’d barely found the time to get more things for them. A gram of prevention was itself many times over in cure.

>>4016252
>Check up on the Ashes. Judge above knew that kids didn’t handle winter very well as it was, and you’d barely found the time to get more things for them. A gram of prevention was itself many times over in cure.

>>4016252
>Check up on the Ashes. Judge above knew that kids didn’t handle winter very well as it was, and you’d barely found the time to get more things for them. A gram of prevention was itself many times over in cure.

>>4016252
>>Check up on the Ashes. Judge above knew that kids didn’t handle winter very well as it was, and you’d barely found the time to get more things for them. A gram of prevention was itself many times over in cure.

>>4016288
>>4016306
>>4016353
>>4016464
Being big sister. Or mommy. No, the former.

Writing.

Winter here in Ellowie was colder than you thought it’d be. The time you did hang around briefly with the Hogs near the country, it was summer, and winters in Sosaldt hadn’t been cold enough for you to need to button up. Not so here. It was that, and the fact that your inability to train properly meant that…well, you weren’t as cut as you liked to be. Eat less? You’d rather get shot again than starve yourself. A compromise was reached, with what you got up to do.

The Ashes, that bunch of kids in the woods playing at being militant rebels, weren’t self-sufficient whatsoever, and they wouldn’t be without getting into trouble, either. A portion of the food you packed away in a sack to bring them was yours- you knew what it was like to be a hungry child, all too well. It wasn’t something you wished on anybody you could help with. It wouldn’t be enough, it was never quite enough, but you hoped that at the very least, you’d keep them full enough to not get sick. Getting sick in winter could be a killer for stray children like this. Something else you also knew uncomfortably well, even in Sosaldt.

Nobody questioned where you went with the bag of things (a privilege of being a retinue), though with your arm injury it was hard enough that you (only briefly) considered if you should ask for help. The only reason you weren’t making Richter do it was because any time he was being beaten senseless was probably what was best for now. Especially with him losing what he said he did. God damn it. It still made you mad to think about. He was already so different from what Hell had been, and the further away he drifted…

The more dead Hell got.

A disguise, again. Makeup, again. Dresses weren’t as bad as you’d figured, after you’d worn one to that Langenachtfest party. Dancing was pretty fun too. The makeup was still off putting, though, but if you didn’t wear it along with everything else it was just too obvious who you were, and with Twaryians still possibly running about, even during the day, even with the patrols…the risk wasn’t an exciting one. Getting killed by yourself while helpless where nobody could see…that wasn’t what you wanted, it wasn’t what you’d have. Even still, belted under your dress, you had a pair of grenades, a pistol, two knives… and the pins in your hair, though hidden under a head wrap like the rural girls here tended to wear, especially in this season. The sling set loose…agh, your arm…

Game face, Anya, c’mon, you thought as you bit your tongue. Even if you feel like shit, can’t look it. Not in front of the soldiers, sure as hell not in front of the kids.

-----

When you went out by the rusty old tank, coated in snow, and whistled sharply for the ashes, you didn’t like what you saw. Not that you expected them to come running and stand at attention or some bullshit, but the leaders were supposed to come right up…more of them should have been coming up since you always brought them food and stuff. Yet none of the Squad Leads were around. No Dan, no Tanya, no Elly…No Ryse. All the older kids were gone, and so were some of the younger ones, and it made your blood turn as cold as the snow on your boots.

“Where is everybody?” you demanded of the Ashes present, “…Anybody sick?” You didn’t like the scared looks going around. These kids weren’t nasty enough to know how to lie right, and they were all thinking of if they should hide something. “Spit it out,” you hated losing your temper, it had always gotten you into trouble, but lately, it was hard to keep it in check. “I’ll belt each and every one of you if something bad happened and you’re keeping it a goddamn secret.”

Nothing. Silence. If this was kept up you’d really get pissed. “I said spit it out,” you grit your teeth. Calm down, Anya, calm down. But you couldn’t help but fear for the worst. “I….I won’t get mad. I promise.” Too late for that, but you had to get something. “Just tell me what’s going on. Did they go out playing? Messing stuff up? Stealing? It’s okay, I can fix things.”

A wimpy little boy finally got the message, and pointed off left, towards the trees. You glanced over. Somebody…leaning on the other side. Not trying to hide themselves. Smoking, even.

“Hey. You.” You piped up, “Who the fuck’re you? What are you doing here?”

“I can tell you where your missing Ashes went,” the person said back coolly. A man, in a long dark coat and a scarf wrapped about his head. His accent was local. “They’re with the Liberation now. They’ll be trained, fed, sheltered, cared for. I came back to try and convince the rest to come too, but-“

You had stomped up to that weasel’s face and grabbed up at his collar, wheeling him about and wrenching him down. “You what?” your voice cracked, “You came here looking for fresh fucking meat, and you’ve carted off a bunch of kids!”

“Wait,” the man stammered, his bent nose looking like another punch could straighten it. If only you could slug him with your other arm without it feeling like fire. “They told us about you. We’ve spoken, even. Our goals are the same, aren’t they? But after UGZ-09, the Liberation needs more manpower. Not necessarily fighters, but-“

“Fuck you, Ptugh!” you spat in the man’s face, and the gob of spit ran down his busted ass nose, “After you’re finished with fucking yourself, you’re gonna get them right back here. Got it?”

“…” You didn’t like the look on his face.

A sharp blow to your side.

“Uff!” you coughed and released the man, stumbling back, and you fumbled for a knife. Just in case, but as you clutched at your ribs where he’d punched you, he had straightened back up and wiped his face.

“I thought to be diplomatic,” he rolled off in a neutral tone, “But it seems that you aren’t fond of that approach. I’ll be more clear, then. The Liberation Front needs people. It needs whatever hands they can get, whomever is willing and able to help, yes, even children. Else we will forever languish under the rule of our enemies. Don’t get in the way, Anya Nowicki. If you interfere, the NLF won’t hesitate to brand you an enemy again. You haven’t proven nearly as valuable as hoped, so we have to make up the shortfall elsewhere. Besides,” he looked over at the frightened Ashes watching, “Look at this. Is this truly better? Freezing out in the forest, depending on some mercenary with a confused conscience to feed them scraps? To keep them shivering in holes and trees when they want to fight for the future of their nation, and you won’t allow it? Your name may be Ellowian, but I daresay your blood does not seem to speak it.”

Every word out of this worm’s mouth made you angrier. Your blood was hot and pounding in your ears, your fists were clenching and shaking, you were biting down hard enough that it hurt. You’d kill him. No, you couldn’t. But what could you do? He was right, you couldn’t negotiate. Your answer for whatever he wanted was no. Not when it came to the Ashes. Yet he’d come in and swept them all away, and he was trying to sweep away the rest too.

All you worked for. Why was it all being taken away? Your training with Richter, swept from his head. Your attempts to keep the Ashes safe, and yet look what happened now. The attempt to start a new life in Todesfelsen, and the city had been conquered, with most of your things and money all stolen in the process. The Iron Hogs, and Hell. Your mother and sister…

You couldn’t just let this go, but what could you do..?

>A good old fashioned threat. You know where these fuckers’ tunnels are. If they don’t give back what they’ve stolen, you’ll have your other friends tear their whole operation down. See if you won’t.
>You’d have to bottle it up. Breathe. Ask if you can’t at least talk to the kids who left with him, to try and convince them to come back. You had to be allowed that much, you had the right. (Try and keep the fury contained, but it’ll have to get out at some point…)
>Draw your pistol. Tell the man that next time you see him or any of his goons here again, you’ll kill them. And that if he didn’t go and get the Ashes right now and bring them back here, you’d shoot him dead on the spot.
>Other
Anya is hot tempered and angry. Keep such in mind for any write ins.[/spoiler

>>4016755
>A good old fashioned threat. You know where these fuckers’ tunnels are. If they don’t give back what they’ve stolen, you’ll have your other friends tear their whole operation down. See if you won’t.
For the veteran anons, does Richter knows about Anya working with the nlf ?

>>4016755
>>A good old fashioned threat. You know where these fuckers’ tunnels are. If they don’t give back what they’ve stolen, you’ll have your other friends tear their whole operation down. See if you won’t.

>>4016819
Yes

>>4016755
Well if she should get mad at anyone it should be Richter and herself.
A threat without the means to back it up is empty waste, and a threat that is credible will just make her a target. Or if he's a real piece of shit then he will threaten the kids to keep Anya quiet.

Unfortunately the one other thing she is besides angry, is desperate. Especially if these are her default options.
>Other
So instead we should make a deal:
Point out that a bunch of kids is not nearly as helpful as what you and the Kommandant can offer him. I dunno if Anya is quite desperate enough to offer everything, but she can sound out any jobs that need doing.

I really don't think there is any other reasonable way to get those kids back.

>>4016755
>>4017562
Let's see if we can get away with this.

>>4016755
>calm ourself by realizing that even if he's doing it for the wrong reasons technically he's right; it's better for the kids to be somewhere where they're being sheltered and fed than freezing in the middle of the forest in winter. In exchange for our cooperation ask him to promise that they'll be kept out of danger as much as possible. And go kick a tree or something to burn off our frustration if necessary.

>>4016819
Supporting this >>4017562

>>4016819
>>4016823
You think you're bad? You don't even know bad.

>>4017562
>>4017633
>>4017751
Try and make a deal. Kids aren't worth much, right? You could get so much more.

>>4017683
Calm down and agree. Kick a tree. Anya does not do this while in this sort of mood. A tree doesn't get enough damage done to it to feel satisfying.

Writing.

Man, it sucks seeing Anya have such a hard time.
Maybe we should have made Richter tell her about what's going on. Give her something to do, to have control over.
Then again that probably would have lead to her trying to take a more active role besides just training and having her be distraught is better than having her be fucking dead.
It kinda goes without saying, but we really need to make sure Richter doesn't fucking die or get too hurt. There are a lot more people counting on his continued survival than we may have realized.

>>4019173
Well, our cqc is non existent and we can barely aim, so what POV do you want to be when we lose the duel ? Unless we get great rolls we ain’t surviving it without staying in a hospital bed

>>4019202
Actually I have a plan for the duel.
It might just work.

>>4019212
Enlighten us anon

>>4019202
We'll see what happens.
I'm hoping Jorgen and Mal can help Richter rekindle and cultivate his "warrior spirit".
Maybe all Richter really needs is killer instinct to flood his mind instead of constant fear and paranoia.
Maybe if Richter just gets mad enough he can make up for our lack of skill with tenacity and pure malicious intent.
Maybe I'm just hoping for the best when I should be planing for the worst.

>>4019212
We're all ears.
I don't think anyone else has a plan besides make use good use of the foliage.

>>4019226
>>4019228
Use the fact that Bertram thinks we a) are pathetic, b) don't know how his magical eye works. Fight him at night, create a dummy out of living matter (grass and twigs), hide intentionally poorly in some vegetation, have him shoot the dummy. Once he comes to confirm the kill/gloat/take a trophy, shoot him.
This relies on the fact that magivision is shit at differentiating between different living things, as well as doesn't show textures, so he basically will have to rely on the silhoette of the target.
This plan has a huge hole in that Bertram has to come close for it to work. And might shoot the real us. And likely others. But I don't have a better one.

>>4019228
>Maybe if Richter just gets mad enough he can make up for our lack of skill with tenacity and pure malicious intent.
Unfortunately our opponent has that and skill
>>4019236
Unfortunately a) is true for now. Let’s hope we don’t have another shooting range performance.

You wanted to hit something, shoot something, blow something up, take our your anger on something and have it clearly matter, but you did your best to stuff it, just enough to try and be convincing, while not having to compromise. You were getting all the Ashes back- you were damn set on that. You wanted to threaten this smarmy cunt, say how you could bring down their whole Liberation if you cared to, but then…you’d be a target. Fine then, you were used to being a target. Yet, no, it wasn’t just you who’d be in the line of fire then, but also everybody you cared about, all of your comrades, who would probably suffer the most, and not you.

Hell wouldn’t have approved at all of that.
>Fury- Simmering

“Wait,” you coughed, “Look. How much use are kids to you, really? C’mon. I’ve spent enough time with ‘em to know, they’re not killers. So what the fuck, do you think you’ll get out of them?” A gesture to your chest, “Give them back. Get them back here, and I’ll make sure something happens for you. That alright, shitbird? Is it a good enough deal?”

The man was unimpressed. “The arrangement we had before? Please. We have profited nothing from out so-called deal. Fair weather friends are of little use when a storm is on the horizon.”
Poetic imagery was really not something you wanted to be given at the moment. “Piss off. I’d say not kicking your asses was a pretty nice thing to not do. I’m not even saying that stops. Just give me something to fuckin’ work with. Something that isn’t dancing off with my Ashes.”

“Anything besides nothing.”

Greedy fucker. You were trusted with requisitions, paperwork, acquisitions, the lot- Richter didn’t like doing paperwork and somebody had to do it- damn Schweinmann making you good at reading and writing and doing sums. That trust was important to you, though- you couldn’t just lose shit. Could you convince Richter to do that? You certainly couldn’t just do that sort of thing behind everybody’s backs.

“I can send you a bunch of whores and give you all the clap.”

The NLF representative was unamused. “Are you going to take you seriously?”

“I don’t. Know. What you need.”

“Anything.” He noted your furious glare, “Manpower, mainly. All the weapons in the world are of little use without anybody to fire them. A guarantee that you will fight alongside us in the greater uprising would be of great value to Drachen.”

“…Greater uprising,” you echoed, “What, like the stunt at UGZ-07?”

“Larger. The Ellowian Army is not defeated. They will return, and when they do, that will be the final battle of this ongoing war to decide our homeland’s fate. As I have said, a storm is coming, though we are uncertain when it will break onto our shore.” He turned around to leave. “I have other things to do. I’ll hold off on collecting the rest of these unfortunate scamps for now, but you know where to find us with whatever offer you make.”

What a fat load of shit. Jumped up sneak thief, with delusions of grandeur-

“Big sis?” One of the Ashes tugged on your dress as the man left, “Is everything gonna be okay?”

It felt even worse to shove how God damn angry you were with…with yourself, to be honest, to the back of your head, but you couldn’t act pissed off around these little kids. With a sigh, you put a hand on the little boy’s head. “Yeah. Yeah, Georgi, it’s gonna be alright. Sorry you had to see that. Hey, get everybody around. I want to show you some things.”

It would be harder on them without the older kids. The older ones were the ones you taught the most, and trusted them to take care of the rest. You didn’t think they’d just abandon the others, either- either they thought everybody was coming, or they’d been forced to come. Judge Above, if it was the latter, you’d really kill someone. It was hard to not think about that, as you laid out the fuel tablets and their little stoves, the canned food, soup stock cubes and accoutrement, pots to heat water in, fine cloth to try and sieve the dirt out of said water; simple stuff, but most of these children were still new to life without their parents. They hadn’t had to learn what you had to.

You didn’t mind, either, when you sat down all the way to watch the soup pot you’d made in demonstration simmer, and a clutch of them wanted to stay and cuddle up next to you, not even the little kid who decided a good pillow was one of your boobs, smashing the side of his face into it. Alina had done that when you were little…though you hadn’t had breasts yet then. Some jokers would say that hadn’t changed, screw ‘em. It did make you hope, though, that you were still big sis and not mom. With how things were going…you didn’t want to be able to be compared to your own mother, when it came to how well things went.

It might make you think that she had only done her best.

-----

Back to the camp, much lighter, and no Twaryian infiltrators to be seen, though one of the patrols had come a bit too close to the Ashes’ hiding place for your liking. You washed that awful makeup off your face the first chance you got and shook out your hair, and got right back into uniform the first chance you got. The frustration hadn’t dulled, and your ears still pounded dully even when not thinking about it. At least you might be able to do something now.

With how Richter was these days, you were sure you could push him into accepting whatever idea you had for “helping” the NLF- so long as it wasn’t retarded. You looked back over files, thought about what you could do- and it was easier without that shit head NLF guy saying things that made you want to stomp his head in.

Manpower…the Combined Battalion structure actually had a precedent for that, as recruitment for the Ellowian segments often came from the UGZs. Hell, the company’s “fifth platoon,” which was only really a police force for the UGZ-09’s people, was organized that way. If some people went missing from there every so often, that could be a source of “manpower.” Plus, even though the NLF guy had said people was more needed, it was easier to find and lose supplies and weapons, especially if they were captured from the Twaryians instead of taken from your own stores.

There was also the idea of going across the border. You couldn’t find much information on them, but you did know a faction of anti-Twaryian militias and insurgents called the Eastern Resistance Army was a thorn in the side of the folks on the other side. There was the issue of them considering the Twaryians a much greater threat than the Netillians- but maybe you could talk. Come to an agreement. Not that you were good at that sort of thing…

It would have to be left up to Richter to make the final decision, but going and making it his problem could wait. That poor, pretty faced son of a bitch could focus on getting beaten up by swarthy northerners for now. Too bad it wasn’t warm instead of cold.

…Judge above, what the hell were you going to do yourself? You couldn’t just do nothing.

>Take the reins and start making arrangements. They wouldn’t be a secret, anyways- it wasn’t like Richter would be objecting to it, if his head wasn’t empty. (Doing what?)
>Put your dumb make up back on and head back out. It was time to go find the ERA, and make new friends.
>Gerovic had been sitting too pretty lately, and you needed to kill something. Take some people out on a raid. (Of what sort? Keep in mind that you’re out of fuel, so you’d need help from outside the company to use any tanks/vehicles.)
>Other?

>>4019412
>>Put your dumb make up back on and head back out. It was time to go find the ERA, and make new friends.

>>4019412
Arm is still in a sling so I dunno how good idea it would to fight now.

>Take the reins and start making arrangements. They wouldn’t be a secret, anyways- it wasn’t like Richter would be objecting to it, if his head wasn’t empty. (Doing what?)
Start figuring out a way to convert the police force into NLF bodies. Maybe sound out to Wielzci how he would feel about the Elloeie being free.

If we dump I think 8? requisition we can at least arm the Cops and prep them to secure the UGZ.

Or even just using the Cops as lifters and muscle for the NLF would help.


I had already considered the idea of eventually arming the Ellowian platoon and the UGZ police when the Army returned Soni guess we should accelerate that.

>>4019412
>Take the reins and start making arrangements. They wouldn’t be a secret, anyways- it wasn’t like Richter would be objecting to it, if his head wasn’t empty.
First of all, we can confiscate the rifles from that new mayor, and then "dispose" of them.

>>4019451
supporting and also add >>4019466 to give them weapons too

>>4019412
>>Take the reins and start making arrangements. They wouldn’t be a secret, anyways- it wasn’t like Richter would be objecting to it, if his head wasn’t empty. (Figure out what resources we can spar in terms of arms, then potential warm bodies.)

>>4019440
Get gussied up to meet strange men.

>>4019451
>>4019466
>>4019509
>>4019511
Surreptitious conversion of manpower, maybe equip 5th platoon, consult Wielzci, grab rifles from New Jorgenstohn's threat of uprising, see what's in the RF box to hand out.

Writin'.

You itched to go out yourself and do more direct things, but with your arm in a sling and your side sore from the shit head punching you still, you just weren’t in good condition to fight- though it was mostly the former thing, as it would be for a while. Though you could do something with typewriter, paper, pen and stamp- even if not getting into a fight for long enough made your blood turn to porridge, and made your mind dull and complacent. Fighting was fun, paperwork…wasn’t. Fearing for your life and fighting for it had catharsis in the survival afterwards that was addictive, while the longer you stared at administrative functions, the more you welcomed a death that would never spring forth from the lists, reports, and forms.

It was here you could take the reins, though, and nobody would question it. Richter could, but he wouldn’t- not if there was a brain somewhere in between his ears. None of this would be a secret from those close to you, but you’d have to be careful, since what you had in mind did need to be hidden from…other people. Like anybody in the Kommissariat. You weren’t scared of them, but again, you had to keep collateral damage in mind.

”You’re a part of your tank like you’re a part of a family. Nobody should be getting hurt to cover your stupid ass.”

Every day, you had forgotten just a little more what his voice had sounded like. You were frightened for the day when you’d only remember his words.

…If paperwork wasn’t so damn boring, your mind wouldn’t wander like this, you thought spitefully as you found the files for the UGZ “police” 5th platoon.

-----

Once everything was in place to set up for the next series of things to take care of (it was now 3 in the afternoon- it’d taken some time), you moved to take care of the first order of business on your list. It so happened that there were plenty of weapons floating about in New Jorgenstohn, and nobody had seen fit to confiscate them. With the one who assembled the armed mob now in power, he surely didn’t need those anymore. Being told that by a short blonde girl with her arm in a sling probably wouldn’t convince anybody no matter how well armed, admittedly. Not unless you dressed in a much more sultry way, and to hell with getting all that and the other requisite frivolous crap set up now, you weren’t covering your face in crap a second time today, even on the off chance that would work. So you went to 4th platoon and Lieutenant Wielzci to get half a platoon’s worth of additional persuasion. Wielzci had to be spoken with anyways, in consideration to this NLF thing…

Felix Wielczi was a grizzled man for his age, about in his mid-twenties, you guessed, with a strong brow and dark eyes, and long cheekbones, that gave him a constant dour look.His black hair was grown out long enough to tie into a small ponytail- it didn’t look as good as you did with one, of course. Apparently he had plenty of things to look that way about, and you’d talked with him a few times about what he did before, even. He hadn’t intended to be captured alive, for one. When his tank was hit, he was knocked unconscious, but the tank didn’t burn out. He had a wife and child who, he hoped, had fled the country, but when he was approached for recruitment, it had been by two parties- one by the Kommissariat, claiming his family was in custody, and the other- an old friend, who had told him that his family was safe, but that he shouldn’t just languish in captivity.

Maybe it was because he considered you an Ellowian, that he trusted you with that. Even though you did your best to talk like Hell did, even though you’d been born the bastard daughter of a whore in a dusty Sosaldtian nowhere town. Even though you had come there to help the people who tried to kill him, take advantage of what they had won.

Though as you marched down towards New Jorgenstohn, he must have been a bit surprised to hear you ask what you did.

“So what if the war started up again right now, would you start blasting pepperheads?” You had no clue what the racial slur for Netillians was, but you’d heard some Ellowians calling their “allies” that.

Wielzci gave you a blank look. “Would it surprise you if I said I’d be skeptical of that happening anytime soon.”

“Nobody’s here that’ll sell you out for the wrong answer.” You gave a smirking glance back to the other Ellowians- even pissed off inside, you could hide it if you didn’t have to think about why. “Spit it out, c’mon.”

“If we could win.”

“Who’s we?”

“My men and I.” Wielzci didn’t give an inch. “What about you, young lady? Your boss probably wouldn’t stick around for a fight he had nothing to do with. Would you stay?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think you would, if he left.” Wielzci’s tone remained dull as a riverbed stone.

“You don’t want to see this country free again?” you tested one more time. You were sure you knew how Wielzci really felt, along with the rest of his boys, but you wanted to hear him say it.

Wielzci stopped; not because of the question, but because he held his hand up to look around for any infiltrators sneaking about. Binoculars to his eyes, he answered, “Sure I do. But if it’s a war we’d lose again, it shouldn’t be fought. Ellowie was sick and tired of war already, I can tell you that much. If we lost another war, we’ll probably lose everything we’ve got left. That’s my thought, anyways. So if we gotta fight again, it’s gotta be the time we win, and win hard.”

File: 5th1stcompanyweek4_5.jpg (560 KB, 1500x1500)

560 KB JPG

Not as confident as you would have liked, but you shrugged and made a noise of you didn’t know what. “Mmyeh.”

-----

Things went better than hoped when you demanded the newly installed Mayor Rosenthal turn over his collection of weapons- he didn’t try and fight to have the townspeople keep them, and only asked for an assurance that he wouldn’t miss them. An easy enough promise to make. Having this go right didn’t cool you off, but it did at least mean you didn’t get any more mad, which itself was something to be a bit glad about.

“About enough of these to arm a couple platoons,” Wielzci said of the crates now assembled- you had called a cart to come and get them. You’d considered grabbing one for yourself, but they were all rather long, and strangely balanced. Wielzci had told you that it was because the Twaryians used a rather archaic design of rifle as their main infantry weapon- it had a tube magazine that ran down the length of the gun. Strange, considering the level of all their other equipment.

“A couple of platoons, huh,” you echoed. “Or one of ours, with some left over?”

“…I wouldn’t want to switch out my kit for these old-ass antique rejects,” Wielzci looked at an open box with doubt.

“No, no, for our fifth. Old-ass junk is better than nothing at all, isn’t it?” You picked up one of the rifles and looked it over. They weren’t even beaten up- Twaryi still made these things new. “Might be a nice alternative to…well, just turning them in.” Which was what you were supposed to do in this case, but nobody cared really if you just lost them.

“Maybe.” Wielzci still seemed skeptical, “Twaryian rifle rounds aren’t exactly the simplest thing to come by, though. Unless we’re not counting on them using those guns much, or…hm…”

“What?”

“Just thinking,” Wielzi said to himself, “I remember hearing when we captured a bunch of these, they’d get re-bored to the kind of shot we use. Bunch of rear echelon got them when we were short of other stuff, but that’d cost a bit to do.”

It was an option, you supposed.

>Confiscate the rifles, then “lose” them, and get them into the hands of the NLF. Punks saying they got nothing from you, what would they say to that, then?
>Take the rifles and equip 5th platoon with them. (Equips them- though not for any sustained operations, and notably, without light machine guns or smgs)
>See if you can get the rifles re-bored. It’d be easier than getting them new guns, at least. (Equips unit for half cost: -4 RP)
>Take the rifles and turn them in to Battalion HQ. It’d be for a pittance of capital, but eh. (+1-2 RP)
>Other?

>>4020249
>See if you can get the rifles re-bored. It’d be easier than getting them new guns, at least. (Equips unit for half cost: -4 RP)
RP is the currency, I suppose ?

>>4020296
Requisition Points are sort of an abstraction of credit in the form of favors, political debts, and the like, rather than something properly reflected as physical property. So yes, in a way.

>>4020343
How many do we have ?

>>4020379
It's...in the company information graphic attached.

>>4020249
>>Confiscate the rifles, then “lose” them, and get them into the hands of the NLF. Punks saying they got nothing from you, what would they say to that, then?
That's what we're doing this for isn't it

>>4020249
>Confiscate the rifles, then “lose” them, and get them into the hands of the NLF. Punks saying they got nothing from you, what would they say to that, then?

>>4020249
>See if you can get the rifles re-bored. It’d be easier than getting them new guns, at least. (Equips unit for half cost: -4 RP)
I hate to say it but we might be relying on the 5th at some point.

>>4020249
>Confiscate the rifles, then “lose” them, and get them into the hands of the NLF. Punks saying they got nothing from you, what would they say to that, then?
We need to arm the 5th, but with something better.
Like getting self-loaders for the 4th and giving their old guns to the 5th.

>>4021224
>>4020296
We'll have to spend a ton of RP for casualties replacement and fuel.

>>4020249
>>See if you can get the rifles re-bored. It’d be easier than getting them new guns, at least. (Equips unit for half cost: -4 RP)

>>4020249
>>See if you can get the rifles re-bored. It’d be easier than getting them new guns, at least. (Equips unit for half cost: -4 RP)
We need to conserve our RP for replenishment and other upgrades

Also IMO switching between everybody's PoV is pretty fun so far; maybe we should just go through everyone before returning to Richter.

>>4021427
tanq is judging how everyone adapts to each character to help him pick which one to switch to permanently after richter gets fucking murdered in his 'duel'

>>4021473
Speaking of the dark future ahead, can you imagine how Maddy and Anya would react to his death ?

>>4021475
Wouldn't want to be Bertram that's for sure. If Richter dies Maddy would probably go apeshit enough to send that Demiphantom or whatever other magical means to hunt him down

>>4021475
The next quest will be called Panzer Harem Revenge.

>>4021492
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hULJu2mcU6s

>>4020296
>>4021224
>>4021377
>>4021386
Rebarrel these guns, make an administrative decision to expand the unit proper with an additional unit.
Though taking them out of the UGZ to actually use them in the current time may prove troublesome.

>>4020424
>>4020835
>>4021332
Pass the guns over to the NLF- a prompt show of goodwill.

Equipping in progress, then.

>>4021427
I'm glad you enjoy it, though I was thinking I'd just switch back after two, really. At my current pace this entire thread will be one day if I switch more.

>>4021473
Shhhh

>>4022267
it's ok tanq, we're up for 1 more if you're feeling it

>>4021475
>>4021481
Richter dies and Maddy is confirmed to unleash unspeakable evils upon the world.
Followed by her suicide.

Anya...well she won't be fine, but she's a fighter. I see heavy drinking in her though. Maybe her dying a pointless death doing something foolish.

It was really tempting to just “lose” the rifles in a place the NLF could be told to find them and make a prompt donation to their cause- it would make that guy that shit talked you look real stupid, but fuck him anyways. You had a better idea for a windfall like this.

“I’ll get in touch with the armorers,” you decided quickly, “We can get this scrap re-bored and we can equip 5th platoon for way less arm twisting than normal.”

It meant getting them machine guns and the other standard issue gear too; they’d be a fully combat capable formation. Though, officially, while they were the unit’s fifth platoon in the company, they and the big fish in the UGZ-09 considered them theirs, not yours. At least, that’s how it’d been told to you. They’d be green as spinach if they never got out and did some fighting, but what you figured anyways was that they’d be a reserve at best; and perhaps until then, a place where recruits could take each other’s place in the viscous mass of roster paperwork, and “troops” could be shuffled off to the NLF after a bit of training so that they at least knew how to shoot and hide. Though that was pretty long term, unless you got help from the UGZ people to help hide the amount of people going in and out, and you had no clue what the NLF’s timeframe was for their predicted final battle.

Well, they should be thankful they were getting anything at all, frankly. Punks.

“Are you upset about something?” Wielzci asked.

“Piss off.” You couldn’t help yourself. “…No. It’s fine.”

Wielzci shrugged. “I’m married, you know. I know exactly what it’s fine means.”

“Whatever.” You instinctively reached down to get a box to load on the wagon coming up, only to feel the sharp twitch and burn in your arm. “Agh, son of a bitch…”

-----

“Initial raid reports, uh, Sergeant.” An aide walked into your “room” in the headquarters tent- more a general use office, but you were in here enough that it might as well have been yours. Soon this office would be underground, though. It’d be warmer at least. “Was told to give them to you.”

“Fuckin’ course you were,” you muttered as a folder was laid upon the desk. “So if I open this, am I gonna get a face full of shit? A big fuck up? Give me a heads up in case I’m gonna need a mop for the deluge that’s ready to come out.”

The staff officer gave you a funny look. “…No. These were only small scale harassment ops. The targets weren’t significant enough to draw major responses. Any contacts were mere skirmishes.”

“Fine.” you picked up the folder and opened it, then glanced back up at the delivery boy, still standing there. “…What? Something else to say?”

“Not sure if I should ask you, but since the Coordinator’s not here, you’re number two, right?”

“Yeah.” Some might dispute it, but you sure as hell wouldn’t deny it.

“Captain Edelschwert sent a missive about-“

“Tell him to go fuck himself.” You were still pissed about that, still pissed at him. How dare he say what he said after what happened, you didn’t give the slightest goddamn about things working out later. As far as you were concerned, the only thing there was to talk about was how much shit he could eat in one sitting.
>Fury- Burning

“I’m not telling him that, Sergeant,” the staff officer insisted. You tried not to be mad at him, he was just doing his job, but you had to bite down on a foul mouthed retort and let him finish, else he’d be standing there until the goddamn sun went down. “He wants to invite the Coordinator, or a representative, into town to discuss an operation he has planned in another sector. He claims that it’ll be a good feather in both your caps.”

“He can shove that feather up his ass.”

“The Captain also said that, er,” he looked down at the message, and seemed to reword what part of it said, “That he…wouldn’t mind if you were to come, and be the one along. Especially considering that you’re one of the few, er, authorities about right now.”

“Captain Queerboots knows that we’re out of gas, right? He plan to do something about that?”

“That was addressed, yes.”

“Pbbthhhbbpp,” you blew a raspberry and rocked back in your chair, leaning it back and propping your foot on the desk, “Haaagghhhh…” Should you do it? You supposed you could just tell Edelschwert to take his head out of his ass so there’d be room for…something else, you got stuck on turning that into an insult. Though you’d legitimately have to think of some reason you couldn’t, either.

>Bite the bullet and go for it, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least Edelschwert was good looking. Maybe it'd even lead to something fun.
>Unfortunately, you failed to receive his message due to being somewhere else entirely. What a shame. (Where to, to do what?)
>Send a vitriolic refusal back. The company already had plenty of problems, you wouldn’t be dragged into more.
>Other?
Also-
>Roll three sets of 1d100 for skirmish raid combat stuff. Higher is better.

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>4022693
>Bite the bullet and go for it, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least Edelschwert was good looking. Maybe it'd even lead to something fun.

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>4022693
>Bite the bullet and go for it, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least Edelschwert was good looking. Maybe it'd even lead to something fun.
An opportunity for Anya to play the reverse card in case shtf

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>4022693
>Bite the bullet and go for it, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least Edelschwert was good looking. Maybe it'd even lead to something fun.

Just to confirm, this forest valley where the duel is taking place; likely inaccesible to Panzers?

>>4022726
>>4022751
>>4022757
Fucking Slick!
If we keep rolling like this Richter will be just fine!

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>4022693
>Bite the bullet and go for it, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least Edelschwert was good looking. Maybe it'd even lead to something fun.

What better way to be angry then to shoot angrier bullets at someone else.

>>4022761
Too soon >>4022763, thankfully there were already 3

File: ohjeez.png (32 KB, 178x121)

32 KB PNG

>>4022763
I-I'll just...shut the fuck up now.

Rolled 25, 5, 73 = 103 (3d100)

>>4022726
>>4022751
>>4022757
>>4022763
You've had worse dates, I suppose.

Writing. And rolling.

>>4022757
>Just to confirm, this forest valley where the duel is taking place; likely inaccesible to Panzers?

You haven't actually given it a thorough look, but while likely not inaccessible per se, it certainly isn't ideal terrain.

Rolled 2, 2 = 4 (2d3)

…

…

…Fine. Maybe something good could come out of meeting with Edelschwert, even if just thinking about him pissed you off. At least he was good looking, you supposed. In the pretty boy way, not the rugged manly man way. If he was ugly on top of being a shithead you probably would have just shot him. Well, not really. The important part was whatever he was planning on putting forward- hell, it might even turn out fun, and nothing helped you get rid of your anger like sharing it with people who you were actually encouraged to share it with.

If everything went to shit, then you could give shitheels a taste of his own medicine, at least. If you survived. Would serve his ass right.
“Shoot back that I’ll be on my way. Right after I go over the report here.” You gestured to the file on the desk. “Toss it at me, actually.” The nice thing about these Netillian staff officers was that they never tried to give you shit for talking rough. Maybe it was a power of the Retinue uniform. The man picked it up and gave it the gentlest of tosses into your lap. “Thanks. Now get lost.” You cracked open the file and looked at what the raid squads had reported- one each from each platoon, going in intervals spread out over the day, to not raise too much chaos, or a big response.

The objectives had been unexciting- merely finding places to cause trouble and going about just that, without taking any risks or looking for particularly juicy targets. The first thing you noted was a complete lack of casualties- a good thing, considering the festival of bloody shits that took place the other day. The final raid by third platoon was uneventful- a few shots popped off at a patrol before running off when it turned out that they had help nearby, but the raids by 1st and 2nd platoon were a bit different…

>1-Truck/Cart Intercept
>2-Prisoners Taken
>3-A Fortuitous Discovery

What had popped out was that both patrols had managed to catch prisoners as they went out, nabbing three and two Twaryians, who hadn’t been expecting to be ambushed by full fifteen man squads as they were going about whatever they were up to. After getting nothing out of that idiot vagrant earlier, you dared to hope these people might know something- though probably not. Apparently the stupid Twaryian bitch that Richter had dragged out of Sosaldt for some reason had already been made to talk to them (Stache taking the initiative this time, you guessed) and neither of them were from Gerovic’s unit- but the latter pair had among them an officer. A newbie lieutenant, they’d spilled as they were questioned. He hadn’t wanted to talk, but had hinted he might be worth something in some sort of exchange.

A trade straight across for Gerovic’s ass would have been too good to be true, but it was some good news anyways. A tiny little win.
>Twaryian Prisoners x4 Obtained
>Twaryian Officer x1 Obtained

If you wanted to do anything with the prisoners yourself, you decided it could wait until after you dealt with Edelschwert. It wasn’t like the prisoners were going anywhere. The guy who’d been trusted with getting the vagrant earlier to the UGZ let the guy slip out of his grasp- no more of that shit. Double guard duty from now on, you’d immediately decided. At least that guy had been completely worthless so you hadn’t actually lost anything.

In any case, it was time to get ready to go.

-----

“Hey, lanky,” you called for Stein, who looked up from where he was doing some stupid superstitious shit with the cards again, like he wasn’t sure who was being referred to by lanky. “Yeah, you. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

“Why?”

“Cause I can’t drive alone. Get your best friend too. You two can get drunk and beat your problems out of each other while I go meet with Captain Edelsscheisse.”

“…Huh?” Stein blinked.

“Edelschwert.” You strode forward and started yanking on the gunner’s shoulder, “Hurry up! I don’t want to have to drive back at night. Go get a car and get it warmed up, I’ll be right back.”

You had to get a few things, but what you were also thinking about was how you should look. Fancy pants probably would think about as much of you as you did of him- even the little things might be important.

>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.
>Break out the stupid makeup again, and see if you can’t slip into something more…disarming. You didn’t have a huge wardrobe, but there were things you could borrow, or ways you could wear things…(Like what?)
>Go in your disguise. Who knew how important you might be- may as well be careful.
>Other?

>>4023147
>Go in your disguise. Who knew how important you might be- may as well be careful.
An wounded arm and now our torso, it's not like we can fight much.

>>4023147
>>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023161
>>Go in your disguise. Who knew how important you might be- may as well be careful.

Also as a sign of how much we trust Mag to actually keep up his security and his job: not very well.

>>4023147
>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023147
>Affect the most badass look we can while not looking stupid.

>>4023147
>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023147
>>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023147
>>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023147
>>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.
Can't take advantage of his crush until she knows about it.

>>4023147
>>>Show up prim and proper, uniform and the lot. Boring and professional. Like you meant business.

>>4023161
>>4023337
Be as careful as possible, especially considering what you think of this guy.

>>4023542
Attempt to not look stupid.

>>4023380
>>4023176
>>4023607
>>4023619
>>4023729
>>4023916
>>4023922
Formal and official, as is "proper."

>>4023916
Or until he knows about it :^)[/i]

Writing.

You were already dressed for the event you were suddenly going to attend- your uniform by itself was what was expected and what would get you bitched at the least, even if you really wanted to leave it open once you could sit inside for a while; it just looked cooler that way. Captain Edelschwert was one to talk when it came to regarding petty regulations, with his long hair and blue sash; well, you’d stick to them more than he did, so you’d be better than him. Eat that.

So, dressed for business and grabbing whatever papers (and weaponry) you thought might be needed, you were right back out again, ready to head into Kamienisty. Stein and Hans were already in the car, the former smoldering at the other, maybe because the latter didn’t get what there was to be so mad about. You’d heard the story- Smitty hadn’t paid her brother any mind at all, and they’d not even exchanged more than a few words before everybody went their separate ways.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have a similar thing going. There were Iron Hogs here, ones that knew you, even, but you didn’t want to reconnect. Didn’t want to hear how things were going, what had happened, whatever else they wanted to talk about. You’d made your decision to leave, and you knew they wanted you back, but there wasn’t anything left of Hell back there.

“Get out of the front seat, dick brains,” you kicked at the door of the open topped bucket shaped car where Hans was sitting. There was gas for these things, but their appetites were far less voracious than that of tanks. “It’s mine.”

“My bad, my bad,” he got up and out, and held the door open for you. You probably should have anticipated the slap on your ass that came when you passed him. He should have anticipated the boot to his gut.

“If he’s not off the ground and in the car in five fuckin’ seconds then let him catch up running,” you scowled as you shut the door after yourself. The car was started and warmed up, and unfortunately, you didn’t get the satisfaction of getting to watch the radioman have to chase after the car, as he was tumbling into the back soon after. Maybe you didn’t have to kick him as hard as you did, but fuck it, you were pissed off, and he knew what he was getting into when he did it.

-----

“Hey, shit head,” you sauntered up to where Edelschwert was waiting and called him out. He was dressed as his usual, but the meeting place wasn’t at his headquarters- it was outside an outdoor restaurant looking deal. Too bad his reservation wouldn’t be with who he expected. “You wanted to see me?”

Edelschwert’s brow twitched and he frowned deeply at you. “[i[Want[/i] is a strong word. What I need, is help. If you are here to offer that instead of being an unmannered tramp.”

You only came up to the officer’s chin, but you didn’t need him standing over you in metaphor too. “Then maybe you should be more mannered, yourself.” You gave yourself a peek beyond the white painted wooden fence doors. “Were you thinking of bribery?”

“This is a beer garden, in a western style, recently established for Netillians,” Edelschwert told you, “I thought it would be more familiar a setting for Strossvalders. There are ovens inside to stand around, and I have paid for our own corner.”

“Beer, huh. They got anything stronger on tap?”

Edelschwert’s brow twitched again as the intended unsaid remark smacked home. “We should go in rather than staying out here. Maybe your petulance comes from discomfort in this winter cold.”

You could tell he wanted you to apologize, but that would never, ever happen, not when you had nothing to feel sorry about, and especially not when you were forcing down being pissed off with sarcastic remarks. At least some alcohol might help your mood. So long as it didn’t turn out to be too much, though that was more out of wanting to get something done, rather than, say, waking up at the bottom of a tree and finding out a pair of your underwear was now in somebody else’s possession. The cut in your hand in that night still lingered, and would probably scar, if you and Richter had done the bloody cross as it was meant to. Though the slash across your palm was well hidden under your fingerless gloves.

Edelschwert led you through a surprisingly large amount of uniformed Netillians standing about around ovens and potted false plants, though ones good enough to require a double take. Small round roofs on top of poles sheltered the ovens and their surroundings from the elements, as did overhangs on the edges of the place, but otherwise the garden was entirely outdoors, shadows being cast back and forth onto swept tiles dusted with snow, the sun in its afternoon march downwards. Edelschwert gestured for you to sit once you both reached a corner with a pair of benches, but you chose instead to stand.

“Suit yourself.” He mumbled, “Do you have any objections to schnitzel?”

“Does anybody?” you shot back, “What do you think I am?”

“I’ll be back, then.”

You weren’t sure yet if he was actually trying to be nicer to make up, or if he was just stringing you along for what he wanted out of you and your lot. For your part, you’d have appreciated if he just cut to the chase. You came here to talk about a plan for your units, not to go out on a fucking date.

When he came back with a pair of wax wrapped fried beef cutlets and tall beer glasses full of light brown ale, you immediately snatched one of the food items, squeeze the lemon slice over it, then pitched the wrung out citrus into the oven in front before devouring a quarter of the meat in a few ravenous bites. God, meat was the best thing ever, and whoever first fried meat must have been a genius.

“Voracious for this sort of food, I see.” Edelschwert said to himself.

“Just like you’re voracious for cock.” You followed on that as Edelschwert’s mouth turned down enough for your liking. “Let’s be clear here, I don’t care what Richter thinks of you or what you think of him, you aren’t my fucking friend, and I don’t just forget shit talk by being fed like I’m a dog or a retard. I need to get smashed like any normal damn human being. So out with what you wanted me here for, or get me way more than that single glass you got there.”

“…In spite of me [i[buying you these, I feel as though what you really want is a fight.”

“Wow, figure that all out by yourself, princess?”

Edelschwert closed his eyes, closed a fist, and breathed slowly. “…Fine. The operation.” Finally. “The next sector over, where our enemy Gerovic was at before here. An acquaintance told me about an opportunity there, that we can take. He thought of me when the chance came to light, with my history, raiding into Sosaldt’s northern regions. You see, several weeks ago, a raid by Gerovic, before he was as infamous as he is now, managed to wreak havoc at a battalion headquarters. He managed to capture a pair of captains, and some other advisors beyond that. It’s come to light that they’re still being held in the Twaryian side of that sector- at a base for an armored unit. Their equipment is lighter than Gerovic’s- they use T-8 types and armored cars, as some sort of light unit or motor cavalry. Suffice it to say, in order to strike there, we will need all the armor assets we can get. I wanted to enlist your help in this. Your heavier types may prove useful, and I can leave a section of my unit here, as insurance against anything that might occur while we are gone. I will provide any fuel needed. What do you think? On top of damage to the Twarians, if we return with the captured officers, we would be owed quite a bit.”

You shoved another half of the schnitzel into your face. “Anff whuh eff deth?”

Edelschwert squinted at you. “…Tonight.”

Huh.

>Sure, you’d help. Despite the short time frame. You’d get to be in a tank again two whole days before expected, that was a good deal.
>All this on such short notice? There was bullshit somewhere, you could smell it. Sorry, but he’d have to do this on his own.
>Maybe you could be convinced to help- but he’d have to give up a few things to tempt you. This wasn’t going to be some even deal. (What to demand?)
>Other?

>>4024525
>Sure, you’d help. Despite the short time frame. You’d get to be in a tank again two whole days before expected, that was a good deal.
Also ask him why so soon
>>4024518
>You probably should have anticipated the slap on your ass that came when you passed him. He should have anticipated the boot to his gut.
How come after all this time with Anya these guys don't even think about dodging or blocking after doing this sort of thing to her ? it's like they get the big dumb when they do something to her

>>4024525
>Sure, you’d help. Despite the short time frame. You’d get to be in a tank again two whole days before expected, that was a good deal.
But we need to be ready for it to be a trap.
Ask Edelschwert how much he trusts his acquaintance. This really smells of a bait desu. A prepared ambush with AT guns will wreck our shit.
We need to really try to throw the enemy off. Maybe even attack with infantry ferried on trucks instead of sending tanks. Freeing the prisoners will require an infantry force anyway.

>>4024525
>Maybe you could be convinced to help- but he’d have to give up a few things to tempt you. This wasn’t going to be some even deal. (What to demand?)
See if he has any of the standard issue gear we need, lying around. He did recently lose a lot of manpower, afterall. Also ask who his "acquaintance" is and how reliable their information is.

>>4024591
A kick in the dick is technically a very quick touching on the dick. If I were me in one of the less-rapey armies in the equivalent of the 1930s I'd probably take it.

>>4024634
Well it said gut so I think there was more time to react

>>4024525
>>Sure, you’d help. Despite the short time frame. You’d get to be in a tank again two whole days before expected, that was a good deal.

>>4024525
>>Maybe you could be convinced to help- but he’d have to give up a few things to tempt you. This wasn’t going to be some even deal. (What to demand?)
In addition to the things mentioned by others demand that he apologize for talking shit about you when it was his shitty platoon that was late to the battle and got itself fucked.

>>4024525
By the way tanq those advisors that Edelschwert mentions are they Strossvalders as well?

I rise.

>>4024591
>>4024627
>>4024714
Go for it- though ask about the rapid pace, his information, and the possibility of a trap and alternate tactics.

>>4024634
>>4025397
Demand a bribe. Spare gear, and a good, groveling apology,

>>4024591
>How come after all this time with Anya these guys don't even think about dodging or blocking after doing this sort of thing to her ? it's like they get the big dumb when they do something to her
Anya doesn't actually get harassed this way much, in the unit she tends to either be seen as intimidating due to her rank and status as retinue, or unattractive because of her attitude. That said, it certainly still is something to expect considering her temperament alone.
Maybe Hans thought it a fair trade.

>>4026374
>By the way tanq those advisors that Edelschwert mentions are they Strossvalders as well?
They are not, though that wouldn't have been an unreasonable assumption to make. That's a good detail to catch.

Anyhow, I'm writing.

>>4026701
Speaking of which are there any other countries providing the Netillians with assistance besides the Archduchy?

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You had the idea to go along with this, for the potential of reward, for the prestige, but also just to get out and kill something, but there were a few questions to ask first. Edelschwert was right in that rescuing officers would grab the attention of higher ups, especially in a daring night raid, but it felt too lucky. Yes, things could just be that lucky, but things that seemed lucky could also turn out to be a trap instead.

“Why do you want to do it tonight?” you asked after you had swallowed the food you were chewing, “At night? The Twaryians aren’t afraid of the dark, y’know.”

“Indeed not.” Edelschwert said warily, “But while they do not avoid a fight under the stars, they will not move supplies nor prisoners if they can help it at night. When dawn comes, we may lose our opportunity to gain anything from a raid.”

“Mhm,” you gave the last quarter of schnitzel a knowing gaze, a request for it to just wait a little longer, it would be in its proper place soon. “This guy you heard this from. How much d’you trust him? Who is he, even? If he’s wrong, we’d be frickin’ screwed.”

You half expected Edelschert to be offended, but he gave a nod back. “We would be. I doubt this man would knowingly deceive me, though. He is none other than Major Becan, an officer of the 13th Mechanized Guards, a prestigious unit indeed, though not of the same company as the one stationed here in Kamienisty. Some time ago, I found him an opportunity to elevate himself in the army, and he would do the same favor for me, for what he owes me. I am certain of this. He would have to be absolutely despicable otherwise, and, he would gain nothing from it.”

Could he be so sure about that, you wondered. Plunging straight in was fun and all, but in the state you were in, could you be blamed for being a bit cautious? “And what if he thinks he’s right, but he’s wrong?” You didn’t want to outright say it was a trap, since it’d be an awfully long shot for any trap to be laid specifically for a unit the next sector over.

“…There is some risk to it, yes,” Edelschwert admitted, “But he has reason to believe those prisoners are on that base, because a prisoner exchange was offered. It would be difficult to do that without anything to offer, and that base is the most secure place those offering could keep their tokens. Any higher, and different people would have been making the negotiations. The border zone is such that small deals between lower officers like this can even happen.”

Your mind had already been made up on what to do- there was the temptation to demand more for this risk, to demand equipment, or more personally satisfying to you, to demand an apology for all the shit he’d said and done for something that hadn’t been your fucking fault, but maybe that could wait until after this was done. “Fine. Sure, I’ll help. You got a plan for this? Sounds like you’ll need grunts, not just tanks.”

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“I have infantrymen, Sergeant, and I intend to use the three squads available to me as a primary element in the attack,” Edelschwert pointed out, “Though any contribution would be appreciated, so long as they may be rapidly transportable.”

“…So do I get to know what you’re planning? A map, maybe?”

“I had such prepared, yes.” Edelschwert removed a few folded papers from his jacket pocket and put them on the bench beside him. “…If you are fine reading from there.”

“Well, yeah, I need a few more beers before I sit next to your ass,” you said haughtily. “Gimme that,” you snatched one of the beer glasses away, “May as well get started now.” It was watery piss, but at least it was cold, and the lack of flavor meant you could bolt down half the glass before letting it off your lips with a gasp. Edleschwert’s cold glare warmed the cockles of your heart.

“Look here,” Edelschwert flattened the edges of the map cutout he had laid out, and pointed. “There is open ground along the border, but a small hill here, and a forest beyond it. It will allow us a way into their lines, whereupon we can make a dash from their flank and to their south. They will be unlikely to have defenses directed in that direction, and our firepower will hopefully be such that we can overwhelm any outposts or patrols quickly before our strength and momentum is discovered. What I plan to take along are my first and second platoons, as well as my full infantry and infantry transport complement. Although the ideal would be to strike them right at the base before they are prepared, if some of their armor comes out to meet us, I will split off a platoon to deal with them. The raid must be swift, lest there be a repeat of…the past.”

You bit your tongue on that, muffling any snips you were tempted to spit back with a few mouthfuls of beer. You’d want another one soon at this rate, but getting wasted with a stranger, despite your banter, wasn’t something you were interested in.

“I will be in command of this, and I will trust you to at least somewhat follow my directions.”

“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want any misplaced faith in me.”

“…To help in my final plans before the briefing proper with the other officers before we begin the operation,” Edelschwert ignored the comment, “I would like to know what you are willing to invest in this mission.”

>List among your assets what you would like to commit
Also,
>Suggest any changes, gambits, or the like?
The operation thus far hasn’t been the full thing, but what he has planned thus far. A map will be provided at briefing.

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Sorry for the long delay, no real explanation.

>>4027259
>Speaking of which are there any other countries providing the Netillians with assistance besides the Archduchy?
One probably wouldn't call it assistance in the way Strossvald is giving it, but Naukland to the north considers Netilland a very important customer for selling weaponry and war materiel to. Netilland uses quite a bit of Nauklander gear to shore up its own shortfalls in production, especially in recent expansion, but you haven't seen much of such yet.

>>4027346
Is Richter available for this operation or are we assuming he's busy training with Jorgen and the crew?

>>4027346
for now, just the 3rd and 4th platoons

>>4027401
It's possible to drag him out yes, but perhaps not advisable, unless you're basically dragging out whatever you can get.

>>4027401
Let the man train in peace, he’s gonna need all he can get

>>4027432
Alright then send Anya with the X-51 Eakova's M28 and Wielzci with the X-52. Leave Krause with Richter in case anything comes up at camp.
We don't have any reliable transportation for the infantry so must as well leave them behind.

>>4027443
You’re right, just the tanks them

>>4027346
Get the M28, X-51 and T-16 out

T-16 is our best armored tank, and it's still in Twariyan paint which can be used for deception.

>>4028109
Supporting this, using the T-16 in smaller operations like this one is best for subterfuge. In a larger battle it's unlikely to really trick the enemy for more than one exchange of fire. At least here, any guards would be confused as fuck if they saw it. That and we'll have Eakova for bonus Twaryian dick shaming.

>>4027443
Supporting
>>4028109
Kinda worried of the possibility of friendly fire especially since we're engaging at night

>>4027432
Btw tanq did the Blue Knights manage to do anything with the RP we shared with them after our first joint battle? Or will any changes have to wait till next week?

>>4027443
>>4027593
>>4028403
X51, m28, X52

>>4028109
>>4028300
m28, X51, T16

No infantry from your unit either way.

>>4028409
Their modifications will come at the start of the next week, yes. Which is only a couple days away.

Anyhow, writing.

“…Three tanks,” you said after thinking over what you had and what you could risk for actual effect. None of the infantry would be along- you didn’t have a good way to move around enough to make a difference anyways. “Two of our own, and one from a mercenary hire.” The commanders would be yourself, that Iron Hogs whore, and Wielzci; Stache could stick around with Richter in case anything happened. You also gave a rough description of the capabilities of the tanks you planned to bring, which were the so-called X-51 and 52, as well as the Hog’s tank, a souped up m/28-31. “Your roster’s three per platoon, yeah? So it’ll be like another platoon, except most of your guys drive tin cans, ‘cept the one mean one, so it’ll be more like you’re twice as strong.”

“I will not be taking the NKE-1, actually. The ”mean one.” It is just too slow to use for this raid, despite its many strengths.” Edelschwert seemed almost hurt that he couldn’t take it along.

“Definitely twice, then.” You’d considered trying something sneaky with that Twaryian tank you’d captured- yes, you’d captured. Even though you got the latest bullet in you because of it, you couldn’t help feeling that it was worth it for how kickass it was to take it as your own. Hell, you hardly felt the shot in the arm at the time, you had been riding so high.

“What are you grinning about?” Edelschwert looked at you like you were crazy.

“Just thinking about how cool I am. So when’s your briefing thing? I’ll need the gas delivered a good bit before so we can get rolling right when it’s time.”

“At sundown, three hours.” Edelschwert answered. “…Do you need to be anywhere before then?”

You couldn’t help but make a funny face, unable to hold in a snicker. “Are you hitting on me?” No, he probably wasn’t, but you weren’t about to miss an opportunity to mess with him; his brow twitched as it seemed to usually do when you poked at a place and it turned out tender. “I’ve got other places to be.”

“I would rather not embark on a mission such as this without clearing some of the bad air between us, if possible,” Edelschwert said sorely, “Yet you are making it needlessly difficult.”

“Just because I think you’re an asshole,” you finished your beer in a single gulp, “Doesn’t mean I want to murder you. Judge above. But I’m not about to hang out with you either.” Not a single thing he said sounded like an apology, and you sure as hell weren’t about to make the first move to meet in between. You put your glass next to the other he had, his own beer still untouched. “Don’t even think about it until after I win this next thing.”

“Not even a grateful word for me paying for those…” Edelschwert mumbled as he bit his lip and looked at the glass.

“Yeah, nah. Get fucked. I’ll see you when it’s time to roll.”

-----

It took a bit of poking around to find the bar Richter’s crewmen had gone into, but their uniforms made them easy to pick out of a crowd. They turned out to be in one of the dive bars- dusty, beaten and rowdy, but cheap for it. Not that you minded rowdiness at all, of course, though it being earlier meant that the patrons had elbow room and thus substantially less chance of pissing each other off.

The two crewmen were already talking about something when you came up from behind. Funny how helpfully forgetful alcohol made people.

“So how is it?” you heard Stein ask, “You know, the uh…” he made a gesture to his back.

“It’s not bad at all,” Hans had the volume of somebody clearly intoxicated- that hadn’t taken them long. “Wears those baggy trousers all the time, but once you get a good grip on there, there’s definitely some good meat. You should try it out, worth getting your ass kicked for it just once.”

You pushed your head between the two. “I know I told you to get lost, I didn’t actually mean to get wasted God damn it. What the hell are you idiots talking about, anyways?”

“Nothing,” Stein slurred, leaning heavily on the counter in front.

“Your tuckus,” Hans said. “C’mon, Stein, quit bein’ a pussy and go for it, you asked.”

A draw back, and you considered knocking both their heads together, but with one arm still in a sling, you compromised.

Thonk. “Ow!” Hans mewled in protest as you bounced his head off the bar counter, “The hell was that for? I didn’t do nothing yet!”

“’Cause of the yet. Get up.” Hitting Hans could become reflexive with enough time, but he apparently wasn't as handsy as he used to be, from what you'd heard.

“We haven’t paid, fluffy,” Stein groaned, he didn’t even straighten out like he considered rising.

“Put it on your tab, we’re leaving.” You hadn’t planned on using Richter’s crew for this anyways, but now you definitely weren’t going to take them along.

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s time to go, retards.” Best to keep some operational security, “Get up. If you aren’t in the car when I start it I’m leaving your asses behind.”

“No, wait,” Hans raised his hand, and slapped it on the table. “Stick around a while. Can’t you stay and get a few drinks? You’re all wound up, fluffy. And from what I know of you you’re gonna stay wound up till you get it out of your system.”

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” you dismissed him, “I’m not getting drunk with you of all people, either.”

“Then drink with somebody else,” Stein offered blankly, though the way he said it didn’t suggest that he was volunteering.

…You were pretty steamed, under all the sand you kept stacking on top of the fire. The briefing was a few hours away…could it hurt that much?

>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.
>…Fine, you’ve been convinced. Stay a while. Drink a little. A lot.
>Go do something else with somebody else to relieve stress. If you took it along with you into the op it’d distract you.
>Other?

Sorry for the delay, I was working on another thing, then delayed it for later in favor of this, and to break things up a litte.

>>4029590
>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.
Let’s not get too high for this raid, also smack Stein’s ass

>>4029590
>>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.

>>4029685
Thoroughly seconding. I wish to demean and objectify him.

>>4029590
>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.

Also >>4029685

>>4029590
>>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.

>>4029590
>>You would relieve stress by killing people. Time to go to camp and be damn sure you’re ready.

>>4030105
>>4030264
I'm mad, I'm gonna go kill people so I stop being mad.

>>4029685
>>4029836
>>4029894
Also demean and objectify the gunner.

Well alright then. I guess fighting fire with fire is always an option.

Writing soonish, have to do an errand before.

“I don’t need a drink, I need to kill people,” you said pointedly, “Now get the hell up and back to the wagon, before I relieve my stress on you two.”
“Oh, you’re a bad girl, two timing the boss like that,” Hans sniggered, but he rose up with a wobble.

“Thought you were more principled,” Stein made a sort of agreeing but less energetically toned jab. Well, if he was going to ask for it…as he was standing up, he leaned on the counter a bit, and his butt was sticking out, so…

Whap!

“Whuh?” Stein stiffened straight up like he turned into a plank, like giving him a smack on the ass had put him on a rack. “Huh? What was-what?”

“Alright, that is pretty fun,” you admitted. Whap! You weren’t expecting much to be there, but it wasn’t just straight up bone like you expected. It was pretty cathartic, and you were already winding your arm up for a third time, even if you couldn’t give as firm a whack with it as your wounded arm could.

“Knock it off! I get it already,” Stein held his hand over his rear and turned around to head towards the door after Hans, who was walking backwards chuckling to himself as he watched. Was it taking advantage of somebody to give them a spank while they were drunk? Hell if you cared either way.

“Man, what was up with that, fluffy?” Hans asked when you returned to the car, “Didn’t think you had a thing for guys who’re scared of the dark.”

“I’m not scared of the dark.” Stein dodged the other implication.

“I don’t have a thing for them,” you pointed out the obvious as you slid into the driver’s seat, “He’s only good for one thing; being a percussion instrument.” You leaned back and glanced at Hans, good arm over the seat shoulder as the car warmed up some, engine protesting freshly in the cold despite its workout earlier. “By the way, it’s not bad. He wears those baggy trousers all the time, but there’s some good meat. You should try it out.”

“Don’t see why I had to suffer for what Hans did,” Stein muttered like he was put upon.

“Aw, stuff it, if I were you I’d be pretty smug that I got my ass smacked. Maybe I oughta take fluffy’s advice and get a handful of you, maybe you’d like that better.” Hans raised his hand and made a squeezing motion towards Stein, who had also looked back.

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Have both of you take off your pants and lay down on your stomachs next to each other, bounce a coin off fluffy’s butt at the right angle and make a blonde perpetual motion machine.”

…That image made you wonder. “The fuck’s a perpetual motion machine?”

“A machine where you start it up and it never stops,” Hans said.

“Like Hans’s mouth,” Stein blithely intoned.

“Alright, cram it,” you couldn’t sit there and banter all afternoon, as you shifted the car into gear, “We’re heading back.”

-----

A few hours passed, and you had gotten the fuel to move your tanks to the meeting point. It was dark, with clouds having moved in, but the snow at least provided contrast. Hopefully it would make it easier to sneak in, even with tanks and trucks making noise. Stache had been left at base, as well as Richter’s crew- in your tank was Grumpus’s crew, and in the tank commanded by Wielzci, Stache’s. A couple of them seemed disappointed for some reason. Well, there weren’t many commanders around, so they’d have to suck it up if they didn’t like the Ellowian.

The briefing was at an assembly point near UGZ-07, and everybody had gone into an abandoned house by the road, where an electric lantern stuck onto a generator gave some light to what had once been a living room, cleared out of any furniture long ago. More than a few of Edelschwert’s gathered officers were giving you cold glares when you arrived with your people. Some shit about one of their own commanders getting iced while they were on that mess of an op that one time. It wasn’t your fault. None of them had better say a word about it, you thought as you headed towards the available folding chairs. Edelschwert had set up a standing board with a blown up map like he’d shown earlier, with markings and identifying pinned paper squares now on it.

“With everyone in attendance,” he started, “Let us begin.”

File: nightop_planmap.jpg (369 KB, 1500x1500)

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The plan was simple, as would be best for a quick operation, but radio silence would have to be in effect for the first part, in order not to immediately alert any listening stations. Once over the border, the first order of business would be clearing off the overlooking hill in case of any unnoticed outpost or observers. After that, the unit would move down the forests, until they were west of the village where the Twaryian unit had made their base. Any encounters would have to be engaged by rear elements- once things were in motion, they couldn’t stop for anything.

Minefields at least could be considered a non-factor. Such were a breach of treaty obligations, and a serious one, not one that any intelligence suggested that the Twaryians would break on a level needed to impede this operation.

A large depression in the earth provided defilade once out of the woods. From there, your platoon and another would go loud and engage, while the other elements made a dash for the south to both try and go around any reaction forces, and to strike at the softest part of any interior defense. Once the objective, the prisoners, were obtained, you would all extract the same way you came.

Besides grabbing the captured officers, an important objective were the motor pools. Twaryian vehicles were notoriously loud, so despite the Twaryians not minding night operations, they did not tend to move armor at night unless it was en masse. Thusly, most of their armor was expected to be sitting cold, and only warming up after perhaps the first engagement. Obviously, if those vehicles could be shot up, damaged, destroyed, then that would be a significant disruption in their rapid response or quick operations.

The expected Twaryian vehicles themselves would be light- T-8s and similar vehicles. You knew what T-8s were, the Death Heads had used plenty of them, and they were nothing compared to what you had right now- though if they got a good shot at you, the X series tanks didn’t exactly have great armor, and Edelschwert’s people would have to worry about them too, but the idea was that they wouldn’t be ready in threatening numbers anyways. What was more a concern was an anti-tank guns placed in defensive positions. Positions noted by scouts were marked on the map, but it was unknown what quantity of guns they had, or the caliber- just that they were present.

“We will be moving in close order until it is time to advance on enemy positions,” Edelschwert wrapped it all up, “If anybody falls behind, they’re on their own. We cannot stop once we start moving. If your tank or vehicle is knocked out, we will cover you, but we cannot linger for long at all. Are there any questions?”

>Questions or concerns concerning the operation?

>>4030916
Any other potential Twaryian units nearby enough to act as reinforcements? Other than that let's go.

>>4030916
Nope

>>4030923
Just this

>>4030916
What do we do if the outpost at point 1 calls for reinforcements?
Do we have any smoke?
Where are the enemy reinforcements likely to appear from and what's their ETA?
How will we coordinate in the dark?
What's the ground's condition in the operation zone?
What's the signal for retreat?

>>4030916
So what's the plan for dealing with the AT guns? Just hope they don't massacre us as we approach? At the very least shouldn't a squad of infantry go ahead and sneak up on the southwesternmost gun position and overrun it before we send in the tanks? Otherwise our platoon will emerge from defilade and be staring right down the barrel of whatever's in that position.

So before writing I'll address a few things that are easy enough to have been covered in basic information, out of context. Anything else will be IC.

>>4031019
>Do we have any smoke?
No.
>Where are the enemy reinforcements likely to appear from and what's their ETA?
The roads, and you have no way to know the latter. Information about bases and ground besides that very close over the border is extremely limited.
>What's the ground's condition in the operation zone?
Relatively level, flat, and hard save where otherwise marked, albeit with snow, though not more than a few inches.
>What's the signal for retreat?
In that event it can be assumed that radio silence will no longer be in effect.

Writing when I get back.

“Who’s likely to come to help if they get in trouble?” Wielzci asked from beside you, “And say if there is an outpost up there. It’ll have to be loud going in, yeah?”
“What if they call for help, even,” you added.

“Unlikely,” Wielzci shook his head, “Twaryians have a serious problem with infantry communications. Never enough radios or field telephones. An unestablished outpost won’t have one. ‘s the way they do it.”

That was a relief, at least.

“We do not have information on who would respond quickly, though foot units would arrive too slowly to counter us.” Edelschwert dismissed them out of hand, “What I would be concerned about is Gerovic’s unit to the south. He ignores jurisdictions, unit politics…a volatile and unpredictable element. Besides him, I have no concern for whomever may react. If enemy reinforcements are already close when we happen upon the base, then we will withdraw. This will not work in any way except a sudden and overwhelming surprise attack.”

Eakova spoke next. She was a touchy, idiot bitch from what you’d seen so far of her. The accent would certainly set people off, but she was a mercenary, she was being paid for, so you thought you may as well use her. “Dunno if you noticed this, but it’s real damn dark out, cloudy too. You say we’ll be going through a forest? We won’t be able to see a thing, especially in tanks.”

“Which is why we will be in close order,” Edelschwert replied, “We will be proceeding in two columns, each with a man in front carrying a small, dim torch. We can’t risk having our headlamps on, of course. You’ll also ride turned out- maintain enough spacing to stop, of course. Even with how dark it will be, I cannot imagine that you will be unable to see a tank directly in front of you.”

It still sounded like a complete pain in the ass. Admittedly, surprising somebody with tanks was an awfully appealing idea. Though, if the opposite happened…it was a concern you had. After all, if it didn’t turn out to be a surprise, you’d be rolling directly into a potential storm of fire that you not anybody here had the armor to weather if the Twaryians brought the proper gear.

Your turn to bring that up then. “So if they do have anti-tank guns, what’s the plan? From how I’m seeing things, it looks like we’re just rolling up on them? Right into their sights?”

“Six tanks should be enough firepower to easily suppress and destroy one position.” Edelschwert said confidently, “Even if this unit is fully equipped, why in the world would they have enough on that one flank to properly oppose you? This is an armored cavalry company, not an Ellowian fortress.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to get one of the infantry squads to go out in front, just before, would it?” you asked. It was hardly unreasonable, since even one gun could do a lot of damage.

“What’s wrong, girly? Never stared down the barrel of a gun before?” one of Edelschwert’s sergeants asked, from the uniform, an infantryman. “Nobody here’s interested in being your meat shield like you did to Arlatz, or like you did for what used to be our recon section. How about you grow a pair and be the tip of the spear for once, you cowardly fucking bitch?”

...
>Fury: Boiling Over

That was it. Cowardly? How fucking dare he? You’d kill him.

No, you’d beat him half to death, but maybe you’d kill him by accident. You’d make it hurt, make him cry, make him regret ever opening his fucking mouth. No, he was bigger than you, stronger than you. Yes, but you could get the first hit in and have it count.

No, he’d beat you half to death.

Better to be beaten half to death than to take being called a coward like that!

Your head pounded, your fists clenched, you felt your blood behind your eyes. You were barely keeping it in, you were sick of holding it in, and hell if you’d do it any longer.

>Jump up and attack that son of a bitch. He asked for it, and you would oblige.
>If you’re such a coward, how about you make it a duel, then? You can look down the barrels of each other’s guns.
>Hold it in. Bottle it. You can’t do this, not now, no matter how much it hurt. (Anya is not used to this- she won’t be able to focus or concentrate at all until she lets it out.)
>Other?

>>4031448
>Other
Kick him in the balls

>>4031448
>>Jump up and attack that son of a bitch. He asked for it, and you would oblige.

>>4031448
>>Jump up and attack that son of a bitch. He asked for it, and you would oblige.

>>4031448
>Jump up and attack that son of a bitch. He asked for it, and you would oblige.
Try to knee his balls since we’re fighting with a handicap

>>4031448
>Other?
March up to him like we're just going to scream at his face, then surprise kick to the balls. Comment afterwards that you didn't think it would hurt him so much, considering he shouldn't have anything down there.

>>4031459
>>4031477
>>4031499
>>4031516
>>4031861
"Nutcracker doll" probably didn't bring this image to mind.
Writing.

With the decision to succumb to violent urge came a refreshing sensory purification as your focus returned, the anger within now having a target. You weren’t cold- no, you were burning up, but you weren’t being consumed. Call you a coward, huh? Grow a pair? Well, he’d need to do the latter again real soon, that was for sure.

You stood up, and walked deliberately over to the sergeant who’d called you out. You knew what you looked like, with your arm in a sling, your boyish figure, your lean build; even without the wound, you’d be near hopeless in a fair fight that was no more than a brawl, without the tools of evening the odds, blades and gunpowder. However, there was nothing wrong with your legs, and only an idiot would sign up for a “fair” fight where the Judge had weighed the scales.
The man stared up at you, as you stood before him. “Care to say that again,” you let the words crawl out in a slow snarl, “you son of a bitch?”

“Sergeant Nowicki-“ Edelschwert was trying to be a peacemaker. Good for him.

Meanwhile, the man you stood in front of began to rise to his feet. “I don’t care that you’re a-“ That was as far as he got, as while he was off balance in the process of standing, you darted forward. In the split second he would have had to react, he couldn’t have, with how he was positioned, and you drove your knee up and into his crotch.

“Gurgh!” a pained grunt as he lost his balance, and you moved cleanly into the next movement, to plant your boot in the man’s chest as he fell back into his chair, to knock his happy ass to the floor. Within two seconds, he was staring dazed up at the ceiling, and you had the front of your boot firmly on top of his balls.

A few men began to get up in a scramble, but you gave your advise against them doing anything. “All ‘a you sit the hell back down,” you declared loudly, “Or I pop this shithead’s nuts like they’re raw eggs!” Any attempt to wrestle you off arrested, you let some more weight down onto the man’s package, and he groaned as you leaned forward and couldn’t help but grin. Who needed to be the biggest and strongest, when all you needed was the right force in the right place, at the right time? “So how’s the tip of this spear, huh? Was the shit talk worth it? Listen up! I don’t care if you like me, but if you talk shit like calling me and my comrades cowards, you better be ready for what’s coming!” You rocked your foot from side to side, and toyed with just how easily you could destroy this man’s masculinity, each small movement prompting a darting of his eyes. “I’m not even going to ask for an apology. I’m just thankful that you volunteered. Punk ass!”

A whimper in response. “Dirty fightin’ scamp…”

“Aww, did I hurt you? Bitch? Guess I didn’t expect to actually hit anything.”
>Fury Decreased

You really wanted to press down some more. Watch the fucker squirm. Feel him writhe in pain with but a twitch from you. You turned into a scary bitch when you got mad enough, but reason cried out.

“Sergeant Nowicki, cease assaulting my sergeant this instant!” Edelschwert stomped up from behind and pulled you back, spinning you around. “That comment was inappropriate, but we are in a briefing! I do not need any of my few men sent to the hospital just before they are needed for a mission.”

“Whatever, princess,” you sneered up at the man, but relented.

A rush of air from behind, and Edelschwert grabbed you and swung you aside, as a foot barely missed your back and hit him instead.

‘Fuck! Captain, why’d you-“ the assailant from behind made the mistake of speaking, and you made a note to remember his voice.

“Enough!” Edelschwert coughed, “The briefing, now. Everybody sit down, including,” Edelschwert lifted you by the waist and carried you to your chair, “you, Sergeant.”

“You can’t just let her-“ one of the Lieutenants, a different one, began to object.

“Silence!” Edelschwert shushed him, “After this operation, Judge above!”

A moment of tense silence as everybody sat back down again, all eyes on you. “Good fucking going, retard,” you heard Eakova mutter beside you.

A quick, less quiet response. “Shut your whore mouth.” You weren’t as mad anymore; there was numbness like waking up from a drunken nap, and fuzziness in your head, but you weren’t about to explode any longer.

“In regards to the assault,” Edelschwert tried to continue as though nothing happened, “I believe that the infantrymen will need every single one of their personnel to comb the base and find and extract their objective. So, no, as was said, you will need to handle your targets yourself. I am confident enough that you will not have any problems, though, that I will take any damages as my own responsibility. Is that good enough a compromise for those concerned?” His voice was clearly strained- you didn’t see where that kick had landed on him, but it must have been a hard one.

“Psh. Nah.” You knew when you were being referred to. It was a forlorn hope, anyways. Nobody in this unit would have wanted to help you before, and you sure as hell bet they wouldn’t do favors for you now. At least it felt pretty damn good to stick it to that shit pile who called you yellow.

“Then all of you, move to your vehicles and relay what I said to your men. I will provide maps and torches if you lack them, but do not use it outside of the vehicle. The pathfinders will also only shine their torches at the ground, lest we tempt disaster. I want us moving in half an hour. Dismissed.” Everybody stood. “Except you, Sergeant Nowicki.” Fuck. You were rooted in place, and though Wielzci hesitated to leave you alone, he was waved along. Everybody wasn’t quite gone when Edelschwert addressed you. “Are you in the practice of making enemies? I am having second thoughts on having you along in a position of command if you are that volatile.”

“I’m fine when business is being done.” It was the truth. You didn’t screw around in a fight, but that required shoving everything aside. At that time just now, things were in a way where they couldn’t be. “Worry about your own damn self.”

“Also,” Edelschwert rubbed his ribs, “You are welcome.”

“Hah?” You cocked your head, “For what?”

“…” Edelschwert pinched the bridge of his nose in a finger and a thumb. “…For me accepting the boot-print for you, despite you full well deserving it. Being kicked by a soldier is hardly a pleasant experience.”

>Tell him to quit whining. If his troops could be beaten by a woman with a bad arm, it couldn’t have possibly hurt you much anyways.
>What did he expect, a kiss on the cheek? You didn’t ask for any help and didn’t expect it.
>You supposed that you appreciated not getting your ass kicked for the stunt. But if he wanted more than a gruff and short expression of gratitude he was going to be disappointed.
>Other?

>>4032664
>>You supposed that you appreciated not getting your ass kicked for the stunt. But if he wanted more than a gruff and short expression of gratitude he was going to be disappointed.

>>4032664
>You supposed that you appreciated not getting your ass kicked for the stunt. But if he wanted more than a gruff and short expression of gratitude he was going to be disappointed.

>>4032664
>Give him a tap on the shoulder. “Don’t get it wrong, but I still don’t like you”.
Well, even with the shit he threw at us, he earned it for protecting us.

>>4032664
>>You supposed that you appreciated not getting your ass kicked for the stunt. But if he wanted more than a gruff and short expression of gratitude he was going to be disappointed.

>>4032673
>>4032727
>>4032780
Thanks, I guess.

>>4032733
What's a soon dare?

Writing.

Rolled 4 (1d5)

“I suppose I oughta be grateful,” you only let out the slightest hint of gratitude, “That you didn’t let my ass get beaten into the ground.”

“...”

“…”

“There are words used to express this strange feeling, Sergeant.”

“Thanks,” you coughed out like a lump of flu snot, “Don’t take it the wrong way, though. You’re maybe one rung up.”

“I suppose that is the best I can hope for,” Edelschwert pinched the bridge of his nose between a finger and a thumb, “Let’s be about this, then.”

-----

With radio silence in effect, you had your headset around your neck, listening to the gentle purr of the X-51’s engine, hanging out up on top of the turret. These tanks apparently came from Valsten- a name that had little significance to you, besides one of the Valstens being a place stuff flowed into Sosaldt from. You had to admit, though, that these engines made most of the other clunky clanky loud things seem like antiques that barely worked. You’d have liked to drive one, but when a spare was needed, you were usually shoved into loading, not driving. A blessing of your size, you were told. Thank you, dear mother, for passing along your height. Not.

An initial check on the hill didn’t reveal anybody that could be seen, so the operation wasn’t flubbed right at the start, but on a dark night a look through binoculars was about as trustworthy as a Vyemani kid saying they wanted to look at your watch, so the follow up would still have to be concluded.

To be fair to the element of surprise, you’d never heard of Netillians operating like this. Even up north, they had a tendency to hole up in the dark, save for some specialists. Their tank practice was a confused mess, so if you were a Twaryian, you supposed you’d have never seen something like this coming. At least, not in this sector, a whole thirty three kilometers east of where you were stationed.

The pathfinders, so they were called, would not be guiding the way until you reached the forest, and instead each one rode on a single vehicle in each group. It was a bumpy ride for them, you bet, as the whole unit tried to hit the balance between being quick enough to minimalize time exposed, but not going hard enough that the engines would be screaming to everybody around, “Here I come!”

The most tense part would be coming now. A part where you couldn’t do anything but wait, as the assigned unit (assigned the call sign 12-2 for tonight) rolled up to make sure nobody was in cover and concealment- even without radios, if somebody up there popped off a flare, it would be just as bad.

You’d have preferred that the unit was the one with infantry instead of tanks, but Captain Edelschwert seemed to prefer that the forward pickets be caught quickly, even with the risk that the tanks might alarm them. You’d have to see if he was right…

>1&2-Nothing there
>3-A scuffle
>4-A hiccup
>5-Nothing seen

Some gunfire, as expected. So somebody was up there. Then…

Pchoh!

A single, bright yellow flare went up.

“God…damnit.” You sighed roughly to yourself. However, none others went up. Usually, you needed more than one flare to identify not only what was happening, but what the nature of the threat was. Call sign 12-2 had cleaned them up before that, but a flare had still gone up regardless. Did that throw the whole thing in the trash?

No, it didn’t, because when you put your headset back on, there was still silence on the company network. If an early retreat had to be sounded, it would be assumed that the Twaryians had already figured out the game, so radio silence would immediately be broken. The mission was still on.

It wasn’t without precedent. There were plenty of times accounted in battles and wars where warnings went unheeded. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Hopefully the former for your side.

While that had been the most tense part, it wouldn’t be the most complicated. Wandering through these trees in columns, guided through the dark by men on the ground with electric torches, only able to reliably follow the dim silhouettes and points of light on the snow covered ground- it was feeling your way through the dark, but with a body that weighed in the tonnes and could very well break a track if it hit the wrong thing at the right angle. At best, disruptions would slow progress. At worst, tanks would be disabled- and have to be scuttled.

>Roll for handling- DC 40 roll over, up to three averaged, degrees of success apply.