Hired Guns(Open)

Deployment Request Format

Details of deployment: What will blackwing operatives be doing? Rules of engagement and objectives, also background of operation.

Employer: who is the contract for

Theatre of operations: Where is the mission taking place? Depending on the location multiple brigades may be deployed.

Payment: How much does the contract pay and what manner will the employer be reimbursing the contractor?

*please note: failure to pay may result in voiding of contract and seizing of assets to reimburse contractors.

(Request from 2019. The Vaasan War lasted from July 2019 to February 2021.)
Details of Deployment: Supplement and support Arcanstotskan forces in combat and security operations against Vaasan Free State separatists, in the Vaasan Autonomous Republic.

Employer: Ministry of Defense, Arcanstotskan Republic.

Theater of Operations: Vaasan Autonomous Republic, Arcanstotskan Republic.

Payment: 77 million IBU contract.

2019

Blackwing Craviter HQ

Luscova



Wojeck Blaskowitz was a giant of a man, his immense frame made him look almost comical behind the formal setting of a desk. Half Arrandi and half Essalanean, Wojeck had no shortage of strong progenitors in his DNA and given such ancestry it had been almost a foregone conclusion that he would end up in his current profession. Ten years in the Norsian military had honed his skills and a further twenty with Blackwing had refined them to a bleeding edge.

He had risen to divisional head of Blackwing craviter on merit and a career marked by delivering no matter the odds, though trading a plate carrier for business shirts had been a tough pill to swallow. Still, when Victor Holst gave you a promotion you didn’t argue and Wojeck knew the business better than anyone, he could keep his men in paid work and alive just as well behind a desk.

Getting used to an office job had been an adjustment, but Wojeck had adapted, discipline holding true even with the change of posting. He worked late most days, he liked to earn his pay and tonight was no different. The only exception to this rule that Wojeck allowed was the Sundays he took off to spend time with his family, in the last five years he had missed only one.

“Thousands dead and wounded in what the government is calling the single worst terrorist attack in Arcanstotskan history!” a GNN reporter opined as a reel of grim footage filled the screen

Wojeck wondered how many Sundays he might now miss, the situation in Arcanstotska looking worse by the hour. The republic day bombings had plunged the craviterean nation into chaos, talk of war and uprising was already filling the net as the full extent of the damage became more and more evident. For the ordinary citizen, it was a nightmare birthed in fire and screams, for Blackwing, it was Tuesday.

“I trust your watching the news” Victor Holst’s accented voice asked over the phone

“Sir, you're up early, what time is it in Gothis?” Wojeck asked surprised by the hour of the call

“Sleep is a luxury that we both know must occasionally be foregone, I'm meeting with the board in an hour” Holst replied dismissing any concerns

“The board? Then?” Wojeck replied quizzically a picture quickly falling into place

“Our contacts in the republic are all saying the same thing” Holst explained

“War” Wojeck said already knowing the answer

That wasn’t really all that surprising, the Vaasan people had chafed under foreign rule for over a century since Ereion had been swallowed up like an aperitif. A once proud people now under the yoke of Szlavic rule, now they had finally decided to break those chains and rise, and they had chosen the least subtle way to do it. The PGU was currently silent, suggesting no one was sure how to approach the situation, and the rest of the world seemed embroiled in its own chaos, it wasn’t going to go away diplomatically.

“Indeed, the Vaasan’s finally pulled the trigger, the Arcanstotskan military is unprepared, their government is expected to request our services” Holst replied affirmatively

“So, they are offering a contract?” Wojeck asked curiosity picqued

“Its "The” Contract Wojeck, 80 million IBU for our forces to assist in operational security, this is a major opportunity” Holst corrected

“What are your orders, sir?” Wojeck asked obediently

“Draw up a list and have everyone ready to deploy within the next few days, once this contract is approved, we are going to be very busy,” Holst said matter-factly

“Yes sir, I'll make the call” Wojeck replied obediently as Holst hung up

*************************************************************************************

1 month later

Outskirts of Eisenberg



“SWORD OF THE GODS! GIVE THE POWER!! GIVE ME THE FORCE TONIIIIIGGGGGHHHTTT, GIVE ME THE STRENGTH, GIVE ME THE FIRE! SWORD OF THE GODS TONIIIIIIIGGGGHHHTT” the Donnerschwert track roared from the jeep's stereo as the convoy advanced through the countryside

In the rear of the jeep, a squad of Blackwing operators busied themselves with last gear checks, they were a mishmash of ex-services from across Eras, soldiers, cops, airmen and more all now fighting not for country but for cash. The Warhounds might not have had ideology on their side, but they made up for that with skills that were second to none.

Today's mission though had the potential to go very badly wrong, the entire line was collapsing as the Vaasan region rose in armed rebellion and the Warhounds were leading a relief column straight into the hot zone. The city of Eisenberg had thus far held on, the Arcanstotskan military refusing to abandon its remaining territory, but the countryside was a warzone with no defined lines of contact, and it was getting worse by the day.

The relief convoy was meant to bring ammo, food, and civilian aid to the embattled soldiers that were still trying to keep the region in republic hands. Between them and their destination was a murky expanse of abandoned villages, mined roads, and potential ambushes. Still, a job was a job and the stotskies paid very well, not that they had much of a choice, the situation was getting worse by the minute.

Isaac stared down at his map with a perturbed expression, it was all in Szlavic writing and the local names didn’t match the road signs the Vaasans had installed after vandalizing the old ones. He circled a small dot on the map with his pencil “Vorodenko” is read, he put a forward slash and wrote “Volksburg” next to it. The war was now as much about language as it was territory.

Isaac had seen battle before, he didn’t talk much about his origins or his uniformed days, preferring the anonymity of mercenary life. He’d fought in a dozen places, some he remembered and others he made a point to try and forget but as he looked out at the off-green forests and mist-filled plains, he knew Vaasa was going to stick with him for a long time to come.

“So, what's the plan” Vilda, the Essalanean sharpshooter of the squad, asked as she finished polishing her blade

“Kill Vassies and get paid HAHA!” N’gele said in an obnoxious, booming voice

The Astragonese soldier was manning the jeep's turret, it dulled the noise he made somewhat but still not enough to tune him out entirely. Still, what the man lacked in social graces he redeemed with his ability to turn hostiles into red paste with his machine gun. It was a skill they would likely need in short order.

“Listen carefully, the last village safely in government hands is here,” Isaac said tapping the circled Vorodenko/Volksburg


“The fifteenth motorized are holding it, barely though, they need the supplies we are bringing, or Eisenberg will soon be entirely cut off”

“So, drop off some goodies and get out?” Tetsuo asked in a thick skandan accent

“Indeed, we are not here to fight their war for them, we deliver and then we exfil! Anything on the way that presents an obstacle gets removed, am I clear” Isaac asked in a stern voice

Everyone agreed, getting in and getting out sounded pretty good, especially since the Vaasan’s seemed to be hiding behind every tree and under every rock. The enemy had already started executing anyone they caught with Stotski insignia, it would not be wise to be here when this region fell. They were here to get paid, not die for a foreign contract.

Up ahead the convoy was nearing a bridge across the local Vatski/Volksaar river, a Stotski jeep was presently moving close when it seemed to bump something with its rear tire. Isaac felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he instinctively ducked and reached for his sidearm. The jeep evaporated in a sea of fire and debris as the IED detonated and reduced everything in its path to ash and smoke. The distinct reek of burning flesh and metal hit the nostrils as the gunfire started.

“AMBUSH!!!” someone roared in broken Mercanti over the radio

From the treeline muzzle flash filled the morning gloom, rounds pinged off the side of the vehicles and smashed into anything glass. A truck full of soldiers was riddled with small arms fire as the occupants were torn to ribbons by incoming fire. The radio was a chaotic blur of panicked voices and screams.

“N’Gele! Treeline now!” Isaac ordered

The Astragonese gunner responded with a volley of machine gun fire as the turret exploded into life, trees were reduced to splinters and gore. Still, the Vaasan’s kept up their assault, they had men to spare, the convoy not so much, Isaac knew a standing fight was doomed.

“All vehicles! We are moving! NOW” he yelled in Arcantstotskan over the radio

Vehicles started to move almost immediately, what little discipline remaining now channeled into escape from the Killzone. They rushed across the bridge, evading the burning wrecks of their former comrades as the escape got underway. Most got across in one piece, the screams over the radio quickly making clear that the APC crew had not been so lucky.

Isaac ordered the convoy to drive as fast as their engines would allow, they made for the village with all haste, leaving death and gunfire behind them.

***********************************************************************************

Vorodenko/Volksburg



The battered convoy arrived at its destination late in the afternoon, a small collection of shacks and houses that had seen better days. A battered wooden sign was hanging from a makeshift wall of salvaged wood it read “Vorodenko” the sign red in crude red lettering, for now, this was the last part of Arcanstotska not consumed by the wider Vaasan uprising. Guards in dirty uniforms pointed clean rifles at the oncoming convoy and barked commands for engines to be killed and hands to be raised.

Identification was offered, pat downs endured, and bit by bit the yelling began to die down as the guards realized that the convoy was Arcanstotskan and not Vaasan. They didn’t know what to make of the Blackwing contractors, the more observant among them did recognize the logo, however. Eventually, a middle-aged man in grey fatigues and no helmet marched out and ordered the guards to stand down.

“Bring the convoy in and close the barricade! We'll be lucky if we don’t get overrun with all this commotion!” he snapped in a commanding voice, this was obviously the leader

“You there, mercenary! Let's have a chat” the officer said with an authoritative wave of his hand, beckoning for Isaac to follow

Inside the relative safety of the village, the convoy began unloading its supplies immediately, arms, weapons, rations, and even the few surviving replacements from the original convoy all exited the trucks in short order. Tired men watched from their various posts, eyes bearing dark rings from lack of sleep and their uniforms a mess of dirt, sweat stains, and blood. These men had seen the worst that the free state could throw at them and somehow survived while everyone else had fallen.

Isaac was led to a large farmhouse; the windows had been boarded up with planks and another crudely written sign read “command post” in thick red pen. The inside was a cramped mess of supply crates, map boards, and radio equipment, a large desk occupied the far corner of the room, and a battered leather chair, which the officer lowered himself into with a pained grunt. Once seated he proceeded to reach into a waiting drawer and place a vodka bottle on the table, two glasses followed, one for the officer and one for Isaac.

“To your health mercenary,” the officer said before downing his glass with one swift motion

Isaac didn’t like to drink on the job, he liked to always stay sharp, still, he decided it would be best to stay on the commander’s good side, he mimicked the officer's motion. The vodka was cheap and tasted more like jet fuel than any of the vaunted black field grain it claimed as its base ingredient. Isaac rode out the burn as the alcohol worked its way down his gullet.

“I am Colonel Grygoriy Cherdenko and this shit stain of a village is currently the extent of the republic's territory, wonder if that makes me president” Cherdenko explained with a mirthless grin

“You command the 15th mechanized guards?” Isaac asked, surprised, the man looked light a tired high school teacher

“What's left of it, when we were ordered to fall back, I had over 1000 men, now I barely have 300 and nearly half are wounded” Cherdenko replied grimly

“Eisenberg is still in government hands, why not fall back there?” Isaac offered

“Because if Vorodenko falls, Eisenberg will be encircled and the Vaasans will do what they have done everywhere, they’ll round up anyone vaguely Szlav looking and put a bullet in their head, as long as we hold here there's a chance, we retreat and the whole region becomes enemy territory” Cherdenko replied in a determined voice

It was a noble sentiment, but utterly doomed if the current stalemate continued, Isaac guessed the supplies the convoy had brought would last maybe a week tops. The attrition would end with Vorodenko becoming Volksburg and the 15th mechanized becoming yet more martyrs to the republic. It was a gloomy assessment, one that Isaac hoped proved incorrect.

“I don’t expect a man that fights for money to understand, I do appreciate the supplies however, though command promised me twenty replacements and I note you arrived with twelve and major Leonid was not among them” Cherdenko muttered dismissively, picking up on Isaac’s cynicism

“We were ambushed, Leonid and several others died in the fighting, this is all that made it here” Isaac explained matter-factly

“Good men all of them, let's hope it wasn’t in vain, what about you?” Cherdenko asked his voice twinged with sadness and tired resignation

Exfiltration was meant to have come via a return across the bridge, which was now unlikely given it had become a prime ambush spot. Isaac would need to find an alternate route back to Eisenberg, no mean feat in a region crawling with separatist fighters.

“We will find another way; our original route is too hot now” Isaac replied trying to sound confident

“I might have a suggestion, though it would require one more service to the republic,” Cherdenko said his tone indicating he wanted something

And there it was, always a catch, an extra task, Isaac had no interest in dying for a foreign country or its ideals, he’d been there before. The allure of ideals had died with his homeland, now a paycheck was sufficient to get his attention, death for talking points like democracy or the freedom of Arcanstotskan citizens didn’t factor into it. Still, he didn’t have a lot of alternatives rising to present themselves, he would hear the colonel out.

“I'm listening,” Isaac said his tone uncertain

“The Voskova bridge is a few miles from here, it fell two days ago, it leads directly to Eisenberg, General Korkov promised me reinforcements via a tank detachment, but they won’t arrive unless that bridge is retaken, you’d be opening a vital lifeline and have a passage back to the city” Cherdenko explained

“Heavily defended?” Isaac asked

“Yes and no, they aren't trained soldiers, they’ve gotten careless, left a small number of guards while the rest of them roam the province, a small, determined force could take them by surprise” Cherdenko replied trying to sound re-assuring, like used car salesman from where Isaac was standing

“I have four men under my command, not enough to retake a bridge,” Isaac said bluntly

“Perhaps not but you would have a squad of my men to assist, and I'll throw in Sacha” Cherdenko replied trying to smooth things over

“Sacha?” Isaac asked


“My best sniper, a bit of a pretentious student but lethal with a sight,” Cherdenko said with a slight grin

“So, do we have an agreement?” Cherdenko asked

Isaac shook on it there and then, because of course he did, like he had a choice.

(Request from August, 2020)
Details of deployment: Operatives will conduct patrols to suppress the low-level local insurgency alongside providing protection to specified industries such as gold/precious metal mining, diamond extraction, and logging operations.

Employer: Melek Kaya/Kaminzskjas Pasha*, The House of Kaya/Kaminzskjas

Theatre of operations: Abyan Province, The Grand Sultanate of Aydin (Centered around the town of Inhinkay)

Payment: 120 Million IBU Contract, recommendations to the Imperial Government for accreditation, alongside possible land grants (As in housing for BW members) if service is considered satisfactory.

OOC: Melek Kaya/Kaminzskjas Pasha*- Head of the House of Kaya/Kaminzskjas which rules as the primary noble family in all of Abyan. Alongside being the largest private land owner within the province, Melek holds an iron grip on much of the province's politics. Descendant of Arrandish nobles who first bent the knee to the Sultans of Aydin, Melek does what is necessary to support his liege lord behind the Altın kapı in Antalya and maintain his dynasty's hold on its ancestral lands.

Details of deployment: BlackWing will be operating jointly with Federal Gendarmerie, JNARR and activated National Defense Units as part of an emergency counter-insurgency and counter-terrorism task force. The task force will be operating against two hostile parties. The Norsian Mafia, a series of interconnected crime families turned armed insurgency, and the Silverguard, Ultranationalist radicals. The duties of operatives will be to carry out high-risk raids and federal warrant services. Protect civilians, property, public infrastructure, and the function of the regional governments. Conduct combat operations, search, and destroy.

Rules of engagement: Norcie is a ratified signatory of the Saintes and Savattenstad conventions. the conventions are enforced by Norsian Law. BlackWing operatives found in breach of the conventions will be prosecuted under the full extent of Norsian Law. Weapons that produce an inordinate amount of Unexploded ordinance, or render the area unsuitable for life such as cluster munitions or weaponized defoliants and other chemicals are prohibited. Weapons tight, fire only when fired upon unless otherwise specified by a Task Force Commander. enemy combatants can hide among the civilian populace. The wrongful deaths of Norsian Citizens will be prosecuted with the full severity of the Law. Curfew is in effect from 9 pm - 6 am. stop, search, and identify all curfew breakers with the assistance of local police or Gendarmerie Officers.

Background: On April 4th the Silverguard came out of exile and began a major campaign of political assassinations and attacks on public infrastructure and civilians. the rapidity and severity of the attacks temporarily paralyzed Her Majesty's government and the Mafia families were quick to take advantage. making overt power plays to expand their territory. acquiring more weapons, killing lawmakers, judges, and town councilors. on April 12th Her Majesty and council rallied the government, taking the reins of a decapitated and decimated Parliament. Her Majesty has decreed the Mafia to be a terror organization in the same vein as the Silverguard radicals and must be destroyed. Local National Defense Units have been called to active service.

Employer: Her Imperial Majesties Government, Imperial Commonwealth of Norsia

Theatre of operations: Southern Rurals in the Kingdom of Norcie. namely, Jansdorf, Rathsdorf, Zamost, Gleimen, Budislav. and in border towns in the Kingdom of Ereion. the towns of Lasovo, Sundari and Ravni Del

Payment: 130 million IBU contract. discounts with state-contracted arms manufacturers to purchase domestically produced arms and vehicles to outfit the Company with reduced costs as high as 15% for 3 years.

OOC: This contract is canonically put forward on April 12th 2023 in direct response to an ongoing crisis within Norsia. the thread for such crisis has not been started yet.

“I hate this fucking country” Karlsson muttered as he made a futile attempt to swat away the cloud of midges

Blackwing had been deployed in Abyan for the better part of a month, patrols, security details at mines and logging mills, standard stuff. The rocks being hurled at their trucks and the stray shots from mountains were annoying but so far, the locals hadn't tried anything too stupid.

“Do all Prydanians complain as much as you do?” Hassan asked as he wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead

“Only when we’re forced to spend time in burning hellscapes, this place could give Syrixia a run for its money” Karlsson replied with a wry grin


“Now, now, let's not exaggerate too much, Syrixia is hotter than hells anus” Hassan replied with a chuckle

Karlsson had been a newer addition to the squad, a twenty-something who’d spent several years in a peacetime army but never found anything to replace the thrill of his days in the resistance. He was a whiner but when the shooting started the boy became a disciplined machine, he’d done it before, and firefights were second nature.

“Remind me again what we are doing here?” Karlsson asked

“Miners are coming to start their shifts, we need to check them for ID and weapons, we are happy, and they go in, anything sus and they get detained” Hassan explained matter-factly

Unlike Karlsson, Hassan was nearly pushing 40 and had already seen more war than most men saw in a lifetime. He'd served in a dozen rebel groups, and at least three legitimate armies and fought in every sectarian conflict and civil war his homeland could offer. Aydin might have been a miserable and corrupt mess, but for Hassan, it was more like a holiday, one that had the benefit of a warm bed and guaranteed meals.

“Stop and frisk, right?” Karlsson asked

“Stop and frisk” Hassan confirmed

“don’t we err...have to buy them dinner before we do that” Karlsson replied with a mischievous grin


“don't be a smartass” Hassan shot back with a knowing grin

*****************************************************************************************************

The morning wore on with little of interest occurring, tired-looking men in dusty fatigues would arrive and the two contractors would check them, nods of approval would follow, and the miners would enter for their shifts. Hassan did most of the talking, he was good with languages and Aydini was close enough to his own speech that it was basically one-for-one.

Karlsson watched for the most part, smoked a great deal, and kept his LMG trained on the long dirt road that snaked down from a nearby hill toward the mining complex. Abyan was a parched, rocky land, there were forests and green spots but up here in the mountains it was all rock, dust, and emptiness. Occasionally Karlsson would pull out a picture, there was a woman in it in winter clothing and a warm smile, a girlfriend perhaps.

Hassan disliked working in quiet places like the mine checkpoint, the lonely views allowed him time to think and that meant unease. Mostly Hassan just wondered if he would ever tire of carrying a gun, he had been fighting for so long he wasn’t sure he could comprehend a world without uniforms and death. Age was making the question increasingly less avoidable; would he still be sharp enough to man a checkpoint at 50? 60? It was a question he did not like to ponder.

“who’s the lady? Wife?” Hassan asked Karlsson trying to distract himself from his unhappy thoughts

“Ha maybe one day, Helga, we’ve been together for a few years, have a kid on the way soon, it's why I joined Blackwing in the first place,” Karlsson said beaming at the photograph proudly

Family, Hassan could barely remember his wife, they had married when he was barely a man and she had been taken from him only a few years later. The wars had killed so many loved ones, it was the loss of children that hurt the most though, his son might have been Karlssons' age now, had he lived, but there was no chance of that now, just a long empty stretch of road and the half-forgotten ghosts of the past.

“Treasure her Karlsson, you are fortunate,” Hassan said sincerely

“Yeah, you haven't heard her nag!” Karlsson shot back in an amused voice

Blackwing was a bit like the conversation with Karlsson, they served the same purpose, it was a distraction. The familiar provided Hassan an escape, it was easier to not think when you were solely focused on the business of survival. Almost as if in response, his employment provided a rapidly approaching new distraction.

A battered green hatchback was presently screaming down the dirt road, dust and gravel kicking up in every direction as the vehicle rushed toward the checkpoint. Hassan held up a hand and yelled out for the car to stop, the vehicle did not obey, Hassan gritted his teeth and raised his rifle.

“Aim for the tires!” He yelled to Karlsson

The Prydanian’s LMG roared into life, superheated rounds tearing into the car, still, the hatchback kept racing forward, its drivers didn’t seem surprised or concerned by the hail of bullets either. Hassan raised his rifle and aimed for the driver's seat, a three-round burst smashed through the glass and a spray of red confirmed that the shots had hit their mark. The car swerved and then flipped, crashing onto its back and screeched as the gravel ripped into its stricken chassis.

Once the vehicle had come to a complete stop Hassan moved to investigate, one of the passengers was presently trying to crawl out from the flipped car. Hassan raised his rifle and shouted for the man to stay where he was.

“Don’t move!” Hassan roared his carbine raised

Karlsson kept his LMG trained on the wreckage as Hassan reached the vehicle, the crawling man was begging for his life in garbled Mercanti, Hassan kept his rifle trained on the passenger's face and reached down to check the stricken man for weapons. Something bulky rested in the man's coat pocket, reaching in, Hassan pulled out an aging revolver that looked like it hadn't been fired since the fascist war.

“Out! NOW!” Hassan yelled

The man crawled free, Karlsson was already behind him with a pistol and zip ties, the man was bound at the wrists and marched to a nearby prefab by the mine’s security. The other two passengers had been less lucky, the driver had been struck by multiple fatal shots from Hassan's rifle and a man in the upturned back seat lay slumped at a gruesome angle, neck broken by the crash and lifeless hands still gripping a Skandan rifle.

Karlsson reached into the driver's seat and killed the ignition with a turn of the key, the tortured groan of the engine died, and the two contractors began checking the vehicle. The boot was a horror show of improvised weapons, mostly petrol bombs and aging bolt action rifles of dubious quality. The insurgency against the ruler of the region was so badly outgunned it was almost enough to elicit pity, at least it would have been if they hadn't just tried to kill Hassan.

“Raise headquarters on the radio, we need this vehicle checked for clues” Hassan ordered as the two men waited for backup to arrive

“What about the asshole we pulled out of this mess?” Karlsson asked

“Leave him to the locals, have a feeling he’s going to wish he’d died in the crash when the dini’s are finished with him” Hassan replied grimly

The insurgency had been bold today, the question was whether this was an aberration or a sign of things to come.

April 20th

Southern Norsia

0100 hrs

9 Miles from Lasovo

Early morning



The woodland was bathed in darkness, under the haze of night vision the rurals had an almost ethereal quality to them, like some forsaken netherworld. The sound of flowing water and the calls of night birds would have been soothing, meditative even, had the operatives not been actively engaged in a high-risk snatch and grab that is. As things stood the forest was a realm of shadows and potential death, Blackwing was not the only thing on two legs that carried a gun.

“Police cordon is up; you have full operational control within the vicinity of the target” The commander's voice buzzed over the comms

“Confirmed” Samir replied in a sharp whisper “You all know the drill, body cams on and no dropping anything that isn't armed or actively shooting at us!” he reminded his squad before motioning for them to move out

Norsia wasn’t usually the sort of place Blackwing deployed, it was too stable to warrant mercenaries and its government liked to keep things that way. April 12th had changed that, the so-called day of chaos sending Norsia into a spiral of infighting and destruction not seen since the civil war. Government ministers had been murdered in the streets, plazas had been bombed and armed thugs had roamed the cities with impunity.

The dead were still being counted; it was in the thousands if the panicked news reports were anything to go by. The weeklong terror campaign had been orchestrated by two shadowy evils from Norsia’s past, the fascistic Silver Guard who sought a return to nationalism and tyranny, and their partners in the mafia who were only too happy to assist and profit from the resulting chaos. Both sides had made a grave error, however, they had underestimated their opponent and Empress Alycia was quick to retaliate.

Five heavily armed operatives crested the tree line, the wooded hill overlooking a small clearing, a farmstead was nestled below. It was a rickety-looking old thing, a small barn and an old farmhouse all surrounded by a moldering wood fence. An inventive realtor might have called it rustic and full of old-world charm, but the ski mask-wearing gunman smoking in the yard wasn’t helping to sell the place.

“Toc this is entry team, we have visual on armed suspect” Samir called in on the radio in a sharp whisper

“You are cleared to use non-lethal means to neutralize, follow rules of engagement, and fire only if fired upon” Command replied in a tone that brooked no argument

“Confirmed command, Gordrens subdue the target, Manfred overwatch, if the target becomes aware you are to eliminate,” Samir said in an obedient voice before signaling to his men

“Be easier if you popped him” Gordrens grumbled as he moved down the hill

Norisia was not the sort of place for indiscriminate violence, the people here followed rules and valued life, it was an odd juxtaposition that Samir had always found amusing. Norsia had all the characteristics of dictatorship but utilized them in an almost religious defense of civil liberties, there really were no other people quite like them. In practice that meant operatives with itchy trigger fingers need not apply, Blackwing had sent professionals to carry out its contract and it had chosen well.

Gordrens moved toward the gunman, he moved like a predatory big cat, light on his feet and nigh invisible in the early gloom. Hugging the shadows, Gordrens inched close enough to the gunman to smell the reek of his cheap cigarette. With one practiced movement Gordrens smacked the cap from the man's head, the gunman turned on his heel in a panic and was immediately met with two gloved palms smashing into either side of his skull. The terrorist fell to the ground in muffled agony, The application of a gag and zip ties followed,

“Target neutralized,” Gordens said in a self-satisfied voice as he took a mocking bow

“A shame, I had a good shot lined up,” Manfred said with a grin her voice filled with mock disappointment

“Suspect neutralized but alive, moving to breach” Samir relayed over the comms before moving down to link up with Gordrens below

They stacked up either side of the house door and prepared to breach, Kruger moved forward with the ram and positioned himself ready to swing. The door was, like the rest of the house, old and the wood looked half rotten with neglect, a good swing would properly break the thing open in one hit. Samir raised his hand and began the count

“one...two...three!!!” Samir called out pulling back as the final number was said

Kruger swung true, the door smashing open In a shower of splinters, he pulled back and a flashbang was hurled into the exposed hallway. A bright flash was followed by the squad breaching with weapons raised, torches piercing the dark as they searched every corner. A half-blinded man wearing nothing but track pants stumbled into the entryway with a Skandan rifle aimed in the direction of the invaders.

The roar of gunfire filled the air as the operatives scrambled for cover, furniture, wall hangings, and anything in reach of the shooter was torn to pieces by the high-caliber ammunition. Samir hugged the wall and brought his rifle to bear. Taking a deep breath, he peeked from cover and squeezed the trigger, a semi-automatic burst of hot lead shrieking toward its target.

The shooter flew back as the shots tore into exposed flesh, he fell smashing into the hardwood floor and lay twitching for a few moments before going still. Kruger moved up with his shotgun raised and kicked the weapon away from the shooter's hand. Samir activated his comms and suspected that his Norsian controller would probably not appreciate the gunshow.

“TOC, this is entry team, structure breached, one suspect down” Samir explained in a matter-fact voice

“Confirmed entry team, proceed” The voice on the radio replied a slight hint of disapproval audible

They moved into the main living area, the kitchen was filled with trash and discarded plates, every surface dull with filth and neglect. The living room was little better, a small coffee table was lined with alcohol, drugs, and firearms, and the walls were stacked with crates. A single ragged couch was covered by a dirty sleeping bag and a plate carrier bearing silverguard insignia, the intel had been correct about the target.

“Shit enough weapons to start a small war” Gordrens hissed under his breath as they examined the contents

Skandan assault rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, and even several Goyanean armaments filled the crates. They left the crates undisturbed, the whole place soon to become an active crime scene, then they moved toward the final room in the house. The bedroom door came apart with little more than a swift kick, the squad moved in with weapons raised. It did not take long to find their mark; they dragged him out from underneath the bed.

“No!!! NO!!!! Not like this!!!” an unkempt man wailed as his arms were zip-tied and his face covered

The man was dressed in a sweat-stained vest and green boxers that were too long and flowed down at the stumps where his legs should have been. The suspect reeked of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and grease; years of poor living having reduced him to an almost pitiable state. The room was in little better condition than its occupant

Dirty clothing lined the floors like an improvised carpet and there was a musty stink in the air that was a mélange of black Mould and cigarette smoke. The walls were a shrine of silver guard memorabilia, a yellowing photo taking center stage above the bed, several men in camo fatigues and ski masks glared out at the viewer menacingly, ghosts from the civil war that refused to fully die.

The only part of the room and indeed the house for that matter which was in any sort of decent condition was the desk and the computers mounted upon it. A collection of screens and high-powered desktop computers lined the oak desk in the room's corner, a wheelchair resting by the bed awaiting its owners' next rant-filled posts. The setup was expensive, funded by the Silver guard. From this spot, the owner of this decaying homestead had vomited a stream of bile and hatred across the net.

“This our guy?” Kruger asked his tone almost disappointed

“Yeah, this is him, Photos were admittedly cleaner, but this is him” Samir replied affirmatively

The photo had been cleaner and the face that had stared out at the world had seemed almost normal, but that had been before the civil war. The man that they had just dragged from under the bed had been languishing in a potent mass of hate, bitterness, and self-destruction since the end of the civil war, time had changed his face but not enough to conceal his identity.

Kral Kubas, an infamous far-right blogger and critic of the imperial government, had run his hate-filled blog from this rundown farmhouse for over a decade. Wolf News had peddled every conspiracy theory from Shaddaists running the world to Hellstrand being a Saviour from the ravages of globalism. The political right loved it, everyone else rolled their eyes and tried to ignore it.

That had been before Kubas had thrown his lot in with the Silver Guard, or more specifically before Kral reunited with his old comrades. The stumps where the wailing prisoners' legs had been told a story all their own, of a man who had chosen the wrong side and paid for it with his body. The briefing had pointed out Kubas was a veteran of the civil war, a fascist sympathizer with delusions of importance. Now those delusions would briefly become a reality when the man was sentenced in a courtroom in Luscova.

“Toc this is entry team, site clear, two suspects for detention and one for the morgue,” Samir said before nodding to his men to remove the prisoner

Despite having a bag on his head, Kubas continued wailing audibly for the entirety of his journey.