It is the time of discord. It is the time of distrust.  It is the 
time of destruction beyond all expectations  . 
 
It is the time... of Severance.

A little more than one thousand three hundred years ago*, the 
Federation's glory and domains were unmatched and unchallenged. It 
looked to the infinite future for guidance, having set aside the 
shameful memories of the past. Because of this, its people had also 
forgotten the lessons well learned by their ancestors.

The Federation of Races is a loose coalition of many different and 
semi-independent member governments, but in scope and power it was 
all but imperial. There was always this masked gang-order mentality
to its policy.  Although membership in the Federation is strictly on 
a voluntary basis, the consequence of absolutely free choice is 
economic paralysis.

It grew from the mutual distrust of the founding Races, but with
their clear realization that any war between them; ever again, would
destroy pretty much everyone concerned. Within this framework of
enforced peace and armed balance; the establishment of the Federation
Navy, a neutral third power greater than any Racial Navy to maintain
the balance; it thrived beyond their wildest dreams. 
                      
And like most long-lived empires, it left its far-flung domains to generous local control, or the undesired voices in the capital 
regions. As the Federation grew stronger, it also looked inwards, 
having nothing to match its greatness and having no need of new 
domains to prove it so. Those who had troublesome visions were 
sent way into the fringes and forgotten henceforth. The Rim became 
ignored, even in their discontent. 

The Long Peace of the Federation was broken only by the Severance. 
The Rim seceded, declaring itself completely independent of the 
Federation than had spawned and then left them to stew their own 
juices; giving them only enough notice to tax the hard-won fruits of 
their toil. The Severance Navy swept into the Inner Rim and took it 
with hardly any resistance from a stunned Federation Navy. The 
passing of years had turned it into a display Navy, while the peoples 
of the Rim continually fought against the bandits and opportunists of 
their lawless reaches. The Severance, and the Grand Dominions brought 
order into this chaotic expanse and self-respect back into its 
people.

Even the Federation's own citizens had to be impressed by  such 
daring, and though in a somewhat condescending manner, allowed them 
some of their due. True recognition of Rim sovereignty however was 
long and delayed, and eventually it was clear that such would never 
happen. Many worked to kill the movement even while it was being 
discussed at the Security Council. There was no other choice but to 
secure more space. Even as the Severance poured into the Inner Rim 
and then the fringes of Federation corespace; diplomatic soothings 
continued, with the Federation Parliament still deadlocked in wheter 
to sue for peace or retaliate in full. The Severance DID promise to 
give the worlds back... in return for certain 'concessions'. It was 
clear they would be rivals from then on.

Though they really needed no approval for their own sovereignty, 
they needed such recognition of equality to honor those who gave 
their lives for the hope of Severance. Continued refusal, even in the 
face of superior military power, was an insult to their people and 
their cause.

In hindsight; perhaps they should have realized nothing less than
force would suffice. The Federation, being unchallenged in its 
might since its existence, could only respect strength. However,
it was also carefully-built facade of invincibility upon which
rests many vested interests. 

There were also on both sides, that simply wanted war to happen. It 
was gratifying, or profitable. It was also impossible for either side
to accept being second best. Pride? It was not the first time blood
was shed for such foolishness. 

The very first murder, was very likely out of pride.
                                                                                                                                         
   
Time and battles passed, more lives were lost. In overdue punishment 
for the Federation, and in irritation for continued resistance to  
true recognition of Rim independence, the Severance Navy took to 
total surface bombardment of several Federation worlds. 

This was where public opinion of them made a sharp veer, and the 
Federation military as a whole rebounded from apparent defeat. 

World by world, slowly, costly, but inexorably they pushed the forces 
of Severance back into the Rim. There, with them in their own home 
grounds, the war ground to a halt. 


We are now in the rough midpoint of the War. The scale of destruction 
and warfare boggles the imagination, but we must remember it rests 
upon simple soldiers and single worlds. The Federation, being so 
dependent on their supply lines, needed to capture and keep control 
of Rim worlds; no matter the cost, for without logistic support their 
drive was doomed. Enemies lurked almost behind every other asteroid 
belt. Unmapped pirate jump points dictated a world left underdefended 
was soon in ruins. The Severance was determined to make them pay 
dearly for every sector of space they attempted to occupy.

This is the story of the men, and women, of either side. This is the
story of a world named Salma, a small insignificant speck in the 
vastness of the Chonos supercluster. Yet this single world is also
steeped in violence, for being the only habitable world for almost a 
hundred lightyears around it allowed whatever Fleets to extend their 
fighting range.

This is the story of the Ground Wars in the Romal peninsula, site of
the main planetary shield generator. The second generator, located in 
an extremely well-defended island on the other side of the world, was 
all but immune to attack. 

The Federation, in its last push was able to bring down the shields 
and dropped a (relatively) small force down. The already battered 
battle fleet unfortunately was caught in the Severance counterattack, 
and had to retreat. The speedy Severance strikegroup was composed of 
eight skirmiships and a battlecruiser, and could offer no lasting aid 
in repair or defense. They did however, offer the hope of further reinforcements. For the moment, they too had to leave and scout the 
clusters around the Salmani system. A massive Federation fleet was 
underway to their world, it was marked to become a new foothold in 
the Rim. Likewise, a similar Severance Fleet was massing to give 
them a warm greeting. Burning hot, even. * 


Dirtside, the forces; Sevvie and Feddie, could only glower at each
other over their hastily-built trenches and barricades, and 
contemplate their options. The last Federation planetary assault had 
all but destroyed system and planetary defenses, which is why the 
Severance was planning to meet the Federation 16th fleet as far away 
from Salma as possible. The Federation's army  needed to permanently 
bring that shield down. 
  
It all rested on who can get to Salma first. 

Until then, they must do their duty. They can't just sit around. Even 
if both the Fleets were in rough parity, victory on the ground would 
tip the scales of conflict. A defenseless world, even should the 
Severance arrive first would be disastrous. It would take time to set 
up a new shield generator, time they don't have in the face of 
continual Federation approach. Obviously, as the Federation has more 
manpower to spare, an unshielded world waiting for them would be like 
cake. 




Illuminati-Fiction.Net 
presents

A TDZK Story Cooperative Fanfic


GROUND WARS: DELUXE





Chapter One
---------------------------------------------------------------------
 

"Look at them." Planetary Governor Jonathan Galvo scowled at the
sight. His office overlooked the grand plaza, once a place for lovers 
was now occupied entirely by the military. "See them march, without 
hesitation, without doubt? Are they free?"

"... perhaps not yet, your grace. But their souls are free."

He turned from his window and tried to stare down his companion. As 
always, it was impossible due to the dark glasses the man always 
wore. He consoled himself with thinking that behind those, there was 
still some mortal uncertainty. "You are a cautious man, Mavel. But 
no, they are not free. And who took their freedoms away?  Me."

"If we do not fight, governor, we are all lost. Incredible. The 
entire 140th Legion of the Corolla Fleet is here. A pity we cannot 
spare any ships for bombardment... or that even if we dare bring the 
shields down, we won't be losing much of the Romal industrial 
basin." His Subgovernor, Mavel Grayson swept an arm through the 3D 
tactical map. The bluish hologram rippled, and he wished he could 
erase the presence of Federation filth just as easily. "I must admit 
they showed unexpected courage. Voluntarily crashing their Cruisers 
into the forest has given them an impromptu hardened command base."

"Where is Lorrida? Why is he not formulating a plan to rid ourselves
of this Federation infestation? Where is he now?"

"I do believe he is inspecting the reinforcements dropped for us. 
While they do not, being an interception group, have ground support 
we can use.... the Battlecruiser GRAN SERENA had some experimental 
new weapons. They believed it would be of much help."

"Wonderful." The governor scooped up the wineglass from his desk and
hurriedly drank in the rude brandy. "Is it not enough we can barely 
defend ourselves, now we must task our men to protect their new toys? 
We need soldiers! We need guns! We need more forces at the front 
lines, not mystery technology. Damn it. Such boastings might be good 
for the home domains, but here we need no such comfort."

The subgovernor Grayson moved away from the map, and took to the 
window. The sunset was stained with blood. "The Federation's constant 
attacks are having some effect." he agreed. "This makes it what, the 
third Battle Fleet we've destroyed over our Salma? Yet they still 
come! The Federation Army has even managed to take and dig into the 
greater Romal plains, despite our best efforts."

"Are you certain it was our best? Sometimes I think Marshall Lorrida 
believes he can kill the enemy with sheer force of idealism."

"Governor!"
     
"..I take it back, my friend Mavel. Only to you can I speak such 
things." He looked outside, and patted his rotund belly. The constant
stress had driven him to eat and eat. His hand strayed to the picture 
on his desk. His wife, thin and sallow-eyed, hopefully already safe 
and far away from Salma. Despite how sickly she was, she had given 
him two very healthy children that loved to bounce upon him when he 
was napping. He swore to d anything, no matter how distasteful, to keep 
them safe.  "The Severance WILL succeed. I have no doubt of that. 
History is with us, if we fail here we doom our children, and their 
children, and so on after that... forever."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Zelas Lorrida, Severance Army Grand Marshall, the Garrison Commander 
of Salma, was answerable only to the Planetary Governor. His voice in 
military affairs was unquestioned however, as said governor was but 
an official elected of popular vote. He, Lorrida of the Green Dream 
as he was sometimes called, preferred to get his boots dirty. If he 
could know and memorize the name of every man in his Army, he would 
have. His name of renown arose from his utter defiance of an order to 
retreat, as the Federation forces routed the 308th Army of Kallon. In 
the forests of Iran Latha (a world in Prima Ith Kara), was where the 
surging wave  of the Federation broke. Though completely encircled 
and outnumbered nearly a thousand to one, they bled the 188th 
Federation Legion of the 13th Fleet to such extent that these were 
forced to withdraw.

Since then, he'd been famed for being able to turn bad terrain, 
little available forces and what should be a disfavorable condition 
into an advantage. Salma seemed like an ideal place for such a man. 
Most of the civilians were relocated prior to the conflict, now Salma 
has become one of the key points in the war for Chronos. An entire 
world re-made for military purpose, even those mostly water, was 
still something both inspiring and disgusting.



The Romal peninsula is roughly the size of western Europe, from the
tip of Spain into Italy. Upon this land, for over a period of two 
years, already sixty million lives have been lost. There were other
projection points for the planetary shield, but these were located in
the south pole, the desert of Ablijer, and a small island in the 
Greater Vacian Sea. They did not cover strategically important 
continents, merely to create a full planetary shield bubble. Romal is 
the only spot that can be besieged. It was therefore, also the most 
hardened, with its own local shield curtain, vulnerable only to 
ground assault. 

But as the Kitarans knew well in their old wars, a rolling attack can
wear down any defense. They passed this knowledge on to the 
Federation they became part of.



"What are these?" Lorrida asked. He looked up at twenty-four metal
monstrosities. Some were mostly humanoid, some looked like wingless 
birds, while a few of the bigger ones defied description. What they
all had in common were the intimidating profusion of weapons they
carried.

"Machined weapons, sir. An all-terrain, all-around combat platform." 

The general knew he shouldn't feel so awed. As a man whose entire 
strategy lay upon losing as little men as possible, he had to 
remember that appearances weren't all. Yet there was something to 
these things, standing darkly against the setting sun, that spoke 
to the unreasonable terror hidden within his heart.

"I had heard of these..." he remarked hesitantly. "Shielded. Perhaps
that might save you from a volley or two of the Federation's Chimaera
tanks." He doubted the utility, even if most weapons in use were 
ballistic, and as such useless against shields... the old reason 
shields never came into use in ground warfare was that it negates all 
stealth. A big glowing target.

No! He dug into his heart and drew out his last measure of hope. He 
had to keep it alive. Perhaps... perhaps... a target, yes, but one 
that outranges the enemy. Severance. Will. Succeed. He looked up with 
more confidence. Ours is a leadership of the people. Ours is a 
technology born of necessity. 

"And you are?"

The young man before him, still clad in the yellow-and-red pilot's 
suit, saluted with some nervousness. "Sir, Lieutenant Wilbur Marasai, 
sir. 405th Strikegroup."

Lorrida narrowed his eyes. "And how old are you, lieutenant?"

"Twenty, sir."

The general said nothing.

"...in a few more cycles." he added lamely.

Lorrida rubbed the clean-shaven pate of his head. This was no good. 
Was the war really turning so badly against the Severance that they 
were forced to feed their own young to the wolves? To dull the edge 
of their hunger? He had to remind himself that there were quite a few 
in his own army barely older than that; they had taken arms out of 
love for their motherworld. Field promotions were inevitable, given 
the apparent obsession the Federation showed towards this one world. 

But a full lieutenant? Without any combat experience? Something was
wrong up galactic corewards.


For his part, Wilbur felt merely honored. The battlecruiser's captain
even went so far as to tell them, that they'd learn more from just 
being around Lorrida than in all their lives spent in a simulator. 
The Severance was a bit more honest in their war reporting, showing 
the defeats they've suffered. They however, focus more on how much 
damage the Severance has inflicted upon the Federation, even in their 
loss. They peddled their heroes to the masses, and made their 
continued survival the responsibility of the common factoryman.

"Sir, please allow us the chance to prove ourselves of use." He 
pointed behind him. "These machines should provide excellent 
additions to your standard assets. They are the Soalus, a fast 
infantry and armor support machined weapon; the Igulus, mobile 
artillery units, the Nihilus, which was meant as the complete all-
around weapons platform."

"Lus, eh? From the old Sniv word for 'walk'?"

"It was thought quite apropos, sir." 

Fast walker, slow walker, heavy walker. The general suppressed a 
grin. "Very well. Have the combat engineers cover these with tarps, 
or somesuch. Until we can build an adequate hangar. Then get some 
sleep. Report to me, at... twenty-one hundred hours for your 
assignments."

Wilbur's eyes widened, in glee. A night strike? And so soon! This was
indeed an honor. He was then dismissed. The young man had to keep 
himself from running to his friends and tell them the good news.


General Lorrida walked away. "I will not waste this suprise on the 
open sunlight." 

Earlier, his scouts had noticed what looked to be a weakness
in the quickly-built Federation trenches. He had planned assaulting 
it with massed forces brought up along the river, but attacking from 
the impassable forest now began to sound better. The ability to fire 
at treetop level was something neither side had, with the 
preponderance of antiair and antimissile defenses deployed forwards. 
Gunship and drone fighters, usually so fearsome, were underutilized.


His forces lacked in armored assets, while his enemies had plenty. 
There had to be a way to turn that into his favor.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mimi;

I don't know if this letter will reach you, but I'm hoping it will. 
The shield is after all, is permeable from the inside, and we've set 
up a gate-broadcast subspace transmitter. 

I finally arrived, Mimi. I'm on Salma IV now. And I'm all right.

I wish I could tell you your man wasn't afraid. That I was a hero 
through and true. But when they loaded us marines into our drop pods,
no man there was not afraid. I didn't see the space battle, I was 
inside my capsule all that time. I'm told by some of the spacers with
us that it was glorious. Cruisers trading futile fire against 
Battlecruisers. Carriers and Battlemovers, watching their drones
decide their fate. And big, wallowing Battleships trying to keep 
Skirmiships away. I could only console myself that if the Cruiser I 
was on was destroyed, I'd survive sixteen hours longer than the poor 
crewmen. 

Drop pods are tough. They have to be, to safeguard a single person 
through planetary entry. Once the shields were down, they dropped 
us first. Planetary defenses aren't made to target such small and
insignificant targets. The entry course is programmed by the ship's
computer but each of us has limited control over its thrusters. It 
also has an outside camera, which we are free to meddle with. 

That was the only time I got to see a space battle. 

I tried to remember it for you, Mimi. It's really different from 
those video feeds they show in newscasts. There's no sound in space, 
so there's just a flash - and a thousand lives are just.. gone. Along 
with their ship. The exchange of fire was so thick, I could even see 
some drop pods being taken out by beam fire. That was just... 
horrible, even for the military. The charged particle beam from Beam 
cannons can punch through most armor, with a beam diameter of ten 
meters (remember when you told me the Navy was safer?) and at least 
it was over so fast they didn't even feel any pain. 

I wasn't afraid then. I felt so small, that my fear was so worthless.
We soldiers are just numbers in a great and complicated equation, and
lives are of less worth than machines.

This was has been going on for twenty years, Mimi, and we can't stop.
We don't know how to stop. After all, we're WINNING. 

Even regardless of the cost.


I felt the world draw me in. 


Drop pods have gravitics control. When I started, I had the same 
illusion as everyone else that gravity can be turned on and off at
will. It's not like that. Gravity is a function of mass, it can't be
turned off. But it can be adjusted. Aircars float not because they're
not affected by gravity but because they're redirecting gravitons 
around its inertia bubble. The standard entry speed is around
twenty to fourty times the speed of sound. That should puree my 
brain, were it not for the inertial dampers present in all drop pods.

It was still a bone-shaking ride, and I think I broke a tooth trying 
to keep my jaw shut as the pod did air-braking. Powerful ion thusters 
similar to drones went active and pushed against the force of gravity 
in intermittent bursts so I won't go off course. The temperature 
outside was in millions of degrees, the ceramic skin of my pod 
glowing hot. Inside, I felt cold.

My pod dropped submunitions to clear my landing zone of enemies, and 
then deployed a parachute. Low tech, but it works. But no soft 
landings here, a few meters off the ground the SEAR (Snap-on Entry 
Armor Reinforcement) plates detatched, and the pod's outer shell just 
fell apart. I jumped into combat, literally Mimi, since my Powered 
Armor has its own jump boosters. We Powered Marines should be ready 
to fight even before we touch the ground.


I was deep in a forest. I looked up and gasped. A Guardian-class
Light Cruiser was going for a crash landing. I kid you not, love, it
went by me so close that I was blown away by the volume of air it 
pushed aside.

The sound of it as it carved out the ground, and came to a shuddering
rest halfway into a hill was so loud my electronic ears shut down. 
Remember, dear Mimi, that even our Light Cruisers are four hundred 
meters long. Severance ships are bigger of course, but we have more.
As I looked at the mangled heap of metal in the distance, I wondered 
at the cost.. not in galcreds, but in planets stripped bare for our 
warmaking and the billions of people being relocated, shuffled around
like just another resource. 

Above me, the battle was also slowly grinding to a halt. Our fleet 
was nearly decimated, but the planet was almost defenseless. They 
were dropping everything that they could throw down. I really 
expected the local war to be over by then. Most planetary defenses 
are in the form of sub-orbital guns, firing from behind and taking 
power from the planetary shields. Salma had a fair number of ground-
based guns and while the few ships they had left from their defense 
fleet was being cleaned up, the appearance of fresh reinforcements 
forced our fleet to withdraw. They had to, they were too damaged to 
keep fighting.


I decided to go over to the downed Cruiser to help any survivors. My
suit allowed me to make long, twenty-meter bounds, and like an 
overpowered rabbit I reached it soon. 


Imagine my surprise to see people already up and about. The ship left
a gaping wound through the forest, and a half-crater half-mound where 
it finally stopped. It was still in one piece, though some of its gun 
turrets were bent in pitiful angles. 

A combat engineer saw me and yelled for help. I jumped down the ridge
to aid in carrying a large ammunition crate. Did you know I can 
bench-press four tons? The ship, I learned, was the FNCx FANDANCER. 
My own ship, the FNCx HARDLINER, a Large Transport Cruiser, was space 
dust. Though my time on it was marred by the obvious contempt the 
Navy had for us groundpounders, I still felt some regret. Even us 
their Marines are deemed suitable only for the problems too small to 
warrant their attention, and so were given similar respect. I decided 
to hang around with these people (even navy brats as they are) until 
we can get communications going and I can meet up with the rest of my 
mobile batallion.

I'll be fine. Don't worry. Remember, we ARE the Federation. We're 
fighting for peace, justice, and progress. We're the best, and we're 
sure to win.

I love you.

signed:
Corporal Darren L. Carnath
Federation Marines 
Salma, Apidos cluster, Chronos supercluster

dated:
19010.302.18:24

[encrypt]


The temporary barracks' tent flap opened, and an aging goggled head 
peeked in. It had a raspy voice and coffee-yellowed teeth. "Hey, 
moonie. Writing a letter to your lady? Don't you know long-distance 
relationships never work?" 

Moonie. He didn't know how they knew he'd been born in one of the 
moons of Derivia, but it stuck. Somehow being from the homeworld gave 
him some prestige points. He wasn't sure what to feel about that. 

"Oh shut it, Gamilon." Darren pressed [SEND] and stretched out. His 
hardsuit whined in powerful exaggeration to his motion. He had to do 
things very carefully, as it was too easy break things while in 
alert duty. "What do you want? More digging, I suppose?" He didn't 
mention in the letter that the first thing they had him do was not 
scouting, not perimeter defense but to take a plasma shovel and... 
dig a trench.

Federation tanks are finest in the galaxy, drawing upon the expertise 
of the Races. The Severance had little experience in ground warfare 
in comparison to their advantages in space. However, both knew the 
best defense against a combined-arms strategy is never letting those 
arms combine in the first place. With the air force of less use in 
forested terrain, rife with high-output laser AA and AM defenses; the 
vital factor to defend against wasn't slow-moving armor and artillery 
but fast-moving powered infantry. The dugout and the emplaced defense 
returned to use, in the advent of both sensor jamming and localized 
field tracking. It is true, the very first tanks were made to cross 
trenches. In the far future of warfare, some combat engineers placed 
their foot down and decided; the trenches just weren't deep enough.

And so they dug them deep, they dug them wide, they were the Combat
Engineers.

Ground was lasered into pits, pits were lasered into dirt, dirt was
lasered into rock, and rock were lasered into walls. The time of the
lightning attack was done and over with in the early stages of the 
war. Landed starships, even for their heavy armor and devastating 
guns, were all but defenseless to ground assault. Supersensitive 
sensors that can seek and acquire targets from tens of thousands of 
kilometers away were less than useful onplanet.


Gamilon Saqua was a Master Engineer. As such he could get away with 
much impudence even to fighting men. Gamilon was old, older than any 
other man in the entire Navy, but he'd been on many battlefields. His 
age was indeterminate at a glance, as his face had the clinicalized 
smoothness and innocence of the very young or those who take tea with 
death. "Did you hear? There was a major push east of us. The Sevvies 
can't let that lie, I wonder how long before they make a counterpush 
at us?"

This was one thing Darren never understood. Many veterans seemed to 
take it for granted that the Severance would never attack the obvious 
spot. "I don't get it? Why not just retake the area?"

"Why are we here?" the engineer asked, the sides of his sunken eyes 
wrinkled in amusement.

It annoyed the marine. Even the officers had learned not to ask 
Gamilon questions, he tended to answer with another question. He held 
exceding competence as his shield, and treated everybody the same in 
an obvious disdain for traditional authority. Actually, looked upon 
as the patron of fools. "To destroy the generator, of course!"

"And what do we have to accomplish that with?"

"Don't know." Darren shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Maybe about six
thousand-"

A hand was splayed in front of his face to interrupt. "I don't need
numbers, kid. Tell me, what do we have?"

He crossed his arms, frowned, and thought. The simplest questions are
sometimes the hardest to answer, with many different answers equally
applicable. He settled for the simplest. "Overwhelming force." Then 
he widened his eyes, and smiled. It doesn't matter. The point was to
bleed the Federation of its superior numbers and force them into 
useless attacks and counterattacks.

"Space for time. It's a trade." The Engineer kicked at his chair. 
"Now move it, kid. We've got some indie cannons to install. Then 
you're on perimeter alert, I think."

"...shouldn't I wait for official orders?" He was a marine, after 
all. The rest of his company was several kilometers east past hostile 
ground. He was under temporary command of the FANDANCER'S own star 
corps. Their own powered soldiers were busy on patrol and guard duty 
already. The unit he was attached to, Metlov's Maulers, were off to 
lunch. He... didn't like the current menu. Liver soup. Bleh. 

"Move your lazy behind!" the engineer roared hoarsely. "We need 
someone strong enough to carry... stuff."

"Sir, yes sir!" he stood up sharply and snapped to salute. Then 
grinned. There was a manic gleam in MCE Saqua's eye... he had 
something planned, more than what the brass required. It was best to 
get into the act while the fun hasn't started, the explosions hadn't 
happened yet and the blame could still be passed to someone else.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Federation forces are based around eight Guardian-class Light 
Cruisers, four Champion-class Heavy Cruisers, ten Pilgrim-class Large 
Transport Cruisers and a Warlord-class Battleship. All splayed across 
an area haphazardly separating the continental peninsula into halves. 

The first ship formed the bulk of all Federation assaults, and had 
rapidly proven their utility. In response to Severance over-
specialization was Federation overgeneralization. The Guardian 
Light Cruiser were ships with heavy guns, drones, good shields 
and armor, sufficient mobility, and impressive cargo capacity. 

Also, could be produced en masse. 
 
Even other ships were mere variants to its simple, efficient design.
The Pilgrim was longer, with bigger engines and cargo holds, but its
dorsal hullframe was indistinguishable from a Guardian. The Nomad-
class Corvette was just a stripped-down, overthrustered version.

Landing them had not been a pretty sight. The cruisers tore up
the landscape, but not too far from each other. The Federation's 
140th quickly created defense lines between their ships. They had 
already practiced this on many other worlds. Realizing that once on 
the ground they would often lack further support, the Federation Army
used their their only ace in the deck, as often as possible. 

Sheer. Overwhelming man and machinepower. 

The ability to dig in, hold fast, and then with confidence bury the 
enemy. Perfect defense, perfect offense, that was their doctrine. 

It was obvious from the start, in population, in production capacity,
even in territory, the Federation was vastly superior to the 
Severance. Unfortunately, a long period of peace, while it does 
wonders for your warmaking potential actually harms true warmaking 
ability. War was, after all, the very reason the Federation Navy was 
made and all others forbidden to own any star-naval presence other 
than militia fleets.

For fifteen years, the superior Federation lost battle after battle, 
to such extent that they had almost no capital ships left from their
many (formerly) proud fleets. Both sides were bleeding badly, and to 
finally drive home their seriousness towards true severance, true 
independence from the Federation.... the Severance Navy began to use 
their infamous monster battleplates to glass worlds. Which, while it 
did accomplish the idea of making the dissidents quiet in the 
Federation worlds they'd occupied, turned out to be a collosal 
mistake. Injustice had been heaped upon them in the Rim for so long, 
that even many in the Federation approved of Severance... of the Rim 
trying to take back their self-respect. But this overblown vengeance 
had reached its limit...

Never underestimate the power of the Races. For they are the heart, 
and the blood, and the might, of the Federation. The tide of public 
support drew back, and ina massive counterswell pushed the Severance 
out of Nexus, and back into the Rim.

And here we join them.

Another stalemate.



Commodore Vussulni Jassan screamed an obscenity, which echoed 
throughout the inn, and much to the dismay of mothers everywhere. 

"sssssssssssssssssSHIIT!" 

One of the few Derivian words that are simply meant to be spoken by 
a Sniv. No other tongue can roll that out, put so many shades of 
indignation into a single breath. 

"Hussulo ji lussi!" A foolishness beyond compare! He snorted fine 
mist from his nostrils, his breath turning into visible vapor in the 
cold. "What PART of my ordess include a pre-emptive attack, Commander 
Lisle?" He bared his rows of sharp teeth at the man. "Where did you 
get the authority to call upon MY second and third regiments?" 

"To be fair, sir. We did capture the Illidan harbor. That frees up
our entire right arm. We won't have to worry about hovercraft or
shore bombardments for a while." 

Wet navies are still useful, if merely because true space superiority 
was impossible to attain. Fleets met each other in deep space, long 
before they had to contend with the constraints of a gravity well. 
The oceanborn assets of Salma consisted of large-gun destroyers and 
dronecraft carriers. Much smaller than their spacegoing counterparts, 
they were hard to target from orbit, which is why the sea destroyers 
carried only a single gun mount of similar power to starships. They 
could never replace emplaced planetary-gun defenses; they were too 
fragile. But they could play merry hell with landing ships. Many 
dropships, and even lighter frigates and corvettes... many many lives 
were lost in the hard scramble to get onplanet after the initial 
bombardment. 

Commodore Jassan remembered it well, he felt no fear when his ship,
the FNC Heavy Cruiser FLAME RUBY  began to gouge out large sections 
of the landscape with bone-tearing force. It was the silence 
afterwards, that frightened him. 

No more far-off booms. No more streaks of fire in the sky. The 8th  
Battlegroup of the 14th Fleet was already in retreat. They knew that 
a far larger Severance fleet was on the approach... capturing the 
planet would be pointless if it could be retaken so easily. They 
would return, in standard overwhelming strength. 

To take a star system is a momentous undertaking, involving billions 
of lives and thousands of ships. Or rather, it should have been. 
The advent of planetary shielding almost made ground forces moot. For 
almost a thousand years since its formation the Federation had NO 
Army. Elite marines and peacekeeper corps sufficed, as warfare 
was such that a few people could effective pack the power of what 
used to be entire batallions. 

Once a planet's shields were down, it was all considered all but 
conquered. Naval superiority proves to be the deciding factor. 
However, although the last attack had brought down the shields, they 
had no command of space.

In the meantime, the smaller than intended force they dropped was 
entirely alone, to scour the garrison. If the shield generator was 
damaged permanently, it didn't matter if the imminent attack failed. 
The system and all around it was already lost. The next Federation 
force would just roll through all resistance.

All this assuming of course, that they actually succeeded.

His first step outside his ship, was met with the bite of an early 
winter wind. "I will endure thiss." he thought. "I refusse to die 
under ssnow." 


All bound up in a thick brown parka, his clawed hands warm under 
fluffy mittens, Commodore Jassan knew he couldn't look sufficienctly 
grav e or intimidating . But he tried. What a commander looks is 
secondary only to the orders he gave... and he hated Lisle for both 
being young, talented and handsome. Well, at least to the aesthetics 
of the Derivian race.

"We musst not throw away our resourcess. We cannot replace whatever
we have lost." he hissed out with pure hostility. Caution, 
temperance! Too much caution has doomed fools, yet how many more non-
fools has it saved? "Shirrha luk nis. You will find no glory here, 
Commmader. We need no heroess... we need to win thiss war."


Albertus Lisle slicked his blond hair back, and saluted. He was 
dismissed with but a disgusted wave.


Outside, he made a contemptous snort and stalked off with a swagger.
[i]"This war, this stupid little war."[/i]he thought. [i]"If only we
didn't have idiots like you in command. And when we get home, who 
gets the credit? Pah. It's almost enough to rob a man of his will 
to work."[/i]

He whistled casually and waved as soldiers saluted and greeted him 
cordially as he passed by. [i]"yes... win me a Security Council seat. 
This war can't last forever..."[/i]


The settlement was named Seleste, an otherwise valueless farming town
were it not located in the crook of two commanding mountains. As 
such, artillery and laser towers provided a comfortable security. The 
104th Legion was split into three, and the 3rd Battle Division he was 
assigned to made their quarters here. Theirs was the most forward 
position.

The town smelled strange, dank with decaying plant matter and machine
oil. Harsh bright spotlights tried to turn night into day, and the
noise of restless, purposeless activity was a testament to military
doggedness. 

One of the many Chimaera MBTs pulled up to him, creaking with a 
damaged transmission. The tank had a smoothly-curving hull, with twin 
barrels jutting out of its backbent turret. Beside it and halfway 
down its side were two variable-output laser cannons in small 
independently-tracking turrets. It rested upon four movable treads 
to allow for greater range of mobility. 

Quite simply, the finest tank the galaxy.

And those who used it knew that well.

Its hatch popped open; it was below the barrels, in the front half
rather than in the turret. The tank commander no longer needed to sit
under the turret, but was safely ensconced within the body. The 
turret could be made flatter, the entire chassis lowered. The 
Chimaera is rather small compared to 20th century tanks, but far more 
capable.

A Kitaran emerged and saluted. "Ah. Commander." said Sgt. Rina 
Miyako, whom he'd ordered earlier to inspect the northern patrol 
regions. "You were right. The Severance forces have vacated... all we 
found were transmitters with recorded code-messages to make us think 
they were still there." 

"...and mines, and autocannons, and snipers, and covered pits. Ow." 
someone muttered peevishly from below. She gave the driver a quick 
kick to the back of the head.

"Did you have any trouble, sargeant?" 

She wanted to tell him of how she had tank plow through several 
antipersonnel air mines to clear the way for the troops behind. She 
wanted to tell him about the sniper that ate a 180mm HEAP. Or the 
trench mortars she snuck behind on and subsequently removed. Or 
perhaps that strafing run by a fighter drone, brought down by the 
judicious application of high-powered laser pulses. She had painted 
the sky. She wanted to tell him how many times her "Zel" was just a 
second away from an antitank trap.

But instead she smiled, perhaps a bit too widely. "N-no. No problems, 
sir."

"That's good to hear.  And your report is.. interesting. I would have 
attacked while we were yet disorganized in consolidating our gains." 
He clambered up the tank and perched himself on top its turret. Its 
green paint was burned off and marked with many dents. He raised his 
right eyebrow in curiousity, but shelved such for later. "Take me to 
the motor pool. This is the perfect time to show our own 
initiative." 

She bared her teeth at him in a grin. Initiative. Action. Only by 
having faith in victory was any battle won, she lived by this rule.


Commander Lisle didn't need to wait for the Commodore's orders. The 
Sniv's authority only extended so far into the strategic, mothering 
the assets that dropped down with him. There was a higher authority, 
the Admiral and Field Marshall of the 104th. His uncle. The old man 
was a political animal, and relied on his subordinates to fill in the 
gaps in his plans. Having seen the talent, to Albertus Lisle was 
given near carte blance. 

"Come on. Faster!" He tapped at the metal beneath him. He could 
already visualize the map, and the approaches within it. He didn't 
mind the nepotism or snide comments; after all, it was useful. One 
should never ashamed of using what can be used to further one's own 
desires.

What he desired, for the moment, was another undeniable victory.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Wilbur Marasai switched on his helmet, and beheld the all-green world
that seemed more real to him than what his own eyes saw. This was a 
world without secrets, a world of accurate measurements, logical 
values and instant punishment for the careless. The steady rhythmic 
beat of pressurized coolant being pumped through the limbs of his 
machined weapon was eerily matched to his own heart. "Serelus One, 
Marasai, active and reporting in. Fall in, Marasai Company."

He had under his command five machined weapons, for a total of a 
fighting six. This was to be standard assault group from then on. It 
however was also based upon an old Zallun formation - a leader, two 
warriors, two archers, and a scout.

The machined weapon raised a backwards-bent leg and took a step. 
There was a slight crunch as the foot touched tarmac. When he moved 
forward, there was a pattern of cracks left in the concrete. The 
other meka followed him out of the hangar. One of the Igulus' large 
back-mounted artillery guns struck the doorframe; too late to stop 
the meka pushed through, and taking with it a vital girder. The 
hangar, composed of light steel frames and tarpaulin, collapsed 
behind it.

"Damn it, Wardell." Wilbur said over team comms. "Look where you're 
walking. That's an expensive machine you're in. We can always have 
you replaced, but not that."

His side screen opened a small window, showing the helmeted figure of 
Vane Wardell. The man was was grinning. "Sir, I am undamaged."

The other Igulus raised a stubby arm and none too gently tapped at
his artillery meka's jutting beak-like front. "Don't look too happy 
at having cannons long, thick, slick, and hard. People might think 
you're overcompensating."

"That's low, Roletta." the lieutenant cut in before Vane could burst
an artery in indignation. "And Wardell, remember. It's not just the 
machine that determines the outcome of battle. Be careful."

"Well said, sir!" Jamethon Doros appeared in another comm window. The
man was the only one in their group with prior combat experience. 
However it was with conventional arms, and deferred to his younger 
teammates for direction with these new war machines. He brought 
knowledge of what tricks the enemy might try.

Wilbur sighed and closed all comms. He motioned instead with his 
machined weapon's gun-arms to proceed. The six moved without grace, 
metal monsters without modesty. Soldiers and engineers ran in alarm 
out of their way. 


"Shields off. Activate jammers."


Laminated with dark, radar-arbsorbing material, the six monstrosities
were unrecognizable stark black figures against the starry curtain 
behind them. Only dull thuds marked their passing, with the 
occasional snapping as fallen tree trunks were trampled underfoot.

Marshall Lorrida had already begun his attack, with a feint using the
First to Fourth Divisions along the eastern front. They could already 
see plumes of fire blossoming in the horizon. 

They went west, where the deep trenches were, and the main armored
cavalry forces of the 2nd Planetary Army sat in wait; for they could 
not cross. 


"Shields up. Battle drain." Wilbur ordered. A sphere flared briefly
around each machined weapon, and he marked now that their stealth was
all but gone. They still had their jamming suites, but it was 
effective only up to five kilometers around; beyond that the enemy 
had their radar signature. Also, where the shields touched the ground 
there was a dim blue halo around their meka's feet.

They proceeded towards the rendezvous point at a good clip. He looked
at his speedometer; 90kph was displayed on the side as the average 
speed over the last thirty minutes. Considering that they were going 
through forests, pushing trees out of their way or jumping now and 
then to clear thick growth, that was actually respectable. 


A 180mm shell bounced off the Soalus ahead. It was Jodi Morfolodi's. 
The Tamaran let out a colorful curse. 

"Hold fire! Hold fire!" Wilbur yelled into the comm, meant for both
sides. Meka targeting systems automatically tracked and counterfired
at whatever struck at its shields. It was just in time, Jodi was 
about to press the trigger and send out a full missile barrage; 
wasting his ammo and taking out allies.

From behind foliage emerged someone in powered armor, and made 
motions for them to follow. They did so, and in a sunken clearing 
found the mobile HQ.

"Well... my apologies, lieutenant. You were not.. what we expected." 
the division commander spoke over commns with some hesitation. She 
was a dark-haired woman, her age uncertain with the delicate features 
of her face. A fragility belied by the professional hardness in her 
eyes. Peoples of the Rim generally lived shorter lives than their 
Federation counterparts, but kept fit for longer without the need for 
artifice. "I am Major-General Shallua. You will take your orders from 
me for the duration of this operation."

"Understood, ma'am." he replied with a slight nod. His arms were 
locked into the control harness. "This is the first integrated 
operation of our forces, please rest assured we will cooperate to the 
fullest of our ability."

She narrowed her eyes slightly at that. It was still suspicious to 
her, that Lorrida placed the machined weapons corps under his own 
direct command, separate from the rest of the armies. "Very well. I 
am sending you the official orders. We will begin total jamming prior 
to the main armored thrust, follow what it says to the letter. Do NOT 
under any circumstance attempt to communicate. Ignore any comms that 
burn through, the Federation has used such threachery to confuse us 
in the past."

She cut off the link. 

A folder icon flashed into being on his HUD. Closing one eye and
blinking, he opened the information pack. It contained the 
battlefield map, the approach lines, the others forces fighting with 
him and the estimated enemy strength. With slight raising or lowering 
of his head, he could scroll up or down.

"Did everyone get that?" he asked into his team-comm. Ayes returned.
"All right. Increase directcomms power, and initiate triple 
encryption. Keep your chatter to a minimum, people. Don't embarrass 
yourselves."

"Ooh. Spank me, lieutenant! Spank me!" Faye Roletta whispered 
impishly into the direct commlink. "Dominate me! I love it when you 
act tough like that."

Guffaws from the others also filtered through.

Wilbur was glad for his faceplate. It hid the blushing, shellshocked
expression he had. 'Damn it! Will I never get any respect around 
here?' The team had known each other since the first days of the 
academy, and were trained together as an elite fighting unit. Rank 
failed to be an efficient buffer to the already customary teasing.
 

Things bright and fast streaked over their heads. The drone fighter/
bombers were already on the attack. The lead squadron was all but
wiped out in the laser defenses, the rest swooped up and back out of
reach. Beside them was a sequence of booms, as the howitzers 
attempted to match the telemetry relayed by the doomed drones before 
they were destroyed.

"Advance!" was the last clear command. And then there was a buzz on
all channels. Jamming on both Sevvie and Feddie sides, had begun.


The machined weapons hung back, as the tanks made for the clearing. 
The main battle tank of the Severance was the Copperhead, a single-
barreled tank with armor that sloped vertically rather than 
horizontally. It had a much smaller profile than its Federation
counterpart, and better materials for its armoring. It bore some 
resemblance to the Israeli Merkava (x) tanks. 


It didn't take long for what had been a peaceful meadow in daytime
to turn into dark hell. Craters and pits appeared as if the very land
was plauged, developing explosive postules. Mines were cleared by the 
specific bomblets dropped by drones at the moment before tank 
approach. In the winter fog it was easy to see the source of the 
defense lasers, which were then subject to concentrated attack of 
tank guns and artillery. Hillsides eroded with leprous decay. The 
trenches held, and Federation counterbattery was starting to break up 
the wide Severance formation.


And then they jumped into action. Over the emerging course of battle 
they had observed the locations of laser defense towers and potential 
artillery shelters. 

"Wardell! Lorreta! Clear me a path!"

His Serelus, a large command meka with what can be considered an 
insane profusion of weaponry, surged forward. He was flanked on 
either side by two Nihilus, with again the Soalus moving ahead and 
slightly to the left. The two support machined weapons merely walked, 
to keep some stability while firing their massive artillery pieces. 


Whom. Wardell could almost feel his heart leaping out of his chest,
so great was the recoil his machine had to absorb. His shells arced 
upwards, death in four 240mm guise. These landed directly on top of a 
bunker, pulverizing it utterly. He grinned. "Fall down!" he yelled as 
he let loose another salvo, this time letting free with the particle
beam cannons in the arms of his Igulus. Large wounds appeared in the 
landscape.

Tracked artillery by their nature each focused on different targets.
A single artillery platform like his, could with confidence direct 
fire to one location with potentially frightening results. Two on his 
back, two underslung to his torso, each preloaded with a sixty-round 
CASE bin. He could also aim at multiple targets, which he did so with 
indiscriminate fire along an eight kilometer-distant line in the 
enemy zone. 

Faye Roletta strove to maintain panic in the path of her lieutenant's
approach.


'Sere' translated to 'fury' in the Snussa language of the Sniv. His
was the walking anger, the merciless heat. An enemy tank here, 
pierced by a particle beam. Powered infantry there, perforated by 
rapid bolt plasma fire. The dual underslung 180mm cannons broke 
effortlessly through reinforced concrete. Missiles flew in drunken 
abandon, burning everything in sight. Incendiaries turned trenches 
into rivers of hellfire. Beside him the Nihilus accomplished carnage 
in but a lesser degree. The little Soalus watched for improvised 
ambushes.

Like a nail through an orange they punctured the Federation fortified
positions and began to chew it up from the inside. The Severance 
peeled way its outer defenses and further tore chunks out of their 
morale (and flesh). Soon enough, the defenders ran out of their 
trenches in a rout, recognizing they were all the more vulnerable 
there.

Strangely, while some of his comrades felt exultation, some with 
dutiful detatchment, and one a certain... excitement... he had only a
nameless, formless fear. It was like an iceblade deep into his heart,
that led him to press his trigger without any hesitation. Each of the
machined weapons already glowed by that time, their shields battered
by fire from all directions. They cast the battlefield in an unholy
glow.

He jumped, the others followed suit. They had easily cleared the 
first trench. "Whoa, that's deep. They did that in ten days?" Wardell 
noted with a whistle. "I'm impressed."

"Open your useless mouth in combat again and I'll shoot you myself."
he answered absently. 

The lieutenant ordered someone to remain behind and carve up the   
trench walls into rubble, to let some of the Severance tanks through. 
There was yet more killing to be done, more before the night is gone. 




The forest was named Wormwood. The Six Demons of Salma were born that 
moonless night. 




-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Albertus Lisle, Battle Brigade Commander, leaned back on his chair. 
He lazily raised his right hand as as signal to open comms. 

The main screen showed a snarling Commodore Jassan. "Lisle, you 
malformed hatchling! Where are you? The Sseverance are hitting uss
with everything they have."

"They cannot hope to force a breach there, sir." he responded in a 
flat tone. "It's a feint."

"A chsak?" Sniv mouths are simply incapable of sounding out certain
words in Galstandard. Their Snussa was easy enough to learn, though.
He leaned close to the screen and sprayed out his livid frenzy. "They 
ARE ALMOST AT MY DOORSTEP! We can ssee from Sseleste the tracerss for 
their artillery. There are at least four divisionss at my throat! I 
ORDER you to return! I ORDER YOU!"

The screen flickered for a moment, accompanied by a distant rolling 
boom. Officers ran for cover, but one grew frantic at a recent report.

The commodore looked aside, and if anything grew only more 
displeased. "The Sseverance hass broken through the N defense line." 
He took a deep breath, and flicked his tongue. "Lisle..."

"We are almost there, sir." At least Lisle didn't smile. His look of
nonchalant boredom however, inflamed the Sniv's temper even more.

"Cursse you, Lisle! I will yet see you hang-" he was cut off by a 
wave of the commander's hand.


The screen was replaced by Sgt. Miyako. "Sir! It's confirmed. The
Severance had broken through the trenches with massed movement s of 
armor and aircraft. They are already at least a hundred kilometers 
deep into our territory."

"How does the battlefield look?" 

She bit her lip. "It's... strange. The annihilation was total. There
looks like action BEHIND the lines before these were overrun." She 
switched to the external cameras. "Like this bunker. It's been 
punctured, but the marks are all on the inside. I know this couldn't
have come after the trench failure, the front is almost untouched."
Charred skeletons slumped at the posts, over their cannons. "These 
people died before they could even run."

Lisle furrowed his brows. "Traitors?"

"I don't think so. None of the emplacements have been moved. And we 
were all dropped at the same time... I don't think the Severance 
could  have put agents in our midst from Manchari."

Lisle leaned back on his chair once more, and grinned rakishly. 
"Excellent as usual, sergeant. You are a credit to the Forward Corps.
Now, return, and join me. We will crush this insolent Severance."



The mobile HQ turned, a large armored hovertransport bristling with
antennas and gun turrets. Accompanying it was a horde of Chimaera 
battle tanks, laser and plasma cannon-equipped hovertanks, 
hovertransports, gunships, and several dozen drone carriers. A Battle 
Division was a complete Army/Air Force meld, since the massive forces 
that the Federation could deploy at any one time was subordinate only 
to its star-navy.


It was yet only several minutes into midnight.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Corporal Darren Carnath peered over the ridge and steadied his aim. 
He pulled at the trigger. The thing on his shoulder shot forth a 
bright yellow lance of purest energy; which carved into a 
hovertransport's side and sent it toppling.

He ducked away as his position was pelted with laser pulses. A tank 
shell cratered where he'd been a second ago.

"Tch." he spat through his teeth. "It wasn't loaded." He was exposed
long enough to see, no stick-like shapes rushing out of the burning 
vehicle. That meant the Severance had already unloaded their infantry 
earlier. Or if his coarse luck held... Powered Infantry.

There was no shame in running. As he made his long leaps, he patted 
the infantry particle beam cannon he was given. It was one of the 
first of its kind. Improvements in armor and tracking had made tanks 
almost immune to the threat of anything soldiers could carry. The 
solution was almost brutally simple: increase the soldier's ability 
to carry things.


For more than a thousand years the competition was between large guns
clad in protective armor, and the fast-moving shadows that destroyed
them. There were moments the powered infantry looked ready to replace
tanks utterly, when an advance in armor or weapons technology swung
the situation back again in their favor. Shaped charges were met with 
reactive armor, lasers by ceramic sheathing, and missiles or mines by 
slowly moving from a metal hull into polymer frame, and later a 
strong nonmagnetic multilayered composite of metals, polymer and 
ceramic. Which is then invisibly encased in a structural integrity 
field, which powered suits could never mount.

For the last few hundred years, it was taken for granted that tanks 
were made simply to destroy other tanks. Infantry just couldn't carry
the large-caliber or particle beam guns necessary to pierce layered
armor. The adddition of lasers to their armament gave them the 
ability to strike at air targets... their formerly most hated enemy, 
bringing doom from on high.

This, Gamilon had explained. "Your powered suit is ready to tip the 
scales back again. Why, m'boy? Because you're cheaper to send out 
than tanks. There are billions of meatshields like you, and eight of 
you can occupy the space normally reserved for one tank in a 
transport." He opened the crate he was sitting on. "The Myrdal IV 
Portable Particle Beam Cannon. Output's twelve point six kilowatts, 
it's got its own generator. It taps power from a cyclic capacitor, so 
you can fire three shots in succession and wait six minutes for the 
next one."

"... that's a long time." Darren had to complain. Combat was decided 
in vital seconds, not minutes. "This thing seems more suited for 
sniping than antitank. If the first shot misses, the second and third
might get a hit. Then I hide."

The combat engineer shrugged. "It also cools off in the meantime. 
Don't try firing it without your suit. You'll scald yourself just 
standing a meter away from it. Looking at the beam of course, is like 
looking into the sun. Don't be stupid, kid." Gamilon shakily got 
back to his feet, taking out a brass rod from his pocket. It 
lengthened into a cane, which he used to tap at the crate's side. 
"Use them well."

"Wait, wait... that's it?" Darren lifted the faceplate of his helmet
to glare in confusion at the old man. "You're just giving me this 
stack, just like that? THREE beam cannons? What am I supposed to do?"

"Your choice. Listen, kid. You're different from the other grunts I
work with. You're young, you have a brain. Use it. You've got a sane
cowardice. Good. I'll see you later... if you survive. I have more 
weapons I want to test."

There was no malice in the ancient engineer, just an abiding life- 
weariness. He watched Gamilon shuffle off, and leave in his skipcar; 
basically an aircar stripped of its outer shell, the back seats, 
bumpers, landing braces, basically all unnecessary weight... with a 
metal cargo cage welded on. A nimble, if vastly unsafe little vehicle.

Alone in the foxhole he dug, Darren considered his options. There was
an autocannon somewhere to his right. To his left, was a minefield. 
The nearest other soldier was over a kilometer away; not really that 
far, he could reach it in a dozen or so jumps. In front, beyond the 
ridge, was the cover trench that supported the firing trench in case 
it was overrun. His job was to provide additional covering fire in 
case that too failed, before all retreated to the support trench two 
kilometers behind him. Positions known as pebble points, like the one  
he was in, were made as 'stumbling blocks' to enemy advance and 
ensure they were in some disarray when they hit the next trench over.

He didn't know why or how, but he had a feeling biting his tongue
and holding his position against all assault wasn't going to work.
He took the infantry Beams and cached them away on several locations
at the rear.


Current time, two fifty-four AM. Darren dropped the hefty particle
cannon in a small pit he'd dug under a misshapen fir tree. He picked
up a freshly-recharged one and went on with his task, on the bounce. 

He had lost contact with the other powered troops under the heavy
jamming. Even so, he dutifully marked the enemy on his personal 
tacmap. "Transports and tanks along the north gully of sector B12, 
E44. Dronecraft spotted over E49, heading south, obviously. Gotta 
keep clear, if they loop back and see me, I'm dead. N oh three 
defense lineis lost. Great, just great. I'm stuck behind enemy lines 
in my own back yard." He reached over his shoulder and switched on 
the beam cannon, it lit up its LEDs with a weak *mleep*. "Lemme 
see... fading back along this route will allow me to take potshots at 
their - what the hell - ?!"

He stopped sharply and ducked behind a clump of bushes. He narrowly
escaped being squished flat, as a Nihilus strode by with arrogant, 
thundering steps. It fired its far more powerful Beam cannons at 
something beyond his field of vision; lighting up the forest as it 
passed. 

There was only silence when it was gone. In the forest, silence meant
danger. The animals had long since fled the battlefield.

"... what was that?" Darren whispered hoarsely, his knees suddenly 
weak. It was not so much that something big and terrible walked by,
he felt a crushing dread. Dark as it was, the darkness had changed, 
no longer hostile but mocking unfriendly. Something more had passed 
him by, deemed him beneath notice. Only later would he identify it. 
The force of history. The he would laugh at his own silly drama. 

He was the first Federation soldier to ever see a machined weapon, 
and live to tell of it.


To shioll, the Zallun hell with it, he decided. Where fire burns 
sharp, and cold bites hot, and all sense and all order disappear. He 
ran, but with the sensation of being immersed in a substance that 
hindered him from doing so. No matter how hard he pushed himself, it 
still seemed all so slow. He ran without care, without caution. Due 
south was the  all but helpless FNCx FANDANCER. The Severance was 
 already halfway there. The Cruiser's mammoth Collapsing Core fusion 
reactor was the only thing keeping their own tanks and gunships 
charged, and their drinks warm. It was their only slice of home in 
murderous space.

I have to warn them, stuck in his mind. Never mind that the buried
communication lines should have given enough service before the first 
trenches were overrun. He felt so small again, and yearning, as if 
seeing something he could never touch.

He ran, he jumped, ignoring the protests of his own body. 

He burst out of the woods suddenly and almost didn't notice the tank 
in his path. Unconsciously he was already bending aside, and a 
medium-power laser pulse bored a hole through his right shoulder. He 
lost control over his jump, and in his last moment of conscious 
thought- took some comfort in that the tank he was about to smack 
facefirst into had the winged sword sigil emblazoned on its turret. 
Federation battle tank. 

Inside, someone was calling him an idiot plus many other things 
beside, and in Kitaran. He could hear it through the hull. He managed 
a weak grin, before the screaming dark took over his vision. Then
silence.

The 24th-Lisle Battle Brigade had arrived. 



Three-fifteen.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
          
"Lieutenant!" Jamethon Doros had to speak up. His Nihilus had just 
finished off another bunker. "I am running low on ammunition."

"I'm out." Faye had to put in. "I'm also starting to overheat from 
firing my Beams too often." Her Igulus skipped aside and bathed an 
area with plasma, from the mini-turret under her 'chin'. Trees 
burned, men flailed about in smoking anguish. A Chimaera was rolling 
up a hill in the distance, and she had to keep a bead on it for 
several seconds before most of its armor finally flaked off, and it 
exploded into a fireball. 

She actually had two shells left, both already in the barrels of her 
underslung autocannons, but were held in reserve. 

The Serelus flared from the impact of four 180mm High Explosive 
shells. Wilbur turned instantly, pointed his weapons at the two 
Chimaera turrets protruding over yet another hill... and felt his 
blood ice over. There was but a dull *click* when he pressed the 
trigger. His shields and weapons both drew power from the same 
reserve battery. 

He backed away as more shots splashed upon his shields. 

An Igulus placed itself between him and the enemy, and popped those
tanks with its own 240mm bunker-busters. There was no fireball. The
tanks just seemed to collapse upon themselves, and burned weakly.
"Okay..." Faye said, suddenly coy. "Now I'm REALLY out."

"Roletta... thank you." he responded softly. "Everyone fall back! The 
Feddie tanks have the same problem we have... they can't carry more 
fifty rounds apiece." They've just been picking their shots, while 
the meka ventilated anything in sight. "Leave it to our comrades in 
armor."

The Severance Copperheads roared into the line they'd just broken. 
Powered Infantry clung to their turrets, firing at whatever looked 
like a good hiding spot for an antitank launcher.

The Federation forces had focused upon the machined weapons, and to
their detriment. The meka might have been large and intimidating, but
they could take two, or four, or six hits. Below them, the all but 
ignored Severance tank corps ruthlessly exploited the distraction. 
Although they weren't as powerful, one well-placed shot was all they 
really needed. 

Once a weakness was created in the lines, the rest of the division 
savagely poured through. Although now and then the machined weapons 
had to fall back and let their shields recharge, Federation 
resistance had so far proven to be feeble.


"I will not waste this surprise in the open sunlight." Lorrida had
said. The push was made with conventional and combined arms in mind, 
as was his specialty. It was made possible however, due to 
psychology, in which he was arguably even better.


In the horizon, there was a big black shard. The cruiser, its engines
pointed at the sky. 

A flare lit up the night. Bright green, it was the signal to retreat.




"What?" A Nihilus stopped, and was lashed with a particle beam as its
shields finally dropped. A gash appeared across its left thigh, 
exposing AMC bundles and leaking coolant, in a mechanical parody of 
blood and muscle. Wendolo Ibarra ignored the numbing biofeedback, and 
simply stepped on the offending hovertank. "B-but.. I can SEE the 
cruiser. Why? We're WINNING!"

The oldest opened a channel to the youngest. "We have no ammunition.
This attack has gone too well, I think. The orders might say the 
Cruiser is our objective, but no commander expects us to reach it in
one night. We are exhausted already, Ibarra. Meeting us would be fresh troops."  said Jamethon Doros.

"Affirmative to that" Wilbur informed them all. "A Battle Brigade is
here to reinforce the line. I doubt even our Major-General wishes us 
to throw away our lives in fighting three hundred Chimaera."

"Excrement." said Jodi. His mottled skin was turning an irritated 
purplish hue. More! More! He tried to be the living exception to the
common rule; that Tamarans were only concerned with the accumulation 
of wealth.

A quick glance around revealed few ruined Copperheads. Yes, perhaps
they had bled the Federation enough for one night. This one attack 
would keep them on a jumpy nerve for the rest of the week. 

"How far away are we from the Cruiser, sir?" Wendolo slipped his 
prescription goggles up and wiped away the perspiration that pooled 
under it. Although he had taken his arms out of the control harness,
the machined weapon still moved, twisting its torso now and then as
it poised for counterattack. He still controlled it with his feet
and gunsight. 

Jodi answered it, his sensors superior even to that the Serelus 
carried. "Fifty clicks, maybe less. Why do you ask?" 


Before the young man could answer, twin needles of blinding yellow 
bisected the night sky. Where it struck, there were long, straight
carvings into the ground; at the bottom of which the rockbed had 
molten and fused into glass. Such was the heat, such was the power. 

The FNCx FANDANCER couldn't aim properly, but anything that far was 
enemy anyway. It fired again, shattering the air, as hot, heavy ions 
moving at slightly under the speed of light tore through anything in 
their way. Be it tree, mountain, or soldier.

The machined weapons company picked up their pace.

"Starship beam cannons can't strike at anything farther than fifty 
kilometers away, due to their need to calculate against the planet's 
own curvature. Its beams travel in a straight line. Its guns fire 
only 120mm shells... though at velocity devastating to all armor. But 
useless! So small, and we are shielded." Even the fastest-traveling 
slug is stopped by shields, kinetic energy was redirected almost 
perfectly. Wilbur laughed. "We have done well, friends! We have even 
prodded the sleeping giant into action." 

Faye scowled. She did not like his laugh, it was one of the few 
things that she disapproved of in him. It was always a strangled 
sound, totally without humor. Like sobs, turned around and made 
louder. Although she was... suggestive... it was enough to actually 
keep her from climbing into bed with him, despite what the others 
might have assumed of their relationship.


There was an answering beam salvo. The Severance mobile HQ was almost
a landcruiser, packing three large-bore guns in a turret and two Beam 
cannons folded into its side. 

The age of the missile had ended with the development of high-powered 
laser nets. Dressing missiles in ceramic-based insulators meant 
reducing either payload or travel time. The response was also simple, 
increase power to the lasers and also allow them to cook tanks. Only 
in space could missiles still serve as efficient long-range weapons; 
the launch tube gives it good delta-v at the start before even its 
thrusters could activate. Capital ship missiles are based on old 
bunkerbusting missiles, and a hard outer shell was desirable to punch 
through layered superdense armor plating.

The Severance beam missed wide its target. No matter. Jamming erodes
everybody's sensor efficiency. It was enough to let the Federation 
know that it would take much more to intimidate them.


Now and there was a faint boom, or the scattering burst of 
machineguns. Still, the battle was all but over. They moved in the 
new wasteland, all silent, all consumed in all that they had done that night.


"[i]I am a weapon."[/i] Wilbur said to himself, making sure to have switched 
off the comms beforehand. [i]"Hurled at the enemies of my people. I am a 
murderer now. Mother, why am I not mortified? They have come this far, 
only to die here. Fools, fools. Just go home.... leave us alone." [/i]

It was the darkest phase of the night. Wounded men moaned and cried 
for release, war machines of both sides smoldered in the deathly 
quiet, and the stars above... as always, the only mute witness to the 
fleeting concerns of the living. 

 
Dawn was near. Only then would the true face of war reveal itself.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He winced as they applied medipaste to his shoulder. The healing 
agent was a mix of chemicals, proteins, and nanocell agents. Not 
quite nanobots, these were artificial cells bodies that encouraged 
rapid knitting of tissue by serving as the foundation, replicating 
themselves from the chemicals naturally spreading through the blood. 

"Now just don't move your arm too much, Corporal, and you'll be good 
as new in a week, week and a half. We won't need to make a cast if 
you promise that." His friendly chatter lacked sincerity. There was a 
strange note there, as if daring his patient to defy him.

Darren nodded, numbly. He was helped to his feet by assistants as 
another man was brought in. They pushed him out of the medical tent, 
and out into the sun, but gently. He squinted up at it, the warmth 
was already unfamiliar. At least his wound had neatly cauterized, the 
ceramic and environmental controls of his suit absorbed much of the 
damaging heat. 

Others were not quite so lucky. People with missing limbs, broken 
faces, or the otherwise unharmed but now just staring blankly into 
nothingness. They were all fresh from the boot camp when they landed, 
now those who kept their sanity were in the company of veterans. The 
Severance was just... different from the Federation. In mind, in 
heart, they were people of a strange and uncertain new galaxy.

More and more, each day, were those who became unwilling settlers 
into this unpredictable future.

He walked from them, feeling almost guilty for their suffering. His
mental failure last night, he felt as if he wore it like a cloak, 
that they could see his ludicrous soul.


"You all right, kid?"

He turned, and saw Gamilon waiting there. The old man looked stronger 
for some unknown reason. There was a hardness to his gaze, and even 
his feeble stance was absolutely still. His skin was already pale and
crusty; now he seemed to be carved of unflinching marble.

"I-I suppose." he answered. "I've been stupid."

Gamilon smirked, his face wrinkling. It always shocked people, how 
the placid, smooth face suddenly became grotesque. The marine now 
however, found its ugliness reassuring. "Yes. Jumping at a tank is 
always considered a bad move. But your OWN tanks?" He chuckled 
hoarsely. "But you're alive. That's enough. I was told... you were 
delirious. What was that... ah. Monsters! Monsters! They walk. They 
walk!" He switched to the Old Derivian tongue, and in that the 
obscure dialect of Luna 2. [i]"Hallimao, hallimao! Nelus lasce! Nelus 
lasce! Ethuen corro dahl." 
[/i]

Our metal judicators. 

Darren looked aside, abashed. He didn't need this ridicule, he was 
about to leave, but the engineer lifted his cane, drawing his 
attention to it. He waved it like a magician about to conjure 
something. 

"I know what they are." Gamilon said. "The forward observer corps 
found what looked like giant footprints, imbedded almost six 
centimeters deep into the soil. Given local conditions, that tells me 
something weighing in at seventy tons was stomping about in the 
dark." He shook his head sadly. "They built it.. they finally built 
it..."

"... wha?" Chimaera tanks were only about fourty-five tons. That was 
already quite heavy. Scalar measurements were that it would be easier 
to scale up weapons to destroy tanks than to make tanks bigger or 
heavier to provide better protection.

"Machined weapons, my boy. A line, a moralistic chasm if you will, 
has finally be crossed." He sighed. "Your suit has been repaired, 
come get it later. There'd also something else we want to show you." 
He looked at the young man in the eye, there was a merciless nature 
to his gaze. He placed his goggled helmet back on and made as to 
depart. "Of all here, only you have felt it. Times are changing, 
young man of Derivia, and we must prepare. On to you this burden 
falls, because I deem it so fitting."

"w-Wait! Gamilon!"

The old man looked back, and made a small salute. "Go. Write a letter 
to your girl. Tell her you love her, again. Tell her all that you want
to say, keep your memory alive within her. All while you still can. 
Heh. I can smell it in the air. It.. it's happening again. This war has 
more horrors held in reserve for all of us."

He walked rather briskly, for someone his age. He was soon gone from
sight.



It was starting to snow. 


Winter had finally arrived in Salma. 



The scent of death and decay withered a bit, but all life seemed to 
drain from the environment. The air had a crystal clarity, fragile and 
yet energetic. 

To his eyes, each fleck of slow was distinct and had a deliberate fall. 
Corpses were being buried under white, the last respects of a world 
that had never desired to see such bloodshed.







The ground wars were just beginning.








<end chapter one>


-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the madness. ^_^


There was once a thread, called Ground Wars. I didn't participate in 
it, but it was an old thread, and many of the earlier writers cut their 
teeth in it. It was chaotic and exuberant. Although this is meant in 
some tribute to those foregone days, when TDZK was young and the 
possibilities were limitless... this is a different creature entirely.

It did however, reveal to me the liking our community has for bipedal 
war machines.

Let's put aside for the moment, the theoretical disagreements for mechs 
and tank. This is TDZK. Not only do both mechs and tank work, they work
well together and separately. Aelanna has expressed her preference for
mechs (as these are more in hightech keeping with TDZK, and are 
arguably 'cooler'), and now we must examine how such a scenario could
be built up. This is a tale of ground warfare, a backbuilding 
expression of a fantastic scenario. I must admit, I don't know that 
much of tanks (until a year ago, I didn't even think my country had
ANY tanks. We do. Scorpions. Bleargh.) or the mechanical basis for
bipedal weapon platforms. Military manuevers and historic pivot points 
are easier, if because of psychological and social basis. Nevertheless, 
I did research and will continue to do so until it becomes familiar 
nature. After all, four years ago I could barely draw. What would I be 
like now if I stuck merely to what I actually knew? So, forgive me for 
wading once again, into waters obviously out of my depth.

This story was actually written before 'Crow posted his Crossover 
Redux. I put it on hold, since it was all too 'serious' and some farce
was good for the soul. How was I supposed to know my writing tone 
wouldn't change? ~_~ Watching Captain Harlock all the while probably
didn't help.

This is meant as a round robin, but it doesn't mean we should stop
writing for 'Crow's C2. GWD falls under improfanfic rules, which are:
a. writers work together, not against each other
b. no one wins, no one tries to prove to a better writer
c. the story is all
d. only complete chapters will be accepted
e. only chapters which have closure are considered complete
f. characters should remain consistent
g. there must be extensive prereading, no surprise posts
h. follow novel-writing conventions
i. authors should have no favoritism; show all sides to it
j. there is a deadline
k. there will be punishment for missing it
l. it will be amusing to everyone else

As you can see, GWD is less of 'spontaneous fun' as Crossover RRs
are meant to be, and more of a challenging sort of 'fun'. Let's write
this with temperance and deliberation. Unlike the use of our own
favored characters, we here are forced to take a step back and consider
these characters and their tools as products of their mileu. Let us 
build upon what was there before, and hopefully find ourselves amazed
at what we end up with. The ego trap is to be avoided. 

::sheepish grin::

GWD is the dark reflection of C2. It's far too serious, and instead of
grand aims its people are merely concerned of living for the next day, 
the bonds of comradeship, love doomed in the face of war, or wheter or 
not there are peas in their rations. A soldier's lot is hard, and 
underappreciated. Where that one is a tour of TDZK as a whole, this is
of one world, and of these people only; their pains and their joys. The
machines are only of secondary importance to how their use shapes character. 

It is expected that the latter will progress faster than this, which 
requires only at most four writers. Although its discussion thread will 
never be as... extensive... as C2, I hope GWD OOC will find the wide
exchange of ideas we all look for. There are plenty of details still 
left to be ironed out, which might have plotwise bearing on TDZK itself 
as a whole.

For example, the ammunition in use in TDZK's tanks.


So? Anyone interested? ^_^ C'mon. I can of course, simply write this 
all out myself. The Severance is my pet timeframe of TDZK after all. 
But of course, me being what I am, it's a guarantee that several 
chapters in, it'll stop as I move on to the next shiny new idea.

Wah! I can't finish anything. Cursed! Cursed I say!

::weeps::




Objection one:
Trench warfare? Isn't that kinda archaic? 

Answer:
Perhaps. But why not? We shouldn't base TDZK too much on what we know, 
today, else it becomes repetetive... and somewhat mundane. Besides 
which, we hadn't tried it like this before.

Objection two:
But I WANT to create new characters! Let me create new characters!

Answer:
No. We will avoid having the 'mine versus yours' cooperative writing 
hurdle. Although I did make the first post and the character outlines, 
these characters belong only to themselves and the world they belong 
to. There will be no long-range plans, no one will be accomplishing 
heroic deeds... at least nothing away from what the story calls for.
Secondary characters can still be made, but emphasis still remains on 
these few already presented.

Objection three:
You just pulled psuedomiltiary and pseudotechnical datum out of thin
air again, didn't you? But, dammit! You didn't even mention the forces
we have to work with. Where are the technical readouts? I thought you 
liked making technical readouts?

Answer:
As a beta reader once said, and I paraphrase; a good story is about
people, not machines. Unless you're Asimov, and the people ARE 
machines. 

You have nooo idea how hard it was to resist more infodump. But I think
the story's a bit more coherent with restraint; I purposely left things
open and unpolished for those who are more knowledgeable of such 
things.

Objection four:
Is Gamilon psychic? Psionic. Or whatever... damn you! I can already 
smell it. Don't be pulling an Arthurian analogy on me!

Answer:
Um...

::runs::








-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Rina Miyako stood on her tank and cast her gaze about. Although it had
already been several hours, she felt she was there in the crucial...and
final moments. The signs were all there, she could see it happen in her
mind.

Here, a Chimaera frantically drove backwards, firing both its cannons. 
The spent shells were there. Whump. Whump. Here, and here, something 
big walked. She couldn't imagine what it was, but the shots just 
bounced off. It ricocheted over to imbed in a rock face. Behind her. It 
should have passed close to where her head was now. Then whump. And 
whump. It stepped aside, and whassk! She looked to the charred remains 
of what had been a battle tank, its top hull a molten gray mess. 

She shivered, not because it was cold, but because her Zel might meet
the same fate, someday.

Over here.. grass was blown back, and remained bent. Something hot and
forceful. VTOL engines? No. Two footprints lay within the sunken circle.
It could jump.

She stood straight, and raised both arms. One pointed to the ruined
Chimaera earlier, the other to a tree chopped in half. Behind that
tree, an Centaur light tank. Both died screaming, in searing heat.

Time. Nothing is ever truly simultaneous. If you feel you don't
have enough time, split it into smaller and smaller increments, and
make decisions in those segments. This was how she was taught. These 
two tanks died at almost the same time. Considering the position of 
their executioner's feet... it had two arms. Ending in particle beam 
cannons. She could already make several guesses on its configuration 
just by seeing the carnage it had wrought. 

She opened the cupola and shouted down to her driver. "Cori, take a 
note!" She waited a few seconds for her sister to take a pen and the   
notepad. She had trained her that way, to rely on her wits rather 
than the crutches of technology. Besides which, notes were EMP-proof.

"We are dealing here with a bipedal weapons platform. It stood perhaps 
eleven meters tall." She could tell by missing branches in the trees. 
How deep its feet dug into the soil was her estimate for speed and 
weight. 

"Seventy to eighty tons, I see no reason to disagree with earlier 
findings. I believe however, that it is more controllable than what we 
think, it's capable of running speed."  The toes were split, rather
than a solid foot. "It is intentionally designed for instability, like
how we design dronecraft for instability. Better reactions, more 
agility."

She took in a deep breath. The smell of burning wood, metal, and...
that strange scent? Ozone? Cordite? No... almonds. There was a pool 
of thick green fluid nearby. Liquid coolant, extreme-tolerance type.

"Its big punch comes from four particle beam cannons and two 180mm 
guns, probably underslung to its torso for recoil." Severance shell 
casings were left, following its steps. Earlier, she had glimpsed 
four discarded CASE bins. 240mm casings. "They had artillery support. 
Or rather, artillery platforms." This explained how the bunkers were 
so ruined. Tracked artillery couldn't get close enough to deal such 
damage and so precisely.

"These things are shielded. Our guns are useless."

"Wait! What?!" Cori Miyako poked her head out of the tank. "No way!
There are no shield systems that small!"

Rina flicked her ears, unworried. "It's possible, misa-yi." She
pushed her little sister back down into warmth of Zel. "It probably
has three shield modes; off, maybe minimal drain and maximum drain.
It can't touch too big an area of the ground. That will drain its 
batteries too fast... that's why we never used shields to increase
our land-based defense. IF there's a shield system small enough, IF 
there's a reactor and a power capacitor big enough, putting it on two 
legs solves the problem. It has less contact with the ground, less 
drain, so longer-lasting protection against kinetics. Did you get 
that?"

"Nyao, Rina." Of course.

"I don't think we have to worry about these. I don't think they have
many of these monsters. If we harden our defenses properly... or just
ATTACK PROPERLY, we can keep our advantage. End report." The tank 
ranger yowled and streched out. She curled up beneath Zel's cannons
and was all but ready to sleep there; even if there were snipers
around the thick cannons covered her a fair bit. The problem was 
bumps in the road, and sliding off. Her jacket provided enough 
protection from the cold, plus her natural Kitaran hardiness. She was 
a Jiraga, and Jagar was a cold, harsh world. Her ancestors had left 
it long ago, but their new world - Ramstan III, was almost as 
unfavorable. Salma was nice compared to it.


The Chimaera named Zel spun on its treads and churned its way through
the snow, back to base. Cori drove the tank with no conscious 
thought, although she wasn't as affectionate towards it as her 
sister, she did believe that machines you cared for did 'respond' in 
a way. Their parents spoke to their condensers and autofarmers, and 
the machines never broke down. It could have been all due to quality 
Tabbana construction; but be it luck or her skill, the Zel had gone 
through more than what should have destroyed any other tank.

She spared little attention to where she was going, but managing it
anyway. Her worries were about her sister's recent behaviour. She was
always impressed with how Rina could piece together the mysteries of
a killing field, but...


She reached up and tapped at the hull. "Neh, neh... Rina. Misa-ru."
Her elder sister woke, and tapped back in some annoyance. "Why are 
you working so hard? Do you like the Commander?"

Laughter came from the outside recievers. "What makes you think that?"

"I mean... you're my sister. I've never seen you try this hard to
impress a man. He's derivian, you know. Even if.. if you..." she 
blushed beneath her fuzzy hood. "You'd kill him."

More amusement. "You're such a pervert, little sister..."

"Rina!" She huffed. "I was being serious."

"Physical differences aside, and I CAN be gentle you know, not all
male-female contact have to be sexual in nature, Cori. He and I, we 
can be lovers if we wanted to, but mostly because we share the same 
heart. The same will. A connection, brother and sister in ambition, 
more like. If he doesn't think it's just that way..." Rina let out a 
laughing peal, and kicked her legs in helpless humor. "Oh well. His 
loss!" 

"...but I'm your sister." Just because she wasn't ambitious?

"You depend upon me too damn much, little sister. I shouldn't have 
helped you convince father, to let us both enlist." She climbed back 
into the tank, and then nuzzled her sister's neck. "One day, I will 
leave you, and you must learn how to live."

She swung her chair back, and went to sleep.


There was nothing left to talk about, the rest of the way. 


-----------------------------------------------------------------------



Bpen> Sigh. Go ahead. Say it. 
Bsol> All right. Lesbian sister incest.
Bpen> No.
Bsol> But the way you write it...
Bpen> Argh. Kitarans are just affectionate that way, you know that.
Bsol> So my wives are just... affectionate. 
Bpen> Shut up. Still no.







Chapter Two
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

There was not a heroes' welcome waiting for them. Banners of the 
Severance hung limp from every window. A yellow circle representing a 
secessionists divided into four, above another circle; this one a 
gunmetal gray, seemingly punched through the center. All this upon 
black fabric. It was not a cheery symbol, but theirs were not a 
cheery nationhood.


Wilbur looked up at the jagged, imposing cliffs, of dark hard 
granite. The overcast sky make these seem closer and more like teeth. 
In front of him, the reinforced gap known as the Drassen Gate. 


There was a tradition to entering the Gate of Drassen. It dated back 
to several hundred years back, when corewards expansion into the Rim
was left to the speculative colony corporations. Colonists were paid 
to go into the frontier. It was a rather large sum, which was worked 
off in contracts of several years. Work conditions were often 
appalingly dangerous, and the money was either spent well in a wanton 
advance or going to the next of kin in case the colonists 
wouldn't/couldn't return.

Usually, sponsors broke even with just the first year. Salma was 
unusual in that had no problems for many decades.

And then the plauge. 

Salma was an old world, and deemed safe by geologists. Tamaran 
corporations set up floating farms and open-fissure mines, glad to
be working with such a stable environment. No one had an inkling that 
every thousand years or so, there would be a burst of life as the 
world briefly wakened. Things, tiny flying things of small fangs and 
poison hatched from eggs buried deep in the ocean  silt. The oceans 
ran red, the sky turned as blood, and the millennial plague descended 
upon Salma.

It lasted for merely three days, but the consequences would linger.
All vegetation simply... withered away, those who didn't die from the 
infection would have to live with the weakening disease. The only 
ones spared were in the covered mountain mines. Hungry, agonized, and 
well-armed, the survivors trooped north to where they knew there was 
still some hope. They had not been driven to cannibalism... yet.


"What business do the dead have with us?" boomed from the ramparts.

"Succor. Sanity." replied Minerva Shallua, her mobile HQ hovering
somewhat threateningly, all the turrets were up. "While we still have 
life, we must fight for our lives!"

"You are all dead." the gatekeeper replied. "Few of you can still be
saved."

"No. Death would release only us of our burden. We must live to see 
justice done."

There was a long period of silence. Then... slowly, the gates parted.
Steel-wrapped stone scraped against stone, as the only passage into 
Romal accepted its own burden. "Enter then. We will never abandon our 
own."

It was likely the mountain camps could have held on until the last 
Romali fell from the sickness or exhaustion. It was clear that these
were expecting to have to fight through... but even in those early 
days the character of the Rim was already apparent. The mountain folk 
accepted the risk of infection and shared all they had with their 
lowland brethren. It was discovered the conditions within the 
mountains inhibited further progress of the disease... something in 
the air, or something lacking. Or even just raw stubbornness to die. 
This wasn't known beforehand; but it was their duty, as the living, 
to help... ease the deaths of their fellowmen. 

Tamaran bioengineers had since then created a benign organism to
be cultured in Salma waters to forever eradicate the plauge. It did 
nothing to soothe Salmani resentment. 
 


They entered.

"Quite macabre, don't you think?" Jodi mentioned, softly. At least 
his Severance uniform restricted people to mere suspicious glares. 

The lieutenant replied blandly "It's only because our traditions are 
recent enough to still have any significance. Give it a few hundred 
years more, and it'll be as trite as any other old Racial ceremony in 
our history."

"We have no history!" Jamethon put in. Everything the Severance had
done in the past decade more than fulfilled almost a millennia of
repression. On many levels. "Our history begins today!"

Wilbur grinned at the dark man. "Well put, Doros. We shape it with 
each passing day, with our own hands."

 

Marasai company was the last to enter. They had entered Romal past
midnight, and through the northeastern pass. It was quite the 
roundabout way, and very well defended.. by virtue of nearly the 
entire Second Army being base there. Drassen Gap was faster, safer, 
but also where most Federation attention was focused.

Wendolo whistled as they walked through. "Look at that. Even a 
nuclear can-opener wouldn't work here. At best, it'll just collapse 
the Gap."

The cliffs were white and unwelcoming, the gate thick with plating 
and mortar points. Once they were all inside, it slammed shut with 
surprising speed.


And then there was a loud roar. Music, full of brass and drums piped
through; Zuil Merasi. Blood of the Worthy, the Severance anthem. 
Salmani weren't the type to throw confetti. They launched 
firecrackers called 'flower bursts' over their heads. Here and there, 
Severance flags snapped angrily in the valley winds. 

"Peoples of the Rim! Here is your army! The Shallua Division, fresh 
from victory!" came from nowhere in particular. The cheering 
thundered, echoing, within the gap. "They have suffered, they have 
died for your sakes -and with their blood won for us another day of 
liberty! Remember them, for they are dead, even as they fight and 
breath, they are the dead we honot, until the Rim finds true 
freedom."

More cheering. Oil-stained, weary faces peered from cuts into the 
cliff faces. Their exultation wasn't feigned. This was their world's 
first true victory against the Federation. Sure, fleets had died over 
it before; but only now did death arrive to the encroaching Feddies in 
a form they could relate to.

Jodi, whose machined weapon was the most humanoid, managed a salute.
"Wait... wait..." he had belatedly realized something. "They still 
have civilians around? And even, here? This place is destined to be a 
hot spot." Actually, it already was a hot spot. There was a borehole 
nearby.*

"The walls of the Gap are hollowed out. The entire mountain range has 
been turned into a self-sufficient fortress of sorts, with its own 
factories and even gardens, or so I was told. Don't underestimate the 
stubborn resilience of these Salmani." Wilbur answered, a little awed 
himself. His own folk wouldn't have willingly endured such hardship. 
Or maybe, if the war actually got to their own backyard, they might 
find Rim steel in their spine.

"Look upon the weapons of Severance! See that which strikes fear into
our enemies, and comfort yourselves that such power is safely in our
hands!" 

"Does he mean us?" Faye asked, blinking owlishly. She shrugged, and 
stomped her Igulus' feet with greater swagger. It was enough to 
leave small pits in the carved mountain rock. Her machined weapon 
lifted its gun barrels to the sky, and if could roar; would have done 
so. A beast, a monster ready to break loose and tear down anything in
its path. 

They loved it. Raw, untarnished adulation. It felt... so good. 

Whatever the fascist colors the Federation might paint their society, 
she was now completely convinced that personal responsibility for the 
fate of a galaxy... it broke some people, while others find their 
strength being forged anew by it.


---------------------------------------------------------------------


The cruiser was better than a flag, as a symbol of claim. Jutting out 
of the ground at a thirty-seven degree angle, and oriented south-
southwest, the FNCx FANDANCER was strategically positioned to block 
any attack along the northeastern ridge. Unfortunately, the other 
passage in the Garma mountain range, the Gabthley Gap, was directly 
to the northwest. They were facing the wrong way. 

Which was why the trenches were necessary. Only the aft gun turrets 
could be brought to bear.



Darren Carnath pushed his food around his plate, and somewhat 
inefficiently, with his spork.. Federation rations were much like 
what he ate at home, which was why he was less than filled with 
appetite. Peas in thick gravy, with some rehydrated carrot cubes 
thrown in. Such formed the staple of his diet for much of his young 
life. Backed by hard bread, bitter coffee- well actually, a soldier's 
life wasn't that bad all considering. At least he got to travel.

They weren't poor, but neither were they rich enough to afford 
leaving Derivia.

Contrary to most other Races; their homeworld of Derivia wasn't as
celebrated. Sure, most still felt loyalty to it as the birthworld of
the species, but it's a place to visit, not to live in. Not much of
it was still natural, just one big industrial sinkhole was how Darren
viewed it. Only in mechanized farms could food grow. It was still a
major trade and political center, but the sharp divide between rich
and poor only grew through the centuries. 

Kitarans have this insane collective guilt about ruining their world.
Derivians, just shrug and say 'Eh. That's progress'.

 
Someone's stepped in front of the sun. He looked up, and then turned 
back to his food, deeming it vastly more interesting that the Zallun
smirking down at him.


Duedan Ha'radda didn't take such an insult lightly. He flicked the 
plate away with a clawed finger of his  of his lower left arm. It hit 
the head of the ensign in the next table over, who gave a 'hey!' then 
quieted down upon seeing who the offender was. Hadran wore only a 
thick plate of armor over his torso, Zalluns didn't need the strength 
boost of Powered Suits. Metlov's Maulers was an elite all-Zallun 
fighting company. A large hand well capable of crushing his skull 
rested lightly over Darren's head.

"Ah, our wonder boy. Usually we try to get shot AT by enemy tanks."

"You don't scare me, chief." Darred replied with dejected half-smile
half-grimace. "I know for sure, there are bigger, uglier things that 
you. I didn't think it was possible, but it's true."

The grip tightened for a moment, and silence hung heavily over the 
eating area. Zalluns were far less aggressive than Kitarans; however 
where the former would merely stop at say... breaking all four (or 
more) limbs, a pissed-off Zallun would with calmness and some regret 
pop your head clean off your shoulders. 

Hadran laughed.

Zalluns respected courage, specially foolhardy courage. "Yes, so I 
was told earlier. Rise, your meal is over. The commanders demand your 
presence."


That, actually scared Darren.



A new forward base had rapidly been established, and new trenches 
were dug. The Guardian Light Cruiser could only carry a Company in 
troops. The battle-brigade, four motor regiments in strength, 
deployed to protect the harried cruiser. Personally, Commander Lisle 
doubted the Severance would try to attack again in the near future. 
Trenches were there to provide a a measure of protection to the 
landed starships, but latching their forces to them was a gross 
error. He could gloat about that in Jassan's face, later.

Commodore Santora looked tired, extremely tired, though he'd taken 
several hours of drug-assisted slumber. He didn't even seem all that
lucid at all. His only son had just died in the front lines, two days 
ago. "We need to make a tighter ring... " he said as his shakily 
traced the locations on the local terrain tacmap. "If.. if they try 
this again, we won't fold so easily. We should not have spaced our 
forces out in the first place."

"Pardon, commodore." he interrupted. "Please correct me if I'm wrong, 
but we ARE here to attack the planetary shield, are we not?"
Standing off to one side, Rina nodded imperceptibly. She was of much 
the same opinion.

Santora didn't even bother to look up. "I have known your uncle for 
many... many... years, young Lisle. Soon enough you will be like us,
and realize that the easy answers are never such."

"A lack of respect... the folly of youth." someone said from behind.
The owner of that voice grinned, the sight of which immidiately 
locked Lisle's brain into a 'danger' mode. Very few were 
psychologically prepared for such a sight. "But, to be tolerated, old 
friend. They will all grow out of it, someday. Or they die."

The commodore brightened instantly. "Ah, you."


Tap. Tap. The brass cane made unnecessary noise upon the heat-moulded
floor. Gamilon moved with the slowness of grief, which could drain a 
man more than mere age. "I don't expect you to forgive me, Li. It's 
my fault. I knew this would happen, I just didn't expect THIS to 
happen."

"I forgive you."

"My son, has killed YOUR son. This isn't something that can just be 
made right..."

"I forgive you." the commodore said again. His eyes were as clear as 
they ever were, blue as the deepest ocean. 

Wham! The brass cane slammed against the display table, making the 
tacmap fizzle out for a moment. The custom goggles, for his failing 
vision, glowed an angry red in the bunker's purposely dim lights. 
There was still strength in that shrunken old frame, trickling out 
not just from advanced Federation medical techniques but a sheer 
determination to live out each and every consequence. "Making me hate 
you will not erase the truth of what I said, Li."

The commodore snorted. "I could have you flogged, arrested as a 
traitor and many other things... I could even blame this entire war 
on you. But let us not fool ourselves. We have lived far too long for 
that simple luxury." 

 
"Who... are you?" asked Lisle asked, more than suspicious at this old
man's audacity; a mere master engineer speaking to a full commodore 
in such manner! Yes, he gave out the same disdain to Jassan, but 
these two men shared a generation and obviously held mutual respect.
Something nagged at his subconscious, there was yet more hidden 
here. There were many who considered Li Lun Santora the rightful 
admiral of the Corrola fleet. Bidan Corrola himself was very much the 
puppet of the Security Council, and his appointed underlings far more 
so. Lisle himself held no awe towards his own title or anyone above 
his; what he didn't endure was stupidity.

Rina however, widened her eyes and jabbed at her sister. Much abused 
and resentful, she elbowed back. With the obvious result. 


This could probably have gone for quite  a while, had not a gruff and 
entirely too loud voice announced from outside "Ha'radda, bringing 
Carnath, as summoned!"


"Someone please tell that man we are not Zallun chieftains, and that 
he doesn't have to act like he's still in the old Imperial fortress. 
By Yderi, Zallus was already a Republic even before they joined the 
Federation!" Gamilon took his cane from the table, and noticed the 
dent. "I'll have someone hammer that back into shape later. Send him 
in."

Rina literally jumped to obey. She opened the reinforced metal-
ceramic door (the only part of the bunker that wasn't made of 
heat-molded and integrity field-strengthened rock), and bowed. Thus 
eliciting a 'not another one' groan from the two old men.

Now, Lisle was interested. If there was someone he trusted not to be
impressed easily, it was the Red Panther, Rina Miyako. 'I'm not even 
sure she isn't making fun of me behind my back' he thought. 'Cheerful 
girl.'



"Sirs! Corporal Darren L. Carnath, reporting as ordered, sirs!" 
Darren saluted with his left arm. The small red velcropatch on his 
right shoulder explained all. "Ah. Hey, Gamilon. What're you doing 
he- " He snapped back into attention, remembering where he was and 
who he faced. These were the men who decided where and when people 
like him lived or died. He was just another piece in the great game.

Well, there were two girls there, but as he learned early on they 
factored more for the ultimate fate of fighting men than even all 
these brass.

"Ah, yes. Might I introduce you to Sargeants Rina and Cori Miyako. 
The cause of your injuries. Girls, apologize."

"My apologies." Rina said frostily, Gamilon's request 
notwithstanding. The marine smiled back, sheepishly, as his
embarrassment returned in full force. 


"Now, corporal Carnath. Where were you assigned?" General Santora 
turned to him a bloodshot gaze and didn't wait for an answer. "The 
third battle line, sector 40 east. Had you known your location was 
the forcing point of the enemy breach?" 

Darren bristled at that. "I.. DID NOT run away." A small part of his
brain granted that yes, he did - but not until later, when his being
there would've made little difference either way. Or at least, as far
as he was aware.

"Your courage is not in question here, soldier. But your eyesight." 
It was also where his son died. The general nodded to his old friend. 
"This man is Gamilon Saqua. You may know him as the Chief Engineer of 
my FANDANCER. Before that, he was the lead designer of Federation 
Armament Endeavors Research." FEAR. Damn those Andromedan scientists 
and their obsession for acronyms. "Based in Jorael, it became part of 
the Severance. Gamilon here defected with me back into Federation 
space."

Lisle grunted. He knew that much. Not about Gamilon, but of how even
several years into the war just being formerly based on Jorael was a
permanent black mark on anyone's record. Which was just stupid, he
thought, since even the risk that some of these people might be spies 
or saboteurs couldn't erase that these were the best officers in the 
entire damn Navy. That was why they were sent to Jorael in the first 
place, as the first defenders of peace and culture.

Inwardly, Rina cheered. "He designed the Chimaera!" she whispered to 
her sister, whose eyes widened in appreciation. Even a hundred years 
after being first produced, no other combat vehicle posessed such a
perfect balance of speed, firepower, and stealth.

Gamilon pushed a few buttons on the table, and the tacmap floating
above it changed to a static field. He etched a figure on it with his
fingers.

"Is this what you saw?" 

Crudely-drawn, but recognizable; the backwards-bent legs, the oddly-
jutting torso with cannons protruding above the hips, the two spindly 
arms ending in double-barrels.... "Yes."

And suddenly, all that spirit drained out of the old man "They 
finally built one... ah, my son, my son. His hate for me is now made 
made manifest."




Lisle coughed, to clear the oppressive silence. "With all due respect,
what is all this about?"




"Good news, commander. Bad news, and worse news." A smile flashed
briefly on the old man's face. He reached into one of the many 
pockets of his orange technician's suit and took out a datastick. He 
insterted this small rectangular black slab into a slot on the table.
More detailed schematics were projected. "The Sevvies are getting 
desperate. That's the good news. The bad news is - they're getting
desperate."

He tapped once more the table, and the tacmap once gain sprang into 
being. "And worse news, so are we." 

Gamilon Saqua rubbed his gray-grizzled chin, and reverently held an 
open palm over the display. "I give you - Romal. These plains contain 
the bulk of the food basket lands. To the north, the mountains, to
the south and east, the great sea; the only level grounds in this 
tiny world. Commander Lisle, we have the machines, we have the 
manpower, but time we are dearly short of. I know you think aggression 
is the only proper route, but tell me, how far has your uncle 
progressed with such on the other side of the continent?"

A battlegroup was composed of almost five hundred ships. They began to 
land with almost eighty. Only twenty-one made it down into Romal, six 
to the mainland. That smaller (though no less well-equipped) group 
quickly found itself surrounded and besieged even as the main force 
hurled itself against the Drassen Gap.

The commodore also   smiled. Lisle was a loose cannon, even with 
favoritism he wouldn't have been allowed to get away with what he's 
been doing recently, if there was any real authority above him. Even 
his victories notwithstanding.

He took a deep breath. Years upon years of fighting rebels, upholding 
the Federation virtue. Tired. So tired. I have given my son for this
peace. He held back a laugh. Peace? What peace? I can't do this 
anymore. Every soldier I send out will wear his face. 

He let that breath out. This is still just a rebellion. There is 
nothing they have that isn't merely a refining of what we've been 
teaching our officers. Except... 

He could hear Gamilon speaking, but as if from far off. "Have you 
ever wondered why Li here chose to command a Light Cruiser, when 
given his rank and reputation he could have used a Battleship or 
Assault Carrier to full effect?" 

"You'll have to forgive me, but no. I hadn't."

Gamilon grinned again. "Cargo capacity. Speed. And most importantly, 
Guardian light cruisers are just so.. common. Everyone loves to aim 
their main cannons at the flagship. What makes this important is what's in it, something that can't be replaced if destroyed."

"You." the commander replied, with a snort. 

"Me." Gamilon continued, his shoulders hunching over and a grimace on 
his face. It was easier to handle than his smiling. "You who were 
born deep inside the Federation's corespace, you who jumped into this 
fight with enthusiasm... all of you! You will never understand. This 
is still a god-damned rebellion. Each time I wake up I have to ask, 
how did we lose control? I end up being somewhat proud of their 
carnage."

"Very touching."

The engineer fought a rush of anger. Such a natural arrogance, he'd 
never seen before! He knew he had his own ego, but this... was the 
young commander deliberately making himself unlikeable? Yes, Gamilon
decided. He could tell, from the ready posture and aloof expression 
to  the biting comments that jump readily to the lips; it was all in
defense. Before the older generation can speak in condescending 
tones, Lisle already pushed their mindset off balance. It was not so 
much an inflated sense of self-worth. Don't ignore me. Hate me, or 
not; you will hear what I say. 

This was serious, the old man decided. A fear of fear itself.

"This is still a rebellion, which means that there isn't anything 
they have that isn't just a refining of what we've taught and given 
them. What makes them different from us is their willingness to 
accept and  adapt to hard situations." He tapped again at the table. 
"My mission, direct from the Council, is to take, understand, and 
adapt Severance technology to serve our purposes... the sooner to 
ending this stupid conflict." Now, we must learn anew from our 
wayward pupils.


"Yes, an end to.. yes..." The Commodore stuck his face into the 
projection, turning it a sickly green. His eyes flicked wildly, taking 
in the positions and the possibilities. His eyes regained some of its 
former vitality. "Lisle!"

Basic training took hold, and much to his distaste, the young commander 
snapped to attention. 

"Time. If the shield generator is still up when the fleet arrives, 
then they have no choice but to perform full planetary bombardment. 
We.. they.. will pound the shield until it breaks down, and this 
peninsula will incidentally be levelled. Our survival is secondary, 
even if I am ordered to protect Gamilon above my immidiate mission 
parameters. Time is the one thing we don't have."

His eyes slowly considered each of the others in the room. 
"Expertise, we have. Perhaps it will be enough."

He began to mark a location. "This is Gao, a small town built around
a geothermal power plant. It supplies almost free power to the large
city of Sszale, and its many laser defenses, lower along this valley. 
With most of the fusion plants diverted to the war effort, Gao is of 
strategic importance. Look at its location. All perfect for a field 
base. My question is; why isn't there one already?"

"For us, it's simple. Our forces are already spread out too much as 
it is. For them.. they just might like skulking in their caverns?"

Commodore Santora rubbed the bridge of his nose. Everyone missed how 
his left hand tightened into a fist. Why did his son have to die, and 
leave these people to fight the war? "....you may be more right than 
you know. We have no NEED for it. If this was a proper war, perhaps.
Look at it. Its elevation and incline inhibits the approach of 
armored forces, while protecting whatever artillery and base camps we 
set up. It will bring us sixty kilometers closer to the northern 
gap." 

"But all we do is to crudely throw our forces at the south, the 
Drassen Gap, right?" Lisle dared to touch the display. "It may be 
heavily-defended, but it's the shortest route to the militarized 
heartland. Right here may be easier to break, but we'll just get  
bogged down in the valleys up north." He frowned. "What's the point 
of this?"

Santora chuckled darkly. "Do you know who is in command of the 
Severance armies here in Salma?"

"Loridda, isn't it? I'm not sure I believe the reputation." 

"Heh. You will." He took a deep breath, and adjusted the projection.
"I outrank you, boy" this he added flatly, the lack of insult an 
insult in itself, and took guilty pleasure in Lisle's obvious 
irritation "but I have no direct authority over you. However, I have 
need of your battle brigade... capture this town. Loridda won't let 
it remain in your hands. At least, if you even approach it, he will 
immidiately send a force to stop you."

"Please, tell me there isn't a secret military installation under it."

"There is none. Nothing but a geothermal power plant, though a large
one."

"All right. I'm lost." He rolled his eyes at the commodore. "You know 
I won't follow a suicide order. Beside which, sir, what makes you 
think Lorrida would try and keep me from something this useless?"

Li Santora sighed. "Look at the map. Now remember, unlike your land,
their home is one that they bled for." 

That's just like saying you want me to look for an answer you don't
even have. He hated such presumptions, it didn't make the speaker 
seem any smarter. "So what? This is a pointless exercise."

"That's exactly it."

All turned to Rina Miyako, who stared at the display with her lips 
pursed in concentration. It made her look disarmingly cute, but the 
feral glitter in her eyes bade them reconsider. 

"They have no need for it. It's wise to concentrate their forces to
repel our attacks easier. Nor do we, we have our objectives, all we
have to do is to keep pounding at them until they break. It's 
inevitable, really. But... they know that we know that they know that
it's unnecessary. And so if it was me, I'd put a field base there 
anyway."

"Just because you find it so easy to get into the enemy's head, 
doesn't mean it works the other way." What? What am I saying? Damn! 
He instantly regretted his instinctive barb, at the flash of pain 
that flitted suddenly across her face. "My apologies, Sergeant. 
Explain further, if you please."

She nodded, her face placid. "Yes, sir. It goes like this... our 
armies are both too big and too pressured under an invisible deadline 
to make do with broad strategy. We don't make hit and fade attacks, 
even though we know it would work, because it would take too much 
time. The supply lines can't be touched and the front lines represent 
an imminent danger. But! While we are focused on the southern gap, 
the Severance forces can attack us from two fronts. They can grind us 
slowly that way."

"Are you saying that there is a base there, because Lorrida would be
cautious that way?"

"I'm saying sir, that there isn't one, but there will be. Either ours
or theirs, but we need that place."

"Because it's proven that a static defense of the FANDANCER line is
impossible!" Gamilon laughed. Sometimes he found even his own humor 
detestable. "The Sevvies have a weapon that can reach us within a 
day. With all the jammers around, we won't have any idea where 
they're really coming from anyway."

"And so? This ship and its defenses, no offense meant Commodore, is
but a drop to the greater swelling forces we have aimed at Drassen. 
What would be the point of harrying this spot, if we could be 
marching through to their capital tomorrow? Hit and fade attacks are 
effective, I will grant. But compared to what else they did last 
night - they almost gave us heart attacks when they poured out of 
Drassen, an entire Army strong, brushed aside the holding forces in 
the port town we just captured and penetrated almost as deep into our 
territory in one night as we did over theirs in the course of three 
days... this is a war that will be won by numbers."

"That, is the obvious conclusion." Cori added in with a smirk.

Lisle raised his eyebrow. If this girl could see it, then what was he 
missing? Similar expressions of gentle amusement were on the old men.
"All right. Fine. Educate me."

Gamilon dearly liked his choice of words. "The best way to keep 
yourself from looking stupid is to not to assume your opponents 
are stupid in the first place.

I know Lorrida. He served under me, we fought against the pirate 
warlords. Out in the Rim, there are areas when even Federation 
protection can't reach, and many horrid acts are performed. We relied
heavily on mercenaries, as pirates don't talk to uniforms. Another
thing we learned from them is how to make something perform one 
function, but have it serve an entirely different one entirely. So
it wasn't unusual, for them anyway, to field combat freighters with
the speed and armament to match a heavy frigate. Or corvettes that
carry combat drones. It seems nonsensical, since these are chassis
already optimized to serve certain roles... but the thing is that
you don't notice such things until they're almost on top of you.
This many freighters moving this way? Not unusual. And our strike
vessels are ideally made for running down smaller ships, not point
defence." He glared at Lisle. "Yes, I am rambling. In the Rim, you'd
eventually develop masking, and counterplans to everything. The point 
is, with just what we have, we have no need of this. But if we had a
weapons system that can break through static defenses, something so 
unusual we have no preparations gainst it, then we should use it as 
often as possible to divert enemy forces into protecting the flanks. 
Otherwise we might send a larger, conventional assault through their 
own gaps."

"We ARE on THE ATTACK."

"Yes, is it not awe-inspiring the might we have at the front lines,  
so far our landed ships, which still contain most of our supplies and 
the wounded."

".. excrement." Lisle hissed. 

"And how many generals and captains are staying comfortably within 
the armored hulls of their ships?"

"Thick armor..." he added, but already he was frowning over the 
implications. 

"Not thick enough in certain places. And the important thing is that
it only has to work ONCE... just once, with us helpless to stop them.
It will dam our tide, it will silence the rain of our guns."

"A fast-moving strike force." Rina put in. She held such self-
satisfaction. "I know, I know, a terror weapon puts the fear of you 
into the enemy. A GOOD weapon KILLS the enemy."



The projection table was square, and the three commanding officers each 
gripped a side. She stood with them, and spoke with them as if ther 
equal; and they treated her so. 

Behind her, Darren wondered at her daring. Where did she find that 
confidence? He saw Cori, looking at her sister with similar wonder, 
and biting her thumb in nervous tension. He could understand her mix 
of awe and envy, being a middle child himself.

It wasn't that these people were so lax about rank, he thought. To be
treated as an equal, is it enough simply to believe to be their 
equal? Not inferior, or superior, just without any fear or regret. He 
had always believed, personally, that it was this uncertainty that 
kept humanity in. But then, now he had to consider, is this what's  
preventing him from something greater?

He only knew one instance of his heart's courage, when he disobeyed
the reasonable reasons to fail. Always he'd lived under the shadow of 
his eldest brother. Witty, handsome, and slowly gathering wealth. There
was this girl, whom he courted, whose family was impressed with his
demeanor even above his standing in life. The only problem was that he
didn't love her.... yes, cared for her, perhaps gone out of the way to
keep her happy, but Darren knew how utterly his brother prided his
own self-control and the talent for manipulating others to serve
his motives.

And Darren loved the girl, how could he not fall for someone so  
innocent of other's machinations? He knew her well even though she 
spoke with him  mostly of his brother.  With him, she was 
comfortable, and could speak to him of the things she could tell no 
 one about. 
 
Ah, dear Mimi; can you imagine how hard it was to smile? I was always
the happy, reliable one. Even then you knew of my brother's dark
moods. What is he doing? Is he afraid? Did he disapprove of 
me? What is he really thinking of? It was bile each time he had to 
answer those questions with all the things she wanted to hear.

He knew that his brother had all the attractive prospects, he knew 
that she was fond of him and nothing more, he even knew that he could 
probably lose even their easy friendliness if he dared push it 
further. It wasn't his place to speak out.

But he found his courage and did so.

But now again, he was being uncertain. To war! And what was going on 
at home? Federation service opened up far more opportunities, 
however, than repetitive small-time merchanting rituals.


Gamilon tapped his cane, twice. Darren jolted back in half-surprise, 
he'd almost missed the planning conversation. "But know this, 
commander. This is Severance land. To them, we are but another 
annoyance in a long history of annoyances. After us, there will be 
others. Unless they not only defeat us here, they break and humiliate 
us utterly. That, and if this war ever ends, they need the plant intact 
to service their population. Deiuterium fuel might be in short supply 
for a while, it's nice to have nearly free energy on hand."

Santora rubbed his eyes. The exhaustion he'd been beating back for days
was returning with a vengeance. When he needed to sleep, he couldn't 
but now, with some hope of dealing back pain to those who killed his 
son... he found himself weakening. He was too tired to feel shame, and
for that he mustered what little of his tired old heart... a slight 
discomfort, a pale reflection of shame for not having shame.

He hoped his son, his fundamental identity as the Taenarians called
it.. or the soul, could sense him from within the formless chaos 
before existence... could  forgive how little grief his father could give.

But then, his son was a soldier. He would deem it nothing to forgive. 
That too was something he felt he needed to feel shame for.

The commodore wondered, if this was fate. There was no way to prevent
the boy from growing up into a man... a fighting man, with something to
prove... but it was a stupid fate! Such a small, meaningless death in
the byplay between two large powers. It's all my fault. He didn't want
me protecting me. Hell, he chose to be around me, to protect ME.

"Threaten it, and they will come..."

"All right, all right. I understand why we might spare some effort into
securing the location... if only to ensure it can't  be used against 
us. But then - ?" Surely you don't expect me to stay there? And you 
barely have enough men to protect this ship! "Is it the only place they
can begin at least probing attacks from?" Don't waste my time.

"Short of capturing this ship, no. Until last night, we thought the 
forest was impassable. The northern and southern gaps are far enough 
from each other, at least in this side of the mountains. They have 
intact transport facilities on their end, and can shuffle
reinforcements around faster than us at any rate."

"But we're going to need it, sir." Rina was pleading. Lisle felt 
himself swimming in deep, unfamiliar waters now. 

"If I'm going to do this for the sake of convenience then the simplest
solution is best. Those new weapons... " His widened, and slowly he
found himself smiling. He crossed his arms and gave them the nastiest 
smile he could form. "Those new weapons the Sevvies have, you want one, 
don't you? This is what it was all about, wasn't it? You should have 
said so from the beginning."

Gamilon shook his head sadly. "Not just one, but many. Eventually, if
not here, we must field equivalent numbers of machined weapons. We 
can't just rely on our advantage in tank numbers."

Machined weapons were shielded. Most tank guns were loaded with 
penetrators. To get through shielding, the loadout for most tanks must 
carry more high-explosive rounds; which were useless against other 
tanks. Just the CHANCE of meeting machined weapons would reduce the
effectiveness of tanks. While this wasn't as vital in Salma with its
short supply lines, in practice a double-barreled tank can use up the
thirty shells for each of its main guns quickly. Even a direct hit 
with a sabot round doesn't assure a clean kill; both tank designs 
knew well the limits of their technology... such was why the Chimaera
was double-barreled in the first place.

Machined weapons could easily outrun conventional forces in rugged
terrain. Rivers, hills, and now that he thought about it... Gamilon
supposed reactionless maneuverability could also be possible in space.
They have centers of gravity, after all, which can be shifted. 

"We're gaining momentum. They have the metal, but not the manpower."
He looked far off, letting go of all the air in his lungs. The present
just faded away. He wasn't seeing a dull stone room, with thick walls
devoid of decoration and windows, fed only filtered air. It was sunset,
and there was a river stained gold. He was standing on a bridge, 
watching the barges pass by.        

"After I designed the Chimaera as the most economical and effective 
combat vehicle for Federation use, I watched as our doctrine grew... 
passive, for lack of a better term. As you well know, it is a tank 
that functions equally well on defense as well as offense, a 
generalized platform, sure, but nothing else comes close to its 
capabilities." He stated this plainly, as if it sprang into being all  
on its own. "I am... almost embarassed to admit, this all begun as a 
joke. My son and I used to drive around in the Chimaera prototype. He 
was fifteen, and though I was in trade of war I had sheltered him from 
its harsher side. With the Chimaera we reached the pinnacle of our 
technology... anything more would  merely be modifications. What 
would it take to replace it?"

He turned to them, and grinned again. "The Chimaera is a machine of
fire and grace. But in a war you don't just fight machines, you fight 
people in control of machines." 


Nobody wants to be a statistic. This, they all knew. Darren considered 
that if he was in a tank, and he saw something as hugely ugly as what 
he'd seen; there would be no doubt in his mind... he was going to die. 

It would take hunting parties. Or a radical new tank design that would 
be vulnerable to smaller, cheaper tanks; being unshielded as compared 
to its target. 

But the thing is, what would the politicians prefer? 

"The primary hurdle was that machined weapons, for all the logistic
simplicity they offer, being multipurpose and modular; are far more
expensive to produce and stock, less manpower notwithstanding."
Gamilon changed the tacmap to display a spinning 3d image of the
FANDANCER. "My son's solution was to make its components as compatible
with existing equipment as possible. Only the compact fusion reactor 
must be specifically produced. The electronic parts can be stripped off 
drones, the AMC bundles off heavy loaders, the guns off tanks and gunships..."

"But the armor..." Lisle put in. "Tank hulls are simple to manufacture, 
and replacing armor is easy because of that. The flat angles, and snap-
on construction... you designed it that way, didn't you?"

"The Severance Copperheads have such elegant and steep curves, do 
they not?"
       
"Damn. The Sevvies had this in planning for a long while, then...?"

Gamilon had to nod sadly. "I defected with this knowledge. Yet the 
war planners wouldn't listen to me. Hah! As if the Severance would care 
for cost over quality; their manufacturing and major corporations are 
government controlled, and their populations are less fickle." 

He turned to the sisters Miyako. "I need just a frame. I won't ask
you to capture one in pristine condition. This ship has a minifactory
that can produce most of what I require for a machined weapon of my
own. Do this for me, and I will show you what I had to sacrifice from
the Chimaera for the sake of cost-effectiveness. I am sure your Zel
will be quite happy with the modifications."

He then spoke to Darren, who was then feeling quite useless and 
ignored. "Shields can be pierced, kid. I have a way to let a single 
person through... don't die on me, eh? I want you to open it up, take
out the pilot, and drive it back here. Maybe you can even control it
on a semipermanent basis."

The corporal blinked owlishly. "Me? Why me?"

There was never any kindness in that room.

  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------


And it was evening, and then it was morning.

Even with active jamming, hiding the presence of a battle brigade, 
with is massive mobile HQ and four platoon of armor is impossible.
If anything, the great noise and broken soil as they passed 
caused panic to the wildlife. 
                          
Large pink eagles flew above the formation, these fearless gene-
altered birds were simply curious. The moving, loud boxes below 
weren't things they knew as prey, but not threats either. They were 
bred as a predatory apex of most terraformed worlds or like Salma, 
without higher forms of animal life. Highly intelligent, they seem to  
have a fascination with the sights and sounds of battle, or people in
distress. And because they are unafraid of guns, they aren't hunted - 
their flesh was  stringy, offer no challenge, and who would ever 
mount a pink bird  as a trophy?            
 
In the age of jamming, these monitor eagles found popularity as
messengers of death, pushing aside the black crow. 

They were the most reliable, non-electronic way of spotting people in 
trouble, and many planets now held sizable populations. These birds 
were attuned to the ecosystem, and could remember hunting rules 
programmed into instinct. If ever food becomes scarce, they would seek 
out a city with a feeder and give the food web a chance to recover.  
Such docile predators also made excellent pets for children, who 
didn't mind their sheer... pinkness. 

"Shoot them down." Lisle ordered. 
 
The sky was filled with red beams, and the screeches of the burning; 
dying. Soon enough the skies were clear. 

Lisle noted mildly disapproving looks among his officers.  The 
monitor eagles were only lower than dolphins among harmless and 
likeable animals. He sniffed haughtily. Sentiment was an irrational
emotion.


"A report from Sergeant Miyako, sir..."

Ah. At least one thing  was going right. He didn't recognize the 
hypocrisy of his sentiment. He expected only good things from her. 
Lisle looked up at the blinking main screen. At the Commodore's 
suggestion, he'd split his forces into two. The first group, 
consisting mainly of tanks and powered infantry would assault the 
city using normal tactics. The bulk of his armored group would swing 
around, away from the minefields and attack directly the power plant 
installations from the rear. This would silence the artillery within 
the city. 

It was hoped once the Sevvies realized the direct target was the  
plant feeding their artillery, not the pieces themselves, they'd be 
all in a panic running uphill, then downhill, to protect it. And 
smash against the anvil of his armored formation. 

Either that, or stay put and be crushed utterly.          


Cities, as the war has so far demonstrated, were barely worth even
attacking, or defending. It is true that buildings made for good 
cover, and placing artillery on top of these increases their range; 
properly protected with laser nets were untouchable. Jamming waves
often bounce off the structures, making communication even more 
impossible. However, holding a city is basically an invitation to
'surround me'. Cities, by their very nature as commerce and political 
hubs, were rarely self-sufficient. Water, power, food - these have to
be brought in from surrounding settlements. 

Only those with harbors or airfields were worth the attention. The 
rest were just shelled into unrecognizability, then the advance 
rolled on. 

                  
As usual, the plan failed upon contact with the enemy. For some
unknown reason, the city had been ordered to reinforce their defenses
the night before.  Taking the city block by block was wasting lives
and time. He scratched is chin in irritation. 


Rina's transmission was audio-only; being a less complex
transmission pattern it shouldn't corrode much under city jamming
conditions. "krshksir,  reshiisktance is heavy,  but we are making
headway. The bzztarges have mostly been set."

"That's good to hear. Any word on enemy reinforcement?"

"Nzzikne sszo far, but I'm hooked up to a rezzzzwving station. 
Civilian broadcast station, actually. I'm wiring the receivers to the
Bzzkzel. Hold on sir, I'm patching krik transmissions now -"

Abruptly, the many garbled channels cleared, and once again the 
mobile HQ was at one with his men. Lisle clapped lightly, a sardonic
grin on his face. Another success for the Observer Corps. The eyes 
and ears, and sometimes even proving more the brains of an army. 




"shzzkSnipers! Snipers on the roof! bzzt -signal lost-" 

"Red Group, this is HQ. Proceed to Point Zero Two Beta. Eliminate any
hostiles."

"skhzzThis is Green Group. Autoguns at Point One One Gamma. We're 
pinned down. Request antiarmor support. Dammit, we're behind schedule!"

"skhzzBlack Four to Black Six, divert your column to the east side. 
Do  not ascend, repeat, do not ascend."

"skhzzGold One here, we're out of HE shells. If we want this city 
intact, then our tanks are useless here. Where do we go now?"

"skhzzThis is Gray Group, contact with Severance infantry holed up in 
a superstore. They have light antiarmor weapons, suggest an alternate
route for the wire-layers..."

"skhzzThis is HQ to White Group, proceed to Point Six Six Delta. 
Watch for Copperheads in the area."

"skhzzThis is Green Group, enemy powered infantry inbound! Shit, Jack 
pull back- AAAAAAGGH! bzzt -signal lost-"




It was all Darren could do not to stand up, take his rifle, and help. 
There were other marines out there, but for the moment he was lent to 
strategic services. He cursed the situation. The tank felt like a 
coffin. There wasn't room in it for a powered marine, so his armor
was stowed outside. He felt like a naked baby without it, even if his
brain kept telling him tank laminar armor was far suprior to PA 
ceramic mesh.

He squirmed in his seat. 

"shkzzCori? This is Rina. Charge number six is set up. What's the 
situation"

"Hang on, let me check." She turned some knobs, and the inside 
speakers of the Zel let out a screech. Darren winced, but it didn't
seem to bother her. Her ears flicked, she closed her eyes and
listened intently.                          

Normal headphones were insufficient for Kitaran ears. Sure, these
could be worn, but not comfortably. Cori had on a wirephone, which
wraps around her neck and down under her earlobes. Sound vibrations
were sent directly to the bone and cartilage. This gives greater 
detail and resonance for Kitaran ears, as the sound then bounces
around their ear canal.

Her main screen, normally showing the view of three outside cameras,
was awash with many different signal windows, with overlapping 
spiking bands of color. To her left dashboard, above the throttle,
was a row of small dials. 

She fiddled with that a bit.

The inside speakers spoke in a thick Rim accent. "skhzzzfall back
now to Arleguie Avenue. Two groups of armor. Cannot hold position." 

"Heeeey..." Darren droned out, dumbfounded. 

The young woman smiled at him. "You didn't really believe it when
they said it was impossible to intercept transmissions under 
jamming comdition, did you?"

He shrugged.

"Okay, you know that jamming interferes with radar and normal
communications. It's like a perpetuating EMP burst. The only 
reliable way to talk with each other is through direct laser 
contact, but since that only works for things you can see, talking 
with HQ is impossible." 

Cori slapped her palm on her main display. Instead of showing the
Zel's three outside cameras, it was split into a series of 
undulating colors. She traced the big maroon patch at the middle.
"This is spectrum we use for communications. This are the jammed
frequencies." She traced the bright blue line in it. "This is
the burn-through comms from the HQ. Yeah, this sort of thing, can
be intercepted and decrypted. But since it takes that much power
to burn through jamming anyway, it's really heavily encrypted..."

Darren didn't see a similar band for the Severance, and said so.

"Look here, the top and bottom. See those squiggly lines? Those
are local transmissions. For instance, if I have a radio and you
have one, and we stand two rooms away; our radios will still 
work. Jamming is an atmospheric effect, and doesn't affect the 
little things much. We talked to sister earlier, didn't we? But, 
it's still barely more than line-of-sight."
     
He knew that much. Concrete has adverse effects on jamming, to
a lesser extent; trees. Jamming's less efficient deep in its
cover, but extremely heavy at the edges. He didn't tell her 
this, as he saw her focused gaze. It was so different from the
self-effacing girl he'd started to know.

It made him grin. 

"To counter that, they kind of bounce the signal along. But now
that we have a big honking receiver, we can pick up those little
transmissions. To extend the reach, they... and we too, split the
comm signal into parts. Like this..." 

She typed a message on the small keypad to her right. 

REINFORCE POSITION GAMMA

"This becomes..."

RE   POS   GA 

INF  IST   MMA

ORCE ION
  
"... in three bands. It also adds another layer of encyrption since 
the frequencies jump and we don't have the pattern."

"Okay, but that seems to me like it makes the message even more 
unreliable." 

"Not really. The frequencies not affected by jamming don't allow fine 
tuning. If we didn't split and jump our signals, we'd be sharing comm 
frequencies with the enemy."

Darren nodded. Well, that made sense. "But I still don't get how you 
can hear their comms... you have then pattern and a code cracker?" 
But if it was that easy, the war wouldn't be so much of a disaster 
for both sides.

In response, she turned a dial all the way to the left. The speakers 
let out a short hiss, a beep, then a scratching sound. A beep again. 
"That's the Severance identifier code." She hesitated. "I... listen. The computer singles out banks with that mark and I... fit them together until they make sense. After I work on it enough, the
computer can find the pattern." She pointed to the jumbled text 
readout of comm messages. "It's not as good at predicting what
people might be talking about, but once the communication band is
set, it can analyze that and do the numbercrunching in chasing it
around as it jumps."

She's cringing? Why is she cringing? From what Darren saw, Rina
wasn't one to disparage her sister, so why was this girl so ashamed
of her talent? The marine twisted his face in consternation, and
whispered. "You're amazing."

"No, it's nothing special really. It's mostly the computer."

"No, you are. You're the reason your sister is so effective an
Observer. Even her ears can't pick up radio waves... uh, can she?"

Cori giggled. "No."

"But to listen and understand many different fragments of 
conversations at once... that's... wow.  I don't know what kind
of concentration and thinking that needs. It's incredible."

"Oh, stop it..."

"Don't be ashamed. It's wonderful."

"I mean it. Stop."

Damn. Now I made her uncomfortable.  "Sorry." Even married, he still 
didn't know how to really talk to women.  He just wanted to  make her
feel better.

He stopped. Perhaps that's why. He saw the conversation as a tool, 
and her as something that can be made to change moods upon a few
phrases. It was something his brother would have done, and very well
too. 

He slumped back down in his seat and frowned. 

"Um, hey, don't be mad or anythinng."
 
Darren grinned his farmboy grin. "I'm not. I'm only annoyed at 
myself. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just never met anyone
like you before Cori... ah Miss Miyako, that's all."  

The speakers bleeped loudly, and Cori turned back to her screen. Her
eyes widened. A bright green comm line was now in the jammed area.
Someone was burning through, and it wasn't the HQ. "Severance 
reinforcements! Buckle up, corporal, we're picking up sister." 

The main display flicked from tactical into driving mode. The cold
fusion reactor charged up with a humm, spinning the electric motors
into action.  

"And Darren, thanks..." she whispered back.