Author's Note:

"This was a trip back to the days of the all-night All'Arc MRPG games; based on the events in the back-story Betrayal, Redemption deals with the aftermath. The story revolves around the leadership of the Alliance and their Allies; namely a Dominion operative named Valdimir Saudakarski (Overlord) and his second-in-command Jeff Richards, as they plan to launch a covert attack against the Teutonic Knights and their Ronin mercenaries".

"Subtle? What's that?"
Overlord

"Ready Alert"

            Aircraft maintenance hanger number two sat at the far end of the Kriegherren facility, like its counterpart, it was a large metal structure painted in shades of gray. It had an almost organic appearance. With its central truss and arched support beams, it truly resembled the backbone and ribs of some massive prehistoric creature now opened to the sky.

            Ding, "Hanger level," stated the lift's automated announcer. With that the car's interior light dimmed and its doors opened onto a compartmentalized store bay lit by a strip of white light emanating from a ceiling panel.

            Vega stepped from the lift. Its doors closed, and a panel designed to look and act like the back wall slid into place, effectively concealing the entrance. "Nice," he commented to himself as he headed for the exit.

            Entering the hanger Vega pasted an armored trooper standing watch; with the typical backhanded wave that passed for a salute within the Alliance, he acknowledged the sentry. The hanger had a three-story-high ceiling with Mylar and corrugated aluminum paneling that now concealed its newly installed ceramic-armed casing. I'm still amazed at all the time, energy, and resources that we put into this game of deception, he thought.

            In the middle of the great expanse stood two tilt-rotor aircraft, both of which were already hooked up to the towing tractors that would pull them out onto the helipad for launch. Their flight crews sat in the cockpits going over flight plans and pre-launch checklist, as vehicle-mounted support equipment providing additional fuel and power to the aircrafts while they stood ideal, while chiefs made their last minute walk-around inspections of the aircraft.

            There at the back of the hanger stood a group of armored troops unlike any of the others within the ranks of the ADF, God help me, I'm going to let them lose, thought Vega as he approached. Now he could see that they were standing around a portable table display; Captain Dunnigan was in discussion with the squad's leader while everyone else looked on with interest.

            They looked like Allied troops, though Vega, but their training and loyalty was to that of the Dominion.

            Although the men wore the uniforms and body armor of the Alliance, like so many of their fellow countrymen, they weren't here out of love for the Elves--as the locals called the gray-haired Pherren children--but for the chance to fight and take revenge against their common enemies, the Teutonic Knights and their hired guns, the Ronin.

            No one personified this more than the leader of the First Dmn Squad, Centurion Saudakarski--known as Overlord to his men--a man whose dedication and hatred ran deep; as a teenager, he watched as the Hirobon Omnicorporation's mercenaries attempted to seize control of his home and the industrial might of his colony. Death took on many forms during the battles as both side fought for control of key resources and facilities; mercy was something neither side could afford.

            That's what so odd, thought Vega, now remembering back to a discussion with Captain Dunnigan concerning the mission and the possible threat from the Knights using another EMP device*. In place of the Alliance's electromagnetic gauss weapons, the team was going to use more conventional small arms, namely their Dominion-issued Banshee auto-rifles.

            In this current age of super-lightweight, alloy and polymer framed, high-capacity assault weapons, the Banshee was a throwback to twentieth century concepts of warfare, with its heavy cast and tubular metal frame construction, iron sights, and bayonet lug. Overall it was a heavy, but powerful weapon, firing the Dominion's own brand of armor-piercing, magnum rifle ammunition, capable of striking down a target at over a thousand yards.

            As he approached, he could see several of the troopers mounting tunable infrared targeting laser onto their weapon's bayonet lugs. Because of the suit's design, sighting and firing a weapon using its conventional iron or even telescopic sights was almost impossible, so the laser would act as an aiming point, so that could be seen by the suit's imaging system, and in turn projected onto the user's helmet viewing screen.

            Vega could easily imaging these men in another time and unholy place, fixing bayonets and preparing to go over the top into no man's land, facing an almost certain death by machinegun fire and artillery bombardment.

            "Attention on deck," shouted Sergeant Riojas, her voice as demanding as any drill instructor's; at that everyone turned to face the colonel. As the troopers snapped to attention, Vega could almost hear the chorus of boot heels clicks, save for the fact that the material used in their armored footgear was designed to eliminate such sounds.

            "My lord," stated Saudakarski in a crisp military manner, and then nodded his head. Although he performed the subservient role required under military doctrine, one could see in his eyes the controlled fury that made him not just a professional soldier, but also a true warrior, or as the Allied doctors have classified him, "a patriotic sociopath."

            "As you were," stated Vega.

            No one from his team moved until Saudakarski eased his stance.

            Stepping up to the display table Vega had a quick look around at the assembled troops. Beside the members of the assault squad and Captain Dunnigan, he noticed that from the recovery team only Dietrich and Hyland were present; most likely they have been slated for sniper rather than scout duty.

            "All right, bring me up to date," Vega commanded as he turned his attention to the table display, which combined a topographical map with real-time imaging from Churchill. Superimposed over it were the positions of the tilt-rotors and the data coming in from their onboard sensors as well as the SIcom base stations.

"The search"

            Tilt-rotor A-21 flew leisurely along the river separating the island home of the growing city-state of Churchill from the mainland. Mounted in its now stripped of passenger seating fuselage, stood the SIcom base station with its triangular, flat-panel antenna and counterweight hanging down below the unit. It spun rapidly around its mast searching for any wayward signals.

            The crew chief watched as the machinery went about its task. Unlike his Pacs counterparts, his protective headgear was designed to emulate that of a conventional flight helmet. With his visor up and integrated oxygen mask swung aside, only his black comm hood with opposing sound pickups seemed out of place. Not for the first time did he visually inspect the frame's mounting brackets that locked it into the decks hard points, he then tracted the long gray cable that ran from the equipment to the aircraft's auxiliary power unit coupling.

            Sitting across from the chief next to the table-mounted control box was the com sergeant assigned to operate the unit. His helmet was off and resting on the top of his armored pack as he watched the chief once again inspect his handwork, "What's up chief, you still concerned that it's all going to shake apart?"

            "You did mount that thing upside down in its frame," said the chief pointing at the rotating antenna, "what about the masts roller bearings?"

            "We didn't have much of a choice there," said the sergeant reaching out and placing his hand on the frame, "not unless you can fly this craft inverted." the chief gave him one of those oh well looks in response.

            "As for the roller bearings, this beastie is so over-engineered that thing will spin at any angle. Besides," said the sergeant now looking over at the two armored troopers who were sitting in the back near the ramp. Both men were buttoned-up and had their weapons out, muzzles down against the deck. "I'm more interested in why we have an engineering team onboard."

In response, one of the troopers raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers at him, as one might gesture to a small child, the sergeant nodded in acknowledgment.

            "Think about it, we're flying around in broad daylight, and if for some god forsaken reason we should go down, these gentlemen are here to make sure that A21 and all its toys don't fall into someone else's hands," stated the chief.

            The sergeant once again looked at the troopers, "What about the crew?" he asked with a level of concern in his voice.

            The chief looked at the troopers, "Well we will be running like hell to get as far away from the aircraft as possible before these gentlemen melt it to the ground," he said gesturing towards the four canisters mounted near the SIcom unit.

            The sergeant looked over at the canisters, now realizing their true purpose; he then looked back at the chief, who was trying to suppress a grin. "What did you think they were going to do?" said the chief; the troopers were now shaking with laughter.

            Almost as if on queue the antenna stopped and wiggled quickly back and forth as it concentrated itsscan along a narrow path; the laughter stopped as all eyes focused on the sergeant who was now putting his full attention towards the unit's control box.

            The box's display screen represented a circular down view of the area around the unit out to tem miles. The area being scanned by the antenna showed up as a lit wedge within the circle, super-imposed over an image of the surrounding countryside.

            As the antenna's oscillation decreased, the wedge on the display narrowed until it became a just a line, the unit had the bearing. The outer ring started to contract as the antenna slowly angled itself toward the source in order to obtain its relative distance based on signal strength.

            "Acknowledged," stated the sergeant into his headgears com. "A14 is also picking this up, we should have a location in just a moment," he said to the chief without turn away from the display.

            With a throw of the switch, the sergeant now added to the display the readings coming in from the SIcom unit aboard A17, its line crossed at an angle, indicating its relative direction from their aircraft. Both ranging circles now contracted from two directions forming a shrinking pointed oval around the spot where the lines crossed.

            "Acknowledged," replied the copilot. Turning towards the pilot he relayed, "The SIcom operator has the target at about eight miles bearing one four five degrees relative."

            "Acknowledged," the pilot stated as he checked the aircraft's airspeed and direction; with their rotor nacelles at 45 degrees they were cruising along at about 85 miles per hour on a heading of almost due south. "We're about eleven minutes out from the target."

            "Craft mode, imaging pod overlay and control," commanded the copilot.

            "Granted," replied the aircraft's AI. The copilot was now immersed in view from the external device, the world streamed passed him as if he was no longer sitting in his seat, but was instead flying along by some unknown means.

            "Mode, compass," stated the copilot. That the directional headings appeared as red numbers floating around him; he looked towards 145 degrees. Below was the fast-moving eastern river that separated Churchill from the territory of NeuRhineland. To his right, hugging the cliffs along the coast was the river road built to provide access to the southern end of the island. Now some 25 miles outside of the city limits the only structures in the area were the weather radar station situated high up on top of the cliffs and the maintenance storage depot located just off of the river road.

            "Sergeant," commed the copilot, "overlay the target's location to the aircrafts AI."

            "Acknowledged," commed the sergeant.

            Now a downward pointing red arrow appeared off in the distance. At its base, just off the road, a red circle encompassed a large, curved-metal roofed structure; the Quonset hut at the storage depot.

            "It looks like it's the storage depot," stated the copilot.

            "Acknowledged," replied the pilot. "I'll bring us in closer to the coast." With a slight move of the control stick, the tilt-rotor slowly drifted towards the cliffs.

            "Mode, zoom ten-power," stated the copilot. The image of the Quonset hut rushed up toward him, and for a moment he felt as if he was falling at great speed toward the ground. After a deep breath, he pursed his lips and blew out the sudden rush of adrenaline; he once again concentrated on the approaching building. At this magnification the red icons became more exacting, indicating that the target was defiantly inside the building.

            Ding, the alert tone sounded. "Warning, ground-based radar detected." stated the aircrafts AI.

            The pilot quickly scanned his instruments, while the copilot looked in the direction of the warning icon on his display. It was coming from somewhere near the depot.

            "Is it the weather radar?" asked the pilot.

            "Negative, it's mounted on a vehicle parked at the depot," he said, "either its an early warning system," he paused at the thought, "or possible it's targeting us for a near by missile launcher."

            "Craft Mode, flight status," commanded the pilot. His view of the cockpit was superimposed over that of the world around him. The warning icon flashed brightly in the distance.

            "Just firkin lovely," cursed the pilot to no one in particular. "Contact Central, make sure they're getting all this."

            "Acknowledged," replied the copilot.

            "Suit mode, Pacscom," stated the pilot. "Attention, strap in, we may have to take evasive action."

            "Acknowledged," commed the crew chief.

            The copilot concluded his communication with Central. "Sir, they are monitoring our situation; A14 is on standby, and they will launch the ready alert if we should be intercepted, otherwise continue on course."

            "Acknowledged," Replied the pilot, "It just fascinates me; how, on a world supposedly protected by the Utopian Mandate, do these monkeys always seem to have state of the art in military hardware?"

            "Agreed," stated the copilot, who was looking intently at the surrounding trees for any possible sign of a missile launch.

            The pilot watched as the distance markers decreased in number, "We'll pass the target at one mile, if they leave us alone we'll be out of their sights in about five minutes, when we'll turn the coast and put the cliffs between us."

            "Acknowledged," replied the copilot.

To be continued...