Modern Marines vs. Romans (Incredibly Short Story)

[CodeMonkey3]

So I saw something on Reddit called "Rome, Sweet Rome" and I was kinda pissed off because someone told me about it and it sounded really badass but than I found out it was a really basic skeleton of a story-outline and not actually a book or anything. So I figured "I could do better than that" which may or may not be true but I did write a short little thing to see if anyone would enjoy it.

[QUOTE]
Marcus Aurelius had never seen anything like it before. They had rolled into the village only this morning and now they were aiding them and refusing all compensation. They spoke a language wildly different than his own, their equipment was equally strange. Their armor was made of cloth, linens with strange speckled patterns on them. They rode into the village on growling horse-less chariots which caused the women and young ones to flee in terror. After a few hours they had managed to reverse their frightful entrance and instead drawn the citizens out of their homes. Children danced around their chariots while the men standing inside them tossed treats to them.

The Empire had been stretched thin by the recent war, all able bodied men from the village drafted into her many legions and for the past several weeks the village had been molested by bands of bandits living in the adjacent town. With no way to defend themselves they were free to steal and rape as they pleased. Marcus had believed that these new arrivals were with them but he was soon proven wrong. After a brief meeting of the elders with the leaders of the group whom referred to themselves as “Mah-Reens” they had decided that he would be the one to guide them to the hill overlooking the bandit stronghold where they volunteered their services to rid the village of the barbarians.

Now he found himself on that same hill with several of these men. Though he could not see barely a stones throw from his eyes in this darkness apparently the Mah-Reens could by using devices they affectionately called “N-Vee-Gees” and with a quick description of the compound the bandit leader called home he heard the Man-Reens recount a strange spell into a metal box which recounted the spell back to them.

"Rolling Thunder, this is Rick James, over."
"Rick James, this is Rolling Thunder, over."
"Grid to suppress: BW552911. Grid to mark: BW553978, over."
"Rolling Thunder copies all, go ahead."
"Two-Story Structure, Minus 1 to Minus 20, Plus 20 Plus 2; 5 rounds, HEVT. CAS, TOT 62. Request splash, over."
"Message to observer. Alpha, three rounds, HE delay in effect. Three guns. Bravo, two rounds, two guns. CAS, TOT 62. Target number: HN5209. Request Splash, out."

For a moment all was silent. Marcus was sure that whatever magic they had attempted most certainly failed when an ever increasing noise caught his attention. It was a whistling noise and he frantically craned his head around to find it’s source only to discover it was directly above him and than the most terrible trembling shook the ground under him and a series of giant fireballs enveloped the village at the bottom of the hill, roughly where the bandit stronghold had been, burning debris ejected far from it’s source.

"Splash. Over."
"Splash. Out."
"Abort this target, end of mission: target suppressed. Over."
"Aborting target, end of mission, target suppressed. Out."

The Mah-Reens began to collect their rucksacks and other instruments. The compound aflame, surely there were no survivors and for the first time Marcus believed the tales of magic from his youth to be true and these Mah-Reens were the most powerful of all mages.[/QUOTE]

[Magman77]

more pls

[CodeMonkey3]

I'm thinking maybe more of a Fantasy-World. Like LOTR meets Generation Kill. With Dragons and shit.

[QUOTE]
The column of Humvees were travelling at full speed, rocking and tumbling side to side as they crossed the open field. The M2's were keeping the thing at bay but they weren't killing it, though judging from the bloody pock marks they left all over the scaly serpent it certainly didn't enjoy the attention the Corp was lavishing on it. Naturally, when the thing first appeared it was hard to believe but surely enough it was a real live dragon and the stories about them breathing fire had proven to be correct as was evidenced by the fact their supply truck was now inflames and Hitman 2 now had a couple of unwelcome guests from H&S riding along with them. The alternative was to leave the water-boys flailing around their wrecked truck and no one had any desire to find out if dragons truly ate people today.

"Carlos, stop the fucking truck!" Barked Sergeant Willis to the driver whom, with much reluctance did as told, slamming on the brake and throwing the occupants forward. "Wong, AT-4!" He continued with his commands, throwing himself out of the truck with the giant winged beast fast approaching. It only took a moment for Corporal Wong to produce the cylindrical tube from the backseat and toss it to the waiting Sergeant. Muscle memory kicked in and Willis cleared the two safeties and set his finger on the trigger. No need to adjust his sights, it was a big mother-fucker and it was danger close. "Clear backblast!" He shouts. "Backblast clear!" a chorus of stressed Marines repeat and with a tense silence there was a loud 'thwomp'

The 84mm HE rocket was traveling almost 1,000 feet per second when the warhead embedded it's self 14 inches into the thick hide of the beast that was looming over Hitman's worn-out battle wagon. It took a fraction of the second for the fuse to ignite the 440 grams of high explosives that literally ripped the mythical creature in half as it's head split from the rest of it's body. The creature went into convulsions, it's wings failing to keep it's limp body in flight as it tumbled helplessly into the ground, skidding into the dirt until it rested in a school bus sized crater, it's head just barely hanging on by a small section of hide. It was clearly dead, but that didn't stop Hitman Actual from putting a couple of 40 Mike-Mike's into it's head for good measure.

Their interpreter was a local man, hired from a village by the Marines a few days ago to ride along and do some translations for them. He would later recount to his friends and family and incredible story of the Battle-Mages whom were able to fell a Flame Dragon with a simple ancient tome. "Clear Backblast" was all need be said for the Gods to cast their flames at the direction of the Mah-Reen whom commanded the Rod-of-Fire. In all of their history no one had ever managed to kill a Flame Dragon but these Mah-Reens had slain one with what seemed relative ease. He did not understand much of what the Mah-Reens told him but he did understand one thing; That Uncle Sam was a vengeful God and it was unwise to displease him.[/QUOTE]

[Skeeter]

I'd love to read more of this along the lines of the first post of yours, where it truly is as if they are using magic and only speckles of actual information on what they use is shown to the reader.

[MenteR]

funny, i am working as a concept artist on a game that has an artstyle like this right now. it's a clash of modern army with ancient stuff. stuff like this:

[img]http://puu.sh/awGwq/e7d706e643.jpg[/img]

while this is quite outdated (because i'm not allowed to show more recent work) it still kinda gives out the image we're going with.

[editline]12th August 2014[/editline]

like this is an awesome coincidence that you did something like this right now.

[RidingKeys]

I remember there was a book that was being published that was really similar to this, you should do the same.

[BMCha]

Not too bad for a start, just two suggestions:

First, the radio communications in the first part (which might have come from MW2?) need some tailoring to fit the story. That snippet is a spotter calling for artillery fire on [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2K12_Kub]one of these[/url], hence the "SEAD" and "SA-6 Gainful" parts. I was thrown off a little by that, trying to figure out where the enemy SAM appeared from.

Also, in the second part, you have a Specialist Wong in the Marine Corps. Specialist is an Army rank so you might want to substitute that for Lance Corporal or something.

[CodeMonkey3]

All good points. I'm still in an Army mindset so that was where the wrong rank came from. I'll swap that out.

The radio chatter is from Generation Kill, in one of the ending credits they're calling in arty for a SA-6 I suppose. They walk the artillery in on a technical to a two structure house. Naturally, I don't know what the artillery protocol in general and the radio chatter in Generation Kill was spotty sometime so I did end up googling radio chatter and used some MW2 stuff.

I tried to figure out what some of it meant but there isn't too much on the net. I took out the 'Smoke on the Deck' part for example, implying they've marked target with smoke.

[CodeMonkey3]

[quote]
There was a time when such treason among the Imperial elite would be unthinkable but with recent events Claudius Aelianus found it somewhat easier to stifle his disbelief. This was a very precarious time, the Empire's mighty invasion force had failed and the bulk of their military was left in ruin, never before had the Empire been faced with such an unprecedented defeat. Naturally it was the way of the weak to find an easy way out, to let greed corrupt them, so when the rumor spread that traitors had turned their backs on the Empire for their own selfish desires he was not surprised. To work with the invaders, to collaborate with them so that they may attempt to destabilize the Empire from the inside. The only appropriate punishment was at the edge of a blade. That was his mission now, as Sergeant of the Guard for the Emperor himself, he and his cohorts were enroute to the estate of Aetius to make him answer for his crimes in blood, it was the will of the Emperor and by his will it would be done. The column of Guardsmen on horseback numbered twenty in total and likely only one or two would need to draw his blade. This would be an easy assignment which he could use to strengthen his loyalty and further his favor in the royal court. Bucking up and down on his stead he now saw the estate coming in view, a modest villa atop a gentle rolling hill surrounded by patches of forests, for a moment he wondered how someone with such privilege could turn their back on the Empire that had so graciously given him his power and status. The notion a noble so wealthy, so powerful to throw it all away and climb into bed with these foreign invaders made his blood boil and he only found comfort in the notion that he would soon be at the end of his sword to answer for his crimes.

Unbeknownst to Claudius he and his cohorts were being watched. From the moment they had crested the last hill they had been carefully observed. Even if Claudius had been able to see the vast distance between him and his enemy he would be hard pressed to actually spot them. They were wearing suits of cloth and vegetation that perfectly concealed their shape and silhouette. Gunnery Sergeant Dean McKenzie had served as a Scout Sniper for six years and what he was doing was routine at this point. He had been laying up in the shrubbery surrounding the Estate of the defector Aetius for two days straight with his partner when the net finally began to perk up.
"Viper, this is CP. Be advised, possible hostile forces approaching TS-129 at your 12:00 crossing SSL."
He exchanged a brief glance with his Spotter and shouldered his rifle, he felt his body tense and immediately fought the instinct, relaxing himself and carefully controlling his breathing as he began to scan for a target. The only noise between the two of them were the tense whispers of his Spotter.
"Target, Sector Charlie. Deep. Times twenty. Mounted. Swords. Wide spot on the road."
"Range it."
"870 Yards and closing. Wind three quarter value. Push two left."
"On target."
"Hold scope, fire when ready."
Mckenzie leveled the crosshair of his scope center mass onto the lead horseman, leading a moving target always took a little more concentration but he was confident he'd make the shot. He took a deep breath, held it in and with a gentle squeeze he felt a slight recoil.

Claudius was in deep thought when the lead man literally dropped dead, tumbling from his horse and forcing him to violently jerk the reigns so he could avoid trampling his lifeless subordinate. "Column, halt!" He shouts with genuine confusion in his voice, holding his fist into the air as the assembly of horsemen stopped in an unorganized mob, their heads frantically searching for the source what had so silently killed their companion.
Only a brief moment passed before another horseman fell from his horse, a neat hole carved into his chest plate. "Where is it coming from? Claudius demanded, drawing his Gladius from it's sheath.

"Hit."
The most rewarding word a Sniper could ever hear.
"Leaning tree, 860, three quarter value."
The hushed, steady whisper continued from his Spotter as he racked the bolt on his M40A3 and slammed a fresh cartridge into place. He selected the target, steadied his shot and squeezed the trigger. "Hit." The bullet crossed the distance between the muzzle of his rifle and the chest of the horseman so fast it was beyond the comprehension of the men who were desperately trying to find the enemy that was so casually cutting them down. Casual was a good word, these were probably some of the easiest shots he'd ever made before. They were sitting on their horses with no cover, made no attempts to flee and even if they did he would confidently bet his pension that he'd be able to cut them all down before they could get away. He almost felt bad. [i]Almost.[/i]

"Hit." Another man down. "Hit." Than another. It was mayhem and Claudius was completely overwhelmed. What was happening? Why were his men dropping dead like this? The horses of fallen riders were galloping away and he had to struggle to maintain control of his, they sensed the danger and instead of trying to fight it they went with their most basic instinct: Run. Claudius had never run from a fight, his honor would never let him but as he saw more and more of his men fall from their mounts he felt that may be his only option. He scanned the trees, the fields and the sky but found no sign of the soulless animal that was raining death onto his men and finally, with his will broken he yanked at the reigns and urged his horse to flee. One glance over his shoulder revealed to him the awful truth that somehow he was the last of the cohort alive and it was during this moment that the bullet entered his skull, destroying his brain and exiting the other side of his head, death was instant. He died without ever knowing what or who had slain him and his companions.

"Hit. Lucky shot. Decks all clear, Gunny."
The Spotter commented, thumbing his radio.
"Command Post, this is Viper hostile threat down, over."
"Viper this is CP, we copy your traffic, over."
With a light pat on the back the Spotter asks; "What do you think was going through their heads down there?"
Grinning, Mckenzie replies. "7.62"[/quote]

[Skeeter]

I enjoy this very much, and goddamn that punchline!

[Nahash]

Code, your wanting to make this story more of a fantasy world reminded me of this book. [URL="http://www.amazon.com/Grunts-Mary-Gentle/dp/0451454537"]http://www.amazon.com/Grunts-Mary-Gentle/dp/0451454537[/URL] Pretty much, a band of Orcs stumble upon a cursed weapons cache that forces them to act like marines.

[CodeMonkey3]

[quote]Times Square, New York. July, 20XX 1:21PM.

"I don't care, you can't keep bugging people for cash right infront of the Vestibule."
"Come on man, this is embarrassing for me too, me and my girl we're just trying to get something to eat."
"You told the last guy you needed two dollars for gas. I was watching you, Tony do you think I'm an idiot?"
Truth be told NYPD Officer Mendez knew his beat well enough to know a scam artist when he saw one and his patience was wearing thin now.
"I saw you when I started my patrol this morning get out of a cab with a starbucks cup in your hand. You need to cut this shit out." He recounted to the curly haired man in the red baseball cap he was talking too. The longer this went on the more aggravated he would become, it was hot as balls right now and between his vest, duty belt and uniform he was baking alive.

"Now, listen. This is your last chance. Get out of here and I don't want to see your face aga-" He began scold him like a child, shaking his finger at the man when his words were suddenly cut off. There was a sound so strange echoing through the street that the usually deafening crowds of the city fell silent. He looked away from Tony, up at the flashing billboards, along the streets of stalled commuters and finally right in the center of Times Square was a giant archway. It was beautiful, actually. The giant doorway sat right in the middle of the avenue almost fifteen stories high. It was made of stone, incredibly intricate patterns and decorations carved into it though inside the doorway was it blank, just blackness there and no sign of whatever was on the other side.

The thing had appeared instantly and needless to say it disrupted traffic. Several vehicles were on a collision course with the black ellipse and when they impacted they simply disappeared between the arches. Gone. Dozens of other motorists slammed on their breaks and cranked their wheels to avoid it causing numerous accidents. His instinct had already kicked in and he began to rush toward the scene, one hand on his sidearm and another thumbing the radio on his shoulder and calling for backup at his location before trailing off, unsure what to say or how to describe the fact a giant doorway had just spontaneously appeared in downtown Manhattan. Before he could reach the first wreck, activity from the doorway stopped him in his tracks. Figures began to pour from the darkness, a couple at first but suddenly there were more than fifty and than more than one hundred. They were dressed like extras in a Gladiator movie, wielding swords, shields and wearing heavy assortments of plate armor and chainmail. Some carried banners and flags, but most were armed. He watched in horror as a couple of tourists taking pictures with their phones had their stomachs sliced open, the legions of knights set forth in blind bloodshed, sicking their blades on whoever was unfortuante enough to be within their reach.

Forgetting most of the radio standards he rambles off a series of desperate pleas for help before focusing himself to flick the retention of his sidearm and raise it. For people wearing iron armor they were fast and before Mendez knew it one of them was clambering over a car toward him shouting angry gibberish at him. Squeezing the trigger, again and again, before he even knew it the sidearm was silent and the slide was locked. He was already empty but luckily the entire magazine had done it, his assailant was sprawled out on the hood of a Toyota Corolla. His victory was short lived, there was only one of him and hundreds of them. He didn't have time to react as one closed in on his blind side and forced the tip of a spear into his side. He writhed in pain, trying to yank himself away from the pain as he produces a can of mace and empties it into his attackers eyes. His attacker shrieks and pulls his spear from out of his side, a brief victory that was short lived as two more men closed in around him and hacked away at his body.

The massacre continued on without opposition. The Police overwhelmed by the sudden violence and speed of the attack by a more numerous enemy. Block after block of urban sprawl fell to the invaders, the people within indiscriminately slaughtered, women raped and treasures looted. General Domitius Calvinus had finally joined his army on the other side of the Gate. The world he had entered was strange, their city was magnificent. Towers and castles larger and taller than he could have ever thought possible loomed over him.. moving pictures and artwork. There was a flying chariot hovering around, the sound was a mixed chorus of screams, combat and strange sirens. He also heard loud cracks in the distance.. so strange this new world. Even in the midst of taking in the overwhelming sights he was already swelling with pride. His Brothers had done an excellent job, he watched his legions rush down the streets overwhelming all that opposed with effortless ease. He would be written down in history as the greatest General of the Empire whom had conquered the New World. Domitius was besides himself as he climbed the pile of bodies that had been tossed together infront of the gate, bloodied corpses of the weak and unworthy. Once he reached the top a scroll was produced, breaking the wax seal be began loudly reciting it's message. "You savages! Listen up well! We the Empire in the name of his Imperial Majesty Augustus Quinctius Cincinnatus declare the conquest and dominion over all these lands! All who inhabit these lands are now slaves of our glorious Empire! Hail Emperor Cincinnatus!" [/quote]

[Skeeter]

I enjoy this still very much, continue please

[CodeMonkey3]

[QUOTE]
"Looks like they're coming. Those must be the scouts." The voice was from Staff Sergeant Jackson. "Behind them is the real thing, I'd put their numbers at around five to six hundred." He continued, peering out from his binoculars off the Southern Wall and into the distance where a couple of horsemen were milling around, the aforementioned scouts. "The population of this town is a little over five thousand, they don't have enough to encircle the town." He continued to think out loud. He would have never imagined that beginning his military career in the corp that he'd one day find himself ontop of a fucking walled city straight out of Lord of the Rings mulling over medieval strategy, but here he was. "They can hit the South, East or Western Gates from this position. I don't like it, an enemy who is free to decide where to strike is at an advantage." He set the binoculars down on the thick granite blocks that made up this seven-story tall rampart. "Not only that.. this position.." Another voice chimed in, an older Marine known as 'Pops' was casting a nervous glance at the inner Southern Gate where hasty wooden fortifications were set up as a secondary line of defense. "It looks like they're taking it as a given that the gate will be breached. Two-fold system of walls and ramparts designed to bleed the enemy and buy time." There was no doubt what Pops had said was true. "I guess that makes us bait up here." The hastily assembled defense force was gathered now, older men, teenagers. The sick and wounded left behind during the Empire's draft were now left to defend the town. "Jerry, distribute the NV's out. Pop's get on the horn with HQ and request for support. The rest of you clear anything combustible off these walls and dig in. We're going to have a fight on our hands." The small detachment of Marines set about their tasks with feverish dedication. The locals watched in strange curiosity as the Marines setup firing positions, intersecting lines of fire with M240's and M249's hidden behind sandbags. Night vision equipment was issued, ammunition distributed and the Marines readied their positions and waited.

Just after midnight the attack began, the darkened horizon lighting up as thousands of flaming arrows crested the ridge and began to pelt the walls and structures of the town, starting small fires and killing several of the defenders. The bandits began to cross the distance, disciplined troops in tight formation, shields lined side to side in the front and along the back rows straight up to deflect arrows being shot into the mass of troops as they galloped toward the walls, several of them carrying ladders, rams and other means of scaling the walls or breaching the gates. "0300. Perfect time for a night attack. Even though they're bandits these guys were once regular troops. Well, this is what we've been waiting for; This is it boys, this is war!" The Marines were more than willing to participate and honestly the scenario of a dozen Marines against a legion of ancient attackers would surely make more than one Jarhead hard. The waves of attackers drew ever nearer and finally they found themselves right in the kill zone. The already deafening commotion of a battle was all at once silenced as the Marines began to open up. Several thousand rounds were instantly on their way downrange. Without any warning the attackers began to drop dead, the first ranks of the formation buckling under suffocating gunfire as their wooden shields and iron armor did little to deflect the modern firepower pouring through their formations. Without any frame of reference for such things the attackers had no choice but to continue their blind advance.

The carnage was repeated over and over and in montage of destruction. Faces were torn apart, 5.56 and 7.62 tore through internal organs, fractured primitive armor and killed countless scores of the barbarians. Several AT4's were let lose into the tightest formations, fireballs ejecting limbs and bodies several feet, bloody craters left in the Earth. An M2 opened up and 50 BMG instantly tore men to shreds, Jenkins on his Mk19 began lobbing 40 Mike-Mike's into the crowds, more limbs, more crippling injuries, some fatal and some gruesomely disfiguring. Despite the advantage of modern firearms there were simply too many of them to cut even a fraction of them down and soon they were nearing the wall. The defense force atop the ramparts began to pelt them with rocks, arrows, boiling oil and flaming debris and a few excited Marines joined in by casually rolling some fragmentation grenades over the side but the bandits again had a numerical advantage and began to scale ladders across the wall and batter the wooden gates with rams until soon there were multiple breaches in the line. "Affix bayonets!" came the command among the deafening noise, Marines in unison drawing bayonets from sheaths and slipping them snugly over the muzzles of their M4's and M16's as their enemy drew within striking distance. The Marines were now deep in the shit, the ancient warriors with shield and blade were in the courtyard, on the walls and their training kicked in. Frantic bursts of gunfire at close range, rifle butts meet skulls and bayonets dig into stomachs. The fighting became visceral, desperate and for a moment it seemed as though the line would be broken and the Marines with their ancient brothers in arms may fall when a familiar noise of beating wings began to echo through the din of combat.

"Valkyrie 2-3, 2-2 you're cleared hot, Over" The end of the transmission that came through the speakers of the cockpit was drowned out by the chorus of several hundred Hydra rockets and Hellfire missiles screaming out of their pods and across the distance between the Cobra attack helicopters and their prey. The battlefield erupted in a cascade of blooming fireballs right in the center of the enemy formations. Behind the Cobras came approximately thirty more helicopters, an assortment of UH-Y1's and MH-60S's with full compliments of Marines aboard. As they strafed the killing fields below the Marines hanging from the open doors began to empty magazines, spent shell casings rained down onto the corpses below, even more of the attackers were sent on a one-way trip to hell. M240Ds and Miniguns swept the terrified survivors of the initial assault as they attempted to flee. The bandits already in the compound or on the wall fought for their lives and they watched their companions so effortlessly swept away in the hellish killing fields that were being created around them. They too were soon cut down as Marines began to fast-rope off the sides of the chopper, onto the walls and into the courtyards to reinforce the battered Marine positions and within ten minutes the major combat had ceased. Shell-shocked, mangled and now severely outgunned bandits threw down their weapons and surrendered to the circling gunships, those that ran were pursued and cut down. The raw display of military power had attracted a crowd of amazed spectators who were left speechless at the display. These were not mortal men but lords of war.[/QUOTE]

[Magman77]

holy shit I go north for three nights and I'm treated to this now that I'm back :v:

[CodeMonkey3]

[quote]The target was General Domitius Calvinus, the key player behind the massacre in Manhattan. Finding him had been the hard part but the boys at the CIA had put in some overtime and without any frame of reference, in a world that hadn't even existed months before they had managed to build a network of contacts among the locals from the modest goat herder to the highest ranking senator and now that complex web of information had brought Seal Team Six to the estate of Domitius. The raid had been on the drawing board for a month, training on mock-ups of his compound replicated from Global Hawk survelliance images that had been collected and now all the time, effort and training was about to climax in his abduction and with some luck he'd be on trial in New York as a war criminal before Christmas.

The estate was vast, several structures perched around the main mansion. The team had been briefed thoroughly on who was in the building, profiles of the guards and their daily routines. Lieutenant Hilderbrandt, Leader of Alpha Team glanced at his watch, thirty minutes after midnight; show time. "This is Alpha Team, Mission is a Green Light. Moving to make entry now, Over." He calmly whispers into his headset, quietly standing out from the shrubbery surrounding the compound, several other dark shadows stand up alongside him as they begin to silently scurry toward the estates high walls, pressing their backs up against it with weapons at the ready in a line formation they move toward the first entrance. Despite being loaded down with kit, vests, helmets, ammunition and other ordnance they didn't make a sound as formed up around the metal gate. Hilderbrandt taps his helmet twice. "Breacher!" He hisses and in response another Seal moves up to him, pulling a long plastic strip from a pouch on his back and skillfully applying it along the edge of the gate. "3.. 2.. 1.. Execute." There was a loud sharp bang and the door swung open.

The team funneled through the doorway in a expertly choreographed formation. They were fast, they were brutal. They called it violence of action and as the first and second man entered the doorway they immediately found two guards, leveled their weapons and put two rounds into each of them. One in the head, one in the chest. To the other guards on the other side of the property they only heard a quick series of muffled cracks which they naturally found strange. The team moved across the courtyard, Infrared lasers from their rifles covering each others sectors as they finally pushed the front door open and quickly hustled inside the mansion. The guards at the opposite side of the compound had finally arrived to investigate the sounds but a marksman slung up in a tree on the far side of the property put them down before they could raise an alarm.

Inside the building they jogged through the marble entryway and up the large stone staircase up to the second story. One of the servants had been sweeping the floor when he found himself right between the Seals and the personal guards of Domitius standing their post outside his study. "Down, Down, Down." They hiss, allowing the servant to cower against the wall just in time for a series of sub-sonic cracks to whip past his head and into the guards who crumpled together in a heap. "Second Floor, Clear." They whisper to themselves, moving down the hall and over the bodies. One good kick to the wooden doors sent splinters of wood flying.

The General had been busy tonight, scribbling away at his parchments and scrolls when he heard the muffled bangs and cracks. He had assumed the Maid had broken something, or perhaps his wife was having another one of her fits when the men burst into the room. He stood and before he could draw the dagger on his hip they were ontop of him, pushing him on the ground and forcing a sack over his head, zip-cuffs fastened around his wrist. "Palmer, grab him we're out of here." One of them whispered to another who grabbed him up and practically carried him away, knocking his head against the doorway hard enough to leave a bruise on the way out. "Oops." Palmer was sarcastic, his family was from New York and the bang to the head wasn't likely an accident.

"Alpha Team, moving to extraction." They moved back out into the hall, past the startled servant and down the stairs and into the courtyard where they hunkered down, watching the darkened landscape until the sound of their extraction bird could be heard over the horizon. The CH-47 Chinook was lowered into the courtyard, the ramp was already down so all the Seals had to do was throw the General into the back and climb in. "Big Apple, I say again, Big Apple." With that phrase the mission was a success, the helicopter rattling the windows as it took off again and disappeared into the night.

The rest of the General's personal guard had been sleeping, the sound of the helicopter had finally awoken them to the attack and they rushed from their quarters and out into the hall where they saw the bodies, the broken door and the cowering Servant peaking over the window and out toward the courtyard. "You! What did you see?" Sergeant of the Guard demanded of the servant. "M-Monsters! With glowing green eyes! They took the General and than they were all swallowed whole by a flying beast!"[/quote]

[CodeMonkey3]

[QUOTE]Four figures weaved their way through the morning crowds pouring into market street of the Imperial capital. They went unnoticed, it wasn't unusual for travelers from distant lands to make an appearance, traders and mercenaries, diplomats and even tourists, this group fit right in. Wearing heavy cloaks, skullcaps and other such garments they blended into the masses easily though these men were not even from this world. Green Berets tasked with a special mission to cripple the legislative body of the Empire and if they were lucky, decapitate it's leadership. They were alert, eyes scanning every last man, woman and child that crossed their path for signs of trouble, noting escape routes, vantage points. Under their cloaks each man was strapped, H&K Mp7's with a chest-rig loaded down with spare magazines, small and concealable. One of the men had a rucksack, a leather and cloth affair that you could buy at any low-end stall in market town but inside was something completely out of place in Odd-World.

One of them nudges the other with two fingers, they all trace his gaze to a large church tower and nod. They had worked together so long that words weren't even nessecary, not to mention speaking English could possibly blow their cover. They filed into the church discreetly, the followers were taking seats and preparing for that mornings sermon, no one noticed the four men duck into a backroom and scale the ladder into the bell tower. Once at the top the device inside the rucksack was withdrawn, a GTLD III or Ground Target Laser Device. It only took a minute to set it up on the edge of the railing and line-up a sight picture with the huge dome roof of the senate building in the center of the city.

"This is Saber, we're in position." One of the men checks in.
"Saber, we copy you. This is Lancer flight, we're passing over the Duma Mountains now. We'll approach the capital from the East at a low altitude." The reply came from the two F-16C's that were fast approaching.

The two F-16's were carry a full payload of GBU-28 laser guided missiles, though ideally they wouldn't need them all they had prepared for the event that the eyes on the ground identified any other targets of opportunity. "What's this about a low pass?" Asks the pilot of Lancer 2. "You can call it a wake-up call." The reply came back like it was a joke, it wasn't like the enemy had anti-air capability but there wasn't any need to create a risk like that. "Whatever, it wasn't my idea though." Lancer 2 sighs, letting the hot-shot wing-leader make the call. It wasn't like he didn't like to show off himself. "Lancer Flight, descend to 3,000 feet. Follow me in and activate your afterburners."

Below in the capital streets the typical morning routines were being carried out. Even in the relatively noisy market people began to stop and gaze upwards at the strange sound fast approaching. "What's that noise?" Several people asked and paused. Suddenly, over their heads the two F-16's shot overhead at an incredible speed, awe-struck people stared skywards unsure what to make of them. Several seconds passed and than, all at once a huge shockwave rocked the city, down the streets and along the path of Lancer Flight windows shattered, a blast of air ran through the streets like a wind-tunnel knocking people and stalls over, tipping carts and causing a general panic as the shriek of the departed aircraft deafened the startled spectators. Once the commotion had settled the fear struck all at once, as if the world was ending, unsure what omen they had just witnessed people retreated inside their homes, shuttered their shops and locked their doors.

"Are you awake now folks?" The pilot laughs, his airshow cut short by another transmission by the men on the ground. "This is Saber, target is marked, over." The lucky pilot grinned. "Roger that, bombs away." The plane became noticeably lighter as the pair of GBU-28 laser guided bombs fell away from the air frame. The Green Berets aim was true and the two bombs were steered onto a collision course with the senate building and it's ornately decorated domed roof. Nicknamed 'Deep Throat' the GBU-28's inertia and GPS driven systems centered themselves right on the laser-designated spot and tore a huge hole through the roof. The 5,000 pound bombs were loaded with 630 pounds of high explosives and as soon as it had cracked through the ceiling and embedded it's self in the center of the assembly room it detonated. The senators whom had been discussing the mornings topics likely never knew what happened as the were forever erased from existence. The explosion and the shockwave it created killed numerous politicians, unfortunately for the few survivors of the initial blast the entire roof began to collapse inwards, the buildings walls cracked and shattered from the shock and unable to support the weight the entire building took only thirty seconds to collapse into it's own footprint.

"This is Saber, Target hit. It's all rubble now."
"Copy that, Saber. Thanks for the help. We're RTB. Goodluck down there."
The pilots waved off, banking hard and gunning their afterburners. As quickly as they appeared they were gone and all that was left of their short visit was destruction the likes these people had never seen before and could hardly believe possible. Unable to grasp what had happened the unrest in the streets spread like a sickness and the rumor that these were the end of days. The Gods had forsaken the Empire and were now actively destroying them.[/QUOTE]

[CodeMonkey3]

[QUOTE]Why does gold hold value? Objectively it's just a heavy, ugly rock but across the world, regardless of geography, race or religion gold has always had value. Nations were built and destroyed over gold, kings buried with it in tombs covered in it. The interesting thing was that this particular quirk wasn't solely that of our own world. Apparently these savages had gold as well. That made them clients.

Ethan studied the gold coin in his hand, he had gotten pretty good paychecks in Iraq and Afghanistan but this is the first time anyone had paid him in gold coins. His study of primitive economics was finally interrupted when the Toyota Hilux he was riding in the bed of hit a particularly hard rut in the road and threw him and his teammates around like ragdolls. "Five minutes, boys!" Six men, clad in black collared shirts and khaki cargo pants, loaded down with plate carriers, ammunition and ballcaps exchanged glances. Ethan slapped a magazine into his carbine and peered over his Oakley's at the other black pickup truck racing across the field toward their target.

It was hard to describe what their target actually was, a cross between a Afghan village and a palisade fort. Apparently this world had it's own pest problems and unlike the wild boar of his home in Texas the pests here were a bit more organized and a bit meaner than a hog. As they closed in on the village he could make them out. Hunch backed little creatures with green skin wearing an assortment of linen rags and leather armor. Some wielding clubs, others swords and so forth. Goblins. Ethan leans his body out over the side of the rocking truck, thumbing the safety and picking targets. "Weapons free! Bust em'!" came the command, immediately drowned out in the chorus of 7.62 and 5.56.

The Goblins had seen the two chariots approaching and quickly gathered their weapons. Shod clubs, stolen and looted swords and axes. Some of the more cunning Goblins had even managed to make bows and arrows work for their fat little fingers and plucked away at the strings as the dust clouds drew closer. One of the Goblin war bands rushed out to meet the chariots, beating shields and wailing their disgusting inhumane wail when the chariots began to cast fire on them. Dozens of the Goblin defenders were cut down and the rest thrown into confusion. Goblins didn't cooperate very well as a unit on a good day, much less when magic killed them in droves and they began to scatter and run.

The two trucks were barreling toward the village at full speed, circling like birds of prey. Most of the Goblin warriors had been cut down in the first five minutes and what few defenders remain were either cowering in fear or futilely attempting to chase down the speeding vehicles. One Goblin in particular got lucky and managed to lodge an arrow into the passenger side door of one of the trucks, to little effect. Ethan got a bead on him and put two rounds down range, one of the Goblin's arms flipping through the air from an apparent hit. "Fuck you, Gollum! You little shit!" He laughed. This was like a game. Within twenty minutes the Goblin camp laid in fire and ruin, little green bodies strewn around the fields and burning structures.

Back at the local human settlement the village elder awaited them at the edge of town. By sundown he finally spotted the twin dust clouds trailing behind their black chariots and those blinding torches casting shadows across him and the little wagon he had brought with him. One of the mercenaries hopped out of the chariot and approached him. The clunky conversation that followed relieved the aging man to the point of tears. The threat was gone and his town would no longer be the target of Goblin attacks. As they had agreed he threw the blanket off his wagon and showed the warrior his payment, a crate of golden trinkets, jewelry and coins. Two more men came to carry the chest back to their chariot and just as the deal seemed to have been concluded the mercenary returned and offered him a small, palm-sized piece of parchment.

"Ethan Ravenwood. Blackwater Security Contractors LLC"[/QUOTE]