#Wait a minute flak cannon?!

[wolftheidioticfan]

This stupid Nuclear Throne clip from days ago is still making me laugh what is wrong with me.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Battle on the Citadel

Shenanigans.  Hopefully some cool battle scenes.  I will try to have the second part of this story out as soon as possible.  Enjoy.   “He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright, 

He checked off his equipment and made sure his pack was tight; 

He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar, 

You ain’t gonna jump no more.”  -Blood Upon the Risers, paratroopers song

The air swirled as the shuttles touched down.  The acrid scent of coolant wafted through the air at the Turian and C-Sec lines in front of the Citadel.  Now designated with the unimaginative title “Command Post Alpha,” this was the main spot where shuttles would touch down to disgorge their contents of soldiers ready to take back the Citadel.  Engines whined, and hydraulics hissed as various shuttles, bearing their precious cargoes of soldiers and supplies, touched down.  Sharp and angular Turian ones, the Omen’s large and boxy troop-carriers, the Normandy’s sleek, yet rectangular ones, the Apocalypse’s heavy gunship carriers, and the distinctive three-winged transports of the Galactic Empire.  All these touched down, soldiers disembarking rapidly, and took off immediately to allow the next in line to land.  

Shepard, Vir, Quill, Cooper and Drake stood around a portable hologram projector as the various troopers milled around in organized chaos behind them.  Captain Viter of the Turian Hierarchy stood off to the side, urgently conversing with someone over his encrypted communications gear.  

“So we have the beginnings of a pretty sizable army here.  What do we do first?”  The question was addressed to Shepard, seeing as he had the most experience with the geography of the Citadel.  

“We should probably just do a general push throughout the Citadel to take the entire thing back.  Make sure there aren’t any hidden pockets of resistance.  We also don’t know who precisely is attacking or why, so we want to make sure there aren’t any hidden plans we’re missing.”  Everyone nodded their acceptance to this.  Cooper turned and looked back at the groups of milling soldiers. 

“First we have to get this mess in order,” he said.  

“Oh boy,” muttered Quill sarcastically.  

“Okay.  How do we do this?” asked Sheaprd, looking at the mixed group.  

“Get whoever’s in charge of each group and send them here for a tactical briefing,” suggested Vir.  

“Sounds good to me,” replied Drake.  “Saul!  Garang!  Rilgaldis!  Over here.”  He waved over the commanders of his armsmen.  The three marched over, the large lizard-like Rilgaldis wearing a set of ornamented armor, Garang wearing a massive suit of heavy beige and grey power armor, increasing her height by at least four inches, and Saul wearing a suit of black combat armor with strange metal bracing throughout.  They nodded at the Scoundrels and rechecked their weapons as the group commanders were called over. 

Maverick of the Omen’s marines and Captain Detoi of the Valhallan 597th followed, Maverick wearing a typical urban camouflage patterned suit of combat armor and Detoi wearing an Aquilia emblazoned set of grey-blue flak armor.  

 A raven-haired woman, wearing an extremely tight, form-fitting black and white suit walked over to converse with Shepard; Vir recognized her voice as that of Miranda Lawson, Shepherd’s Executive Officer.  She was followed by Garrus Valkarion, lugging Drake’s gift of an Exitus Rifle.  Captain Viter gave him a weird look, then followed him over to the projector.  

Gamora appeared behind Quill, startling him.  Last to arrive were two figures wearing the white and black armor of the Imperial Stormtroopers and Death Troopers, respectively.  

“First off: who are you two?” asked Vir, gesturing to the two latest arrivals.  

“You can call me Commander Blaine,” responded the white armored Stormtrooper.  

“DT-997731.”  Emotionless.  Cold, dark, and blank.  As a Death Trooper should be.  Not making him any friends, though.  

“You can all introduce each other when you get in your groups.  For now, let’s just get this started,” cut in Drake.  

“Fine,” replied Shepard.  “Here’s the Citadel,” he said bluntly.  “Here’s where we are.”  A glowing dot appeared next to the Citadel Tower, located in the center of the massive station.  “We need to clear the entire station.”  He turned to the rest of the individuals huddled over the projector.  “Cooper, you’re fast moving recon.  You’ll be by yourself.”  Cooper nodded his consent.  

“That’s how I operate best.”  

“Good.  Now…” Shepard paused and looked around, calculating precisely what he would need.  “Vir and I will be taking a large strike force up the center area to the Promenade.  My ground team, Vir’s Marines, the Drev clan, and both sets of Imperials; Galactic Empire and Imperium of Man will be coming with us.  We get there, take out what is likely to be one of the largest groups of resistance, then split up as necessary.  Quill and Drake will be taking their own selected teams the other way.  Understood?”  A chorus of affirmations greeted his words.  “Good.”

“I’m picking my team,” interjected Drake.  “Second and Third squads of my armsmen are going with Shepard and Vir.  First squad with me.  Oliver, Mark, and Muelka with me.  Kraiker with them.”  Cooper and Vir glanced at each other as Drake got a sudden malicious gleam in his eyes.  He broke off from the group around the projector and went through the various huddled soldiers, and started to select specific individuals.  

“You and your team.”  Captain Federer, the 597th demolitions officer and his squad of engineers dutifully followed.  

“You.”  A short woman, covered in tattoos and wearing nothing except pants and two carefully placed straps over her chest stepped out from Shepherd's ground team.  Shepard gave an apprehensive glance to Drake, who was grinning maniacally at this point.

“You.”  An older man with battle-scarred armor from Shepard’s team.

“You and you.”  Ramirez and Maverick from Vir’s marines.  Vir had a very good idea what Drake was doing.

“Aaaannd… you.”  Rocket Raccoon from Quill’s team.  Drake turned back to the other Scoundrels at the projector.  “Okay!  I’m good to go.”

“I recommend staying outside a general kilometer radius from that particular team,” muttered Vir.  

“I thought you said you didn’t want to blow up the Citadel,” Shepard deadpanned.  Drake shrugged.  

“Times change.”  He wheeled around and gestured for his team to follow.  “Come my glorious minions!  Explosions, violence, and general tomfoolery are to be had by all!”  Quill shook his head as Drake’s team filed out.  

“He’s taking my guys so I’ll take his.  His Second squad and Captain Viter’s Turians are with me.  C’mon.  I have no plan, so we’re just winging it.  As per frickin’ usual.”  Viter shot Shepard and Vir a quick apprehensive look before being dragged away by Quill.  

Cooper gave a nod to the two remaining Scoundrels, before pulling on his helmet and jogging towards the area of attack.  

Shepard and Vir looked at each other again, somewhat lost.  

“Okay then,” muttered Vir.  “Blaine!  Detoi!  Get over here!  Let’s go!”  

Approximately Five Minutes Later

Shepard ducked and dodged as fire spilt upon his kinetic barriers.  He rolled, then tucked forward as a grenade went off behind him.  Two Valhallans were tossed in the air, screaming.  A combat medic slid up to them and started to tend their pulverised legs as bullets whizzed through the air.  

Kinetic barriers.  Very useful devices.  They had kept him alive through many a firefight, blocking shrapnel and shell alike.  He grimaced as a Death Trooper let loose with a fully-automatic barrage of blaster fire.  A Cerberus trooper across the massive open gardens area screamed as he died, his torso filled with burning holes.  Too bad kinetic barriers wouldn’t stop energy weapons.  

Not that he particularly minded in this instance, he thought as he unslung Drake’s gift of a plasma gun.  He let loose a stream of molten plasma bolts, melting away a group of traitor C-Sec agents along with their cover.  

He sprinted forward, then slid into a crater next to Vir and Detoi.  The wreck of an ATLAS mech stood nearby, the very thing that had caused the massive dent in the Citadel before being brought down by armored piercing missiles.  Shepard had originally thought the mechs to be exceptionally large and terrifying; one of the few two legged things that actually frightened him.  That was before he’d seen Cooper’s much bigger and heavily-armed Titan in combat.  Still, they were nevertheless powerful, and one of the reasons the assault on this massive hotel had bogged down in the gardens in front.  

Vir poked his head over the edge of the creator and fired his rifle indiscriminately at the machine gun positions located on the hotel’s second floor.  Detoi was busy chattering on a bulky radio set with an unknown party.  

  “Last time I was in a war this intense it was just a bunch of bugs,” grumbled Vir.  “They didn’t put up machine gun positions like this.”  The three occupants of the crater flinched as an ATLAS mech heavy cannon tore up the ground only meters from their position.  “Damn.  They didn’t have those, either.”  Detoi hung up his radio receiver.  

“We aren’t going to be able to push through this without armor or air support.  I talked to Cain and Cooper.  We’re getting Titan and Scion support.  They also talked to one of the diplomats, apparently, and-” the ground shook as the heavy mech took a rocket directly to the engine compartment and blew up with a six meter high fireball.  “-shit.  Anyway.  There are drop troopers coming in behind the hotel to cut off their retreat.  So we just huddle down here, and wait for the right moment.”  

Above the Citadel

The incessant drone of gunship engines whined in the background as the elite soldiers of the Tempestus Scions checked each others’ weapons and grav-chutes one last time.  They stood against the grey metal interior of the back of the craft, ready and waiting for the ramp to deploy.  Deep, midnight blue armor covered their bodies and faces.  Red helmet lenses glowed menacingly in dim interior lighting.  

“One minute!” came the pilot’s voice over the intercom.  One of the Scions, armor much more ornate than his fellows, stepped to the side.  

“This is a hot drop onto a centrifugal-force gravitational space station,” he shouted over the engines’ racket.  “Nothing’s going to go wrong, though, because you’re the best.  All hostiles are to be purged.  No non-hostile xenos are to be harmed.  Inquisitors’ orders.  Elimination protocols sanctioned.  The Emperor protects.”  He gave a nod to his squad.  

“The Emperor protects!” replied a gravelly chorus.  

“Fifteen seconds!” came the pilot’s voice once more.  The Scions shuffled forward in the dim lighting, looking at a single glowing red light on the near the end of the space.  The ramp at the end of the gunship lowered, allowing the group inside to see outside, onto the arms and artificial sky of the Citadel.  At the very edges of the view were the other Valkyrie gunships of the squadron, deploying the full contingent of the Watch Eternal’s Scions onto the Citadel.  

“Three!  Two!  One!”  The red light turned green.  The two closest to the ramp took two steps and launched themselves into space, followed by the rest of the squad, then their commander.  

It should be noted that grav-dropping into a hot LZ is against the laws of common sense and warfare.  It should also be noted that Tempestus Scions don’t care what filthy xenos or heretics think.  

Aboard the UNSC Fifth Winter

Clean black surfaces glimmered with the blue and white lighting common aboard UNSC starships.  Groups of soldiers, wearing green combat armor, chose, checked, and looked over weapons from a huge, hallway-spanning armory.  Some made jokes to each other, others complained over the fact that they were deploying in what was supposed to be a comfortable diplomat protection detail.  

Quiet footsteps sounded as the groups of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were called to their pods.  They strode over the black grated metal walkways to banks of sleek drop pods.  Clambering in, they pulled down metal restraints and strapped themselves in.  

Small screens on the sides of the pods lit up with the images of two blank helmeted ODST’s.  

“We are dropping in behind the hotel shown in the briefing.  We are to stop any hostile forces from escaping.  Make sure you don’t fire on any friendlies,” came the curt voice of the ODST commander.  

Heavy claws roasted the pods into position.  Through the front windows, the troopers inside could see down to the Citadel.  The black void of space mixed with the blue of the massive station’s artificial sky.  No problem.  This is what they all trained for.  It was in the name.  

“Ready for drop.  Three.  Two.  One.  Drop.”  The pods were fired from the carrier, and the ODST’s began their descent to the surface of the station.  

On the Citadel

“These guys are fucking insane!” exclaimed Shepard.  Throughout the battlefield, the firing did not abate, but Vir was sure people on both sides would be looking to the sky.  Shepard pointed at the Imperial gunships, spilling troopers out of them.  “They’re doing a sub-orbital drop onto a space station with centrifugally-generated gravity!” he continued.  Some part of Vir had to agree.  

However, the vast majority of the esteemed Admiral Adam Vir was almost squealing with delight.  He was leading Imperial Stormtroopers, for God’s sake.  From Star Wars.  A childhood dream come true.  Then there were the reinforcements.  He looked up again.  The meteor-like streaks of ODST drop pods and the contrails of Valkyrie gunships shone clearly against the sky.  He knew about the Halo video games.  Hell, there were copies of a lot of old Earth games in the Omen’s recreation room, Halo included.  So, while he was inclined to agree that this was fucking insane, it was also fucking awesome.    

“And those guys,” this was accompanied by a finger pointing to the drop pod streaks, “Are doing a full orbital drop.”  

“They know what they’re doing,” said Detoi, though he looked apprehensive.  

“They’re insane,” repeated Shepard.  “Too bad I’m not up there with them.”  Shepard grinned over to Vir.  “Oh, man!  Can you imagine that?  N7 Special Forces doing an orbital insertion like that?  You pilot, we drop?”  Vir grinned back.

“Sounds like we have something to do after this mess is over.”  He was cut from his thoughts by Detoi.

“I’m no expert, but they’re… cutting it kind of close, aren’t they?”  Sure enough, the Scions were still in arms-outstretched free fall much lower than they should be.

“Yeah, they are,” muttered Vir.  He couldn’t do anything about that other than just watch and hope the Scions truly did know what they were doing.  

The falling troopers started to approach the height of the tallest buildings on the Citadel, and, just as Vir was certain they had judged it too late, the Scions flipped from belly forward, arms-outstretched postures to feet first.  Blue jets appeared on their packs, and their descent abruptly slowed.  The ODST’s drop pods started to jink and thrust, avoiding ground fire and coming into a perfect trajectory to crash behind the back of the hotel.  

Ignoring the heavy weapons chattering over their heads, the Scions hit the ground hard.  They rolled forward, and immediately started a pattern of fire-and-advance.  Reddish orange lasers flew through the air, impacting against the architecture of the hotel.  Vir moved up in the crater, but Detoi held out a hand to stop him.  

“Wait one.  We have heavy armor support incoming.  Then we’ll crack this place open like an egg.”

Question: What is a grav-chute?  A grav-chute is basically like a jetpack, except instead of boosting someone up against gravity, it merely slows someone’s descent into safe levels. 

And, that’s that.  If you have any comments, criticisms, questions, requests, or concerns, feel free to contact me.  Enjoy your day.  

[the-last-ghost]

Part 8 as promised! I hope you all enjoy it! Be aware, it does jump from many different viewpoints so be sure to pay attention to who is speaking! Thank you all for the support and as always, feel free to let me know if you have any question, comments, or concerns!

Part 8

           Falling… Always falling… “Impact in 10…” The cold, bland, autonomous voice started to say over the comms net. I slowly reach up and check the seal of my rebreather, taking a deep breath as I do so. “…9…” I close my eyes and unconsciously check the safety of my rifle. “…8…” Exhale. Magazine check; all good. “…7…” I open my eyes and look around, only to see my squad preparing themselves. There’s a silence hanging in the air; the kind of silence you would only notice if you were actively looking for it. No one meets my gaze. “…6…” We all know why we’re here; what needs to be done. I slowly lower my eyes to the floor. “…5…” It never gets any easier… At least that’s what I told the new guys. The others know I’m lying of course; there comes a point where you just become… numb. “…4…” I just hope they’re ready. “…3…” They’ll learn to blot it all out soon enough though. “…2…” If they make it that long… “…1…” I hope they’ll forgive me someday… Then the world seems to scream and buck around us. Red hazard lights illuminate the inside of the pod; it’s almost as if we’re already in hell… No, that can’t be right… I’ve already been there before; this is nothing new. The world around us rips itself apart with an earsplitting bang and then…  

           Nothing. I’m not falling; not now at any rate. I’m in bed; my kit strewn about me. I was re-organizing it, right? That’s right… I’m with Kate, Jax, and the others… I’m not… there. “Nightmares again Rheys?” I hear Jax call out from the cot three down from mine. A few of the others are up but I must have woken him up. “Yeah… sorry mate. You know how it is…” My voice slowly trails off, eyes far away. Of course he knows; he was there too… all those years ago. He gets up and makes his way to my cot and sits down on the edge. He whispers, “It still gets to me too. Whenever we have a close call, I’m always reminded of it… No one here blames you for it… We’re all still a little jumpy. Hell, it hasn’t even been a full day since we came aboard.” He drifts off there for a moment, taking it in even as he said it. The past few months have been Hell tracking them down and when we finally caught them… “…rendezvous with them somewhere. I just know it’s close-by. Should only be few more hours.” Jax says, clearly unaware that I spaced out. He looks at me and frowns; worry lines crossing his scarred face.

“You didn’t catch any of that, did you?” I stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on… absolutely nothing. “Sorry Jax. I guess my mind is still a little muddled from the past few weeks. Sorry if I woke you.” I roll back over onto my side, hoping to get a little more rest but doubtful that I will.

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             Rheys turns away and I watch her for a moment; I know she doesn’t want to sleep but exhaustion pulls her under anyway. It doesn’t take long before she’s tossing and turning again, no doubt dreaming about it again… I look around the crew bay we’ve been assigned and see the rest of our squad going about their own preparations; all while pointedly not looking at Rheys… they all know. With a heavy sigh, I slowly get to my feet and make my way back to my cot, lost on my own memories…  

         “What do you mean lost??” I demand to Anders, our comms operator. “Sergeant, the drop teams started taking heavy flak once they breached the lower atmosphere but according to Control, only a handful have successfully opened on their targets… Obsidian isn’t one of them…” He goes on with a steady flow of traffic, trying to keep us appraised of the situation but I don’t hear anything of it… There’s no way they could be gone… Not like that… “…1 and 3 have confirmed to have opened but taking heavy fire and-" I cut him off, suddenly aware of what he just said. “Did you just say that two of the pods have opened?” Only two… “Yes Sergeant, 1 and 3 have reported opening but they are reporting heavy fire at their location.” Even as he says this, I’m already issuing orders. They’re not that far away and we’re the closest team already on the ground… We can get to them before they get wiped out but only if we hurry. “Inform Control that we are going to move in and assist as needed. We’ve already done our job here, might as well be useful where we’re needed.” As he relays that to Control, I get the team ready to move, thankfully it’s an easy task. I can tell they’re a bit worried though, we’re not a heavily armed team, mostly sent here to recon and direct drops and fire as needed but that’s all over now. We’ve been down here for days already and no one has noticed so we at least have surprise and stealth on our side. “Sergeant, we’ve been given the green light to move in, but they stressed that we only engage if absolutely necessary. They don’t want to spook the target.” Spook the target…? I thought that they were supposed to take the town…

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         The world is spinning all around me, nothing is able to come into focus, and is someone… screaming? What's going on…? “…gotta get out of h-” The sudden sound of gunfire fills my ears as whoever was speaking let's off a burst of fire. What the hell happened…? Why am I laying on the ground? “We got hit on the way down Sergeant. You're hurt pretty bad and Salia and I had to pull you out of the wreckage.” I look over and can finally start to make out who spoke. Then it hits me, have I been talking out loud this whole time…? “Yes, you have Sergeant. But that's a good thing in my book.” Evans, my platoon doc says without missing a beat. “Collins is currently working the situation on site but we're under heavy fire and need to get you and the other wounded out of here.” Before I can ask anything else, I hear the cries for a medic over the chaos all around me and I realize that the screaming still hasn't stopped. “Doc, go deal with the others; I'll be alright.” I say as I try and sit up, only to realize I can't seem to move. “With all due respect Sergeant, you need my help more right now. You were unconscious for a hot minute after the crash and you've got a pretty nasty head wound that I can't clean up with you struggling like that.” He says, as I continue trying to get up. Only then do I notice that only one eye seems to be open and the left side of my head feels unnaturally warm. “Hey Doc…?” I start to say, anxiety and fear starting to creep into my voice as I process what he just said. “This head wound… Why can't I feel it…?” How bad could it really be if I can't feel it…? “Well, it’s bad enough that I'm staying here to try and patch you up. You probably can't feel it because of shock and the heavy dose of morphine I just gave you. Plus, you know, you've always been hardheaded to begin with.” He says with a laugh, no doubt hoping I'll believe it isn't that bad. He only ever jokes like that when he's genuinely worried… “Gotcha… but would that explain why I can't sit up?” I venture, not really knowing if I want the answer. I sense him stop what he's doing and can almost hear him thinking of a plausible lie to keep me hopeful. “Don't worry Doc, it's war. I can take it…” I say, turning my head slightly so that I can see him a little with my good eye.

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           “Sergeant, we just got our report from Corporal Micha of the scouts.” I look up from the charts I have spread out before me as Anders approaches. “It looks like the situation is pretty grim down there, to say the least.” He continues as he hands me the data-slate with Micha’s notes. It would seem that the towns anti-air batteries were able to strike down the second drop-pod and the remaining two adjusted their trajectory to crash-land to provide cover and yet… “Cannon fire? Is this confirmed?” I ask, looking to Anders to confirm. “This town, it shouldn’t have anything in the way of heavy ordinance. Even the anti-air wasn’t there two days ago when we last scouted here. What could have happened to-” I cut off suddenly, recalling what Control mentioned earlier. “Wait, didn’t Control tell us not to ‘spook the target’ or something?’” I say, looking through my notes. “Yes Sergeant, they weren’t very specific, and it did sound odd. Wasn’t Obsidians’ mission to take the town and hold it?” Anders says aloud while starting to search through his own comm-logs. “Well… ‘Spooking the target’ sounds a lot like there’s an HVT somewhere down there… Which would certainly explain the increased firepower.” As I continue to review Corporal Micha’s notes, I can’t help but think about the situation overall. Most of our drop-pods from the initial wave were all struck by anti-air and survivors stuck facing heavy ground forces at what would appear to be random, minor locations… like here for example. What should have been easily classified as soft targets, were now, seemingly at random, heavily fortified locations. Aside from that, this was a tertiary objective… Why in all the Gods did they Obsidian here…? “…of operations but it appears to have been changed last minute.” Anders voice cut through my thoughts suddenly. I look back over to him and see he’s holding his data-slate to me. “What was that? Sorry Anders, my mind was elsewhere.” I say, reaching out to take the offered data-slate. “No worries Sergeant, I was just saying that it appears that their orders were changed at the last minute, as you can no doubt see.” It’s true, looking over Anders’ logs, they originally were tasked with taking and holding the town for what I thought was to use it as a base of operations for further missions but it seems they were given more information than we were… go figure… “So, heavy cannon fire capable of damaging Obsidian’s downed drop-pods, sustained and accurate automatic fire from portable but reinforced locations, well placed marksman fire, and not to mention the surprising number of dug-in infantry… Plus they somehow managed to keep Obsidian, which is already down a whole squad, pinned near their initial landing site.” I make my adjustments to the charts before me in order to match it up with Micha’s report. “Now… What should we do to rescue them?” I ask aloud to my command team. “Any ideas?”

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           “Sergeant Rheys is alive, go spread the word! Parí, get that gun working, now! Hal, once she does, the both of you get it mounted up there on that lip and target the West Wing, third section. That blasted sniper has already hit two of us and I want his head!” I hear Corporal Mara yelling out, the steady stream of his orders clear for all to hear above the crushing noise of death all around us. “Private Terin!” I look over at the sound of my name being called out. “I need you to get with Private Varsa and on my mark, make your way over to Pod-1. Help free Varsa from his harness and get yourselves ready to move!” I’m already grabbing my kit and making my way towards Varsa before he finishes speaking. “On it Corporal!” I yell over my shoulder. “Be aware Terin,” Mara says, while grabbing my arm as I run by, “They are pinned down worse than we are right now, and I know Rheys will need all the help she can get over there. Make me proud, boy.” He lets go of my arm and gets back to yelling orders to the squad.

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           “Corporal Micha, do you see this?” I hear Benavos whisper on the comm-link. “Yeah, it looks like Squad 3 is finally getting up. Little surprise there… Wait… Mara, you can’t seriously expect the two of them to make it across that…” I muse out loud. “Rhodes, do you have eyes on the East side of Pod-3?” I ask over comms to my squad sniper. “Yeah, Corporal, I see them. There’s no way that they can make that dash. That’s easily 300 plus meters of open ground and the sniper on the West tower is pretty damn good…” Shit… If Rhodes is impressed, they really are in trouble. “I will say this, Corporal, he is easily within my range; just say the word and I’ll drop him.” I swiftly turn that down. We are here to recon the situation, not to engage… not yet. “We just need to get eyes on Sergeant Rheys and then we can adjust from there. Does anybody see her?” My team all keeps searching but no one says they see her anywhere. “Corporal, this is Sanders,” I hear Rhodes’ spotter call in, “I can make out what looks like Doc Evans and others pulling people out and… shit…” He cuts off suddenly and I pan my scanner over to Pod-1. “Damn it! That’s Rheys! Toki, get back to Sergeant Amanto and tell him Rheys is hit. Tell him it looks bad. Run now!” I call out to one of my scouts and watch as he takes off running. Blast it all… now what do we do?

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           “Listen Amanda… You’ve been hit pretty bad and in a lot of places. I…” Doc looks away, clearly not wanting to continue. “What he won’t say is that we had to cut your right leg above the knee in order to get you out of that crash and you’re on quite a bit of pain meds at the moment.” Kate Sparrow, one of Doc Evans’ Corpsman interrupts. “Doc, I can handle her, you go back to the others out front. They really do need you more, sir.” With a heavy sigh, Evans gets up and looks at me sadly before saying, “I know you don’t need me to tell you, but without help, a lot more of us won’t make it out of here…” Then he turns around and makes his way back to the drop-pod. “Sparrow, sit-rep?” I ask sullenly. “Well Sergeant, I don’t know much other than we came down hard and wrong. Corporal Collins took charge when we found you pinned and unconscious, but we are pretty damn close to the towns wall and we’ve been taking heavy fire ever since. Now, let me get you cleaned up some more and don’t worry. We already cauterized the wound but listen to me, you are out of this fight. What you can do to he-” She is suddenly cut of by a whistling that cuts across the battlefield. “INCOMING!!!” I look over just in time to see Evans running back before the world is overwhelmed in a flash of light.

[castellankurze]

I would like to see something about the Salamanders as you envision them, rather than what they seem to have become. Something humanitarian, without shitting on the other Legions/Chapters.

The ebon ship cut through the clouds like a dagger, descending from the overcast sky and wheeling about over the broad, squat form of the fortress.  The great, solid ‘I’ of the Inquisition was stamped on the front-facing doors of the landing craft, the only source of color apart from red slashes on its wings.  A team of men in dull olive greatcoats stood on the landing pad as the blackstar set down, most of them nervously making last-minute adjustments to their uniforms.

The doors opened in a cloud of steam as the warm air within met the cold air of climate without, and from the cloud they emerged - a quintet of figures, each one larger than life and armored in gleaming black and silver plate.  The leader of the band was a monster of steel, archaic and awesome terminator armor putting it head and shoulders above even the rest, such that the military men present - none of whom were short - barely stood level with the figure’s navel.

Though they wore the black and silver of the Deathwatch, each member of the team had a different emblem upon one shoulder.  The leader bore the clenched golden gauntlet of the Iron Fists, whilst among the others could be found the white reptilian skull of the Salamanders, the wolfshead of the Space Wolves, the bleeding heart of the Lamenters, and the double-bladed axe of the Dark Hunters.  All but the Salamander bore at least one servo-limb attached to their armor, the Iron Fist and the Dark Hunter each boasting a pair of the signature techmarine weapons.

As they dismounted from the transport craft and approached, the waiting men stood to attention and saluted.  "Sergeant Razja, I presume,“ stated the man at the fore of the group.

“You are correct,” the terminator replied in a gruff, but unmistakably female voice, “situation report, general,” she replied.  

If the man bridled at being addressed so, he was wise enough not to show it.  "If you will follow me,“ he said instead, dispensing with pleasantries that were clearly neither demanded nor expected, and turned on his heel to lead the group into the bastion.

As they went, the Salamander subtly jabbed his elbow into that of the Space Wolf beside him, sending ripples through his drakescale cloak, and when his companion’s helm swung round, he nodded towards the figures patrolling the outer walls of the bastion, men and women dressed in flak and the same distinctive heavy coats of the Valhallan Ice Warriors, their breath smoking in the cold air.  Most of them kept their heads low, their collars turned up to hide their faces, and their feet shuffled as they went about their patrols.

———-

“The rok made landfall approximately three weeks ago, local,” General Sokolov explained.  "Nuclear bombardment saw most of the greenskins off proper, but a relative handful of them managed to survive, either because they had already scattered beyond the hot zone or having sheltered deep within the rok.  We estimate somewhere between seven and twelve thousand of the swine left.“  The man said swine in the distinctive Valhallan svinya, nearly spitting on the floor of the chamber with the vehemence of the pronunciation.

"In any case,” he resumed, “the stragglers managed to group up and form a warband, and we didn’t have any nukes left to throw at them.  They’re coming this way, and we expect them to arrive somewhere around midday tomorrow.”

“Seven and twelve is a very wide range, general,” said the Dark Hunter, whose name was Teruyori.

“We’ve been unable to get a good picture of them,” said Colonel Zima from his seat, with an apologetic nod towards the general for his temerity.  "They’re coming towards us in a disorganized mess, a mob really, and their passage throws up snow clouds which are obscuring a good look at their real number.  Sentinel recon have been doing what they can, but…“

"What is the defensive picture?” asked the Lamenter, a finely-made man named Levistas.

Sokolov’s tongue moved behind his cheek for a moment before he replied.  "I have three regiments here in the bastion,“ he said, and the words themselves seemed to throw a weight around the necks of the military men and women.  "The 71st and 245th Infantry, and the 109th Artillery.  Approximately four thousand souls, all told.”

“Worst case, just means everyone gets three orks to themselves,” growled Yrsa the Space Wolf, but despite her bluff humor the Iron Priest’s face was grim, her fingers laced atop her axe as she stared down at the maps laid upon the table, seemingly urging them to render up some previously-undisclosed secret.

“I will be frank with you, General,” Razja said.  The massive terminator had not taken any seat but had chosen to stand at the foot of the table rather than crush a proffered chair beneath her armored weight.  The scars on her russet-skinned face rendered her countenance as brutal as any ork’s.  "It was a stroke of good fortune that our ship intercepted the distress call from this world.  This kill-team is not purposed to fight a siege.  We have just enough time to inspect the bastion and the fighting-machines of your soldiers to ensure they are in readiness before the horde descends upon us tomorrow.“

General Sokolov thinned his lips, reading in Razja’s comment a veiled insult to his preparations, but he did not gainsay the Iron Fist.  "Any aid at all is a gift from the Emperor, and I will not gainsay such a gift as a team of Astartes,” he said, and heads bobbed in agreement.

“To work, then,” Razja said, and the Deathwatch team rose to depart.

“A final question of General Sokolov before we go,” said the Salamander, and turned a set of eyes that faintly glowed crimson behind innocuous hazel irises upon the man.  "What is the mood of the base?“

"Eager to give the damned svinya a good thrashing,” Sokolov replied immediately, and added only after a moment’s thought, perhaps compelled to speak more truthfully, “and ready to offer up their souls to the Emperor’s service.”

The Astartes departed, a clutch of demigods moving in a tightly-bound knot, and with them the Valhallans were left alone with their maps, watching hope go with them.

—————————-

The Deathwatch team threw themselves into the preparations with force.  The various techmarines found a thousand little tweaks to improve the overall condition of the Valhallan’s machinery, while the Ironfather used her immense strength and paired servo-arms to hasten the bracing of doors and readying of defenses, accomplishing in minutes tasks that would have taken a squad of mortal soldiers an hour apiece to see off.  The Salamander, meanwhile, consulted with various squad leaders and officers, judging the terrain beyond the bastion walls and comparing notes on ten thousand years of Imperial battle doctrine to tighten up fire-fields and kill-zones so that when the orks came they would be funneled into a series of death traps full of lasfire and plasma.

It was well after the bottom of the night that the Salamander came upon the Space Wolf as she finished attending to a humming chimera and slapped her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention.  "The city this fort was built to guard is less than an hour’s run on foot for a soldier,“ he murmured to her.

She turned her head to look him in the face, seeing a crafty smirk forming on his lips.  "And so?  What are you plotting, Benyamin,” she prompted.

“The soldiers mentioned that before free passes were canceled, they would go into town and get food from a slaughterhouse not far inside the outskirts.  Think we could sneak away before dawn?”  He raised his brows.

Yrsa stared at him for a moment before grinning broadly enough to show her fangs.

————————–

It was just before sunrise that Razja tromped into the hall set aside for the Astartes to find a very unexpected sight.  She’d ordered the team to change into the duty clothing they’d kept in the blackstar and run a final check on their wargear before the orks reached them, and had expected the lot of them to be present completing maintenance tasks.  Instead she found Levistas looking over his conversion beamer while Teruyori had his hands buried in the housing of his grav-cannon, while the armor belonging to Yrsa and Benyamin lay silent and dark.

“Where are they?” she asked, her mismatched eyes with the left one glowing gold immediately swinging towards Teruyori with the ominous threat of a hydra cannon.

The Dark Hunter seemed a little too fixated on his gun to meet her gaze.  "I do not know where they are, nor did I see them leave,“ he said with the kind of overly-precise diction that meant he was telling a flagrant lie by virtue of extreme truthfulness.

"Levistas,” she prompted.  She did not make it a question.

The Lamenter, at least, had the grace - or foolishness - to look up into her face.  "They ran their last-minute check, as ordered, Sister-Sergeant,“ he said.

"A very quick one,” Razja grunted, irked, noting that Benyamin had left his drakescale cloak behind.  "Were they intending to be back by now?“

"I can’t say,” Levistas replied, looking back to his c-beamer.  Razja nearly flung the nearest wrench at him, but instead grimaced and stomped off to find out where her errant marines had gone off to.

It wasn’t hard, truth be told.  She followed the sound of raised voices and found an unusual gathering of the soldiery in one of the open courts.  Their seemed to be some manner of party going on, and Razja shook her head.  She had crossed the breadth of the Imperium more than once, and seen more than one culture with traditions of grand celebrations before battle, but the Valhallans had always struck her as a wiser sort.  She smelled alcohol and the stench of meat, both burnt and bloody on the air and shouldered her way through men and women hastily devouring a last meal before battle - not a difficult task, even without her armor.

Sure enough, she found Benyamin, the Salamander stripped to the waist to bare his skin, so dark brown it seemed nearly true black, as he stood before an open, roaring flame, roasting what looked like a pair of entire grox and cutting haunches from one as it turned on a makeshift spit.  The many golden rings that pierced his ears glittered in the firelight and sweat glistened in a manner that highlighted his myriad honor scars.  He was nearly two hundred but had a handsome face that could pass for a man merely thirty, damn the man, Razja thought with a twitch of unreasonable jealously.

“Benyamin,” she growled as she drew near.

He had the grace to look sheepish as he caught sight of her, but it didn’t stop him cutting another steak from the roasting grox and passing it off to the regimental cooks aiding him in the task.  "Steak, Ironfather?“ he asked, and if she could have killed him with a look she would strongly have considered the option.

"With me,” she said, and he followed her dutifully around the nearest corner before she rounded on him.  "Explain.“

He seemed momentarily at a loss, but then shrugged his shoulders.  "Sister-Sergeant, these people are outnumbered almost as much as three to one, and they know it.  They hate the orks, they’ll fight them to their last breath, but they all know that they’re going to die doing it.”

“And so you indulge them?” she said, her frown unmoving.

He blinked his eyes slowly, lifting a hand to run it over his tightly-braided rows of hair.  "Sister-Sergeant,“ he asked in a softer tone.  "Do you remember the trials to become a space marine?”

“Like it was yesterday,” she said, brow furrowing as she struggled to see his point.  

“Every chapter has its own way of doing things, but no matter the details, every one of us was pushed to the brink of endurance, threatened with death if we failed at the wrong moment.  These soldiers are facing the same kind of trial right now, but without even the promise of being raised up as a space marine, just death or survival.  They need a reminder of what good things they’re fighting for.  Ironfather,” he continued before she could speak, “we’ve been over this bastion with a fine-tooth comb.  We’ve looked at every pipe, every shell, every nut and bolt.  There’s nothing left to attend to on the mechanical side.  We can’t forget to run maintenance on the people as well.”

Razja could see his point, but still kept her frown.  "So you snuck out in violation of my orders like a juvenile delinquent.“

"I had run maintenance as instructed and you never explicitly ordered us confined to the bastion-” he started to protest, but stopped when she waived a bronze-plated finger in his face.

“Don’t you dare technically at me, Benyamin,” she growled.  "I am in command of this squad, and I will have my orders obeyed in letter and spirit.“

He briefly lowered his gaze in a nod of acquiescence.  But when his face came back up there was still a hint of emotion - defiance?  Concern?  Razja had become an Ironfather chiefly in thanks to her unique combination of technical and tactical acumen, but she doubted any Iron Fist had even had to deal with such loose cannons as Benyamin or Yrsa.  Where was Yrsa anyway?  "Do you trust me, Ironfather Razja?” Benyamin asked quietly.

She didn’t have to think about it.  "With my life.“

"I beg you trust me in this,” he said.

She grunted.  "Very well, Benyamin, I will…indulge you in this.  But those grox had better not be stolen,“ she added sharply.

”Granted, granted,“ he hastened to placate her, "granted most enthusiastically by the owner of a local slaughterhouse at the behest of one of the Emperor’s Angels.”  His grin was infectious, and Razja had to roll her eye to break his gaze.

They returned to the ongoing fest just as the mysteriously-absent Space Wolf finally returned, lugging the skinned carcass of another grox over her broad shoulders.  Like Benyamin she had stripped to the waist, and her scarred torso was streaked with blood, wild hair adding to a savage mien broken only by the implant plugs of a space marine.  She glared defiance in Razja’s direction for a moment before throwing the bloodied carcass on one of the nearby tables where the cooks waited to cut it up and toss it on the open flame.  "That leaves two,“ she said to Ben, prompting a round of cheers from the Valhallan men and women.

"Alright.  I’ll get the next one,” he said, only to pause as a bronze-plated hand landed on his shoulder.

“We will get the last two,” Razja said, lifting her remaining flesh-and-blood arm to clench the remaining hand with which she’d been born, and another cheer followed.  She shed the jacket of her duty uniform - though she didn’t prefer to strip down quite as far as her teammates, it still bared the heavy musculature of her arm and shoulders as broad as Benyamin’s own - and she and the Salamander began a run into the city to retrieve the final pair of promised grox.

————————

The sun hung high overhead, glinting sharply off the freshly-fallen snow as the clamor of the orks reached the bastion.  The sentinel squadrons had done their job magnificently, drawing the greenskin horde right towards the stronghold and the prepared defenders.

Levistas and Taruyori stood on the walls, their long-range weapons ready to deal with the heaviest targets that presented themselves, whilst below, Benyamin racked his combi-bolter and touched the handle of his power sword and Yrsa swung her axe to loosen her muscles.  Razja pressed a thumb to the rune of her mace, letting the blunted head flicker with lightning as she undid the safety on her stormbolter.

“Deathwatch…men and women of Valhalla,” she said on an open vox channel, hefting her mace as the din of the oncoming orks grew louder.

“With soul and steel!”

The garrison roared.

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 9 - Hunting From The Skies

Hey everyone! Before we get into this chapter I just want to say that I'm going back to college so updates might be less frequent. However, I do have a bunch of chapters pre-written so I can probably just post those. Anyway, let's get going with the story.

000000000000

The North Korean offensive had been turned around completely, and now it was a US offensive moving further and further north into the country. Heroes was providing cover for ground forces during a crucial push through a heavily defended area. The helicopters they were using could be completely operated by one person, but they were capable of holding 2, and the second person would serve as a gunner.

There were 3 helicopters, designated Hero 1, Hero 2, and Hero 3 for this mission.

Alex and Toothdee were in Hero 1, Jack and Skye were piloting Hero 2, and Laval and Eris were flying Hero 3.

A column of tanks surrounded by infantry moved up a road in the forest below, while the 3 helicopters flew overhead.

“Seeker drones have spotted enemy artillery emplacements and an ambush ready to spring,” Toothdee said, as red symbols appeared on the HUDs of the choppers.

“Roger, Hero 2, take the eastern artillery emplacement. Hero 3, you handle the ambush. Toothdee and I will take down the other artillery emplacement.”

The formation of choppers separated, and within a minute the sounds of explosions and gunfire filled the air as the helicopters attacked their targets.

Hero 3 used missiles to destroy 2 tanks, while mopping up infantry with its machine gun. Korean troopers tried shooting at the aircraft with their rifles, but its armor shrugged off the damage.

Hero 1 & 2 had targeted their artillery sites with rockets and fired, blowing up many of the cannons about to bombard the tank column. Machine gun fire also worked great and damaging boxes of shells, causing them to explode and cause more destruction.

“Great shooting Jack!” Skye said, her voice being heard throughout the open radio.

“Thank you, sweetie!”

Eris heard this and subsequently completed Laval, who thanked his mate accordingly.

Toothdee notified the column of tanks about the destroyed ambush, and the heavy armor pressed forward.

“Hostile vehicles spotted on a nearby roadway!”

“I see them,” Skye said, flying her helicopter over to the roadway, allowing Jack to engage the convoy.

“SHIT!” Hero 2 quickly moved away as explosions appeared all around it “enemy flak cannon.”

“It can’t hit all of us at once,” Alex said, as Hero 1 & 3 moved in, their superior firepower and numbers destroying the flak truck and its entourage.

“How bad is the damage to your helicopter?” Eris asked

“Just a scratch.” Skye said, “we can still fight.”

“Glad to hear,” Toothdee said, “drones have spotted a nest of flak guns, but it’s too heavily defended for us to engage.”

She directed the Tank column to make a detour and take out the flak site so the heroes could keep providing cover.

In the meantime, the wing of helicopters lit up a North Korean bunker nearby. They bombarded the concrete structures with volleys of missiles, no doubt collapsing underground parts of the structure, as was their intention.

“Skye, Jack, you guys make an excellent pilot and gunner.” Alex complimented.

“Thanks!” Skye said, “Jack can also fly, but he chose to be the helicopter gunner for this mission.”

“It’s nice to have more pilots on the team.”

“What’s our next target?”

“Well, our allies are taking out that flak site, so-“

“Hostile jets!” Toothdee said, prompting the helicopters to spin towards the approaching aircraft.

“How many?” Laval asked

“3, one for each of us.”

Toothdee fired her machine guns at a jet that was aiming directly at her, and the aircraft began to smoke as it circled the helicopter. Alex locked on with a missile and fired, the munition streaking behind the aircraft before hitting it, sending the plane crashing to the ground.

One of the other jets had been shot in the cockpit, causing it to crash, and in turn, making the 3rd jet withdraw.

“That was.... easy,” Laval said, clearly expecting a harder fight.

“The North Korean Air Force is in a sorry state” Toothdee explained, “a lot of their jets don’t even have enough fuel, and they’re using Soviet-era aircraft.”

“Hey Laval, you want to fly to Japan and get some sushi after this?” Eris asked, thinking about something they could do after this mission.

“Sure, let’s take your interceptor.”

“Hey, can you pick me up some sushi rice please?” Alex requested.  

Toothdee listened into her radio for a few seconds before speaking. “Flak guns disabled, we can move on the main objective.”

All US forces in the area began to advance on a small town that would serve as a staging area for the next leg of the offensive. The town was heavily defended with multiple flak guns and cannons, as well as many North Korean troops. But the team would make sure that the town was in US hands soon enough.

Strafing the town, the team concentrated fire on flak cannons first, destroying many before the remaining cannons opened fire.

The 3 helicopters moved erratically and unpredictability, making them hard to hit, while they continued whittling down the anti-aircraft guns in the town as the ground forces made their assault.

Alex used missiles to destroy a military helicopter lifting off, and it crashed to the ground in a nearby field. Hero 1 then focused its fire on a statue of a prominent North Korean figure, sending the stone structure toppling over.

“Careful Alex!” Toothdee said, noting the large numbers of explosions he was creating throughout the town. “There could be civilians in those buildings!”

“I’m being careful.”

A group of North Korean troopers armed with rocket launchers raced to one of the town’s walls and fired heat-seeking missiles at Hero 3.

Eris let loose some flares to shake off the missiles, while Hero 1 destroyed the troopers with the rocket launchers. Hero 2 used its machine gun to mop up some infantry, while the other 2 helicopters fired volleys of missiles at a building that had been identified as the local garrison.

“That should be it,” Skye said, “the ground units can handle anyone left inside.”

The helicopters began to circle, waiting for the all clear so they could land. Unfortunately, the third North Korean jet had returned, dive bombing Hero 1 and damaging the helicopter’s rotor. Hero 1 began to spin out of control, and its occupants held on tight while the other 2 choppers shot down the North Korean jet.

Hero 1 crashed into the ground and rolled over before coming to a stop and catching on fire. Alex tried to activate the canopy’s emergency release, but the canopy wouldn’t fly off. Luckily it had been badly damaged in the crash, and Alex and Toothdee were able to shoot the glass out with their sidearms. The pair claimed out of the wreckage and moved away in case what was left of the helicopter exploded.

A group of North Korean soldiers fleeing the town engaged the downed pilots. Fortunately Hero 2 & Hero 3 took them down with machine guns and rockets.

“You 2 ok?” Laval said through the radio.

“We’re fine.” Alex said, checking himself for any cuts or wounds “we’ll make our way to the town, it should be clear any minute now.”

000

A few hours later, and the town was now being transformed into a staging area for a push further into the country. Helicopters and aircraft brought in supplies. While soldiers stood guard and unloaded the incoming crates. Other members of Heroes had arrived, in preparation for the next assault.

Standing on one of the town’s walls, Alex thought about the current state of the Korean campaign. US forces were pushing the country’s capital, but the North Korean high command had been moved deeper into the country. The pursuit of North Koreans leaders forced Heroes to spearhead the assault deeper and deeper into the country, killing soldiers and capturing towns along the way, as they had just done. Capturing the country’s capital would be a major victory, but the team would focus on finding the military leaders and crippling the North Korean War effort.

Tomorrow, they would make an assault on another target on their way to the base that was suspected to contain North Korean high command.

Looking up, Alex spotted the next target in the distance, a prison camp, situated on the side of a mountain.

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This helicopter focused chapter was a prime example of how I try & spice up chapters by adding something interesting & different that catches people's eyes.  So I hope everyone liked it and will enjoy what's coming next!

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

The Siege of Terra

The Imperial Cruiser Angelus had rotten luck, it had to be said.

Exiting warpspace after a semi-blind jump into the system, the Angelus emerged amid a traitor crusade battlegroup of multiple battlecruisers. After a minutes delay, the Angelus’ void shields began to be battered by multiple close-in broadsides. Though it tried to answer, the ship was completely outmatched and outgunned. Though those aboard it had little-time to take it in, the Sol system was a complete mess. Imperial defense had already fallen back to Terra herself, already legions of steel were dueling on Mars. Already a dozen other rocks and planetoids had been invaded. Now, Terra stood, a gleaming golden pearl bleeding red, as vast swathes of the ecumenopolis burned from planet-wide fires that consumed entire hab blocks. Dead dreadnoughts careened into the planets surface, smashing layers of cities down into silent dead rubble. And all along it, along with the glimmers of cities, small lines drawn haphazardly in all directions denoted Imperial forces fighting the traitor legions bitterly for every square inch.

Harlock marveled, even as rounds impacted the voids in front of him. He saw hundreds, thousands maybe, of smaller ships as they dueled in strike craft knife fights in the silence of the void.

When he came to his senses, he saw the characteristic signs of a failing void shield, and turned to his survivors. There was the handful of Centauri riflemen, most of them bandaged and on painkillers, and Melissa, who was having a significant emotional moment as she watched the human race tear itself asunder before her very eyes.

“Listen everyone. In a minute the captain will call for the ship to be abandoned. We will land on Terra. We may be separated. If I don't get to meet any of you again, I want you to know, that it has been my god emperor damned privilege to serve with each one of you. No matter what happens.”

The survivors nodded. Sergeant York spoke up. “Served with you for about a year sir. No finer officer in the star rifles there was, before or since.”

Private Sam bit her lips. “Feth. It’s going down like this. A-alright sir. Thanks. You pulled me out of a burning wreck on Tarentum IX, i still got the scars. Lets pull the Imperium out of hell, yeah?”

Corporal Hayes grunted. “With respect? I always thought you were a son of a bitch that was trying to get us all killed with all the crazy shit we had to put up with. But some of us survived this long. Damned if that isn't providence. Hail the god emperor. May he welcome us all at his side as the heroes who died to save Him.” Hayes produced a small golden bauble, like Harlock’s, and Harlock fished his own out, nodding at the man.

Melissa, in catatonic shock, tore her eyes from a massive imperial superheavy carrier slowly shatter and die as her bow was lanced by a formation of traitor ships.

“There is no god in this universe. No benevolent ones. Not if THIS is what the innocent deserve!” she was shouting, and she wouldn't soon stop. Anyone could see that.

Harlock walked up, calm, and planted a kiss on her lips. “This will be the last time, Klicke. Who said anyone was innocent, here?” and then let her go.

[Musical cue: this track]

“Soldiers of the 2nd Centauri Star Rifles, this regiment has lived for-”

A massive explosion just rocked the ship. The shields were out. Klaxons blared.

“...has lived for over eight centuries. From its first founding, I have fought under its banner, bore witness to its great heights, during the Ullanor wars, on Feros, upon Hesperax, fighting under a dozen legions, regarded and recognized by primarchs and generals. Under this banner have a thousand villains and a million heroes served. It is with my deep resignation, I formally retire the 2nd Centauri Star Rifles. Soldiers of the emperor, present arms!”

The remnants of the regiment saluted and presented arms perfectly in the corridors of the Angelus.

“You are all for a final time DIS-MISSED. You are free citizens of the Imperium. Seek Army logisticians and financiers should you survive the coming trials for your mustering pay and backpay. You are hereby retired. God bless you all, and good luck.”

There was a moment to let that sink in, as the ship rocked and groaned and armsmen and crew dashed about the sad band of veterans.

“Get to the evacuation boats and drop pods men. You too, Adept. If we somehow survive this,the rally point is the Pistoliers Saloon in Port Vangelis, August 3rd, for war stories and drinking contests.”

With sad grins, and a hug or two, the soldiers split up. Some teamed up, hoping in numbers they would survive. Harlock looked at Klicke.

“The adepts have a good chance of having a superior escape route, and may be able to land you in safe imperial territory. Go to them. I’ll find my own way. I always do.” Harlock said, grimly. He was quite certain this was the day he would die.

Yet, he saw no reason to die aboard some random starship. He joined the throngs of soldiers who clamored for the drop pods, launching them immediately. Eventually, he came upon a man in a wide brimmed hat, a captain of armsmen, who commanded a group of terrifying youngsters guarding drop pods. “Officers and men of rank first! The rest of you degenerates second! Wait your turn and be processed, or I’ll process you!”

A man broke from the group and ran for an open pod door.

Zzot.

He lay motionless on the ground, his head smouldering.

“anyone else want to question ship policy?! You!” He pointed at Harlock.

“Thats an officers uniform alright. You’re in Pod 3C. Get moving, your going to be stuck with some commoners though. Can’t be helped.”

Harlock nodded, and walked on, getting in 3C and clicking himself in. He silently thanked that he hadnt ate anything that day; there would be no need to fear throwing up.

The soldiers in the pod were scared out of their minds. One young girl, an armsman, wept as silently as she could. Another, an army trooper, looked like he was going to bounce out of his seat. “Oh come on, let me get some! LET ME GET SOME! HORUS! COME ON!”

Others were in prayer. At least one was, somehow, impossibly, soundly asleep, his vest adorned with a half dozen melta charge cells and a meltagun secured at his side.

Harlock said nothing, and nothing was said to him. In a few moments after securing himself, the pod was launched, and Harlock got a look at just how bad the Angelus had taken it. In another minute or two, it would begin to snap and break apart; a sure sign of complete loss of all hands remaining. Harlock hoped his friends made it out.

Other pods were certainly not lucky. Chaos fighters shot them out of their descent with glee, while one actually impacted an unawareimperial thunderbolt, sending both tumbling on fire, badly smashed into pieces. Harlock’s own had a rocky ride, being struck by hundreds of chunks of space debris from the orbital battle as he approached the burning, glowing city-world of terra.

Harlock closed his eyes as he felt his pod become rocked by traitor flak guns which begged his pod come apart at the seams. It would be a bad landing. It wasnt the best possible transport for the job either. But it would happen all the same.

With a mighty thud. Harlock’s pod smashed into the smouldered, melted remains of a triad of hive spires, flattened and pancaked into a kind of artificial smolten plateau, along with hundreds of other such spires. The landscape was awash with agony, as the occasional skeleton fragment poked out of the ash of the spires occupants and the twisted corrugated metal of towers that once accurately illustrated mankinds unbound ambition, now collapsed to absolute ruin. In the distance, perhaps a few kilometers away, the Imperial palace stood, golden and beautiful, as dark forces and entire titan legions descended upon it. To recount what one could see, even this far away, is the recount the stories of literal angels and demons. Titans fought there, not mere men.

[Musical Cue: this track]

Harlock’s pod opened. The trooper who prayed was given what she had likely asked for, a swift death, as a support beam of the now badly mangled drop pod was planted into her skull, likely killing her mercifully quick. Another soldier was crying as he tried to extract his leg from depressed metal. Harlock knew in an instant his leg would not come without the pod being dismantled. He was as dead as the devotee, he merely did not know it yet.

The one next to him that had shouted lived, however, and had unbuckled himself, kicked the pod door open, grabbed his gear and began sprinting off like mad in the direction of the palace. The sleeper had awoken, presumably when the head restraint on his seat gave way and broke his neck from the whiplash of landing. Now he and his meltagun rested un-used. Harlock picked it up, remembering his dead friend, Tech Sergeant Dienes, and collected as much ammo as he could from the man, before stepping into the burning sunset of the fall of mankind. There were other imperials about too, either from pods, or who were here before, who knew. And the astartes were here. Not the friendly kind, of course. Never them.

Harlock watched an Iron Warriors terminator, strangely alone and separate from his kin (a failed teleportation, perhaps) fire his assault cannon across the plateau, killing at least five imperials that Harlock could see, and immediately dived for cover; a natural bend in the cooled melted slag of the spires. It would take quite a bit of fire from his meltagun to do it, but he was confident this terminator could be killed.

With the courage of a man who knew he was destined to die, the Major dashed forward, meltagun in hand, charges wrapped around his chest like a bandolier. Diving to the side while it strafed opposite Harlock, he fired his first shot in the terminator’s exposed leg joint, near the knee where the armor segmented the most. It was a cheap shot, as the terminator did not see Harlock approach, but effective. It was not clear if the terminator immediately lost use of his leg, or if he melted the servos, but the iron warrior was rooted in place, forced to drag the titanic dead weight of his leg as he turned, assault cannon spinning to attack his assailant. Harlock evaded a swing from his other hand- a powered fist capable of killing him in a single hit, and fired another charge of the meltagun at the terminator.

Another man, bulky, with no sleeves and a red bandana across his forehead, charged with a guttural scream, his flak jacket swinging with his dog tags in the wind, a meltabomb in hand, up to the terminator. Harlock and the terminator ceased their duel, and the major immediately dashed back, diving behind some slag. He heard the assault cannon spit out hot lead, a groan, and a click.

Immense heat washed over Harlock’s body, making him groan. He ached. His soul was broken into pieces. He now simply did as he was meant to. Kill. For the emperor.

With a grunt, Harlock pushed himself up again, supporting himself on the rubble to see what had happened. The terminator was a mess of steamy red ooze and gore as his armor had exploded into pieces. Harlock couldn't find the imperial who did it, until he noticed a lone leg, its owner long gone, hanging off a piece of rockrete.

In the distance, a chainblade whirred, and a warrior of the World Eaters legion stepped forth.

“I know you. You were on Ferros. Come, duel with me, without that weapon. You who would dare kill a brother of mine in close combat.”

Harlock remained silent, and knelt, shielding his body from the marine. After a moment, it charged, firing its bolt-pistol towards Harlock as he whirred up the meltagun. The marine dashed overhead. Harlock pointed the weapon up, and fired... hitting nothing. The world eater had dodged it, and now smacked the weapon out of Harlock’s hands with his boltpistol.

“Khorne will be pleased this day, one way or the other.” the marine growled, assaulting with the fury that would be expected of a berserker warrior.

Harlock dodged and parried, his blade intercepting assault after assault, being forced to dodge point blank hits from a bolt pistol. The marine laughed, seeing Harlock so desperate.

And then in a flash it was decided. A carefully considered shot at the marines melee hand from his plasma pistol sidearm, a parry of the bolt pistol, and a final shot to the head.

Harlock took a side step as the smouldering, twitching body of the world eater died before him, and with a limp from a minor sprain in his legs from the dodging, he picked up his meltagun.

It had been weeks since his last juvenat injection. He had never felt so old and alone. With his melta, he leaned against some of the rubble-slag, and sighed in exhaustion. He had been tired of fighting for so many years. He didn't care anymore. There was nothing left to fight for.

He wandered his plateau, creeping from cover to cover as more marines, seemingly at random, arrived. He ambushed another iron warrior kill team, killing one marine with a good melta shot to the head, a sturdy krak grenade for the next, and a final duel resolved only by stabbing his knife, given to him by an old friend in the auxillia, through the reinforced body glove covering the marines neck.

For hours, he fought. Sometimes, he would find a random imperial army trooper, assist them for a time, until eventually they died. Harlock remained there, waging his own private war as if on a chessboard, ignorant of the greater struggle. Unaware that at that moment his god emperor was aboard horus’ flagship, or that there had been a godlike defense of the palace gate, or of the heroism of the imperial fists... none of it was clear to him, as he watched the wrecks of ships smash apart spires, as deathstrike missiles detonated atomics in the distance, as millions upon millions of warriors fought below and above, here, in this strategically insignificant spot harlock deemed his final stand, Harlock fought quietly. Desperately. Like the killing machine that 800 years only of war reduced him to. A broken spirit. A broken man.

Eventually, days and days later, Imperial recon teams sweeping areas of the planet for survivors and enemies, found Harlock sat upright, in the middle of the plateau, surrounded by the dead. The old, ancient haggard man appeared to be dead, surprising the team upon his eventual glance towards the Imperial Army troopers. Had it not been in the wake of the Horus Heresy, had it not been for the wounding of the emperor and the bloody aftermath of the traitors demise upon Terra, Harlock would have been given a medal for the things the imperials saw on that plateau of corrugated metal and ruin.

But alas, it is the fate of the infantryman to be unsung, and often unmourned.With the aid of anotherman, Harlock limped to a rhino, and spent the next three months in medical care, recovering in a mass hospital that had been converted out of a shopping district.

The Siege of Terra was over. The Horus Heresy, in its most dramatic act, was over. But the galaxy fought on in bloody wars anyway.

Colonel Harlock was given command of the 93rd Centauri Star Rifles eventually. He never knew what became of the original survivors. He never truly wanted to know. All that was certain was that on August 3rd, in Pistoliers Saloon in Port Vangelis, one of the few cities not to be completely obliterated by Imperial forces in the reconquest of Centauri Prime, Harlock sat alone, consumed by thought, and deep pain. He spoke to no one, and after the day concluded, threw on his colonel’s cloak, and prepared to depart for the planet Hesperax with his new regiment. There was a chaos insurrection to put down, and the 93rd would do it- or be put to death.

[Music Cue: this track]

///

Imperial Historical Footnote: Almost no record of the 2nd Centauri Star Rifles exists today in the modern Imperium at large. Its deeds, and sacrifices, are preserved only in a small monument erected on the world of Titan-Secundus, which reads as follows:

“The Soldiers of the 2nd Centauri Star Rifles fought and bled here. We shed our lives for the Imperium and her emperor, so all men may live free, and that precious few need to sacrifice as we have done in the future. Mourn not our fallen, Remember not our deeds. Know only this, reader: great men have gone before you to sacrifice for this, our Imperium. Do not let our sacrifices be in vain.”

The monument now rests in front of the Titan-Secundus Schola Progenium in its courtyard.

///

[nooneimportant6886-blog]

Interview part 3

"The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other man die for his." - Patton

   "So where was the Missouri in this formation?" Asked Zorkenda.

   "Due us never expecting to be in combat and having the most experienced captain, we were stationed in the back and middle of the formation. We had the best communication range of the defense ships as well as the most advanced tracking equipment. We were meant to be the command ship."

   "So what happened when the Orgass came into view?"

   "Well we had all heard about the Orgassian ships. They were massive blocky ships with massive engines taking up the entire aft section of the ship. Crude drawings of what I interpreted to be death and destruction marred the hull both fore and aft. Captain Phillipps immediately called out across the comms. 'Battle stations all hands on deck and prepare for battle!' The crew broke from their trance and each ran to there station. I took my place in the forward heavy plasma turret on the deck. Hobbes tool his place on the other side. He quickly called over the targeting comm, 'Micheal.... are you there?' I called back with more confidence than I felt, 'loud and clear big man. You ready for war?' He responded quietly, 'are we ever truly ready?' He then proceeded to pray as he shutoff the comm. As more and more ships came into the system the captain sent a warning message to home. It was simple and to the point. 'The Orgass are here, we will hold as much as we can. Prepare for defence.'"

   "Did he not believe in your ability to protect Earth?" Interrupted Zorkenda.

   Micheal stared at him for a minute before responding. "Given what we had I think he was covering his bases. Very few of the men in this defense fleet had ever seen combat and those that had were on their way to retirement. But even if he did it was his job to tell home to prepare just in case." Zorkenda made a note and looked up waiting for him to continue.

   "Along with the message home he also sent a message to the nearest fleet telling them of the situation as well as his plan. They responded saying they were on there way and to hold out as long as possible. While all of this was going on more and more of this Orgassian fleet came into sensor range. It was larger than any of the fleets our scouts had seen deep in Orgassian space. The combined mass of the fleet generated it's own gravity distortion. As cause started reigning among the intership communication. Each had their own tactic and were trying to command the others to do as the said. It wasn't until Captain Phillipps sounded off that everyone went silent. Many had panicked in the heat of the moment and once someone spoke with authority the fell in line. Immediately he started giving commands, 'Fighters forward harass those battlecruiser! Cruisers back them up and give them anti-fighter support fire! Carriers fall back and launch all fighter bombers! Battleships, give them all we got! Full broadsides! Today we show them what we are!' Each ship gave responded with a 'YES SIR!' And into the breach we went. It felt like the world exploded around me as the defense fleet opened fire. I got caught up in the vigor of the fleet and started shooting even though I knew I was to far away to do any damage as of yet. The first Orgass to receive the full brunt of humanities defense rocked backwards and started pulling off to the sides to return fire. Their assault craft met our fighters in a blaze of plasma and cannon fire. Even from the back of the fleet we were able to see the dogfights. The cruisers had modified plasma cannons, some sere built for rapid fire while other launched modified flak bombs into the fray. Blue and green and orange explosions lit space like fireworks and as we listened to the comms we knew we were giving as good as we got. The railguns kept up a continuous fire over my right shoulder, the rounds broke the sound barrier instantaneously and rocketed into the Orgassians. Still they kept coming and once they reached their optimal range the returned fire. Their photon cannons roared to life and there cruisers took the brunt of the first battery. The comms roared to life as the cruisers started reporting damage. 'Fleet take evasive action! Cruisers with heavy damage fall back! Battleships focus fire in those guns!' Captain Phillipps barked as we started to turn and present all possible railguns towards the enemy. The deck rumbled and vibrated as the turrets swung around and continued to fire. The cruisers that needed to fell back while the rest continued firing. When the second battery of photon cannons fire hit our fleet it cut deep. Our cruisers started dropping like flies. The fire reached our battleships and they visible moved from the impact. 'Cruisers fall back and regroup at the secondary firing point, battleships forward into the fray!' We will hold here and cover the cruisers retreat!' I watched as the majority our cruisers pulled back burning from holes in the hills where the shields has failed. I felt the ship shudder as a photon blast grazed our shields. 'Gunners! Open fire on those incoming fighters! Protect the Cruisers!' My targeting computer let up like a Christmas tree as I opened fire. Targets filled my view as the turret bucked around me. I tried my best to coordinate fire with other gunners but it was almost impossible in the chaos. The only one I heard coming through clearly was Hobbes. I don't know if it was because I knew his voice or because of his proximity to me boosting his signal but I zeroed in on his voice.

   'Micheal you still with us over there?'

   'Reading you loud and clear Hobbes! How is your shield holding up?'

   'It's holding Micheal its holding.'

   'Be ready to get out of there if it falls Hobbes.'

   'Yes sir!' More explosions. Bright neon colors from our battleships and their warships streaked across the the endless expanse as the exchanged fire. Suddenly another ship shaking near miss brought me out of my stupor. I looked up and saw another photon blast rip apart a nearby cruiser. 'Get us between our cruisers and those cannons!' Came the captain over the comms. The ship pitched as we turned and rotated. My side was the side facing the oncoming blasts. Our battleships that had advanced to cover the cruisers were starting to falter. Through the carnage I saw we had stopped them in their tracks. Their burning wrecks being sucked towards the nearest planet Pluto. Their photon cannons were starting to decrease in number but our ships were taking heavy damage. Suddenly the comms came back to life as a ship broadcast across the entire fleet. 'Captain Phillipps my ship is to heavily damaged to retreat. My engines are going critical and my shields and weapons are all offline. We aren't going to make it to the regroup sir. I'm sorry.'

   Captain Phillipps responded, 'Don't you give up on me Asim! We will tow you out of we have to!'

   'It's no use sir. We are about to go nuclear... Tell them back home that the men of the United African Nation died like men! I enjoyed our our little talks.' Then you could hear him yell to his sailors, 'come in men! Forward into the breach!'

   The U.A.N. Krag accelerated head long into the enemy before her engine went critical. I saw the explosion rock the Orgassian fleet. I heard Hobbes through our line, 'Godspeed men.' The captain came over fleet wide communication, 'Stand aside! I'm coming through!' Then over the ship comm, 'Helm max battle speed! I refuse to be a sideline leader any longer!' I felt the engine rumble underneath my feet and steeled myself as we moved forward into the oncoming fire. As photon blasts skidded off of our shields the guns kept roaring and we kept accelerating. Assault craft kept hammering us with all the had and the photon cannons roared as they battered at our shield. My plasma cannon became like a fire breathing dragon as I kept unleashing plasma at the enemy craft around us. Explosions rocked out port side as are shields buckled under intense enemy fire. Another craft that I had never seen before suddenly flew through the hail of fire the secondaries were spitting into the abyss and kept right over my turret. Moments later the captain came back over the comms. 'Intruder alert! We are being boarded! All available hands to outer section 5. Let's show them what who we are!'"

Hey guys the next part will be out later in a few days. Any feedback is appreciated. Have a good day!

[courtneytincher]

In Just 6 Hours Israel Proved Why Its Air Force Is Nearly Unbeatable

To say that Operation Moked is unique is incorrect. On June 22, 1941, the Luftwaffe pounded Soviet airfields during Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s surprise invasion of the Soviet Union. The Soviets may have lost almost four thousand aircraft in the first three days of the offensive—many destroyed on the ground—at a cost of less than eighty German aircraft.At 7:10 a.m. Israeli time, sixteen Israeli Air Force Fouga Magister training jets took off and pretended to be what they were not. Flying routine flight paths and using routine radio frequencies, they looked to Arab radar operators like the normal morning Israeli combat air patrol.At 7:15 a.m., another 183 aircraft—almost the entire Israeli combat fleet—roared into the air. They headed west over the Mediterranean before diving low, which dropped them from Arab radar screens. This was also nothing new: for two years, Egyptian, Syrian and Jordanian radar had tracked Israeli aircraft—though never this many Israeli aircraft—taking off every morning on this same flight path, and then disappearing from their scopes before they returned to base. But that morning, instead of going home, the Israeli armada of French-made Mirage and Super Mystere jets turned south toward Egypt, flying under strict radio silence and just sixty feet above the waves.Recommended: Why an F-22 Raptor Would Crush an F-35 in a 'Dogfight'Recommended: Air War: Stealth F-22 Raptor vs. F-14 Tomcat (That Iran Still Flies)Recommended: A New Report Reveals Why There Won't Be Any 'New' F-22 RaptorsIt was June 5, 1967, and the Six-Day War was about to begin. The conflict, which would shape the Middle East as we know it today, had been simmering for months between Israel and its neighbors. Outnumbered by the combined Arab armies, and surrounded by enemies on three sides and the deep blue Mediterranean on the fourth, Israel had resolved to strike first and win quickly.That meant controlling the skies. But the Israeli Air Force could pit only two hundred aircraft, almost all French models (the United States wouldn’t sell aircraft to the IAF until 1968), against six hundred Arab planes, including many Soviet-supplied MiG fighters. Israeli leaders also worried over Egypt’s thirty Soviet-made Tu-16 Badger bombers, each of which could drop ten tons of bombs on Israeli cities.Thus was born Operation Moked (“Focus”), a preemptive strike aimed at destroying the Arab air forces on the ground—and one of the most brilliant aerial operations in history. The plan had been worked out and practiced for several years. IAF pilots flew repeated practice missions against mock Egyptian airfields in the Negev Desert, while Israeli intelligence collected information on Egyptian dispositions and defenses.Would all the effort pay off? The answer would become clear minutes after the Israeli aerial armada banked over the Mediterranean and arrived over Egypt.Jordanian radar operators, troubled by the unusual number of Israeli aircraft in the air that day, sent a coded warning to the Egyptians. But the Egyptians had changed their codes the day before without bothering to inform the Jordanians.Not that the warning would have made a huge difference. “Rather than attacking at dawn, the IAF decided to wait for a couple of hours until 0745hrs, 0845hrs Egyptian time,” writes author Simon Dunstan. “By this time, the morning mists over the Nile Delta had dispersed and the Egyptian dawn patrols had returned to base where the pilots were now having their breakfast, while many pilots and ground crew were still making their way to work.”Meanwhile, the commanders of the Egyptian armed forces and air force were away from their posts on an inspection tour, flying aboard a transport as the Israeli aircraft came in (scared that their own antiaircraft gunners would mistake them for Israelis and blast them out of the skies, the commanders had ordered that Egyptian air defenses not fire on any aircraft while the transport plane was in the air).The Israeli aircraft climbed to nine thousand feet as they approached their targets: ten Egyptian airfields where the aircraft were neatly parked in rows, wingtip to wingtip. Almost totally unhindered by Egyptian interceptors and flak, the Israeli aircraft, in flights of four, made three to four passes each with bombs and cannon. First hit were the runways so planes couldn’t take off, followed by Egyptian bombers, and then other aircraft.It was here that the Israelis deployed a secret weapon: the “concrete dibber” bombs, the first specialized anti-runway weapons. Based on a French design, the bombs were braked by parachute, and then a rocket motor slammed them into the runway, creating a crater that made it impossible for Egyptian aircraft to take off.The first wave lasted just eighty minutes. Then there was a respite, but only for ten minutes. Then second wave came in to strike an additional fourteen airfields. The Egyptians could have been forgiven for thinking Israel had secretly managed to amass a huge air force.The truth was that Israeli ground crews had practiced the rearming and refueling of returning aircraft in less than eight minutes, which allowed the strike aircraft of the first wave to fly in the second. After 170 minutes—just under three hours—Egypt had lost 293 of its nearly five hundred aircraft, including all of its Soviet-made Tu-16 and Il-28 bombers that had threatened Israeli cities, as well as 185 MiG fighters. The Israelis lost nineteen aircraft, mostly to ground fire.The day still wasn’t over for the Israeli Air Force. At 12:45 p.m. on June 5, the IAF turned its attention to the other Arab air forces. Syrian and Jordanian airfields were hit, as was the Iraqi H3 airbase. The Syrian lost two-thirds of their air force, with fifty-seven planes destroyed on the ground, while Jordan lost all of its twenty-eight aircraft. By the end of the 1967 war, the Arabs had lost 450 aircraft, compared to forty-six of Israel’s.Six hours or so after the first IAF aircraft had soared into the morning sky, Israel had won the Six-Day War. Not that the tank crews and paratroopers on the ground wouldn’t face some hard fighting in the Sinai, the Golan and Jerusalem. But destroying the Arab air forces didn’t just mean that Israeli troops could operate without air attack; it also meant that Israeli aircraft could relentlessly bomb and strafe Arab ground troops, which turned the Egyptian retreat from Sinai into a rout.To say that Operation Moked is unique is incorrect. On June 22, 1941, the Luftwaffe pounded Soviet airfields during Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s surprise invasion of the Soviet Union. The Soviets may have lost almost four thousand aircraft in the first three days of the offensive—many destroyed on the ground—at a cost of less than eighty German aircraft.But Operation Moked stands out for its meticulous preparation and split-second timing. It is a mark of respect that Israel’s air offensive has become the gold standard for preemptive air strikes to destroy an enemy air force.Saddam Hussein began Iraq’s 1980 invasion of Iran with an Israeli-style strike on Iranian airfields. It failed miserably.Had Israel attempted this against North Vietnam in 1967, the outcome would also have been very different. For that matter, had Operation Moked failed to achieve surprise, or if the Israeli pilots had missed their targets, Israel would have gone down in history as reckless and foolish. That’s exactly what happened to the IAF six years later, in the 1973 October War.But the gamble paid off. Yet there was nothing magical about the Israeli triumph. Careful preparation, abetted by Arab carelessness and a bit of good luck, had been rewarded.Operation Moked changed the course of the 1967 war—and of history.Michael Peck is a contributing writer for the National Interest. He can be found on Twitter and Facebook.

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

To say that Operation Moked is unique is incorrect. On June 22, 1941, the Luftwaffe pounded Soviet airfields during Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s surprise invasion of the Soviet Union. The Soviets may have lost almost four thousand aircraft in the first three days of the offensive—many destroyed on the ground—at a cost of less than eighty German aircraft.At 7:10 a.m. Israeli time, sixteen Israeli Air Force Fouga Magister training jets took off and pretended to be what they were not. Flying routine flight paths and using routine radio frequencies, they looked to Arab radar operators like the normal morning Israeli combat air patrol.At 7:15 a.m., another 183 aircraft—almost the entire Israeli combat fleet—roared into the air. They headed west over the Mediterranean before diving low, which dropped them from Arab radar screens. This was also nothing new: for two years, Egyptian, Syrian and Jordanian radar had tracked Israeli aircraft—though never this many Israeli aircraft—taking off every morning on this same flight path, and then disappearing from their scopes before they returned to base. But that morning, instead of going home, the Israeli armada of French-made Mirage and Super Mystere jets turned south toward Egypt, flying under strict radio silence and just sixty feet above the waves.Recommended: Why an F-22 Raptor Would Crush an F-35 in a 'Dogfight'Recommended: Air War: Stealth F-22 Raptor vs. F-14 Tomcat (That Iran Still Flies)Recommended: A New Report Reveals Why There Won't Be Any 'New' F-22 RaptorsIt was June 5, 1967, and the Six-Day War was about to begin. The conflict, which would shape the Middle East as we know it today, had been simmering for months between Israel and its neighbors. Outnumbered by the combined Arab armies, and surrounded by enemies on three sides and the deep blue Mediterranean on the fourth, Israel had resolved to strike first and win quickly.That meant controlling the skies. But the Israeli Air Force could pit only two hundred aircraft, almost all French models (the United States wouldn’t sell aircraft to the IAF until 1968), against six hundred Arab planes, including many Soviet-supplied MiG fighters. Israeli leaders also worried over Egypt’s thirty Soviet-made Tu-16 Badger bombers, each of which could drop ten tons of bombs on Israeli cities.Thus was born Operation Moked (“Focus”), a preemptive strike aimed at destroying the Arab air forces on the ground—and one of the most brilliant aerial operations in history. The plan had been worked out and practiced for several years. IAF pilots flew repeated practice missions against mock Egyptian airfields in the Negev Desert, while Israeli intelligence collected information on Egyptian dispositions and defenses.Would all the effort pay off? The answer would become clear minutes after the Israeli aerial armada banked over the Mediterranean and arrived over Egypt.Jordanian radar operators, troubled by the unusual number of Israeli aircraft in the air that day, sent a coded warning to the Egyptians. But the Egyptians had changed their codes the day before without bothering to inform the Jordanians.Not that the warning would have made a huge difference. “Rather than attacking at dawn, the IAF decided to wait for a couple of hours until 0745hrs, 0845hrs Egyptian time,” writes author Simon Dunstan. “By this time, the morning mists over the Nile Delta had dispersed and the Egyptian dawn patrols had returned to base where the pilots were now having their breakfast, while many pilots and ground crew were still making their way to work.”Meanwhile, the commanders of the Egyptian armed forces and air force were away from their posts on an inspection tour, flying aboard a transport as the Israeli aircraft came in (scared that their own antiaircraft gunners would mistake them for Israelis and blast them out of the skies, the commanders had ordered that Egyptian air defenses not fire on any aircraft while the transport plane was in the air).The Israeli aircraft climbed to nine thousand feet as they approached their targets: ten Egyptian airfields where the aircraft were neatly parked in rows, wingtip to wingtip. Almost totally unhindered by Egyptian interceptors and flak, the Israeli aircraft, in flights of four, made three to four passes each with bombs and cannon. First hit were the runways so planes couldn’t take off, followed by Egyptian bombers, and then other aircraft.It was here that the Israelis deployed a secret weapon: the “concrete dibber” bombs, the first specialized anti-runway weapons. Based on a French design, the bombs were braked by parachute, and then a rocket motor slammed them into the runway, creating a crater that made it impossible for Egyptian aircraft to take off.The first wave lasted just eighty minutes. Then there was a respite, but only for ten minutes. Then second wave came in to strike an additional fourteen airfields. The Egyptians could have been forgiven for thinking Israel had secretly managed to amass a huge air force.The truth was that Israeli ground crews had practiced the rearming and refueling of returning aircraft in less than eight minutes, which allowed the strike aircraft of the first wave to fly in the second. After 170 minutes—just under three hours—Egypt had lost 293 of its nearly five hundred aircraft, including all of its Soviet-made Tu-16 and Il-28 bombers that had threatened Israeli cities, as well as 185 MiG fighters. The Israelis lost nineteen aircraft, mostly to ground fire.The day still wasn’t over for the Israeli Air Force. At 12:45 p.m. on June 5, the IAF turned its attention to the other Arab air forces. Syrian and Jordanian airfields were hit, as was the Iraqi H3 airbase. The Syrian lost two-thirds of their air force, with fifty-seven planes destroyed on the ground, while Jordan lost all of its twenty-eight aircraft. By the end of the 1967 war, the Arabs had lost 450 aircraft, compared to forty-six of Israel’s.Six hours or so after the first IAF aircraft had soared into the morning sky, Israel had won the Six-Day War. Not that the tank crews and paratroopers on the ground wouldn’t face some hard fighting in the Sinai, the Golan and Jerusalem. But destroying the Arab air forces didn’t just mean that Israeli troops could operate without air attack; it also meant that Israeli aircraft could relentlessly bomb and strafe Arab ground troops, which turned the Egyptian retreat from Sinai into a rout.To say that Operation Moked is unique is incorrect. On June 22, 1941, the Luftwaffe pounded Soviet airfields during Operation Barbarossa, Hitler’s surprise invasion of the Soviet Union. The Soviets may have lost almost four thousand aircraft in the first three days of the offensive—many destroyed on the ground—at a cost of less than eighty German aircraft.But Operation Moked stands out for its meticulous preparation and split-second timing. It is a mark of respect that Israel’s air offensive has become the gold standard for preemptive air strikes to destroy an enemy air force.Saddam Hussein began Iraq’s 1980 invasion of Iran with an Israeli-style strike on Iranian airfields. It failed miserably.Had Israel attempted this against North Vietnam in 1967, the outcome would also have been very different. For that matter, had Operation Moked failed to achieve surprise, or if the Israeli pilots had missed their targets, Israel would have gone down in history as reckless and foolish. That’s exactly what happened to the IAF six years later, in the 1973 October War.But the gamble paid off. Yet there was nothing magical about the Israeli triumph. Careful preparation, abetted by Arab carelessness and a bit of good luck, had been rewarded.Operation Moked changed the course of the 1967 war—and of history.Michael Peck is a contributing writer for the National Interest. He can be found on Twitter and Facebook.

August 15, 2019 at 04:03PM via IFTTT

[esprit-de-corps-magazine]

HITLER'S LAST ROLL OF THE DICE: On New Year's Day 1945, The Luftwaffe Launched Every Plane They Had Into The Air

(Volume 24-11)

By Anne Gafiuk & Ken Wright

On September 18, 1944, the advance party of the Royal Air Force occupied the large, hastily evacuated Luftwaffe base at Eindhoven in Holland. Because it was designed to be a permanent air base, to the delight of the new tenants, it was equipped with brick buildings, well-constructed huts, dispersed taxiways and earthen revetments [soil piled on three sides]. During the following months, the Eindhoven-based pilots were extremely busy with ground support tactical reconnaissance and artillery reconnaissance missions, backing the rapidly advancing Allied ground forces.

At this stage of the war, some degree of complacency may have developed among Allied aircrews regarding the Luftwaffe’s ability to mount any meaningful opposition. The German Luftwaffe was starved of fuel, short of aircraft, pilots; morale was at its lowest point. Most of the resistance efforts were, at best, token gestures as Allied fighters virtually owned the skies over war-torn Europe.

Flying Officer Gordon Hill, who flew Spitfires with RCAF No. 416 Squadron, recalls that on December 31, 1944:

Our flight crossed the corner of Germany that we had crossed two or three times a day for a couple of months. We had never seen flak there ever before! I got hit. I felt it and I heard it. My No. 2 told me I was losing a lot of oil. I said, ‘Green 3 leaving formation with Green 4.’ I wanted protection so I dragged Green 4 along with me. I made a force landing on the B78 airfield in Eindhoven south of Arnhem in Holland with my wheels down, which was nice since I ran out of engine oil some time before. My wingman, Green 4 went on home. 

I left my airplane and asked the Royal Air Force Flight sergeant in charge of servicing Spitfires if he could look at my plane. As they were refuelling at the time he said it would be quite a while before he could look at it so I decided to go to the Typhoon Mess. I spent New Year’s Eve with the ‘Tiffy’ boys. I knew a half a dozen or more. I flew with some of them in Canada on the West Coast. As the alcohol was flowing, we rang in the New Year.

The Eindhoven airfield was already a hive of activity on the morning of January 1, 1945 as the squadrons were preparing for their early-morning missions. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day with the cold frosty ground sparkling in bright rays of the morning sun. Apart from the sounds of military activity filling the air, everything appeared delightfully peaceful. It was to be, in hindsight, a spurious peacefulness.

Early that same morning, 208 kilometres away at the Gütersloh Luftwaffe airfield in the Westphalia area of Germany, pilots of Jagdeschwader 3 were picked up at their quarters at 0500 hours. After a short breakfast at 0700 hours, the target for the day was finally revealed as Eindhoven. Each pilot had to deliver several attacks and they were to circle the airfield anti-clockwise between each individual attack. No alternative target was given. The pilots received maps on which the course was marked and on which instructions to be followed during flight had been previously inserted.

The return flight was to be made from the target on a bearing of approximately 90 degrees, and pilots were told to head for any of the airfields that had been marked on their maps, according to preference.

At 0822 hours, the first aircraft took off from Gütersloh as part of Hitler’s Operation Bodenplatte. Over 900 aircraft from various airfields began a massive low-level attack on 16 vulnerable Allied airfields throughout France, Belgium and Holland.

F/O Hill continues:

The next morning, January 1 at about 0815, the flight sergeant reported my aircraft repaired, refuelled and ready to go. He drove me out to the airplane and parked beside the Control Truck. This is where the air traffic controller was. Everything was mobile. There was a small tent next to the truck with two men in it. I put on my parachute, helmet and gloves, then climbed into the airplane, worrying that I would not be able to start the aircraft for lack of power. I might possibly need a boost because there might not be enough battery power. I pressed the starter, pushed fuel into the cylinders, but nothing happened, so I climbed out of the airplane. I took my parachute, helmet and gloves off, putting them onto the end of the wing, then went to the Control Truck. I had my hand on the door knob of the truck when I heard a gun firing. I said, ‘Someone has pushed the wrong button.’ The man in the truck said, ‘No! That’s a German button!’

The Eindhoven airfield was about to get a pasting as the aircraft from Jagdeschwader 3 began their first strafing run led by Geshwaderkommodore Heinrich Bӓr. Reports put the time at about 0920 hours. “There was no place to take cover except the Control truck,” remembers Hill. “Why the Germans did not take it out, I don’t know. That would have been what I would have done in their place. This all lasted about 20 to 30 minutes. It was an awfully long time. A Jeep came and picked me up. We drove past my airplane which was totally shot up.”

Flight Lieutenant Harry Hardy, DFC, RCAF No. 440 Typhoon Squadron, explains:

My flight was attending a morning church parade when suddenly: cannon shells started hitting the airfield and I found myself on the floor between the altar and the organ. We all crawled onto the floor; then we made our way to the air raid shelter. The Germans were firing the entire time but, fortunately, we didn’t lose any men. After the raid was over, as I was smoking my pipe, a bomb blew up outside the bomb shelter and I bit right through the stem of my pipe. It was a late bomb going off: one of our own! The Germans thought the airmen would have been recovering from celebrating New Year’s Eve.

Flight Lieutenant Wally Ward, also with No. 440, continues:

I was standing behind some shelter at the edge of the field. I had finished my tour and I was just waiting to be posted out of the squadron to an aerodrome up near Newcastle to instruct on Typhoons. The squadron was lined up to take off when I saw Messerschmitt 110s and Focke-Wulf 190s come over the horizon one after the other.

They shot the hell out of the Typhoons. They circled and went back again. (There was more than one attack.) Our pilots jumped out of the planes and rolled away and looked for a ditch for refuge. A Messerschmitt 262 (jet) was directing the attack. It was circling the airfield at about 5,000 feet. The Messerschmitt and Focke-Wulf were lined up like they were on a game shoot.

The Eindhoven defences, especially the four RAF squadrons manning their Bofors 40mm anti-aircraft guns, did their utmost to defend the airfield and shot down several German aircraft. One remarkable event took place when a Fw 190 was hit by Bren fire operated by the Senior Armament NCO Sergeant Large of No. 438 Squadron and Sergeant McGee. At the time of the first attack, Large was down the road from dispersal waiting to see the Squadron’s take off. Large, serving as ground crew with No. 438, wrote in his personal report:

I saw a number of aircraft making attack on the field and I first thought it was just a German hit-and-run but after the second and third wave passed over, circled and continued their attacks from out the sun, I figured they were playing for keeps. I therefore hurried back to the dispersal area armoury where the Bren guns were kept. There, I saw Flight Sgt McGee and we decided to take a whack at anything flying over the dispersal area. We each took a Bren gun each and two boxes of clips and stood outside the dispersal door and waited for any Jerry that came within range. In all, we believed we fired at 10 or 12 Focke-Wulf 190’s and Messerschmitt 109’s. Strikes was (sic) seen on at least two aircraft. One was coming from the south of us at a height of not more than 40 feet. We both fired a full magazine at him. We saw strikes down the engine in the direction of the cockpit and we saw small bits and pieces fly off. The enemy aircraft flipped over on its other side and we saw black smoke coming from the aircraft.

A few days later, a Fw 190 was found some 500 metres southwest of the village of Oirschot, north of the Eindhoven airfield. The Focke-Wulf had been struck by small arms’ fire on the port side and the wounded pilot, Hauptmann Ewald Trost, had been taken prisoner. He had suffered burns to his face and bullet wounds to his right arm.

“I was in shock,” says Ward of the large-scale attack. “I was astonished. At this late stage of the war, we hardly ever saw enemy aircraft. We had the dominance of the skies. This was my first chance to see so many enemy aircraft … dozens of them all in one place. Afterwards, I flew to Brussels. I saw all these heavy bombers had been all shot up — B17s, maybe — they were destroyed. They had not been dispersed. We never thought it could happen. Fortunately, no one in my squadron got hurt.”

Flight Lieutenant Robert Spooner, DFC of No. 438 recalls:

German aircraft shot up our airfield killing at least ten people and injuring many others. Certain selected Allied airfields were attacked simultaneously. Many aircraft lined up on the parkway were strafed and set on fire. Our squadron had four planes on the runway. Flight Lieutenant Pete Wilson, 438 Squadron’s new squadron leader, and his number two had already opened throttles and were heading down the runway when the attack started. Both were killed before they could get off the ground.

The German planes were having a ball. A row of Spitfires, lined up wingtip to wingtip, were set on fire. Many Typhoons were victims as well. Other planes parked in revetments fared better. Smoke and flames from burning aircraft were everywhere and must have been hard for Jerry to see what to attack. Our squadron did not get wiped out completely so we were ordered to get a flight in the air to let the Germans know that we were still operational. In stressful times like this, things seem to happen in seconds but we were told later that the attack had lasted 25 minutes.

Around 0945 hours, the ordeal for Eindhoven airfield was finally over and the last pilots of Jagdeschwader 3, in small groups or individually, headed for home.

One eyewitness, Flight Lieutenant Bergmann, a Dutch pilot with No. 181 Squadron who was showing his brother around the airfield that day, recounts his version of the attack:

Even with their eyes closed, the attackers would have hit something. Next to about 300 aircraft, most of them parked in line, the airfield was filled with vehicles of every type. In addition, fuel and ammo dumps and stocks of all sorts of equipment. Fires started all over the airfield, Typhoons preparing to take off tried to get airborne, while others aborted their take-off; pilots leaping from the aircraft and taking cover. None of those aircraft remained untouched. One of the Typhoons that managed to get airborne shot down a Luftwaffe aircraft but was himself shot down. Only a couple of metres away from us, a courageous Canadian was firing his Sten gun from the end of the runway at the attackers.

Besides No. 438, other squadrons were also caught taxiing onto the airfield. Many Typhoons of No. 440 were on the runway ready to take off and received a going over by the attacking fighters. Fortunately, all the pilots survived during the 23 minutes of hell that paralysed everyone. Under the circumstances, their escape unscathed was something of a miracle.

While the RAF regiments were trying their best to shoot down the enemy aircraft, fuel and ammunition dumps were set on fire. Thousand-pound bombs exploded every few minutes, individual aircraft were burning in the dispersal area, rockets — possibly slung under the wings of the burning Typhoons — ignited and took off in all directions. Slowly, a thick pall of smoke settled over the area blotting out the early morning sun. The attack had come as a great shock, but it is possible that, after it was over, there may have been a degree of comrades-in-arms admiration that the Luftwaffe could have mounted such a large-scale operation. 

The attack on Eindhoven can be considered a success. In addition to destroying 26 Typhoons and five Spitfires, the Germans also damaged around 30 more Typhoons. However, German losses had been considerable. Twenty-five per cent of the attacking force of 60 aircraft had been lost and three more damaged. Nine pilots were killed and six ended up as POWs.

What documents remain do not accurately record the exact overall tally of the Allied aircraft that were destroyed during Operation Bodenplatte. Estimates of 305 aircraft destroyed and 190 damaged are believed to be much lower than actual loses. Although the Allies could rapidly replace men and material, the Germans could not, especially in pilots. The overall Luftwaffe losses from Bodenplatte totalled more than 250 aircraft and 215 pilots.

Hitler’s Luftwaffe Adjutant, Nicholas Von Below, wrote on January 1, 1945:

A catastrophe befell the Luftwaffe the same day. Goring [Commander-in-Chief of the Luftwaffe] had planned a strike by almost a thousand aircraft on the Western frontier against various [enemy] targets. Preparations for Operation ‘Bodenplatte’ were kept strictly secret; nevertheless, the attack was greeted with heavy Allied anti-aircraft fire. On the way back, our aircraft flew over accurate German flak, the batteries not having been informed of the operation on the grounds of secrecy.

We suffered heavy losses which could not be made good. ‘Bodenplatte’ was the last major operation undertaken by the Luftwaffe.

The only service in the Luftwaffe left capable of offering any effective resistance was the Nachtjagd or night-hunting fighters.

Hitler’s last roll of the dice cost him dearly. As General der Jagdflieger and fighter ace Adolf Galland said, “We have sacrificed our last substance.”

[tamal21]

Military News

It appears as though America's overwhelming victory functioning Desert Storm happened centuries ago. The planet was certainly another place when Bottom invaded his small, but wealthy, neighbor. Take the time to keep in mind to that The month of january day. Where had you been? Looking for a war forum? Visit our website today and join the biggest war forum on the internet.

I had been employed by a significant aerospace corporation at that time as well as on 16th of The month of january, I used to be sent completely across the nation to La. I would make an essential presentation to the customer within the Air Force on Monday, 17 The month of january.

I showed up at Poor in the center of the mid-day. I collected my luggage and rose aboard the rental vehicle shuttle. Following a short drive, I had been delivered inside my vehicle. Understanding that America was not far from likely to war, I switched around the radio to obtain the latest news.

Planes were within the air. The war had began.

This is the storyline from the opening moments of Operation Desert Storm. It's been excerpted from "The Gulf War Chronicles" that is available through all online booksellers and may also be purchased at the local book shop.

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Before night time around the 16th of The month of january 1991, the wheels have been put in place which are more devastating air attack ever. Ships transporting Tomahawk missiles were within their assigned launch positions. E-3 Sentry, Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft were flying in four surveillance racetracks just south from the Saudi/Iraqi border. A hundred 80 tankers were orbiting south from the AWACS, just from selection of the Iraqi early warning radar. Fixed wing and rotary aircraft appeared to be prepared for fight.

The staggering firepower from the U . s . States Military have been introduced to deal with around the northern Saudi Arabian border in a little over five several weeks. The Marines were concentrated across the Persian Gulf and thinly spread across the Kuwaiti border in small, fast paced screening units. These Marines were mounted in High Mobility Multi-Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWVs) and lightweight Armored Vehicles (LAVs).

The forward units were deployed to signal advance warning of Iraqi offensive thrusts into Saudi Arabia. Farther towards the south, the rest of the American force was positioned for counterattacks on evolving Iraqis or massed around forward supply and air bases. Every airfield within striking distance of Iraq and Kuwait was crammed filled with Allied aircraft. Six Navy Aircraft carriers ringed Iraq at a negative balance Ocean and Persian Gulf. Countless aircraft from America's newest F-117A Nighthawks, towards the venerable B-52 Stratofortresses, appeared to be prepared for war. The airfields were so crowded that there wasn't any room for that B-52s. They'd fly their first missions from their bases in The country, Diego Garcia, as well as Louisiana.

The biggest logistic chain ever extended from Saudi Arabia and also the Persian Gulf completely to both coasts from the U . s . States. Supplies and extra heavy armor units in the U . s . States and Europe ongoing to pour directly into Saudi Arabia. The hammer was cocked, there have been models within the chamber and also the trigger had been squeezed.

The month of january 17th heralded the culmination of many years of acquisitions of high-tech systems and shaping the earth's largest all-volunteer military several weeks of deployments, planning, and "sharpening the sword" days of diplomacy and times of tension. The U.S. was intending to fight a four-dimensional "Air-Land Fight" the very first time. It had been to become orchestrated inside a precise time sequence. The Iraqis, however, were getting ready to fight a 2 dimensional war of attrition. They'd no idea of air brilliance, timing or tempo. The Coalition would fight World War III as the Iraqis would fight World War I.

At 0001 around the 17th, two-dozen F-117 Stealth fighters in the 415th Tactical Fighter Squadron began removing from the secret airbase located deep within the mountain tops of Saudi Arabia. These ultra-hi-tech aircraft would lead the manned air assault deep into Iraq. Inside an hour, over 3 hundred additional attack aircraft started removing from aircraft carriers and airbases all around the Persian Gulf. These attack aircraft were refueled and stacked up south from the Saudi border like jets on method of O'Hare airport terminal on the snowy Christmas Eve.

At exactly 0140 the USS Wisconsin began launching Tomahawk Cruise missiles to participate other Tomahawks being launched in the USS San Jacinto at a negative balance Ocean. Tomahawk missiles will be the first to enter Iraqi airspace, flying individually distinct and racing toward their targets in an altitude of fifty to 1 hundred ft over the terrain.

Meanwhile, in a remote base in Western Saudi Arabia, two groups of Apache and Pave Low helicopters required off at roughly 0100. The 101st Airborne Apaches were heavily armed. Each team were built with a 20th Special Operations Squadron Pave Low helicopter which provided Gps navigation navigation, additional Electronic Countermeasure (ECM) and save capacity. This small but deadly force, commanded by Army Lieutenant Colonel Richard Cody, was code named TASK FORCE NORMANDY in recognition from the "Screaming Eagles'" spearhead operations nearly one half century earlier behind in france they beaches.

At 0215, the 2 groups of TASK FORCE NORMANDY entered the border. Their objectives were two Early Warning RADAR facilities in Western Iraq. The Apaches from the first Battalion, 101st Aviation Regiment raced over the border, acquired their targets, locked up with their lasers and advanced around the objectives 'low and slow'. All the lights both in facilities were on, suggesting the Apaches' approach was not detected.

Once the Apaches came within range they ripple-launched their Hellfire missiles. At exactly 0238, the very first missile struck its target "just like a thunderbolt in the skies." Several missiles bumped out the facilities' electrical power generators. The Apaches (firing twenty-seven Hellfire missiles) destroyed radar antennas, operations centers, generators, and barracks. All the missiles hit their targets. Once the Apaches ran from Hellfire missiles, they raked the region with rockets and a large number of models of 30-mm cannon fire. Both facilities were disabled within a few seconds and completely destroyed in under four minutes!

Eight U.S. Air Force F-15E Strike Eagles streaked into Iraq behind TASK FORCE NORMANDY and destroyed the neighborhood air defense command and control center. These 3 attacks produced a twenty-mile wide blackened radar corridor for the attack planes to go in Iraq.

In a few minutes, F-117s in the 415th Tactical Fighter Squadron bombed a radar control center a hundred 60 miles southwest of Baghdad, a radar facility in western Iraq, as well as an air defense site outdoors Baghdad extending the corridor much deeper into Iraq. Swarms of waiting attack aircraft then taken north with the corridor and fanned out toward their targets. EF-111 Ravens, EA-6B Prowlers, and EC-130 Compass Call Aircraft brought the charge during the night sky. These electronic marvels from the night bombarded Iraq's surveillance and communications equipment with vast amounts of electrons. The Compass Call aircraft attacked the communications airwaves, disrupting military radio traffic. The Ravens and Prowlers targeted surveillance and air defense radars. F-14 Tomcats and F-15C Eagles raced into Iraq for their assigned Combat Air Patrol (CAP) areas. Their mission ended up being to fly cover the Allied planes and interact any approaching Iraqi aircraft.

Air Force Captain Steve Tate contacted Baghdad in the F-15C, together with his four wingmen right before 0300. Their assigned CAP area was over Baghdad and increasing 60 miles towards the east from the city.

Captain Tate were built with a bird's eye view for that opening moments from the war. "Baghdad would be a really pretty city that night. Once we began flying within the populous areas,... F-117s began shedding their bombs therefore we began getting concussions all around the entire country. You can view it. At that time then, heaven began illuminating with AAA (Anti-Aircraft Artillery)... It appeared as if little sparkles sounding throughout... I believed we'd some type of cosmic weapon system available just sprinkling all around the city... I Then began searching just a little closer and that i stated, man-that's triple-A that they are shooting." Soon after 0300, Captain Tate was alerted towards the approach of the Iraqi fighter by an AWACS controller. He maneuvered his plane into attack position. At 0315 he shot lower an Iraqi F1 Mirage having a single radar-led Sparrow missile. It was the very first air-to-air kill from the war and something of nine Iraqi aircraft to become shot lower around the first night.

Before the Gulf War, Baghdad was thought to have experienced probably the most formidable air defense systems on the planet. The Iraqi air defenses over Baghdad were poised to have an American attack. Russian ZSU23-4 radar-led Anti-Aircraft-Artillery "AAA" guns were trained at altitudes below nine 1000 ft. Between nine and twenty 1000 ft, 57-mm and 85-mm flak could blanket the town with deadly, red-orange fireballs. Surface-to-air missiles "SAMs" were deployed to strike aircraft at greater altitudes. A built-in Air Defense System that contains an interconnected, nationwide network of RADARs and Command and Control centers directed many of these weapons. To be able to penetrate these defenses, the Allied air strategy was, first, to blind the Iraqis by knocking out their surveillance radars using "invisible" F-117A Stealth fighters, Apache attack helicopters, and occasional-flying Tomahawk missiles. Next, they planned to disrupt any remaining radars using the high-tech ECM abilities of Ravens and Prowlers. Finally, they'd attack from high altitudes using the remaining aircraft. Each strike package was supported by F-4G Wild Weasels to eliminate any Mike and AAA radars that will illuminate the attack aircraft. Many, if not completely, from the American attack aircraft transported their very own ECM pods for further protection. One pilot reported that whenever a Mike premiered against his aircraft, he immediately activated his ECM and also the Mike "went stupid," roaring off harmlessly in to the night. For an additional way of measuring safety, all attacks on Downtown Baghdad were restricted to the "invisible" F-117s and unmanned Tomahawk missiles.

Iraqi surveillance radars which were not destroyed within the opening moments from the assault either "whited-out" or displayed numerous phantom targets. The Iraqis understood these were under attack but they didn't know that direction. These were made to activate their AAA and Mike radars. Nature Weasels immediately locked-on and launched High-speed Anti-Radiation Missiles (HARMs). The Iraqis learned rapidly that, when they activated their Mike radars these were signing their very own dying warrants. The Mike suppression effort am effective around the first night that through out the war not just one medium or thin air Mike was fired under RADAR control. Your best option left towards the Iraqis ended up being to fire blindly in to the night sky, wishing the lots of of undirected fire would hit something. Visit our army forum for more information and to join 100's of daily discussions.

So we all were glued to CNN for the majority of the night as Iraqi gunners filled the Baghdad sky with streams of glowing tracers as well as an periodic Mike rocket plume.

[geekade]

Geekade Top Ten: Worst Mega Man Robot Masters

Last year, Jonathan and Kris put together their lists of the top ten Mega Man Robot Masters. It was quite a diverse lineup, with very little in the way of crossover between the two. This year, they decided to take a different approach and list off the very worst robot masters. This was arguably a little tougher thanks to there being no shortage of stupid ideas floating around Dr. Wily's brain. Nevertheless, the ground rules were set, and Jonathan and Kris put together their lists. The rules were as follows:

They have to be robot masters from the mainline numbered Mega Man series. No X, Legends, Zero, etc. 

None of those weird offshoot titles, otherwise it would probably have just been a list of the robot masters from the Mega Man MS DOS games.

They have to be from the "Something Man" category. We all know characters like Buster Rod G and Mercury are pretty silly. No need to mix them in with the rest of them. 

So, with those rules in place, we present to you, the worst Mega Man robot masters.

Jonathan’s #10. Toad Man – To be perfectly honest, I’ve got nothing against Toad Man’s stage, music, or the weapon obtained from him – it’s his design and the actual fight against him that are ridiculous. How threatening is a robotic toad?! What function do those warts on his head serve other than to say, “Hey, I’m gross and unlovable”? Other than the warts, he’s just a fat, green robot master. Toads have pretty long tongues, so where is this guy’s mouth? Wily must have pulled a Deadpool-in-Wolverine on him. Just don’t lick his belly and you’ll be fine. Speaking of his belly, he moonlights as a friggin’ belly-dancer. Watch out when he starts shaking that tummy, because it’s going to rain. Yep, the designers of this game figured that in order to make Toad Man’s “Rain Flush” activate, homey should swing them hips. But all of that can be avoided, because if you stay close to him and rapid-fire on the guy, he’ll just jump back and forth and this battle will be done in no time, and thank God for that.

Kris’s #10. Bubble Man – I can honestly say I’ve never seen Toad Man dance. I think I’m better off because of it. My #10 goes to Bubble Man. Bubble Man gets a lot of flak and deservedly so. At the end of the day, he’s kind of useless. Sure, his weapon is the only thing that can take down Dr. Wily, but as Alton Brown says about kitchen equipment “What else does it do?” A fat lot of nothing, that’s what. So why is Bubble Man so low on my list? Are there really 9 worse robot masters than him? Actually, yes, and I’ll tell you why. His design, stage, and music are all top-freaking-notch. If you judge him based on his appearance alone, he’s a pretty cool-looking character. His rotund nature doesn’t exactly do him any favors, but his face, webbed feet, and giant, seemingly-pointless red jewel thingy on his chest are cool. He’s even got a cannon on his head! In the hands of someone other than Wily, Bubble Man could have been a contender. His stage is one of the all-time classics in the series, from the awesome looking waterfall to the gigantic shrimp-barfing fish, to those annoying little frogs. Because his battle is basically a joke, he just barely beat out Pirate Man for my #10 spot, but while he sucks, he’s not the worst.

Jonathan’s #9. Sword Man – Oh Bubble Man, if you aren’t the Aqua Man of Mega Man games (wait a second…). Anyway, are you ready to get really bored during a robot-master fight? Bring a book and a snack, because the battle against Sword Man requires almost no effort. For a guy named Sword Man, shouldn’t he use his sword a bit more during the battle?! There’s just so much wasted potential here. His spinning attack is really the only threat, as long as you stay far enough away from him, but Mega Man can slide right under it! Well isn’t that convenient?! Stay on the other side of the room, shoot your lemons, and you’ll be fine. Allegedly, the reason that his body is split into two parts is because he’s too top-heavy, therefore the top portion has an anti-gravity device in it so he doesn’t constantly fall over. If that sounds stupid, it’s because it really, really is. Plus, the weapon you obtain from him sucks. Stand in place and swing a fiery sword! IN A SHOOTING GAME! And guess what the final boss’s weakness is?! His music and stage are both cool, but this guy’s design and battle are too flawed to overlook.

Kris’s #9. Centuar Man – Yeah, you’ll be hearing my thoughts on Sword Man in a minute. Where do I begin with Centuar Man? I mean, what’s the freaking point of this guy? Apparently, he was a tour guide before Wily weaponized him. I’m sorry, what? Somebody made a tour guide that looks like this? What kind of museum was designed to have a tour guide this gigantic and obtuse? He’s the size of a horse! And what’s his tail made of? Did Wily go out and get actual horse hair to make his tail? Why is that even there? There isn’t one single practical part of this guy’s design. Yes, he looks cool, but the best robot masters look cool in addition to being, you know, functional in some way. His stage is filled with some of the most boring music in the franchise, completely non-threatening pelican robots who spit robot fish at you, and Centaur Man himself has some weird time-altering powerup that isn’t exactly dripping with sense-making. I suppose the part where the water is on the ceiling and you have to jump through it is cool, but Centaur Man doesn’t deserve any credit for that. He can’t even jump! What kind of horse-man can’t jump??? He’s dumb and I’m done talking about him.

Jonathan’s #8. Bubble Man – Not to mention, "Centaur Flash" just sounds dirty and illegal! On to my #8. You had some excellent points about Bubble Man that I agree with – his stage and his music are excellent, but his design just irks the hell out of me. On the stage-select screen, that cannon on his head looks like a weird, limp, green penis, and why would Wily build an underwater robot master who needs goggles?! His attacks and his movements during the fight are laugh-out-loud funny. This guy has to slowly float himself down to the ground after unleashing a few bubbles and some underwater lemons because he can’t even move smoothly through water. As the first water-based robot master, bubbles are the scariest thing they could come up with?! Even a robot master named Water Man could imply drowning, but for me, bubbles mean the possibility of a bubble bath, and that’s just a good time for everyone. Except for Bubble Man, because he’s awful.

Kris’s #8. Gemini Man – What is this guy? I mean, what even is this guy? Gemini Man? He’s got a really slow laser and can make shoddy clones of himself. Why is he covered in pointy crystals? Are they even crystals? What do they have to do with Zodiac signs? Am I missing something here? This guy’s existence has confounded me since he first arrived in Mega Man 3 and his stage is no different. Yes, it’s a pretty great stage in the grand scheme of things, but it’s constantly changing colors, it’s got gigantic penguin robots with cranks on their heads (which also happen to shoot smaller penguin robots at you), and let’s not gloss over the tadpole looking things that hatch out of those egg things all over the level. WHY ARE WE HATCHING TADPOLE ROBOTS OUT OF EGGS? Why is any of this here? Why would anyone go to the trouble of building an area like this and why on earth would a self-proclaimed narcissist like Gemini Man hang out there? I…I’m just at a loss. I don’t understand. He does have redeeming qualities, so he’s not higher on the list, but what the actual hell, Wily?

Jonathan’s #7. Blizzard Man – I suppose naming him the cigarette-smoking Cancer Man would just be too risqué for Capcom. Bunch of prudes. Ready for an extremely impractical robot master?! Blizzard Man is a giant snowball and his feet are skis! If the snow melts, he’s useless. Worst of all, his name is complete false advertising. Nowhere in his stage is there a blizzard and this robot master can only cause 4 snowflakes to materialize at a time, which then move slowly toward you. On what planet is something like 4 snowflakes actually a threat?! (maybe on planet “this robot master sucks”) Guess what weapon you obtain from him?! Those 4 snowflakes! His only other attack involves him curling up into a ball and rolling himself at you. So…jump. His stage is very unoriginal; the whole ice motif has been done before and since, to much greater effect. And what the hell are time bombs doing in Canada?! Seriously, what is that all aboot? His stage music is ok, but Blizzard Man is definitely one robot master that should melt like snow in June.

Kris’s #7. Sword Man - You wield some valid points, not the least of which involve how dumb Sword Man is. I honestly think this idiot is the only Robot Master that manages to make another robot master crappy simply by existing. Like you said, his design is absurd, especially given his name. Sword Man should be imposing! Sword Man should be about more than sword, singular. Sword Man shouldn’t have to be segmented because his sword is too heavy. Sword Man should be awesome. Sword Man isn’t. As I was saying earlier, it’s like Wily over-corrected when he made Blade Man (that dude’s got like 50 swords sticking out of him and he didn’t need to be segmented for balance!), presumably because he saw how crappy Sword Man was and realized his error. Sword Man sucks and so does his flame sword (except in Smash Bros.). NEXT!

Jonathan's #6. Drill Man – The music has such an irritating pitch to it, I want to shove a drill into my ears to make it stop. Can someone explain to me why you need to hit a switch to make platforms magically appear? What does that have to do with drilling?! And ladybugs! Those goddamned ladybugs! I absolutely hate everything about Drill Man’s level. As someone who loves Crash Man, not liking this guy’s design says a lot. The drills where his hands should be look awkward and nothing about the drill on his head spells intimidating. He looks like a doofus with a dunce cap. This guy is the real Dive Man, because he constantly buries himself underground and that’s where he should stay forever. Honestly, his design had potential, but was executed very poorly. Ground Man is Drill Man done right.

Kris’s #6. Ring Man – That’s a very good point you wield there about Ground Man. Still, I didn’t mind Drill Man so much. We’ve seen more nonsensical things in stages before (Gemini Man’s stage). Ring Man, on the other hand, throws rings. In what universe is that even sort of harmful? Heck, there’s more potential danger from Bubble Lead than a Ring Boomerang, which itself makes absolutely no sense. Do the folks at Capcom not know how boomerangs work? Ring Man was specifically built for combat, too. Figure that one out. When designing a robot built for combat, covering him in gaudy jewelry isn’t exactly the first thing that comes to mind. I will admit that the whole outer space ring motif for his stage is kind of clever, but those disappearing rainbow/gold platforms can bite me and his stage music blows. His design somehow managing to look kinda cool is the only thing keeping him this low on the list.

Jonathan's #5. Plant Man – You've got some good points about Ring Man, but I love his stage music. It’s catchy! Plant Man gets my #5 primarily because of wasted potential, more false advertising, and a laughably terrible fight. His stage is fine and so is the music, although I don’t know why Mega Man must bounce through the forest to get to this guy. While Plant Man’s official picture doesn’t scream intimidating, it looks like he could have some tricks up his sleeve with those spikey vines. Fine, he’s got a stupid flower on his head, but certainly he can do some cool shit, right? Actually, no, he can’t – and that’s why he’s on my list. When you reach him, he doesn’t even look like an accurate representation of his picture, except for that damn head-flower. This guy does nothing but cause some petals to float around him as he jumps around the room, then he shoots them at you. Repeat that until you’ve destroyed him and forgotten about this joke of a battle. Wily could have given this guy a number of other attacks – a vine-whip, poisonous plants that sprout out of the ground that hurt you, but no. Why does such a lazily-designed robot master battle exist?! Then you get that petal shield as the weapon, and the petals don’t even look like petals – they look like infected tonsils. The potential was there and Capcom could not have missed the mark any more than they did.

Kris’s #5. Toad Man - I would have to agree with you about Plant Man’s battle being a huge let-down. But I’m going to have to disagree with you on the severity of Toad Man’s awfulness. Talk about a wasted boss battle, as you stated earlier, this guy’s such a pushover that you’ll likely never see what he’s capable of because he’s such an inept fighter. Seriously? Just shoot him with your regular weapon until he’s dead and he’ll do absolutely nothing to stop you? Where’s the tongue attack? Why isn’t he jumping around the room sticking to walls? His design has a ton of untapped potential, too. He looks like a giant robot toad, which is dumb. But if he was actually lethal like some adorable poisonous toads are, it would be a cool, unexpected trick. Rain Flush is a potentially very dangerous attack too. Imagine if he could do all sorts of other dangerous stuff, and the whole battle against him you have to fear him winding up the Rain Flush and maybe have to hit him a certain number of times before he unleashes it or something. You see that? I just came up with that on the fly, and I basically fixed Toad Man. Squandered potential there.

Jonathan's #4. Stone Man – Well at least we can agree that Toad Man should be Rain Flushed down the toilet. While my previous choices have at least hinted at redeeming qualities, Stone Man has none. Stone Man?! It’s as if the developers thought “Well shit, there’s already a Rock Man, so how about Boulder Man? No, that just sounds stupid. Stone Man, now that’s intimidating!” We did this stage already in both Mega Man 3 and Mega Man 4, why are we doing it again?! I understand that many stage designs get reused, but then there’s his music. It’s got this quick, repetitive, high-pitched sound that makes me wanna scream. Stone Man’s design is extremely plain and boring, and the fight with him isn’t any better. When Stone Man hits the ground and crumbles, everything shakes, but don’t worry, it doesn’t immobilize you the way that Hard Man’s stage did. So what’s the point?! The worst part about this guy is the weapon you obtain from defeating him – the Power Stone. It looks decent when Stone Man uses it, but forget it. This thing spins around at such an awkward angle, it’s impossible to aim and frequently misses whatever you’re trying to hit. At least you know what you’re getting with close-range weapons, but not this thing. Power Stone is always a surprise, the same way a flaming bag of dog shit on your front porch is a surprise. There’s no potential here – Stone Man should’ve never made the cut.

Kris’s #4. Jewel Man – Wow, really? I love Stone Man. I’m not saying you aren’t making some excellent points about his battle, weapon, and the fact that we’ve seen this stage before, but I love his stage music and those little bouncing baby Mets are adorable! But I digress. Jewel Man is dumb. His stage is dumb. It’s full of dumb enemies. The music is dumb. Those infuriating swinging platforms with spikes all around them are dumb. His design is dumb. His weapon is dumb. His battle is dumb. Everything about him is dumb, dumb, dumb. The only thing keeping him from being higher on the list is that nothing about him is overly offensive to me. It’s all just dumb and pretty pointless. Even his name‑Jewel Man. That really strikes terror, right? DUMB!

Jonathan's #3. Spring Man – Yep, I've hated Stone Man since childhood. And fun fact: There’s an embarrassing video on Facebook of me failing at Jewel Man’s level. You make some excellent points about him, but again, I've gotta say that Jewel Man’s music is catchy! Alright, onto the 3 robot masters whose very existences make my blood boil. Everything about Spring Man pisses me off. First of all, I know that not all robot masters are super-intimidating, but this guy looks like a goddamned joke, yet he’s got the most serious face. Stop it, you’re not scaring anyone. That head-bob he does before the battle just screams "I'm single and have no friends." His music, while certainly joyous, is irritating. His stage is annoying, what with all the bright colors and the jack-in-the-boxes that punch you. For a guy allegedly made out of a ton of springs, he certainly moves very slowlyand what’s with the “boing” sound he makes when he jumps?! We get it, homey, you’re Spring Man, no need to overcompensate for your shortcomings. He throws punches extremely slowly and you can kill him with the Noise Crush before the battle even begins. There are definite similarities between this guy and Clown Man, especially in level design and overall theme, but for some reason I love Clown Man and can’t stand anything about Spring Man. Just thinking about this guy makes me wanna break a slinky.

Kris’s #3. Star Man – Yeah, Spring Man is pretty silly, but if you want to talk about robot masters whose mere existences make me angry, one of the first that always comes to mind is Star Man. What a tremendous waste of potential. Think about all the crazy crap you could have done with star matter. Stars are scientifically awesome. So why in the cosmos did we end up with this jackass? There isn’t a single redeeming quality to his design. It’s impractical, hideous, and in no way intimidating. There’s simply no way to be agile with that gigantic metal star on his chest. I have no earthly idea why he’s painted dog-crap brown, and his other decorative stars on his helmet, forearms, and knees give Spring Man himself a run for his money in the silliness department. His stage is crap; the whole low-gravity thing basically makes it just like a water level. His music is crap; containing all manner of sour notes which I guess are supposed to sound “spacey,” but just come off as awful. His battle is crap; he basically just jumps up and tosses his shield at you, like he took lessons from Toad Man or something. And he’s even colored like crap, literally! And just because it bears repeating, we’re seriously going with the spinning shield powerup AGAIN with this guy? Of all the powers that could be derived from stars, this is the best we’ve got? Pitiful. 

Jonathan's #2. Aqua Man – I’ve actually always liked Star Man, but I don’t wanna get you angry. So this was a tough choice, but Aqua Man gets the #2 spot. The only plus that he gets is that his stage looks pretty, but that’s because of the Playstation's capabilities and Capcom's ingenuity, not this bastard. Aqua Man’s music makes me wanna take a nap and drown so I don’t have to deal with it anymore. Really, the music isn’t so terrible, it just does NOT belong in a Mega Man game. The mini boss is infuriating and I feel like some of that fight is just based on luck. The way Mega Man actually swims in this game just doesn’t make any sense. Maneuvering through certain areas of Aqua Man's level is a huge pain in the ass because, for some reason, Mega Man bounces as he swims. So Aqua Man is a water-storage robot who looks like he’s wearing a top-hat. This is so bad, it’s as laughable as it is annoying. And OH. MY. GOD! THAT VOICE!!!! Flamboyancy doesn’t irritate me, this stupid robot master with his offensive, caricature-esque flamboyancy irritates me! You’re not handsome and you’re not cute; stop talking and stop existing. He shoots a stream of water at you that literally arcs out of the way so you can avoid it and then he throws water balloons at you! This son of a bitch stopped by a 5th grader’s pool party to stock up before this battle and then that’s the weapon you get from him! AND IT’S ONE OF WILY’S WEAKNESSES! WATER BALLOONS!!!! Did Capcom think this was funny?! He’s even named after a DC character who’s the butt of every superhero joke! I’ve hated Aqua Man with a passion since I first laid eyes on him and he came so very close to taking my #1 spot.

Kris’s #2. Search Man – Damn, I can’t wait to see who your #1 is! My #2 goes to Search Man. And you know, I’m probably being too hard on the guy, er, guys? I don’t particularly care for Mega Man 8 for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it’s still a very good game and I’ve played through it multiple times. But there has always been a laundry list of issues surrounding this game for me and the robot master designs are pretty high up on it. To my eyes, Search Man is the ultimate example of the overdesigned nature of Mega Man 8’s bosses. It’s like they almost had it with this one. His body follows the classic formula, but they got to the top and said “It’s not complicated enough. Give him 2 heads!” There’s no logical rationale for that. It’s supposed to be because Wily thought having 2 heads would make it twice as smart or some half-cocked theory like that, but it’s all a bunch of bologna. There’s certainly good ideas there, but between his stage hiding a battle with Wood Man in it (Of all the classic robot masters to revisit, we get Wood Man?), his voice being just bizarre, and the whole 2 heads thing, I just can’t get over it. I see this guy and I just want to vomit. Search Man, to me, is one of the lowest points the classic Mega Man series has ever hit. It doesn’t get much worse than him. Well, maybe it does…

Jonathan's #1. Wood Man – Speaking of Wood Man! This was a tough decision, but in the end, Wood Man gets my #1 spot for a multitude of reasons. I’ve disliked this robot master since the age of 6 and my hatred for this guy has only grown over the years. But I’ll get this out of the way first – his music isn’t really bad. It’s got a quick beat and it’s energetic, but I can only take it in doses. The problem is that it’s a short song, so it repeats plenty of times during his stage. By the time I’ve reached Wood Man, I’m already irritated by the music, not to mention the ridiculousness of the enemies in this guy’s stage.

Can someone explain why there are giant dogs breathing fire underground?! This is a stage in a forest, but these dogs are breathing fire! Whose idea was this?! Do they want to burn the forest down with all the other enemy robots in it?! Out of every animal that they could’ve picked to put underground though, they picked giant, fire-breathing dogs. Could those hot dogs have possibly made sense anywhere else in the game, like maybe Heat Man’s stage?! And there are three very bland rooms later in the level each with a single robot bunny who will throw a carrot at you. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS?! If you somehow survive those oh-so-threatening bunnies, watch out for the chicken-run! Leading up to Wood Man himself is an area where a bunch of chickens are getting the fuck away from the bastard as fast as they can.

All of these gripes aside, we then have the shit-stain of the hour – Wood Man. This guy has one of the most boring designs out of any robot master ever. I don’t know who thought that a small tree stump as a helmet would be threatening, but the actual game sprite makes Wood Man’s head look like it has an erection. He’s brown and black and boring! Even the official art doesn’t make him look threatening! And to activate his leaf-shield, homeboy punches his own boobs. That’s right, boob-punching for this guy gets leaves swirling around him. He shoots those leaves at you and then hops ever so slightly forward, and repeats. His short hops coupled with hitting his own wooden man-tits are some of the most comical movements to ever curse a Mega Man game. Cut him down with the Metal Blade or burn him to the ground with the Atomic Fire and be done with him. Anytime that I’ve played Mega Man 2 over the past 27 years, this guy has posed no threat, but that changed last August.

For those of you who don’t know, Geekade held a video game marathon called the Pain-in-the-Ass-a-thong to raise money for charity and Kris challenged me to give Mega Man: The Wily Wars a try. This game includes the first 3 Mega Man games, plus a few new levels, and the idea was for me to get through as much of it as possible in my 3-hour window. Mega Man 1 took a lot out of me, but I’ve played Mega Man 2 countless times, so it shouldn’t have been much of a problem, right? Wrong.

Wood Man shoots his Leaf Shield at you quite often during the battle, but it’s not really a problem to avoid – simply jump over it. In The Wily Wars, his Shield is most definitely bigger, because try as I might, I could not get over this thing without getting hit. I had an extremely difficult time beating this guy during the second battle with him. It took quite a long time, so I had to stare at this ugly, annoying, son of a bitch as he so idiotically hopped closer to me. Those goddamned leaves, man. Those goddamned leaves.

Speaking of those goddamned leaves, I don’t know how in the hell leaves can form a protective shield, but that’s the weapon you get from him. The problem is YOU CAN’T MOVE WITH THE THING! If you so much as tap either left or right, the shield gets shot in that direction, so if you need prolonged protection, you have to stand perfectly still. The problem with that is THIS GAME IS AN ACTION-PLATFORMER! The Leaf Shield takes out Air Man quickly, so that is literally the only use this ridiculous weapon has. I’ve never liked Wood Man, but the Pain-in-the-Ass-a-thon helped solidify my hatred for him. Don’t get me wrong, I’d fight him for hours if it’s for charity, but for all of the above-mentioned reasons, Wood Man is the worst robot master in Mega Man history.

Also, why not have just called him Leaf Man?! Fuck this guy.

Kris’s #1. Aqua Man – I always thought those things were road runners and that’s an excellent point about those dogs. Honestly though, Wood Man isn’t exactly the picture of cool, but he’s never bothered me all that much. This asshole though, bothers me to the highest degree. Every. Single. Thing. About this piece of garbage. Is. AWFUL. Think about this. If you include the Game Boy games, there have been 16 main line Mega Man games. Heck, let’s throw all that weird stuff in there too, like Mega Man Soccer and that weird board game thing. That gets us to somewhere around 30 games and never once has there been a Water Man. Even if we just count the robot masters that had been released up to Mega Man 8, we’ve got Bubble Man, Dive Man, and Wave Man, and instead of calling this walking fish tank Water Man, they go with Aqua Man? Like, the already established DC superhero Aquaman? THAT’S THE BEST YOU CAN DO? And look, I like DC’s Aquaman. I think he’s great. This clown though (no offense, Clown Man) is a piece of shit. I know Jonathan already covered a lot of this asshat’s problems, but let’s run down my list of grievances anyway.

The moment you click on his icon, you get to see the entirety of what you’re up against. He’s a chubby tank of water with what appears to be a top hat. There is not one single thing about his design that is practical, threatening, or cool. Not one goddamn thing. Then he does this weird contortion thing where he lifts one of his legs like he’s a dog about to mark his territory and squeals in a squeaky voice “I’m Aqua Man.” But this is no ordinary squeaky voice. Squeaky voices I can handle. Shit, Toad has had a scratchy squeaky voice since Super Mario Advance and it doesn’t bother me at all anymore. This guy though, he sounds like a sexual deviant. The only way I can properly describe the way he says his name is like he just sexually-assaulted a puppy and he knows he should be ashamed of himself for it, but he can’t help but giggle to himself through the shame because he just enjoyed violating that small creature so damn much. So after that completely unnerving experience, we get to his stageand it’s a swimming level. In a Mega Man game. Not just a water level, but a swimming level. This is just wrong in so many ways, but it’s made even worse by the smooth jazz pumping through your speakers. Yes, the game’s composer likely watched a bunch of Frasier and thought to himself, “I like this show’s music, but I think it would be better if it was about 10,000 times worse and set to a bland Mega Man stage.”

So you finally make it through this obnoxious level with all its dumb spike traps and time bombs and you arrive at the fight against the devil himself. He erupts out of a giant spout of water, strikes a very effeminate pose, and shoots a stream of water in the air that somehow mists a rainbow with the words AQUA MAN on it. In the same deviant tone as used earlier, he proclaims “I’m Aqua Man, but you can call me handsome, guy!” Once you can stop yourself from vomiting, the fight begins, and once he starts moving, you can see how there was a sliver of a good idea here, you know, before it was ruined by all that puppy rape. A heavy water tank jumping around a room creating forceful water attacks has potential. But instead, you get this freak screeching ��water balloon” at you as he tosses not water balloons, but just balls of water at you. And then he’s got this water cannon move that couldn’t possibly hurt you. I mean, that kind of goes for this whole fight. You literally swam to get here, and now he’s tossing water at you and it hurts? I could see if he was shooting waves of water at you that were so forceful that you were slammed into a wall or something, but the water cannon is just a slow-moving stream of water. Why can’t I just walk through it? Piss poor design, that’s why.

When you finally blow this wet turd to bits, he exclaims “That was luck,” which is funny because I remember the first time I beat this guy I exclaimed “What the fuck?” and that rhymes. So I guess there’s that. Fun wordplay aside, this guy is a failure in every regard. Wasted potential, squandered ideas, shit design, crappy level, annoying stage music, pathetic weapon, and oh yeah, he’s a puppy-raping sexual deviant machine, the likes of which make leaving my kids alone with Waluigi seem like a sound babysitting strategy. Say what you will about Wood Man, but I’ll take a dumb wood helmet and rotating leaves over this scum any day of the week. 

And there you have it, folks – the worst of the worst robot masters. Were either of us right? Did your least favorite make it onto the list? Was it too mean of Jonathan to point out Wood Man's wooden man-tits? Just how disturbing was it to visualize Aqua Man committing puppy-rape? Let us know in the comments, and here's hoping that the new Mega Man cartoon doesn't suck as much as these robot masters do.