The Final Effort; Operation: Red Storm

[Darkjak87]

Zrion was not a happy person. And that was putting it lightly. For one thing, he had woken up this morning feeling ill. Probably the fish Zephan had cooked the night before. Then, he had found that, as a joke, Zephan had painted his armor pink. Apparently, Zephan had momentarily forgotten that he was pranking a 6 foot tall Spec-Ops soldier in a particularly foul mood. As to why he was in a foul mood? Well, it was a very...personal matter than he didn't much like to share with anyone (no, not even Zephan). All Zephan had to say was 'You would have looked good in pink' before sprinting away at full speed after Zrion's cry of fury. As if the Head of Special Operations could be seen wearing pink armor! As if any soldier could! Anyway, after spending a full 3 hours scrubbing his armor with soap, water, and paint-remover, he had finally managed to remove the disgusting layer of hot-pink that Zephan had coated his armor in. Said ottsel was currently hiding upstairs, as the little fellow wasn't expecting Zrion to react to his little prank with blind rage.

After his armor was finally presentable, Zrion went to grab his weapons. He had noticed right away when disassembling his AK-47 that the firing pin had snapped in half. He had no idea how it happened, but the sheer unlikeliness and ridiculousness of the situation rendered him speechless. Obviously, he was destined to have a bad day. Either way his weapon was essentially non-functional. Now extremely pissed off, he ended up going on patrol three and a half hours late with nothing but his pistol. His foul mood was noticeable despite his helmet and mask, and citizens and soldiers alike gave him a wide berth as if his own personal storm cloud was hovering over him. Considering his mood, there might as well have been one.

One hour and ten minutes into his shift, his mood had not improved one bit. He had forgotten coffee this morning, so he was tired in addition to pissed. He would not remain sleepy for long though, as he almost jumped out of his skin when his ear drums were assaulting with a viscous BOOM that almost rendered him deaf. He instantly ripped his Desert Eagle from his holster, and vigilant eyes swept the area in less than a second. It didn't take long to identify where the sound had come from. A column of black smoke rose from the ground from a street a few dozen meters to his left. He slammed his pistol back into his holster, and began an all-out sprint towards the end of the street.

After only a few seconds, he skidded to a halt, and began to run down the next street, towards the source of the column. With a feeling of dread filling him, as he thought he knew what the target was. His fears were confirmed, as he finally reached the correct street.

The council meeting hall. Once a glorious structure, made from the most beautifully decorated bricks and highly polished marble available to Haven's resource-starved construction teams. Now, nothing but a pile of blackened rubble.

Zrion stared with horror, as KG troops immediately removed prying eyes from the site, as troops poured in from all sides to control the situation. They removed civvies from the area, and established a perimeter. Hellcats were called in, and immediately formed a perimeter around the disaster-site, half a mile in diameter.

Zrion observed the spectacle for several seconds, before ambulances and firefighting zoomers arrived at the scene. They zoomed past them, with thrusters on maximum speed, before deactivating them and gracefully grinding the vehicles to a halt before the ruined building. KG Damage Control spilled out of their vehicles, and immediately got to work trying to extinguish the fires around the structure. They worked quickly and efficiently, and within ten minutes, any remaining fires were extinguished. It wasn't a difficult job - after all, there wasn't much left for the fire to burn.

With the fires extinguished, the KG Damage Control teams began to navigate the ruined building, shifting rubble aside and looking for survivors. If they found one, they would immediately be dragged to a waiting ambulance, to be zipped to the nearest hospital, and the vehicle to return for the next unfortunate victim. The process would continue as such for hours, Zrion knew.

He clenched his gloved hands, as unanswered questions streamed through his mind. Were there any council members in there? He knew there was a meeting scheduled today, but not what time it was to take place. Who was responsible for this? Most likely it was the Underground, but for them to kill so many innocents in addition to the puppets of Praxis' Government...It was unthinkable. After all, the Underground was supposed to be fighting for the 'Good' side.

He was helpless to assist. KG Damage Control was doing everything they could. Doctors and Workers were needed here, not firepower. It was times like this where Zrion almost regretted his choice in career. However, that wasn't to say he would be useless for much longer.

I don't know who is responsible for this, Zrion thought, But the KG isn't going to let this go unanswered. I don't know who yet, but someone is going to pay for this in blood, and my division is probably going to be the one holding the knife.

[Darkjak87]

For a while, Zrion did nothing. Seconds, minutes, hours...He didn't know. He didn't move. He barely breathed. He was fixated on the scene in front of him, staring with a blank expression on his face.

In was highly unusual. For such a strong, proud soldier to stand rigid and defeated as he watched a disaster site. Even more so for a man who belonged to the most elite fighting force in the known world. In fact, he shouldn't be reacting like this at all. Why, you might ask? The answer was simple: It wasn't the destruction that paralyzed him; it was the fact that he could see a child's arm poking through the rubble.

A child. A child who was almost certainly dead. An innocent child, of only 500 or so in the entire city. But the thing that really got him? The fact that this victim was not the only one.

As he stood and sorted through his memories, he recalled the agenda for the day. The council would be meeting. Fine wine would be served, and a meal would be provided. The meeting would cover the current readiness state of KG forces, Haven's ability to fight the Underground and Metal Head menace, discuss the troubling food and eco shortage, and of course, Haven's deteriorating state. Those attending would be 10 council members, two KG Generals, Commander Errol, the Secretary of Agriculture, the Chief Resource Manager, and perhaps Praxis himself, if the man chose to attend. When the meeting was concluded, students from Haven's elementary school school class would enter the council chamber, and show a presentation. What the presentation consisted of was beyond his knowledge.

What that meant? Some of the most important government officials, vital military leaders, and perhaps even the Baron were possibly dead or injured. Based on the escalating body count, Zrion thought that there was a very good possibility that the Government would have a few job openings.

But that wasn't even the worst part. Children were dead. At least 12 of them, by Zrion's estimate. All under the age of 10. Families ripped apart, mothers crying, fathers weeping...Zrion briefly clenched his fists, as an image of his Father's last moments returned to his mind, before he expelled the thought.

Almost unbidden, anger began to rise in his chest, like a fire hidden inside him. It resembled the feeling of when he called his Yellow Eco to his limbs, but this feeling wasn't so pleasant.

He bared his teeth, as utter, blind fury began to well up inside him. He ripped his body around in a crisp about-face, and began to storm towards his home.

He was not paying attention to his direction, or who he encountered. He was not aware that he was clutching the handle of his pistol in his holster with enough force to crack his knuckles. He was not aware of anything at all, other than his simple, blind, furious rage.

It was only when he arrived at his home when he became aware of himself again. He released the holster of his pistol, and stormed up to the house. He attempted to turn the knob. Locked.

He was not in the mood to find a key. With a massive howl of rage, he brought his foot up to chest level, and thrust it forward towards the door. His foot connected, sending the door flying open and clearing the way for the man.

Zrion stormed into the house. Despite the fact that he could barely see anymore, he somehow managed to find the door to the living room. Fortunately, this door was open for him already. He entered the room, glaring around until he spotted his friend. Zephan was giving him a look much like a deer in headlights, as he saw the expression on Zrion's face.

"Zephan..." Zrion said in a very quiet, but incredibly deadly sounding voice, "TV, channel 9, now."

The terrified creature was not dumb enough to question, as he fumbled for the remote, and clicked the TV on.

Zrion was not the least bit surprised to find that the press was already all over the story of the council building. The reporter, a female, was currently rambling on about how terrible the destruction was, how they didn't know much that was going on, and possibilities on what happened.

Zrion didn't care. He just wanted to see the death toll. However, almost as if she wished to torture him personally, the reporter held off on that information.

Finally, a red-armored soldier with a Damage Control Team logo on his shoulder handed a slip of paper to the news reporter. She looked down onto the paper with prying eyes, before she paled, and looked back into the camera.

In a barely composed voice, she woman began to speak. "I..have just received a report of the victims of this attack. According to this..Two council members are dead, and another is wounded. Commander Errol and the other KG leaders were unscathed, but their utter fury was undeniable. The worst was yet to come.

"I..In addition to the casualties stated above," the woman said slowly "there is also a report of children inside the building at the time of the detonation..As of right now...We have a confirmed report of 10 children dead, and 14 more injured, 6 of which are maimed permanently..."

That was all Zrion heard. The rage consumed him again, and a furious fellow was ripped from his throat as he screamed at the top of his voice. A cry of rage. A cry of vengeance. A cry of anguish.

Zrion slammed his fist into the nearest wall. It would be a good time to mention that Zrion's walls were made of reinforced steel. Despite this, he still left a dent that was almost half an inch deep. Zephan flinched, as a horrific crack filled the air as Zrion's hand shattered. However, the soldier barely even seemed to notice. His rage only increased, as memories from his past came back to torment him. Images came back. His father...His wife...and.. He clenched his left hand, the one that wasn't broken.

"DAMN IT ALL TO f**kING HELL!!!", he screamed. He ripped his pistol from his holster with is good hand, and gripped it by the barrel and slide. He slammed the handle of the four-pound weapon into the wall, leaving a massive dent. He instantly repeated the process. Then again. And again, and again, and again. Eventually, he exhausted himself, and his battered pistol fell to the floor, as useless as Zrion felt. His rage was replaced by utter grief, as the memories continued to surge through his mind. He had to hold back a sob, as he forced himself not to cry in front of Zephan, who had no knowledge of what was torturing his friend so.

Zrion limped over to the couch, hissing in the pain from his hand that he now felt as the adrenaline left his body. He sank down onto the couch, holding his shattered fist to his chest with his left, as he leaned his head back to look at the ceiling of his home.

He sat like this for several minutes, as Zephan watched his friend with a mixture of amazement, confusion, horror, and fear. What about this caused so much anger in his friend? Sure, it was sad, but there had to be something else. After all, it took a lot to make a Special Operations soldier lose his composure like that. Much more than this.

Zephan returned his attention to the TV, just in time to hear the reporter's next words. "I've just received a report that Commander Errol and the other KG leaders are safe and have been removed from the building. Commander Errol has agreed to speak briefly on the incident. Commander?"

"Zrion, look!" Zephan hissed to his friend. Zrion moved, and set his weary attention to the TV.

The camera shifted, to focus on Errol's face. Zephan cringed as he saw the horrid expression on Errol's face. A blood vessel bulged out on his temple, and his face was hard but composed, as he held back the cold fury that was obviously burning beneath his skin. Errol paused, took a breath, and began to speak in a relatively stable voice.

"Citizens of Haven, this is Commander Errol of the Krimzon Guard speaking on behalf of Haven's Armed Forces, and as Praxis' Second in Command. I have no explanation to offer you at this time. I do not know what has happened. However, I will offer you a promise. On my word as Commander, I promise to every man, woman, and child in this city, that the families of these children will be avenged. The Krimzon Guard will not stand for slaughter such as this. No matter what it takes, these victims will all be avenged. I swear on my own blood." Errol left the screen, and it focused on the reporter.

Obviously, the little speech had roused Zrion from his temporary depression, and he stood up. "Zephan. Heal. Now."

The ottsel quickly obliged, called his green eco to his hand and placing it atop Zrion's shattered hand. A sickening series of cracks was heard, as the knuckles and fingers snapped back into place, into the proper shape for Zrion's hand. With Zrion suppressing his howl of pain, Zephan continued. After the last tendon had been repaired, Zrion flexed his repaired hand, and gave it a look. He walked over to the area on the floor, and picked up his pistol. He slipped the pistol back into his leather holster, and allowed his arms to fall relaxed to his side. It was then that his communicator beeped. He picked it up. "Sub-Commander Zrion."

Zrion listened intently, as the man on the other end spoke. Eventually, Zrion acknowledged the man, and placed the device back on the table. He began to strip off his armor, until he was down to his white T-shirt and boxers. He proceeded down the hall, and entered his bedroom. He opened his closet, and began to pull on his military dress uniform. He pulled on his pants, tightened the black belt with the gold-plated belt buckle, then came the shirt, tie, and finally the Jacket, covered heavily in ribbons, metals, and various other decorations that Zrion had earned. He turned, and eyed Zephan, who was standing in the hallway, and looking with a glint of pride at Zrion's hunter-green military dress uniform. "Where are you going, Zrion?", Zephan asked him.

Zrion looked his friend in the eye, with a tired look in his eye. Zrion knew where he was going, but what would happen there? What would be decided?

Zrion walked past his friend and halfway down the hall, before he paused, and looked over his shoulder. "The Fortress." With that said, Zrion continued walking and left the house.

[Darkjak87]

The atmosphere in Haven City was not a happy one. By now, just about the entire city was aware of the tragic disaster at the Council Meeting Hall. As he walked, he saw many things. A mother, protectively holding her children by her side, with tears clouding her eyes. A man next to her, with an expression of utter shock. People walking almost mindlessly, with empty depression in their eyes. Soldiers walked slowly, with barely any of their pride remaining. Their weapons were carried with little grace, and shoulders were slumped. In their eyes, only rage and fear remained. Rage for the loss of life. Fear of the unknown. But there was something knew in the eyes of these people. Something that hadn't previously been in the eyes of Haven's populace.

Fury. Rage. Vindictiveness.

As Zrion walked, he drew many stairs, from Soldiers and Civilians alike. His heavily decorated Class-A uniform was a virtual spotlight. Add that to his rank and badge which proudly announced his Special Operations status, and he was practically a celebrity. No one approached him, but he made eye contact with many.

What was that he kept seeing? Anger? Yes, of course, but not quite that. Depression? Always. But what's new here? It was only when Zrion made eye contact with an elderly man, feeble and pale. However, despite his frail appearance, he moved proudly and with strength. It was inspiring, even to Zrion. As he made eye contact with the man, he had his answer.

Determination. That was the emotion he kept seeing. This man's eyes held anger and rage, but less so than the others. As the man watched Zrion, the soldier stopped. So did the man.

They observed each other for the longest time, examining each others' eyes for emotions. Zrion's eyes held grief and anger, but above all else a fighting spirit and devotion. In the old man's eyes, the feeling of power, confidence, and determination held dominant.

The old man opened his mouth, and with a surprisingly deep and strong voice, he spoke, "Look! Look at this man, all of you! Look at him, and tell me what you see!"

Zrion didn't so much as flinch. He only looked at the man, with curiosity, as the citizens and soldiers stopped, to stare at the old man, and then Zrion, where the gazes remained.

He stood perfectly still, only moving his head, in order to observe the crowd of people that had stopped to watch him. The elderly man again spoke,

"What is it you see here? An oppressor? A policeman? A puppet? Perhaps, maybe, but what is beyond that?"

Silence again. Zrion was by now very confused.

The man continued, "What you see here, is a soldier! A warrior! A guardian! A beam of hope! For all of these soldiers, that is what they truly are! This man will avenge those that have been slaughtered today. Him, and thousands more of Haven's protectors! So look! Look with respect! Give support to these soldiers! Forget the time where they have mistreated you! Remember the thousands that have died to protect this city! Think of the thousands more, that will die in the future! All for you! For this city! To the Krimzon Guard!"

The atmosphere was silent. You could practically feel the tenseness in the air. Then, one voice broke it.

"TO THE KRIMZON GUARD!" One brave man cried out.

It was a chain reaction. In less than a second, dozens of people were cheering around him, thrusting fists in the air, and yelling undecipherable comments. Even the soldiers, with their morale so low, raised their weapons overhead and thrust them into the air, to boast their approval.

Zrion found himself very embarrassed. He was not a celebrity. Quite the opposite. Special Operations was one of the darkest shadows in Haven. Their identities were classified. Their missions top-secret. When these men triumphed in battle, there were no cries or cheers. There was no fame or fortune. There was nothing. Only the mutual satisfaction of knowing there was a job well done.

To Zrion, this was a very awkward situation. The cheers were slowing down. Eventually, they stopped entirely, and everyone looked at him expectantly.

What? What is this? What do they want? Should I...Oh, damn it, they want me to say something! But what..!? Uh, alright think...Something about Haven City? No, this wasn't about patriotism. As he thought, he finally thought of the perfect thing.

Zrion brought himself to his proudest possible position, with his chest out and shoulders held high.

"Citizens of Haven, I am nothing short of overjoyed that you are willing to support the KG in this time of dire need. The fact that you, as a whole, are willing to look past all of the hardships that we have inflicted on you, and instead see us as your noble protectors, is nothing short of amazing. You all have my complete respect, and I swear to you that whoever is responsible for this will pay in blood."

Zrion ended his little speech, and turned to walk. As he moved, the crowd easily moved out of his way, now staring shamelessly as he moved. It was lucky that he was very near the fortress, as he wasn't in the mood for anymore speeches.

He was able to conclude his walk as he finally beheld the fortress.

It was a massive structure, made entirely of steel and painted in the color of the Krimzon Guard. It was specifically designed to withstand virtually anything. With an extensive air-filtering system, enough food and water to last weeks, enough weapons and ammunition to equip a heavy-assault battalion, a heavily-armored shell that made it virtually immune to aerial attack and artillery, and a garrison consisting of Haven's absolute best soldiers, the fortress was considered to be a a monument to Haven's military strength.

Zrion stopped to admire the massive structure for several seconds, before he extracted his access card from his pocket. He ran it through the card reader, and entered the building.

The inside wasn't quite so impressive. Two guards stood, rigid at the position of attention, with their rifles held proudly, guarding the room.They saluted crisply as Zrion entered, then dropped them. Other than the two guards, the electrical force field, and the computer consoles in the room, there wasn't anything else worth mentioning. Another Red came up to Zrion, giving a quick salute, which Zrion returned.

"Hello, Sub-Commander. I'm Sergeant Major Callahan. I'm to escort you to the KG officers meeting room. Please, follow me sir."

Zrion fell into a calm and steady pace behind the soldier, allowing him to lead them deeper into the heavily armored building. Through the electrical gate. Past numerous turrets. Even a security tank. Until finally, they stopped.

Before them, a gloriously decorated door was before them. 10 feet tall, double doors, painted red and black with Praxis' glorious emblem highlighted in the middle. Callahan punched in an access code, and the doors slid open.

Zrion nodded to the Sergeant Major, and calmly strode into the room, as the doors sealed behind them.

The room was large, and quite impressive. All around them, monitors and consoles covered the walls. Where they weren't covered, either a tapestry or an emblem took the place of empty wall. In the center of the room, a magnificent table of Mahogany sat. It was 15 feet long, and 3 feet wide.

Around the table, there were eight people. At the head of the table, Baron Praxis sat, staring at Zrion with his ice-cold gaze.

Opposite from Praxis, at the other end of the table, Commander Errol sat, giving Zrion an equally penetrating gaze. At the sides of the table, there were six chairs, 3 on each side. On one side, three people sat: Sub-Commander Pavel Alekseyev (Head of KG Ground Forces), Sub-Commander Marvin Ethro (KG Air Force) and Sub-Commander Wolfgang Ogustadt (KG Armored Corps). Opposite them, on the other side, two more people sat. The first was Sub-Commander Ethan Rockwell (Head of KG Reconnaissance and Intelligence) and finally Sub-Commander Gregory Shay (Commander of all KG artillery battalions). Next to Shay, there was an empty chair, for him.

The Commander of Special Operations ignored the stares afforded to him, and smoothly strolled across the room and sat down in his chair. He made himself comfortable (although without losing his composure) and clasped his hands together on top of the table, waiting expectantly.

Praxis continued to eyeball Zrion. "So, Sub-Commander Zrion...It's nice to see you finally decided to join us. Apparently, being in charge of the City's best means you don't have a timetable to keep to...No matter, we have time. Errol, you may begin."

Commander Errol stood up, and looked around the room once, before speaking.

"I'm sure you all know why we are here today. The Council Meeting Hall, once among Haven's finest structures, is now nothing but a pile of smoldering rubble. The death toll is tragic. Three councilmen were killed, and another wounded. The worst part, however, was the children. Ten children were killed. 14 more were injured. Six of these children are permanently maimed. Some will never walk again. One of them is currently in a coma. The rest, we have yet to find out."

Errol stopped. The atmosphere in the room was deadly quiet. Errol continued with his speech,

"This is a terrible bloodshed that will not be ignored. Sub-Commander Rockwell's investigators have informed him on what the cause of this disaster is. Appropriate action will be taken against the culprits. Sub-Commander, you may speak now."

Errol sat down, while Rockwell rose.

"Gentlemen, Commander Errol is correct. My men have indeed determined how this disaster came about. I would like for you to direct your attention to this screen. He gestured to the appropriate screen, and the men turned their attention it it.

A photo was on there, of the disaster-zone. It was empty of people, so obviously it was a very recent photo. A large smoke cloud rose from the rubble. "Tell me comrades, what do you see here in this image?"

Well, a destroyed building obviously. But what specifically?

As Zrion squinted at the image, the answer was obvious. He spoke up, since no one else had yet to figure it out.

"The support beams, Sub-Commander. The ones that I can see, they are burned, twisted, and blackened. This damage could only have been caused by planted explosives, specifically planted to bring down the entire building."

Rockwell nodded slowly. "A good eye you have, Sub-Commander. You are entirely correct. This disaster was not an accident, but an act of sabotage. By whom? That is to follow."

The screen changed pictures. This time, it was a much closer shot of a section of rubble, blackened and burned like the rest of the structure.

This time, it was relatively obvious. There was a mark on one particular piece of the rubble, a burn-mark with a slight grainy residue left behind. Only one thing could cause that. An explosion of unstable Dark Eco.

"Yes, Comrades, this building was brought down by dark-eco based explosives. We believe they were very crudely made, barely even functional. However, they tell us enough. Only one faction, to our knowledge, would have the resources to create a device like this. Metal Heads."

The room was silent, before it exploded into a bundle of whispers and murmurings, as the KG leaders expressed their opinions on the matter.

Zrion kept his thoughts to himself. Precursors, those damnable beasts have hit us yet again! It must have been one of their undercover agents, probably one of those human/Metal Head hybrids the KG experimented with a while back. Brilliant idea we had there...

The room quieted again, as they turned their full attention back to Rockwell.

"Yes, comrades, Metal Heads caused this. We assume that these devices were planted by one or more of their undercover operatives, in an attempt to wipe out the Haven City government. However, we have to consider...Why would they do this?"

He took a breath, and continued on.

"The Metal Heads have never had morals. In battle, they are notoriously cruel and brutal. Devouring their prey, indiscriminately murdering our citizens, and anything in between. But why go after our government? Why such a...precise...attack? We think that the only reason for this would be that they are preparing an offensive."

He paused, and the room again burst into quiet whispers, before quickly dying out.

"There are several indicators that support this theory. I'm sure you are all aware of the numerous Wasteland Outposts that we have established. These are small fortifications occupied by a number of troops. These outposts range from minor recon positions, to small military bases. These outposts exist in order to provide us with accurate data of Metal Head movements out in the Wasteland, and to allow us to maintain a foothold outside the city. Lately, Metal Heads have been increasing their attacks on these outposts. Usually they have only been engaged in chance encounters. The attacks have mostly failed, but it's the implications that worry me.

"Metal Heads do not usually fight in an organized way. Only in rare circumstances do they perform tactical strikes, such as these, on specific targets. In addition to these surgical strikes, they have also stepped up their efforts on our mining operations, particularly the strip mine.

"As you all know, 75% of the City's eco comes from the Strip Mine. The Metal Heads seem to be aware of this, because the large amount of Human activity and the eco levels have always drawn large crowds. However, their organized attacks have increased, notably the one of last month. We've been committing increasing numbers of men to guard the Strip Mine, but with less and less success at actually holding it. It's becoming a major problem, because every time they attack the Mines, it sets our production back by a few weeks. This is the cause of Haven's Eco Shortage.

"Now, the reason this is a major issue, is because of our past experiences with Metal Heads. Before major offensives, Metal Heads have always assaulted major Haven City mining operations. The Battle of Dead Town was particularly notable for this, because in the weeks leading up to the battle, the Metal Heads managed to wipe out 72% of our eco-production capacity.

"We've also been picking up increased troop movements out in the Wastelands, particularly around the Metal Head nest, and the area around our Wasteland Training and Combat Simulation Camp. As you all know, 97% of our men are trained here, and all mock combat operations take place here. The area is very heavily guarded, with an entire armored division protecting the base at all times. Even the Metal Heads have never attempted to take it. The fact that they seem to be mobilizing around our strongest outpost shows that they are deviating from their standard doctrine.

"With the increasing attacks on my Wasteland Outposts, Mining Operations, our steel refining facilities, among other things, I can only conclude that they are preparing to launch a major offensive against the City."

General Rockwell walked back to his seat, and sat down. The men in the room only stared at him for a few seconds, before Errol cleared his throat.

"Well, that was certainly a very...Interesting, presentation, Sub-Commander. It's good to know your men are actually doing their jobs."

Rockwell inclined his head, in acknowledgment of Errol's 'compliment'.

"So, Gentlemen, that is the situation." Errol continued. "I have evaluated these results myself, and I fully agree with them. The question now is, what are we to do about this? Sit and wait? Prepare ourselves? Increase troop strength? The answer is simple, men. We take the offensive ourselves, with a pre-emptive strike on the Metal Head Nest."

The soldiers all stared at Errol, as if he had just told them that they were invading Hell. An offensive on the Metal Head Nest?! That was utter suicide! The last time they had tried that, over 3/4 of the KG forces were obliterated! And to top that, the Metal Heads launched their own offensive barely two months later, creating Dead Town, and barely even seemed hurt by the KG's all-out assault only two months before.

Errol took note of the incredulous looks. "Now, comrades, I know what you're all thinking. 'This is impossible!' 'Look at the last time!'. Well, men, the last time was our learning experience. We have taken careful note of the offensive. Troop strength, our approach, how we utilized our artillery, the Metal Head tactics and defensive plans, and where we went wrong. Quite frankly comrades, when I read over it all, I could only think of one thing. 'It's no wonder we failed'.

Allow me to explain. Our tanks were too few in number, and were poorly equipped. They were widely dispersed through the infantry, and almost completely lacked organization. It often ended up as a dozen Thuds against a single Trik on our side. The Infantry they were supposed to be supporting was unable to intervene. The Triks were easily picked off."

"Another thing to consider is how we used our Hellcats. In the assault, we had several divisions advancing, with each one given a large complement of Hellcats for air support. However, these Hellcats were also poorly organized and flew in massive groups over our friendly soldiers to engage Metal Head airborne creatures. The Hellcats took heavy casualties, due in part to poorly trained crews, but mostly due to a lack of overall command. The Metal Heads' superior numbers and high tactical-coordination easily wiped out our air forces. These Hellcats had nowhere to fall except on our own men, which generated confusion in the ranks and also casualties."

"Our men were poorly trained, poorly organized, and ill-equipped. We were not fully prepared for the assault, and sufficient quantities of ammunition were not available. Supplies were stretched thin, and most soldiers quickly ran through the small amount of ammunition they were issued. Casualties skyrocketed past our initial estimates."

"Now, a major part of our casualties was when the battle began. While the main army moved up on foot, many of our Troop Transport aircraft flew ahead, carrying hundreds of men to be deposited ahead of the main army. This aircraft were easy targets for Metal Head anti-aircraft fire, and hundreds of men died when they were shot down. The men that survived lacked the numbers that they needed, and were quickly overwhelmed. It also gave them warning that we were coming."

Errol fell silent, as he observed. "So, my friends, that is how it is. We lost the assault not because we were inferior militarily, but because our strategy, troop training, lack of preparation, and general disorganization prevented us from effectively engaging the enemy. It was little more than a bloodbath on our side. So, Comrades, here is where Haven City calls on you. We will organize another offensive, but this time we will succeed. We have better leaders now, and we have learned from the mistakes of the past. So, Comrades, will you join me in the glorious conquest of the Metal Heads?"

No one spoke. For the longest time, they merely stared. Then, Zrion raised his hand. Following suit, the rest of them, one after the other, raised their hands, until all eight people were in mutual agreement.

"Good!" Errol said. "Now, let us begin."

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AN: Hello everyone, and I hope you've enjoyed the third installment of my story. And something you should know. During this story, the plot of Jak II has not happened. There was no deal with the Metal Heads, Haven is still locked in a deadly, constant war with the Metal Heads, and Jak never came to the future to fight them. In addition, the KG is much more active in their war effort than in the games, frequently engaging Metal Heads outside the city and maintaining military bases outside the walls.

Comments are welcome, and I would love to hear some constructive criticism, as I have had little writing experience outside of Rping.

[Darkjak87]

Hello People! I know it's been a long time since I've updated this story, but you'll be pleased to find that I've finally gotten around to it. After getting past my writers block, I've been able to complete the chapter and also make a long-needed post in the Beginning of the End Rp. The story is not very interesting at this point, I will admit, which was a large contributor to my writer's block, but rest assured, action is coming, and that's definitely what I'm best at (It's definitely not dialogue). And please, do me (and my story!) some good by giving me some honest reviews. I'd appreciate constructive criticism more than I would a simple "LOL AWESOME, KEEP IT UP DOOD!!" Anyway, here's the next installment of ORS.
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It was amazing how quickly the atmosphere in the room changed. When Zrion entered the room, there was only the feeling of helplessness and quiet, controlled despair. Now, a feeling of inspiring determination permeated the room, and the thought of finally conquering those unstoppable monsters sent chills up Zrion’s spine. He did not have long to dwell on his thoughts however, and quickly returned his attention back to Errol.

Errol waited for a moment to ensure their full attention, and began to speak again. “So comrades, since we are all in agreement here, the first issue we must discuss is our current military strength. The exact figures are currently pending, but I have a few rough estimates that I believe you’ll find satisfyingly accurate.”
Errol took a brief moment to collect his thoughts, before he continued with his address. “At the moment, I estimate that the KG has approximately 44,000 men in total that are directly involved in the Armed Forces. Of these, approximately 23,000 are trained combat personnel active in the KG ground forces, with another 900 currently in training at Palm Beach. Of the 23,000 men in the army, 1,100 make up tank crews, with another 150 specialized in Explosive Ordinance Usage and Disposal. The remaining 21,750 are standard combat personnel.

“Out of the remaining 21,000, 12,450 men are in the KG Air Force. 4,300 of these make up Hellcat Crews, with the remaining 8,150 trained to maintain, service, and manage Hellcat Cruisers for the Air Force.

“The remainder consists of the KG Medical Corps, made up of 2,800 trained medical personnel, including 1,600 field medics, Rockwell’s Reconnaissance troops, numbering at 2,000, and artillery crews, with a total of 3,000 men trained to operate our heavy guns. The remainder consists of the Special Operations division, numbering 60 men, and other specialist personnel, numbering 690.”
Errol waited a few moments, to allow the statistics to sink in.

“Over the last year, we’ve estimated that the Metal Heads, with what little we know regarding the speed of their reproduction and their life span, that we can expect their numbers of combat personnel to be anywhere from 1,000,000 to 1,800,000.”

The implications of that set in. With 23,000 men in their military, the KG could, best case, destroy several large detachments of Metal Head troops, equipped with large numbers of armor and flying variants. However, the estimated casualties for such a feat would be appalling. It would effectively tear out any of the KG’s remaining fighting effectiveness, and cause thousands of young males their lives. Lives and training that were largely irreplaceable in their ranks. But even at this massive cost, the actual damage inflicted to the Metal Heads would be moderate at best, and there would certainly be devastating counter-offensives. Quite frankly, the KG were simply outnumbered and outgunned in the 300 year-long war with the imperialistic monsters that struck terror into the hearts of Haven’s bravest soldiers. Despite all of the reassurances that the KG leaders gave themselves, they secretly knew that the only reason they had held the line as long as they had was because they had always had the city itself to fall back to. Indeed, the only reason they held any positions in the Wasteland at all were because most of them were too small to be worth the Metal Heads’ notice. Only Palm Beach (the ironically named KG training base in the Wasteland south of the city proper) was actually strong enough to pose a major threat to Metal Head troop movements in the Wasteland. Now that Zrion considered it, he was sure that the only reason it hadn’t been assaulted yet was because the Metal Heads didn’t realize just how much the KG depended on it.

His thoughts were broken again as Errol continued on with his speech. “So, obviously, the odds are against us. While I have full confidence that every man in the KG is both capable and willing to fight the Metal Heads, there are not enough troops in our military to simply storm their nest. Not only would we have to neutralize their military outside the nest, but we would also be forced to destroy their leader, and, if we are extremely unfortunate, to storm their nest. We lack the manpower for such a feat. With 23,000 men, how can we hope to man enough artillery to sufficiently suppress a determined army of a million animals, while being able to follow up with a force of sufficient strength to break their lines and destroy their leader? The implications of the manpower required for such a massive operation worry me the most. It is not as easy as asking our citizens to join the military. Our army has always been made up of volunteers. We use propaganda at every step to get citizens to join. But the fact remains that only this small number of Haven’s populations are willing to fight. But 23,000 men is not enough, certainly you all realize that?”

'Errol paused again. Annoyed, Zrion’s ears twitched ever so slightly at the unnecessary suspense that his Commander seemed so fond of.

The wait was brief. “The most obvious solution is to instate a draft, which would require all men from the ages of 17 to 39 to submit themselves for examination to determine whether they are fit for military service. We have used this tactic in the past, but I do not consider it advisable. Think of this, comrades. Would you rather have 10,000 loyal, devoted, willing, and brave soldiers fighting for you in the field, or would you want 100,000 cowardly, unwilling conscripts who would attempt to flee at the slightest sounds of combat? The answer to this question should obviously be the former. A draft will not work in this instance.”

Errol fell silent, and all eyes turned to the Baron, who had remained quiet so far. Drumming his fingers together, Praxis sat, with his head bowed, quietly contemplating everything. Despite the common knowledge that Praxis was slightly insane, every soldier there was perfectly aware that the Baron was a brilliant and extremely gifted leader and planner. There was little question that out of everyone in this room, he was the one who would most likely be able to pull this off.

After several tense moments Praxis finally looked up, and spoke slowly and deliberately, with his deep and level voice demanding attention. “I have…full confidence, that Haven City has the ability to destroy the vile creatures that occupy the deserts outside our walls. What I do not believe, is that we can do so if we have anything but utter perfection. If we are just 100 troops short, then we could fail. If one too many tanks or hellcats are destroyed, then we could fail. If one battalion is misused, we could fall. We are strong enough to defeat them – but only just. We must do this with the utmost caution and planning. No details are to be left unthought of, and every possibility will be considered. If we fail this time, it will mean the end of all of us.”

Praxis paused again, and then continued his speech. “I agree with Errol’s assessment. Our military is strong and well trained, but the Metal Head swarms can only be contained with, I would estimate, at least 300,000 men in our army. With a population of around 700,000, I estimate that, best case, we may be able to muster a 340,000 man army. This is under the assumption that almost all of Haven’s male population enlists in the KG, and the female populace is willing to take their positions in the workforce, especially in the factories producing weapons and munitions. But even with this, we will be outnumbered anywhere from two-to-one, to three-to-one. Either way, the odds will not be in our favor, or at best it will be a perfect match-up of strength between our factions. But for this to be the case, our army must be capable of fighting. 340,000 men looks good on paper, but if the majority will not be willing to fight, then our defeat is inevitable.

"We cannot force the people to fight. We cannot force them to believe what we believe. But we can persuade them. It is obvious that the people are horrified by this attack. But it has motivated them. By providing us with a common enemy, the Metal Heads have given us a unity that we never thought possible. We are no longer hopeless and defeated, as we were before, but determined and vengeful. With the right nudge to the population, I think that we can have our army fully prepared in time for the spring. Now, we shall speak of our attack strategy, under the assumption that we have 300,000 men willing and able to fight for us. Errol, you may speak freely.”

Errol nodded. “Yes sir. Now, what I am proposing is that we move in and occupy the Wastelands around the Southern area of the Spire Mountain Range with a very small infantry force, equipped with anti-tank equipment and light machine guns. If the offensive succeeds, which it should, then we will have a staging area to move our army to, and push into the Range itself. I believe the offensive to take this area is a job for our Special Operations Division." All eyes in the room turned to Zrion, who did not return the looks. So that’s what they have planned for us. Well, easy enough. It’d almost be a routine mission if not for the sheer importance.

Errol continued with his speech. “The Metal Head Nest is dug inside a massive mountain in the middle of the Spire Mountain Range, which is a 30 mile stretch of mountains of various sizes that is located in the Wasteland. The area has been Metal Head turf since the war began, and as we saw in our first attack on the Nest, the defenses there are quite strong. However, If we can use Unmanned Aerial Vehicles to scout the area, I’m sure that we could easily use our artillery power to destroy much of their defense before our troops move in.

"The issue here is that in order to reach the Nest, we would have to advance over miles of hilly and difficult terrain while at the same time fighting off the Metal Head defenses that aren’t crushed by our artillery. At the same time, we will have to contend with freezing temperatures, and snow and ice slowing us down. Our artillery must keep moving forward, so that their targets may remain in range of our shelling. That will prove most difficult, as our Heavy Guns can only fire while stationary, and they cannot suppress our enemy while at the same time moving forward. The advance through the Spire will be difficult, but we believe that the Metal Head defenses are strongest only around the actual nest, where conditions are considerably better. If we can seize the mountains around the Nests, and fortify them with machine gun nests, bunkers, and get our artillery into position, then we can establish a foothold from which we can begin our main assault on the nest proper.

“But Comrades, all the planning and men in the world won’t help us if we can’t gain and hold momentum for our advance. Maintaining the initiative is the single most important thing out of our entire operation. If we get bogged down in our assault, or our advance halts, then the Metal Heads will easily turn us back and drive our forces all the way back to Haven. And I can assure you now Comrades that if we lose this battle, then our defeat is inevitable. If we throw everything that we have into this fight, and lose, then we will have nothing left to protect ourselves.”

The room fell silent again, as every Commander considered what Errol had said. No one deluded themselves in this instance – the odds were against them regardless. But if they left such a disaster to go without retribution, then the people’s hopes really would be crushed, and everyone in Haven would truly understand what it was like to be helpless. If the KG could not win this battle, then Haven’s morale would be crushed, and the Metal Heads would undoubtedly press their advantage. The world’s last known surviving city would be crushed, and Human Extinction would be reality. But if they won…The Metal Head’s largest Nest and capital would be crushed in one broad stroke, along with their largest and strongest military force. And with the Wastelands around Haven secured, then the City could drop its walls and truly expand for the first time in hundreds of years. If that nest was wiped out, then the Metal Heads would be reduced to a state of disarray and confusion, and the KG could then begin operations outside the City to crush any remaining resistance, and effectively win the entire war for the whole of humanity in probably under 50 years. The stakes were high, the rewards great, but failure would result in tragic consequences, and unimaginable retaliation.

Zrion clenched his fist. If there was ever a time to risk everything to gain so much more, then it was now.

Zrion knew his colleagues well. They were most likely having similar thoughts. They all wanted to end this war just as much as he did. And this time, there was nothing to lose. Whether the assault happened or not, Haven would fall unless the Metal Heads fell first. Supplies, logistics, war machines, manpower, and everything else imaginable would all present themselves as an obstacle to their goals. But every man in the room was confident that, with the right planning, they could win this war and finally restore the Human Race to the Golden Age of peace and joy that it was such a short time ago.